#tell me that’s not even gayer

[sejarcus-archive]

All the most important mentor-tribute duos are a boy and a girl, except for Marcus and Sejanus… gay

[someiicecube]

ngl... just by looking at how Vere sketches everyone is so telling about how he feels about them, even beyond what the relationship chart tells you. Makes you think...

Kuras, pure rough sketch (no. ??? at this point, cause he can't stop drawing him badly on purpose) and totally was not going to be bothered with the clothes details. A moment of silence for Vere for he had to suffer Kuras' design with us too...

Mhin's is... curious. Why so many sketches, hm? Have them in that pose just festering in your mind, Vere? Clearly a lot of thought went into sketching them. Does he really think about their ██ ███ ██ so much...?

Leander's is a surprisingly neat mess— Vere supposes he must give the man his money's worth. Once he was done he probably shoved it right into his arms and didn't allow Leander a single revision lmao

Oh, if Vere was ever into digital art (or had the means, if we're being realistic), Ais' drawing would have been a fully rendered illustration, you can't tell me otherwise. Drawn with such care and precision, not a line out of place, heck, the shading was done with effort. And he just had that in his sketchbook? I know what you are Vere...

And, looking at the photos side-by-side, why is Ais' drink red?

[napping-sapphic]

Someone in my family just told me they really like the way i make hot chocolate even when it’s just instant mix and idk i’m basically top notch wife material is what that means im pretty sure

[jouska-the-deer]

People still suck at writing Sonic the Hedgehog

Interpretations of Sonic outside of media made by Sonic Team often seem either unable or unwilling to reconcile the fact that Sonic is both kind-hearted and intelligent, but I think I've noticed a recent shift in the way writers try to reconcile it.

In general, there seems to be this belief that smart people are inherently more pessimistic toward the world and that kind people are inherently more naive towards it. So, when writing for a character who's both smart and kind, less knowledgeable writers end up flanderizing them in one of two ways:

The first way, which is how Sonic was interpreted in Sonic Boom and prior, is making the character act like a jerk who knows best. At worst, they'll be outright rude towards their closest friends, but any criticism they get for it will be ignored because their opinions are always correct in the eyes of the narrative. At best, they'll sometimes make mistakes and learn lessons about being nicer to other people, which is something their non-flandarized self wouldn't have struggled with.

The second way, which is how Sonic is interpreted now, is making the character a saint who solves everything with friendship. At worst, they'll give absolute tyrants a million chances, but any criticism they get for it will be ignored because their opinions are always correct in the eyes of the narrative. At best, they'll sometimes make mistakes and learn lessons about certain people being unwilling to change, which is something their non-flandarized self wouldn't have struggled with.

You may have noticed I straight up copy/pasted a couple bits of those last two paragraphs. Well, that's because those bits reveal a bit of truth in how Sonic is portrayed by Sonic Team. Sonic's opinions are always correct in the eyes of the narrative, because of the lessons he no longer struggles with. Sonic already learned to balance his desire to give people a second chance with the fact that some people just have to be stopped. When? Since the very beginning. Sonic has always been trying to defeat Eggman for good while also giving second chances to people who he thinks deserve it.

But how do you deal with people who are causing so much harm when you still think they deserve a second chance? Guess what? Sonic answered that straight up in Sonic Adventure 1.

Do me a quick favor and if you can listen to Open Your Heart, specifically the Sonic Adventure 1 version (Click here). You may notice that there're two distinct sets of vocals; One clean and high pitched, and one distorted and low pitched. (And if you're wearing headphones the audio will even pan during the chorus.) For context, this is the song that plays while Sonic is fighting Chaos.

You can figure it out yourself from there, but if you want me to really dig into the topic, feel free to keep reading.

So like, I shouldn't have to say this, but the dark negative voice is Chaos' view and the light positive voice is Sonic's. But notably, they sing together during key points, specifically those related to the anger, sadness, and hopelessness that Chaos has been feeling for ages. Sonic has recognized that 1. imprisoning Chaos as suggested by Tikal wouldn't solve anything because, 2. Chaos is only acting this way due to being blinded by hatred for those he perceives as selfish monsters, and 3. he's still very much currently destroying the world and won't change his mind because he's lost hope that there's anything worth holding on to.

