#you do realise it's fifa right?

[lordendsavior]

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[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version) II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Alexia comes home from work

Alexia comes in from a long day of coaching to find carnage in the house but no more than usual.

Jaume's muddy football boots are scattered in the entrance hall along with his school bag and his training bag. His jacket is thrown callously on the ground and she can just make out the dishes he hasn't cleaned up from his afternoon snack on the kitchen counters.

Her son is found in the living room, whirred into a game of FIFA and talking into his headset to his friends.

Your own ballet bag sits at the bottom of the stairs and Alexia can hear rhythmic thumping from your bedroom. She pops the door open and throws your bag onto the bed.

You're sitting at your desk, breaking in your pointe shoe by thwacking it against the corner of your study space. You're attacking the shank of your shoe viciously while your other one lays perfectly broken in next to you.

You've raided the sewing box too, a needle already threaded so you can sew on your ribbons as soon as you're done breaking in your second shoe.

"Did that one do something to you?" Alexia says and you jolt in shock, not having realised she came in.

"Yeah," You reply with a wry smile," It didn't come broken in." You whack it one final time against your desk and test its flexibility, finally content and get to work sewing your ribbons onto the shoes.

"You left your bag by the stairs," Alexia says and you roll your eyes.

"Jaume left his stuff all over the house," You reply," He's so messy."

"He's a boy. Boys are messy."

"Have you made him clean it up yet?"

"I'm letting him finish his FIFA match. It might embarrass him in front of his friends."

You roll your eyes again, tying off your first ribbons before moving onto the second. "They're so annoying."

"They're hormonal," Alexia replies. She takes your other shoe and starts sewing a set of ribbons on. "They'll grow out of it."

"Can they grow out of it now?" You mutter," I'm sick of them watching me."

Alexia freezes, like a pail of icy water has been thrown on top of her. Her mouth goes dry. "What?"

You give her a look. "Huh?"

"What do you mean they're watching you?"

You shrug. "I don't know. They're hormonal boys. I'm Jaume's older sister." You wrinkle your nose. "They say gross things sometimes. It's not a big deal."

Alexia hates that aspect of you. You're so resigned to the concept that it is what it is. You had problems like this when you were younger too, merely accepting bullying and rude words at you because you didn't think it would matter if you tried to fight it.

It's something that Alexia's never managed to snap you out of but she never thought that she would see it in a situation like this.

"What kinds of things?"

You frown at her. "I thought you knew."

"No! Is that why you didn't tell me?"

You shrug. "I thought if you were fine with it happening then I should be fine with it happening."

"No...Bambi...You should never think that those kinds of things are okay. They're not and if it happens again, you come to me right away."

You nod, not fully convinced. "Okay, Mami."

"Hey," She says," Put on your shoes. We're overdue a catch up."

Alexia's busy coaching at Barcelona most days. She's almost always working but she tries to find the time for you and Jaume both together and alone. It used to be a tradition that she would take you out once a week by yourself to 'catch up' but work has been so busy these past few weeks so you're long overdue some one-on-one time together.

"I'm sewing my ribbons!" You complain and Alexia fondly ruffles your hair.

"And you can take a break. You've just come from a full day of dancing. Go put on comfortable shoes. You can sew your ribbons tonight."

You huff but do what you're told.

Alexia goes back downstairs, switching the tv off.

"Mami!" Jaume complains, pulling down his headset," I was in the middle of a match!"

She gives him a pointed look. "And your stuff is in the middle of my house."

"I'll pick it up later."

"You'll pick it up now," Alexia says," This isn't your room, Jaume. I like my house to be tidy."

He huffs and moves to get up.

"And tell your friends to stop saying foul things to your sister."

He freezes, every muscle in his body going rigid and stiff. "What?"

"I know what teenage boys are like, Jaume, and I understand peer pressure and not saying anything so you can fit in but this isn't school. Your sister deserves to come home and feel safe."

"It...It was just jokes, Mami."

"Was it? You may think they were joking but were they actually?"

Jaume's face grows a little confused. "But they had to be! There's...There's no way they'd come to our house and...and say those things to her and actually mean them! Right? Mami, right?"

"Jaume..." Alexia sighs. It's clear to her now that Jaume genuinely had no idea that his friends could actually mean what they said. Alexia takes some comfort in knowing that, at least, Jaume hadn't done this out of spite or any other malicious feeling towards you. "Even if they were jokes, your sister doesn't need to be made fun of in her own house. If you let them get away with stuff now then they're just going to keep building and building and building on it until it's too late to stop them."

"Mami..." Jaume looks heartbroken now, glancing up the stairs where he knows you're doing something in your room. "They...She...Is she okay?"

"I'm taking your sister out," Alexia says," She's had a long day at practice and she needs some time to decompress, okay? Can I trust you to clean up your stuff and get started on your homework?"

He nods.

"Good boy." Alexia kisses his forehead. "Your Mama should be home soon. No tv until your work is done."

"Okay, Mami."

Jaume sits himself at the kitchen table, going through a mind-numbingly boring Physics worksheet when you come down.

"Ready to go?" Alexia asks and you nod.

"Hey, wait!" Jaume calls out and you stop, turning to look at you. "I love you."

You frown in confusion. "I love you too."

"Good," He says," I mean, it's good that you know that I love you." He nods several times and a small bubble of laughter erupts from you.

Jaume grins like he just won the lottery and Alexia trusts in her son to lay down the law with his friends.

She guides you out the door and to the car, driving down to some quaint café that's opened up nearby.

"A milkshake?" Alexia offers after you've found a table," I heard from Mapi that they do those big monster ones with a cupcake stabbed through the straw."

"Mami," You admonish," I still have dance tomorrow."

"Hmm," Alexia says," You're right. It's probably too big for one each. We can share."

"Mami!" You laugh," I'm trying to stay healthy. The Spring Season starts soon. We have performances to do."

Alexia reaches over to pinch your cheek and you roll your eyes. "Well, I'm your Mami and I say it's okay. You know, I'm quite wise."

"Fine," You say," But if we're getting a milkshake then let's get the red velvet one."

"Whatever you want, bambi."

Alexia orders some cupcakes and a cookie with it and rolls her eyes as you mock complain with no actual annoyance in your tone.

"Now," She says," I've spoken to your brother and he's going to sort his friends out or else."

You roll your eyes, poking at your food. "It's fine. I can deal with it."

