#>:^[ months. years of asking! months of waiting then delaying and waiting and saving up money! all for damn brits to get the goods

[thebuttsmcgee]

No fucking way did the Arkham Trilogy release today, and I didn't get my PRE-ORDERED COPY, while brits get both a huge discount ALREADY AND get all their copies today ARE YOU JOKERING ME

[reiderwriter]

☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you find accidental comfort in your coworker. With your phone ringing nonstop, you're willing to do whatever it takes to start fresh.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, bug mentions (cockroaches), cheating, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight spanking, mentions of masturbation. Dom! Spencer.

A/N: Haha... hi guys... been a while 😚 Please enjoy the fic I dreamed up over a month ago now, and was finally able to conjure up!

Masterlist

If you were to be asked how you assumed a five-year-long relationship would end, you'd likely say something like irreparable differences. Maybe a difference in lifestyle, growing out of love, or even different plans for the future. Unfortunately, the irreparable difference your boyfriend had chosen at 10 pm on a Thursday evening was being balls deep in an irreparably different woman. 

You supposed you should've seen the signs the relationship was drawing to a close and likely you did, but with your job itself being a life or death situation almost daily, you really didn't have much time to worry about the fact that your boyfriend was sowing his oats in other fields. Based on the look of the woman spread across your bed, the oats weren't that great for her either. 

Your reaction had been somewhat delayed, but curiously not as much as hers. She'd been wonderfully blasé about the man writhing on top of her before you started screaming and throwing things, and even now you were armed with a vase of flowers (dead - you'd bought them yourself before the case you'd been on for the last two weeks) she still looked slightly bored. But at least her legs were together now, and not gynaecologist level apart. 

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - managed to regain an ounce of dignity with a scrap of clothing, and did his best to shepard you out of the crime scene as you regained the ability to hold coherent thoughts that weren't about strangling him with his own tie. 

“Listen to me, please just for five minutes-” 

“Listen? I was just listening! To you moaning into that woman's shoulders with your eyes rolled back in your head!” 

It was as if in the last few minutes all the love you'd had for this man, all five years of relationship and comfort, and nights spent together had melted away in an instant. The rage dissipated, and you were surprisingly calm again, though that worried you, too. Surely you should be crying, or at the very least upset. You should be feeling some kind of emotion that wasn't a vague disgust at the man in front of you in full pooh bear mode, trying to tug down the hem of his shirt to cover the crown jewels. 

“It didn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything. She's just - You're gone so long on cases, and I just-” 

“So you're saying it's my fault you're cheating on me?” 

“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-” 

“No, heard loud and clear, I'll try not to save lives in the future, I'm sure the BAU will understand I should be on my back 24 hours a day instead, taking all four inches you have to donate to my worthy cause.” 

“Y/N, don't be like that,” he said, exasperated. Whatever he had to be exasperated about, you had no idea. Maybe blue balls. 

“Like what?”

“Like a bitch!” 

The room went still with silence as you let him sit with the words he'd just spoken, willing him to snap back quickly so you could keep even just a shred of respect for him. 

No such apology came. 

“I'm leaving now. I expect your things packed and out of here by 12 pm tomorrow, including your thing in the bedroom. Don't bother cleaning the sheets. Just burn them. Lock the door and post the keys through the letterbox when you're done.” 

“Y/N, I told you it's not like that, I still love you, come on-” 

“Well I don't love you. And please go put some fucking pants on.” 

You stepped back over the threshold of your apartment - the lovely, nice apartment you'd been living in for the last eight years, your nice safe space - and you shuddered. 

The question wasn't exactly what next, but more like where next. What next was sending a group text in your ex-boyfriends family chat telling them what you'd walked in on, and then leaving the chat before you could get any response. The where would be a harder sell. 

From this part of the city, it'd take 2 hours to get to Penelope’s apartment, especially at this time of night without a car. Emily's apartment was similarly far. Going through a list of your coworkers again, you mentally crossed off Tara, who'd been injured on your last case and was resting at her girlfriend's apartment, Luke, who despite the promised comfort of a cute dog, you were absolutely sure didn't have a spare bed, and all members of the team with spouses and/or children. Which left just Spencer and Rossi. 

Needless to say, you found your way to Spencer's apartment in only 20 minutes, though you were sure you had disassociated the entire thing. 

Knocking on the door, you felt a little bit awkward, but not awkward enough to leave and find a hotel at nearly 11 pm. Your last case hadn't been a pleasant one, hotel-wise, and you weren't exactly eager for another check-in.

Spencer opened the door quickly, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he found you there  but only for a brief flash before his face brightened up. 

“Y/N? Do we have a case again? I thought Hotch said-” 

“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before you convinced yourself to walk away. 

Spencer took a moment to take in your words, and you took the opportunity to look at him then. He was fully clothed at least, and you were glad to find that his pajamas looked comfortable and clean. A simple plaid cotton pant with a soft-looking white long sleeved shirt pushed up his arms slightly. He'd taken out his contacts and put on his glasses, and you wondered if you'd caught him mid-book. 

“Please?” you added in a hopeful voice as he still looked at you slightly confused. 

“Oh, of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?” he asked, taking your go-bag from you without question and guiding you into the main living space of his apartment. 

“Thank you, yeah. Something like that. Shoes off or on?” 

“I have some slippers. You can take them off. What happened?” he said, placing the slippers in front of you and turning back to bolt the door. 

“Invasive species?” You said, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible  despite now feeling incredibly plussed.

“Oh, bugs? Yeah, I've had a cockroach or two in the apartment before. Did you know that the average female cockroach can produce up to 10,000 offspring in a single year?” 

You sat on his couch quietly, trying not to imagine 10,000 cockroaches and failing nearly spectacularly. Unfortunately, the only image that could surpass tiny cockroach babies was of your boyfriend pounding away at another woman. Which was just a brilliant move for your psyche. 

“Spencer, I know I've really intruded here tonight, but do…. Do you wanna drink with me?” You asked, hoping to drown at least a memory or two of the last 24 hours. Hopefully, the cheating one, but you'd take cockroach extermination as well.

A slightly worried look settled on Spencer's face, but he said nothing and nodded, walking to his kitchen, grabbing two beers and meeting you back on his loveseat. 

“Oh you really have beer here!” You exclaimed, thanking him for the beverage before cracking it open and taking a sip. 

“Morgan came over with some to celebrate 6 months out of prison. These are leftovers.” 

“Right… right…” 

The first few sips were so painfully awkward that you thought about returning back to your apartment and just sleeping on your own couch. 

Vaguely, you felt Spencer watching you, taking a sip of his drink for every sip you took of yours. 

“So…” you said, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow again, already questioning whatever was about to come out of your mouth. 

“So?”  he asked. You weren't sure if it was the beer, the look on his face, or the crazy implosion of the last 5 years that had you giggling all of a sudden. You were just glad that when you cracked up, he cracked a smile as well, and a little bit of the tension went away. 

“Why are you really here, YN?” 

You took a deep breath and looked straight forward at the bookshelves Spencer had lovingly filled. Maybe this had taken him half a decade as well, so he'd understand how your life felt a little bit like a wobbly bookshelf at that second. 

“The invasive species I mentioned? It was the woman screwing my boyfriend in my bed. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.” 

You heard the intake of breath from Spencer before he put his can down and started thinking of something to say in reply to that. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh… Y/N, I-” 

A shrill ringing cut him off, and you were almost glad to not be on the receiving end of whatever pitiful words he was about to push on you, until you checked the caller ID and saw your ex's name. 

“Don't pick that up,” Spencer said as you hesitated towards the phone. With a hand over yours, he flipped the phone over, locking eyes with you as he let it ring out. 

“He's just going to try it again.”

“Let him.” 

You nodded, breaking eye contact and sinking back into Spencer's slightly wilted couch cushions. 

“In your bed? Really?” he asked, talking another sup as you took a gulp, letting the beer fizz down your throat before you could answer.

“I told him to expect me tomorrow because of how the case was looking. I guess he wasn't expecting me.” 

“I think that was a given. Unless he was into that. Exhibitionism is one of the most common kinks among adult males, and-” 

“Oh he was not into exposing himself,” you laughed into your drink, propping your head up on your hand and turning to face Spencer more. He shot another questioning glance but didn't push the issue, so you silently explained as well. By pinching your fingers together to the approximate size of your ex-boyfriend's dick. 

“Oh. Well, it's not the size that counts?” He whispered almost ironically as he took another sip, now much closer than before. You'd done your best to distance yourself from your boyfriend even as he'd followed you through your apartment half naked, but you didn't seem to find Spencer's proximity threatening at all. 

Maybe because he wasn't having sex with a random woman in your bed 5 seconds before. 

“You wanna know the worst part?” You said, leaning closer as if to tell him an even bigger secret. “He didn't even know how to use it. I haven't-” 

Another phone call blasted through, and you grabbed your phone and put it behind you. 

“He's really great at interrupting conversation when it’s just getting good,” Spencer laughed, but you were slightly disappointed that he'd leaned back away now. 

“What was it you were saying?” He asked, taking a swig of beer again, can nearing its close. 

“I haven't had an orgasm in almost three years,” you said bluntly, watching the most genuine spit take you’d seen in your life. You pat Spencer's back as he coughed up inhaled beer, bringing your feet up under you into a cosier position. 

“Okay now?” you asked as his breathing returned to normal. 

“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?” 

You shrugged and looked away  almost embarrassed to be meeting his eyes now that your sexual history was the topic of the night. 

“We had sex. He's just… he's just a really lazy lover. It'd be the same stuff every time. Handjob to some clumsy fingers missing my clit, a few pumps and cum on my face. I wasn't exactly initiating seven days a week in the hopes that this time he'd be able to locate it.” 

Spencer was somewhere between horror and trying not to laugh, eyes wide with either alarm or the strain of having to keep it in. 

“It's okay, you can laugh,” you said, but he shook his head politely.

“Y/N, I was in prison and still had more orgasms than you this year.” 

“Hey, I hear prison is a great place to meet new people. Have new experiences.”

Spencer shot you a quickly horrified look as his cheeks flushed with heat. “Y/N, I was not someone's bitch in prison.” 

“Why not? You're pretty enough for it?” 

You'd meant the line to come across as teasing, just as you'd expected the finger now twisted in a lock of his hair, playing with him, to come off as teasing as well. 

But you felt a definite throb between your legs when he looked at you again, doubly so when his eyes darted down to your lips. 

You cleared your throat and tried for a teasing tone once again. 

“So you made someone else your bitch?” you smiled, trying to drag his eyes away from your lips before you did something you'd regret. 

“No. I… I spent a long time in solitary, and there's… there's really not that much to do.” 

“So you did yourself?” 

The tips of his ears were scarlet when you finally decided to back off, tucking the curl of hair behind his ear and letting him cool off. 

“Why didn't you masturbate then?” he asked, pouting slightly still from your interrogation. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your boyfriend couldn't make you cum, but a vibrator probably could. But you still haven't had an orgasm in three years. Why is that?” 

It was your turn to feel the heat, the warmth from the beer finally reaching your head. 

“He didn't want me to.” 

You didn't mean for the words to sound as sad as they did. The fact itself was just incredibly sad. Your boyfriend saw anything vaguely phallic shaped as competition and had encouraged “organic” coupling instead. 

You waited for Spencer to say something else, anything else as you held his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and him to start talking down to you as if you were simply a victim of the worst sex in the world. 

Instead, he said “so did that other woman look as miserable as you've been for the last three years?” and the spell was broken. 

You laughed so hard, you nearly choked on the beer you'd already finished. This time, it was Spencer's turn to land a hand on your back as you winded yourself with laughter. 

“She looked bored! She looked genuinely bored. I almost thought it was just a lifelike doll, she was that unphased,” you kept giggling between gasps, forcing the words out as you threw your head onto Spencer's shoulder, hand landing on his thigh as you finally calmed down. 

“I'd be horrified if anyone looked bored while in bed with me,” came Spencer's voice, and a little shiver ran down your spine as the rasp of his whisper rang in your ear. 

You looked up from his shoulder and caught his eye immediately. If you wanted to, you could lean up by a centimetre and catch his lips with yours. And you suddenly, very much wanted to do that. 

A final shriek of your phone behind you deterred you for a few seconds, and you were about to work yourself up to scooting a little bit away from Spencer when he leaned over you, grabbed the phone, and hung up on your boyfriend. 

“Do you want to cum, Y/N?” he asked, as quietly as before as his hands traced over you on their return journey to him. He looked down your body, eyes greedily drinking in your breasts, hips, thighs and legs tucked into his side on his couch. 

You didn't know what you were going to respond when your head practically nodded by itself. Enthusiastically. 

He doesn't immediately pull you in for a kiss, and you're worried for a beat that he meant that only as a hypothetical and not an invite. A final cry from your phone has you standing in seconds, completely detached from Spencer, and the nearly embarrassing moment you pouncing him would've been.

“I should probably take it this time,” you explained, turning slightly. 

But Spencer was faster than you, if not more prepared for what was to come. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Spencer tugged you back, pulling you onto his lap. When you were firmly situated - ass over his now evidently firm cock - he grabbed the phone out of your other hand, hung up and put it in his pocket. 

“Spencer, I-I don't think that's a good idea,” you gasped as his hands slowly progressed up to your chest, and his lips dropped to your neck, biting and sucking along whatever flesh was easy for him to access. 

“You need to cum. You deserve to cum, Y/N. I'm just here to help. Use me.” 

You stifle a sharp, quick moan, biting your lips and thanking God that he couldn't see the face you made when his hips ground his cock up into your ass. 

“I'm probably not ready for this,” you stuttered slightly, breath departing your body quicker than it could arrive. 

“Probably not.”

“We work together, too. It would be awkward.”

“It might,” he nodded. “But you still want to.” 

You couldn't help the moan, finally letting it free as you tossed your head back and clawed at his forearm, wrapped around you. 

Your ass had a mind of its own, grinding back into him in circles as his hands found their way under your shirt, inquisitive fingers stroking your nipples through your bra. 

“S-Spencer,” you whimpered again, legs spreading apart as you felt that familiar warmth settle between them. He didn't miss the longing in your tone, the shift in your core, pushing one hand down your stomach and trailing it onto your thigh. 

It was as close as he could get with your pants still on, tight against your skin. He squeezed your thigh,  still licking and sucking at your neck before his hand rose to the clasp of your pants. 

It took him a long lime to fumble with them, and you thought of helping multiple times but you let yourself get distracted by the tense definition of his muscles, the rigid line of his body as he strained to please you. 

Your mind fogged with lust, and you felt the vibrations from his pocket right under you when your phone rang again. You practically jerked up in shock as pleasure hit you in a wave, Spencer's fingers finally dipping into your panties just as the vibrations hit you. They weren't centred, of course, not anywhere close to where you needed them to be for you to enjoy them the way you would a toy, but that's what Spencer was for. 

He let the call ring out, tracing small, slow circles over your clit as you jumped up into his hand, moaning and whimpering the entire time. 

“What an idiot. I bet he never touched you like this. Nice and slow.”

“N-no, S-s-” 

“I'm so glad I'm right. He didn't deserve this beautiful cunt. You're so wet for me, right, baby?” You nodded and he hummed in response, voice low and making you pulse in his lap. 

“That's it, good girl,” he whispered as you worked your cunt up and down his fingers, stilling himself so you could find your own pleasure. 

“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-” 

With his free hand, he turned your face to the side and finally kissed you properly as you moaned into his mouth. He was quick to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue against the seam of your mouth and enter your mouth, quickly dominating you as you let yourself get more and more excited. Your hips stuttered, out of rhythm and out of practice, and you almost whimpered in frustration that you couldn't get off quicker, that your body wasn't finding the orgasm quick enough despite how good, how perfect this felt.

Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss. 

“Come with me,” he said, pulling his hands away from your wet cunt and out of your stupid pants and encouraging your hips up until you were stood and he was stood behind you. 

Cock still firmly stood against your ass, he walked you all the way to his bedroom, hands on your hips the entire time, memorising the sway of your walk. 

“Strip and get on the bed, please, Y/N,” he said, finally peeling himself away from you as you nodded quickly and listened to him immediately. You weren't sure what to expect, so you hesitated, laying down, crawling up until your head hit the pillows. You were almost disappointed when you finally looked back at Spencer and he was still fully clothed, so sure that he was going to fuck you to your climax. 

Instead, he approached the bed, gently slid his arms around your thighs, opened your legs wider, knelt on the floor and brought your cunt to his face. 

The first touch of his to guess to your clit had you almost beside yourself with lust. You'd been sexually active for a handful of years, and this - THIS - was the first time you'd experienced such acute pleasure. 

Your hips were unable to stop, thrusting up into his face as you willed his tongue to engulf you, to be a tool in your pleasure. 

Again your phone rang, but he grabbed it quickly, pausing only a second to silence it and discard it on the bed beside you, sitting it further up the bed where it would no longer be a distraction to him. 

He dove right back in, and you rewarded him with wave after wave of fierce moan, your writhing body only restricted by a hand snaked up onto his stomach. You still pushed against his face, practically fucking it as he flattened out his to guess and let you chase your high. 

“Spencer!” You gasped and moaned, voice dripping with lust and desperation, mouth not even properly forming words now you were so close. 

You propped yourself up slightly, looking down as Spencer's eye caught your own, his chin slick with your juices, his eyes dripping with lust. You grabbed a handful of his hair and jumped that little bit faster as you felt that long forgotten whisper of pleasure, that all-encompassing explosion of satisfaction, and you came apart on Spencer's tongue. 

“Thank you, thank you, Spencer, shit, thank you,” you whimpered, falling back again into the bed as you rode out the high. When you managed to open your bleary eyes again, Spencer was propped up above you, but instead of paying you attention, he'd grabbed your phone and bought it to his ear. 

“You heard that? Good. I'm sure you're aware now that she won't be returning your calls tonight. Goodbye.” 

His voice, his words, were like a cold bucket of water to your brain as you sat up, reaching for him and finding him as his hips circled your waist. 

“Was that-?” He cut you off with a kiss  a sweet, soft one. 

“Yes.” He kissed you again  and you melted into his touch as he pulled you into his lap again. 

“H-He-” 

“He knows now what a real orgasm sounds like. He knows you're not interested anymore. He knows you're mine now.” 

You shivered at the words, your lust addled brain flooding your senses, and your cunt as you reacted to the possessiveness of his words, his tone. Part of you was turned on by the exhibitionism as well. You'd had to walk in on your ex boyfriend completely exposed, and there was satisfaction in kicking him to the curb with a similar fuck you. A fuck you that you'd enjoyed a lot. 

You pressed your lips against Spencer's and rocked your hips against him again, tasting yourself on his tongue as he laid you down once more. His cock twitched against your leg as he propped you up on the pillows, and your hands trailed down to show it some attention as your sighed into his kiss.

He eagerly shed his clothes, first his top, sitting up and pulling it over his head, giving you a deliriously enticing shot of his chest and soft stomach before dropping down to cover your body again. You let your hand find the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, though, following it down as you encouraged his pants off. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, and you gladly stroked it as he kissed the plains of your body again. He found the side of your neck that he'd neglected earlier, licking and sucking until it was almost as loved as the first side, before pulling your hand away from his cock. 

You pouted and began to protest when he quickly lined his cock up with your cunt, and slid in deep and soft before you could. 

“Needed to be in you,” he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips and sliding your legs up and around him as he pushed that little bit deeper. “Keep them nice and wide for me,” he said, dropping one last kiss to your lips, before his chest rose, and his hips pulled away again. 

When they snapped back into you, you let out a generous scream of pleasure that almost had you wishing you'd never hung up. He set a quick pace, a furious pace as he too moaned into the contact of your cunt and his cock, two desperate people searching for release. 

“So tight, Y/N, you're so tight,” he moaned, flesh hitting flesh as you dug your nails into his arms, already so wet again, you could feel the sheets under you growing damp. His hand left its perch on your hip and found its way to your clit once again, and you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep to this pace without cumming a second time. 

“Keep moaning for me baby, show me how much you want it,” his voice begged, almost a rumble with how lustful he sounded. You let your voice carry, each moan a little bit more unrestricted than the last. 

“Louder, Y/N, please. I want to hear how much you're enjoying this, you don't know how much I enjoy hearing your pleasure.”

His prayers were answered when he lowered his head back down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth between licks and sucks. You practically screamed his name, pressing your chest up to grant him better access. 

You liquefied beneath him, pressure building and building until you felt him rock, lifting his chest as you came. He pulled his cock out, teasing it through your folds as you stuttered around him, your arousal squirting across his cock and sheets as you fell back to the bed, gasping in pleasure. Your hips stuttered against him, and he soothed you gently, still working his cock through your folds gently as your clit went from overwhelmed to calm to quickly overstimulated. 

