#second channel reveal lol

[graciousdragon]

Hello everyone, in honor of No But Seriously Imagine It Day today I decided to try and make a semi-decent mashup of This is Gospel and Welcome to the Black Parade

Enjoy 👍

[favefandomimagines]

Thunderstruck (t.o)

Request: @mystargirl-interlude after watching the Dallas cowboy cheerleader show I can’t stop thinking about Tyler dating a Dallas cowboys cheerleader 😭😭 I was wondering if you could do like a one shot of his group meeting her and going to one of the games to see her preform?

AN: I love this request lol i love making masculine characters total simps for their partners

Tyler Owens had always been obsessed with two things: tornadoes and the Dallas Cowboys. His obsession with storms began when he was a kid, watching funnel clouds twist and churn on the horizon from his small Oklahoma town.

The Cowboys, well, that love ran just as deep. Sundays were sacred, filled with the sounds of the game on TV and a house full of cheering and yelling at plays. But as much as he loved football, there was one thing—or rather, one person—that had stolen his heart even more completely than any touchdown or tornado ever could.

His long-term girlfriend was a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. It still felt surreal sometimes, like a dream he hadn’t fully wrapped his head around.

To see her out there, all eyes on her as she performed at the center of AT&T Stadium, was almost too much for him to handle. Tyler had met Jenna before she ever wore the blue and silver of the Cowboys’ iconic uniform, but knowing she was out there, dazzling crowds of thousands, was more than he ever imagined.

Tyler and his team of tornado chasers—Boone, Javi, Kate, Lily, Dani, and Dexter—had made a name for themselves online. Their YouTube channel, which documented their daring storm-chasing adventures, had gone viral several times over, gaining them a massive following.

There was something undeniably thrilling about watching them race against nature, capturing footage of tornadoes as they tore through the plains. The adrenaline rush was unmatched, though for Tyler, it still couldn’t compare to watching Jenna perform on the field.

When the Cowboys organization reached out to invite the whole team to the season opener, it felt like a dream come true. Not only were they being recognized for their storm-chasing success, but it was an opportunity for Tyler to see Y/N in her element, doing what she loved most.

The day of the season opener was electric. Tyler and the team arrived early at AT&T Stadium, their excitement palpable. Tyler had a permanent grin on his face, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. Sure, they had been invited because of their growing fame, but for him, this day was about Y/N.

“You’re about to lose it, aren’t you?” Boone teased as they walked through the stadium's hallways toward the cheerleaders’ locker room.

Tyler shot him a look. “I’m fine,” he said, though the nervous energy in his voice betrayed him. “I’m just…excited to see Y/N.”

Javi chuckled. “Dude, you’re not just excited. You’re a total fanboy for the Cowboys. Admit it.”

Tyler shrugged, unable to hide the truth. “I’ve been a Cowboys fan since I could walk. This is huge for me. But yeah, seeing Y/N is the real reason I’m here.”

When they reached the cheerleaders’ locker room, Tyler’s heart raced. He knocked, and after a few seconds, the door opened, revealing Y/N, looking absolutely stunning in her Cowboys cheer uniform. Her smile lit up the room when she saw him.

“Tyler!” Y/N exclaimed, rushing into his arms. He scooped her up, spinning her around like he always did.

“You look amazing,” he said, his voice soft with admiration. “I mean, you always do, but wow.”

Y/N blushed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re biased, but thank you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

The rest of the team gave them their space, letting Tyler soak up the moment with Y/N. Boone, ever the jokester, leaned over to Javi. “I give it five minutes before he cries,” he whispered, earning a chuckle from the others.

Tyler couldn’t take his eyes off Y/N. The excitement for the game seemed secondary now. It was all about her. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N,” he said, his voice genuine. “I mean, look at you. You’re living your dream.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes full of affection. “And you’re living yours too. Storm-chasing with your team and now being here with me? I’d say you’re doing pretty great.”

After a few more minutes of talking and catching up, Y/N had to get back to her pre-game routine. Tyler reluctantly left the locker room, but not before giving her a lingering kiss on the cheek. His heart felt full, and his mind raced with anticipation for the game. He couldn’t wait to see her out there, performing in front of the massive crowd.

When game time finally arrived, the stadium was alive with energy. The stands were packed with tens of thousands of fans, all buzzing with excitement for the Cowboys’ season opener. Tyler and his team had incredible seats near the field, thanks to the Cowboys’ invitation.

The moment the Cowboys’ cheerleaders took the field for their pre-game Thunderstruck performance, Tyler couldn’t help but get caught up in the moment.

As the music blasted through the stadium speakers, and Jenna and the other cheerleaders began their routine, Tyler was on his feet, clapping and cheering louder than anyone around him. His eyes were locked on Y/N, watching every move she made. She was radiant, her movements precise and graceful, her energy infectious. Tyler was completely captivated.

“Look at him,” Dani laughed, nudging Kate. “He’s so smitten.”

“He’s head over heels,” Kate agreed, shaking her head with a grin.

Tyler barely noticed his friends teasing him. His entire world was focused on Y/N, and he couldn’t help but feel overwhelming pride. He had always supported her dreams, but seeing them come to life on such a grand stage filled him with a sense of awe.

“She’s killing it!” Tyler yelled over the roar of the crowd, his voice filled with admiration. When the routine ended, he was the first to jump up and applaud, grinning from ear to ear. “That’s my girl!”

The game was incredible, a nail-biter that had the crowd on edge, but Tyler’s thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N. It was surreal to be in the stadium, watching his favorite team play, knowing that his girlfriend was one of the cheerleaders who had worked so hard to be part of this iconic experience.

After the game, Tyler and his team waited outside the cheerleaders’ locker room again, this time with a surprise in store. When Y/N emerged, looking radiant despite the exhaustion of a long game, Tyler couldn’t contain himself.

“You were amazing, Y/N!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Thank you, babe. It means the world to me that you were here.”

Tyler hesitated for a moment, then grinned as he reached for the hem of his Cowboys jersey. “I have something to show you,” he said, pulling the jersey over his head to reveal a custom-made t-shirt underneath.

Y/N gasped when she saw it. Printed across the front of the shirt was her picture—Y/N in her cheerleader uniform, mid-performance, with the words “I’m here for her” emblazoned beneath it.

“I had to make sure everyone knew who I was really here to see,” Tyler said with a playful smile.

Y/N’s laughter filled the hallway, her face lighting up as she stared at the shirt. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. “I love it. And I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tyler replied, pulling her closer. “You’re a superstar, Y/N. I’m so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

The rest of the team couldn’t help but watch the sweet moment unfold, a mix of admiration and amusement on their faces.

“Well, I guess we know who the real MVP is,” Dexter joked, gesturing to Y/N.

“Hey, I’ll take it,” Y/N said with a wink. “But seriously, Tyler, you being here today… it means everything to me.”

Tyler kissed her again, a sense of peace and happiness settling over him. Tornadoes would always be his first love, but standing there with Y/N, his heart bursting with pride and admiration, he knew there was nothing that could top this.

[james-bucky-barnackle]

Froyo

Synopsis: During a premiere red carpet with Drew, an interviewer’s question accidentally reveals that a seemingly ordinary dinner was actually Drew’s attempt at a first date covered by two random tiktoks. Pairing: Drew Starkey x Actress!Reader Word Count: IDK I'm too sleep deprived to count A/N: I know I still owe you guys a Gwayne Hightower fanfic, but the chokehold Drew fucking Starkey has on me is insane. btw, I realized this is the second time I've created a fic based on real people vs the normal Marvel character thingy I do. And to be honest, there's gonna be a lot more... so maybe I should make this a series considering they're all triggered by an interview and Y/N's always an actress lol. ALSO at the end, there's a poll on what you think should happen next, and best believe I'll do my best to write that.

There’s an edit circulating on TikTok of you and your co-star Drew Starkey from your red carpet interview together. You’re both starring in an Amazon limited series about college classmates who become close after witnessing your professor’s murder and are now on a shared mission to solve the crime. You’ve known him closely for a year now, but have been following his career even before that. I mean, who wouldn’t? The man is gorgeous. But of course, you couldn’t let him know that.

As shooting began, the two of you grew closer, and you decided to be professional and put that whole fascination aside. You’ve both even dated other actors and celebrities, which have also been topics for gossip channels and paparazzi photos. Despite all that, you’ve hung out plenty, mostly in groups but also during breaks in filming—often grabbing lunch and coffee together.

Today, you and Drew are laughing as you finally see the edit that’s been at the top of both your PR’s nightmare list.

You’re dressed in an elegant beige gown, skin-tight and slightly sheer, which Carrie Bradshaw would definitely call the naked dress. Your hair is pulled back in a low bun, bangs effortlessly framing your face. You’ve just arrived at the red carpet, taking your time to chat with interviewers. The first few questions are light, mostly about how fun it was working on set and, of course, what you're wearing.

After a few minutes, Drew catches up to you. He’s in a baby blue suit, sepia shades covering his eyes, smelling incredible. His presence is like a tight, warm hug—well, a little tighter on your chest. His voice sends tingles down your spine as he whispers, one hand casually placed on the small of your back.

“What did I miss?” He smiles at you and the interviewer.

“Oh, nothing much, I was just telling Amelia how you’re always late to everything.” You smirk, shooting a playful look at the camera. Amelia, your interviewer, raises her eyebrows dramatically, playing along. Both of you laugh as Drew backs away, feigning offense.

“I’ve been here since like—” He starts to defend himself.

“Like five minutes ago,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Valid,” he agrees with a shrug, laughing.

Amelia continues her interview, moving on to ask about the possibility of a second season.

“I mean, yeah, I’d love to do a second season, for sure,” you nod, glancing at Drew, who’s nodding along, letting you take the lead. “But I’m not sure if it makes sense, since it was originally written as a one-season story. For that to happen, someone might have to die again so Kelsea and James can investigate something new.”

Kelsea and James are the names of the characters you play—who, of course, end up dating on the show.

“So you’re saying someone has to die for the two of you to get back together on set?” Amelia jokes, her deadpan delivery only making it funnier.

“I mean, I don’t know!” You laugh. “You’re twisting my words, Amelia!”

“I honestly think you just don’t want to hang out with me anymore, Y/N,” Drew chimes in, a playful pout on his face. “I’m hurt.”

“Is that why there wasn’t a second date?” Amelia asks, teasingly. Her tone is light, but the question lands hard. Drew’s eyes widen in surprise, his smile freezing as if even he didn’t see that one coming. He covers his mouth, trying not to laugh while you stand there, looking utterly confused.

“Second date? What?” You laugh, trying to figure out if this is some sort of red carpet joke you weren’t briefed on. You glance at Drew, who’s just shaking his head, still grinning but not offering any explanations.

You lower your voice, leaning towards him, “What is she—what date?” You chuckle awkwardly, trying to maintain your cool, though the confusion is clearly written all over your face. Drew glances at Amelia, then back at you, and you can tell he feels a little bad now.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of awkward silence, Drew admits, “When we got dinner and froyo.” He says it so nonchalantly that it takes you a second to process.

“That was a date?!” you whisper-yell, smacking his arm, your jaw practically hitting the floor. “You said it was just dinner!”

“I know!” Drew laughs, his cheeks turning a little pink. “I said that because I thought you didn’t like me back! I was sending out signals!”

“What signals?” you ask, still reeling from the shock. “That’s unfair, you said it was just dinner! I feel so bad—I didn’t know!” You place your hand on his arm, squeezing it apologetically. You’re both laughing now, but you’re also genuinely flustered.

“I did tell you!” Drew protests. “I said, ‘Do you want to have dinner with me?’ And you were like, ‘Are we bringing Madz along?’ And when I said no, you were like, ‘Why?’”

“That is not enough, Drew!” You laugh, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Your PR team is probably dying, but at least this little moment might boost some publicity for the show. You actually remember the video Amelia might be referring to; your assistant had sent it to you a few months back. You found it interesting and even funny because you honestly thought it was just a fan shipping the two of you together—cutting together videos and photos of you and Drew when you were out to eat. You try to recall what that day was like and pick apart whatever signals Drew was referring to, but you really can’t remember anything different from the way he’s interacted with you since you two first met.

You realize the gag has gone on long enough and decide to wrap it up before the awkwardness can escalate further.

“Amelia, I’m so sorry about this,” you say with a dramatic sigh, trying to regain your composure. “Even while confessing his undying love for me, he’s still late. Men, what can you do?”

Drew, still chuckling, wraps an arm around you and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his way of apologizing. You feel a warmth settle over you, even as your mind is still catching up to everything.

The camera flashes pop around you, and suddenly, those TikTok edits of you looking perpetually confused start to make a little more sense.

When the premiere starts, halfway through the screening, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You check your makeup, but instead of heading straight back to the theater, you decide to take a moment. The whole "date reveal" situation has thrown you off more than you realized, and you need a second to process it. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, replaying the interview in your head. You haven't had the chance to talk to Drew about it since, and the thought lingers in the back of your mind. You don’t want another clueless moment to make it into the tabloids.

You wash your hands, fix your makeup, and prepare to head back out. But as you step through the door, you see Drew standing there, waiting.

“Well, look who it is—the jokester,” you say, crossing your arms with a mock grin. “Here to ask me out on another one-sided date?”

Drew smirks, stepping closer. “Huh? What are you talking about? I’m just here to pee,” he teases, nudging your shoulder.

“Not funny,” you mutter, rolling your eyes but feeling a smile tug at the corner of your mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” His smile softens, and for the first time since the red carpet, you can tell he actually feels a little guilty. “I really am.”

“You should be!” You huff, but your tone is playful now, your annoyance melting away as you meet his eyes. "That was so long ago."

Drew takes a step closer, and you suddenly become very aware of the quietness around you. It’s just the two of you now, the noise of the premiere distant, almost forgotten. His gaze flickers to your lips for just a second, and your heart skips a beat.

“Y/N…” He hesitates, like he’s trying to find the right words. “About that second date…”

“You mean actual first date?” you correct him, raising an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool.

Drew pauses, then chuckles softly. “Yeah,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actual first date. What do you think?”

You stare at him, caught off guard. You weren’t expecting him to just put it out there like that. His easygoing nature usually means he hides behind jokes or avoids direct confrontation. But now, with no cameras, no noise—just you and him—he’s being sincere.

“You know,” you say, your voice quieter now, “if you made it clear the first time, I still would’ve said yes.”

Drew’s eyes widen slightly, and a smile slowly spreads across his face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. “Really.”

His grin widens, and there’s something boyishly excited about it, like you’ve just given him the best news of the day. “No froyo this time, I promise.”

“Good,” you laugh. “Because that wasn’t a date.”

“Duly noted.” He steps closer, his hand brushing yours, and this time it doesn’t feel accidental. His fingers curl around yours lightly, the touch sending a spark through you.

“You know, we could leave early,” he suggests, glancing back towards the theater. “Skip the rest of the screening, maybe grab some dinner… somewhere where I make it clear it’s a date.”

You bite your lip, considering it, but your eyes narrow playfully. “And deal with the wrath of our PR teams later? You must love living dangerously.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You make a good point. But I promise, after all the photos, after all the interviews... we’ll do this right.”

You nod, smiling at him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With that, you both walk back into the theater. His hand lingers on yours for a moment longer before he finally lets go, and even as you take your seats for the rest of the screening, the air between you has changed.

You glance at him once more, feeling that familiar warmth return, only this time, it’s not confusing or awkward.

The noise of the film dims around you, though you’re still hyper-aware of the room, the hundreds of eyes on the screen, and the occasional flash from the press in the back. Drew leans back in his seat, arms crossed loosely, but he’s not watching the movie either. Instead, he looks over at you, catching your eye.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and you quickly face forward, pretending to focus on the movie. But then, from the corner of your vision, you feel him move slightly closer. The tension that was always there, that you’d pushed aside so many times, is undeniable now.

After the premiere ends, there’s the usual round of applause and the hum of people slowly rising to leave. Drew stands up first, offering you his hand, and even though you can stand up just fine on your own, you take it. There’s something about that gesture that feels significant—like you’ve crossed a line you didn’t realize you were approaching until now.

You’re both still in work mode, nodding and smiling at the industry people you pass, but the moment you’re outside, the cool night air hitting your face, Drew turns to you, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Alright,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “How do you feel about grabbing that dinner tonight?”