"You shouldn't have to deal with it." Alexia reaches across the table for your hand. "Boys will be boys but that doesn't mean they should be saying those things to you. I...I just...Bambi why didn't you tell me?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes darting to the side.

"Bambi," Alexia says again," Come on. You can tell me things, you know that, right?"

You nod. "I just...I was worried that I was being silly. That..." You shrug. "You know, you would think I was overreacting. It shouldn't bother me as much as it is. They're just stupid boys."

"Boys are always stupid," Alexia says decisively," And I don't think you're overreacting. It's going to be sorted out. If Jaume doesn't then I will."

She speaks so firmly that you can't help but agree, saved from replying by your mouth full of cake.

You still look a little awkward talking about it though so Alexia pivots the conversation away.

"So," She asks," What ballet is it this season?"

You're not usually talkative about the ballets you're practising, preferring it to be a surprise when you gift the family tickets to opening night but with the season approaching, you don't mind as much.

"First half of the season is La Sylphide," You say, sipping on the straw of the milkshake," Second half is Giselle."

Those words mean nothing to Alexia but you look excited so she decides to be excited for you.

Your cheeks go a little red and you pick at your cake. "Actually...I...er..."

"Is something wrong?"

"No...I...Do you remember when I told you that a few of our soloists got injured?"

Alexia racks her brain. "I think so. You said it was after the Nutcracker performances, right?"

You nod. "Well, they're still not back and the balletmaster decided to start doing understudies in case of injuries and sickness."

Alexia nods along. It's a smart choice, like rotating the players in a team.

You don't look at her, staring down at your plate.

"They're guaranteed one night though, you know, as the lead."

"Okay?"

"Mami, I'm playing Giselle."

Alexia chokes. "What?"

You finally look up at her. "I'm playing the lead, Mami."

"I..." Alexia whips out her phone. "What day is it? I need to check I'm not busy. No, I'll rearrange my meetings if I am. Oh, we'll have to call your Abuela and your Tia. Oh! And Mapi too! Jenni, as well." She starts typing away at her phone. "Wait, let me just text Olga. We'll have to get Jaume a proper outfit if you're going to play lead. And-"

"Mami," You cut her off though your voice is soft and quiet," It's not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal?!" Alexia scoffs," You're seventeen years old, playing the lead in a professional ballet company! How could you keep this a secret?! Oh, bambi, we have to sort out tickets. What day did you say it was?"

You laugh. "I didn't, Mami."

Alexia crams the rest of her cake into her mouth. "We have to get home. We have to tell Jaume and Olga!" She looks at you for a moment. "So grown up! My little baby, playing the lead!"

You slouch in your seat. "Mami, calm down. It's for one night. People are staring."

"Up! Up!" Alexia insists," Come on! What do you want for dinner?"

"Mami-"

"You choose. Anything! Anything you want!"

"Mami-"

"What about that fancy place near Alba's house? I think I can get us a reservation."

"Mami!"

"Sorry, bambi. What did you want?"

"Can I just have a hug?"

Alexia pulls you into a hug, cradling the back of your head with her hand. "You make me so proud, bambi. I love you so much."

[illusionsdelusions101]

could you write a enemies to lovers story but about gavi. Pleaseee

Barrier~Pablo Gavi

A/N: Sorry for being gone for so long! Writer’s block hit me hard and i have no new ideas :( request all you want! it won’t let me upload the image without it being like 2 pixels so i’ll try and sort the issue out in a later fix :) have a gif instead

You and Gavi… Weren’t on the best of terms. Fermín introduced you guys to each other a couple years back. You’re Irish, going to Trinity College and you decided it would be good to take a gap year before you went. When you arrived, your good friend Fermín picked you up. 

“Hey!” Fer waved to you and you rushed over to him. You hugged him and put his bags in the car. You sit in the front seat, and he drives. “So, how are you?” He smiles. “I’m grand, thanks. How are you?” You smile back. “I’m good. You’re Irish lingo is gonna be hard to keep track off.” He laughs. “I mean you speak Spanish and I don’t, basically gonna be a tough year.” You grin. “Maybe you would pick up some Spanish, or would you try to learn the language?” He asks. You nod. “I might look into trying to learn it.” And you look out the window.

When you arrive at Fer’s place, you hear him hiss in annoyance. “What’s up?” You ask while taking your bags out of the car. “I forgot my friends are coming over for game night. I’m so sorry.” He buries his head in his hands. “It’s alright, I’ll just stay in the guest bedroom.” You smile. “Thanks. They’re some flirts so I don’t want them getting with you and just leaving you.” He takes your bags out of your hands and both of you start walking to the front door, he drops the bags gently on the floor, and opens the door. He takes the bags and puts them in the guest bedroom, right by the kitchen. “I get it, I wouldn’t let you go out with some of my girlies.” You chuckle. He looks at you confused. “Girlies…?” He arches an eyebrow. You shake your head and tell him that it doesn’t matter. He goes and gets the games ready while you go and unpack. 

It’s been some time, and you were getting peckish. You knew Fer bought some snacks for you and Tayto’s. You were craving your homeland’s favourite snack. You heard the shouts of Spanish lads outside your door. You heard them come in a while ago. You figured you could just sneak in the kitchen. I mean, it was right next to the guest bedroom you were staying in anyways. You decided that you will. You slowly opened the door and slipped into the kitchen. The only problem is though, the kitchen connects into the living room, and there is no door so you prayed that they were too busy on.. FIFA.

You opened a cupboard, revealing your love, Tayto’s. You take them but for some reason. The lads went quiet at that second so they heard the crunch of the bag. As if they were meerkats or something, they all looked at you at the same time. Everyone froze. Cheering from the FIFA game was louder then ever it seems. One said something to you in Spanish. Fer was panicking, but just a teeny bit. He says something and all the boys ‘ahh’ in realisation. You thought about just going back in your room, so that’s what you were planning to do.  But before you could take a step, Fer called your name and rushed over to you. “Everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Pedri, Ansu, Gavi, Lamine, Félix, Marc, Ferran, Héctor, Balde and Pau.” He points to each one and they say hi. “Right, cheers lads, nice to meet ye.” You say. “What’s that thing your doing with your voice?” Gavi asked. Everyone looked at him. “Dude, she’s Irish.” Pedri hit his arm. “Your accent doesn’t sound good, sounds like nails scratching a chalkboard.” He grimaces at the thought. You scoff. “Okay Spanish lad, fuck off you prick.” Gavi rolls his eyes and so do you. “Yeah yeah, whatever.” He waves his hand to dismiss you. “Fucking dickhead.” You whisper loud enough for him to hear but before he gives out, the click of the door was already heard. You and Gavi hated each other now. 