“Spencer,” you whimpered, almost unable to take all the pleasure he was offering you. “Spencer, it-it hurts.” 

“Don't you want me to stop?” He asked, stopping his movements for a second as you deliberated your answer. The lack of movement was answer alone, and you shook your head no wanting to feel his cock against you, inside you, one more time. 

“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.” 

“I want to keep going,” you said, as he began slowly rocking his cock against you again, sticky from your cum. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, teasing a nipple with his hand as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Please fill me up again, please I want to cum again.” 

“One more time?” He asked.

“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.” 

You were cum drunk, so horny that you couldn't fathom stopping there. He pressed another kiss to your lips and encouraged you to flip over, propping a pillow under your stomach as he pulled your legs into the right position. 

You snuggled into the pillows at your head, pushing your ass up for him slightly as he nudged his cock against your entrance once more. 

“Where should I cum  Y/N?” He asked, reaching under you to slowly circle your clit again. 

“H-hmmm…” you said, eyes shut, focused more on the pleasure than the question. You didn't care anymore. You didn't care where he came, just as long as he let you do it, too. 

“Y/N, I expect an answer. Where should I put my cum?” 

“Anywhere,” you pouted, pressing your hips back into his cock in the hopes that he'd just fuck you again already. 

“That's not an answer,” he said, gently slapping your ass as he pulled his cock away. 

“On your back?” He asked, fingers still working your clit underneath, but trailing lower until they found your cunt, two entering you to keep you wet and stretched for him. 

“You'd need to shower before you could pass out, but I'm happy to help clean you off. They have communal showers in prison, so I'm not shy.” You moaned at the suggestion but couldn't answer further. 

“On your stomach? Again we'd have to shower off, but I would love to see your boobs decorated all nicely.” Your moans were whimpers now as he edged you with his fingers, his words gentle in your ear but dripping with so much lust and promise you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to make decisions anymore. 

“On your face?”

“Not on my face,” you snapped quickly, and he nodded and stroked your hair, hooking a strand behind your ear as he agreed. 

“Okay. Where, Y/N? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.” 

“Of course. Good job.”

He pulled his hand free gently, and quickly replaced it with his thick cock, and you moaned again at the weight of it against your walls, the familiar stretch of it. In this position, he reached deeper somehow, his thrusts slower, more precise as he drew out his own orgasm as long as possible, maximising his ability to pleasure you. 

“Good girl,” he muttered against your skin, dropping a kiss to your back. “Good girl.” 

“Wanted to do this for so long, Y/N,” he confessed with each thrust. “Look at how pretty this pussy is, how wet it is for me. I wish your boyfriend could see it. I wish he could see how well-behaved you are for me. How nicely you take my cock.” 

His deep, slow strokes, his words, the kisses he pressed against any inch of your skin he could reach combined to push you over the edge a third and final time. This one wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady shudder of pleasure from your hips and a quiet, satisfied sigh. 

You didn't say anything  but Spencer knew, he felt it, and he came moments after, cock deep inside as he filled you with his cum. 

“You're on birth control, right?” 

“IUD. Pill. Yeah.” You say between breathy sighs of contentment.

Muttering something behind you, he pulled out finally, leaving for a minute to grab a washcloth and clean himself off before returning to help you as well. 

“What did you mumble?” You asked, as he crawled back into your arms, looking up at him. 

“What?” He asked, ears turning slightly pink as you stared at him intently. 

“Just now. I told you I was on birth control, and you mumbled something.” 

He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze before dropping to kiss you sweetly once again. 

“Tell me,” you said, and he kissed you again. 

“Spencer, tell me,” you pouted, and he kissed the pout away. 

You almost asked again, but he kissed you too quickly, too deeply  and you lost your breath again. 

“I said,” he started, leaving you panting under him again. “It was good you're on birth control, because I like the sight of my cum dripping out of you.” 

The remaining breath left your body as you gasped, your face growing hot. You burrowed your face in his chest and let him hold you as you drifted into sleep, wrapped up in each other. 

[a-b-riddle]

Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

[wosofutbolfan]

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar

Alexia Putellas x Explorer!R

8.5k Fluff, Fun, Minor Angst

Hi Guys,

This is pt4. in the 'I Would Climb Every Mountain With You" otherwise known as Explorer!R Universe. TW: description of killing an animal.

Highly recommend you read those 3 first, as this is entrenched in lore. Pt 1 can be found here.

It's developed from an ask I received from @karsonromanoff so thank you so much for the idea! I hope I did it justice and I'm sorry for the delay and the words. ha.

This is the first time I've written since my dad died. I'm not being emo or heavy about it but I am asking to please, be kind. I know there's nice people out there but often they're drowned out by the loud haters.

So throw us a comment, like or reblog if you enjoyed. I'm just trying to get back into something that brought me joy. I know I enjoyed writing it.

Also, may be weird for a fic about a spanish gay footballer, but you probably need a good working knowledge of Bear Grylls to understand 80% of this. ha.

As has become tradition, here's the song running though my head when writing! Yes, my music taste remains to be that of someone born in 1962. God love Helen Reddy.

“Vamos Ale! I don’t like to make Miguel wait…” you shout from the kitchen, bag resting on the countertop as you try to fix your bracelet with your left hand,

“Deja de preocuparte, a él no le importa, I will be one minute…” you head called back from the bedroom where your wife had been getting dressed for 2 hours now.

Yes.

Your wife.

Sometimes you couldn’t believe it.

Sometimes the weight of the band on your finger catches you by surprise and you’d remember.

Sometimes Alexia would place her hand on your bare thigh and you could feel the cool metal on your skin and you’d remember.

Sometimes you’d get called “Mrs Putellas” at a school talk, or at the Doctors, and you’d remember.

It felt so natural that sometimes you’d forget that you weren’t always Alexia's wife.

But now you are. And had been for almost 6 months. And married life couldn’t have suited you more.

Your wedding ring was your new favourite accessory, you never took it off.

In a fire you would save Alexia and your ring.

Maybe even your ring first.

It was embossed with the imprint of grass that Alexia has been collecting from each pitch of each game she had played in since you had met. The intricate design brought tears to your eyes as soon as you saw it. Made even worse by the inscription “’cause you are my goal”. 

You would be embarrassed if Alexia hadn’t cried like a toddler when you presented her with the ring you had made for her, which had rock from each of the 7 peaks you had scaled, as well as a granule of sand from the Dead Sea set within it. Integrated into the metal, visible but smooth to the touch. 

The inscription 'every mountain high, every valley low' on the inside of the band.

You knew you’d done good and you knew your Ale well enough to anticipate the absolute mess she would be when presented with it, ensuring you had a pocket full of tissues for the inevitable waterfall.

You weren’t wrong.

You had to assure a passing couple on the trail you had chosen that she was fine, not having a medical incident and you were definitely not mid break-up but in fact exchanging wedding bands early because you knew your fiance well enough she didn’t need her teammates to witness this much of her soft side.

Though you tried, they still saw enough on your wedding day to tease her for the last 6 months with no sign of slowing down.

Though right now your wife's behaviour was nothing but unexpected. You had agreed to attend one of Alexia's events this evening. Since getting married you had felt more of a duty to attend and make up for the years you’d left her carrying her own handbag whilst you trotted over mountains on the other side of the world. 

She insisted that you didn’t have to. Like she always did. You weren’t one for the fancy dresses and the flashing cameras. But you saw the gleam of hope in her eyes as she insisted she would be fine on her own.

You couldn’t let that sparkle dim.

Also you had to set off for a camp in a few days and you had gotten seriously stuck in the honeymoon phase meaning that an evening without your wife by your side wasn’t something you could stomach.

Not that you would admit to being so clingy.

But it wasn’t like Ale to take so long to get ready, neither of you being particularly fussy, usually she would throw on some light makeup, smack your bum whilst you ate nutella off a knife under the hob light, procrastinating getting ready until she dragged you and dropped you into the ensuite, steal a kiss and a spray of perfume, and wait for you whilst watching old football clips in the living room.

But now, as you still struggled to attach the clasp of your bracelet and you had one eye on the poor Barca driver, Miguel, waiting in your driveway, you started to grow frustrated at your wife's sudden vanity.

You smelt her perfume invading your senses as you felt her arms envelope you from behind, moving your uncoordinated left hand away and easily attaching the clasp of your bracelet for you, pressing a kiss to your neck as she did so.

“Finalmente… Let’s g-...” you spoke as you turned in her embrace, finally taking in her attire which stopped you in your tracks.

“Boobs”

You had suddenly turned into a 14 year old boy and you couldn’t explain it.

You had seen your wife naked hundreds of times.

Hundreds of fantastic times.

But here she stood looking, regal. Her hair falling lightly over her face, her dark sparkly dress with wide shoulders and only what you could describe as a boob portal you had been rendered speechless. Mouth gaping open like a fish.

“...Amor?...” you heard the delight in her voice. “Are you listening to me… my eyes are up here.” she jokingly clicked her fingers in front of your face which took you out of your breast-inspired trance.

“Ale you are so beautiful” you looked deeply into her eyes but you didn’t miss the blush rising from her neck. And you meant it. She was. Wow. 

“Do you like it?” she asked, shyly, “You don’t think it’s too much? It’s just the first event we’ve gone to together since we got married and I wanted to…”

You interrupt her but pressing a kiss to her lips, and, well, if you slipped a little tongue in there then fine. She was your wife after all.

“What? Show the world what they're missing out on? I am so proud to stand by your side, my love.” you whispered into her lips, as you toyed with her wedding band. 

You couldn’t help yourself…”and your boobs are fantastic.” 

She barked out a laugh as you leaned back into where you left off, but she took a step back, her heel clicking against the tile floor, to which you let out an annoyed grumble.

“Oi Oi, Mi Amor. What about poor Miguel, he is waiting, Si?” she teased.

“He doesn’t care… Cálla y bésame.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You took a deep breath and leaned back on your chair at the round table you found yourself at. Alexia had been pulled from your side which she had stuck to like glue all evening,  to go and present the final award of the evening which she had just done, very sexily if you do say so yourself. All confident and boob-y.

You smiled, imagining her now making small talk backstage, eyes bored but a smile plastered on her face as she tried to make her way back to your table.

Your other table-mates seemed to take the opportunity of the break in the ceremony to raid the free bar put on by the charity. Which seemed very uncharitable of them. But, as you toyed with the rim of your glass, who were you to judge?

Stomach full from a mediocre-mass produced meal and head happily fuzzy from the bubbles you had consumed you found yourself oddly satisfied as you sat here. In this conference room-turned auditorium in the middle of Barcelona, here, loudly and proudly as Alexia's wife.

Mrs Putellas.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, you felt weirdly grown-up. With your wife, your house, and your business. You blinked and missed yourself becoming so settled and for once in your life you weren’t terrified of the idea.

You saw the glint in Alexia's eye. When Irene and her wife would come round for dinner and bring their kid. She’d surrender all hostess duties and sit on the living room floor, crawling around at the beck and call of whatever imaginary game the 5 year old insisted on. You’d seen her perfect her lion roar in that very spot. It probably matched the glint in yours when you were grocery shopping and a child being pushed in a trolley would go past shoving cookies into the trolley without their Mother seeing.

Maybe, you thought, maybe it was time…

“It is you! I am so sorry to interrupt. I had to come over to introduce myself. I am such a fan…”

You glanced around, expecting Alexia to be standing over your shoulder and smiling politely at the person who had approached your table to meet her… but you were met with blank space and then you engaged your silly brain and realised the person was speaking English and looking at you and…

Oh My God.

It’s Bear Grylls.

“Oh My God. You’re Bear Grylls.” 

You let out. 

Stupidly.

Standing and thrusting your hand out like an idiot to your legitimate childhood hero.

You and your brother would watch his series for hours as children. Sat cross-legged 2 inches from the TV on your living room floor, eating up every second of his adventures. Your mum had to stop you from eating a woodlouse once in your garden because you’d seen him eat a cricket in the Amazon the evening before. Your brother smacked upside the head for trying to drink a cup of his own wee for the same reason.

Now you were a well-seasoned adventurer yourself you knew that all of that was for theatricks. 

You had spent more than 7 weeks wandering the Amazon yourself once, and not one drop of urine passed your lips. Not one 8 legged insect had you gulped down in one.

But still.

Hero.

He took your hand graciously, as you both sat back down you prepared to barrage him with questions but before you could he jumped right in…

“I have been wanting to meet you for years. But my team said you had disappeared off to Spain and couldn’t be tracked down. Please, I've been desperate to know. .. Tell me all about summiting Orjas del Salado…”

So you told him, and you asked him about his adventures, and you chatted for what could have been hours, sharing stories and advice with Bear-fucking-Grylls.

He blushed as you pointed out his for-TV tricks and you thanked him for being a portal into the wider world from your living room.

At some point you felt Alexia return, a strong hand on your shoulder. You paused your monologue about Patagonia and giddily took her hand in yours, introducing them to each other. 

Polite pleasantries exchanged you could tell she had legitimately no idea what was going on or who this middle-aged English guy at your table was, but judging from your excited eyes, she didn’t need to interrupt.

It didn’t take too long for someone from his team to pull him away for an interview with the charity. But as you stood to say your goodbyes he made an offer, “You know, me and the production company are making a special about survival in the Alps… I would love for you to be a guest star.”

You stood there like a gaping fish for a moment. “Really?” you asked, in wonder, your 7 year old self spinning around in glee in your chest. Alexia smiling up at you from her chair at the joy in your voice.

“Of course! I would be honored, it’s especially about how to survive in an Avalanche situation. Obviously, with what happened in Nepal…you are an expert in that fie…”

At that point, Alexia stopped her polite silence she had been maintaining whilst you had your moment with your childhood hero. And abruptly stood, clutching your hand hard in both of hers, stern look on her face.

“No.”

From the look on his face you gathered that this successful upper-middle class white English man had not been told no too often, and a beat of silence followed which Alexia was more than happy to fill.

“Sorry Señor Oso. She doesn’t do snow now. Thank you for the offer though.”

She said it with such finality that even you didn’t think to question it. Her mis-translation brought a smile to your face. Her hands still encompassed yours, her eyes didn’t leave his face. As though daring him to rebuff her.

He looked at you as though to confirm she could answer for you. Of course she could. But you knew this refusal wasn’t just about you, but about her also. You knew the anxiety it would cause her for you to put yourself in that situation wasn’t worth anything on this planet.

Nevermind the trauma it would dredge up for you. So obviously, you agreed.

“Sorry Mr Grylls. Not my rodeo anymore. I’ve got some contacts though who you could work with” you politely confirmed your refusal and felt Alexias hands lessen their grip on yours in relief.

“No, no, of course. Sorry. But no. I would really love for you to be involved in the series. We have an episode about promoting women in outdoor pursuits. It's still on the drawing board, but if you are interested I’ll get our people to liaise with each other!”

“That sounds amazing but… I don’t have any people for you to…”

“Don’t be silly Mi Amor” Alexia interrupts again, hand still in yours and the other expertly reaching into her clutch and pushing a card into his outstretched hand… “We have people. Please, Oso, be in touch.”

Smiling vaguely and confusedly at your wife, still clearly mildly terrified of her, he takes the card as he's dragged away by his handler. He's probably still in hearing distance as you squeal in glee and throw yourself into your wife's arms, making her spin with the momentum.

“Ale, Ale, Ale!!! Do you know who that was….” you exclaim.

She can’t help but laugh aloud at your antics, soft look on her face as she lifts you lightly off the ground to stop your spin.

“Si Mi Amor, ese era el hombre oso de la televisión. Tu favorito.” she replies with a smile on her face, speaking softly, somehow, in the middle of this event where she was the guest star, making you feel as though you were the only person in the universe.

“No.” you corrected “..eres mi favorito.” You sealed your words with a light kiss to her lips, chaste but warm.

“Ah, Si. And you have had some wine. You always get soft after wine.” she lightly rolls her eyes with affection at your gushing over her.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes as you pull her into a soft sway, your childhood hero quickly forgotten now you’re in the company of your wife.

Though the giddiness in your bones from your encounter remains.

“Si the wine.” you agree moving your lips close to her ear as you whisper, breath dancing against her cheek, your hand moves to her chest and you feel her breath falter at your closeness,

“but also your boobs.” and you quickly poke her exposed chest between her breasts before she can stop you, and you move away from her pulling her behind you as you rush off to the bar.

“Amor!” she cackles.

“Vamos Ale! A La Barra!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Estoy Muerta.”

You grumble in complaint into the chest of the warm and moving pillow that you had clearly settled on in the night.

“Shh Ale.”

“Me estoy muriendo y a mi esposa no le importa.”

“You are not dying Ale. You are hungover and over 30”, you mumble in reply, moving away from resting on her chest, the heat becoming too much for your own fuzzy brain.

“Explain to me how that is different.” she doesn’t take kindly to your light chuckle in reply, as you move your hand to cover your eyes from the sunlight starting to bleed through the curtains.

You peek an eye open and see the remnants of your previous night strewn across the bedroom floor.

You take in the glorious dress of your wifes thrown across your chest of drawers. You recall unzipping it with your mouth after making very good use of the boob portal. Much to Alexia's delight.

You had probably taken it a little bit too far at the bar. Your giddiness let your binge-drinking brit out a little too much.

You had a flash of memory at dancing on a table at a dive bar in the town centre, before being brought down by Alba who you had called and demanded come and dance the night away.

Meanwhile Alexia had been in the corner trying to drunkenly explain to Mapi a set of complicated tactics that they should try out at an additional training session in the morning.

“I thought you had scheduled extra training today Ale” you teased after taking in her pasty complexion as you rolled over and settled back down onto your, cooler, side of the bed.

“I hate you.” she replied, quite seriously, as she moulded herself against your back, taking your hand in hers and burying her face into the back of your neck.

“Of course you do, dear, it feels like it.” you tease again, wiggling yourself and making her grumble again.

You rest there for a few moments, before you’re dragged onto your back again and pulled into Alexia's embrace as she moves you around like her own personal teddy bear.

You go with the flow, quite used to your wife's clingy nature, especially when she didn't feel well.

But your silence doesn’t last two minutes before she rolls you over again, now onto your back, “Oh bloody hell, where are we going now.” you mumble, as she rests her head on your chest this time, nuzzling into your breasts.

“me estoy poniendo cómodo.” she mutters into your bosom, “allá. ahora estoy cómodo”. You run your hands through her hair, smiling down at your wife who is practically purring at the attention.

“Bebé…”, you make a noise of affirmation.

“Will you…” you know what she wants, and you know she must be feeling bad if she’s asking for attention.

“Si, my love. voy a trenzar tu cabello. One big plait or lots of little ones?”. 

“The tingly ones por favor” she mumbles into your chest. Your heart expands at her adorableness, never quite learning the English for ‘french plait’ they became known as the ‘tingly ones’ in your household, because of the feeling she would get as you plaited her wet hair after a game, hands working through her scalp. 

It brings a smile to your face and you can see the lovesick smile on hers where it is squished against your chest.

You start to section out her hair as she lies still, your ministrations slowly putting her to sleep, working methodically in the quiet morning.

Moving strand over strand in intricate braids, lightly tugging her scalp and undoing when it's not perfect and redoing, giving her an extra scratch to the soft skin behind her ear when you get there, knowing it's her most sensitive spot. Receiving a sleepy purr in satisfaction as your reward.

You hear the animals from the national park outside, feel the sun starting to warm the room around you. Her chest rising and falling against yours hypnotising you further into the moment. You’ve got grand plans, brunch and a walk along the beach in your mind, maybe a lazy afternoon swim, hold on no. Maybe a lazy afternoon skinny dip. Yeah.

That sounds good.

You’ve almost finished tying off the last plait when you are startled back into the moment by the buzzing of your wifes phone on the bedslide table.

You fight back a smile at the groan that is emitted from your fully grown-pro-athlete-wife.  It resembled that of a teenager who’d been asked to clean their room or no dessert. When she doesn’t go to make a move you nudge her shoulder.

“Ale. Ale, your phone."

“No.”

“Yes."

“No."

“C'mon Ale.” you reach across and pick the phone up. “It could be important. It could be your secret wife wondering where you are.”

She rolls off you at your tease, throwing you a glare that resembles more of an angry kitten than anything, “It could not be, she knows where I am. I snuck out whilst you were dancing on the tables in that last bar to make plans for dinner.”

“Ah, Si of course. My mistake.”

She surges up and gives you a completely unnecessary chaste kiss, as though even the joke is too much and she has to confirm she’s kidding. The phone has stopped vibrating against the bedside table and the silence that settles over you both is welcome.