What does Sonic do then? Sonic may be an unstoppable force but Chaos is a seemingly immovable object. Well, he literally uses the positive energy from his friends and within himself to stop Chaos' rampage and prove that there are still good people in the world that want to maintain peace. After he loses the fight, Chaos is able to calm down and see that the cute defenseless chao he'd been protecting ages ago had survived, living among the very people he had assumed could only be power hungry monsters. He's able to let go of his hatred and live a peaceful life understanding that good people still exist and the world is still worth protecting.

And that's where the question is answered. How do you deal with people who are causing so much harm when you still think they deserve a second chance? You do everything you can to stop them, and if they're still around afterward, show them that they didn't need to fight in the first place. But that only works if they had a good reason behind why they were fighting, and would have chosen peace otherwise.

Sonic wanted to give Chaos a second chance because he knew that violence was not truly in his nature. Had he not been forced into those specific circumstances, Chaos would have chosen peace.

And that's what separates characters who have done a lot of harm but Sonic still gave a second chance to like Chaos and Merlina, from those who have done a lot of harm but Sonic wouldn't give a second chance to, like Eggman and Erazor Djinn. The former wanted peace but became convinced that it was impossible, and the latter only wanted power and were willing to hurt others to obtain it. The characters who Sonic won't give another chance to have proven that when dealt a better hand, they'll still chose to hurt others solely for their own gain, because that's what they want. To stop them peacefully, Sonic would have to convince them to give up their true dreams.

And that, is why Sonic's opinions get to always be treated as right in the games, because they are right. He has an absolutely kind heart, a nuanced understanding of morality, and the integrity to never give in to selfish desires.

None of this means Sonic is always right, though. Most people already know of his impulsiveness, which is his greatest weakest, but also one of his greatest strengths. Sonic never waits to act, which is great when innocent people are seconds from mortal danger... but not so great when a situation looks to be one way but is actually another. He teases Eggman for pleading for a second chance in Unleashed and he kicks the Cacophonous Conch from Eggman's hand in Lost World, and both of those were massive mistakes.

But, despite making those mistakes, his mindset wasn't the problem. How was he supposed to know Eggman was a shockingly good actor leading him into a trap? How was he supposed to know the people Eggman was controlling with the conch were equally as evil? (Yes Tails tried to warn him but literally if he didn't Sonic wouldn't have looked stupid and it just shows how poorly written Lost World was overall.) Had Eggman actually been pleading and the Zeti good people, Sonic's actions would've been justified.

Still, those were mistakes, and Sonic always wants to do what's right, so he does what he can to fix his own messes. He restores the planet Eggman broke apart. He stops the Zeti from sucking the life out of the planet. Sonic always makes things right in the end, and so he has the right to be so confidant in his beliefs. So confidant in fact that he doesn't care about looking like the bad guy if it means doing the right thing. Oh look, there's a song about that too. From Sonic's fight with Merlina in Sonic and the Black Knight. (Click Here.) Don't be fooled by the feminine vocals, if you paid attention to the themes of the game, the song is clearly from Sonic's perspective.

So yeah, Sonic is kind but he's also smart. He won't let anyone change his mind on anything, but he doesn't need to change his mind because he follows his kind heart and compassionate soul. He doesn't worry about looking like the bad guy because he and his friends know his true nature. When he gets angry he lets his rage fuel his desire to save the day. He'll never shed tears of despair because he knows that if he keeps fighting he'll make things right in the end. Sometimes his impulsiveness gets him into trouble, but it also helps get him back out. No matter what happens to him, he'll always make it out in the end either through sheer determination or the help of his friends.

Sonic is absolutely silly; He makes dumb jokes about his enemies and talks to himself when there's nobody around. Sonic is completely serious; He's willing to kill someone if it means saving the world and has felt multiple friends die before his eyes and in his arms.

Sonic is literally just some blue hedgehog who can run really fast.

Sonic is a god, and could kill god, and there is not a difference!

But most importantly, Sonic is all of those things at once. He is a wonderfully balanced character who's been right from the very beginning and has spent all his games sharing his wisdom with others simply by being himself. He isn't perfect, but that's not due to some personality flaw he needs to correct, but because nobody can always have all the answers and know how to avoid all potential mistakes.

The problem is, writing a character like this is hard. Writing conflicts for a character like this is hard. Most writers rely on making their protagonists work through relatable flaws to create an emotionally compelling story... but you don't need to do that. Sonic's conflicts are mostly external, but we care about him succeeding anyway because he's a good person who's just trying to live his life.