~Two months later~

Gavi is falling for you. That lasted, right? Your accent got more attractive to him for some reason, your eyes how they sparkles when talking about something you enjoyed, your hair in the Barça sun, etc. But he only got to notice those things from afar, because anytime he would so much take a step near you, you scowled and walked away. And he couldn’t just randomly start acting nice. He was in deep shit. He started picking up on your Irish vocab, but not a lot. He just wanted to get a chance with you, whenever you guys were arguing, something as little as not hanging his coat up properly on the hangers in Fer’s house, your arguments, as they progressed, you guys would start giving out to each other in your own language. At some point, while you guys were spewing insults in your languages (which the guys were super annoyed about), he complimented you. Calling you super pretty and he could argue with you forever if that meant he could talk to you. The lads looked at him with wide eyes. You thought, with those surprised looks on their faces, that he said something horrible, so you left. The guys teased Gavi all night. 

You on the other hand, were slowly beginning to have a crush on Gavi, after being too bored on TikTok, you got recommended a Gavi edit, and you blush too hard at the edit, and then you proceeded to watch 100 more. You were learning Spanish, and you were getting good at it, you knew a lot so you could finally surprise Fer with your knowledge now. And Gavi. Not like that, more like now you could understand what he was saying about you while arguing, and you could stare and drown into his deep brown eyes some more. Shite, you weren’t beginning to have a crush, you already had one. 

Fer had another game night with the lads, making it perfect for randomly getting a drink. You slip out of your room and go to where Fer keeps the glasses. You take a glass and pour yourself some Lucozade, (Fer’s treat after you payed for groceries) and you hear a scoff. “That’s gonna make your teeth gone all rotten, your smile isn’t any good anyways.” Gavi smirks. All the other lads sigh in annoyance for this night’s fight. “Póg mo thóin.” You hiss at him. “Me gustaria besarte por todas partes, hermosa.” He says in a spiteful tone. You stop dead in your tracks. “Qué?” You look at him with wide eyes. The match is paused and Gavi looks like he’s about to piss himself. “Entendiste eso?” He asks. “Sí.” You whisper. Fer and the lads leave the room, giving you some privacy. Gavi looks at you. “Have you understood me for a long time?”He questions. “I’ve only learned Spanish to understand you now.” You walk over to him and sit down beside him. “Do you like me?” You ask. He nods his head. “For a while now.” He adds. “Well…. I like you too.” You smile. His eyes light up. “Really?” his eyes light up in excitement. “Yes.” You chuckle. He hugs you.

“I’m so glad we got over our selfs and that stupid language barrier.” You whisper in his ear, he pulls you out of the hug and gives you a gentle kiss.

[hsgucci94]

The sex talk

Content warnings: none :)

Word count: 900

masterlist

———

When it came to your relationship, Harry was all about talking things out and making sure you were both comfortable with each other. You, however, had a hard time mouthing your opinion and expressing how you felt, and that was the main reason why you had been avoiding him all day.

You joined him and the boys on tour a couple of days back, and after a few months together that were mostly spent separated because of his touring schedule and your college obligations, Harry just wanted a few minutes alone with you to discuss some things regarding your relationship. You knew what that meant, you were clever enough to read between the lines, so you were well aware the conversation was going to revolve around sex.

Sex, sex, sex. A three-letter word that you found equally fun and embarrassing. Even though you were not a virgin, you still found sex talks uncomfortably unpleasant. Maybe it was your parents’ fault for always making it feel like such a big deal, or maybe if was your ex’s for never making you feel confident enough when practising it.

Either way, there was just no way you would voluntarily sit down to talk about it with your boyfriend, so you were now hiding in places you knew he wouldn’t be looking for you. First it was Niall’s hotel bedroom, where you and him casually played some FIFA for about forty minutes. Then it was the catering room, with the not-so-excuse of helping Sara’s Kitchen get lunch ready for the whole team. Now, you were on the small lounge no one ever used, hoping that Harry wouldn’t think about looking for you there.

But he did.

“Baby?,” you heard him calling you from afar. You froze, and instinctively closed your eyes, as if by doing so he wouldn’t be able to spot you as soon as he opened the door, which he did. “Oh, here you are,” he smiled, looking at you on the couch, “Was starting to think you were avoiding me,” he half joked, half not, chuckling a bit. You bit your lower lip, showing him a guilty smile. He then walked over to you and took the empty seat next to yours. “What’s up?”

You gulped at his question. You really didn’t want to do that now, or ever. You passed a hand through your hair, strategically avoiding his gaze.

He frowned when he realised so and only got closer to you, his hand now resting on your knee to try get your attention, “Alright... What’s wrong, baby?”

“I know you want us to talk about sex.”

“Yeah,” he simply nodded, “Now that we’re gonna spend the next three weeks together I think it might be likely to happen, so I want us both to be on the same page.”

“It’s just… Why do we need to talk about it? It happens when the moment feels right, no need to foresee it.”

“Yes… but no?,” he giggled, and waved his hand in his direction, motioning you to get closer to him. He grabbed your leg and passed it over his, your shoulders now brushing together. “Talking about it makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?,” he mumbled, and you rested your head on his shoulder so that you could hide from him the crimson red that was starting to cover up your cheeks.

“It isn’t something I’m not familiar with but, um, I don’t know… I kinda feel embarrassing letting someone know what I do and don’t like during sex,” you admitted.

“Hiding any weird kinks?,” he joked, rising his eyebrows.

You giggled, “No, you idiot.”

“You sure?,” he chuckled, tickling you.

“Yeah,” you rolled your eyes, smiling.

“Alright, alright… Then maybe we can discover some together?”

You giggled again, lifting your head to be able to properly look at him, “Would you be up for that?”

“Trying new things with you? Only if you’re up for it, too,” he admitted.

“That’s new…”

“What exactly?”

“Having someone who wants me to find things I enjoy in that sense as well.”

“Really?,” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah, so far it’s just been me adjusting to what they liked…”

“Damn. You weren’t lying when you said you’ve only dated douchebags, baby.”