“How are you so okay? I feel like I have been run over by a truck.” she states as she rubs her face, finally sitting up to start the day.

“You are old.

“I am 2 months older than you.”

“Two, very long, months my darling.” you tap her cheek lightly as you move to get out of bed, throwing on one of her oversized t-shirts you find on the floor.

“Seria, how?” she asks again, now sprawling across the space you have vacated.

“I am English. I once did a vodka shot through my eyeball in the park. I was 14.” you state, plainley, eyebrow raised in challenge as she just looks at you, open mouthed.

“Ojalá no hubiera preguntado.” she mutters, as her phone starts to ring again.

“Ale, phone.” you say, just to annoy her.

“¡lo sé!” you hear thrown at you, as you head downstairs to set some food out for Billy-the-Goat, and make a coffee for your dying wife.

Soon after, you feel her presence behind you as you stir her coffee, turning as you feel her hands wrap around your waist and presenting her coffee and she takes it from you as though it's a ballon d’or. She takes a sip before she presses a kiss to your head.

“That was my agent.”

Your heart drops, and you can’t help the petulant whine that leaves your lips.

“No, Ale! I wanted to spend the day together. Try that new brunch place Alba told us about. Have a swim, just be together. Whatever brand needs you can wait. Tell them no, please” you finish your little monologue with a pout, and you feel a childish frustration rise as a laugh teases against her lips.  You don’t get very far when a kiss is pressed against your lips.

“Well that sounds like the perfect hangover cure Mi Amor. Do you not want me to tell you what it is before I tell them no though?” there's something in her taunt, a glint in the eye that makes you think twice as your mouth already wraps around the refusal.

You take a moment too long apparently, and she takes things into her own hands as she clutches her coffee happily and spins around, “I’ll tell them no! Don’t worry Mi Amor…” teasing lilt in her tone. Whatever the news is, it has pulled her from her hangover.

You wait a beat

Another.

“Fine, What is it!” you groan out in defeat, hands raised to the sky, Alexias t-shirt riding high on your thighs as you raise your arms.

Your wife turns and is distracted momentarily by the flesh on display. Before you cough and she remembers what she's supposed to be doing. Coy smile on her face returning.

“That was my agent…” you huff out at her drawing out the anticipation. “Or should I say our agent.” your brow furrows in confusion as she continues… “she has been contacted by a muy interesado oso.”

Realisation starts to dawn on you, memories of the previous night flashing in your mind and you can’t help the grin that forms.

“Si, Mi Amor. It turns out he really meant it. She said they were willing to offer anything to get you on. She’s getting the details now and will contact us again after our day together today to see if you are interested”.

“I am interested!” you exclaim with glee, Alexia throwing her head back in laughter.

“I know Amor, but let's let them sell it to you. You need the details. Though… I am sure it is no more dangerous than ojos de vodka.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hola, love!” you shout into your empty hallway, hands full of groceries, you shuck off your trainers, hearing them thump against the wall as you struggle into the kitchen.

Tonight was the premiere of “Man Vs Woman” , the special episode of your and Bear's adventure. After the offer was made you met with the TV production company via Zoom to go through ideas.

You pretended you didn’t know Alexia was standing just outside the door to your study, listening and clearly deciding if she thought it was too dangerous or not. At least that's what you deduced from her interrupting with a cup of tea every time a particularly hairy idea was mentioned.  

When you brought this up with her you pretended you didn't see her blush creeping up from her neck. Because you’re her wife and it was the wifely thing to do.

The concept was a really cool one. You were excited from the start. The idea was that you and Bear would both be dropped in an inhospitable environment with a map and a knife and nothing else. Neither of you would be told what type of environment but you had assurances in your contract that it wouldn’t involve snow. You had 28 days to get to the muster point. Whoever got there first won.

Simple.

Convincing Alexia it was really cool. Less simple.

“Amor what if there are animals!”

“I know how to avoid dangerous animals. And there will be a medical team on standby,”

“What if you fall and cut yourself on your knife."

“What if you get tackled and break your leg?”

“That's different. What if you lose your map and can’t find your way out and you have to live out there forever”

“I will always find my way back to you.”

“What If-”

“Ale.”

You stopped her rambling with a kiss and when you pulled away you looked deeply in her eyes.

“Que pasa I miss you too much?” eyes wide and vulnerable.

There we go. Her real source of anxiety.

You had spent more time apart than most couples but since you scaled down your travels you had fallen into a sweet domesticity you could admit was a struggle to pull yourself from. 28 days plus the week before to get to the location is longer than you’d like. But it was an adventure of a lifetime. Maybe… maybe your last adventure? The thoughts had been creeping in more and more recently.

Of early mornings chasing more than sunrises, maybe rising due to a baby's babble instead?

You’d made sure that Alexia really knew how much you’d miss her the night before you flew out. On reflection maybe you should have rested your muscles a little more before such a physically demanding month but. Be serious. Look who your wife was. 

You are not God's strongest soldier.

So, off you had gone. Competing against your childhood hero for all of womanhood. And you couldn’t lie. You loved it.

Being blindfolded and dropped in an unknown location was exhilarating. Learning the land as you went, with only a map and a knife in hand it was one of the biggest challenges of your life.

The team had made good on their promise and the tropical rainforest you were in couldn’t be further from a snowy mountain range.

You’d refused to let anything slip to Alexia in the 3 months you’d been back. Lips tightly sealed no matter what she tried. You wanted her to be surprised and watch it in real time with you. In all the games you'd attended since you had to deal with an injured Mapi yapping your ear off whilst you tried to concentrate on the game, probing for hints about if you won, what you won, where you were, if you wrestled a snake, how big was the snake you’d wrestled.

“Maria stop with the snake!” you’d finally snapped during the tense quarter final of the Queen's cup.

Which had worked.

For all of two seconds.

“What did the snake taste like?”

You’d originally planned to go home to England with Alexia to watch the premier with your family. But then a schedule mess-up in the league had meant that Ale had to play in a rescheduled game the day after the premier. It just didn’t work for her to come to England.

She insisted you still go, but you refused. You wanted to watch her game. And you knew she’d need you when the show was on. Even if she didn’t know that yet.

You started to unpack your groceries mindlessly, you’d picked some great snacks for the evenings viewing, you suddenly were hit with how suspiciously peaceful your house was, though, you were sure you’d seen Alexia's car in the drive.

“Ale! Love!, ¡Estoy en casa! Come help me unpack!” You shouted into your empty kitchen, back turned to your living room, you had a few hours before the show was on air, “I got that ice-cream you like! I know it gives you a tummy ache sometimes but don’t worry, I'll rub your tummy how you like afte…”

“Amor!”

You turned around at the panic in her voice, “Wha–”

“SURPRISE!”

Ale stood in your living area, face reddening, surrounded by her closest Barca teammates as well as Mario, his ever pregnant wife and his kids, your mum and brother as well as Eli and Alba. Everyone comically in paper party hats and some lop-sided bunting was up above your couch,

“HOPE YOU BEAT THE BEAR SNAKE!” it read, and you immediately knew who was on the decoration committee.

You jumped in surprise, dropping the ice cream and immediately ran into your mum's open arms, “Mum! You’re here!” you squealed into her neck, hiding the tears that had appeared in her presence.

“I am, love. Alexia literally wouldn’t let us refuse the flight. She pretended she didn’t understand English when we tried to at least pay for it. And you know I have a 265 day streak on duolingo but my accent must need work because she didn’t understand my Spanish.”

You pulled yourself from her neck with a wet laugh and transferred yourself into your wifes open and familiar strong arms. “Aleeee” you whined. She knew you meant thank you. And I love you. And you mean the world to me. But you were too British to do that infront of people.

“You need to stop pretending you don’t speak English when you don’t like what you hear.” you muttered without malice after placing a kiss below her ear.

“I know amor. I love you too. And your family needed to be here for your big moment! You couldn’t miss this with them because of me. And then also. Mapi happened and now we’re having a viewing party! There's a cake!”

“And Ice Cream Ale! Don’t worry, I’ve saved it! Though we don’t want your barriga to hu-” Mapi stands the space you'd just vacated holding up the abandoned and slightly battered carton of ice cream. She's stopped from her gleeful teasing by Ingrid covering her entire face with one big palm.

“We wanted to be here to support you.” Ingrid interrupted her girlfriend, addressing you kindly.

“We all did!” you hear from Alba in the back, already tucking into the buffet set up on the coffee table, paper hat skew-whiff on her head. You have never felt so loved. It was perfect.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, when are you going to tell her you’re ready for them?”

You are brought out of your daydream by Ingrid sidling up to you and addressing you with her familiar soft lilt.

“Huh?”

She doesn’t reply vocally, just nods her head towards your wife, who is currently having a very intense game of 2v2 in your garden with 2 of Marios youngest and Mapi.

The kids little legs making them toddle around after the small ball adorably, Mapi and Ale giving soft touches they would easily catch up with.

You can’t help but laugh out loud as Ale takes Mapi by surprise and takes a shot against her hard, the ball catching her bare thigh in a manner which must have left a sting much to the small Spaniard's disdain.

Her and the two kids start to chase Alexia around the garden, dramatically tackling her as she suddenly becomes some sort of football monster, rolling around and blowing raspberries on their stomachs as Mapi cheers her toddler army on from the sidelines.

You feel another knock against your arm, dislodging your hand which is supporting your head as you lean over the breakfast bar facing the garden. Lovesick looks clearly on your face, going off Ingrid's coy smile.

“You know, barn. Kids. Munchkins…”

“Yeah, Yeah I get it Ingrid…” you steal another look outside at your more-often-than-not-stern wife getting grass stains on her comfy shorts for the entertainment of your best friends' kids, suddenly you feel like being really really honest. You turn to Ingrid with a shy smile of your own, “soon.”

Her face lights up, teeth on display unable to disguise her smile. “Yeah?” she asks, before turning to look towards the garden, “Me too.”

You smile to yourself and drop your head onto the dark haired girl's shoulder, you both taking a moment to watch your partners play with the kids. The moment is ruined by your mum mussing up your hair on her way past,

“Come on Love, we need to wrangle these last-minute spaniards, it starts in 10 minutes!”

She had a point to be fair. A very chaotic 8 minutes later you practically push Eli into her seat on the couch after she tries to get another plate full of food for Mario’s wife, “¡Está llena de Eli! ella esta embarazada no tiene hambre!” you cheekily remind her, your wife looking up at you from her place on the floor with tender eyes.

“And you…” you turn your attention towards her as you make your way to your seat, “get up here.” you demand, patting the empty space next to you.

“I’m bueno down here Mi Amor, me and Bruno can watch from down here.” she insists. the 4 year old of Marios nestled on her stomach, her arms wrapped around his sleeping form where he attached himself to her after being forced back inside.

You hesitate for a moment, not watching to make a scene or be too needy in front of all your closest family and friends, but you knew that Ale would need to be within touching distance of you in the next hour. 

You’re about to make your peace with it when Mario glaces your way. You and Mario have worked together for years. Years before you met Ale and the girls.

You’ve battled more than just bears together. Weeks spent isolated in the mountains. And a bond like that means that you can communicate with just a look.

With just that glance he’s up and pulling his toddler into his own burley arms. Bruno remaining in his deep sleep through the change.

“I’ve got el monstruo Ale. Go sit with your wife."

She doesn’t need any more direction, the small interaction is subtle and missed by everyone, except your brother who sends you an exaggerated puppy dog look.

“Fuck off” you throw at him, finger in the air, quickly grabbed by Alexia, “Hey, I thought you wanted me to sit here!” she teases, sending your brother a wink.

“Stop ganging up on me…!” you’re about to protest further before you’re shushed by Mapi, of all people, sitting on the floor between Ingrid's legs who sits on the couch above her. “It's about to start!”

She has a point, a familiar British accent fills the living room, Spanish subtitles appearing on the bottom of the screen for the Spanish contingent. Bear’s voice is as dramatic as ever, long sweeping scenes fill the screen of intense jungle, a crocodile and an action shot of a snake thrown in for good measure.

“Serpiente!” Mapi shouts, pointing at the screen, before Ingrid hushes her and pulls her back against her legs. 

           “We all know by now that humans are masters of the jungle. But the unanswered question remains. Is it the King, or Queen of the Jungle? Find out tonight in Man V Woman.”

The title fills the screen with a dramatic crescendo of music. Your friends and family whooping as though it's the champions league final. Alexia barely contains her excitement next to you. You had been steadfast in your refusal to tell anyone the outcome.

The next shot is a recognisable one, the sound of trees being hacked with a machete accompanies a close up of a muddy puddle set deep in the jungle, until the water is disturbed by a ever-familiar battered boot stomping in the puddle, blaugrana laces pulled tight, as proudly as ever.

This prompts another wild round of jeering from the crowd around you as the camera pans out and reveals your full profile as Alexia places a loving kiss onto your shoulder, “That's my wife!” she shouts, proudly, making you laugh. 

Bear's voice over continues as you pull Alexia's hand into yours, half pulling her on top of you, she gives you a peculiar look, this being more PDA than you would usually allow in front of your English family, but she goes with it, too full of pride to be worried otherwise.

As the voiceover continues, highlights of your career flash across the screen to introduce you to the audience.

Mountains in Peru, Arctic Explorations, Treks across Siberia, all flash across the screen, mixed in with childhood pictures your mum must have supplied painting a picture of your career so far and your expertise in your career.

The music turns more dramatic as you shift uncomfortably, being the only one to realise in the room what's about to happen.

A picture of you smiling with Arjan at the peak of Everest, ice picks raised proudly in the air. You feel Alexia stiffen on your lap, ever so subtly. Stock footage of snow hurling down a mountain as Bear describes the avalanche you got trapped in.

He gives out stats and figures to heighten the drama… “your chance of survival drops 3% every minute you are trapped after the first 15 minutes… being trapped for 2 days… our guest star did the unthinkable…”

The room is bathed in a white light as the screen changes. Camera shaky and audio changing to the shouts and heavy breaths of whoever the body worn camera is strapped too. “Yahām̐, Yahām̐, she is here!”

The camera catches Arjan digging desperately, it's clear now the camera is strapped to a rescuer on the slopes of Everest, the TV production company having access to the footage through a sister company who were filming a documentary about altitude rescue at the time.

It shakes as the man helps dig, grunts of exertion as the spade digs desperately. A flash of colour and your snow suit is revealed, face pressed up against the rock you had found shelter near.

Arjan clears snow from your face desperately and puts his head close to yours, “She’s breathing!” he pulls you up and your hand, satellite phone frozen in place, falls from the side of your ghostly white face as the camera fades out.

The whole segment couldn’t have lasted more than 32 seconds. But it had felt like time had slowed. You could feel from her placement on you that Alexia hadn’t taken a breath. Her eyes remained wide as she stared at the screen.

There was a heaviness in the room around you. 

The voiceover continued, explaining the challenge to the audience but the silence continued. Eli glances at her daughter worriedly, every few seconds.

Just as you thought the tension couldn’t get any more intense… “That's what Alexia looks like when she visits England for Christmas and mum won’t let us put the heating on.” your brother jokes, awkwardly, a crooked smile on his boyish face. 

The room is silent, your mum hiding a smile behind a hand only you notice. He goes to speak again, probably to apologise when-

Alexias' laugh shocks even you, bubbling up from deep within her chest. She closes her eyes, a stray tear escaping at the pressure. Laugh still rumbling deep in her chest, slowly the room joins in, as though they’ve been given permission, and soon your in a choir of laughing spectators, your brother blushing deep red at the attention.

“Thank you” you mouth to him across the room, as you wrap your hands around your wife, whos body still shakes with the odd giggle.

He tips an imaginary hat at you in return.

Because he is an idiot.

The challenge begins, unhelpfully, with you throwing yourself out of a helicopter into the rainforest, “Oh Dios Mio” she mumbles, heard subtly under Mapis, “Cool!”.

You press your lips against her shoulder again and mutter into her skin; “I am here, I am warm, I am Safe.” Like a mantra, you feel her nod and grip your hand tighter.

The thing about being in the environment completely opposite to an avalanche inducing mountain range, was that it was hot. Hot and wet. The camera follows both you and Bear as you struggle through the elements seperatly, deciding when to camp down and preserve energy and when to try to gain more miles.

Bear goes hard, and Mapi looks up at you aghast as you decide to build a shelter and bunker down for seven days straight. The heat zapping any energy you had.

“What are you doing! It's a race!” she exclaims, to which you laugh and zip your mouth closed with your fingers, cocking an eyebrow at her as she eagerly looks back towards the TV like a small child.

You spend two days collecting water and, seemingly, according to Mapi, wasting time cutting palm leaves and collecting bark to make twine. Meanwhile Bear is hacking down trees, making spears out of sticks and rock and throwing himself at seemingly anything that would give him a bit of protein on the move.

You’ve ridden yourself of most of your clothing due to the heat. Smothering yourself in mud from the riverbank you were camped next to, you explain to the camera its sun-cream qualities and how it’s safer than clothing as it also protects you from dehydration. 

All the while you weave and weave and weave your leaves together, quietly, assuredly.

You explain to the camera; “I am a master weaver. My wife likes it when I plait her hair. Alot. She’s cute. Sorry Ale.” you wink at the camera as your wife groans on your lap and  her teammates start to tease her, “Amor! Why!”

“Now. Let's see how this works!”  you grin and pull up a large basket to the camera.

The screen shows you scantily dressed, boots safely on a rock in the background, in the river, moving twigs into position to make a run for the fish to swim directly into your basket.

You explain the contraception, set some bait and say your goodnights to the camera, crossing your fingers for a full basket in the morning.

Cheerful music begins as the camera fades back into your campfire, fish on a stick roasting and cooking heavenly, your muddied but smiling face coming into view.

“Bear can eat his roaches and drink his wee. I’ll be here with my fish buffet!” You joke, under your shelter, camera panning to tens of fish in your basket waiting to be smoked.

The next scene shows Bear explaining the protein benefits and the unusual flavours of a witchetty grub as he struggles against the rainstorm. 

The music begins to ramp up. Graphics on the screen showing both of your progress. Bear has made much more progress than you. But struggling physically. He’s developed a terrible case of trench foot but was still making steady progress with his machete.

You chose to travel up the river. Walking along its bed you are able to make more direct progress, but it’s more energy draining wading through water. You have, however, had a relatively strong diet over the last 3 weeks.

You’re sitting on the river bed, tending to your basket of smoked fish you’re carrying with you for energy when you suddenly remain completely stock still. Dramatic music begins. Your head raises subtly and then out of nowhere.

“Serpentine!”

A snake strikes at you from the shallows, clearly after your basket, or you, or whatever it can get its fangs in. You react quickly, crouching down to your knees, keeping a low centre of gravity to keep your balance as your right hand reaches into the shallows.

You and the snake strike at the same time, and you throw yourself to the side as you bash a jagged rock against its head.

The next scene shows you taking a mouthful of grilled snake; “Tastes like chicken!” you joke at the camera. Before popping a piece of charred snake skin into your mouth.

You feel Alexia shudder in your arms.

"I'm never kissing you again" she lies.

Mapi slowly turns around, mouth agape, gobsmacked look on her face. “Snake!” she whispers, in disbelief. “You beat a snake!” You can’t help but laugh and lean over to turn her head back to the TV.

“Told you you’d find everything out tonta.”

The map on screen shows the last day of the challenge, Bear's voice over explaining distances to the muster points, as well as geographical challenges. The screen swaps quickly between the two of you, running, climbing and swimming to where you both believed the finish line to be.

You were making good progress, as was Bear.

A close up of a Brazilian flag on the edge of a waterfall.

A close up of you throwing yourself into the river.

Bear gripping a cliff edge and heaving himself up. The camera shows the bottom of the flag pole as he pulls himself up. The camera pans up. And the flagpole is bare.

The screen changes to you.

Standing, still relatively scantily clad in your battered boots, your hiking shorts cut down to short-shorts and thin vest muddied and holey, fish blood staining your arms,holding the flag proudly up in one arm.

The room around you erupts. “She did it!” “¡Jefe de la Jungla!!!!” “I always knew!”, “She killed a snake!”. You find yourself at the bottom of a pile of bodies as Alexia's teammates celebrate in the way they know how. Which is apparently to throw themselves at you in a pile up.

“That's my wife!” Alexia chants proudly from within the pile, laughing gleefully, all earlier angst forgotten.

The screen goes blank, and the image shows you and Bear embracing, laughing as the voiceover continues; “... at least this time. It's a Queen of the jungle… or should I say. La Reina de la Jungla.” Bear quips, as Alexia groans, forever hating her nickname, and the screen cuts to black.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s hours later, many more plates of food, celebration toasts and questions from Mapi about the snake later. That you're finally in the quiet of your bedroom in your wife's arms.