So really, if you wanna write Sonic well, you have to just let him speak for himself.

...By the way I mean that literally. Dude listen to his character theme it's all right there! (Click here.) Even when his theme was altered in Sonic Adventure 2 the only thing that changed was how confidently the same ideas were delivered. (Click here.) But seriously listen to literally any of the game themes, final boss themes, and ending themes. (I'm not linking all that.) No matter the quality of the games, if Sonic wanted to teach you something he was gonna teach it... through the power of having a music department detached from the nightmare that is game development time crunch.

And that's why Sonic Lost World is the worst Sonic game. Because it was so pointless that Sonic didn't have anything to sing about!

Wait... what was the point of this post again?

[torgawl]

it's been like 3 hours and i can't stop thinking about xiao and aether. you guys don't get it. it's the way the heart in qixing is likely referring to aether. it's because aether dedicated his poem and his dreams to xiao. it's because xiao smiled when he heard it. it's the way he's always looking out for aether. it's because even though everything was okay xiao made the effort to be vocal about how worried he was when aether pretended to drown. it's because aether is the only person capapable of persuading xiao, to the point others are aware he would do anything for him only and use it to convince him every chance they get. it's because aether is the only person capable of relieving the pain of xiao's karmic debt, not because of his powers but solely by being a part of xiao's life. it's because during the lantern rite instead of looking at the sky xiao looks at aether. it's because everytime they're together everyone else always comments about how close and fond of each other they are. it's because xiao is the only character aether is able to have alone time with without paimon. it's because as long as aether says his name xiao will always answer his call.

[unfried-mouth-wheat]

Scenario: Herbert West’s assistant (Dan/Narrator) wakes up one night and asks “Would you still love me if I were a worm?”

Movie Herbert: What a stupid and completely unfounded question. I can’t believe you would interrupt my work for something so asinine. Leave, now.

Book Herbert: Yes, now go back to sleep.

[thekuraning]

i am being so incredibly normal about tiger & bunny season 2 i did not have my sleeper cell passphrase activated by tiger & bunny season 2 i am most certainly not crying sobbing wailing over my poor meowmeows getting slapped around

[faerociousbeast]

my little sisters been rewatching naruto i love og naruto

[colorful-otaku]

@hopelessrromantix

[languidlotus]

Fangs of Fortune is one of those shows that is telling a love story that could very well be read differently (as in, gayer) than they intended. They definitely set out to make this a story where the greatest, scariest demon to have ever lived will eventually realize that he is (romantically) in love with the Baize Goddess he's watched over since she was young and who he's vowed to protect. And the second male lead is secretly in love with her. That's their intent. However, you can also make the case that rigid, goody-two shoes Zhou Yichen, who has promised to one day kill demon Zhao Yuanzhou to avenge his family, doesn't realize that the burning in his chest he's felt since day one is sexual tension and not hatred.

Their interactions are very charged and Zhao Yuanzhou, especially, initiates conversations and makes suggestions that had this been a male/female pairing would have been deemed the prelude to something more.

And Zhou Yichen often reacts scandalized, as if he knows that these suggestions or implications are improper.

After this moment he literally gulps. He knows.

And Zhao Yuanzhou is delighted at having riled him up.

It happens again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Even after Zhao Yuanzhou claims he doesn't like to push people on swings, but he will for Wen Xiao. The show absolutely means to frame Zhou Yichen's reaction as jealousy over Wen Xiao, but you could also see it as a different kind of jealousy.

And when Zhao teases him about it, he storms off again. All I'm saying is, the push and pull of them is delicious and it's very easy to read more into the kind of tension they've got going. Feel free to join me. ;)

[fuckingmeteors]

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

[introduction]

Host/Interviewer:

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

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

[interview starts playing]

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

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

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

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

P: Yeah, without the T, yeah!

I: That sort of hard E at the end.

P: Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I: Hahaha

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

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

D: (?)

I: Koala daddy?

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

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

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

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

P: No.

D: How dare you?

P: Dan loved it, though. (?)

D: I’m just a yeasty kind of guy.

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

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

I: Yeah, it’s good for you!

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

D: Yeah. The national sport.

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

D: Yeah, yeah.

P: I can get down with that.

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

D: Yeah, absolutely.

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

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

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

I: Hahaha!

P: Time isn’t real!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

D: A  Deep spiritual moment? Okay.