You giggled a bit, and pressed your forehead against his shoulder trying to both stifle your laugh and somehow hide your embarrassment. Then you looked up at him and fixed your eyes on his lips, suddenly wanting to taste them so bad. “Can I just kiss you and… see where it leads us?,” you softly spoke.

“On one condition,” he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You waited expectantly for him to continue. “You have to let me know if you aren’t enjoying it.”

You nodded, and then slowly pressed your lips against his, burying your fingers in the back of his hair. Harry’s arms wrapped around your lower back and pulled you to him until you were fully sat astride on his lap. The soft, delicate movements of his lips on yours felt like magic, and made something in you light up. You grabbed his hands from your back and slowly moved them up inside your t-shirt, positioning them over your boobs.

He smirked mid-kiss, “Baby…, I think we should lock the door first…”

[lilyrizzy]

elaborate on ur thoughts for maxiel on married at first sight 👀

okay, never in a million years do i think max would ever go on reality tv BUT my thoughts if he did under the cut

okay so obviously they see each other for the first time at the wedding and i think the level of attraction is different. like, initially daniel is like, 'okay, he's kinda cute, i can work with this,' whereas max is like, 'oh my god, this man is so beautiful, he is perfect, wow.' but the problem is, max doesn't show that. in fact, max doesnt show much of ANYTHING to begin with, at least not in the way daniel is used to.

because daniel is good at performing right, so when it comes to the vows, he's cracking jokes, making max's mum and victoria laugh (obvs j*s is not there), saying the cheesy shit they all say like 'i knew i wanted to marry you from the moment i met you,' and 'this is a leap of faith but i'm ready to jump with you, baby,' whereas max is like taking it very seriously, almost to the point of like... not seeming into it? like he says stuff like, 'i will try to like you, i hope also that you will like me, i want to be a very good husband,' because thats the truth! he cant lie and say like, he wants to spend his life with daniel, because he doesnt know him yet. but to daniel it seems a little...cold, so he's not sure how to feel about his new husband.

at the reception, max is even more awkward, doesn't know how to start conversation and barely answers the questions daniel asks him.

'what music do you like?' 'i do not listen to a lot of music.'

'what do you do for fun?' 'i like to play fifa.'

'what do you do for a job?' 'i am a car mechanic.'

and daniel is sinking lower and lower into his chair like, fuck, what have i done, i've got to spend the next few weeks with a guy who clearly doesnt have any social skills. meanwhile, max is like, wow, daniel wants to know so much about me:) he is a good listener:) he is doing all the talking because he can tell this is hard for me:) or something lol. doesnt realise hes being rude, he just- he cant do this with the camera in his face, okay?

then in the bedroom, on their wedding night max realises that maye its not been going as well as he thought because he tries to kiss daniel, but daniel just laughs, stepping away gently and saying, 'guess ill take the couch right?' because he thinks that. well max is really young? what if hes just in this for the fame, the quick money, what if hes doing this now because he feels he has to? daniel doesnt want it to be like that, okay. its not what hes here for. but to max, he's like. oh:(. he'd thought- but of course daniel doesnt want to sleep in the bed with him, because look at him and look at daniel.

then i think the misscommunication continues for a bit of their honeymoon. they both think the other doesnt like each other, and max says even less now because if daniel doesnt want to even kiss him, then what is the point trying to be husbands? so they avoid each other a little, until daniel eventually thinks, fuck it, i gotta *try*, because he cant have max say leave and go home in the first week okay? his friends (michael) bullied him so badly for doing this, so it has to be worth it.

so he sneaks max out to some romantic beach picnic without the cameras (btw theyre in the caribbean or something idk), gets them both tipsy and he asks, 'why did you even come on the show?' and because the cameras arent here, max can be honest and say, 'my sister, she has two babies. and i tried to find somebody who would want this also, but with me. but always, men wanted sex and then when instead i tried to go for breakfast the next day, they would just laugh and leave. maybe it is because i am bad at it, but i did not do it at all for a long time, because my dad-'

and then max breaks off, and daniel tugs him into his arms and is like, 'its okay max. somebody to build a life with, thats what i wanted too.' then he kisses max, and it's not like on the wedding day, a peck in front of their parents, it's deep and there's tongue and max can't help but push for more and more, to push daniel back into the sand and grind against him until daniel is like, 'why dont i be the judge of how bad you really are?' and then they have like, mindblowing sex over and over, for the rest of the honeymoon.

and im not saying the sex like, fixes everything, but i think max feeling wanted sexually by daniel soothes a lot of the insecurities inside him that were making it hard for him to open up to him in other ways? like the next morning in bed he's a little shy when daniel cracks a load of jokes about how very much not bad in bed he is, but he’s also laughing and laughing, and when daniel starts a conversation over breakfast, suddenly max is chatting his ear off. and he is still is a little awkward infront of the cameras, but in private, they start to build something real. he can banter back with daniel now, give as good as he gets, even if the jokes are dorky and not funny to anyone else. to daniel they're cute and because he knows what max was like before, he can see how hard max is trying.

and daniel doesnt know when it happens, but one day everythinggg max does just becomes endearing. all of max's little quirks, his bluntness, his black and white thinking, daniel realises this is max and he really really likes max. max isnt pumping his tires because he wants something from daniel, he genuinely thinks daniel is hilarious and sexy and kind. and because daniel knows this, he feels he can be *real* with max, in a way hes never been before? like, max likes daniel the showman, but he also just likes daniel.

i genuinely think its like, a whirlwind romance after that. they tell each other they love each other before they even come back from the honeymoon, the viewers at home are rolling their eyes declaring it will never last.

but it does :) after the initial struggle, they become the low maintenance couple that just vibe the whole time lol. daniel waffle's about how much they get on with each other at each comittment ceremony, while max is like, 'yes things are good:)' and dies inside the time the intimacy expert asks if theyve had sex or not, and how was it. daniel just winks and says no complaints, but refuses to give anymore away bc thats private and he knows max doesnt want it out there.

the only time they get into any drama is when daniel sticks up for max, declaring his love publically to the group for the first time, when one of the girls is being mean and saying that max has the personality of a cabbage and she doesnt understand what daniel sees in him. or when max (bc he’s defo the one to get put with the girls even though it should be daniel) gets a little outwardly jealous when all the girls answer 'daniel' when asked who they think the hottest husband is at those awkward group days (shoutout to the episode that aired just haha) but inside he’s preening, like, hell yeah, thats my man.

then when it ends, they post an update on insta like, yeah we are still together, here are our two cats & also we got married for real:)

the end lol

[forgot-how-catflap-works]

Meet the ghouls squabbling for power in the race to rule the Tories

Tory MPs are donning their robes and sharpening their sacrificial blades this week as they prepare to ritualistically cull a second candidate from the Conservative Party leadership race. 