Your mum and brother are set up in the spare rooms and you have all got plans to meet up with the Alexias family at the game tomorrow before going out for a meal.

Your head is settled on her chest as she plays on her phone above you, struggling to calm down from the evening's events, and as usual, struggling to sleep before a game.  You play with her wedding ring on her spare hand. Feeling the cool metal beneath against her warm skin.

You feel her swipe furiously through her phone, getting more agitated as time passes, grumbles that are not-quite words emitting from her chest.

“Hey. Love.” you sit up and pull her phone away. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” she replies, bottom lip out in a pout, pulling her phone back into her hand.

“It’s not nothing. Tell me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Alexia.” you sigh, “We aren't doing this.. What's got you so…” you look down onto her phone and see. Yourself? It's her tiktok open and you see an edit of the show being played over… “Hot Stuff? Ale. What's this?” you glance at the comments section and see a selection from seemingly anon accounts;  

‘I have never understood Alexia more’, ‘I wonder who calls who capi.’ ,‘Capi, your wife's thighs are bigger than yours’.

“Nothing!” she grabs her phone back from your grip… you arch an eyebrow at her which crumbles her resolve in 3…2…

“Fine! It's all over my TikTok.  The comments about you. The fans have made these edits. Of you! All, wet and… muscley and… nearly undressed.”

“And you…don’t… like me wet, and muscled and… naked? Cause, love, I have evidenced otherwis…”

“Shut up! Of course I do but you're mine!”

Oh. Realisation dawns on you and you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t laugh!” she grumbles. “You’re jealous….” you tease in a sing-song voice. “I am not jealous!” she insists, “It's just… tu eres mio! And these people are all looking at you”.

“I am,” you agree, with a smile. “But, love. Try being married to Alexia Putellas. Maybe you’ll keep your shirt on at games now.” you tease, making her smile and roll her eyes.

Eyes softening as you pull her phone from her grip and plug it in for her. Settling back into her chest, nuzzling against the warm skin you find there.

“I am so proud of you.” she whispers into the now dark room, placing a kiss on your head. The moment became more serious and tender.

“I love you” you reply, softly, the moment feels weighted, and you’re not sure what makes you do it. Maybe it's the adrenaline of the evening, having completed your life's ambition, or maybe it's the wine you drank.

Though, really, you know it's because of the images of your lanky wife curling herself onto the rug in the living room because Bruno had decided she was the world's best pillow again. But you can’t stop yourself.

“Ale. I want to have kids with you.”

Her hand stops its movement in your hair and she rushes over to turn the bedside lamp back on.

“Que?” she breathes out. Hands finding their place softly on your cheeks, a look of urgency in her eyes.

“I want us to have kids. Me and you. I want that with you. Is that something you’re ready for?” you whisper, eyes looking deeply into hers.

“En serio?” she asks, as though she's afraid of the answer.

You nod in response. Moving your hand to wipe away the tears that have appeared on her cheeks.

“Sí, Mi Amor. Quiero eso contigo. Mucho.”

You're both smiling too much to kiss, but you make a good go of it anyway. And as you bury yourself into your wife's arms. Hands roaming and adrenaline of a decision made rushing through your body you can't help but think.

This is the beginning of the biggest adventure of your life. 

[sapphlopods]

This will be one of the hardest things I ever have to do, but I need help even though I hate asking for it.

Please help me escape my homophobic and financially abusive parents. More under "Keep Reading"

I'm Chaim, and ever since I graduated high school, I’ve lived with my parents. Australia has an incredibly bad housing crisis, and it’s nearly impossible for me to move out without friends or roommates who have a pre-established house, which I have none. 

Over the course of the past 4 years, I have watched my father devolve into this angry right-wing conspiracy theorist who thinks all “Wokes” should d1e. He has no idea I’m a lesbian as I fear for what he will do if he ever finds out. 

My mother has a range of health issues, in 2022 she had a heart attack, and this year, she was diagnosed with brain and kidney cancer, which she is in and out of hospital for. Her financial assistance has been delayed over and over, we still need to wait 2 months to get help. 

So, my household's only income is from my father and me. My father has an incredibly bad gambling, drinking and tobacco addiction, he goes through a pack of 30 cans and a pack of 30 cigarettes in 2 days. Tobacco and alcohol are heavily taxed here and are upwards of $60+ each; that’s $120 every 2 days, he earns $1600 fortnightly and spends roughly $840 of it on just his addictions; that’s more than half his pay, and that isn’t including the horse races he bets on. 

That leaves me to pick up the slack on groceries, rent, my mother's medicine and lend them money when Dad “overspends” at the pub. My father would rather starve than lessen his addictions a bit so we can afford to stay in our house and have food to eat. 

This has been happening for years even before my mother fell so ill she couldn’t work but it's gotten worse. I do not want to leave my mother, but she will not leave my father no matter what since she sees nothing wrong with what he does. I’m tired of being nothing more than a piggybank and a maid to my parents since I will never be able to move out when all my money goes towards keeping a roof over our heads. Even while I was on vacation, they still called me up and asked for money. 

I’ve wanted to move out for a long time, but my situation is getting direr by the day, and I can’t save a single cent to leave like this. I know many problems are going on in the world right now that deserve people’s time more than this so thank you for reading this far. 

If you can spare anything, please send it to my ko-fi. It'll be going towards getting stuff sorted so I can move to my partner Cinna, who lives far away in Chile, but I have no other option now. 11/12

I also have a few items listed on my eBay that people might like, a lot of it is fandom stuff and collector things I have accumulated, I'll be putting more stuff up slowly as I sort through my things preparing to move. https://www.ebay.com.au/usr/sapphlopods

[chucklee118]

I don't have the words (to tell you what you mean to me)

Summary: Momo's life has been action packed and often pretty scary for months. She thought she had her three most terrifying moments solidly ranked in her mind.

Watching Okarun crumple and fall like a soaked sandbag after taking a hit to the head-one that'd been meant for her-makes her reevaluate.

2878 words

Momo's leg bounces under her desk, teeth worrying at her bottom lip as she glares at the clock in the classroom. The teacher’s entire lesson just sounds like warbling to her; her brain marking everything in the world as a distraction save one.

Seeing Okarun as soon as school ended.

The further she gets into the school year and the more misadventures they rack up, the more she resents the fact that they’re in different classes.

The teacher hasn’t even reacted to the first chime for the end of the school day before Momo’s out of the room, skidding on the flat of her shoes to cut the sharpest turn possible and run down the hallway, her bag hanging as loose as an afterthought from her shoulder.

For all that screaming, running and fighting scary yokai and aliens had become a natural part of her day-to-day, the three most terrifying moments of her life had been set pretty solid in her mind: seeing Vamola get skewered by the globalists, her first meeting with the Serpos, and coming home to see Mr. Shrimp sitting over three people laid out and bloodied; and thinking that the one covered like a corpse had been Okarun.

She’d been forced to reevaluate after last weekend.

Because watching her best friend crumple and fall like a soaked sandbag after taking a hit to the head-a hit that’d been meant for her-and not move afterward had been even worse than finding out he’d been hurt when she wasn’t around to help him. It’d ripped something out of her soul, turned her blood to ice and crushed all the air from her lungs.

“OKARUN!”

She never wants to experience that feeling again.

After shoulder checking several startled students moving at far more leisurely paces, she catches the door jamb and yanks herself to a stop in front of his classroom.

There are other kids around his desk obstructing her view, but save the thick bandaging wrapped around his head, he’s not in any visible pain she can see. People who Momo bet wouldn't have talked to him before are asking questions about his head injury; Kinta’s just lapping up the attention by proxy, Vamola looks too stressed to be much help, and Okarun being Okarun, he’s too polite to tell them to piss off so he can rest.

“Hey.”

So, she does it for him; announcing herself to the room and walking in even while she’s catching her breath from the short sprint through the halls. He turns to her with a half-second delay compared to everyone else; a consequence of his concussion, probably.

She can see exact moment he recognizes her, though; those already-warm brown eyes turn impossibly warmer.

“Ayase-san.” He says softly.

Fuck, she loves him so damn much.

“C’mon,” she says, shoving past the onlookers to reach him and take his arm in a gentle grip. “Let's go.”

He immediately pushes his chair back to stand; a little too fast for his bruised brain, but she just tightens her hold on him to keep him steady so he can get his bag. She doesn’t let go even after the four of them have left the classroom, helping him navigate the crowded hallways.

“Takakura~!”

Aira and Jiji are waiting at the lockers by the front entrance; the former immediately gets a little too close to Okarun’s opposite arm.

“Don’t crowd him, skank.” Momo mutters without much heat or feeling behind it; as fun as riling up Aira is, she’s not really in the mood for it today.

The other girl ignores her in favor of simpering over Okarun. She must not be feeling up to it either.

“How ya holding up, buddy?” Jiji asks as they all walk out.

“I’m all right,” Okarun says. He readjusts his glasses. “It’s not as bad as”

“Don’t downplay it.” Momo cuts him off, with a bit more bite than she means to; still, she can’t stand him trying to brush this off, and she’s never been shy about letting people know when she’s irritated.

Okarun ducks his head a little, avoiding her eyes like he often does when he’s being scolded.

“Luckily it’s still Monday,” he says, changing the subject and nodding at Jiji. “I’ll rest as soon as I’m home so I’m ready for tomorrow.”

Momo tilts her head; it takes her a second to realize what he’s talking about. Tomorrow’s Tuesday. She clenches her jaw.

“If Evil Eye wants to fight you, he’ll go through me first,” she almost growls. She rounds on Okarun again, glaring. “And you’re not going home, mister; you’re coming with me!”

She can feel eyes drawing in on their group, her in particular; she may have been a little louder than she thought. She’s certain people will be talking about them again tomorrow, but she couldn’t give less of a shit about rumors right now.

Okarun’s more important.

—————

Okarun doesn’t put up much resistance to her insistence that he’s going to stay at her place. Momo might not know all the specifics of his home life, but the fact that it’s never even come up despite that he’s left the Ayase household in borrowed clothes, bruises and bandages multiple times just reinforces her belief that she can take better care of him than what he’d get at home.

That said. . .

“Uh, A-Ayase-san. . .”

He makes a little fuss after dinner, when Momo makes clear that he’s not shacking up in the guest room. Despite all they’ve been through, and the fact that he’s been here multiple times, he still hesitates a bit at the doorway to her bedroom. Normally, Momo finds it kind of endearing that he’s such a gentleman, but worry makes her impatient, and she’s not above bullying him a little until he complies, even if he’s hurt.

“Move it, dork,” she says, shoving him inside; he goes more easily than he usually would, but thankfully manages to keep his feet. She points around the room. “Sleep clothes are in my closet. You know where the bathroom is; red toothbrush is the spare. I’ll be right back.”

She walks back downstairs to give him time to change and get a couple water bottles from the kitchen. She vaguely remembers that hydration’s important in handling injuries, but she’s not sure that applies to blows to the head, let alone ones that have long stopped bleeding. Still, it can’t hurt to have them on hand in case Okarun wakes up thirsty.

She’s idling and trying to think of anything else he might need when her grandmother catches her.

“Hey, Momo. If you’re gonna put four-eyes in your bed, better not let me find out about it.”

She hears Turbo Granny gagging in another room.

“Don’t say shit like that just after I’ve eaten!”

Momo glares at them, stomping out of the kitchen toward the stairs and shouting as she goes.

“As if I’d do anything to a patient!”

She willfully ignores the heat blooming up from her neck.

Momo wants Okarun as close as possible because she’s concerned; her unreasonably massive crush on the guy is totally irrelevant!

Well. . . mostly irrelevant.

Fuck, now she’s thinking about it.

“Dammit, granny.” She mutters, standing in the hall outside her door.

“Ayase-san?”

Okarun’s voice, muffled on the other side of the door, calls to her. She shakes her head and wills her blush to go down.

“Yeah,” she says, one hand on the door. “You decent?”

“Y-yes!” He answers in that nervous way that she knows means he’s adjusting his glasses; not because he needs to, just to hide his face.

He looks. . . distractingly soft. He’s worn her clothes before, and she his a few times, but that’d been mostly out of necessity and in situations when other urgent stuff had been on her mind. Her oversized shirts don’t quite swallow him up like they used to when they first met, but it still gives him the sight-feel of someone she’d really enjoy cuddling.

And his natural curls are already pretty destructive on that front by themselves.

“Ayase-san?” He asks, pink dusting over his nose and cheeks from the fact she’s been staring at him for eight uninterrupted seconds.

Startled, she hucks the water bottles at him and stages a tactical retreat into the bathroom; with the excuse that she’s getting herself ready for bed, though mostly to keep herself from doing something stupid.

Like smooshing his face between her hands and gushing about how fucking cute he is.

“Dammit granny.” She mutters again.

—————

“What’re you doing?”

After changing, brushing, and internally debating whether or not she’d suffer through wearing a bra to bed–she trusts Okarun far too much to bother, which just means she’ll have to make sure she wakes up before he does–she steps out of the bathroom to find him still on the floor, a futon halfway unrolled.

He blinks at her.

“Preparing a futon. . . ?” He says, with an intonation that makes it sound like a question. “Am I not sleeping in here?”

“Yeah, not on the floor,” she says. “You’re in bed with me.”

She can hear the gears in his head stutter. His whole face erupts in red.

“Wh-wh-what?! Ayase-san, I can’t–that’s not–!”

“Not what, huh? You got a problem?”

“It’s not proper! I don’t–!”

“I don’t give a shit about proper! What, you don’t want to?”

“Why do you want me in your bed?!”

The argument, as sometimes happened with him, had emboldened Okarun; he never would’ve been able to ask that sort of question normally.

Momo snaps at him.

“Because I’m still mad at you!”

Okarun’s mouth opens, but no retort comes out. The tension in his shoulders deflate, and he’s left standing there blinking at her.

It’s not how Momo envisioned the night going, but it’s the truth. Between finishing the fight and making sure he was okay, and the wave of relief that followed, she never really got the chance to be upset.

But they’re alone now, and that lidded frustration is boiling over. She stomps over to her bed and hurls back the covers; folds her arms and glares at him.

“Bed.”

His eye flickers toward the mattress before falling back on her. He’s still reluctant; the state he’s in, she could easily wrangle him with her powers, but she really wants him to choose to join her.

She breathes a shaky sigh; forces herself to keep eye contact even as her toes curl.

“It’s not just cause I’m mad,” she says, going for honesty a little more naked than she’s used to. “I want you here. . . please.”

Her ears burn, but she holds her gaze steady. She doesn’t want him to misunderstand this as teasing or something he has to endure because she’s upset. Her Okarun has always been the first to apologize; at times, she thinks he’d apologize for his very existence if it meant he could keep his friends, if it meant he doesn’t have to go back to being lonely and ignored.

She needs this sweet boy to understand how much he matters to her, whether or not she’s angry with him.

Okarun ducks his head, shrinking in one himself a bit but shuffling over to her bed nonetheless. He gingerly sits on the edge, hands clenched over his shirt like he’s trying to avoid touching her bed as much as possible.

Momo can’t help rolling her eyes at his hangups; she puts her knee on the bed, such that her calf is pressing against his thigh. He nearly jumps back up; if not for her hand on his shoulder, he might have.

“C’mon, scooch.”

Finally, he puts his hands on the bed, pushing himself back to the side facing the wall; he looks up at her with wide eyes. A face Momo hopes reflects anxiety, if not anticipation, rather than wariness. She wants him to listen to her, not get scared or stressed out.

Momo leans forward and reaches a hand out to his face; slowly, giving him plenty of time to react or otherwise say no, she touches the frame of his glasses.

She feels his nervous breath on her wrist; she’s glad she typically wears long sleeves to bed that can hide her goosebumps. Gently, she lifts his glasses off his face.

She tilts her head, taking him in. He’s not any less handsome with the glasses on, but the novelty of seeing him without them is striking.

It occurs to her, then, how little they’ve talked today despite her all but cuffing him to her all afternoon and evening. Shit, she hopes the silence on his end isn’t related to his injury.

“You look different without your glasses,” she says, struck by an impulse to try reclaiming their usual rhythm. Okarun ducks his head again, and she quickly adds. “Not in a bad way.”

He peeks up at her through his lashes, a tiny smile on his face that threatens to push her into cardiac arrest. She tears her eyes away, carefully folding the arms of his glasses and stretching to place them on her bedside table and turn off the light.

“Lie down.” She says, tugging the covers out from under his feet and holding them up.

He slides onto his side, canting back until his head rests on her pillows. He immediately looks back at her again, as if waiting for a cue; lying too stiffly to possibly be comfortable. The moonlight peeking through her curtain reflects off the bandaging around his head, giving her slight illumination to see his face even in the dark.

His curls look even softer in the dim light, practically begging her to touch them.

So, she does, running her fingertips over Okarun’s forehead and carding them through his hair; careful that she doesn’t apply any pressure that might aggravate his injury.

“That was a bonehead stunt you pulled.” She says quietly but firmly.

She feels Okarun shiver as she lightly scratches his scalp.

“Is that why you’re angry?” He asks in a small voice.

She tugs on a bouncy lock in reply.

“You really scared me, dumbass.”

“. . . I’m sorry.”

Momo frowns. She knows he’s apologizing for scaring her, not for taking the hit. Because he’s Okarun, too kind for his own good.

She sighs.

“Does it still hurt?”

Okarun doesn’t answer right away; his eyes are already half-lidded, head sinking into her pillows.

“Not. . . at all.”

Whether or not he’s just saying what she wants to hear, he’s clearly more fatigued than he otherwise would be; his voice barely more than a whisper, humming a little when she brushes his bangs back from his forehead.

Momo stretches out beside him; she’d prefer to hug him, but he might actually implode if she does that and he needs the rest. She settles for finding his hand and taking it in hers under the covers.

She closes her eyes, tracing the lines of his palm with her nails and forming a mental picture. His hands are unexpectedly soft for the most part, but there are a few small, rough calluses developing on the pads of his fingers; a result of his strength training, one of several. She’s caught him performing on par, if not better than, most of the school’s runners when his class takes P.E. outside. And she’s not the only one who’s noticed.

Between Vamola’s transfer and his sudden athleticism, Okarun’s no longer the invisible otaku in school. Momo’s glad he isn’t being ignored, but annoyed that they’re only paying attention to such a great guy for such superficial reasons.

She knew how cool her Okarun is back when he didn’t have any stamina to speak of; even then, she trusted him to have her back.

The fact that some of the attention on him comes from girls also chafes at a less-than-pretty part of her that she doesn’t want to admit to, let alone examine.

Momo cracks her eyes open, peeking at Okarun’s sleeping face; listening to his breathing, feeling the slow and steady pulse in his wrist. She soaks in his presence, the tension she’s been holding since he got hurt finally settling.

Three short words are sitting on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill over the next time she opens her mouth; it’s not the first time. The note she left with the curry had been the closest she’s gotten to saying them, but they’ve been there for a long time.

She won’t wake him up to say them; not after she just scolded him for being a reckless, self-sacrificing moron. She tamps them down, stemming her overflowing affection by lacing her fingers together with his; turning his hand up so his knuckles are facing her. His knuckles littered with small scars that he gathered in a short time, because he had to learn how to fight suddenly and quickly. Fight to survive; fight to save people.

Fight to protect her.

Momo brushes her lips over Okarun’s hand; the dark lending her courage, she murmurs into the warmth of his skin.

“Don’t get hurt for me, okay?”

She thinks, as she begins to drift off, that maybe she’ll greet him in the morning with those three words she’s been holding onto.

Imagining his reaction makes her smile.

[goblinontour]

Ablaze In The Rearview

and its bitter aftertaste, indeed

series masterlist

warnings: prof!al, age gap (not specified), angst, fluff, nothing really happens, just a bit of background to some stuff i’ve referenced

word count: 5.3k

Alex had loved her in a way that he thought love was supposed to be. Whole, consuming, unwavering. He loved her so much it hurt sometimes, but in that good, comforting way that made you feel like you were tethered to something solid, something worth fighting for. He’d thought he was doing everything right, that he was following the unspoken rules of how to be a good partner. 

He made sure to call when he said he would, remembered the little things that mattered to her. Her favourite brand of tea, the way she liked her pillows fluffed just so before bed. He didn’t forget anniversaries, or birthdays, or the small moments in between. He listened when she spoke, even when her stories sometimes drifted into things he didn’t fully understand, like the dramas at her work or the subtle complexities of her friends’ relationships. He was there for it all, like you were supposed to be when you loved someone.