You blink, caught off guard by how fast he’s moving. “Tonight? We just got out of the premiere,” you laugh, though there’s excitement bubbling under the surface. “I know, but if I wait any longer, who knows what crazy schedules we’ll get caught up in again.” He steps closer, his smile genuine, warm. “I’ve waited this long to actually do it right. What’s a few more hours?"

“Alright,” you say, a grin breaking through. “Let’s do it. Dinner—our actual first date.”

His eyes light up. “Great. I know a place.”

The restaurant Drew takes you to is tucked away, quiet and intimate, and you laugh at how quaint it is, most of the other diners are old enough to be your grandparents. You feel comfort knowing most of them don't have phones let alone know who the both of you are. For all they care, you could be two kids coming home from a costume party just ending the night with a bite.

“So,” you say as you both sit down, menus in hand but neither of you really looking at them. “This is what a proper date feels like, huh?”

Drew leans back in his chair, grinning. “Better than froyo, right?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Significantly better.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, the kind where you both just look at each other and realize this is happening—really happening. You’re on a date with Drew, and it’s not some PR stunt or a casual hangout. It’s real. And for the first time, you’re letting yourself want it. "You think they're wondering why we're over dressed?" You hide behind a menu. "Overdressed? Excuse me? This is what I wear everyday." Drew retorts, making you chortle.

“So,” you say, resting your chin on your hand, “What’s the plan after this? Froyo?”

Drew chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He grins, eyes glinting with that same playful energy you’ve always liked. “Well, I’ll make sure tonight’s memorable enough that it overshadows that.”

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[gotta-winwin]

downloading... nana vlogs ep 1 : wishes in wells

[NANAVLOGS𐙚] - Wishes In Wells (우물 안의 소원) EP. 1

word count: 2.3k TW: shit ton of fluff, some hate italics are in english this vlog series is written from the pov of the yt video lol / format might be wonky on phones

Cyana's seen fiddling with the camera lenses, wiping it gently with her sleeve, blocking the view for a spilt second. She smiles, satisfied and waves to the camera.

"Caratdeul~ Hello~" She smiles, excited. "Welcome to Nana's Vlogs! You're surprised right? I'm surprised too. I didn't think I'd get my own series on Seventeen's Youtube channel so soon."

Flipping the camera, she pans across her room. "Cyana's room reveal for the first time~" She laughs shyly from behind the camera as she moved around, showing Carats her living quarters. "I room with Hao but he's not home right now." Flipping the camera back, she gave viewers a cheeky grin. "Today's our day off so I thought I'd turn on the camera and take you guys with me! We're meeting with Seungkwan, Vernon and Dino for a fun day out."

Humming as she walked towards the full length mirror in her room, she flipped the camera to show Carats her outfit. "Outfit of the day! We're wearing a blue flannel to match our jeans and white sneakers so I'll be comfortable walking all day. Okay- let's go!"

Cyana poses for the camera, joined by Seungkwan as he waves a peace sign towards the camera.

"Hi Caratdeuls~" Seungkwan throws an arm causally around Cyana's shoulders. "Our beautiful Cyana's paying for our meal today!"

Cyana frowned, pushing Seungkwan off her and out of frame. "Since when? I didn't agree to that?" Seungkwan could be heard laughing off camera.

Cyana turned to the camera, addressing the viewers. "Guys, don't be fooled. Seungkwan's been lying a lot recently. Must be all the influence from living with Hannie oppa." She muttered the last part, side-eyeing Seungkwan when he let out an indignant hey! "Sorry, Hannie. Don't watch this please."

Turning the camera, Vernon and Dino are seen watching the pair, amused. Pushing the camera close to Vernon's face, the viewers are greeting by an up-close and personal shot of Vernon's eyes and nose.

"Vernon, say hi to Carats." Cyana prompted him, holding back a snicker when she saw Vernon's eyebrows furrow at the strange angle.

"Hi, Carats." Vernon deadpanned, nudging the camera towards Dino. "Dino, say hi to Carats."

Dino waved. "Hi~ We're going to go eat lunch right now." Taking the camera from Cyana, he began conversing to the viewers, throwing TMIs out into the wild. "Seungkwan said he's been craving food from a restaurant we used to frequent as trainees, so we thought we'd bring Nana to show her around. We haven't been back in this neighbourhood in awhile."

"I wonder if the lady running the place still remembers us." Vernon mused, remembering the amount of times she had fed them years ago.

"The food there is soooo good." Seungkwan practically moaned in recalling the memory. He shook Cyana, as if to get the point across. "Soooo good."

Cyana gave him a small smile. "I'm sure it is, Kwan. There's no need to shake me." There was a hint of amusement hidden in her tone.

Dino pulled her next to him, grabbing her arm to loop it with his. "You can walk with me, Nana. I'm much safer."

She snorted at the statement. "Who was it that was making me skip down the street with him last week?"

"Ai~" Dino tried defending himself. "Wasn't that cute though?"

"Our second maknae doesn't want to be cute, Dino." Vernon had a big grin on his face. "She's into being nonchalant."

"Nonchalawhat?" Dino exclaimed, confused. "You can't just spring an English word on me like that." He frowned at the camera when Vernon and Cyana just laughed. Removing his arm from Cyana's hold, he moved to join Seungkwan instead, pouting. "Never mind. I'm walking with Seungkwan."

The restaurant was bustling with energy when the four of them entered, having put on masks before walking in. Cyana had regained possession of the camera and was busy filming the little water fountain and pond they had at the waiting area.

"Wahh~" She marvelled quietly, Seungkwan getting them a table in the background. "This is so cool."

Vernon moved into frame to join her. "We used to make wishes here, before we left."

She turned to look at him, a teasing smile on her face. "Did any of them come true?"

Vernon thought about it before nodding. "I think we all would always wish for success. And to have fans who loved us." He sent an embarrassed look to the viewers. "So I guess our wishes all came true."

"Ooooo." Cyana pointed a finger at him. "Vernon's flustered~" She turned to the camera, as Seungkwan motioned to them that he had gotten them a table. "Only Carats can make Vernon flush like that, y'know. He's so sentimental."

Sitting down, Cyana set the camera in front of her as she opened her menu. Scanning it, her face grew more confused as she read. Poking Dino, who was sat next to her, she hesitantly slid her menu over to him. "I can't understand anything." She mumbled, a little sad.

Dino pouted. "It's okay, I'll read it for you." He scanned the items before looking at her. "What do you want? Rice? Noodles? There's rice cakes too."

She frowned, hesitating.

"You can choose anything." Seungkwan reminded her from behind the camera, sitting on the opposite side of her. "No diet, remember?"

"Noodles, then? Please."

Dino nodded. "Okay." He began listing out the options for her to choose from.

Feeling indecisive, she motioned for him to pick. "Just pick something you'd think I'd like. You've been here before."

Dino frowned. "That's a lot of pressure."

"Get her the Kalguksu." Vernon suggested, knowing Cyana would like the lightness the dish had.

Once ordering, Cyana waved at the camera. "I'm gonna turn the camera off for a bit- sorry~." She gave them a little wink. "We're gonna update each other and we've got a lot of.." She paused trying to find the right words.

"Tea." Seungkwan butted in, proud to showcase a new vocab word Cyana had taught him.

She laughed. "Yes. Tea. Be back soon!"

"Oh! Ajumma!"

Cyana fumbled to turn on the camera as Seungkwan called out to the lady holding their bill. She turned the camera, just in time to catch Seungkwan hugging the elderly woman gently.

"Oh, Seungkwan-ah." The restaurant owner pinched his cheek endearingly. "Wah, you've grown so big. So handsome."

Seungkwan's ears turned pink. He bowed, thanking her. "We needed to come back to have your food again, ajumma. We missed it so much."

She smiled happily at his words. "Oh! Chan! Hansol!"

Cyana watched the interaction with a big smile on her face, heart warmed to see the boys so comfortable and smiling. She assumed they must've all felt like kids again, meeting someone who had fed them with so much love.

"Oh- who's this?" The grandma turned to her, head tilted in confusion.

Cyana passed the camera wordlessly to Dino, bowing in greeting. "Hello, I'm Cyana. Your cooking is delicious, I had enjoyed it so much."

She smiled, thanking her before turning to Seungkwan and whispering, "Is this your girlfriend? Or is it Chan's?" She frowned at Dino before continuing. "You're too young to be dating, Chan-ah."

"Ajumma!" Dino protested. "I'm 20 now."

She seemed surprised at the age. "Already? Well, still. Is this your girlfriend then, Chan? You should've brought her to me sooner." She chided.

Both Cyana and Dino's eyes widened at the assumption. "No, no." Cyana corrected her quickly. "I'm their new member."

The grandmother's eyebrows furrowed. "Hm. Seventeen has a girl member now?"

"Yes, ajumma. She's very talented." Seungkwan replied.

Cyana was touched at how quick he was to defend her.

The grandmother waved her hands at Seungkwan's comment. "Ah, I'm not saying she isn't. I'm sure she is, if she's working with you boys." She turned to Cyana and smiled. "It must be hard, but congratulation! The boys are such lucky people. You are lucky too- they're so sweet, even as kids." She patted Dino's cheek. "This one used to come to me crying whenever he was scolded."

Dino's face flushed. "Ajumma-" He protested once again, whining. "Don't expose me like that."

As they got up to leave once paying, the grandmother pulled Cyana aside, allowing the others to go first. Vernon had possession of the camera now, busy telling Carats childhood memories they had at this place.

"Listen to me, young lady." The grandmother said quietly. "I basically raised most of them, they used to come to me for everything- not just food. Hurt any one of them and I'll learn how to use SNS just to find you." Her narrowed eyes softened when she paused. "But- I suppose if you were to go anywhere, Seventeen is the best place. The boys are very loyal to anyone they love. You will be safe and very lucky with them." Her eyes seemed to go far away as she continued, as if sucked into the past. "They used to make wishes at the fountain- you know the one in the front."

Cyana nodded. "Yes. Ver- Hansol told me."

"I told them the fountain was magical, that the water was connected to a spring up in the mountains that gods had blessed before. They were young and innocent, they would've believed anything I told them." She laughed at the memory. "They'd come and throw a coin in- making a wish with all their might. I wanted it to give them hope, purpose. I doubt they still believe in it now, but back then- some of them used to save up that coin to make a wish instead of spending it on a comic book or a video game. Seungcheol came back a couple years ago when they debuted and told me the fountain had worked, even if he knew I had made up the story. Said I was the one who made it magical. He always had a way with words, that one." She sniffled a bit.

Cyana patted her back, trying to comfort her. "From the way they were all talking about you on the way over here, you did make it magical. They said you got them through it all."

She smiled, patting her arm before letting her go. "Take good care of them. My lucky boys."

"I will." Cyana promised.

Walking to join the others, she noticed Vernon lingering near the fountain. She moved to join him, fishing out a coin from her jacket pocket and handing it to him. "Make a wish."

He let out a laugh. "The camera's with Seungkwan and Dino outside. What are you doing?"

"Not for show." She reminded him, urging him to take it. "Make a wish. Like when you were kids."

Vernon hesitated, taking it before handing it back. "You should do it. I've done it hundreds of times as a kid."

"Are you sure?" Cyana asked.

He nodded. "You'd use it better, I'm sure."

Closing her eyes, she grasped onto the coin tightly, reaching for all the belief she had in the world. A lot of it had died as a kid. Opening her eyes again, she flicked the coin into the water.

"What'd you wish for?" Vernon asked after a beat.

Cyana shrugged. "I'm not supposed to say it out loud or it won't come true."

"I didn't know you still held childish beliefs."

She laughed. "I don't. Just thought I'd allow myself to act like a kid for once."

He nodded. "Okay. Keep your secrets." Pulling her into him, he led both of them out the restaurant, catching up with the others.

"Hello~" Cyana was back in her room now, arriving home after a long day with the others. "Sorry I didn't film much after the restaurant." She said sheepishly, plopping down on her bed. "Dino insisted we go to a playground to 'relive our youth,' so I didn't film much. We had fun though! I'll post some pictures we took on weverse later."

She paused for a moment, trying to remember what it was she had wanted as her outro. "Anyways," She smiled shyly at the camera. "This has been the first episode of Nana Vlogs, I hope you had fun- I know I did."

The door opened from behind her as Minghao stepped in. "Oh-"

"Hao!" She exclaimed. "Perfect. It's so awkward doing an outro by myself." She got up and dragged him closer to the camera. "Say hi and bye to Carats~"

Minghao waved, amused. "Hi Carats~ Did you have fun with Cyana today?"

"They took me to the restaurant next to Samseong Jungang Station. I made a wish at the fountain." She updated Minghao excitedly.

His eyes widened in recognition. "Ohh, the one with ajumma." He smiled fondly down at Cyana, who was grinning happily. "Well, that means you're officially one of us now, if you made a wish."

Cyana nodded. "I have so much to tell you-" She rambled, happy he was finally home. "And I want to know about where you and Jun disappeared off to."

Minghao could only laugh at her enthusiasm. It was rare to see, but he assumed the outing had brought out her childlike self again. "Okay- but first, say bye to Carats."

Cyana flushed. "Whoops." Grabbing the camera and lifting it to eye level, she waved goodbye. "Bye bye Carats~ See you next time!"

....end! cyana will be back in ep 2

౨ৎ ─── ─── ──౨ৎ─── ─── ──౨ৎ─── ─── ──౨ৎ

COMMENTS:

dinonara okay i'm coming around to her uribooo she's so cute! svtvan if having her in svt will give us more content like this im sold ⭒ kpopstan1 right? the interaction w ajumma was so cute! i miss predebut svt haoswife literally only watched this for the 2 minutes of hao at the end menadyou came for maknae line stayed for cyana dinosaurus why is she always clinging to a member tf? ⭒ lachimolala no fr its getting annoying minwoocrumbs did you see 9:54 - why is she here if she can't read korean yukilovesdino dino- my heart wonusglasses she trying way too hard omg ⭒ cyanagotu let her live!! omg!!

author's notes: first nana vlog - complete! hope you guys enjoy! nearly made myself cry writing the ajumma part - old ladies being nostalgic always makes me emotional (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

[king-crawler]

I know you have a Turbo themed playlist with 129 songs in it (well some of them are memes not songs but whatever) but what are your like, MOST Turbo songs? Give us your top 5-10 songs that represents him best.

OH BOY!! IM GLAD YOU ASKED!! ok here are my TOP 10 !!! i totally didnt edit this post like 5 separate times

Full playlist if you’re curious (may contain trash)

Again mostly just vibes but I really really like these if we’re considering Turbo specifically

Mariokart 8 Deluxe - Excitebike Arena

Here’s his silly TurboTime era. He’s so joyous and silly here he would never kill a man

Agent Orange - Bloodstains

This is peak RoadBlasters incident era Turbo. It really fits his “road rage aesthetic” idk LMFAO

Lemon Demon - Cabinet Man

Mandatory cabinet man. This is just his song. Every single lyric applies to him 😭 I like imagining “but there’s this tiny little box in Japan” is him finding out about RoadBlasters and “it’s getting lonely, it’s getting hard to breathe” is after he crashes it. Honorable mention I really like this cover by ANRY L STUDIOS whose videos also inspired the end of my own video :)

TWRP - Phantom Racer

SPEAKING OF ROAD RAGE LOL. THIS SONG IS SO FUN AND HONESTLY TIES 1ST PLACE WITH CABINET MAN.

Not only is every line extremely reflective of his murderous and competitive tendencies but it ALSO PERFECTLY PARALLELS HIS UNDEAD SYMBOLISM ?? WITH HIM BEING GHOSTLY/DEVILISH AND ALL…. AND EVEN HIS INFAMY/haunted legacy with the line “there’s something familiar about that car…” dude.

LAPFOX TRAX - The Queenstons - Terrible Ride

ok i was shy to add this one during my original ranking but it really is a top 10 Turbo song to me shhhh.. I love how nasty and dark the synths are and also the lyrics talking about going fast and the Aforementioned Ride (that is Terrible)

GHOST - cut the act (everything ruined in moments)

I Fucking LOVE this song oh my god it’s so glitchy and fucked up and dramatic and the entire title and even the artist being named “GHOST” just screams Turbo dude I can’t. This is his reveal scene song

Pendulum - Granite

I love dark electronic D&B or whatever the fuck this is it sounds so glitchy and evil this is PEAK TURBOCORE IDC

Oh yeah also the spooky ghost sounds at the beginning are a good touch

APAngryPiggy - Let Me Out

Ok hear me out the first 36 seconds of this one are fucking PEAK TURBO and it even parallels with how he gets burned alive at the end of the movie . then it kinda divulges back into Obvious Fnaf song material but I’m adding it because the intro is just that good. I’m gonna do a backflip

My Chemical Romance - The End.