Priti Patel was eliminated last week after securing just 11.9% of the vote, which already sounds quite embarrassing, then you do the maths and realise that’s a total of 14 votes. Considering the sheer number of controversies that litter her political career like dog shit in a play park, I’m amazed she didn’t perform better.  

(Formerly of the tobacco industry, Patel voted in favour of overturning the smoking ban because she recognises that mainly poor people use public spaces so, y’know, fuck ‘em.) 

Patel resigned as Home Secretary in 2017 after attending up to a dozen private, unsanctioned meetings with Israeli officials where departmental business was discussed while she was on holiday.

This gross breach of the ministerial code wasn’t enough to prevent her from being reinstated to the position under Boris Johnson’s government, where she dedicated herself to ruthlessly targeting asylum seekers, lobbying for pharmaceutical companies during the height of COVID, and bullying her staff. 

Next up on the chopping block appears to be Mel Stride MP who narrowly escaped elimination last round with a whopping 16 votes. 

(Launching his campaign, Stride said the Tories need to “build trust with the electorate again", presumably so they can get right back to abusing it.)  

Mr Stride served as Financial Secretary to the Treasury in Theresa May’s cabinet, when he spearheaded the controversial loan charge policy which – as of January 2024 – has been linked to ten suicides. He was then elected as chair of the Treasury select committee, effectively securing himself a position where he was the one responsible for scrutinising his own dastardly deeds and, unsurprisingly, finding nothing to be concerned about. 

Former Minister of State for Security Tom Tugendhat limped a single vote ahead of Stride in the first round. Tugendhat is notable only in how boring he is, and hasn’t even breached the ministerial code once (that we know of). Total amateur. His strategy appears to be to fly below the radar, presumably in the hope the other candidates will destroy each other and he can rule over the ashes. 

(Having already lost one leadership race to Liz Truss of all people, Tugendhat looks like a surefire bet to lose another.) 

A former soldier, Tugendhat holds some classically conservative positions like increased military spending, opposition to the European Court of Human Rights and wanting a cap on immigration but these days that’s a mild salsa. He appears moderate compared to the others, and lacks the brain rot and crypto-fascist brainworms that UK conservatives have been steadily importing from America over the last decade. The most interesting thing about him is that he had to change his campaign slogan because the acronym spelled TURD. 

Now we’re done with the dregs, let's take a look at the front runners starting with weed smoking, Warhammer playing, porn enjoyer James Cleverly. That makes him sound much more interesting than he is. Having previously filled both the Home and Foreign secretary positions, Cleverly has long had leadership aspirations.  

(Cleverly once had to apologise for an “ironic joke” about spiking his wife’s drink with rohypnol during a Westminster reception, apparently being both a weird creep and not understanding the definition of irony.) 

Another paint-by-numbers Tory, he stirred up a fuss a few years ago by saying that gay football fans should show "a little bit of flex and compromise" when visiting Qatar for the 2022 FIFA World Cup. He added that it was "important when you're a visitor to a country that you respect the culture of your host nation." Cleverly it seems considers a seven year prison sentence for being gay little more than a cultural quirk rather than something queer football fans might have legitimate concerns over. Basically saying reign it in lads, no need to be homo in public. 

Landing in second place during the last vote is former Minister for Women and Equalities Kemi Badenoch who claimed in a speech last year that transgender people could transition “too easily”. This is supported by the fact that waiting times for an initial assessment are as high as seven years in some parts of the country, so that definitely tracks. Badenoch clearly knows what she is talking about. 

(Speaking on the Spectator podcast, Badenoch said the Tories need to “stop acting like Labour”. I can only assume she misinterpreted the narrowing ideological gap between Labour and Tories as a softening in her party’s ranks rather than a calcification of right wing leanings in Westminster.) 

Characterised as an “anti-woke” politician, she has also supported conversion therapy for trans people. Speaking like someone who has never actually heard themselves talk, she also claimed that providing gender affirming care for trans kids was a “form of conversion therapy” intended to turn gay kids trans. It’s ironclad reasoning and, as a trans dyke, I value above all else the perspective of a cisgender, hetrosexual woman in all matters relating to queer issues. If anyone is going to lay down the law on who gets to be gay and in what way, it should be her. 

Badenoch bravely announced during a recent campaign video that she was unafraid of fictional character Doctor Who. Furthermore, as a woman of colour, she believes that Britain is not institutionally racist, so we can all stop worrying about that now. What a relief, I was starting to get really concerned about it. You know, what with all the institutional racism that’s been going around. But turns out that was a false alarm, which is probably why she also said “I don’t care about colonialism”. 

Badenoch came out swinging on the subject, making claims broader than my fat ass in order to minimise the brutality of Britain's well-documented colonial history. 

"There was never any concept of 'rights', so [the] people who lost out were old elites not everyday people,” she said in some leaked WhatsApp messages. It’s a relief to know that the three million people who died in the 1943 Bengal Famine were all elites. 

Lego figure cosplayer Robert Jenrick is the current frontrunner, having secured 28 votes in the first round. Jenrick served as Secretary of State for Housing, Communities and Local Government under Boris Johnson where he dedicated himself to pulling political favours for luxury property developer and Tory party donor Richard Desmond. The move allowed Desmond to avoid paying a community council levy of £40 million which could have been used to fund schools and health clinics. 

(Courting the far right voters who flocked to Reform in the last election, Jenick resigned from his position as immigration minister, saying the policy of deporting asylum seekers to Rwanda didn’t go far enough.)

Grenfell United, the pressure group dedicated to securing justice for the victims of the Grenfell fire refused to meet with Jenrick in 2020, saying: "Your perceived focus on the interests of property developers over the needs of an impoverished local community has soured our opinion of you.” 