P: My favourite animal.

I: A wombat?

P: Yeah, I love a wombat!

D: Underrated.

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

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

D: (?) Make a decision.

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

D: Okay. Sounds like me.

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

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

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

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

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

D: Thank you!

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

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

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

P: Cheers!

D: Bye!

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

[superpowereddonut]

Favour for a Friend (Sirius Black x Reader) - Part 1

This came to me in a dream and I had to write it down! I've never posted any of my own works anywhere, but figured it's a short little one-shot that I may as well put out there even if no one ever reads it! If I feel inspired I might turn this into a proper fic, but idk yet.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader (No use of Y/N)

A/N: set at Hogwarts, fake dating trope

Warnings: Swearing, Sirius isn't gay (even though Wolfstar is obviously canon lol)

Word count: 1401

*****

Barely catching her breath enough to mutter the password, the Gryffindor girl rushed into the common room, all windswept hair, flushed cheeks and wide eyes. She spotted the Marauders all lounging by the fire (except Peter - he was always off snogging Dorcus in a closet these days) and made a beeline straight for them. Remus was squashed awkwardly in an armchair, a book open against his long legs where they were draped over one arm and his back resting against the other. James was sitting up on one end of the adjacent couch, his transfiguration homework in his lap, with Sirius sprawled at the other end, legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back and eyes closed, listening to the music emanating from the record player nearby.

She felt a twinge of regret when the cosy atmosphere broke as she stormed over, her gaze flicking over each of them before settling on Sirius, who had cracked an eye open to look at her, now standing on the carpet in front of the fire.

“Black, I need you to be my boyfriend.”

James and Remus both snapped their heads up at that, and Sirius’ eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“Lucas Davis just asked me out again!” The three boys in front of her seemed to let out a simultaneous groan. They were almost as sick as she was of Davis, the irritating Gryffindor two years above them who had been hellbent on wooing her for almost four months now. Unlike James, who had been smitten with Lily since they were eleven and asked her out at least once a week, Davis was aggressive - cornering her in half-empty hallways only to speak over her, invading her personal space whenever he got the chance, and making creepy sexual innuendos anytime a teacher was out of ear-shot. At this point it didn’t even seem to be about her. He just liked the chase and enjoyed making girls squirm. Even girls who hated his guts.

“Just tell him to piss off”, James suggested with a shrug

“Oh jeez, thanks James! Why didn’t I think of that?” She rolled her eyes, “I’ve told him to piss off a hundred times, in a hundred different ways! But he’s relentless- convinced I’m playing ‘hard to get’ or some bullshit like that. The only thing I think would actually get the misogynistic bastard to leave me alone is if he thinks I’m already seeing someone. So,” she said, turning again to Sirius, “can you just pretend to be my boyfriend, Black?”

“Why me? Ask Remus - you two already spend all your time together, surely dating isn’t that much of a stretch!” She shook her head impatiently, “He’s gayer than Bowie and everyone knows it!”. The boy in question huffed a laugh, “Cheers, love.” She ignored him.

“Get James to do it then!” Sirius exclaimed, and the messy-haired boy next to him opened his mouth, sitting up straighter. He probably would do it, she thought, because he would do just about anything for his friends. The noble idiot.  “Oh please, you think anyone would believe that this lovesick fool has moved on from Lily?” She retorted, making a vague gesture towards James, who just grinned ruefully and relaxed back into his seat, nodding his head in agreement.

“And you think anyone would believe we are a couple?” She paused for a second, unsure of how to answer. Although she and Sirius had always been… sort of… friends, it was largely only because of her friendship with the other Marauders - mainly studying with Remus and playing quidditch with James. While they inevitably spent a lot of time together due to their mutual friends, it was true that they were at each other’s throats more often than not, she supposed. Remus was complaining just last week about their constant bickering and their incessant need to outcompete each other in every little thing. 

She was saved from answering by James. “Actually, a Ravenclaw in our charms class - you know, Macmillan? - asked me if you two were dating a couple of weeks ago.” 