The “YOU CAN’T SAVE ME” is what really gets me. Turbo was too far gone the moment he felt the spotlight and he lost himself entirely. Fucking tragic and raw song, I cannot get enough of how it channels his anger and his fear of dying hated by everyone.

…

ANYWAYS THANKS FOR ASKING TEEHEE !!!!🌈❤️

BONUS: MaimyMayo - FNF: ARCADE ARCHIVES vs Turbotastic

this is actually the only Real Turbo song (official) and I LOVE it so much its so goddamn catchy

[becauseimanicequeen]

Up Poompat Appreciation Post

This is inspired by this post by @clairedaring which almost physically hurt me because it's so sad.

Therefore, I'm reporting for duty to gush about Up Poompat for a minute or two (or ten) because I want to and because Up is amazing and deserves all the praise I can give him.

There's just something about Up that pulls me in. I haven't previously been able to put my finger on it (I'm more of a visual person rather than a verbal one), but I think his portrayal of Ming in My Stand-In clarifies it for me the more I get to see him in it.

It's the way he portrays depth. There's something deeper, something more that goes on beneath the surface of his characters. And he does it again and again. It's most notable for me in Lovely Writer, Hoon Payon, and Step By Step, which are three very different roles.

And, on the subject of variety. This man can play a multitude of different roles and do it convincingly. It doesn't matter if it's as an introverted writer with a kind heart, an obsessive serial killer, or everything in between. He's believable in all of it. He's just that good.

To think that this loveable cutie in Lovely Writer...

Is played by the same actor as this frustrating, self-absorbed idiot in Step By Step...

Which is played by the same actor who portrays this spoiled rich brat who's always pining after what he can never have, and does so convincingly, speaks to Up's versatility.

(It took me waaaaay too long to find a gif of this particular moment, lol, but I eventually found it here.)

I personally love Up as Ming in My Stand-In (I'm not influenced by the novel, btw) because he's shown over and over again that he can portray a variety of complex characters. And the way he uses contrasts in his acting (I have no idea if there is a technical term for this because I don't know anything about professional acting), the way he has this sweet demeanor at the same time as he delivers the most poisonous line (and, sometimes you don't realize how poisonous that line was until later) is top notch. The same goes for his ability to portray a domestic life with Joe that feels genuine from Ming's side as well (which he did so well in ep 3) at the same time as we know it won't last due to Ming's jealousy (especially around Joe and Sol) and his pining for what he can't have.

Speaking of contrast, there's also the fact that Up was blessed with his angelic face, which just gives me whiplash every time his character turns out to be the complete opposite. He can literally disguise his serial killer tendencies with that angelic face and demeanor and I feel so manipulated (in a good way) when his character's true face is revealed.

And the way he uses his face to portray different emotions and shifts in emotions is amazing.

And then there's Up. As in, the person behind it all. The Up that actually lives up to his angellike face. The Up that's genuinely sweet and funny (which you can see on his YouTube channel, where he's currently posting videos with Poom but also has a lot of older ones with Kao whom he partnered up with in Lovely Writer). And the Up that sang "You are My Sunshine" in the bts of the second episode of My Stand-In. If that's not endearing as hell, I don't know what is.

This is just a fraction of all the things I love about Up (and I could spend days gushing about his chemistry with everyone he's paired up with and worked with), but since I've already spent two hours on this little post (lol), I'll save that gushing for another day.

Just know that I love Up.

[randombush3]

revocate animos (with or without me)

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three, part four

the second half of this part (it didn't fit in one post lol)

words: it's over 14k. i had lots to say.

summary: the final part, which originally had a different ending but i was told it was evil so i changed it.

warnings: it's mainly just sad, there's a bit of smut though

notes: i could give you so many excuses as to why this is being posted now but no one wants to read that so i'll just say sorry x

anyway, i got very lost along the way at points and had some serious plot crises that had me tearing my hair out. i researched children's behaviour to the point of needing an honourory qualification, and i spent the last three hours ignoring my girlfriend while i finished this off.

for as much as i put these two through (and myself tbh), i'm sad to finish it off. BUT ALSO NOW IM FREE.

have fun reading! and sorry about the length of it

London smells of dirty rain and exhaust fumes, of a homelessness crisis and inflation attempting to impersonate that of the Weimar Republic; greyish streets, cracks in the pavement, thousands of spices from all over the world. Grubby patterns, hidden by the smudging of millions of bottoms, coloured poles that used to match the train line but no longer do. You breathe it all in, eyes closed as the motion of the underground jerks you sideways, the train leaving London Bridge just as you left Barcelona. Without looking back. 

You had laughed when they told you they’d send a driver to get you from the airport. The luxury of some shiny black car held no appeal when compared to the familiar Northern line, its blackened route well-travelled and your own brick-road home. 

Part of this choice to ‘slum it’ is borne of your desire to return to the past; a time before the fame and the fortune, when camera flashes came from your parents’ Sony Cyber-shot and not paparazzos with a hunger to splash you across the front page of a slimy gossip magazine. There was no Alexia, then. The extent of Spanish in your life was Anya studying for her A-levels, and you’d spend time writing songs without it feeling like pulling teeth. Without having to relive some of the worst moments of your life. 

Those hadn’t happened yet.

God, you were so naive then back then. 

Your London shows are in Wembley. Two nights, two journeys through your album, through your heartbreak. Both are sold out. 

“See it, say it, sorted,” you mouth along to the voice, pushing the handle of your suitcase upwards, rising from your seat. The doors of the tube swoosh open, the yellow line of the platform attacking your tired eyes as Highgate station is revealed to you. You hear a whisper of ‘is that Y/n L/n?’ but you don’t turn around. 

The wheels of your suitcase gurgle against the bumpy pavement leading up to your house, but they grow quieter as you approach. They must sense the tension, glad to have the smoother surface of your driveway to move across as you force yourself to continue walking forwards. 

A woman is standing on your porch. Her body swivels around as she hears you stop just behind her. 

Leah takes in the sight of you, deciding that you definitely did not enjoy Barcelona. “I was just about to ring the doorbell, but I guess you wouldn’t have answered the door anyway,” she says with an awkward chuckle, not sure if you want to talk about how rough you look. You cried the entire flight, and refused to contact anyone once you had landed, hoping they assumed your plane had crashed and you had drowned somewhere in the English Channel. 

“I got here in the morning.” Your voice is unused. It croaks, shattered. 

“Let me get your bag?” asks Leah, rather firmly, leaving you no room to decline her request before she has stepped off the porch and into your personal space. She looks up at you, wondering how you manage to look so beautiful even now, hand blindly reaching out for the hard shell of your suitcase as she stares. “How’re Nico and–” 

Your lips silence her before she is finished. Leah freezes, surprised this is the moment you have chosen to kiss her.

But she misses you as soon as you pull away. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and she cringes at the self-loathing that drips from your words. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you are unsure whether it falls because you have kissed her or because you want to kiss her again. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

You must have argued with Alexia. Leah’s realisation weighs heavy on her heart. Something has to have happened for you to have made your move, because Leah had been starting to accept the idea that you were still in love with your ex and she was nothing more than a friend. She had been looking forward to your concert tonight, in all honesty, and was excited to see you again, glad to have you in her life in any way, shape, or form.

“Because,” she starts hesitantly, “because you didn’t like it? Or…” 

“Leah.” 

“If you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Leah,” you repeat, the vowels almost failing to drop from the tip of your tongue. This is a dangerous game, but the look in Leah’s blue eyes tells you that she is happy to play it. “Leah, I… I shouldn’t have kissed you?” 

“Is that a question?” 

You blink. “I’m not sure.” 

“If it’s a question, I’d say that the answer is the opposite. And that we should go inside.” She slides her hand over the metal handle of your suitcase, warm skin covering your fingers where your grip is still curled around it. “But only if you want to.” 

Do you want to? 

You value your friendship, you really do; Leah has been there for you many times since you met her, never asking too many questions. She means something more than what you crave from her, and doesn’t deserve to be the woman you use to detach yourself from reality. 

But Leah is looking at you with desire that has been missed, relentlessness promised by her toned muscles. Leah is looking at you as though you are the only star in the galaxy or the sun on a rainy day. Leah is looking at you like she wants to devour you, and you, with no soul left to give, resign to letting her have your body.

“This won’t change anything, right?”

It’s a mean question. You know that. 

“Course not,” Leah lies. 

You let it convince the both of you. 

Pink glitter covers the dining table at one end, and shiny green stars are scattered on top of the brown grain of the wood on the other.

“She might be at soundchek,” Alexia explains to Nico, who is finished with his Mother’s Day creation and is now intent on FaceTiming you to show you the card he has made. “And cards are supposed to be a surprise. That’s why we made envelopes!” 

“But you said my card should be put in a museum,” he replies with a frown, his nose crinkling in confusion just as yours does. “So we show her now.” 

“Mi amor, that’s not how it works,” laughs Alexia, reaching out to ruffle his hair. With Elena settled comfortably on her healthy knee, gleefully pushing piles of glitter around so that it mixes with the glue smeared on her card, it is safe to say that this year’s cards are going to be successes. “Mama has promised to call when she gets home, and you can tell her that you have a surprise for her. That will build up the excitement, and make it even better when she gets to open it.” 

Your son has become a cynic. “And when will that be?” 

“Mother’s Day is on the 19th, so we have three days to wait.” You have purposely chosen a chartered route to Tokyo that flies via Barcelona so that you get to spend the day with your children before your fortnight in Asia to end the first half of the tour. “Do you want to write the words out for Lela once the glue has dried?” 

“I don’t know what Lela wants me to say,” he explains with great concern, turning to his sister with a very serious expression. He speaks to her in English, because he knows that this card is for you. He understands that there are two Mother’s Days, though he thinks it’s because he has two mothers, and that Alexia’s day is in May. When Alexia opens her mouth to speak, Nico is quick to shut her down. “Calla, Mami, no sabes nada de inglés.”

Your legs slam together but find no available route with Leah’s body in between them. 

It feels… good. 

Liberating.

You haven’t brought her into your bed, which she notices but doesn’t comment on. It’s excusable to be on the sofa, to have stayed downstairs for the hours she has spent trying to make you feel better, because the clock has only just ticked its way to lunchtime. You laugh to yourself at the thought of that, amused by the notion that you have already eaten.

Leah is curious when it comes to you. That much you had expected, having been aware of her lingering gazes long before the sores on your heart had calloused into tougher muscle. She has been waiting for this resiliently, and you present yourself to her as though you are a new toy she finally gets to play with. She kisses you slowly at times, to memorise the warmth of your tongue or the jut of your chin, but she often grows impatient, wanting nothing more than to end her torture and find out what it is like. 

What is it like to have a woman like you? To wake up next to you, kiss you, touch you? 

How does your mind work? What do you smell like just after getting out of the shower? Does your accent ever slip, or is it really that posh? 

The air in the living room is hazy now, and your eyes close in bliss as you let your sweat seep into the grainy fabric of your white sofa. Leah doesn’t crawl into your open arms as you assume she will. 

She wipes her mouth. 

Although Leah has enjoyed this very much, she knows that this instance has not been you allowing her to start to love you. It has been for her to help you forget how much pain you are in. Somewhere deep down, she cares, but she doesn’t try to search for the emotion.

“So,” she says with a giggle, as if you are two teenage girls, best friends who have decided to kiss so that they can practise for the real thing, “do I need to send an apology present to your makeup artist?” Sitting back on her knees, she swipes one hand down to pluck her t-shirt from the floor, pulling it on top of her naked body before sending you an exaggerated smirk and prodding the developing bruise on your neck.

“Fuck,” you groan, batting her hand away. “I completely forgot I had that thing tonight.” You also need to call your children before Alexia bans your name from her household (if that hasn’t happened already). 

“That ‘thing’ being your concert at Wembley?” 

“I’d have thought selling out Wembley is the norm for you now, Captain,” you tease, clearing your throat. “England have done it, Champions of Europe for the very first time.” 

“You’re freakishly good at a commentator’s voice.” 

“Gotten used to being my own commentator. Only Spanish streams in my house – even United matches!” You smile at your own frustration but it quickly sours as awkwardness drops on top of you. You bring your arms up to cover your bare chest, but Leah clears her throat with softened eyes and you no longer feel so exposed. 

You feel safe.

“What happened in Barcelona?” You shake your head at her question. “That bad, huh?” she presses. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you tell her, grey clouds hanging over you as your voice darkens and lowers. “Like, at all.” 

“I think you should. It’s better it comes out now than later when you’ve had lots to drink and no idea who you’re ranting about it to, isn’t it? And it’s just me; I’m not going to judge you.” 

“But you know her. You know her friends.” Your hands move to cover your face. Leah can have your body, but you don’t want her to have your tears. “Thank you for caring, babe, but I think I’m going to handle this one on my own.” 

“Well, you know that–” 

“You’re always a phone call away.” You smile, tears sucked back inside you, bottled away in glassware you store in crates labelled ‘VERY FRAGILE’. Desperate to change the subject, you adjust your position on the sofa, sitting up. Leah tries very hard not to stare at the curves of your chest. “You know, Lee, I never thought you’d be that good in bed.” 

…

Alexia is in desperate need of advice. 

Her muscles contract and relax, the tissues pulling on her bone, which, in turn, pulls her. She is strung along, driven perhaps by her leap in recovery and impending comeback. She almost breaks out into a jog, but the church she has dragged herself to comes into view before she can gain speed. 

She had not expected this from herself. 

It’s nothing special to her, though she will admit that the architecture of the building does hold some sense of divinity, but the heavy wooden door is propped open and she is drawn inside. 

The Sacrament of Reconciliation, Fridays, 17.00-17.30. 

Alexia checks her watch, the golden links gleaming on her wrist, catching the sunlight that filters in through the glass windows. 

She catches a glimpse of white behind the doors of the Confession booth, becoming acutely aware of how empty the church is. The curtain has been pulled back, bunched to the left-hand side carefully, as though the previous handler had moved with peace. 

It can’t be that bad, can it? 

It’s just like therapy. 

Her feet carry her forwards once more, leading her into the wooden booth. It smells old. The cushion she kneels on is blue, she thinks, but she cannot tell because it goes dark once she pulls the curtain shut. 

Alexia is not a religious person. Sure, she signs the cross before stepping onto the pitch, and, like most people she knows, she is baptised, but her faith is limited to that. When she tore her ACL, she spent evenings trying to pray, trying to force her to believe in Him. It would have been comforting to know that someone had a plan for her, was watching over her carefully with the knowledge of how it was going to play out. It was to no avail. 

But somehow she knows what to say, and so she does. 

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She recites the words like lines from a play, head bowed in shame as she writes her next sentences in her mind. “This is my first and, probably, my last confession.” 

Silence. 

She rests her hands in her lap, shuffling around to ensure she is not pressing down on her knee in any way that is harmful. It would kill her to have to push back her return to the pitch because of some stupid thing she has spontaneously chucked herself into. 

“I messed up.” She laughs. “No, that is actually an understatement. I know this is a church and I really shouldn’t swear, but I fucked up. Father, I had Heaven in my hands and I threw it away as though it were meaningless. Was it greed? Was it greed that led me to do it?” 

“Do what, my daughter?” 

The priest sounds younger than she’d thought he would be. 

“I had an affair with a woman whom I am certain I do love a little bit, but, by doing that, I destroyed a life that was perfect. Was it greed?” 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“Was it temptation?” Alexia tries again, desperately. Part of her yearns for the priest to tell her it was the Devil so that she can shed the responsibility. “I love my wife. More than anything, I love her. I do not think my own life is worth living if it is not in service to her, to our children, to the smile she reserves for her favourite people. I… I didn’t attempt it, but I thought about killing myself.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “Only once, but I thought it all the same. My sister called me selfish.

“It’s just – forgive me – fucked, isn’t it? I got carried away. I got lonely, I was alone. I craved something to make me forget, to pinch the gaping hole in my life shut. I relied on it to make me feel better, and it did for a time. But now it has made me feel much, much worse.

“And I am sorry! I am so, so sorry. I have grown sick of the word; I’ve used it so much that it holds no meaning anymore. It doesn’t do my regret justice, nor my quest for forgiveness, and I’m really on that quest, Father, I want to stress that to you. I lost my temper and said things I should not have said – things I don’t even believe – but I did not mean them then, and I do not mean them now.” 