They’d been together for years, and Alex was certain she was the one. He had planned their future in his head, every step neatly laid out. They got a place together that wasn’t just his, not just hers, but theirs. They’d talk about kids, eventually. He could already imagine her smiling as she mentioned names she liked. There were even late nights when he’d catch himself thinking about what their daughter might look like, if she’d have her smile or his eyes.

And then there was the ring. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was beautiful. He’d spent months saving for it, putting aside whatever he could from his teaching assistant job. The pay wasn’t much, just enough to cover the bills and the occasional night out, but he’d been careful. He skipped coffees and lunches with colleagues, cooked at home instead of eating out, always telling himself it would be worth it in the end. He reminded himself why he was doing it. She deserved something special. And even though it wasn’t a massive diamond or a custom piece, it was enough. He told himself that over and over again.

He kept the ring hidden away in his sock drawer, tucked beneath layers of fabric, where he knew she’d never look. Sometimes, late at night, he’d pull it out just to hold it in his hands, imagining the day he’d finally give it to her. He could picture it so clearly – the way her eyes would light up, the smile that would break across her face when she realised what he was doing. He imagined getting down on one knee, his heart racing, and asking her to spend forever with him.

But the longer he waited, the harder it became to find that perfect moment. Each day passed, filled with opportunities he let slip by, excuses he made to himself. Maybe next weekend, he’d think. Maybe after the holidays. Always waiting for some magical instance when everything would fall into place, and he wouldn’t feel the weight of his own fear.

Deep down, he wondered if he was delaying it because he knew something wasn’t right. But he couldn’t admit that to himself – not then. Not when he’d poured so much of himself into this idea of them, this dream of the life they’d share. He clung to it because he needed to believe in it, in them, even if a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that something was wrong.

But maybe that’s what love was – pushing past the doubts, holding on despite the uncertainty. At least, that’s what he told himself. So, the ring stayed in the drawer, a symbol of all the love and hope he had for her. 

Maybe it was just fear. He’d been waiting for the perfect moment, but it never seemed to come. There was always something that didn’t feel quite right: a minor argument, stress from work, her pulling away just a little bit more. Every time he thought he’d found the right time, something would come up, and he’d convince himself to wait. Just a little longer. 

But he never realised that he’d run out of time, that the perfect moment wouldn’t exist.  

He had been so wrapped up in trying to keep everything together, trying to be the perfect partner, that he hadn’t noticed when things started slipping. Or maybe he had noticed, but he didn’t want to admit it. There were signs, of course. Her phone always seemed to be buzzing, but she never told him who it was. The nights she came home a little later than usual, her explanations vague and hollow. The way she smiled at someone else’s message more often than she smiled at him.

It had all been right there in front of him, clear as day, but he hadn’t wanted to see it. 

Or maybe he was just that stupid. Maybe he really hadn’t seen it. Maybe he’d convinced himself too thoroughly that he was the problem, that he was the one pushing her away, that his own insecurities had clouded his ability to see the truth.

There were nights when he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her warmth next to him, her breath steady in the darkness, and he’d tell himself everything was fine. He’d force himself to believe that the distance between them was temporary, that it was just a rough patch like all relationships had. He loved her, and she loved him. That’s all that mattered, right?

But now, looking back, he wondered if he’d been pathetic. He wondered if he deserved what had happened. Deserved to be cheated on, because maybe he wasn’t enough. Maybe if he’d been braver, if he’d asked her to marry him sooner, things would’ve turned out differently. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt the need to find someone else, to look for something he couldn’t give her.

Am I really so easy to replace?

That thought gnawed at him constantly, even now. The way it had happened, barely behind his back, as if she didn’t even care enough to hide it properly. The late texts, the casual lies about who she was with. He could still remember the moment when it all came crashing down, when he finally saw the truth for what it was. The guilt in her eyes, the way her words tumbled out, trying to justify something that couldn’t be justified. 

But by then, it was too late. 

He didn’t get a chance to propose. He didn’t get the life he’d planned. All he had left was the ring in the drawer, a relic of what could’ve been, and the sickening realisation that maybe he’d deserved it all along.

Maybe if he hadn’t been so scared of losing her, she wouldn’t have slipped through his fingers.

There was one day, in particular, that stood out to Alex now, one he’d brushed off at the time, telling himself it didn’t matter. But as the years passed, that day had grown heavier in his memory, its significance sinking deeper into his gut each time he thought of it.

It had been a normal day, or at least it seemed that way. The two of them had spent the morning together, lounging around the apartment. She’d smiled at him, kissed him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, her touch light and affectionate. Sunlight poured through the windows like it begged for relaxation, but instead, tension hung in the air like a heavy mist. Alex sat at the small kitchen table, absently stirring his coffee as his mind drifted. 

“You’re quiet today.” she said, not looking up from her task. Her voice was casual, but he could sense the undercurrent, the silent question lingering in the air between them.

Alex sighed, setting his mug down with a soft thud. “I’ve just…had a lot on my mind lately.” He hadn’t wanted to overthink it, to stir up trouble where there wasn’t any. She wouldn’t do that. Stop being so pathetic.

She finally glanced at him, a hint of annoyance flashing across her face before she smoothed it over with a smile. “Work stuff?”

He hesitated. “Not just work.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. She didn’t press, not right away. She never did. That was part of the problem. They’d stopped talking about the real things, the hard things. Instead, their conversations felt like rehearsed lines from a play they no longer believed in.

“Alex.” she finally said, turning to face him fully, wiping her hands on a towel. “What’s going on?”

He met her eyes, searching for the warmth and understanding that used to be there, but now all he saw was a guarded expression, like she was bracing herself for an argument. He felt a pang of guilt for what he was about to say, for how he was feeling, but he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

“I don’t know.” he started, his voice softer than he intended. “I feel like…like we’re drifting apart.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “What do you mean by that?”

“I- I don’t know.” he repeated, running a hand through his hair, the frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. “It’s just…we don’t talk like we used to. We don’t laugh like we used to. It’s like everything’s…changed.”

She took a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “So, what? You’re bored with us now?”

“No.” Alex said quickly, feeling a twinge of irritation at her assumption. “It’s not that. It’s just…I don’t know, something feels off. I don’t feel as connected to you as I used to.”

Her gaze hardened, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something behind her eyes. Pain, maybe. Or is it guilt? “Maybe you’re the one pulling away.” she shot back. “Maybe you’re the one who’s been distracted lately.”

He blinked, thrown off by her accusation. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you’re always ‘busy’ with work, always tired, always…distant.” she said, her voice rising with each word. “Don’t put this all on me.”

“I’m not putting it on you.” Alex said, feeling the frustration mount. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened to us. We used to be-”

“We used to be what?” she interrupted, her voice sharp. “Perfect? Happy? Newsflash, Alex, people change. Relationships change. You think you’re the only one who’s noticed?”

“What are you saying?” he asked quietly.

She hesitated, her arms tightening around herself as if she could shield herself from the truth that was bubbling up between them. “I’m saying…maybe we’re not as right for each other as we thought.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t expected her to say it out loud, hadn’t expected her to give voice to the fear that had been gnawing at him for months. “You don’t mean that.” he said, though his voice sounded uncertain even to his own ears.

“I don’t know.” she replied, her voice softening. “Maybe I do. Maybe we’ve been pretending for too long.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that she was wrong, that they could fix it, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure anymore. Somewhere along the way, they’d lost each other. And as he looked at her now, standing across the room with that familiar look of uncertainty in her eyes, he realised that maybe they’d been lost for a lot longer than he’d wanted to admit.

The sound of a phone buzzing on the counter broke the silence, and she turned to check it, her face softening as she read the message. Alex’s stomach twisted as he watched her, an unsettling feeling creeping into his chest.

“Who’s that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

She glanced at him, a flicker of guilt flashing across her face before she shrugged. “Just a friend.”

His heart pounded as he watched her type something back into her phone, her fingers moving quickly, the slight curve of her lips a silent response to whoever was on the other end. His mind raced, thoughts swirling in an uncontrollable spiral.

She wouldn’t cheat on me, he told himself. Why would she? She wouldn’t throw him away. But then, why had her face softened when she read the message? Why had she lied, called it “just a friend” when it screamed something else?

No, stop it, his inner voice berated him. You’re being paranoid. He was overthinking things, letting his insecurities get the best of him, just like he always did. He knew he had trust issues, he knew he could be a little…possessive, though he’d never shown it outright. But this wasn’t about her, it was about him. His mind, his fears. Maybe she was right, maybe he was the one pulling away, making her feel distant. Maybe that’s why she was texting someone else in the middle of their fight, because he hadn’t been enough lately.

He swallowed hard, trying to push away the knot of unease in his chest. Stop making it about yourself, he thought. She’s probably frustrated because you’ve been distant, and now you’re pushing her further by questioning her. This is on you, not her.

The words tasted bitter, but he believed them. He had to.

“I’m sorry.” he blurted out suddenly, the words rushing past his lips before he could stop them.

She looked up from her phone, her brow furrowing. “For what?”

Alex’s mind stuttered, unsure how to answer. He didn’t even know what he was apologising for. He just needed to fix this. He needed her to stop looking at him like he was accusing her of something, needed her to forgive him, to pull them back from the edge he feared they were approaching.

“For…for everything.” he said, his voice quieter now, laced with the guilt he put on himself. “For being distant, for making you feel like I don’t care. I don’t want to push you away.”

Her gaze softened, her fingers stilling over her phone screen. She didn’t say anything at first, just looked at him, as if trying to decide whether to let him in or push him further away. Alex’s heart raced, waiting, hoping she’d take the olive branch he was offering, even though he still wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking forgiveness for.

After what felt like an eternity, she sighed and set her phone down on the counter, folding her arms back across her chest. “You’ve just been…off lately.” she said, her voice quieter now, less defensive. “It feels like you’re not really here with me anymore.”

“I- I know.” Alex admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’ve been stressed with work, and maybe I’ve been taking it out on you without realising. I didn’t mean to. I never want to hurt you.”

She studied him for a moment, her eyes searching his face, as if weighing his words. Then, finally, she let out a small sigh and nodded. “I know you don’t.” Her voice was softer now, more vulnerable, like she’d been waiting for him to say this. “But sometimes it feels like…I’m not enough for you anymore.”

Not enough? How can she think that? She was everything to him. But then, perhaps that was part of the problem — maybe he’d stopped showing her how much she meant.

“That’s not true.” Alex said quickly, his voice urgent now, filled with regret. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything…I’m sorry I haven’t shown that.”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line, her eyes dropping to the floor as she absorbed his words. “I just…I don’t want us to fall apart, Alex. I feel like we’ve been slipping, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Neither did he, but he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t admit that he was just as lost, just as confused. All he knew was that he didn’t want to lose her, no matter what was happening between them.

“We can fix this.” he said, almost desperate now. “We’ll work on it, okay? We’ll spend more time together, talk more. I’ll…I’ll stop getting so caught up in work.”

She finally looked at him, her expression softening a little. “You think that’ll fix everything?”

“I don’t know.” Alex admitted, his voice quiet. “But I want to try. I don’t want to lose us.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. We’ll try.” She stepped forward then, placing her hand on his arm, her touch soft. “I’m sorry too.” she said quietly. “For snapping at you earlier. I just…I hate fighting with you.”

He nodded, giving her a small smile. “Me too.”

As she leaned in and kissed his cheek, Alex closed his eyes, trying to let himself believe that everything was okay, that this was just a rough patch, that they’d come out the other side stronger, or whatever people said. But the nagging doubt in his chest wouldn’t fully leave.

She picked up her phone again as she moved back to the counter, her attention drifting back to whoever she was texting, and Alex forced himself not to look, not to think about it. He’d already convinced himself that he was the problem, that his insecurities were the issue. He had to trust her. He had to.

Looking back on it now, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was the beginning of the end. A moment that should’ve been a red flag but was instead lost in his desperate need to believe everything was fine.

Maybe if he’d said something then, maybe if he hadn’t been so scared of pushing her away, things would’ve turned out differently.

Alex thought about that moment a lot — more than he ever wanted to admit, especially when you were next to him in bed, your body warm against his, your breath soft and steady in the quiet night. He hated himself for it, for letting those old memories creep in, for thinking about her when he had you. How can I still think of her? he wondered, his chest tightening at the thought. You’re right here, loving me, and I’m still letting her live in my head. You, who loved him so openly. You, who told him over and over again that he was enough. But no matter how much you reassured him, something in him wouldn’t let go.

Because even with your reassurance, the fear lingered. It wasn’t her that haunted him, not anymore. It was the scar she left behind, the fear that he wasn’t enough, that he never would be. I wasn’t enough for her…why would I be enough for you? She’d told him he was enough, too — countless times. She’d kissed him with the same lips, looked at him with the same affection, told him the same lies. And in the end, he’d found her with someone else. 

In his bed. In their bed. 

I trusted her, and look what happened. What if I’m wrong again?

He could still remember the look on her face when he walked in, the shock, the guilt, the way she tried to cover herself up like it mattered at that point. His world had shattered in that instant, the pieces falling too fast for him to even try to catch.

He hated that he brought you there, to that same apartment. What was I thinking? It hadn’t been theirs in a long time, but the walls still carried echoes of a life he’d once believed in. A life he’d planned. And he’d failed at. 

But then you showed up, and somehow, you managed to make it yours. How do you do that? You brought a warmth into the space that he thought had long since been extinguished. With you, the apartment felt different. It felt new. It wasn’t tainted by old memories anymore, not in the same way. You’d filled it with laughter, with love, with a sense of belonging that he hadn’t felt in years. You made me believe again.

And yet, in the quiet hours of the night, when everything went still, the fear crept in. The fear that one day, he’d wake up and find you gone, too. That he’d turn over in bed, and you wouldn’t be there. It was irrational, he knew that, but it was real. It was the fear that had burrowed deep into him, the fear that he was broken, that no matter how much you loved him, he would never be able to hold onto it. Why would anyone stay with someone as messed up as me?

He told himself that you were different, that what you had was different. It is different, he tried to remind himself. And in so many ways, it was. You made him feel seen in ways he hadn’t even known he needed. You pushed past the walls he’d built up after her, the ones he didn’t even realise were there until you started breaking them down, piece by piece. I don’t deserve you…but I want to. But still, late at night, when the world went quiet and you lay peacefully beside him, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a matter of time before he lost you too.

Because he’d been enough for her, once. And she’d still left. 

That was the thing that gnawed at him the most. Not the betrayal itself, not the anger or the sadness, but the quiet, suffocating doubt that it had planted inside him. The doubt that maybe, despite everything, he wasn’t enough. And that no matter how much you said it, no matter how much you loved him, that fear would always be there, lurking in the back of his mind. I’ll mess this up…I’ll push you away just by being afraid.

He turned his head, watching you as you slept peacefully beside him, your face softened by the moonlight filtering in through the window. You looked so at ease, so content, and for a brief moment, the fear ebbed away. You love me. In this moment, he was enough. You were here, with him. This was real.

But he knew the fear would return. It always did.

He tried not to be perfect this time. With you, he promised himself he’d be real, that he wouldn’t try so hard to live up to some impossible standard like he had with her. Just be yourself. But being himself was proving to be just as difficult, because underneath it all, he still felt just as…weak.

He felt weak for letting himself fall for you. I shouldn’t have let it happen, he thought. He wasn’t ready. But you came into his life so unexpectedly, and you were everything he needed without even realising it. How could I not fall for you?

And then there was the other part of it — the part he hated even more. He felt weak for letting you fall for him. Like he was setting you up for disappointment, like he was already halfway to failing you, just as he’d failed her. You’ll see it one day, he thought. You’ll see what a mess I really am.

He hated that thought. Hated that he couldn’t just let you love him, couldn’t just accept the happiness you brought into his life without second-guessing it, without questioning whether he deserved it. Weak, weak, weak, you’re so weak, the voice in his head taunted him, that same voice that had whispered to him after the betrayal, the one that told him over and over again that it had been his fault, that he hadn’t been enough.

He swallowed hard, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him, refusing to let go. That feeling of inadequacy gnawed at him, even now, when you were right here, so close. He felt your hands rub over his where they rested on your stomach, soft and comforting, and he realised with a start that he’d curled into you even tighter without realising it.

Your warmth was steady. It pulled him back from the spiral in his mind. You didn’t say anything, didn’t ask him what was wrong or push him to talk about what was on his mind. You just kept rubbing his hands, your fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns over his skin. 

How do you always know what I need? he wondered, feeling his chest tighten with a strange mix of gratitude and guilt. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you. He wasn’t strong enough to let you see how deep the cracks ran inside of him. I don’t want to drag you down with me.

But at the same time, he couldn’t pull away from you. He needed you more than he thought he could ever need someone. And that was terrifying.

You shifted slightly, turning your head to look at him, and he met your eyes, trying to push the worry from his face, trying to be present with you in this moment. He didn’t want you to see how much he was struggling, didn’t want to burden you with the weight of his doubts. But you knew. Of course, you knew. You always did.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice gentle, as if you were afraid that pressing too hard might make him retreat.

He hesitated for a moment, the words he wanted to say caught in his throat. He wanted to tell you everything, wanted to open up in a way he hadn’t been able to before, but the fear held him back. What if you leave, too?

“I’m fine.” he said finally, though it felt like a lie. He gave you a small smile, hoping it would be enough to convince you, but he knew it wasn’t. He could see it in the way your eyes searched his face, looking for the truth beneath the surface.

You squeezed his hands a little tighter, offering him your quiet support, letting him know you were there. You didn’t push him. You never did, except when he needed it.

And he loved you for that. More than he could ever put into words.

“I love you.” he said, the words slipping out before he could think them. They were quiet, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he should say them at all.

You didn’t hesitate this time. “I love you too.” you whispered back, so easily, so naturally. But something in the way you said it made him pause. Maybe it was the softness in your voice, or the way you held him a little closer afterward. 

He swallowed, the words lingering in his chest, but then they escaped anyway. “Do you?”

You stilled in his arms, the question hanging heavy in between you. He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, hadn’t meant to question you, but the doubt had already bled through his voice, and now he couldn’t take it back. You pulled away just enough to turn in his arms and fully face him.

He lay there on his side, his expression carefully neutral, but his eyes…His eyes said so much more than he was willing to say out loud.

There was a quiet desperation in them, a flicker of fear he couldn’t hide no matter how hard he tried. His gaze searched your face, looking for reassurance, for something to hold on to. His lips pressed together, and his jaw tensed slightly, like he was bracing himself for whatever you were going to say next. You could see the uncertainty there, the vulnerability he never wanted to admit to. He didn’t want to seem fragile, but right now, in this moment, he was anything but strong.

His fingers curled tighter against your back, pulling you towards him as if that physical closeness could somehow calm his thoughts. He didn’t want to question your love. He hated that he’d even asked. But he couldn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in. 

His eyes were practically begging for an answer, for you to say something, anything that would make him believe it. But it wasn’t just a simple question. It was everything he hadn’t said. All the cracks he couldn’t hide anymore.

You could feel it in the way he looked at you. He was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of not being enough for you, scared that one day you might see him the way he saw himself. Weak.

When you asked him, “Do you feel like I don’t love you?” he looked almost embarrassed with himself, the way his eyes darted away for a second, his brows knitting together. His lips parted, but no words came out, just a shallow breath as he pressed them back into a tight line. The shame crept into his expression, a subtle flush creeping up his neck as if he’d been caught in a lie he wasn’t even aware of telling. 

“I love you.” you whispered, reaching up to brush your fingers against his cheek. He leaned into the touch, his eyes closing for a brief moment.

“I wish I could show you that more.” you continued softly, “Wish I could show everyone.”

He opened his eyes again, meeting your gaze, his expression softening at your words. There was a flicker of relief, but also a deeper longing for what you were offering. For that quiet reassurance he so desperately needed. He didn’t say anything right away, but the way his hand moved up to cover yours on his cheek spoke for itself.

The vulnerability in his eyes hadn’t disappeared completely, but it shifted slightly, like he was allowing himself to believe you. Even if just for a moment, even if the doubts would come creeping back later, right now, he wanted to hold on to this — to you. He wanted to believe that you meant it, that you saw him as more than his fears, more than his insecurities, more than the fragile person he felt like inside.

“I know you love me.” he murmured finally, his voice a little rough, like it was hard for him to say. “I just…sometimes, it’s hard for me to feel like I’m enough.” His thumb gently traced the back of your hand where it rested against his cheek, and his eyes softened even more. “It’s not your fault. It’s just- my head gets…messed up sometimes.”

You leaned in, pressing your lips gently to his, a kiss that spoke more than words could in that moment. It wasn’t rushed or forceful — you were just trying to pour all the love he needed into that one delicate touch.