Jenrick also served as Minister of State for Immigration where he took aim at the greatest threat to our nation: unaccompanied asylum seeking children. During a visit to an intake centre in Kent last year he reportedly told staff to paint over a mural depicting cartoons and animals, saying it was a “law enforcement environment” and “not a welcome centre”. 

Finally, someone had the courage to put those kids in their place. If they wanted to experience even a single moment where they felt safe, or like they weren’t completely alone in this terrifying and hostile world, they shouldn’t have crossed the bloody channel should they? They need to learn that actions have consequences, unless of course you’re a Tory politician then you can basically just get away with whatever and certainly not have your political ambition stymied in the slightest. That would be unfair.  

With such political titans in the running, Labour should be quaking in its boots. This gaggle of ghouls is among the finest we could hope for, and the fact that they each crave power enough to run the highest office in the land should in no way concern anyone. As the old adage goes: Power corrupts, but only if you’re a little bitch. 

Which of these unscrupulous, foreigner hating, homophobes will proceed to the next round? Tory MPs will be casting their vote today in order to separate the wheat from the chaff, and trim the eligible candidates down to four. 

This three month slog is only just beginning, so buckle your pants because we have to put up with this fucking circus until November.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: What do you think of David Beckham?

As a footballer or as a brand? I find David Beckham more interesting to observe as a brand than as a footballer simply because he paved the way as a modern pioneer of inventing one’s own personal brand. And in turn he influenced how we all, in varying degrees, curate our social media identities as a part of developing our own brand (whether we do so consciously or not, it’s the lens the world sees us through).

I thought your question worth answering as a result of having a fascinating series of conversations with an old school friend over drinks and dinners who works as a luxury branding whizz here in Dubai. She’s followed the Beckham brand ever since she did her MBA and specialised in marketing luxury brands - she also happens to be a mad Manchester United fan (and even consulted for the club on commercialising their global brand outside of Europe). She was giving me a master class in branding the wine my cousins and I have been producing on our old creaky vineyard back in France. I don’t always buy her arguments but I do listen to her as she’s incredibly smart and brilliant in her job - no wonder she is sought out by many luxury brands to help them capitalise on their marketing and image.

As a huge sports fan I do admire David Beckham’s sporting achievements and I have always thought he was was underrated as a football player. I’m saying this not as a Manchester United fan but as a footballing fan. The only team I religiously follow is a local team many, many divisions down, and well away from the big leagues and play on a boggy pitch and the spectator stands leak from the roof down when it rains. So I’m not being partisan, as I know how deeply tribal football fans can be, which is part of the beauty of the beautiful game. I only knew of David Beckham as a little girl watching others watch him and the famed Manchester United football team play on satellite television when I was living overseas across South Asia and the Far East.

People even to this day in the West don’t fully understand how popular not only football is but also how well supported Manchester United football club as a brand really is in those parts of the world, including Africa too. It’s a cliché to say talking about football is an ideal ice breaker between cultures and day to day interactions on the streets and markets. It’s hard for Americans to understand especially how football - the real football that we Brits invented - is the international lingua franca of cultures.

Even here in Dubai where I am enjoying going to the World Cup matches in nearby Qatar. The ‘water cooler’ talk around the office and out in the hotel bars and cafés has been about football, and nothing else. Because I work in the corporate world I’ve gone to my share of many World Cup champagne events and receptions sponsored by corporates and FIFA. Amidst the glitz and glamour, you realise football is seriously big business on a global scale.

Sorry, I digress. But I guess it’s related as Beckham has come under harsh criticism for his ongoing role as an ambassador for the World Cup in Qatar. Beckham has been one of the most high-profile stars to support the tournament, appearing in several promotional videos, and has received a hefty sum of money for his work. It was reported in 2021 that former England legend Beckham signed a deal worth £15m-a-year for a 10 year deal, therefore making a £150 million in total. Beckham - as part of his brand - has long been considered an icon in the gay community. So his involvement in the tournament as the Qatari face of the World Cup has been met with upset and dismay by many in that community, which is their right of course.

As my luxury branding whizz friend put it, it’s hard to separate Beckham the footballer and Beckham the brand simply because from almost the beginning the two were entwined as Beckham’s football star shone.

It’s worth recapping that Beckham's distinguished playing career has been spent mainly with two of the most recognisable professional football teams in the world, Manchester United (his boyhood club) and later, Real Madrid. He built his reputation playing for Manchester United in the English Premier League when the English game, drunk on sponsorship money, began to grip the attention of the entire world. During his 10 years at the club, Manchester United dominated the English Premier League, which both then and now is widely recognised as one of the best and most competitive soccer leagues in the world - and of course the most watched.

During his tenure with Manchester United, Beckham won six English Premiership titles, and was a pivotal member of the Manchester United team that won a unique football treble in 1999, garnering the Premiership, FA Cup, and UEFA Champions league in the same season. Though a midfielder, Beckham scored 86 goals for Manchester United. Beckham's fame, though, was less from his goal-scoring prowess than his ability to deliver pinpoint crosses, strike 40-yard penetrating through balls with unerring accuracy, and bend his signature free kicks around and over defensive walls. ‘Bend it like Beckham’ became a catchphrase made famous of a cute romcom movie of the same name.

Beckham's international career has been luminous. In March 2008, Beckham represented the England national team for the 100th time, making him a member of a very exclusive club. Only four other Englishmen, Peter Shilton (125), Bobby Moore (108), Bobby Charlton (106), and Billy Wright (105) had reached this milestone before Beckham. Beckham's stellar international career has included representing England in the 1998, 2002, and 2006 World Cup final tournaments, and he holds the distinction of being the first-ever English player to score in three successive World Cups. He served his country as its talismanic captain from 2000 through the 2006 World Cups. As captain, Beckham led his England team through example, including some at-times virtuoso performances such as his last-minute bending free kick goal against Greece that secured the England national team's qualification for the 2002 World Cup Finals.

Such performances for the national team endeared him to the English public and Beckham's right foot was even referred to as one of Britain's "national treasures" by Hugh Grant's character, in the 2003 film Love Actually. This and other game-changing performances propelled Beckham mania to unprecedented levels, even prompting The Sun tabloid newspaper to call for Beckham to be knighted. Popular support was there, and in 2003, Beckham was awarded the Order of the British Empire (OBE) in the Queen's birthday honours list for services to football.