“You are not religious,” accuses the priest, very gently. His voice washes over Alexia’s ears like a wave of warm saltwater from the Mediterranean, and she feels comfortable enough to swim into the expanse in front of her. “Our God is forgiving, but it is not His forgiveness that you seek. I cannot give you a prayer that will make her absolve your sins, because our holy words are not spells.” 

“Father,” croaks Alexia. As her lips part, she tastes the saltwater of the sea, dripping down her cheeks as though the tide has come in and there is no other option than for her to be flooded. “Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” 

The priest speaks, but she assigns the voice to someone else. 

The first thing you forget about a person is what their voice sounds like. It lingers like a feeling you can’t quite name; distant, distorted, enhanced by fantasy.

Alexia does not remember her father’s voice. 

The realisation is crushing. 

She knows his words – they are her prayers – but, like Catholics do not know the voice of their God, she can no longer hear the voice of hers. 

What would her father say if he saw her like this? On her knees in a Confession booth, backed against the wall with nowhere to hide?

This is not the girl he was proud of. Alexia, of course, is not that eighteen-year-old anymore; she hasn’t been for a decade. But, recently, the legacy of that unknown Levante player has disappeared. 

Alexia is so very lost. 

She does not know where she is in her own city. In her home. 

She does not know her place in her life, much less her place in yours – if you will still grant her one. 

She has not felt the thrill of football for months, has driven herself to Hell and back, and considered giving up enough to be on the brink of actually doing it. 

She has seen countless meals hit the water of her toilet, never digested, never deserving of the very thing that keeps her alive. 

She has counted your sacrifices, memorising the digits of an ongoing figure so that she can punish herself with the knowledge. 

She has tried to forget English, tried to improve her English, and taken vows of silence. 

She has cried and cried and cried until the only thing left for her to excrete is her hot, red blood. 

She has searched for a way out of the maze. She has failed every time. 

Alexia is lost without you, and she knows it. Everyone knows it, perhaps even you yourself. Do you revel in that fact? Do you enjoy it? 

You have a right to watch her suffer. You do, you do, you do. 

Alexia runs a hand through her damp hair, sweating as she sobs in the booth next to some stranger who she will never meet again. Her mouth is dry but her cries are wet and raw, and they scrape her throat as she chokes them out, losing her breath and falling silent only to catch it and begin again. The cushion burns her knees as though she is trapped in an inferno, the darkness blazing against her skin. 

The priest talks to her for a long time, not letting her leave until she has calmed down. She sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her palm before softly pressing her thumbs to her blotchy cheeks to clear the final tears from them. 

When he is finished, he instructs her to take a few deep breaths, which she does. “You are not entitled to her forgiveness,” he reminds her. He begins the Prayer of Absolution – he insists for the sake of closure – and Alexia walks away from the church no more than five minutes later. 

She is still stuck in the maze, but she has restored that voice in her head that she knows will help her find her way out.

…

“So you went to church?” Olga asks with an amused smile, taking the first sip of her latte, relishing in the gentle burn of the liquid. She needs this coffee; she stayed up late last night because she knew Alexia has been struggling. There is nothing worse than being asleep when Alexia calls her for help. 

“I have no idea how I ended up there,” Alexia explains, somewhat defensive about yesterday’s catharsis. “Confession is way better than therapy. There is too much accountability in therapy.” 

“You have a lot to account for.” 

She huffs out a breath, taking a sip of her own drink. “I know, Olga, but I cannot change the past, so what would you like me to do?” Olga doesn’t reply. The brunette parts her lips, but promptly closes her mouth when she sees Alexia’s slight discomfort. “Mama wants you to come to dinner tonight. I… I do too.” 

Olga’s smile is big and genuine. “I’d love that,” she answers. “Eli is the best cook out of our friends’ parents. Everyone knows that.” 

You’re in London, childless, and are watching the grand old Arsenal play (reluctantly, forced to by Leah if anything). Alexia has seen the pictures of you at the match on Instagram; she has already felt the frustration that you are most-likely never going to watch Barcelona play again unless it is to support the other team. Like clockwork, Alexia seeks to fill the gaping hole you have left in her life. Somewhere, somehow, the lines of friendship between her and Olga have blurred. 

…

It takes just over a month for Leah to crack. 

You appear in London every two weeks, attending meetings and events, but she has decided, once and for all, to see through your excuses. You come to London for her. She knows that, and so do you. Leah’s ego has not reached a size where she believes she is enough for you, but the facts (and Lia Wälti) tell her she is wrong. 

Except, what Leah tends to leave out is that no matter how many times you let her sleep with you, she still is unable to access a certain part of your mind. 

She has never been upstairs in your house because you always prefer to go to her place in St. Albans. She has never slept in your bed, nor woken up next to you. 

You talk to her like she is still the same old Leah, the captain you befriended during the tournament of her lifetime, your entrance in her life intertwined with the ecstasy of winning the Euros. She closes her eyes and thinks of how you looked that summer; white England shirt, sunglasses pulled down over your eyes. Smiling, cheering. For her, she greedily claims to herself.

Sometimes, in her mind, you lift your sunglasses – you always seem to be crying when she pictures this – but Leah is only vaguely familiar with the timeline of your divorce. This is the issue.

There is a door that you have locked and refuse to let Leah find the key. It leads to heartbreak, to Nico and Elena, to a family you once had. 

“I wish you would let me in,” Leah says one day. (The day she cracks.) She tears her ACL two days prior, something that makes you feel guiltily nauseous, and you have come to visit her. She knows that you had flown over the minute you had swapped custody with Alexia. 

Your legs curl into your chest as you try to reduce the amount of space you are taking up on Leah’s sofa, cautious of her injured knee. Leah misses the warmth of your thighs, and wants to revoke her conversation starter instantly, pained that she has to even ignite the fire of this forbidden topic. “What do you mean?” comes your quiet reply, unwilling to disturb the peace of her living room. The peace of existing side-by-side. 

“Exactly what I said.” Leah nods to emphasise her agreement with herself. “I wish you would let me in, because how do you expect me to love you if I don’t know you?” 

She sees the bullet fly through the air; she sees the moment it hits you, the way you go rigid. Dead. Dying? 

“It’s crazy because it usually takes years for me to feel about someone the way I feel about you, and I just… I just wanted to tell you that it’s okay to let me in. I want to hear everything, to know everything.” 

“Oh.” What had you expected when you kissed her? “Oh, Leah.” 

“You don’t have to apologise.” She assigns your guilt, the tears in your eyes, to your distance. Perhaps you hadn’t realised, perhaps it is a coincidence Leah has never slept in the bed you used to share with Alexia. Maybe you are unaware that Leah has never heard you speak Spanish, and doesn’t know a single thing about your life in Barcelona. 

You’re a busy person, after all. 

“No, no,” you dismiss quickly, shaking your head. Leah can’t help but wonder if the paranoid voice in her head is right; has she been reading too much into this? “Fuck, I am such a twat.” 

But you don’t elaborate further, asking how she’s feeling, distracting her from your realisation about her realisation. Before Leah knows it, you are making her laugh harder than she has in a month, and soon, like most good things, your visit comes to an end. 

Returning to Barcelona is a little weird. 

You feel as though you have done nothing but check over your shoulder the entire journey, staring the past straight in the eye and wishing you could change it. 

You hadn’t meant to make her fall in love with you. (But she has. Oh, she has.) 

This week’s swap is no different; the same park as usual, the same pleasant weather to undergo an unpleasant task. 

On the bench usually occupied by Olga, a different, blonder head comes into view. 

“Irene?” you ask in surprise, wondering if she has been sent in Olga’s stead or just so happens to have brought Mateo, her son, to the very same park. You sit down beside her, somewhat pleased to not see Alexia’s henchwoman today. “Where’s the free childcare?” 

The defender’s eyes narrow, as though she is debating whether or not she should tell you. 

Irene has known Alexia for a long time, and, by extension, has known you for a long time too. She is calm, level-headed, and mature, much like Alexia. Except Irene hasn’t ever thought to cheat on her wife. 

You are clearly in a lot of pain, and you have a right to be; Irene does not rise to your comment. “Olga has gone on holiday,” she states with practised neutrality. 

“Ah, they’ve broken up.” 

Eyebrows raised, she turns to you, breaking her line of sight that encompasses Nico, Mateo, and Elena. The playground is small enough, and very safe. “They were never together.” You wait patiently for her analysis of whatever the fuck was going on between them. “Olga said she wasn’t what Alexia needed. She’s on holiday with Carla, and I guess she is quite upset.” 

“And Alexia?” You know Irene does not like to gossip, nor stir the pot. So you can be nosy about how she is doing. 

“I think her ego was bruised, but she sees Olga’s point. She has been… better recently. She’s focused on getting back onto the pitch, and Jona is only saying good things about it.” Irene’s eyes brighten at the thought of her captain’s recovery, and her tone soars through the air. The entire team has worried for Alexia, spending their own nights tossing and turning, wondering if the old version of her will ever return. “I know you two don’t speak, but if you did, you’d get a glimpse of what it was like before.”

You can’t help your smile, and Irene does not make you feel pathetic for wearing it. “Good.” 

“I heard you were in London?” 

“Visiting a… friend.” Irene is not a gossip, you remind yourself. “I think I might have to stay in this country for a bit and let things cool down over there.” 

She chuckles. “Whose heart have you broken?” She won’t tell Alexia, when Alexia inevitably asks about you, that you are seeing someone. Not that you have confirmed that to her. 

“I’m yet to break it,” you tell her, sighing, “but I know I will, and that is much, much worse.”

“Hey, at least you have two weeks of being endlessly busy to keep your mind off it.”

Children change a lot in two weeks, so Irene then launches into an update on school, clubs, and everything else. She gets the information from Alexia, of course, who writes out a list every time you switch over. No one has ever handed you the piece of paper before, worried that her handwriting will be an unnecessary reminder of the pain she has caused you, but, for some reason, Irene does today.

You are not put off by the swirling Spanish in front of you, instead choosing to study it. You have spent hours in Alexia’s lap as she scrawls out football notes upon football notes, scribbling prompted by footage or, freakishly, her own memory. From the lightness of the indentations of the pen, you figure that Alexia is exhausted. From the half-finished sentences, you decide that she was rushing when she wrote this. 

But, as much as you delight in your brief analysis of the evidence in your palms like Sherlock Holmes solving a mystery, you can’t ignore just how greatly you have missed the letters that swim between the lines (and the hand from which they were written). 

Irene spares you your dignity by standing from the bench and checking on the children just as your tears begin to fall. 

…

You take one last look in the mirror embedded in the sun visor, ensuring your hair is perfectly in place and your earrings match your cream, sleeveless turtleneck to poise you just between casual and smartly-dressed. A quiet grumble from the backseat draws your attention away from your reflection, though your last glimpse at your concealed eyebags and red-rimmed irises leaves you feeling a little dejected and mourning the days you’d actually get some sleep. (Or wouldn’t, smoking cigarettes on the balcony while talking Alexia’s ear off.) 

“Mama, we go,” decides Elena with a huff, tugging on the buckle of her car seat. 

It’s Nico’s first-ever recital tonight. 

He started playing the piano in September, when his teacher at school had mentioned how he boasted to the children in his class that he was a musician: ‘if I am Catalan because my mami is Catalan, then I am musician because my mami is musician’. You felt guilty. His teacher says he is naturally talented, voice lacking surprise but praiseful nonetheless, and is proud to name Nico his youngest student at tonight’s show. 

The bouquet of daisies you ask Elena to hold makes her look like a miniature carnival float, and she toddles into the venue by your side while you do mental gymnastics between the knowledge that Alexia will be here tonight and the nerves for your son’s performance. It’s nothing complicated, but you worry he will hate it. This is the only thing he does that is a nod towards you; his one deviation from his worship of Alexia. 

“Mami!” squeals the walking flowers as soon as you make it to the half-full hall. You direct your gaze to the three rows your daughter refers to, every seat lined with either professional footballers or family. With a sudden rush of blood to your head, you feel out of your depth.

You’re not sure whether the hazel eyes that find yours help or worsen that. 

“Keep it moving,” you mutter firmly, holding her hand so she does not make a break for it and tumble right over to the cohort of FC Barcelona and Seguras. Not wanting to get too close to them, you take your seat in the penultimate row, knowing Nico will not be able to see you over the grand piano set up on the stage wherever you sit. “You can talk to her later, sweetheart.” 

She is in an obedient mood, most-likely intimidated by the tension in the air. You tell yourself it’s the stress radiating from the line of performers sitting on the front row. Nico stands on his chair, waving first to Alexia and then to you (it’s your turn with them so you are a lot less exciting right now), before he is lightly scolded by his teacher and the first child walks up the steps and onto the stage. 

Five uninspiring children later, Nico is finally led up onto the stage. His teacher sits down on the piano stool and nudges him forwards. He smiles brightly at the room. You reciprocate, encouraging Elena to do the same to keep her engaged with an admittedly boring event. 

“Bona nit a tothom! Jo sóc en Nicolau i tinc quatre anys i ara aniré a tocar ‘Brillia Brillia Estel Petit’.” The audience melts before him. “Mama, that means ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’,” he whispers loudly. 

You send him a thumbs up. He sends you a grin back, before giggling as he climbs onto the piano stool beside his teacher. 

Situated comfortably, feet dangling adorably far away from the pedals, his chubby, little fingers hit the ivory keys once, then twice. 

You pray this goes well. 

It does. 

He plays with two hands, something you hadn’t expected, and Elena holds in her noisy yawn until after he is finished so she must have been invested in the performance. Your own hands sting after you clap with such prideful force that you are the loudest in the room, and the hoots and hollers from Alexia’s territory only make Nico even happier as he bounces down the steps and back to his seat to wait for the others to do their pieces. 

After the recital has finished, you walk down the aisle separating the seats in half to get to Nico, daughter-less courtesy of a squadron of football-playing kidnappers. 

“How was that?” you ask him smugly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “I knew you would be brilliant, even when you were scared you weren’t going to be. Do you know how proud I am of you?” 

“This much?” He holds his hand about thirty centimetres apart. “Mami says this much.” 

When he widens his hands, you gesture something even bigger. 

“‘Immensely’ is the word I would use.” 

“Im-men-lee?” 

“Es que nuestro orgullo llena una casa sin techo. Hasta el cielo.” 

“Up to the sun,” you amend, ignoring the way the voice has made you stiffen. You don’t read too much into her misuse of the collective pronoun. There is no ‘our’ in ‘affair’.

Alexia’s hand hovers by your waist for a moment, muscle memory getting the better of her before she draws it back into her body. Nico gives her a matching hug, telling her how much he has missed her. 

You try not to blame yourself for his derailed childhood. 

“You were amazing, petit,” Alexia says, picking him up with one strong arm and settling him on her hip. You grip the wrapper of the bouquet you are holding. “Did Mama get you a gift?” 

He peers at the daisies in your hand with curiosity. Shaking his head, his confusion deepens as he studies the bouquet you are extending towards him. “They are for Mami? Flowers are for love.” 

“I love you,” you tell him, not trying to make a point but instinctively prickling in the presence of Alexia.

The silence is awkward. 

A few metres away, whilst entertaining the sleepy toddler on her lap, Mapi is excitedly talking to Alba. “Y/n hasn’t killed her yet,” says the defender with glee, one of your admirers. The team respected you before, never questioning their captain’s judgement nor family, but when word got out about the affair amongst the older girls, most of them began to see you as more than Alexia’s wife. A new layer to your character was revealed; you are a strong, independent, and successful woman. Football nerds sometimes forget success comes in more forms than blaugrana kits. “They made such a beautiful couple.” 

“They did.” Alba watches as you talk to your son, your eyes actively avoiding the woman in front of you. “Our mother has sent Alexia over there to invite her to dinner. It killed me to see her sit alone.” 

You are too used to the feeling of eyes on you that you no longer notice the weight of people’s stares, but, if this were not the case, you would know that most of the heads attached to the bodies sitting in Alexia’s rows had been swivelled towards you for majority of the recital. Pity is never a desired emotion to have offered to you, but the Barça girls can’t help but feel that way whenever they see your forehead crinkle in an attempt to understand Catalan, presuming you only speak Spanish as you have more than enough on your plate. (And, as most of the players will admit, your children speak better English than them, so one can only assume that it is your main method of communication.)