They both turned to look at him, shocked, and he just shrugged, “he said he wanted to ask you to Hogsmeade but wanted to make sure nothing was going on between you and Sirius”. Before she could unscramble her thoughts enough to answer, Remus piped up from his armchair. “A girl in the year below asked me something similar recently. Thought she might have a shot with Sirius, but wasn’t sure. She said something about you two having ‘chemistry’ at that party after the last quidditch match.” She fought the blush that spread across her cheeks at the memory. They’d thrashed Slytherin last month and she’d gotten pretty drunk at the party in Gryffindor tower afterwards. She always got a bit flirty when she drank, and Sirius was a shameless flirt even when he was stone cold sober. They’d traded a few harmless remarks early in the night, and later, though she couldn’t really remember how it happened, she ended up dancing to some ABBA songs with her back pressed against Sirius' chest, his arms around her waist and his hot breath on her neck. It hadn’t led anywhere - in fact she had been pretending it never happened - but she still felt a burning pit in her stomach whenever she thought about the way he had felt pressed against her, or the way he had grinned and licked his lips when she turned around and they danced chest to chest.

She shook herself slightly and forced herself to look at Sirius, who was frowning at Remus. “Plus,” she said bitingly, “you’ve established a pretty solid reputation for fucking anything that moves”. Sirius scowled at her before roughly shoving himself up from the couch and strolling past her to the record player that was now sitting idle, the last track having finished. She watched his tense shoulders as he carefully selected a new record and switched them over. She softened her tone, “I’m sure Davis will move on and start pestering some other poor girl before long. I just need you to play the overprotective boyfriend role until he backs off.” She shared a glance with Remus and James when he still didn’t respond. “Please,” she finally relented. When Black still didn’t answer, now decidedly fiddling with the tuning knobs on the record player, she sighed. She’d have to find another way to deter Davis and it’d have to be soon - she didn’t know how many more times she could hear his sleazy “hiya sweetheart”, before she’d resort to hexing him. And that would probably just make him re-double his efforts.

She barely noted the sound of the gryffindor portrait opening to let someone into the common room, but then- “There ya are sweetheart! Bin lookin’ all over for ya!” She gritted her teeth, turning around to see Lucas Davis stalking towards her, that stupid fucking smirk on his face. “Can’t think why, given that you saw me an hour ago and I told you to ‘leave me the fuck alone’”, she snapped. She could see both Remus and James tense in her peripherals, probably preparing to tell Davis to ‘fuck off’ themselves, but Sirius remained silent behind her. Davis either didn’t notice the two boys glaring at him, or didn’t care, and he only smiled wider, “aw come on princess, don’ be like that!” He whined, “I think you just need-” 

But she never found out what he thought she needed, as Sirius suddenly stepped up to her side, casually slung an arm around her shoulder and drawled, “You heard my girl, fuck off and leave her alone.” Davis visibly recoiled, and she might have laughed at his shocked expression had she not been entirely preoccupied by Sirius' comforting warmth as he leant against her. “Your girl?” He sputtered. 

“My girl.” Sirius repeated, and she could hear the mocking smile in his voice, “Girlfriend, paramour, lover, whatever. The point is: fuck. off.” Even Remus seemed to be hiding a grin as Davis stood there, dumbstruck, his eyes darting between her and Sirius as though stupefied. She relaxed into Sirius embrace and intertwined her fingers with his where they hung over her shoulder. “Bye Davis”, she crooned, with a smug smile. He seemed to struggle for another moment before turning on his heel and striding out the door without another word.

[hyypnotix-writes]

Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.  

One perfect night.  

That’s all it took.  

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

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

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

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

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

It's not that you haven’t tried.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until she wasn’t, of course.  

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

You knew even then that you should have.  

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

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

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

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

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

It was just one night.  

It was one perfect night.  

________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

Oh ..maybe she is! 

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

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

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

“Do you find every woman attractive?” 

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

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

“No. Not once. Why?” 

“Never ever?” 

“Y/N!” 

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

“About women?” She queries. 

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

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

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

“Stop doing that!” 

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

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

“I need your help.” 

“I don’t care!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing. I was just—” 

“Thinking about women?” 

“No!”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? For a man?” 

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

“..and ..was it?” 

“Mhmm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”  

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

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

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

See what I mean? What the hell?  

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

Did you?  

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

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

“..we broke up.” 

Shit. She would make this all about herself.  

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

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

“I’m sorry.” 

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

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

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.” 

“Well, thank fuck for that!” 

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

“She was horrible!” 

“You could’ve said.” 

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going in Spain?” 

“Barcelona.” 

“Why?” 

“Football.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what if it’s a sign? 

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

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

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

“You’re still going with that?” 