Alex melted into you immediately as if his doubts had all momentarily slipped away. His hand moved up to cradle the back of your head, holding you there, like he didn’t want to lose that connection. His kiss was slow, tender, vulnerable, but there was a quiet, unspoken plea for this feeling to last.

He sighed softly against your lips, his fingers weaving into your hair as he pulled you just a little closer. You felt his body moulding to yours as he let himself sink into the comfort of your touch, the warmth of your love wrapping around him like a shield from the insecurities that usually gnawed at him.

“I love you.” you whispered again, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone as you stayed close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. His eyes locked onto yours, and in that moment, you could see the cracks in his armour, places where he was finally letting himself believe you.

His lips curved into a small, barely-there smile. Alex exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you.” he whispered, his voice barely audible but laced with so much meaning. 

He was holding on to you, and for once, it felt like he wasn’t afraid to fall.

a/n: i know it’s boring, i know. but i missed him and this made the most sense to me to get back into him.

[keelt9]

OP-5

Masterlist / POV 5

Dealy. 

The jet is delayed, how the hell is even that possible? A lot of air traffic.

“Yeah…get it…no problem… I’ll talk with them.” Oscar has his eyes on the marketing girls as they speak to the phone.

“Well?” He asked standing before they reached them, sitting.

The girl sighs in relief. “They would be waiting for us, don’t worry.” The girls giggled. “We’re a day later, that’s all.”

Said and done they arrived around 4 pm and finally crossed the big doors of Altamira around 6 pm. 

Oscar fakes calm even when his hands aren't able to stay still in one single place, as the team received them and a few members of the house too.

“Where is Zack?” Lando asks to search around the main garden.

The team's doubts about his director and his interest in Altamira, that only faded away when they knew, many years ago they had a special sponsorship with their relatively new business, as big sponsors started to come even Altamira Cocoa reminded with them, side by side in the lowest moments, until McLaren cut them without a question.

Now, they’re an important company, that many F1 teams and drivers want to work with still Zak convinced Mr. Esco please accede to the deal with them one more time, things would be different; Altamira would be treated like they should, and an important and symbolic sponsor.

Thanks to Gina, their lawyer; they settled one important condition: they must be treated and respected like one. At the first hostile interaction, Altamira would cut any tie.

“Oh, he’s taking a short walk with Mrs. Esco.” One of the girls said. 

“In the stables?” Oscar already witnessed how those horses can feel hostility and how they react.

The girl raises her shoulders. “I guess.”

Oscar curses running to the stables hearing the words of the team about what the hell is wrong with him.

It took him while finding Zak, by the time he does, he sees Nebula pulling from the rein as Ford tries to calm her down, but what makes his blood run dry is the big black horse waiting as his tail stops moving grab by Y/N.

Pharaoh is ready to stand. 

By instinct fearing Pharaoh would kick his ass he runs and grabs his director by the shoulders. 

“Come on Zak, we're already here, let’s work on this, we’re against the clock.” 

Pharaoh stops as he relaxes when he sees instead of walking a totally stranger to him one more time, the honey boy pushes the other man away giving them space.

He could feel the eyes of the twins on him, so the only thing that comes to his mind to calm them down is the “ok” sign on Zak's back.

“Have you seen the horse?” Zak questions when they are away from them. “Impressive, I was about to touch the black one, but you interrupted our moment.”

Oscar scoffs. “Yeah, sorry.” Oscar interrupts a moment of chaos, that's what he knows. “But we’re just against time, you know.”

Such a lame excuse that saved him. In the cocoa fields Mr. Esco is still around the shooting zone, frowning eyebrows and mouth in a straight line. 

The month they were delayed is the same time the production around that area was delayed too, causing a grumpy and eagle eye Mr. Esco, hurrying up everything he could.

Zak gets down his head in clear frustration for having the man around all the time.

Oscar was quickly dragged to change his clothes, at the moment the production saw him walking with Zak.

“You should go first.” Lando says as they change their clothes, causing Oscar to lift his eyebrows. “I prefer the night, it makes me look better.” 

This time Lando points to the corniche where you can distighs a man crossing arms, probably Ford, even though he related Ford with a taller man.

“So?” The director asked them.

Oscar smiles seeing the proposed slow pace to fit his teammate's clothes, it’s a race suit, you zip up and you’re ready; Lando is faking battling with a logo. “I’ll go.” Lando giggled, taking a few steps behind. 

After a detailed shooting and extremely precise movements, saving time and energy. Oscar was able to finish in less than an hour. 

“Ok, Lando your turn.” The director mentions. “Rest Oscar, tomorrow early we had the last shooting together but I need sun.”

Oscar nods, he sees Lando who moves softly his head to the house for he can go. 

Running to change his race suit he just picks a jeans and white hoodie running inside waving hand as the people he already know.

“Kaila.” He found her in the arena with Azabache who’s practicing a few jumps along with Rachel who waves his hand.

Azabache looks so fascinating doing what he does so he decides not to bother him, later he will greet him as he should. But even when he looked around, he couldn’t find her.

Kaila giggles and points to the stables. “They had a meeting and probably they with Pharaoh, one more time”

Oscar smiles, running to the stables, not before seeing Azabache gracefully jump a pod, just like his father does, with grace and fineness landing in the ground.

In the stable he didn’t find any horse until he saw the snout of Azabache coming out in a blink, giving him a scare of death having him so close. The story of him in fact breaks that wooden door, when they separate him from Azabache, cross his mind.

Yeah, he 's done.

Closing his eyes, he waits for the worst… Until it doesn’t happen.

Slowly he opened his eyes, seeing Pharaoh a few centimeters of him breathing in slowly, eyes on him, like he’s scanning every single movement, Oscar containing any sign of breathing as he prayed for some enters.

But Pharaoh got down his head, searching for his hand.

Oscar realized when he waited as slowly raised his hand, the moment his palm was extended in front of Pharaoh, he carefully laid down, taking by surprise Oscar.

“Are you playing tricks with me or this is for real?” He asks Pharaoh who just stays still, Oscar raises his other hand to calm his head. “Holy fuck!”

He lost the track of time he caress Pharaoh when he move his head to the entrance where Y/N is seeing the scene speechless, Oscar mind was flashlight with the video Ford send him the first time she ride Obsidian one more time, he run where she was lifting her in one simple movement. 

Clearly taking her by surprise from the way she hiss, when she let her down, seeing her smile he asked himself a smile.

What the song say?

"The one that makes me laugh," she said

“Threw her arms around my neck.”

“Can I go?” Lando asks seeing Oscar about the turn slippery and disappearing before they must leave today.

Oscar faked a cough. “Where?” Lando tilted his head with a serious face.

“Really?” He points to his happy face. 

Y/N invited him to observe her first official practice this morning, he couldn’t be more excited so he unconsciously kept rushing things to be free at 11 am.

Sitting in the stables as she told him about the big opportunity she just found out, Oscar doubts he’s been so enthusiastic about a race as he’s with the idea of her back to competing in less than 3 months. 

“Why?” Oscar asks to walk to the path that will lead him to the arena. 

“I want to see how my teammate falls in love.” Lando said already follow him, leaving Oscar without any other choice than to have a British boy next to him all the time.

In the arena Y/N already begins her training for the way Walter keeps giving her instructions as she’s over Pharaoh who knows exactly what to do.

Oscar was right, seeing in live is leaving him breathless. It’s not about a ride and a horse, it's about two becoming one, the precision they had and the elegance with which they did it.

They way her body adjusts to every movement of Pharaoh and how he always makes sure she’s fine doing the things precisely, not losing the good posture, looking imponent with all he has over him.

“Y/N don’t you dare.” Walter said seeing how she grip the rain of Pharaoh as he started to gain speed. 

“She will do it.” Oscar whispers, making Lando observe between the girl on a horse, his friend with a smirk and the man with his hand on his neck.

“What?”

In one single movement Pharaoh makes a high jump Pharaoh folds his legs making Lando press his fist tight to prevent the fall of that brick wall and probably Y/N.

But it never came, the horse bare touched the bricks landing gracefully on the arena to go back running but this time decreasing his speed. 

He couldn't avoid praising the girl, whatever she does, she’s doing like a master.

But seeing Oscar flirt is something he actually prefers to skip, Y/N is clearly fluttering with him but Oscar is too slow for noticing so he decided to give them a small push, a harmless one. 

Invite her to the next race, after all, he knew her parents would go.

The panic in Oscar's eyes increases when she actually agrees before having to go.

“What are you doing?” Oscar pushes Lando who quivers from the fence of the arena. With Y/N out of the sight he looks in fear.

“Give you a hand!” Lando avoided falling while grabbing the fence. “We have a monster on the track, do what you always do and impress the girl.” 

Oscar wants to murder that boy so bad. “And thank me later.”

[junoeau]

೨౿ ⠀ ׅ ⠀ ̇ ⠀⠀ hey sarge, remember me? .

ʚ warnings: agad spoilers, probably not canon ravi, blood n murder talk (its agggtm what did you expect??) ANGST

ʚ paring: ravi singh x f!reader

ʚ summary: ravi and reader broke up a year ago. well, okay, it wasn't a proper breakup and reader knows that, she just left ravi standing there and went off to cambridge, going no contact. how she managed to do that? no god damn idea, but she could surely count on ravi to reach out to her the minute max hastings was in jail.

₍ a/n: i got depressed by this book so you all get traumatized by this fic... ₎

3 minutes after the verdict was read in the crown vs. max hastings:

RAVI: hey sarge, remember me?

i wasn't even sure if i wanted to read that message. it lit up the top of my screen, yeah, and i also knew that max hastings had just lost his case, of course i kept up with that. yet, i wasn't sure if i was ready to crack open this new door just yet.

i wanted to savor the moment, savor the text just sitting there. the text i'd been undeniably waiting for for the past year, eight months, sixteen days and three minutes.

and now it was here, ravi was here. well, not physically, but he'd reached out, reached out only when he knew it was safe to do so and when he knew that di hawkins wouldn't try to come after me. he remembered clearly, and so did i.

YOU: ravi?

a lie.

there's no doubt that this was ravi, his number was still saved in my contacts. i knew this was ravi.

RAVI: yeah, its me.

i'd adjusted to university life pretty well. that's what ravi said when he came to visit the week after we'd started talking again. that day was hard on the both of us, though he excitedly told me about max's conviction, i could tell that the weight of last years events was still weighing him down. but the worst part was that it was still affecting me too.

''i appreciate you for remembering, you know that, right?'' was what i had asked him first thing when he'd arrived here, my arms slung around his shoulders and clinging onto him like a lifeline.

my ravi was back.

''yes, sarge, i know. and i appreciate you too, more than you'll ever know.'' i practically heard his heart break inside his chest. i wanted to tell him how much i still loved him, tell him how much i missed him, but ravi beat me to it.

''i love you. i love you. i love you. you know, sarge, there wasn't never a day i didn't think about you. you were always on my mind, always lurking.''

my sweet ravi.

i practically crushed him with my grip, tears welling up in my eyes as he spoke. ''i love you too, ravi.'' that was something i didn't say often enough last year.

last year.

my memories were slightly more cloudy than before, but the memory, the one of me hitting jason bell in the head with a hammer, the one of ravi and i turning his body around in the car to delay his rigor mortis and livor mortis to make it seem like he'd died much later than he actually had, those memories were still crystal clear in my mind.

me nearly dying, drugging max hastings and almost fucking up my alibi. yet, ravi was still here, or rather here again. here. with me. even after i dragged him into covering up a murder with me. he was still here. i guess that's why i love him so much.

''sarge, i was asking you something. hello?'' right, i zoned out. ''lots of people have been asking about you. little kilton is pretty quiet these days without our little sarge, you know?''

of course it was. criminals in jail or, well, dead. basically all of andie bells family... also in jail or dead. the towns biggest mystery solved, max hastings convicted and no more sarge to uncover other possible crimes. of course it was quiet.

''well, what'd you tell them?'' them. them referring to my family too, i hadn't visited over christmas or for josh's birthday. i knew that was fucked up, but in no universe was i going back to little kilton. not after what had happened, not after what i did.

''i said you were alright. nothing incriminating. but your parents, sarge... they're worried. really worried,'' he sighed, ''they're sad that you don't reach out or visit. sarge, they really miss you.''

they miss me. mom, dad and josh. my friends too, i assumed. but i can't go back, cant reconnect with my past.

''well, then tell them that im sorry. tell them that im sorry but im so caught up in my studies and school stuff that i cant make time to visit...'' that wasnt true, i was doing well in all of my classes and barely did any extra credit work or anything in my free time. i think ravi knew that, yet he still agreed to tell everybody that.

ravi stayed for the weekend. the monday he had to leave again, i cried. we both cried.

suddenly, everything felt like that last night in kilton again, and i hated it. hated it because, again, it brought up so many bad memories that were buried deep in my body.

i had agreed to at least call my family and friends once a month, just to tell them how life was going. it had taken a lot of convincing from ravi, but with enough pleading and puppy eyes he managed to make me agree to it.

the first time i called my mom, that thursday evening, she burst into tears. i couldn't tell if they were tears of happiness or sadness, but the moment dad and josh joined the call, i had to cry too.

after the call, my face still tearstained, i called ravi, my ravi.

RAVI: how did the call go?

YOU: really good. thank you, ravi, really.

and from then on, those calls, those monthly calls, became part of my routine. though i still couldn't visit anyone, they made me feel included, didn't forget me.

and i was so grateful for that.

JUNOEAU © 2025

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 24 "gethsemane" thoughts

season FINALE!!! whew, it has been an emotional time these last few months, let me tell you that. i’m wondering how or if this will be wrapped up. 

the episode description makes no mention of scully’s illness, just more aliens. we always end the seasons with aliens. i imagine that this will also be a cliffhanger, so i’m trying to brace myself for that now.

(author's note: there was nothing short of reaching enlightenment that could have prepared me for this, and even if i had ascended to nirvana, i might have been ripped back out by the sheer tragedy of this storyline)

but damn, with a title like gethsemane, i’m expecting even more tears than usual. 

(author's note: yeah)

let us no longer delay. 

we begin with some videos from 1972, including carl sagan! what’s he doing here? well, he’s doing alien things. are you surprised?

the man on the screen is speaking about the probability of contacting aliens. he says it is very high.

and then cut to scully in some very yellow lighting, politely trying to get to a crime scene to do some FBI business!

wait. is that mulder’s couch???

she just needed to make an ID on a body and BRO WHAT. DID SHE FIND MULDER DEAD??? IN HIS OWN APARTMENT?????

HELLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOO???!!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

now she’s in a meeting room with a lot of important people…. 

she’s explaining how she was assigned to the x files four years ago…. and she’s explaining the mulder lore.

“i come here today, four years later, to report on the illegitimacy of agent mulder’s work” <- WOAH WHAT??? betrayal?????

“it is my scientific opinion that he became over the course of these years a victim- a victim of his own false hopes, and in his belief in the biggest of lies” <- that is so sad????!?!??

HELLO??? WHAT??? hey. what’s going on. is that really scully? or is it an alien?

well. they’ve gotten me both hooked and worried. 

is she lying to save him?? is he dead?? is she preserving his reputation in death?? because she said that stuff in the past tense… or maybe he was killed and she will be next if she doesn’t renounce everything???

WHAT IS AFOOT HERE.

scully i just publicly declared you my favorite, you can’t make me take that back…

(author's note: i should have never doubted her <3)

ohhhh fancy, the intro says “believe the lie”

helicopter over the yukon in canada. some guys say the stuff at camp is unbelievable. that's quite a jump in tone from before.

and now they’re marching up the hill, saying they’re very excited etc etc. it looks to be exhausting work. the score is very suspenseful.

they arrive in a cave and shake hands as the newcomers are introduced. and what is in there but…. a frozen alien???

i was hoping it would be a perfectly preserved mammoth :( but okay… whatever… (sadly kicks dirt around)

back to the meeting room with scully!!! she says there have been recent developments on the assumption that aliens exist… mulder was contacted by a man whose “pursuit of this evidence seemed to coincide with his own”, and she says he was duped!!!! fooled by scientific slight of hand!!! 

and she’s here to expose this lie… and to expose his work for what it is….

GIRL, WHAT WENT DOWN???

now a cut to some sort of scully family event!! she’s telling a story about her brother bill. will we finally get to see him!? yes!! here he is!!! like their father, he is also in the navy, and seems to be pretty decorated. 

and he says he sent her a birthday card, to which she says “thanks for remembering this year” LMAOOO get him again for me!!

(why does no one remember her birthday!!! i will cry!!!)

the priest arrives… and scully’s face falls…. why is she sad to see him? and why did he get invited??? i’m stressed. 

father mccue is talking to her about drifting from the church and feeling awkward, but her mom asked him to come tonight. he says turning back to faith is essential in times like this. she says she hasn’t felt a need to draw on faith for strength, that she has some. and she won’t coming running back now.

huh, i wonder if she thinks that “running back” to the church will be admitting defeat. she says she’d be lying to herself and to him if she did that.

maybe she has only lightly been dabbling in god-related affairs since revelations, but not enough to want to return to mass.

but a phone rings… it’s mulder!!!

he says he’s sorry to interrupt her dinner, (so at least there’s some self awareness there) but someone named arlinsky at the smithsonian contacted him about a mountain in canada.

he says she needs to meet him RIGHT AWAY. BRO???????? she looks SO sad when he said that. 

she would do ANYTHING for him. and tbh i see why she wants to expose him now. fuck that. 

she’s assuring him that it’s okay, and he’s trying to apologize, but i’m still mad at him, and scully should be too. and who the hell is this arlinsky guy? apparently he was involved in a ufo photo faking?? but he claims he’s innocent?? THAT is what disrupted her dinner??

he says he won’t tell her what she’s about to see….

he has pictures of an alien frozen in the mountain and she looks deeply unimpressed. girl me too! 

apparently the alien has been in the ice for 200 years. and babcock (arlinsky's colleague) was part of the team that found it.

arlinsky says it’s a very remote location for it to be a hoax, to which mulder once again displays some self awareness with his “well if you’re gonna go, why not go all the way?” but again, not enough to prevent himself from getting in this situation in the first place

arlinsky pulls out the ice core samples from each side of the body, and says he sincerely believes they have a full corpse of an alien. 

but family dinner. i care about that more.

mulder says no one will believe him, and the same people that hid the truth will be asked to authenticate it, so there will be no confirmation either. which is why arlinsky wants him to go and get the body, because he knows it means everything to mulder

ohhhh scully says she has no opinion… “this is your holy grail, mulder, not mine” <- i am glad she is admitting she has no horse in this race

OHHH “proving the existence of alien life is not my last dying wish” <-yeah remind him that you’re literally dying and you can’t waste time because he SEEMS TO HAVE FORGOTTEN!!!!

“this is not some selfish pet project of mine, scully” <- well if it’s for the sake of your sister, but you’re hurting the people around you for it, that is still selfish actually 

woah woah woah i had to write this next part out...

“you already believe, mulder, what difference will it make? i mean, what will proof change for you?”

“if someone could prove to you the existence of god, would it change you?”

“only if it has been disproven”

“then you accept the possibility that belief in god is a lie?” (where are you going with this…? this is a sensitive subject for her!)