His importance to the national team was highlighted when a broken metatarsal bone in his foot, two months before the 2002 World Cup, bumped the death of the Queen Mother from the front pages of several popular newspapers. Prime Minister Tony Blair publicly implored the nation to be optimistic and the press, both English and foreign, urged their readers to pray for his swift recovery so that he could play for England in the tournament. Beckham recovered in time to be featured in the 2002 World Cup Finals, and scored the winning goal against England's arch-rival, Argentina, before the team was eliminated by Brazil in the quarterfinals. In the same year Beckham was selected as the 33rd greatest Briton of all time by the BBC, the highest position attained by any sports figure.

Although Beckham is perhaps the epitome of the successful postmodern global sport celebrity, his soccer career has had its downtimes, during which he has endured much hostility from England's football fans and severe criticism in the press. Such occurred in the 1998 World Cup finals, when, against arch-nemesis Argentina, with the game delicately poised, Beckham was given a red card and sent off from the field of play for retaliating against an Argentine player. This meant that England was reduced to playing with 10 men, and although the team held the 11 players representing Argentina to a draw by the end of the game, but they were eliminated by a penalty shoot-out.

This lapse of judgement did not go unpunished. England's national pride had been damaged and Beckham was widely vilified in the media for England's premature elimination from the 1998 Cup. Typifying the negative newspaper accounts of Beckham's sending-off, The Mirror's headline tabloid headline read "ten heroic lions, one stupid boy".

After enduring a season of terrace taunts from opposing team fans, Beckham gradually rebuilt his football reputation and popular appeal. Indeed the season after, he played a pivotal role in winning three trophies, the Premier League, the F.A. Cup, and the European Champions League, aptly dubbed the treble, with Manchester United in 1999 in Barcelona.

As his field performances improved, so his image reached iconic status. It peaked in April 1999 when Time Out magazine went as far as to portray Beckham as a pseudo-Christ-like figure and featured him on the front cover in white trousers and see-through shirt in a pose evocative of Christ and the crucifixion. The caption read: "Easter Exclusive: The Resurrection of David Beckham".

In 2003, Beckham left Manchester United for Real Madrid. They paid $41 million for his services as their president, Florentino Perez, sought to build a club of global football superstars known as ‘the Galacticos’ era. Beckham joined a team that included the best-known names in the sport, including Frenchman Zinedine Zidane, Spain's Luis Figo, and Brazil's Ronaldo. This turned out to be an ill-fated strategy as despite their galaxy of football super-heroes, Real Madrid only won one trophy, Spain's La Liga title, during Beckham's time at the club.

Commentators at the time, though, noted the club's upturn in commercial appeal and speculated that the true impetus for the transfer was more Beckham's global celebrity and iconic appeal rather than his playing ability. There is some truth in this. Some commercial synergies were evident with both Beckham and Real Madrid having sponsorship deals with Adidas and Pepsi. Both gained from Beckham's Spanish presence. Real Madrid's commercial revenue from club merchandise sales, such as replica shirts, increased 67% in Beckham's first season alone.

The acquisition of Beckham also helped open up new markets in Asia and the United States with exhibition matches and tours. Such was his impact that it was claimed that the "Beckonomics" of the transfer helped to propel Real Madrid past Beckham's former club Manchester United as the world's richest club in 2006 (according to Deloitte Annual Review of Football Finance, 2006 - the bible of football economics).

Beckham has always had his critics, many of whom note that his off-the-field persona masks deficiencies in his on-field performances. Such critics cite that Beckham is "less than the complete" football player, while claiming that he is too one-dimensional in his abilities to deliver the telling through ball, the in-swinging corner, or the pinpoint crosses and free kicks. They point to his lack of genuine pace, his underdeveloped left-footed play, his poor heading, and his dearth of one-on-one dribbling skills. These deficiencies, they note, despite his stellar offensive set-piece play, limit his overall team contribution at the highest levels of the game.

The career of David Beckham, celebrity soccer player, has had its highs and lows. But through it all, one thing has remained constant, David Beckham has rarely ventured out of the media or the public eye. For a decade, from his 1995 debut for Manchester United, his career went from strength to strength, his on-field brilliance matched only by his soaring marketing appeal in a sport that massively commercialised in the 1990s.

But as he hit his thirties, the Beckham star began to fade, and from 2006, his career has experienced turbulence. After resigning the England captaincy in the aftermath of England's disappointing exit at the quarterfinal stage of the 2006 World Cup, Beckham was subsequently dropped from the England national team squad in August 2006. In 2003 he moved from Manchester United to join famed Spanish soccer club, Real Madrid. By the end of 2006, he could not hold on to his first team place and it seemed that Beckham's fabled soccer career was declining. As he fell from footballing grace, Beckham's commercial celebrity appeal also eroded as he lost several lucrative endorsement contracts, most notably as the face man for Police sunglasses and the brand ambassador for Gillette.

However, just as everyone was writing him off, Beckham, not for the first time in his fabled career, reinvented himself. The football and entertainment world was stunned in January 2007, when he signed with the Los Angeles Galaxy of Major League Soccer (MLS) in the United States, and the next phase of Brand Beckham was re-invented. It began in sensational style. In a sports world unfazed by gargantuan sports contracts, Beckham signed a contract that amazed even the most hardened of sports commentators. Worth an estimated $250 million over five years, Beckham's Los Angeles Galaxy contract was signed only after the passing of a new MLS rule, the "designated player rule" (subsequently dubbed the ‘Beckham rule’), which permitted MLS teams to pay above the salary cap for two players.

The contract was stunning, but fully reflected Beckham's global football notoriety and his Hollywood good looks. Carefully crafted by Simon Fuller, the architect of American Idol and former manager of the Spice Girls, Beckham's MLS deal dwarfed that of marquee athletes in the traditionally mainstream American sports of American football, baseball, and basketball. Beckham's contract was thought to be justified by his popular and global appeal. It enabled him to benefit financially from all his image rights, related sponsorships and endorsements, as well as sharing in team replica shirt and club ticket sales. In effect Beckham's contract made him a partner with the Los Angeles Galaxy's owners, the Anschultz Entertainment group.

The Beckham signing was deemed a watershed moment for U.S. soccer but also for Brand Beckham. It opened doors in Hollywood for Beckham and his wife, Victoria. The combination of Beckham's persona, English, tall, lean, good looking, with glittering athletic skills, and a celebrity wife, Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham, was tailor-made for Hollywood, Los Angeles, and the MLS. It provided Beckham with new opportunities to generate excitement in U.S. soccer, reignite his soccer career and also to ply his looks and commercial skills in the world's most lucrative marketplace - Hollywood.