“Why don’t you believe me?” 

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

“I hadn’t met her before.” 

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

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

“I don’t mind doing that.” 

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

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

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

What’s the worst that can happen?  

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

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

Mm.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.  

It’s her. It has to be her.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“….Hi.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?” She questions.  

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh oh!” 

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She really is very curious.  

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really missed you too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just don’t let her burn it!”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________

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

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

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

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

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

“Long day?” You ask. 

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

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

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

“I was given it.” 

“By?” 

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” 

“Going for the best player on the team.” 

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

“..What do you mean?” 

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

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

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

No.  

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

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

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

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

“Who is Alexia Putellas?” 

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

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

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

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She really is absolutely everything.  

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

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

“You can’t wear it!” 

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

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

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

[marigoldwriter]

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

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

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

"You need help!"

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

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

"Neither do you."

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

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

[andy-wm]

his “coming out” should not be in any way shape or form be connected to jungkook. idk why you shippers can’t leave them tf alone when they’re not dating ffs.

[Select.font=sarcasm]

Oooh I am so glad you came here to tell me this, Anon! You are clearly well informed on both Jimin’s life, and "coming out".

I didn't even know that "coming out" needs to be in inverted commas. Thank you for helping me understand.

I also didn't know what his "coming out" should or should not be! I didn't know there were rules for "coming out"! I'm so grateful to have this information now.

I hope you've also told Jimin how he should "come out"?

I hope he listens to you since obviously, you have his happiness at heart.

Because "coming out" with no significant other to support him - and facing the inevitable repercussions alone - that would DEFINITELY make things better for him, right?

Also we all know how much Jimin LOVES being alone, so naturally we should wish that for him.

Objectively, he would be happier if he was single I guess? Because having a secure and healthy long term relationship with someone who loves and supports you is known to be pretty shit. Makes sense... that's why nobody looks for love. They certainly don't write songs about love.

Ever.

People aspire to being isolated, like Jimin showed us this with his song Serendipity.

When he sang "just let me love you" he probably meant he wanted to be single and live alone forever in his bubble. That makes sense.

And of course they aren't dating!

You're right, there's absolutely nothing special between Jimin and Jungkook. They are 100% platonic and good pals.

It would be ridiculous to look at them and see love and intimacy.

I dont know what love looks like, but this is not it...

Definitely not this either.

Just friends here.

So friendly!

Brothers even!

Keeping to the bro code here too, 100%

Absolutely no crossing of boundaries here....

I always caress my friend's clothes when I sing their own love song back to them. Especially when my face is less than a foot from their face. It's very platonic.

Anyway, there's no reason to think they might be dating.

Why would people even think they COULD be?

It's unimaginable.

Society has never ignored or dismissed loving romantic relationships between same-sex couples, and that's certainly not what you're doing. Not at all. You just know they aren't dating because ... reasons.

I'm sure you don't object to Jimin being gay because that would be homophobic (you even know how he should "come out"). If that was the case you might as well just get a tattoo of an L on your forehead and throw away all your Jimin merch because our boy is gayer than a rainbow cake. Gayer even than the rainbow cake his appa has *always in stock* in his coffee shop in Busan.

And if you generously tolerate his gayness, i imagine you will allow that one day he could date (definitely not now, because he probably has no interest in sex. He's too busy working and anyway he has ARMY to love him) yeah, but not now please.

But one day he could have a nice boyfriend who sits beside him on the sofa and smiles benignly and holds his hand like a good boy.

Definitely NOT one that sings about fucking night after night seven days a week, or watching in 3D, or DEAR GOD... the imagery... champagne confetti.

Not someone who sings Sam Smith songs on his Live, or who goes around whacking off fire hydrants in his music videos or miming blow jobs on national tv.

Not someone that demands you see him as an adult who enjoys adult things and wont accept your judgement of him. Not one who puts boundaries in place.

Not someone who (the audacity!) lies in bed naked and begs Jimin to come over.

And that brings us to the villain of our story:

JEON JUNGKOOK

I guess, since you will allow a relationship in theory, you just object to the idea of a relationship specifically with Jungkook.

And I can see why. Jungkook very obviously has no interest in Jimin’s happiness. Jungkook doesn't support him at all.

He doesn't hold jimin when he cries, he doesn't spam us with Jimin content when Jimin has a comeback, he doesn't cook Jimin’s favourite food for him, or fold his underpants while he does his own laundry.