“i don’t think about it, actually. and i don’t think it can be proven”

“but what if it could be? wouldn’t that knowledge be worth seeking? or is it easier to go on believing the lie?”

this exchange made me feel frustrated. i wish he would be less ahab-like all of the time. yes, it is a huge deal that someone found an alien. but i see no reason why he couldn't have gone to that meeting by himself. and bringing god into this when he knows that's something very personal to her is a low blow. i get the point he was trying to make about believing the lie and all that, but c'mon man.

mulder honey, i get that this is a big deal to you, but time and place.

she tells him that she cannot go with him, but then he says, well can you just look at the ice core samples please. and she nods her head reluctantly. 

cut back to the big meeting room with scully and other very important people

“what i couldn’t tell agent mulder, what i had only just learned myself, was that the cancer which had been diagnosed in me several months earlier had metastasized. and the doctors told me, short of a miracle, it would continue to aggressively invade my body, advancing faster each day towards the inevitable” <- OH MY GOD??? oh my god. 

but why wouldn't she tell him... did she think that telling him then would interrupt his alien quest?? and she didn't want to do that because she knows how important it is to him? or did she not want him to worry?

because i would have told him!!! i would have said it right then and there!! but she is very different from me...

the fact that she is aware that she has so little time left and STILL left her dinner to go deal with his nonsense… scully, i fear you give too much and need to do things for yourself, please please

back on the mountain, they’re cutting the ice with a chainsaw. feels a bit unscientific, but i mean i guess that’s how you get that stuff done.

one guy is loading a pistol??? saying he doesn’t know the men well. that’s suspicious. i don’t care for it. 

there’s something in the ice. maybe a bubble. or a casting hole!! of liquid poured!! could this be a fake?? but the angle wouldn’t make sense, says one guy. hmm... i'm not sure what to think.

did they put a fake alien all the way up here…? and why is gun guy looking around all shady like…?

back to the core samples in DC. the scientist says he found some hybrid cells in there, not plants nor animals, but chimera, and he wants to get them under a microscope. hmm… can we clone da alien :3

someone walks into the cave in the yukon with a shotgun!!! and kills all of the men!!!!! what the hell!!! is this a real alien then?????

this happens just as others begin the hike up the mountain, including the smithsonian guy arlinsky. and mulder!! i didn’t even recognize him under all those baggy coats and sunglasses. wow. i feel like a fake fan.

someone was supposed to meet them and guide them up the mountain, but there’s no one there, and all the supplies are frozen over. so they begin the hike on their own, following the tracks from the others.

oh! the find someone keeled over in the snow, to which mulder remarks “funny place to take a nap”. again with the inappropriate jokes as a coping mechanism. it’s the guide that was supposed to meet them!! and he was shot and killed!!!

well, the alien is starting to look more authentic as the bodies pile up. 

back at the lab, scully is looking for the scientist, but she doesn’t find him. what she does find is a guy stealing the core sample???

he shoves her down the stairs?????? what the HELL!!!!

see, i thought the alien was a lie at first, but now it’s starting to appear compelling.

mulder and smithsonian guy arlinsky have arrived at the cave, and he pulls out his gun. they find all of the bodies from the crew, and no alien!!! it has been carved out!!!

mulder hypothesizes that perhaps someone was listening to their radio comms and came to hide their alien knowledge, but they hear some groans. and babcock is still alive!!

he says that the alien body wasn’t taken, but that he buried it!! and sure enough, they find it beneath their feet. mulder looks at it with amazement. big moment for a guy like him.

but scully!!! her face is bruised and her pristine lab coat is covered in blood! bill comes in with a change of clothes. and he didn’t tell their mom what happened. 

“i was knocked down a flight of stairs… but i’m okay, luckily”

“you’re not okay, dana” <- OHHHH BILL. please tread carefully.

he says he knows about her cancer and she says mom wasn’t supposed to tell him!!!

she says she doesn’t want sympathy, and he accuses her of thinking she can cure herself. which feels like a terribly low blow.

OHHHH MY GOD. wait hold on. hold on.

“what are you doing at work getting knocked down and beaten up? what are you trying to prove? that you’re gonna go out fighting?”

“oh now, come on, bill”

“do you know what mom is going through? why do you think i didn’t tell her when they called?”

“what should i be doing?” (said with great frustration)

“we have a responsibility, not just to ourselves, but to the people in our lives”

“hey, look, just-just because i haven’t bared my soul to you or to father mccue or to god, it doesn’t mean that i’m not responsible to what’s important to me” (this was very defensive and exasperated in tone)

“to what? to who? this guy mulder? well, where is he, dana? where is he through all this?”

well…. i want to defend mulder, to say he doesn’t know, but just because he doesn’t know that her cancer is getting worse doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have been more sensitive. he actually has been very conscientious, which makes this whole alien thing all the more sudden and infuriating!!!

she is stunned into silence as bill looks at her with fury. and she doesn’t say anything more to him beyond “thank you for coming” <-god, what was she supposed to even say?? i get trying to shake her back to reality, but who did that cruelty help??

bill, i get what you were trying to do, but you pissed me off in the way that you did it. do you always show the people you care for that you love them by screaming at them? because if so. not a very effective tactic.

mulder is unboxing the alien, which is now in DC, and he’s trying to thaw it with the smithsonian guy arlinsky and babcock! who is doing better! despite taking a shotgun bullet.

babcock asks if it were a hoax, why would there be 6 men dead over it, which is a good question. 

ewwww, the alien looks so gross….

with the help of another FBI agent, she finds the guy who hurt her!!!! and he’s working for the government!!!! in the pentagon‘s research facility!!! his name is kritschgau. they should not hire people in the government who assault women in stairwells.

mulder and crew are getting x rays and scans of the alien. mulder is wearing a sweater, but i’m still mad at him so i will NOT make note of how cute it is. 

the alien body is gross as hell. they’re filming an autopsy. ohhh he’s cutting the eye membrane off. EWWWW. EWWW.

now the ribs…… ewww ewww ewwww EWW IT CRUNCHES. NASTY. he takes the ribs out and starts looking at the heart and lungs and some other white stuff in the chest. gag.

meanwhile, scully’s casing the joint looking for the dude kritschgau who assaulted her, and she finds him, tracks him down, and nearly hits him with her car!!! she has her gun and is going after him!!!! he is under arrest!!! 

she is NOT messing around. we see a level of scully fury here that is incredibly potent and shown to us infrequently. i enjoy it, but it also makes me sad, because it shows how much stress she is under.

it appears he has slipped away, but she catches him!!!!! yes ma'am!!!!

kritschgau says that if he gets arrested, they’ll kill him. “they” being the same people that gave her cancer!!! how tf does he know about that???”

meanwhile, the alien organs are being weighed.

then cutscene back to the big meeting with scully!!! she’s telling them about how they smuggled the corpse back, saying mulder was ready to believe it was an alien.

but kritschgau convinced her it was otherwise, and not a true alien… he explained how mulder and her had been deceived and used, and that it was part of their plan that led to missy’s death and her illness.

god, how she must have felt hearing that… that everything that had happened to her was a waste, that the only point in her suffering was to advance corruption... it must have been devastating

as mulder leaves the warehouse where the autopsy was occurring, it seems he’s being watched by a guy with a shotgun??? is the shotgun guy going from before after the alien people????

it IS shotgun guy from before!!!! he knows babcock?? and he kills smithsonian guy arlinsky!!!

now who tf is this babcock fellow?!?!?!?!?!?

kritschgau is now sitting in mulder's apartment, explaining the "everything is a lie" story to him. mulder asks why he'd do this now- a fair question- and kritschgau says he came to him because his son is very sick after serving in the gulf war. i suppose if in this universe that is also something that has been covered up by the government, it could spark some disillusionment in the whole process once it impacts him personally.

he says "they" invented mulder, the regression hypnosis, the story of his sister and what they told his dad, and that the alien body was made carefully in a lab. and it would never be carbon dated, it was only for him to see so he would go public with the news and discredit himself.

mulder declares kritschgau to be a liar, but he says the body is already long gone, so he leaves to check. and sure enough, when he goes back to the warehouse, it isn’t there, but arlinsky is dead, as is shotgun guy!!!

again, WHO TF IS BABCOCK??!?!?

the cellular materials were an exact match to what kritschgau described. 

and this brings us to scully and mulder really fighting, really really fighting

“after all i’ve seen and experienced, i refuse to believe it’s not true” “because it’s easier to believe the lie, isn’t it?” <- ohh callback to earlier....

and she reveals that he said she was given this sickness to make him believe… oh my god, if that’s true, and her life is just a prop in their sick game… 

he storms out. 

back to the video from the 70’s we began with. 

mulder is watching it and crying. oh no… the beginning is clicking into place for me…… oh no, i see what is coming…. 

back to the meeting room. she says she went to his apartment that morning to identify a body, and that mulder died of a self-inflicted gunshot 

WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?????????????????

thus concludes the episode

she’s crying, she’s crying, all i can think about is her crying, what the hell, what the hell….

so he killed himself because he realized he was being used as a pawn and it was his fault scully was dying…

normally i would have more to say. but i’m not gonna lie to you, i don’t. this is just so fucking sad. i don’t even have the words. never in a million years did i see this happening. what the hell???? what the hell?

do i believe this kritschgau guy??? i think he’s probably telling 30% of the truth. but not the whole thing. why would all those men die for a fake alien? i think he’s being deployed as a cover story as mulder gets too close. and i think some of this is engineered, but not as much as he claims.

and i'm willing to bet that "believing the lie" actually refers to scully believing his cover story!!!

man. i’m sorry but i’m just so sad. i have been so sad this whole season!!!! 

mulder…… it was rude of you to interrupt her dinner…… but this was not the answer… 

how is sneaky mulder going to get out of the situation THIS time??? and how is scully going to get out of the hole she's dug by reporting all of their work as fraud?? is bill going to be happy now?? lowkey fuck bill, btw.

wow... this is just painful. and i don't even have to wait months to find out what happens next. had i seen this when it aired live i probably would have entered a state of mourning.

so that's the end, huh? of the season, i mean. just sucker punch after sucker punch. i hope this isn't the tone of everything else moving forward. can i get uhhhh one order of whimsy please. with a side of mutual pining. and a small hurt/comfort, emphasis on the comfort. thank you.

after waiting 24 hours from watching the episode initially, i am still torn between how to proceed next. part of me wants to compile all of my favorite moments from the season like always, but the other part of me wants to begin the next episode right away, just so i can move on from such horrible mental imagery as mulder dead from a self-inflicted gunshot. what a terrible thing i wouldn't even have expected from fanfiction!

but, i can also see that the next episode is a two parter, and to be left on ANOTHER cliffhanger would be horrible- but probably LESS horrible than being left with the sadness of dead mulder, right? i don't know what to do! i am filled with indecision!!!!

:(

at least i can take away some fascinating analysis regarding scully's relationship to catholicism, and her idea that depending on any force outside of herself- be it family, friends, or god- is a sign of weakness. i mean, that is pretty telling about her character. and the fact that she believes this so strongly she tried to hide her cancer getting worse from her brother and succeeded in hiding it from mulder!!! to even voice the truth would make it real. maybe that's why she can't tell them, can't go to mass- because it would mean that the end is really near if she did so. i think it's about both the perceived ideas of weakness ingrained in her by her hardass parents and a refusal to let the situation she has found herself in be registered as real in her own mind. she knows it is. but maybe if she pushes it to the side, she can forget for a while.

wow. that sure is something to think over, and think it over i shall.

[hahaifolded]

The Siren, the Cook, and the Sister (11)

Sanij x PirateHunter!FemReader (Masterlist) Chapter 11: A Sister and a House (Previous) (Next) Summary: You're reunited with your sister. Sanji sees where you live. Warnings: Depictions of Illness, Poor living conditions

"Okay, so here's the plan, Robin, Chopper, (Y/N), and I are going to the hospital while the rest of you take the Sunny to the other side of the island," recounted Nami. Due to the nearby marine base, the Strawhats were forced to stop before reaching the island's main docks.

"And why the other side of the island?" asked Zoro through a yawn.

"Well if you weren't too busy sleeping your life away, you would have heard our beautiful (Y/N)'s plan," scolded the cook. He rolled his eyes and continued, "her home is on the other side of island, away from any Marine eyes, so we're going to hide out there while she does want she needs to do... moss head." Sanji whispered that last part.

"Thank you, Sanji," you quickly added, immediately standing in between the two. You didn't want anything to delay today's disembarkment. After months out in the sea, you were going to see your sister again and give her a new lease on life one way or another.

"Okay then, so we'll see you guys later. Please, don't do anything stupid while we're gone," pleaded Nami. She turned to you three, leaving the boys to fend themselves. Robin activated her devil fruit, and created a bridge of arms for you all to walk on. Grabbing your chest, you made your way across the arms.

The second you reached the mainland, you started to run to the hospital. Your three companions right behind you. If you weren't so excited, you would have walked but you have waited far too long for this. And thankfully, Robin, Nami and Chopper seemed to understand as they just laughed and ran alongside you.

In no time, you three reached the marine hospital. The Strawhats hid in a bush while you made your way inside and talked to the front desk. After making the full payment, they allowed you in, sending you up to the 5th floor of the building.

Knock, knock, knock!

"Come in," announced a feeble voice. You rushed in, throwing your mask off. The little girl that took up less than half of the bed immediately shot up, squealing your name in joy. You ran to the bed and pulled her in a full body hug.

"You're back," she said while in your arms. Of course, I'm back. I'll always come back for you, you thought as you affectionally rubbed her head with yours. After holding each other for a bit, you let go and grabbed your mask.

Once it was secured on your face, you made your way to the window. "And guess what I found along the way?" you announced. You popped the window open and waved your hand out of it. Before your sister had a chance to ask what, a giant hand holding three people appeared in front of the window.

Robin, Nami, and Chopper crawled through the opening. You quickly scanned to see if anyone saw, shutting it once the coast was clear. You turned back to see your sister's jaw touching the bed. Got her!

"Ta-da!" you cheered, waving your arms around the three Strawhats. They smiled and waved at your sister who just sat in shock. Your three companions took the room in, taking note of the wood nightstand which was littered with various small bottles, the IV bag that was connected in your sister's arm, and the various posters and newspaper clippings that adorned the room's walls.

Thankfully, Robin took the initiative and walked towards the little girl. "Long time no see, little one," she gently said, taking a seat on the side of her bed. Your sister immediately hugged her and asked you if it was really the woman who saved you all those years ago.

"In the flesh," you smiled, "I ran into Robin and her crew at my last stop and they were nice enough to give me a ride back." Nami glanced at you, grateful for your condensed story of what had transpired.

"Really nice to meet you! Your sister has told us so much about you. I'm Nami," said the navigator. She sat at the edge of the bed. Your sister, still holding Robin, looked at Nami and waved.

"And I'm Chopper!" added the young doctor who stood near the IV bag, inspecting it.

Out of joy, your sister let go of Robin and squealed, "Oh my god! You're so much cuter in person!"

"No, I'm not, you dumb girl," complained Chopper who did a little dance. Your sister laughed at the reindeer's antics. You felt tears at the corner of your eyes. It's been awhile since you've seen your sister smile so brightly.

Your sister moved her head back and forth, almost in search of something. "Where's the rest of them?" she asked.

You laughed. "Wow, is three not enough?" You sat next to Nami as your sister pouted. "They're back home, but don't worry. You'll get to seem them... once you're cleared after your surgery." Her eyes grew in size. "Yep, after tomorrow, you'll be cured," you assured her.

Before anyone could celebrate, your sister began to aggressively cough. The Strawhats pulled back as you rushed to your sister's side. You grabbed a glass of water on her nightstand and lifted it against her lips. After pushing her to take small lips, your sister's coughing eventually settled down. You ushered her to lay down as she slowly caught her breath.

"Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. Save your energy. After tomorrow, you can cheer, talk, play all you want. Just wait," you cooed. Your sister argued back as she wanted to still talk with Robin, Nami, and Chopper.

"And you will. Just sit back and let us tell you about our trip with your sister here," reasoned Robin who returned to her side. Nami and Chopper joined Robin on your sister's bed. That seemed to calm your sister as she settled in her bed, waiting for the the story to start. You looked at the sight before and felt extreme gratitude for everything in your life right now.

-- -- --

"Are we there yet?" whined Luffy. After docking the boat, the rest of the Strawhats slowly made their through the forest where your house sat.

"Almost... I think I see it straight ahead actually," announced Franky. With that, Luffy ran forward, excited to see the home of a real life robot.

"Oi, Luffy!" scolded Sanji. The rest of the Strawhats just shook their head in either amusement or disappointment at their captain's antics.

However, Sanji couldn't completely judge his captain as he too was excited to see your home. He imagined to see a cottage that exuded love and warmth, a home that he always wished for growing up. With the way you care for your sister, he assumed that your home would also emulate that same level of attention. As they got closer to your home, Sanji felt his heart beat faster in his chest. Just a few more steps and we'll be at lovely (Y/N)'s ho--.

"Is that it?" asked Zoro. Sanji looked up and saw a sad sight. Instead, of a glorious home, a barren, husk of a house stood in the middle of the clearing. The house slightly sagged to its side, windows shattered with plants slowly making their way through them. Luffy poked out of from the back, confusion written all over his face.

"It has to be. It's exactly where she said it would be," informed Jimbei, uncertainty laced in his voice. That being all the confirmation he needed, Luffy kicked the front door open.

"ROBOT HOUSE!" he squealed as he ran in. Sanji ran right behind him, but froze when he stepped inside. Inside the house sat a small bed in one corner, a rusty stove in the other, and absolutely nothing else. It seemed like there used to be more furniture at one point but all that was left of it was marks on the floor.

"It's bare bones in here... just like me, yo-ho-ho-ho." Brook, Jimbei, Franky, and Zoro followed the two inside and also stilled by the sight before them.

Jimbei spoke up, "I didn't expect to see the girl's home look so--"

"-Sad," finished Zoro. Everyone stood in silence, unsure on what to say or think really. Sanji felt so confused. Is this really where you live with your sister?

Suddenly the sound of a machine whirring broke everyone out of their trance. Sanji turned around to see Franky's hand replaced with a drill. "Well, don't just stand there. Let's do something about this," announced Franky. He immediately began to shout orders for some to get wood, others to tear down the walls, and the rest to buy supplies from the town.

Sanji immediately got to work. He was ready to give you and your sister the home that you both deserved.

Word Count: 1481

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Author's Notes: Hey y'all, sorry that this is a late chapter! Took me a bit longer to write out this chapter, but we did it!

Honest question, was the sister reunion long? I feel like it was a little long but I feel like it goes back to me not being such a big fan of OC. Like I think it was necessary here to see the reader (you) interact with this sister that you've been on about for awhile. But like was it interesting to read? Let me know!

Also should I name the sister? I can not name her but if it's easier for y'all or even you just want a name for the sister character, let me know! We're about to reach another plot point here so before it happens, would love to know know if she needs a name or not!

[loveletters2myself]

I'm pregnant with my first baby+ stepping into my sahm era!! I love your blog and have for years. I'm curious if you have any tips or fave products for pregnancy? My "morning" sickness has been soooo tough... but I'm so grateful to be growing this baby <3

congratulations!!!! i’m so happy for you! 🤍

with my daughter, i was so severely nauseas all day, every day, for 3 months straight and nothing helped. so unfortunately in that department i have no advice but to stick it out, stay as hydrated as possible, snack a lot, rest a lot and perhaps talk with your OB about medication you can take if it’s really bad. mine offered but i personally declined.

as for pregnancy tips/products —

most importantly, get as much rest as possible. you’re growing a whole human! second and third trimester for both pregnancies, i was so tired and run down. it’s a lot on our body! but also, make sure you’re getting somewhat daily movement every day. daily walks were my go to. if i was up for it, i’d do a pregnancy safe workout — more so for the stretching out my body, and prepping it for birth (even though both times failed for natural birth).

a common thing i see is a lot of new mother’s falling into the myths of certain drinks and foods helping induce labour, and feeling discouraged and stress when it doesn’t help. so keep in mind of that nothing will really induce labour other than your body and baby being ready. you can still drink the raspberry leaf tea, eat dates, etc; to help support your body during the healing process of birth, as it does help your uterus and cervix afterwards!

i loved using earth mama belly oil (they also have a great perineal spray and nipple butter for postpartum!) & living libations best skin ever oil to keep my whole body moisturized. pregnancy made my skin so dry and itchy! so it helped a lot!

when it comes to your birth plan, be open minded to things changing. with my first pregnancy, i had this whole plan set out for me and everything switched very fast and i needed an emergency csection. of course, set your boundaries of what you want (skin to skin, cord delaying, breastfeeding or formula, etc), but don’t overly stress yourself out on things such as a natural birth vs csection. go with the safety of you and your baby, and what your OB recommends. i think if i had a more open mind the first time, i wouldn’t have been so affected with guilt of personally feeling like my body “failed” me and my daughter.

ask allllll the questions. communicate with your OB. do not be afraid of any thing sounding weird, embarrassing or stupid.

h&m has a great affordable maternity line of comfortable clothes! but don’t purchase too many things, as it’s not necessary.

maternity pillow for support during sleep! any regular one on amazon works!

magnesium spray for the restless and cramps in your legs that you get during sleep in the second/third trimester. or you can take magnesium orally. just check in with your OB for both options before using!

educate yourself on ways you and your partner can support you during the postpartum period! + how to support your baby.

if you plan to breastfeed, ask your OB for local breastfeeding support classes. and ask for guidance from lactation consultants before and after!

slowly start prepping and purchasing everything you want/need for yourself and your baby. you don’t have to buy everything at once, but it does help slowly prepping instead of waiting for last minute, when it’s the third trimester and you’re tired!

take every advice given to you with a grain of salt. every pregnancy, birth and baby is different for everyone. i had such high expectations about how a newborn would be, and my daughter rocked my world (lol!) when she was a few weeks old and dealing with the worst reflux/colic and never slept. and now my son is the complete opposite of that. so listen to the advice, take it into consideration and go with the flow.

take all the bump photos and videos. save all the small little memories. treasure all the moments! because despite even having a hard pregnancy both times, i sometimes find myself missing it! and it’s always nice to have memories to look back at.