“She’s a very good mother,” Mapi comments with a small nod, sucking a sharp breath in as she begins to sympathise with you even more. Not a day goes by where she witnesses the suffering Alexia’s idiocracy has caused – as Ingrid, her girlfriend, knows very well – and does not fail to scream in frustration about her best friend’s stupid mistakes.

“She’s a very good person.” 

They fall silent as they see your head tilt up, jaw clenching as Alexia begins to speak to you. 

“Can you hear what she’s saying?” whispers Eli to her daughter, equally invested in the conversation. “I knew I should have sent you; Alex is too socially awkward.” 

“Mami, she is talking to her wife,” replies Alba, though she remembers what happened the last time Alexia and you had spoken and the outcome of that. Maybe that commences her increasing agreement with her mother… “I guess you– Are they coming over here?!” 

Even you seem surprised by how your legs carry you towards the Barcelona clan, a step behind Alexia and Nico. Hesitant would be an understatement, but most of them are too preoccupied with congratulating the four-year-old they have come to watch to notice your tight-lipped smile and trembling hands. 

“Hola,” you say shyly. 

Eli pulls you into her strong embrace without missing a beat. “Te he echado de menos, hija.” 

You try very hard not to burst into tears. 

They take you to dinner; a plan you had known about but not envisioned yourself included in. Although it’s your fortnight, Alexia (through the conduit of Alba) had previously arranged to drop Nico and Elena over to yours before midnight. 

You blow off your FaceTime call with Leah.

The restaurant is on the lower level of fine-dining. It’s chic, but it does not make your children feel unwelcome. The table is set for five places, though Alba informs you that the reason for this is because the reservation was made before she broke up with her girlfriend. 

“Mama, what are you going to eat?” asks Nico, slipping back into his old life seamlessly, mixing his English with the Spanish he knows everyone can understand, his legs swinging underneath the table with an enthusiastic energy. He is still too young to pick up on how far apart his parents are sitting, or how you refuse to let your eyes linger on Alexia’s tanned skin, far too much of it shown off by the tank top she sports in the humidity of the busy restaurant. 

You glance around the room, searching for those who have recognised you. Under the weight of at least four curious stares, you motivate yourself to enjoy your meal. 

“Not sure yet, babe,” you answer. “Alba, do you fancy sharing something?”

“Yeah, of course.” The younger Putellas smiles. Alexia knows who has lost the war.

Dinner passes with light conversation centred on very neutral topics. No man’s land is clearly the children, and you had never expected to be so desperate to continue a conversation about school lunches until the other options are how Alexia had an affair with her teammate or that your song with her favourite singer is topping the charts and explicitly about being cheated on. 

Although you and Alexia both watch how many times your wine glasses are refilled, Alba lets loose, as does Eli (probably to ease the stress on her heart that her girls force upon her). Their cheeks redden and Nico begins to yawn, Elena already curled into your side halfway between dreams and reality. 

“Should we head out?” you ask it to the table, but the only functioning person is Alexia, really, and so you close your eyes to avoid having to make eye contact. 

“I should probably get Mama and Alba into a taxi.” 

“If you call one for them, I will call one for us?” Your suggestion is instinctive; an old habit reminiscent of many similar nights, back when there was love and happiness and a relationship that didn’t feel like walking on a floor made of broken glass. “Or did you drive here?” 

“No, but you drove,” comes Alexia’s reminder. Internally, you face-palm. Parking the car before dinner seems like years ago; something feels different now. “But if you don’t feel up to it, I could drive you home. I haven’t had much to drink and I have nothing else planned for tonight. Elena is practically in a coma anyway.” 

You laugh – a softened version of it so as to not rouse the dead weight of your daughter. 

“Are you sure?” 

It’s late.

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

I don’t care. 

“Mama,” Alba slurs, pulling her mother in close. “The saint has given her sinner a second chance.” 

It may not be as quiet as she thinks it is. Alexia, occupied, is deaf to the comment. You are not.

This is not a second chance. 

This is a lift home. 

The last time all four of you sat in a car together was the day you found out about Alexia’s affair. 

You had suffered then – are still suffering now – but your anger was hot and sharp and new. Fresh wounds. 

Now, though more scabbed-over than healed, those wounds no longer seem to gush blood; you entertain Alexia’s stiff small-talk. 

She asks about the tour, never veering too far off the road of practicality and shared custody. When does it resume? Which has been your favourite show? 

“Wembley is like playing El Clásico in Camp Nou,” she determines, not needing to ask about that because she knows you too well. 

Your memories of the London shows involve a naked Leah Williamson. (If only she knew that!) 

“Yeah, London was great.”

Awkwardness is part of Alexia’s personality; something you are fairly certain you still love. She is shy, though it perhaps comes off as stoicity, and she has never been good at making conversation. You know she hates it, and you know that her eyes, Alexia’s eyes, are gazing at you every time she thinks you are not looking. 

She is weary about the desire darkening her pupils, but she does not do well to hide her hunger nonetheless. 

“Go into the carpark,” you instruct as you approach your building.

Wordlessly, she presses the correct pin into the pin-pad, never having forgotten it. 

She parks the car beside a new-looking Mercedes. It’s not a car for children, and she imagines it reeks of cigarettes – there is no way you have stopped smoking. 

It belongs in the carpark; in your little world of celebrities and male footballers; of money and fame and fortune. (One could argue you lack the latter, what with your current situation.) Alexia’s life has never moulded with yours. 

Perhaps it never will. 

Perhaps she slept with Jenni because they are equals, you think. Because Jenni understands Alexia in a way you cannot. 

“Mami,” cries a quiet voice from the backseat. You stop staring at the grey, concrete walls, snapping back to reality as Alexia shifts to turn her attention to the source of the whimpering. “No quiero que te vayas.” 

“Lela, me tengo que ir.” 

“Pero–” 

“You could always come up to say goodnight to them?” 

It starts off innocently. 

Of course it does. Of course you are nowhere near forgiveness, more likely to forget about the crushing affair before you excuse any of her actions. Sometimes, you wish for amnesia. Sometimes, you refer to the tab open in Safari – ‘is there a drug that makes you forget?’. 

Alexia is granted a tuck-in and a story for each child, glad that their rooms are separate so that her time in her home is prolonged. The walls are familiar, the floor is the same. There are new pictures in new frames, but the old ones have not been removed. If you had ever wished to take photographs of your relationship down, you have never acted on it. 

She realises you must not spend a lot of time here alone. Maybe you cannot bear it. Maybe your life in London is more important to you than she had thought. 

Anyway, for as much as she subtly noses around and draws out the night, she has no intention of overstaying her welcome, sure that she probably did that the minute she stepped inside. 

In fact, she is on her way out, under the assumption that you will not want to speak to her.

“So you’re back to playing?” 

“Sí.” 

A doorway conversation. 

You’re English. You’re very polite. Alexia knows this, tries to not get her hopes up. 

“Does that mean you don’t want a taste of this ‘97?” You hold the bottle up to her, the cork lying on the granite worktop with the incriminating suggestion that you have already had a glass. 

“We play the day after tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Ale, this is a good one.” 

How many times have you said that to her before? The same tone, the same look in your eye; red tinting your lips, one hand on a lighter because you smoke when you’re drunk, even if you refuse to touch the cancer-sticks when you are sober. 

“Was this a gift?” she asks, drawn into your magnetic field like a flimsy paper clip; thin, worn metal trying to piece the pages of her life back together. “Or have you been making ridiculous purchases again?” 

“I can assure you that it is not ‘ridiculous’.” You moan in delight as you take a sip from a glass you subsequently hand over to her. “Gosh, that is divine, and you are simply going to dissolve when you taste it.” 

Dissolve she does, but one can attribute that to the company. 

The contents of the bottle dwindles quickly, paired with a vulnerable retelling of her ACL recovery (sans suicidal thoughts and huge, huge regret about the affair – she doesn’t want to bring that up, seeing as you are clearly trying to forget about it), and the warm breeze of the Barcelona nighttime. The salty air from the mediterranean mingles with cigarette smoke, though Alexia softly says that you really should stop. 

You hesitate on your next puff, but you inhale it all the same. “I like my wine smokey.” 

She opens the next bottle for you. 

The wine glasses are soon discarded, pouring becoming shaky and difficult. 

“They sleep all the way through the night here,” observes Alexia, surprised that no little hands have knocked on the glass door leading to the balcony. The last time you had reached for the wine, you’d moved closer to her. You have not yet returned to your original seat on the other side of the rattan sofa. 

You raise your eyebrows, under the impression that they were both sleep trained. “They don’t at yours?” 

“Elena keeps trying to sleep in bed with me.” 

“Maybe she likes you more,” you suggest with a light, alcohol-infused laugh. “She must have been upset to find her place filled by your friend.” 

“No,” murmurs Alexia, “it has never been filled. Though I don’t think you can say the same.” 

You swallow the stickiness of the wine running down your throat.

“Not in our bed. My bed.” You fight yourself. “Our bed.” 

“In Highgate?” 

“Anywhere,” you breathe. 

“It’s been months,” croaks Alexia, your hand pressed against her stomach as you slowly lean into the feeling only she can give you. “Months.” 

You kiss her. Time folds in on itself, and you are transported back to when every touch was electric; when nothing was tainted. The pain of the past months, the heartbreak, momentarily fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in Alexia’s warmth.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, afraid that this moment might slip away too soon. The taste of wine lingers on your lips, and she craves the softness of them – she has been craving them since July.

“Well, now it has only been seconds,” you whisper as you pull away. 

With a sense of urgency, she chases your mouth once more, strong arms pulling you on top of her, manipulating your body against her with no hint of uncertainty. 

Alexia knows you well.

Her touch lacks curiosity and exploration. Her hands are experienced and confident in their movements, and she has hoisted you up and brought you to your bedroom without needing to have been told that this is what you want. 

“Is this what you want?” she asks anyway. 

“Please.” 

And she really doesn’t make you beg. 

Your hands roam her body with a primal hunger, instinctive touches to the most sensitive parts of her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her back is tense, muscles flexing as she pushes your clothes off your skin, her own following their path soon after. 

Parted legs and soft moans. 

She slots herself between your thighs. 

Her tongue is determined, fierce. Sloppier because she is drunk, but, then again, so are you. 

Your fingers repay the favour. 

“More,” you request just as she pulls away. 

“Is it in the same place?” 

You nod, panting.

There is a playful glint in Alexia’s eyes as she finds the strap just where she left it. As she secures it in place, you wipe the sweat from your brow, forcing your mind into the dirtiest of thoughts to ward off the building regret.

The room is dimly lit, and the air heavy with desire. Your heartbeat pulses in the silence, the thrum of the organ drums that guide Alexia’s slow, deliberate steps back towards the bed, kneeling atop the scrunched sheets. 

She positions herself between your legs once more, and you can feel the heat of her body radiating against your skin. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your neck, sending shivers of anticipation shuddering down your spine. 

With trembling hands, you reach out, nails digging into tanned, taut skin. You pull her closer to you, urging her to take whatever she wants. 

You want her to have you. You want her to make it hurt less. 

As Alexia presses inside, a jolt of pleasure courses through your body. You cry out, the sound igniting a blazing inferno within her that grows hotter the moment you ask her to move. Feverishly, her hands move over your chest, finding purchase on your breasts with a dormant possessiveness as her hips begin to drive the strap in deeper. 

Your breath hitches in your throat as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation, encompassed by someone so divine that you begin to separate yourself from all things wrong with this situation. The headboard thuds against the bedroom wall as she pounds her thrusts into a rhythm, and you shut your eyes as you quietly ask her to kiss you.

Tears cascade down your cheeks, but you do not know to whom they belong. Her tongue smothers your moans, and her hips begin to snap into yours more urgently, with more desperation. The pressure builds inside of you, and you feel as though you might explode. 

You feel as though this is the end, and you are glad that here is where your misery terminates. 

You’re glad, you’re really glad. 

Your back arches, your chests pressing together, large hands holding you close to her. 

And then it all comes crashing down. 

Everything. 

You wipe your eyes once the orgasmic bliss subsides, seizing your wine haze as the tide goes out and destroying the blindfold that had deprived you of seeing things straight. Right now, with the pleasant ache between your legs, you can’t quite bring yourself to regret it, but you know you will. You haven’t forgiven her; you’re not sure that it is possible. 

“You can shower, but you can’t stay here.” 

…

Nico knows that he is special. He is lucky, and he is loved, and he gets to go to a very nice school that Mateo (his ‘cousin’) claims is fancy. 

He likes his teacher. She reminds him of someone he once knew – you have suggested the nursery helpers back when he lived in London. He is not sure if you are right, but he doesn’t remember what London was like so he tries not to think too hard about it. 

Nico’s friends, like Pau who is sitting beside him, all think it is really cool that he can speak English. Pau says she hears his mother on the radio sometimes, but Nico hasn’t yet grasped the concept of fame past the annoying camera flashes and big, sold-out stadiums. He dislikes fame as he knows it, anyway, because the cameras hurt his eyes and the stadiums are so loud that he has to wear ear-defenders that squeeze his skull a bit too much. 

“My mum is from Bilbao. My dad is from Barcelona,” states Paula as she swipes a crayon over the sheet of paper her drawing is on. Green wax slowly stains the white to form ‘grass’. Everyone is drawing their family today, although Nico hasn’t yet started, waiting for his teacher to circle their table so that he can ask for another piece of paper. “And this,” Paula carries on, squiggling brown hair onto a smaller version of the stick-figure father, “is Ander, my big brother.” 

“Who is that?” Nico asks, pointing at the fifth figure on the page, guessing that the fourth and Pau-sized person is, in fact, Pau. 

“My sister! She’s called Nerea, and she plays basketball.” Pau promptly makes an orange circle the size of Nerea’s head, which floats in the air between her and her sister. “My mum says Nere is going to be a lesbian, but I don’t know what that means.” 

“My mums are lesbian!” he blurts out, excited enough to garner the attention of his teacher. When she appears, he grins at her sweetly; the kind of smile that has melted many hearts, though Nico is unaware of how many people know he exists. “More paper, please.” 

“Nico, you haven’t even tried with your first one.”

She isn’t harsh at all, but he has slowly learnt to stop asking follow-up questions. Six months of exasperated ‘I don’t know, Nicolau’s has taught him that. 

He shrugs. “Okay.”

He learnt what a shrug was the other day, when Mapi told him off for doing it to her. (“Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, Nicolau Putellas!” she had chided playfully. “All I asked was which of your mamas’ houses we need to go to.”)

“Nico, what’s ‘lesbian’?” 

“Mama says football is lesbian. Basketball might be lesbian! That’s why your sister is lesbian.” 

“My mum says that lesbians kiss girls.” 

“Mama kisses girls! And Mami. And they used to kiss each other but now they don’t speak and me and my sister swap houses.” Nico begins drawing it out for Paula when she peers at him, befuddled. “Here is Mama’s.” A big square, a glamorous-looking woman inside of the blue shape; a stick with a circle on the end of it; the notes he sees in his piano music floating in the air. “And…” he says, tongue sticking out as he concentrates on the opposite half of the page, “here is Mami’s.” 

He draws a football. He picks up the red crayon too, and uses both the blau and the grana simultaneously. “Mami plays football for Barça.” He draws two lines on Alexia’s t-shirt. 11. “Mami made me get 11 at football.” Nico had originally worn the 10, but then the affair had come to light and Alexia was suddenly deep in conversation with his coach and apologising to the boy Nico then had to swap shirts with. 

Then, he drops the crayons in his hand and searches for the stack near Paula. He selects the purple one, gripping it tightly, his friend still listening to him with intrigue. 

“This is me and Lela.” Two stick figures are drawn in the middle of the page; the middle ground between each of the squares. 

Nico sometimes feels stuck between it all. 

When Mami got very sad, he and Elena went to stay with Mapi and Ingrid for a few nights. He held his little sister’s hand as much as he could. He always tries to remind her that he is right there with her. 

Mami once told him that it was his turn to protect Elena. Nico hasn’t forgotten that. 

“I keep Lela safe.” He has encouraged her, slightly selfishly, to call him ‘skipper’, which he has picked up from the Lionesses. Luckily, Alexia has not told him off for it because she doesn’t know what it means. “Lela is my little sister. She is a baby. She doesn’t remember what it was like when Mama and Mami loved each other, but I do.” 

The purple crayon scrapes on the page as he presses it into the white, colour rubbing out in the shape of a heart. “Lela and I are together tot el temps. Mami tries to take me from her sometimes, but I don’t let her.” 