He doesn't take him on trips to Japan, or send thirst-trap messages for his birthday, or play his songs, or sing on his albums.

He doesn't carry him, bridal style, any time Jimin jumps into his arms, and I can guarantee you that he doesn't let Jimin fuck him just the way Jimin likes it, as often as he wants it, wherever and whenever he gets the chance. And vice versa.

They didn't enlist in the military as companions, after all.

So reallly, what would Jungkook even know about Jimin's happiness?

What could he POSSIBLY know about Jimin that you don't know. Nothing, right?

What could POSSIBLY happen behind closed doors and away from the camera, that you don't see with your third eye and your vivid imagination? Again, nothing. You know ALL, right?

[Deselect.font=sarcasm]

I think we've covered everything?

Theres only one thing left to say i guess.

Whoever you are, you'd do well to consider whose happiness you're supporting.

If you don't support what makes Jimin happy, you don't support Jimin. Period.

[thinking-emoji]

While we're at it. Here's the Radio Adelaide interview!

Transcript under the cut!

Interviewer: What's been going on with me earlier today was I spoke with Dan and Phil, who are on their Terrible Influence tour at the moment. I think they're in Sydney right now. Even though I had to call them on the phone via England, they're going to be on at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next week, Monday the 16th of December. And these guys, they're a British internet- YouTube- radio hosts. They're critics of games. They're book authors. Dan and Phil, they're currently in Australia having their Terrible Influence tour which lands in Adelaide at the Entertainment Centre next week. And it's attempting to take back what the internet took from them. So it's allegedly a screamingly hilarious live stage show. I have no doubt that it is hilarious. They're older, gayer. Phil's gone blonde evidently and nothing is off limits. Now I was brought to the attention of them by some younger folk, who asked me to ask them some certain questions and throw some sort of slightly strange questions at them. And I haven't got time to include all of those questions. And also I had a call after the interview from one of the duo suggesting that “ehh, you might get trolled if you ask a question like that and people misinterpret it” because I was asking- I believe they've become a couple. I'm not sure if they've got married but they may have got married or they may just be, like, going steady but they're a terrific pair of comic lads. In the- in the vein of Kenny Everett, sort of. They don't have a TV show as such. They were both YouTubers, which means that they had little YouTube shows and then they started guesting on each other's show and then they eventually started doing stuff together. Very interesting lads. And I just really want to play the interview now.

Dan: I've got a mullet now that I'm in Australia because apparently that's what the people do. I just think Australians have more fun. So I wanted to appropriate a bit of the culture while we’re here doing the show.

Phil: I think it's more of a micro mullet, Dan, though. You know, you haven't gone full mullet, it's more of a micro…

Dan: It's a mullet without the T. It's just a mull-e.

Interviewer: (laughs) Mull-e. All right. Just with that sort of hard...

Dan: Without the T, yeah.

Interviewer: Hard E on the end. How has your tour been going so far, gentlemen?

Dan: It's been amazing to be in Australia. No offence. We loved having a great time in America. But we're very happy to be in Australia. Although – I know it's summer. Why is it so hot? Nowhere on Earth it should be this warm.

Interviewer: You haven't reached Adelaide yet, have you?

Dan: No, God. Don't tell me it's warmer.

Interviewer: Yes, yes. We're in the middle of a very dry, arid area. Very isolated. A long way from anywhere. But there's only about maybe 30 or 40 tickets left at your gig here.

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

Phil: And if there's 40 people listening, come hang out with us. It's going to be a fun time.

Dan: Yeah. What else are you doing on that night?

Phil: We're going to be pumping the air con out.

Dan: Yeah, just come to have somewhere cool to sit in the theatre. You know what I mean?

Phil: Yeah.

Interviewer: Are you collecting things from your hangouts that you're going to discuss at the next show? Like before a show, if people hang out with you, give you a piece of artwork or a little letter or a note, something like that. Do you then discuss it in front of the next...

Dan: Oh, a big trendy thing these days. Yeah. Taylor Swift has started this trend of the bracelets that people spell out things on. So people would make like a little bracelet that says Dan or Phil in beads. And the other day I had someone that gave me a bracelet that said Vegemite on it. (Interviewer laughs) And I was like, what the heck? And they said, you don't understand. This is incredibly culturally important. So I was like, okay, thank you. I will cherish this Vegemite bracelet.