[ausetkmt]

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The Slave Experience of the Holidays

American slaves experienced the Christmas holidays in many different ways. Joy, hope, and celebration were naturally a part of the season for many. For other slaves, these holidays conjured up visions of freedom and even the opportunity to bring about that freedom. Still others saw it as yet another burden to be endured. This month, Documenting the American South considers the Christmas holidays as they were experienced by enslaved Americans.

The prosperity and relaxed discipline associated with Christmas often enabled slaves to interact in ways that they could not during the rest of the year. They customarily received material goods from their masters: perhaps the slave's yearly allotment of clothing, an edible delicacy, or a present above and beyond what he or she needed to survive and work on the plantation. For this reason, among others, slaves frequently married during the Christmas season. When Dice, a female slave in Nina Hill Robinson's Aunt Dice, came to her master "one Christmas eve, and asked his consent to her marriage with Caesar," her master allowed the ceremony, and a "great feast was spread" (pp. 24-25). Dice and Caesar were married in "the mistress's own parlor . . . before the white minister" (pp. 25-26). More than any other time of year, Christmas provided slaves with the latitude and prosperity that made a formal wedding possible.

On the plantation, the transfer of Christmas gifts from master to slave was often accompanied by a curious ritual. On Christmas day, "it was always customary in those days to catch peoples Christmas gifts and they would give you something." Slaves and children would lie in wait for those with the means to provide presents and capture them, crying 'Christmas gift' and refusing to release their prisoners until they received a gift in return (p. 22). This ironic annual inversion of power occasionally allowed slaves to acquire real power. Henry, a slave whose tragic life and death is recounted in Martha Griffith Browne's Autobiography of a Female Slave, saved "Christmas gifts in money" to buy his freedom (p. 311).

Some slaves saw Christmas as an opportunity to escape. They took advantage of relaxed work schedules and the holiday travels of slaveholders, who were too far away to stop them. While some slaveholders presumably treated the holiday as any other workday, numerous authors record a variety of holiday traditions, including the suspension of work for celebration and family visits. Because many slaves had spouses, children, and family who were owned by different masters and who lived on other properties, slaves often requested passes to travel and visit family during this time. Some slaves used the passes to explain their presence on the road and delay the discovery of their escape through their masters' expectation that they would soon return from their "family visit." Jermain Loguen plotted a Christmas escape, stockpiling supplies and waiting for travel passes, knowing the cover of the holidays was essential for success: "Lord speed the day!--freedom begins with the holidays!" (p. 262). These plans turned out to be wise, as Loguen and his companions are almost caught crossing a river into Ohio, but were left alone because the white men thought they were free men "who have been to Kentucky to spend the Holidays with their friends" (p. 303).

Harriet Tubman helped her brothers escape at Christmas. Their master intended to sell them after Christmas but was delayed by the holiday. The brothers were expected to spend the day with their elderly mother but met Tubman in secret. She helped them travel north, gaining a head start on the master who did not discover their disappearance until the end of the holidays. Likewise, William and Ellen Crafts escaped together at Christmastime. They took advantage of passes that were clearly meant for temporary use. Ellen "obtained a pass from her mistress, allowing her to be away for a few days. The cabinet-maker with whom I worked gave me a similar paper, but said that he needed my services very much, and wished me to return as soon as the time granted was up. I thanked him kindly; but somehow I have not been able to make it convenient to return yet; and, as the free air of good old England agrees so well with my wife and our dear little ones, as well as with myself, it is not at all likely we shall return at present to the 'peculiar institution' of chains and stripes" (pp. 303-304).

Christmas could represent not only physical freedom, but spiritual freedom, as well as the hope for better things to come. The main protagonist of Martha Griffin Browne's Autobiography of a Female Slave, Ann, found little positive value in the slaveholder's version of Christmas—equating it with "all sorts of culinary preparations" and extensive house cleaning rituals—but she saw the possibility for a better future in the story of the life of Christ: "This same Jesus, whom the civilized world now worship as their Lord, was once lowly, outcast, and despised; born of the most hated people of the world . . . laid in the manger of a stable at Bethlehem . . . this Jesus is worshipped now" (p. 203, 47-48). For Ann, Christmas symbolized the birth of the very hope she used to survive her captivity.

Not all enslaved African Americans viewed the holidays as a time of celebration and hope. Rather, Christmas served only to highlight their lack of freedom. As a young boy, Louis Hughes was bought in December and introduced to his new household on Christmas Eve "as a Christmas gift to the madam" (p. 13). When Peter Bruner tried to claim a Christmas gift from his master, "he took me and threw me in the tan vat and nearly drowned me. Every time I made an attempt to get out he would kick me back in again until I was almost dead" (p. 22).

Frederick Douglass described the period of respite that was granted to slaves every year between Christmas and New Year's Day as a psychological tool of the oppressor. In his 1845 Narrative, Douglass wrote that slaves celebrated the winter holidays by engaging in activities such as "playing ball, wrestling, running foot-races, fiddling, dancing, and drinking whiskey" (p. 75). He took particular umbrage at the latter practice, which was often encouraged by slave owners through various tactics. "One plan [was] to make bets on their slaves, as to who can drink the most whiskey without getting drunk; and in this way they succeed in getting whole multitudes to drink to excess" (p. 75). In My Bondage and My Freedom, Douglass concluded that "[a]ll the license allowed [during the holidays] appears to have no other object than to disgust the slaves with their temporary freedom, and to make them as glad to return to their work, as they were to leave it" (p. 255). While there is no doubt that many enjoyed these holidays, Douglass acutely discerned that they were granted not merely in a spirit of charity or conviviality, but also to appease those who yearned for freedom, ultimately serving the ulterior motives of slave owners.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Radley Balko at The UnPopulist:

Donald Trump and his allies constantly complain that they are regularly targeted, singled out for abuse, and deliberately humiliated by the criminal justice system. They claim that there are “two tiers of justice”—a strict, unrelenting one for MAGA, and a loose, deferential one for the migrants, rapists, and killers that George Soros-funded prosecutors refuse to punish. But even before the conservative justices in a party-line ruling handed Trump virtual immunity from fomenting an insurrection, he had been getting the criminal justice system’s “platinum door” treatment. His cases are unusual in that he’s a former president. But his status and political position have helped him far more than they have hurt him. I want to compare and contrast some of Trump and his supporters’ complaints with how the criminal legal system operates in the real world.

Treating Trump With Kid Gloves

Trump has complained that his criminal trials have been a huge inconvenience for him—keeping him from using that time to campaign for president, potentially keeping him from attending his son Barron’s high school graduation. Typically, people facing criminal charges have to show up when court begins and then sit for hours until their case is called. They’re required to take off work, or find someone to watch their kids. And those are merely the people lucky enough to be released before trial. In many courts, they aren’t allowed to have cell phones. Over the last few years, I’ve watched dozens of people wait in a courtroom, staring at the wall for half a day or more, only to learn that their case has been continued, so they'll have to do it all again in a month. I don’t know if any of them had to cancel a political rally, but many have certainly been fired, missed doctor’s appointments, or lost other opportunities. I suppose it’s possible that a judge at some point let a defendant charged with 34 felonies delay a trial to attend a graduation ceremony, but I imagine if you asked a public defender if that’s a regular occurrence, you’d need to set aside some time for the laughter to die down. Incidentally, Trump was permitted to attend his son’s graduation.

Trump and his supporters have also complained about the tactics the FBI agents used when serving the search warrant on Mar-a-Lago. Georgia Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene described the raid as “the rogue behavior of communist countries,” and Steve Bannon insisted that the GOP will move to incarcerate officials who approved it. Trump himself accused FBI agents of not taking off their shoes while walking through his bedroom. As someone who has written about aggressive police raids for over 20 years, it’s hard to image a more pathetic complaint than that. The FBI gave Trump’s Secret Service detail a heads-up that they were coming. They deliberately conducted the search when Trump would be out of town, to save him embarrassment. When National Security Agency intelligence officer, William Binney, a whistleblower, tried to point out problems at the agency by going through internal channels, FBI agents raided his home unannounced, entered without authorization, and pointed their guns at him after finding him in the shower.

Far-right media personalities like Tucker Carlson and Laura Ingraham have also suggested that Robert Mueller’s office may have tipped off the media to maximize publicity around the raid. But of course tipping off the press about a pending arrest is a time-honored tradition among publicity-seeking prosecutors. The amusing thing about this complaint is that a carefully staged perp walk as a publicity stunt is a technique first popularized by … Trump’s personal attorney and bag man Rudy Giuliani, who used it to humiliate the International Monetary Fund’s chief. We now know that Mueller’s office did not tip off CNN. The network’s reporters had staked out Stone’s house after noticing unusual activity in court fillings from Mueller’s office. It was just good reporting.

MAGA world has also been critical of how search and arrest warrants were served on other Trump-adjacent personalities. FBI agents were accused of “manhandling” Paul Manafort and his wife during an early morning raid, which legal commentator Jonathan Turley called “excessive.” In response to the FBI’s raid on Roger Stone, Sheriff Joe Arpaio said: “I’ve been busting down doors for 50 years and I’ve never sent that many units to the baddest murderer.” (Arpaio once sent a small army of cops to raid a guy accused of cockfighting. That raid ended with actor Steven Seagal, cosplaying as a cop, driving an armored vehicle into the poor guy’s living room.) But of course the FBI and other federal agencies routinely conduct volatile, aggressive raids on people suspected of nonviolent or low-level crimes.

[...]

Jan. 6 Rioters More Equal than BLM Protesters

Then there’s January 6th! Increasingly over the past couple of years, Trump and his allies have complained that the Jan. 6 rioters have been singled out for abuse, especially when compared to those accused of rioting and looting during the George Floyd protests. The Jan. 6 rioters are frequently referred to as “political prisoners”—Trump himself calls them “hostages.” Let’s look at the facts.

About 70% of people arrested and charged with Jan. 6-related crimes were released on bond or under their own recognizance, including everyone charged with crimes that would qualify as “peaceful protest,” such as trespassing. Just 25% of federal criminal defendants are released pre-trial overall. If we factor in both state and federal courts, the number of people routinely detained while awaiting trial in this country is so large that there are actually more people behind bars who have yet to be convicted than people who have. But seven in 10 Jan. 6ers were released. It is true that the conditions in Washington, D.C. jails are terrible. They’re under-supervised, unsanitary, and hellish, and have astronomical rates of suicide. When Trump was booked at the jail in Fulton County, Georgia, he complained that the facility was “poor and disgraceful,” adding, “It’s worse than you could even imagine. It’s violent. The building is falling apart.” But Trump was quickly booked and released. He didn’t spend any time in an actual jail cell.

All of the Jan. 6 defendants who were not released prior to trial were charged with serious felonies. Federal public defenders have made clear that the federal courts have been far more likely to release Capitol rioters pre-trial than other defendants. And, in fact, the D.C. federal public defender’s office went all out to make sure that Jan. 6ers received a robust defense. They ramped up staffing and enlisted attorneys from other federal offices to help. We can contrast the extraordinary efforts to make sure the Jan. 6ers were well defended to the ongoing crisis in public defense I’ve been regularly documenting. There are parts of the country where people sit in jails for weeks or even months before ever seeing a lawyer. Some meet their attorney for the first time just minutes before they’re due in court. Many public defenders have no access to investigators. Most are severely overworked.

[...]

The System Has Gone Way Easy on Trump

Trump has been treated far better and received more preferential treatment than just about anyone ever ensnared in the criminal justice system. He’s the only person in U.S. history to have his criminal case appear before a judge he appointed—and one he could promote to a higher court should he retake the White House. He’s also the only person in U.S. history to have his criminal case appear before the U.S. Supreme Court after having appointed a third of that court’s justices. Consider how his classified documents case compares to similar cases against non-former presidents. The Justice Department became aware that Reality Winner had leaked a single classified document to a media outlet—a document she believed served an important public interest—in May 2017. She was arrested the following month. By August 2018, 16 months later, she had been sentenced to five years in prison. Trump was indicted for hoarding around 200 classified documents, lying about them, refusing to turn them over, and then obstructing the government’s attempts to recover them. Whatever his motivation was for all of this, it definitely wasn’t whistleblowing.

Trump illegally took the documents in January 2021. The first indication that the government became aware of them was in May of that year. The National Archives then gave Trump repeated warnings. Instead, he showed off and boasted about top secret documents to Mar-a-Lago visitors. The FBI didn’t open an investigation until March 2022. The search of Mar-a-Lago didn’t take place until the following August. Trump wasn’t indicted until June 2023. It has now been 37 months since the government became aware of Trump’s 200 documents, and it’s unlikely that his trial will happen any time soon.

[...]

Trump Monetizes Criminality When Others Lose Their Shirt

People with criminal convictions also typically struggle to pay court fines and fees, probation or parole fees, child support, and private debts accumulated while they were incarcerated. It can be difficult to find housing, and they’re far more likely to experience homelessness. Trump himself faces significant fines and fees. He owes $450 million to the state of New York for crimes committed by his company, and $90 million to E. Jean Carrol after a jury found him liable for defaming her after he sexually assaulted her. Trump also has a habit of not paying his creditors, though in his case it’s usually more a matter of not wanting to pay than the inability to do so. Still, unlike others with felony convictions, Trump will not end up homeless or destitute. It’s unlikely he’ll even need to alter his lavish lifestyle.

[...] Over the years, I’ve interviewed more people treated unfairly by the criminal justice system than I can count. They often say that the experience changed them. It made them more empathetic, less trustful of police and prosecutors, and more willing to entertain the notion that the system sometimes gets it wrong. Most understand that any system capable of the injustice inflicted on them has certainly done the same or worse to others. Powerful people who encounter the justice system can be particularly effective agents of change. But that isn’t going to happen here. That’s partly because Trump has experienced only the most glancing of consequences from his criminal convictions. But it’s also because MAGA revels in victimhood. Conceding that the system is fundamentally unfair would merely make Trump one victim among many. The false narrative that courts and prosecutors are hellbent on targeting him and his supporters—while showing outrageous leniency toward scary drug dealers, rapists, and killers—only amplifies the outrage and victimhood.

MAGA’s beef with the system isn’t that justice has been weaponized, it’s that it has been weaponized against them. Their answer isn’t to insulate the system from politics, it’s to ratchet up the politicization, then aim it at their enemies.

Radley Balko wrote in The UnPopulist expertly debunking the MAGA lie that the so-called "weaponization" of the criminal justice system is being used to rightly prosecute Donald Trump and his allies for their crimes.

In fact, the criminal justice system has gone soft on Donald Trump and his allies.

Balko said it best here: "MAGA’s beef with the system isn’t that justice has been weaponized, it’s that it has been weaponized against them. Their answer isn’t to insulate the system from politics, it’s to ratchet up the politicization, then aim it at their enemies."

[blazehedgehog]

Interested in that new Suicide Squad game?

Not even a little, no. It's got the stink of a live service game all over it, it's been delayed to hell and back, none of the previews I saw sounded even a little bit positive...

It's as bad or possibly even worse than that Marvel's Avengers game, where it's the world's most bland game jam packed full of free-to-play mobile game junk. Except now they're asking $70 for it.

I'm getting really tired of every game having a loot system, or RPG mechanics where they don't belong, or whatever. All these little things to puff up play time, to fake the appearance of depth, and make it easier for them to sell you gacha packs.

It's like every game is Pokemon now: gotta collect everything, gotta raise everything up to max level, gotta grind against a million different numbers, because oh man, you think Harley Quinn's Mythic Clown Warhammer is good now? Wait until it's level 99.

And then next year, when they raise the level cap? Holy crap, dude.

Think of all the time you spent doing that stuff. Chasing stats. Pretending that grinding is automatically a substitute for depth. People love number go up. And I'm not even immune to that! In a good game I like to play, having an excuse to keep playing it is nice!

But more and more and more games are putting the cart before the horse. It's like they build a shopping mall and then fill it full of vendors that only sell old onions and manure. "It'll pay for itself," they say. "A lot of people need onions and manure." Not taking into account they're right next door to more useful stores people already go to.

And every game is a job now. I play Fortnite for about 90 minutes every night, something I've been doing for the last four or five years. The thought of playing any other live service game on top of Fortnite makes my bones creak like an old man.

Like, a specific friend is the one who enabled me to play Fortnite. He bought me a Founder's Pass for Save the World back in 2019, which means I get free v-bucks currency as long as I complete at least one mission per day. Depending on how luck falls, there have been days where I get upwards of 200vb per day, for free. Over the course of a month, that adds up pretty significantly.

We've both joked that the only reason we're still playing Fortnite after all this time is we always have currency for the shop because we get it for free. A Fortnite estimator website once said my account is worth multiple thousands of dollars, but I've actually spent maybe $100 total in real money over the last five years on it (about $20 per year).

Anyway, that same friend recently tried to drag me into playing Disney Speedstorm, because he loves that game. In the three or four months since he's been trying to lure me over, I have booted the game up maybe five times total. It is fun, but it's also a "this game is your job now" live service product. And my bones creak.

The stench of that coming off of Suicide Squad is too pungent to ignore.

[bubaboos]

hello, here to share my opinions on troye's new album (sorry if it gets too long) 😌 as i said im absolutely OBSESSED with this album. like i always enjoyed his music, but to show this level of iconography????? CMON????? there is one problem i have with the album tho: every time i try to listen to it from start to finish, i get delayed by the fucking masterpiece that is "one of your girls" :/ every time this song comes on, i have to listen to it at least 5 times. wtf troye???? i would say it's my fave on the album, but that's an understatement. that's the best song of the whole year for me. god. isnt this giving daft punk like hello????? THE MV ALSO?????? 🤯 okay moving on to the other songs sjsjdhdhf u know that i loved all the singles, and they sound even better in the context of the album!! there is not a song i dont enjoy in this album, i couldnt even make a ranking because they are all so good. overall, THE BEATS in this album got me floating in space and shaking my ass at the same time. THE LYRICS???? i reallllly love the lyrics too i feel like they elevate the experience a lot which is so cool. the songs i find myself replaying the most (other than the obviously stated one above jsjdhf): in my room, honey, got me started (this one is a grower tbh). also i really feel like the songs are really cohesive and work so well together. i feel like every song will have their turn of being my fave in the upcoming months, because i intent to keep this on rotation ABSOLUTELY. this will be a contemporary pop classic and now troye is one of the main pop girls, sorry i dont make the rules... anyway, what are your thoughts? 😌

hello my beloved, finally answering to this ask!😭 sorry for keeping you waiting for so long aaaaaah

okay, first of all, i love your thoughts and i couldn't agree more about everything you said! <3 i keep coming back to this album, idk what troye put in it but it's SO addicting aaah! oh i absolutely understand the obsession with "one of your girls" bc GOD, it's amazing. chef's kiss on every level, the lyrics are perfect, the production is 10/10, the mv!!! (and yeeees, the daft punk vibes!!) are you kidding me?!! imo, the mv perfectly shows the transition between this album and troye's previous albums, he's confident, he's serving and he knows what he wants! and that's actually something i love about the whole album, it's very touching to see him being even more mature with his music and SO confident and it feels so freeing! genuinely, i'm so happy and grateful that i grew up with his music, it was veery important to me in my teenage years and it makes me so happy to see him grow as an artist (and person) waaah🥹 and i think that's also why i love this album so much, bc it's another step! ANYWAY yeeees, that's something i love so much about troye's music - how lyrics elevate the sound and vice versa. and oh yeah, the sounds and beats got me ascending aslkfkdsjfkjsah like come oooon!! and yeees the album is cohesive but i also like that every song has it's own story bc that's another thing i really like about troye's music haha which is narration! and with this album, i really like that there are themes that connect everything together, but that it's also all pretty "loose" and bc of that the songs are both good on their own but also work very well together! what can i say, troye gets it and he's The pop girl! fr, i was so excited about this album and had high expectations and he did not dissapoint! i love every single, although yeah, i also wasn't convinced about "got me started" at the beginning but it's a really good sample and i enjoy it A Lot now. it's soo hard to choose a fave, but i love rush (i could write a whole essay on rush AND i'm OBSESSED with the mv), still got it, can't go back and what's the time where you are? (perfect "me and this song against the world and life horrors aka going to work/uni" song) the most i think. troye saved this year with that album and he saved me during winter semester lol i'm so devastated that he's not coming to poland on his tour WHY troye WHYYY😭 (like what do you mean you won't come to poland but there's 5! FIVE germany dates come oooon)