His story – and ability to make Paula pay attention for longer than ten seconds – has already attracted the quiet attention of his teacher, but she moves closer as Nico continues. The four-year-old leaves out how Alexia is usually inviting him to training with her. Since Elena has yet to show any interest in football, it remains her and Nico’s special thing, and, of course, his mother misses him when it is not her turn. 

You benevolently give your permission if you have no prior plans. It is upsetting that the only hindrance to extra time spent together is the little boy who once worshipped Alexia Putellas like a god. 

“Nico, why did you want two pages?” asks Paula curiously, assuming he is finished now that his whole family is displayed on the piece of paper. 

He frowns. “Because now I have to do this.” And with that, he tears the sheet in half. 

Paula’s mouth drops open in surprise, as does his teacher’s. 

“What’s wrong?” comes a mature voice, a hand placed on his shoulder just like it is when the other children in his class cry. Nico doesn’t cry. He is strong and brave, like a little soldier. “Did you not like your drawing?” 

“No,” he replies neutrally, “half can live with Mama, and half can live with Mami.” 

“But now you are ripped down the middle.” 

He traces the jagged edges of the halves of his life. One of his legs is on your side, the other on Alexia’s. 

“I know, but it’s okay. I don’t cry.” 

Alexia does, though, when his teacher talks to her that afternoon. 

…

“I slept with Alexia,” you confess quietly, comforted by the sound-proofing of Anya’s home-studio. She asked for help with her album; your success might be contagious, she insists. “Last week, when Nico had that recital.” You clutch your mug protectively, as if she will strip you of the right to drink your tea to punish you for your crime. 

Anya is unsure what you would like her to say. You search her face for anger, but do not find it. 

“If Gio were here, she’d probably slap you.” 

You snort, almost spilling hot liquid all over yourself. “You two are like my mothers, and you’re the nicer one by far.” 

“God, you are such an idiot.” 

“And a slag.” She waits for your next admission with excitement. “I also slept with Leah Williamson.” 

“Do you think you and Alexia are just destined for polyamory?” Her amusement is quite pleasant, but one thing wasn’t dulled by the wine that night and you have been dying to tell someone about it.

Your knee bounces up and down as you gear up for it, having thought it through 

“I think we are destined for each other.” 

Song-writing be damned, Anya fully removes her headphones, placing the equipment beside her keyboard before letting out a small, exasperated laugh. “You are in love with Alexia again,” comes her accusation, with no real malice behind it. 

“I never stopped being in love with Alexia. She just made it a lot harder to love her.” 

Is that an understatement? 

“Hey,” you say with sudden energy, sitting upright and grasping at your phone, tea wobbling over the lip of the mug and running down your wrist. “Should we go to Bali in August?” 

…

You avoid both of your footballers right until the World Cup camps roll around. 

Leah doesn’t get to go, subjected to the ACL curse. Alexia’s call-up is not necessarily unexpected, but you do find yourself wondering how many more betrayals her friendship with Mapi León can handle. (Mapi is on her last straw, but she knows her friend really needed the win after her hellish year. The Champion’s League was never going to sate Alexia’s hunger to be the best at football – possibly an overcompensation for her terrible relationship skills.)

Your children, this time, are delivered to the park by their very own mother. Alexia beats Leah in this sense, because she has a valid excuse to see you without confessing feelings you do not want to hear. 

“I have something for you,” she says just after she has finished her goodbyes, pressing a small box into your hands. Her voice is filled with nerves and you are intrigued, hating yourself for being so. “Don’t open it until you get back home.” Her eyes meet yours for a moment. I’m sorry, they seem to say. “Alright, have fun in Bali, and don’t forget that I legally have custody but I am not going to go to court to battle you for it as long as you put them in Spain kits for Spain matches.” 

She could, if she wanted to be difficult, have you send Nico and Elena to New Zealand during her weeks. It would be very unreasonable, but the contract your lawyers drew up still stands. 

“They were delivered yesterday. I think it’s going to be a struggle to convince them to put on the worst kit ever.” You still don’t forgive Alexia for cheating on you, but there has come a point where acceptance replaces the animosity. Nico’s teacher has been the catalyst in this step forward. The developmental pamphlets she had thrust in your faces were enough for the two of you to come to a mutual agreement of increased civility (that maybe, maybe was only made possible by the fact that you have very recent memories of each other’s orgasms). “But, yes, I agree to your terms. Don’t forget that his favourite player is Alessia Russo, however.” 

“He is in a phase where I am ‘uncool’! It’ll pass.” 

“If you say so, Alexia.” 

“Anyway,” she carries on, rolling her eyes. “Open it when you get home.” She… presses a kiss to your cheek? “I’m so sorry, mi amor.” 

You blink back your surprise, but she is gone before you can reply. 

The small, neatly-wrapped box sits in the palm of your hand, the corners edging off your skin and sticking out as you stare at it. Nico and Elena continue their (unsupervised) playing, but you manage to call out a warning for ‘five more minutes and then we’ve got to pack’ while you examine Alexia’s gift.

Is this how Pandora felt? 

If you open it, what will be unleashed?

Alexia, before now, hasn’t actively pursued your forgiveness. She has given you the time and the space you had broken-heartedly requested, nodding as you communicated your wishes to her through someone else, never before able to confront the face that tore up your life before your eyes. 

There was a time when all you ever wanted to do was talk to her, but she tried to forget about that when she realised the extent at which you went to avoid an interaction. When she had understood your desperation to be left alone fully, she began to breathe. The step backwards gave her room to examine just how royally she had fucked it all. 

She now feels a bit more capable of tackling the clean-up, working with a much clearer mind. Everyone is relieved that she hasn’t killed herself, or, at least, that she is keeping those thoughts at bay. 

You realise that she has bought you a ring, and regardless of whether you wear it or not, she wants to tell you that she is sorry.

...

IT'S NOT OVER YET! THIS WILL TAKE YOU TO THE SECOND HALF

[gunsatthaphan]

~ Monthly BL Breakdown: October 2024 ~ 

☔️ Happy November!!! 🍂 (and Happy Halloween 🎃👻)

Disclaimer: ALL shows can be streamed here or here, as well as on Youtube and other platforms. For more info on where to watch what, check out this post! 

New breakdowns are coming at the end of every month - feel free to add stuff! -> previous breakdowns

What came out this month? (green = seen/currently watching)

🌟 Fourever You - October 3rd (Thailand)

🌟 Uncle Unknown - October 4th (Taiwan)

🌟 My Damn Business - October 5th (South Korea)

🌟 Every You, Every Me - October 6th (Thailand)

🌟 DMD Friendship: It Takes Two (reality show) - October 6th (Thailand) 

🌟 Eccentric Romance - October 10th (South Korea) 

🌟 Blue Complex - October 10th (South Korea)

🌟 Taming the Bad Boy - October 15th (South Korea)

🌟 Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo - October 17th (South Korea)

🌟 Love in the Big City - October 21st (South Korea) 

🌟 See Your Love - October 23rd (Taiwan)

🌟 See You (movie) - October 25th (Taiwan) 

🌟 Perfect Propose: Dream Edition - October 25th (Japan) 

🌟 Blue Canvas of Youthful Days - October 26th (China)

🌟 Perfect 10 Liners - October 27th (Thailand) ✅

🌟 Stealing From My CEO - October 27th (China) 

Monthly Likes / Dislikes

❣️ - Nothing overwhelming going on lately lol but I'm currently enjoying Peaceful Property a lot, it's so unique and fun and I really hope they consider adding more stuff like this in their 2025 lineup!! 🥺

New series & movie announcements

🎥 8 Hours (sequel to 4 Minutes) - Coming 2025

🎥 A Perfect Match - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 Knock Out - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Who Can Define Popularity - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 Haunted Hearts - Date TBA (Philippines)

🎥 About Faith - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 Love Casting (BL reality show) - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 Eyes on You - Date TBA (Hong Kong)

🎥 Winter is not the death of Summer but the birth of Spring - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Beloved Enemy (novel adaption from the author of My Stand In) - Date TBA (?)

🎥 Match Play - Date TBA (South Korea)

Other news from the BL world

❗️ The Korean BL Love Class will get a third season, allegedly with the same cast from the previous seasons. Further details are unknown.

❗️ A second season for the Thai BL 4 Minutes was announced titled 8 Hours. The author Sammon will partner with Be On Cloud again and the show will go into production in 2025.

❗️ Actors Mew Suppasit and Tul Pakorn publicly got engaged at the launch event of Mew's new single "Absence".

❗️ The Thai network channel One31 held their 2025 lineup on October 17th. The following BL productions were announced:

Taste

The Wicked Game

Love Carved in the Moonlight

❗️ The Thai production company Idolfactory released a teaser for their upcoming lineup for 2025. The corresponding event will be held on January 12th. The teaser however revealed the following series prior to the event:

Interminable (starring BillyBabe)

My Sweetheart Jom (starring SaintPoom)

Cranium (starring BeckyFreen)

Somewhere Somehow (starring FayMay)

❗️ After it was disclosed that DMD actors Thomas and Kong would no longer participate in the upcoming series The Next Prince, it was announced that Net S. and JJ R. will take the roles of Calvin and Jay respectively.

❗️ GMMTV released a statement saying that the announcement of the winner of the Y-Find contest has been postponed from October 31st to November 30th due to the large number of submissions. Earlier this year the company announced the project as a way for Thai fans to submit original stories, one of which will be chosen to be adapted into a series. Whether or not the postponement will have any effect on the company's upcoming 2025 lineup event is unclear.

Upcoming series & movies for November:

👉🏻 Bad to Bed - November 2nd (Taiwan)

👉🏻 Love in the Air: Koi no Yokan (remake of Love in the Air) - November 3rd (Japan)

👉🏻 Our Youth - November 5th (Japan)

👉🏻 Episode 9. Nineteen, Eighteen (special ep) - November 9th (South Korea)

👉🏻 All the Liquors (movie) - November 13th (South Korea)

👉🏻 Caged Again - November 15th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Your Sky - November 17th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Mhom Ped Sawan (bl side story) - November 17th (Thailand)

[thegainingdesk]

The Grommr Profile of Dorian Grey

Dorian finished the last chicken wing, delicately wiping his hands with a napkin, before dabbing at the sides of his mouth. “And one hundred!” He beamed at the camera, and rubbed his middle, not-so-subtly lifting his t-shirt to reveal taut, flat six-pack abs. “Guess that will sort me until dinner,” he said with a wink to his audience.

He looked at the comments on his livestream. Most were in awe, as usual, at how much he could eat while maintaining his stick-thin figure and classically handsome good looks. Others, frustratingly, accused him of being a fake - of using some contraption or camera trickery to make the food disappear, of editing in CGI food, of bullimia. He'd done live shows, week-long streams, streams in nothing but his boxers, but nothing would ever convince some of his viewers.

One in particular caught his attention: lol, why are you all commenting like he'll respond? everyone knows he films these over like a week and then edits it together after

Dorian gritted his teeth. “Actually, user WelcomeToMyFistedMind, comment at fifteen thirty-two and eighteen seconds, this is very much live. And actually, I don't think I am done quite yet.” He stood and walked to the kitchen, coming back with a box of two dozen donuts he'd bought for tomorrow's stream. He sat back down and pushed the first one into his mouth, grinning around the custard that oozed out.

Forty-five minutes and twenty-four donuts later, Dorian flashed one last smug grin at the camera and closed twitch. He leant back, lifted up his t-shirt and ran his fingers lazily up and down his treasure-trail, following the center line between his abdominals. Despite the literal pounds of food he'd eaten in the last couple of hours, his stomach was as flat as ever, his twinkish frame showing none of the effects of the food he ate day in, day out.

His channel, MukbangBangYoureDead, had exploded in viewers ever since he started it a few years ago, until he was now one of the most famous mukbangers on the internet. He could not only eat more than all of his competitors, he made it look easy, and all without gaining a pound.

Of course, he had something that they didn't - the deal. He'd been hesitant at first, didn't believe the strange visitor that had come to him one night could or would deliver on its promises. But here he was, years later, making tens of thousands of pounds a month, all without consequence.

Thinking about the deal, he opened Grommr on his phone and brought up his profile. He whistled as he saw the updated weight - 576 pounds. He'd been flirting with 570 for a while now, and was pleased to see how far he'd stepped over that threshold. Time, he thought, for an update for his loyal fans on that platform too.

He pulled his trousers off and threw them to the side, leaving his t-shirt on. He walked to the mirror and admired his toned, pencil-like legs, his lightly muscled arms, the way his t-shirt draped from broad shoulders and tight pecs over his narrow waist, and his large bulge constrained by a designer jock-strap in bright yellow. He raised his phone up and took a picture, and proceeded to take his shirt off. He raised one hand to a lightly-haired pec and gave it a squeeze as he took a second picture. Finally, he lay down on his bed, snaked some long-slender fingers into his waistband, and raised his phone to take another photo from above.

He uploaded the pictures to Grommr without even looking at them - he knew there'd be no point, that they'd look completely different in just a moment or two. They appeared one by one as they uploaded.

Each showed a behemoth of a man. In the first the man stood in a mirror, wearing a t-shirt that cut into fat hanging from his sides and strained to cover large, pendulous breasts. His gut hung out and down, covering his genitals - a small pop of yellow beneath his love handles was the only hint that he was wearing any underwear. The man's face was huge and round, his features almost amorphous. Small, piggy eyes sat above bulbous cheeks, which merged into a ring of fat around his head, his chin a mere dimple in the fat around his neck. Even in the still image, it was clear that the man's arm was straining against its own weight to hold the phone up.

The next photo was much the same. The same morbidly obese figure stood in the same mirror. This time, the pitifully small t-shirt had been discarded to reveal cascading flesh hanging to the side, lying on the mountainous belly. One hand grasped one of the tits, bloated fingers digging into the soft flesh.

In the next, the figure was laid prone. Gravity had pulled down on the soft flesh and caused it to drop down and pool around the figure. The moobs lifted up towards the man's non-existant neck and chin, his gut spread out, his face expanded in all directions. New rolls and folds had formed - where arm met shoulder, where joints bent, or where his gut bunched up against itself. In the brighter lighting, painfully red stretch marks bloomed across the man's skin, circling his thighs, his love handles like loaves, across his dropping breasts. The man's left hand struggled to reach around his gut to grasp at the waistband of a straining jock strap, within which a small bump suggested some long-forgotten nub of a cock, sunk deep within the fat that spilled out around the underwear’s pouch. The man’s face was red, and seemed to strain as he struggled to maneuver his own flesh.

Dorian watched on in boredom as the first few comments rolled in. The usual adoring fans, begging to know the secrets to his titanic weight, proclaiming they’d soon look the same, asking to meet up. He would wait until a few of his regulars sent their customary tips, then go on with the rest of his day. In the meantime, a couple of the comments caused a smile to spread across his angular face.

MayContainDonuts: MealWithTheDevil looking great as ever! I don't know what it is, but he always looks so much like that one mukbang guy? Obviously fatter, but just the eyes and nose and stuff? I wonder if they're related?

BloatGoat: Do you mean MukbangBangYoureDead? If you can find some of his old photos the resemblance is uncanny. People used to think they were the same person but obviously not. Definitely could be related!

Dorian smirked and went to close the app, stopping only to check a small notification that popped up at the top of his screen. There would be routine server maintenance the next day, and the site would be down for around eight hours, starting mid-morning for the UK.

Dorian sighed. He hated server shutdowns, and this would be the longest he'd experienced yet. Still, he had a while to prepare. He'd have to cancel some lunch plans, but he could make up some lie about being ill. He got dressed, stood up and left to go buy enough food for tomorrow.

Dorian paced around his flat nervously the next morning. He checked his watch - 10:01. He quickly tried to bring up Grommr - sure enough, he was met with an error message about the server being down. It would start soon enough.

The first sign of it was his t-shirt. Previously loose, after about five minutes he found he was having to fuss with it to get it to sit right. another five minutes and it had begun riding up around puffy lovehandles and a firm paunch, while his sweatpants were starting to slip down an expanding rear. Another ten minutes and he took the t-shirt off, freeing a large beer gut that bounced when he walked. His sweatpants had grown almost skin tight around hefty thighs and would soon be too tight for comfort. He knew that this was only the start.

The hunger started then; sickly, stabbing pains in his newly expanded gut. He put two pizzas in the oven and sat with a donuts while he waited, knowing that soon his body, and his appetite along with it, would soon be able to accommodate all the food.