Phil: Yeah. I got one that said Koala Daddy. I'm not sure what that meant, but-

Interviewer: Koala Daddy?

Phil: Yeah. I think that's what they were calling me.

Interviewer: Have you actually dipped your tongue into any Vegemite as yet?

Phil: I have. I would have to say it was one of the most horrific experiences of my life. I'm sorry.

Dan: What, Phil, you don't like a yeast-based condiment?

Phil: No.

Dan: How dare you.

Phil: Dan loves it though. He's a bit of a…

Dan: I'm just a yeasty kind of guy.

Interviewer: Yeah. It's kind of up there with Marmite, isn't it?

Phil: It is, but I only eat sweet things, so I couldn't handle it. But Dan was eating his second portion of toast this morning. He loved it.

Interviewer: Yeah, yeah. It's good for you.

Phil: And last time we were in Adelaide, we did a vlog where we explored the town, didn't we? We got some Tim Tams. We did a Tim Tam slam.

Interviewer: Fun!

Dan: Yeah, the national sport.

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

Dan: Hell yeah.

Phil: I can get down with that.

Interviewer: Yeah yeah. It's a lot of fun to do. You realise that our Premier is the one who started the ball rolling with the social media ban for under 16-year-olds? You're lucky that you're here now at this stage of your career rather than at the beginning of your career because there's a lot of young people who have grown with you who will be able to come and see your show.

Dan: Yeah, absolutely.

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

Dan: People have been with us for a long time and people tell us some things and it's very disturbing.

Phil: Yeah, we've had some people meet us that are like, I watched you 10 years ago, I'm still watching you now. I've got a whole child now and it's like, what is happening? (Interviewer laughs) Time isn’t real.

Interviewer: It's kind of a historic moment. You're probably the first English lads to have linked in to YouTube and the internet and gone off the way that you have.

Dan: No, we were, well, we come from an early generation. Phil has been doing it so long that you couldn't even make a career off YouTube yet. There was no monetisation. He was just doing it out of boredom. That's how terrifying it is.

Phil: I'm a YouTube dinosaur, so yeah, I think definitely I was one of the first ones to do it. And it's crazy that we're still doing it now, 15 years later.

Interviewer: It's basically become a career for you, hasn't it?

Dan: Absolutely. And none of it was planned. It's been a constant, you know, runaway train since day one. And the emergency brake’s gone off a long time ago.

Interviewer: What kind of experiences are you getting to have in your downtime while you're in Australia this time around?

Dan: Well, I wanted to go to the beach and then Phil said there's a high chance we're going to get eaten by a shark. And I was like, a high chance? I don't know about that. And then we asked a guy and he was like, oh, no, they're out there. I see them every week, so...

Phil: I'm hoping to look into the eyes of a wombat and have an emotional connection.

Dan: A deep spiritual moment, ok.

Phil: My favourite animal.

Interviewer: A wombat?

Phil: Yeah, I love a wombat.

Dan: Underrated.

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

Phil: I'm not sure of the difference. Maybe I need to find that out. Maybe that's going to be my quest in Adelaide.

Dan: You need to meet both and make a decision.

Phil: Yeah I will.

Interviewer: Yeah, if you come face-to-face or nose-to-nose even with a hairy-nosed wombat, he's more likely to roll over and let you cuddle his tummy. The other ones have got a wet nose -

Phil: Okay, good to know.

Interviewer: -and they're a little bit more aggressive.

Phil: Okay.

Dan: Sounds like me.

(Interviewer laughs)

Interviewer: Have the audiences been laughing at all the right spots so far?

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

Phil: Also, the good thing about our show is we try to give everyone a recap of everything that's happened in the last 15 years. So if you're like, oh, I used to watch Dan and Phil a while ago, you can still come along and you're going to get right up to speed.

Dan: We know that people are dragging their husbands, their mothers, their older sisters to the show. And these people are like, what the heck is going on? So don't worry, we covered the base.

Interviewer: Sounds pretty darn good to me. I hope you have a fantastic time in Adelaide and you continue to enjoy yourselves.

Dan: Thank you.

Interviewer: Ride the wave. Don't worry about sharks.

Phil: Excellent. Well, yeah, we're looking forward to it. Thanks. Nice to speak to you.

Interviewer: You too. Cheers, lads. Dan and Phil.

Phil: Cheers!

Dan: Bye.

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

@dnp-described