Just under thirty minutes in, Dorian's gut started to rest on his lap when he sat. He leant back, the swollen sack of fat at his middle dragging along his lap as he did so, and his cock began to harden. He reached a hand up to scratch the pink stretch marks beginning to form below his budding moobs.

While stuffed to the point of breathlessness just five minutes before, his stomach was still expanding, and he could feel the gnawing hunger begin to creep back in. He belched and stood, tottering slightly at the near-total shift in center of gravity since he’d sat down. He peeled off his sweatpants, struggling past his wide arse and flabby thighs, then gathered as much food as he could in his arms, using the top of his gut as a shelf and cautiously made his way back to his sofa, where he collapsed down, put on a trashy movie, and continued to eat.

Dorian continued to grow as his pile of junk food diminished. He savoured the feeling of soft, supple skin sliding past skin as he swelled - his growing tits pouring out onto his behemoth gut, his underbelly coursing forwards across rotund thighs dimpled with cellulite, his fat pad oozing around his perpetually hard dick. He knew to wait though; the bigger he was, the hotter his eventual orgasm would be.

Dorian looked down and surveyed himself. His body was beginning to be defined by rolls upons rolls. He estimated himself to be around the size he reached last time there was some server downtime; his profile had put on at least a hundred pounds since then. He lifted a heavy arm and used a hand to probe his plush flesh, sighing at the way his newly chubby fingers sank into the fat.

Still, the hunger increased. Dorian tried to lean forward to grab his phone, but found his own sheer bulk resisted him, pushing him back. He spread his legs and allowed his gut to fall down between them, the shift pulling his body forward in his seat and causing a dull ache in his lower back. He picked up his phone and with clumsy sausage-like fingers brought up a delivery app. He allowed instinct and hunger to take over - spring rolls, beef, chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken, duck pancakes, chilli chips, everything he saw he was ravenous for. He'd not been this big before and the hunger was deep. He pressed order, only briefly worrying about how he'd answer the door when he had no clothes that could hope to fit him.

Dorian’s body continued to expand. There was an alienness to his new size; his thighs had to splay around his hanging gut, his arms sat uncomfortably on top of thick pillows of fat at his sides, each joint filled with lard, and most of all was the awareness of gravity, how it pulled at his body and how his body answered in kind by dropping down and down.

Half an hour of nagging hunger later, his doorbell rang. He threw himself forward, but fell back to the sofa. Even that unsuccessful effort left him winded. He rolled to the side, fat cascading over fat as he did so, and staggered to stand sideways, his arms shaking as he heaved with all his might against the sofa. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over him; it barely covered his torso, but it was the best he could do.

How had he never realised how easy walking was before? Now, every step needed to be purposeful and required a conscious effort to propel his weight forwards. He had to wheel each thigh out and around past the other, each one a lead weight to be lifted. Dorian reached the door panting and sweaty, his hips burning with the beginnings of pain. The delivery driver looked on in shock, and then in slow horror. Dorian didn't care, he just grabbed his bags and slammed the door, before making his slow way back to his seat.

As he fell back, the sofa made a loud crunching sound and he felt himself sink deep into the cushions. He shuffled over the other side as best he could, each movement sending shockwaves across his body. He piled his bags into the crater left on the other side of the sofa and ate directly out of them, the table now wholly unreachable.

Dorian suspected he stopped growing around the time that he'd finished his food. If nothing else, the hunger had stopped. His torso had become a series of rolls, each one wrapped around his entire body and piled on top of the next. His limbs had become huge sacks of flesh, spreading out beneath him, the only evidence of his joints small, soft dimples in the thick casing of his body.

Dorian knew he'd waited long enough now. He pushed a stubby paw into the deep fold underneath his gut, reaching for the hard nub of his cock not yet swallowed by his fat pad. It was no use however, the heavy weight of his belly pressing down and closing off his own groin from himself. He leant to the side and spread his thighs, freeing up access and shifting his weight off from his lap, but still his fingers had to squirm past sweaty flesh into the small crevice left of his crotch. He grasped at the hard head of his cock, finding it in a shallow depression of flab nestled in dense pubes. With two fingers he did his best to jerk himself off, but to no avail - there was simply not enough cock left and not enough space to handle it in. Desperate for release he began to thrust, rocking his pelvis back and forth, so that the thick shaft of his penis slid within his own blubber, fucking his own body. He closed his eyes and ignored the tortured groans of the sofa below him as his pleasure grew. It only took a few minutes for him to cum, semen coating his fat pad and thighs as he yelled out.

Dorian slumped back, gasping for air, and exhausted, drifted off into a sleep.

When he woke up, it was dark. He could still feel the weight of his body pulling down. This wasn't right. As slow as it took for the weight to pile on, usually it melted away in seconds once the servers were back online, which should have happened hours ago. He checked the time - 23:24. Had something gone wrong?

He checked Grommr - the site was back up. He tried to log in - nothing. App - no. Browser - no. He tried to type his password in again, fat fingers mashing against the keyboard so that he had to try again slowly, deliberately. Nothing worked. He felt his heart pounding somewhere beneath his bosom.

Finally, he noticed an email in his inbox.

Grommr admin team - lost profile

During our recent scheduled server update, a small number of user profiles were unfortunately lost. We are sorry to tell you that your profile was one of those that we have not been able to recover. We are doing everything we can to recover lost profiles, but we are sadly not…

Dorian stopped reading. He looked down at the acres of flesh that were now his body. He lifted an arm up and let it fall, watching it shake and wobble in the dim light. What would he tell his family? His friends? His fans? This couldn't be happening.

Through his panicked breathing and heavy heartbeat, another feeling began to grow - Dorian Grey was beginning to feel hungry.

[shitpostingkats]

your yugioh discord server au my beloved.

dunno if this already came up, but i tottaly see everyone chatting regulary (esp jaden the spammer-tm), minus yusei. he just lurks and gives a reply every second year/when tagged. </3

Yusei is the lurker who nevertheless responds immediately when tagged. The guy will never hop in and voice his opinion, but the second you @ him he has replied the nanosecond you hit send. He is, however, the biggest organizer of server movie nights, voice chats, and meet-up when multiple members of them are in the same city. This au is set after his series ended, after all. He's already keeping up long distance friendships with Jack, Crow, Akiza, and the twins. He is hardcore about keeping on top of online friendships. Sometimes he'll just pop into the vc while he's working and leave it open while he tinkers.

In ascending order of activity, Yusaku probably chats the second least. This tempered though, by the fact that they are always online. 4am in the morning? Yusaku is there. Yusaku's actually more vocal in the discord than in real life, after years of growing up raised by message boards an forums. If everyone sees it's been like 25 hours since they logged off, someone will shoot a message to Kolter, or they'll just log into vrains and hunt him down like it's the most dangerous game (getting Yusaku to log off and go the fuck to sleep)

Yuya took a while to warm up the the GC, but every day gets more bold with just kicking down the doors of the chat and going off about something or another. Also he's in a minecraft server with all his brothers and the bracelet girls, so if he's online but not responding, it's probably because he's griefing Yuri's dirt house for the third time this week.

Yugi's really active in the chat, a fact that never fails to blow Yuma and Yuya's minds. He'll be at a global release sponsored by every important duel monsters company under the sun, and he'll send pictures of Kaiba caught mid sneeze with the caption 'LOL'. He will be on NATIONAL TV AND TEXTING THE GROUPCHAT. His memes are legendary.

No one knows how to quantify Yuma's activity, because there's like a 90% chance most of the messages he sends are him???? But then there's also the possibility that half his messages are Astral feeling chatty, and it's very hard to tell because both of them are equally likely to start a rousing discussion on the morals of dolphins at 3 in the morning. Yugi is the only one who can reliably tell them apart.

And OF COURSE, AT THE TOP OF THE LIST, IT'S YA BOI, YOUR SUPREME MEME KING: JADEN YUKI. *insert airhorn sound effect* Spammer galore. Constantly uploading selfies of him standing in front of some eldritch abomination, or standing on the surface of Jupiter, or some other such equally questionable use of his powers. Liveblogs his annoyance at being made to do demonic paperwork. Makes incomprehensible memes that no one can tell if he's dunking on his henchmen again, or just really, really good at shitposting. He has a channel in the discord just for him where, every day, he just sends a single digit number, and some of the yu-boys are going crazy trying to figure out if it's a code, or some secret eldritch coordinates, or a massive ARG style prank, or what.

Yusei eventually reveals it's how many tries Yubel took to get the days wordle.

[paintbrushnebula]

I think now that Tangled the Series has been over for the better part of four years now, what makes me sad the most is that there were enough pieces left behind by the film to construct a compelling narrative for a strong continuation of Rapunzel and Eugene's story that wouldn't have required all this "bigger and more epic" stuff that the series made up in order to be interesting. 

And you can have big epic magical stuff, that's fine! I LOVE epic large-scale stories! But there's a difference between expanding your world by further developing its elements and themes, and just scaling up the adventure tenfold to be “bigger and better”—which is what I feel that the series did in the end. 

It’s funny, because I was already a fan of Tangled when I was little. I still remember being 7 years old sitting in that theater with my sister, actually breathless and in shock when Eugene drew his last breath. I had never seen a kids movie where a lead character dies.

(and I know that sounds absurd because there were Disney films before where a lead character dies and comes back XD look I was 7 and my parents weren’t people who knew many pop culture American movies at the time so I didn’t watch much that wasn’t Disney Channel or VHS films that my Grandma owned. To this day I’m still kind of trying to catch up on film culture XD)

Sorry to get off track but what I’m trying to say is, I was there when the series was announced and they revealed that promo art back in 2016, I saw the 30 second promo trailer, I watched “Wind in my Hair” when it was released on Youtube in February 2017 the morning before school and I was hyped for the rest of the day, and I remember watching Before Ever After’s premiere with my sister and was FLOORED that it was good??!! Like actually was gonna have a serialized overarching story and everything! God I’ll never forget Eugene’s verse where he pulls out that ring. I’ll never forget Rapunzel’s face when he gives her his proposal speech (before it went downhill that is), and I’ll always forget the last 25 minutes that take place  after Rapunzel’s hair grows back because its low-key pretty heckin boring! 

What hyped me was the relationship stuff, Rapunzel’s PTSD, the parent drama, everything that those first 30 minutes had that made me THINK we were in for an emotional story about Rapunzel’s life after the tower, I thought we’d get to see in detail how she’s gonna to grapple with her trauma, her new life, her new responsibilities, her new relationships, all that. And some of the series was that, a very small “some.” Not enough by any means for me lol

Because like, wouldn’t that have been a more interesting story to tell than the one we got? Ultimately Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure doesn’t feel like a continuation of Rapunzel’s story, it’s more like a Brand New Adventure that happens star Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert. I know that sounds weird and I might not be making much sense here but, did the story of a girl who stops a plague of darkness and fights a transdimensional demon blueberry ghost girl and has to reconcile with her “step-sister” HAVE to be about Rapunzel? Also like, just. NOTICE how that summation of the story of the series DOESNT involve Eugene in some way. You know. The hecking CO-LEAD of the film this series is based on. 

And like, there was so much story to be told with Rapunzel and Eugene WITHOUT the blueberry Disney Junior-giving ghost girl, the poorly written heavily contrived step-sister conflict, AND the big plague of darkness nonsense. Rapunzel and Eugene are two VERY tragic individuals. DO SOMETHING WITH THEM, IOUHWO4Y2IBBU3FN3FI

I’ll admit that I was more attached to the series than I was to the movie while it was airing, and even for like 2 years after it was over. I was younger and more immature and the big stakes and fresh new characters and magical adventures captivated me more than the focused drama of the movie. But now that I’m older, I realize that I resonate more with Rapunzel in the movie. NOT in any concerning “do you need help?” Kind of ways, just that I find myself thinking the way she thought, since I’m now around the age she was in the movie. The way I think about my future, my self esteem etc. I relate to how she feels inexperienced and fresh in the world despite being a young adult, because she hasn’t done any of those “big things” yet. And you wonder “how am I gonna do those big things? When do they happen? Will I know what to do when they happen?” I get it, Rapunzel, I really do. 

The series is kinda an afterthought to me now I guess. I still appreciate that it exists and I’m so happy it happened. In the beginning, it didn’t feel real when it was happening. Like a dream honestly. And like, Tangled the Series is literally 80% the reason I wanted to write fiction, so I’ll always be grateful for it. 

But holy kriff is the movie so much better heeheeeeeeeeee

[partnersincrimesuau]

★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ BEHOLD!!! THE ONLY HARD COPIES OF PARTNERS IN CRIME IN EXISTENCE!!!!

(That I know of, at least XD) (Oh btw these are not for sale lol. I don't know squat about business lmao. One day maybe???)

ANYWAYS so, these are indeed hard copies of PIC chapters 1 and 2!!! The first one was given to me as a gift for Christmas in 2023, and the second as a birthday gift in July this year by my dear friend Squid!!! Whomst I don't believe has a tumblr account?? Oh well lol THIS IS A SHOUT OUT TO MY FRIEND SQUID!!!!!! (EVERYONE SAY THANKS SQUID <3333)

I was actually gonna do a video of me flipping through them as my official voice reveal, but uhhh due to some reasons I decided not to, so you'll have to wait until I start my youtube channel before you hear my voice for the first time XD (actually about that...)

But yeah since it was SU The Movie's 5th anniversary, Spinel's birthday, Keanu Reeves birthday AND PARTNERS IN CRIME'S 3RD BIRTHDAY two days ago, I have a lot to catch up on!!!!! so forgive the lack of jinxy posting, she's making up for it now!!!! :D :D :D

[huhustuff]

Hii!!

Would it be alright for me to request some general hcs for the 8th sidemen AU? Like how the reader met the sidemen, what were they known for before joining the sidemen, who was the first person to meet the reader, who was the sidemen who recommended the reader to be in the group, their relationship with each sidemen, is there anyone who have or had feelings for the reader? what was the reader doing during the diss track season? Any drama? Reader can be any gender if that matters.

Yea that’s all I got. Sorry if this is too much. Love your work <3

‎

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝___𝟖𝐭𝐡𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

💨🧸☠

Thank you for this lovely request 🤍!

This is part 1 to this request. The second part is going to include the individual relationships between the reader and each sidemen. And part 3 will include events after this imagine, diss track season and other events that y'all would like to see, so let me know what events y’all are interested in. I did not want to include all in this because I was scared this would be too long.

These events were hard to build up without the reader becoming an oc, but i tried lol.

‎

___________________________________________

‎

Before you got to know the sidemen you had a youtube channel that you had started in the beginning of 2013 and which had gained a decent following within a few months after starting. You had started the channel for jokes. In your free time you enjoyed playing minecraft with your friends and thought you would record the fun times just because you could and to save the memories. 

Surprisingly people enjoyed watching your content and your sense of humor. As your audience grew you started to play other games as well per numerous requests. After the unexpected growth of your channel and presence in the youtube scene you got invited to your first gaming convention. The invite itself seemed to send you into shock, it was all happening too fast. But this was a chance of a lifetime so you spent days convincing your parents and yourself that going would be a good idea. 

The event was even more unnerving considering that you were pretty young. But at the end you managed to convince your parents and they agreed with the condition that one of them will take you to the place where the event was taking place, but you were allowed to roam the convention by yourself. considering you had not revealed your face nobody recognized you from youtube at first. But after talking to a bunch of people a girl recognized you from your voice. You swore you could have exploded from happiness. Someone recognized you just from your voice. and they were happy to see you as well AND they said they love you content. AAAAAAAAHHH. you were beaming with joy.

And the day got even better. After spotting an area with multiple computers to play Minecraft you headed straight there. Since the other places were currently taken you sat next to a guy with dark hair and eyes. Whilst playing you noticed from the side of your eye that he was often watching you play and looking like he wanted to say something. Another 4 awkward minutes passed until he took up the courage and commented on your gameplay. You talked a bit about minecraft and then exchanged names. You discovered that his name was Vikk and that he also had a youtube channel.

The two of you continued chatting about youtube while strolling around and soon met another youtuber that he seemed to know. Vik introduced him to you as Josh. This Josh was a bit intimidating at first, but out of politeness you talked to him with the slight encouragement of Vikk. Turned out that you had actually heard of his channel a few times and that he had heard of your channel once since his girlfriend had mentioned it to him. 

ahahahahahahaha. HE had heard of YOU. Even if you weren’t a fan of him it still seemed unreal. After a short chat Josh had to leave to meet up with another creator who Vikk also wanted to meet. But before leaving Vikk asked you.

“I think we have to go now, but would you want to maybe…um play together sometime? Make a video together?”

“Sure, just hit me up on twitter if your interested”

“Nice, i’ll be sure to text you”

You parted with wide smiles and excitement of an opportunity for an upcoming collaboration.

Little did you know during that time period the ultimate sidemen (the sidemen that we know today) were looking for more people to add into their group. They had invited a few other people, but it did not seem to click with any of them. But after Vikk and you played minecraft for a few times he suggested adding you to Josh since he had met you as well and after looking through your channel Josh agreed that you could be an interesting addition. The two of them presented the idea to the group. After a little discussion they all agreed to invite you for one time and then see how you fit into the group.

Once again, you were in a very intimidating situation. Vik had asked you if you wanted to join him and some people he knew to play GTA. You did some research on the group and realized that it could attract a whole new audience to your channel so you agreed (you were not a clout chaser, you were tactical). And little did you know that decision was going to change your life. 

‎

‎

Author note: I wrote this with the knowledge that the reader was born in 1998 (the date and zodiac is accustomed to the reader), but in certain images it can be changed if necessary. for example for a romantic simon/josh imagine, cause it would be a bit weird if for example in the year 2015 a 22 year old Simon or Josh was dating a 17 year old reader. (that’s my opinion but for some it could be okay and if they request a imagine without mentioning an age change i won't do it :) )

Hope you enjoyed this and have a good day or night 💐!!

[thenukacolachallenge]

some fun facts about Luis and André Peña(his VA)

(from the Nick Apostolides(Leon Kennedy VA) livestreams, because i think Luis is neato and i liked André's performance, especially for a first-time big VA gig!)

UPDATE: NOW WITH TIMESTAMPS bc someone on the part two of this post asked about them lmfao

-André actually auditioned for the Spanish cops that escort Leon to Valdelobos originally, and went through several more auditions before landing the role of Luis Serra. for his first role on a big project like Resident Evil, that's incredibly impressive! (timestamp)

-Both Nick and André did motion capture for multiple enemies, including André calling his "best role" playing a dead body lmao. He and Nick also did mocap for the Verdugos, Salazar's bodyguards! (timestamp)

-Being that it was such a big role, he was very anxious about the game dropping, from the moment he got cast to the day it dropped. He even apparently asked Nick constantly if he had somehow been recast. (poor dude, as someone with anxiety issues and huge imposter syndrome, i feel for him!!!) Nick gives him a very sweet but stern pep talk about how he earned and deserved his role on stream too, it was a cute moment! (timestamp 1: André first mentioning his nerves) (timestamp 2: second mention of anxiety/Nick's pep talk to André)

-André is a big enough fan of the original to remember where all the treasure used to be! i love when people who are fans of a series get to work on it, dude. in addition, he was also very happy with the direction he was given, and felt that he was allowed to explore Luis as a more fleshed out character. (which he absolutely is, and i love it! Luis in the original was so strange and honestly off-putting imo. fucking ballistics lmao) (timestamp 1: first mention of André knowing a lot about RE4) (timestamp 2: more of André knowing the game) (timestamp 3: MORE of André knowing the game lmao) (there are a lot more than just these. dude is a FAN) (timestamp 4: André talking about direction and Luis)

-He refers to the bag Luis is stuffed into as a "Luis burrito", which is hilarious and adorable. (timestamp)

-(Also, not related to Luis, but Nick yells "YEET" when Leon gets tossed into the wall by Mendez, which is fucking hysterical) (timestamp)

-UPDATE: thank you to tumblr user @hamartia-grander for this detail that i completely missed originally! (timestamp)

(transcript: I hope this okay for me to add, but he also said that in the first scene with Leon and Luis, Luis looks away as Mendéz injects Leon with la plaga because he couldn't watch another person be infected by something horrible he had a hand in creating. Which is easy to infer from that scene, but it was nice that it was a conscious decision on André's part, rather than aimless direction.)

-the first scene André and Nick filmed together was Luis and Leon chained up together! and the first line of Luis's that got revealed was when he said to Leon, "I guess you, me... picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" Apparently the mocap for this scene was also very awkward for André, which is totally understandable, considering Luis spends 90% of it getting jerked around by Leon or trying to dodge a Ganado without the use of his hands lol. (timestamp)

-André worked very hard to make sure that Luis's accent was as accurate to Spain's Spanish as it could be, which is awesome, especially for someone who doesn't naturally speak that particular dialect. GOOD ACTING, BABEY (timestamp)

-André owns a legitimate Red 9 gun, the weapon that Luis uses in the game. this is a unique gun bc it was manufactured during the first World War, and it's VERY expensive(they can go up to $10k, but André apparently got his for a great deal!). he also has MADE a copy of the RE4 tactical knife Leon uses, and there's a video up on his youtube channel! (timestamp)

-(not related to Luis, but André also mentioned he has adhd! same buddy!!!) (timestamp)

-OKAY NEW STREAM TIME! This begins part four of Nick's playthrough, and André is a guest once more. All the previous facts are from part one, which is the first one André guested on. According to Nick, André learned how to flip a lighter around his fingers just for Luis, which is awesome. (and he shows off by doing so in stream!!!) (timestamp)

-Ashley's VA, Genevieve Buechner, got asked about her reaction to Luis' infamous "ballistics" line and both her and André aren't sad to see it missing from the remake. André himself makes a comment about how this version of Luis is still flirty without coming across as "creepy" about it. (i find the ballistics line from the original annoying, and it was a huge part of why i didn't care for Luis in og re4, so i too am VERY glad it's gone) (timestamp)

-André jokes about Luis breaking the brake on the minecart: "I react so depressed, like.... 'Guess that's it, bro.' 'Hey man, I tried.'" He really does! it feels like a mix of sheepishness at breaking it in the first place, and just very, resigned and depressed lol. (timestamp)

-Sadly, because he hadn't played up to that point yet, he didn't watch Luis' death scene, and therefore didn't have much to say on it :c

-when the cast was asked what kind of pet each of their characters would have, André said Luis would be a cat person, and he'd probably specifically adopt a stray cat, probably one that "adopted" him first. I definitely agree! (timestamp)

i havent watched Nick's last vid in the series yet but this is long enough as it is! im planning on watching some of André's streams up on his personal channel, and some others where he's a guest in, and i may make a part 2 of this :D (update: i did, link at the top of the post lol)

[toastandjamie]

Here’s part two of my essay on Mat’s paranoia and trust issues lol

Part two: Channelers Are Really Scary Guys

So Mat’s reaction to Rand being a channeler was always something that I found interesting, because even in the moment it feels stilted and awkward like Mat himself wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to that information. Because that’s exactly what was happening. I genuinely believe that under different circumstances Mat would’ve reacted better to the reveal, I don’t think he would’ve had a GREAT reaction to it but I also don’t think he’d shown so much suspicion and distrust if it wasn’t for the circumstances surrounding the reveal. To start with, Mat already feels incredibly isolated, Egwene and Nynaeve are already starting their White Tower training, Perrin is acting distant because he’s dealing with his Wolf Problems and Rand by his own admission has been avoiding the others. So all the people that Mat would usually trust intrinsically aren’t really around and Mat’s still suffering from the trauma of Shadar Logoth and the Camlyn Road-trip. However Mat has also now associated Rand entirely with these feeling of dependency, trust and safety. Mat hasn’t lost any memories yet so he definitely remembers Rand’s promise to never abandon him, something Mat repeats later in this book but we’ll get to that. To Mat, Rand is safety and security, the only person that he can truly trust. Then Rand shows up dressed in fancy clothes and tells Mat that he wants nothing to do with him, says that Mat was a burden on him. Something that Mat clearly had previous fears and insecurities about given his desperate plea to Rand not to abandon him for being a burden when he lost his sight.

I think a big part of Mat’s paranoia comes from a fear of being powerless, Mat spends the first two books effectively helpless for one reason or another, the first book because of inexperience and being blind for half the book and the second because of how sick he was. Mat feeling and being powerless is a very big theme for his character in the entire series and his fear of being vulnerable and powerless in particular gets a lot of focus. This fear influences a lot of his actions in series, it’s why he’s so scared of channeling and the pattern itself, the two things he can’t fight or protect against on his own. Mat reacts to this fear with hyper-control. Whenever he feels like he’s lost control of a situation, he tries to wrestle it back. He’s the one to make the decision to give Rand the silent treatment, he makes it painfully obvious that he’s the one avoiding Rand because Rand can’t abandon him if he abandons him first. Yet Mat still clearly sees Rand as safety and protection, gravitating towards him when they enter the unsettling ghost town, despite still being angry at Rand he sought him out because he felt uncomfortable and he trusted Rand to keep them safe. That is until all that safety is ripped away with the reveal that Rand can channel, and not just that he can channel but that the only reason Rand had hurt him in the first place was to protect him, that he joined the hunt for the horn risking himself in the process solely to retrieve the dagger for Mat. Two completely irreconcilable realizations happen to Mat in this moment. Being a channeler inherently means that Rand can’t be safe or trusted, no matter how good of a person Rand is at any minute he could snap and go mad. Rand cannot be safety because everyone knows what men who can channel do to the people they care about when they go mad. Mat could’ve reconciled with this on its own, it hurts but this is something he can control, he already distrusts everyone what difference does one more person make? Except that it’s Rand. Except that despite not being safe anymore Rand is still protecting him, Rand is still Rand and survival tactic he developed on the road to Camlyn associates Rand completely and wholly as safety and protection. This is completely impossible to reconcile in Mat’s head and not just that but the situation has quickly spiraled out of his control so he tries to get it back while he works through these conflicting emotions. This results in the word vomit diatribe he gives us and him flinching away from Rand when Rand rightfully gets upset at him. Mat is absolutely terrified in that moment, and understandably petrified about what Rand being a channeler means.

Despite his fears Mat STILL considers Rand to be the safest and most trustworthy person he knows. When Rand disappears, all of the Shainaran’s believe that he ran off and abandoned the hunt but Mat insists that Rand wouldn’t have done that. Because say it with me now, Rand promised never to abandon him. Mat trusts Rand and most importantly he trusts Rand’s word and believes wholeheartedly that Rand wouldn’t let him die, not when he could do something about it. Mat trusting Rand intrinsically while being terrified of him is something that continues to he ever present in Mat’s story and character arc. It’s something that never really goes away, it’s present until the last battle itself where Mat tells Tuon “you can trust Rand Al’thor with the world” and he BLOODY MEANS IT. Mat has trusted Rand with his entire world from book 1 and even at their worst where they were barely talking and Mat was convinced Rand would snap and kill them all at any minute he always trusted Rand. He followed Rand into danger time after time believing and trusting that Rand would save him and Rand did. Hanging on Avendasora, attacked by dark hounds, and even when he was killed by Rhavin, Rand always saved him in the end. The trust was warranted and Mat never stopped trusting Rand.

Wanna know what Mat never trusted? Channeling. And Aes Sedai too. And you know what, it was entirely warranted. At least in his point of view. Mat didn’t start with such a strong aversion to channelers, it was something that grew over time. Something that really took root in books three and four.

Mat’s first real interaction with the White Tower and the Aes Sedai as an institution is being held captive in the White Tower after being healed from the dagger. Suian makes it abundantly clear by action even if not in words that he is a prisoner there. Not just a prisoner, but one she sees as a liability. It’s not hard to see from her conversation with Mat once he finally wakes up. For one thing she enters the room without knocking, which immediately sets a tone that Mat is completely powerless here, he doesn’t get to refuse her entry, and she doesn’t even let him get decent before she enters. She tells him practically point blank that she would’ve let him die if she hadn’t thought that he’d be useful to the White Tower. That it would’ve been MORE convenient to her if he was dead, that way a member of the White Tower could be the one to blow the horn and he linked to it. Suian’ as intent was clear to Mat, she wanted him to feel indebted to her so she could control him. And as established, Mat’s big fear is being powerless, so of course he finds the first opportunity to run away.

This interaction along with learning that the Aes Sedai kept his father from seeing him, had confirmed every single bad rumor about the Aes Sedai there was. They were manipulative, callous, and even if they couldn’t lie they get pretty damn close to it. Mat’s fears and distrust of Aes Sedai is only exasperated by the fact that every Aes Sedai’s first reaction to him not doing what they want him to, or even just being the unlucky sucker to be around them when they’re looking for an easy scapegoat to be mad at, is seemingly to channel at him. Dangling him off the ground or hitting him with switches of air. It’s a power play on the Aes Sedai’s end, to establish themselves as the authority by flexing their power, a power most people can’t defend against. Mat hates feeling powerless and until he gets the medallion, channelers pose the most clear threat to him. The one thing he can’t defend against and the Aes Sedai he interacts with never hesitate to use that against him. Even after he receives the medallion the Aes Sedai’s first reactions to discovering this was to try and take it from him and when that failed they actively sought out ways around it by quite literally terrorizing him for a week straight. The fact that when they finally did find the loophole that the medallion could only protect against direct weaves, Mat’s reaction was to literally get so drunk he could barely walk or see straight. The medallion had quickly become his safety, and it was taken away from him. It would’ve been terrifying to him.

Aes Sedai did nothing to make Mat trust them and in fact did a whole lot to make him not. So it’s not too much of a surprise that Mat “trust no one everyone’s out to get you” Cauthon would begin to not just distrust Aes Sedai but begin to even think of them as enemies.

[alianoralacanta]

Have you seen the article Bernie Collins wrote on how Carlos helped Ferrari choose the right strategy for Charles?

At this point the information is given to Leclerc that Sainz is targeting a one-stop strategy. Leclerc agrees that it is the best opportunity to win and immediately begins work on the tyre saving required to pull it off.

Weren't Charles' laptimes reflective of a one-stop even before he "agreed"? Plus it was confirmed that the one-stop was the pre-agreed strategy (by both Fred and Charles after the race) so his times make sense.

This line in particular... So although Leclerc then took the plaudits and the glory on the Monza podium in front of the adoring Tifosi, he couldn’t have pulled off such a famous victory without the help of his Ferrari team mate.

I can't believe this lol, I'm convinced this is to push a feel-good teammates narrative for Monza or something (I usually love Bernie by the way.)

I would love your thoughts on the article!

I'm glad I waited on this one. Turns out the full radio transcripts don't support Bernie's conclusion, and initially I thought they did (if for different reasons than Bernie). Leclerc was definitely aiming for a one-stop all along. Indeed, he was going faster as the hard tyre stint went on (on average), which is the opposite behaviour to that expected by someone suddenly changing to a more conservative strategy. That is not in doubt. However, I thought I'd heard Bozzi ask to go onto Plan C (which in context would have meant going to 2 stops rather than 1) partway through the race, shortly before Sainz suggested Plan B (the one-stop). This would have led to Sainz deserving credit for saving Ferrari from losing confidence in its convictions. The first paragraph you quoted would still be nonsense, but at least the second one you quoted would be justifiable. However, looking back through the Channel 4 highlights where I thought I'd heard it revealed that this was just an error on my part. Plans of any letter were never mentioned on that program.

One of my friends on Twitter tracks Leclerc's and Sainz's radios all the way through each race. I am not sure how she does this (I assume she has only one pair of ears) but she spotted that at no point did Leclerc agree to two-stop. There were a couple of comments that suggested that Leclerc and Bozzi were instead trying to bait McLaren into two-stopping. The one I think might have tripped Bernie and several other analysts, was a prompt to think about tyre wear, soon followed by mention of a lettered plan. Leclerc had done a very slow lap prior to this message. However, Ferrari's experience over the last few races is that Leclerc can have a few slow laps and then clear the tyre, quite reliably. Barring a request from Leclerc, it would be surprising to pit him after only one slow lap. Naturally, Leclerc sped up again the moment Piastri pitted (to do his in-lap). (The baiting was probably superfluous, since I don't think McLaren could have one-stopped even if it had tried. Tyre management is one of the McLaren's only technical weaknesses). In tricking McLaren, I think Ferrari managed to trick several analysts. I don't think this is about pushing a feel-good narrative, it is simply a mistaken analysis. That it feeds into a pro-Sainz attitude that would be appreciated by Sainz's sponsor that is about to take up a position as F1's sponsor, is purely coincidental and would not have entered Bernie's mind. It might, however, have been considered by the F1 site's editor, in an opportunistic sense.