There is no question that it has been Victoria Beckham who has been the power behind the Beckham throne. Victoria Beckham never claimed to be the best singer in the Spice Girls, or the best dancer either. Nor was David Beckham necessarily the greatest footballer ever to wear a Manchester United shirt. The team’s former manager Alex Ferguson once said he had only ever worked with four world-class players, and didn’t include Beckham on his list. Yet, by dint of hard work, strategic decision-making and a remarkable ability to stay likeable even while becoming preposterously rich, the Beckhams have achieved the goal Victoria identified back in 2001, when she wrote of wanting to be “as famous as Persil Automatic”.

They have evolved beyond mere celebrities into a fully fledged brand, a household name as familiar and comforting as your daily breakfast cereal or family car. What they seem to have understood is that fame comes and goes, but brands have the power to get inside your head.

They had met in 1997 at a charity football match, although each already had their eye on the other. (As David Beckham noted in his autobiography: “My wife picked me out of a soccer sticker book. And I chose her off the telly.”) Within two years they had got engaged, had their first son, Brooklyn, and married; it was shortly after the wedding that the red tops coined the phrase “Brand Beckham”, describing the way each boosted the other’s already significant pulling power.

When he and Victoria first got together, they were the first celebrity couple you could have on both back page and front page. There wasn’t a part of the paper they couldn’t feature in, a conversation that you couldn’t find a way of fitting them into. The timing was perfect - just as football was evolving from a sport into a 24/7 entertainment business. From the start, both partners embodied not just glamour but the highly appealing values of groundedness and hard graft. He was the son of a gas fitter, who worked his way up in football through the academy programme; she turned out to be just as driven, doggedly establishing an unexpectedly credible new career in fashion when the Spice Girls folded rather than remain a football ‘Wag’ (Wives and Girlfriend of a celebrity sportsman).

Victoria Beckham has been the queen of reinvention. She’s constantly doing new things: establishing herself as a designer, bringing out a children’s wear collection, adopting new tech.

But it’s the licensing and sponsorship deals using David’s name and image that have quietly proved the money spinner. In the last decade, the Beckhams officially became dollar billionaires, thanks in part to the lucrative corporate tie-ins covering everything from watches and whisky to pants and skincare that David has amassed since retiring from football in 2013. (Her fashion label, Victoria Beckham Ltd, launched in 2008 and has yet to turn a profit, although that’s not unusual in fashion.) They may not be in the Kardashians’ financial league, but the Beckhams are a really good, British branded business whose core value is intellectual property.

The approach the Beckhams took to brand building was uncommon for celebrities in that it was strategic, well-advised and purposefully planned. The alignment of their personal interests and passions with business and philanthropic pursuits, enabled the brand to be sustained over time. They’re not ‘going through the motions’. For example, Beckham’s role in football may have evolved from player to owner of Inter Miami football franchise, but it’s still sustained by his passion for football. The Beckhams were extremely forward thinking with their approach to building a ‘brand’ all those years ago.

Before the Kardashians came traipsing through the showbiz world, the Beckhams lead supreme. They worked hard, always had good people around them and their main objective was to protect the brand at all costs. It’s no surprise Brand Beckham is where it is right now as a global entity that shows no sign of slowing down.

Through his world-class soccer exploits and his multiple off-field personas, Beckham has not just become a brand, but a portfolio of brands. A brand is an intangible "mental box" or a creation or an association that exists in the mind of the consumer that adds value to products and services. In Beckham's case his global popularity and iconic image has resulted in him adding significant brand value and goodwill to the various companies he is a spokesman for and the multitude of different products and services that he endorses. Together with his wife, Victoria, they actually have their own dVb (David and Victoria Beckham), brand label.

He is, in effect, not one brand, but an entire portfolio of brands, each representing a part of the chameleon-brand that is David Beckham. His marketing image broadens to embrace other brand identities and personalities. He appeals to aspiring youth as a ‘working-class-boy-made-good.’ To families he is portrayed as a loving father and adoring husband. To popular music fans he is the proud husband of Posh Spice. Behaviourally, his non-conformist tendencies appeal to youth's individualism. In the world of high fashion, his clothes, and metro-sexual appeal attract the attention of "fashionistas" worldwide. Celebrity Beckham's appeal is in the eye of the beholder - a commercial chameleon or floating signifier, whose appeal depends on the role and audience he seeks to address.

Beckham's potent image as a wholesome, clean-living, devoted family man juxtaposed with his penchant for bending conventional rules maximises his appeal to multiple demographic segments. His masculine identity is firmly rooted in his athleticism. But a large part of Beckham's appeal can be traced to his non-conformity and contradictions or his androgynous blends of opposites.

Beckham's fashion sense resulted in extraordinary appeal among the Black community. He sported chunky jewellery. He used fashion to exude confidence and sex appeal. His hairstyles, clothes, and body ornamentation developed into an important part of the Brand Beckham iconic image.

Unlike most men, he changed hairstyles, and when he did it made news. When he met Nelson Mandela, South Africa's first Black president, he wore Caribbean braids. During the 2002 World Cup, he had a Mohican cut. His body is adorned with tattoos including a winged crossed tattoo on the back of his neck. Under normal (i.e., non-Beckham) circumstances, such adornments would contradict his working class roots, soccer prowess, and strong family image. But in the media he is anchored with a strong hetero-masculine image. This occurs in spite of his constant infringements of traditional working class football (soccer) culture that emphasises the strong masculine image and which normally vilifies any hint of effeminacy.

Such characteristics unveil Beckham as being the style icon, who embraces the values of metro-sexual man. This image presents Beckham as well groomed and manicured, someone who moisturises regularly, and who with his wife endorses a line of fragrance brands. The Beckham body, hard and toned, is aligned with his metro-sexual tendencies and that also makes him a popular figure in the gay community. Far from discouraging this androgynous image, Beckham chooses to reinforce this "bi-sexual persona" through his choice of fashions as well as appearances in gay magazines.

Beckham's family-man image is similarly so robust that not only did his reported affair in 2004, with personal assistant Rebecca Loos, fail to substantially undermine his wholesome family image; his commercial appeal not only did not falter, it was actually enhanced in some regards. It transpired that his alleged affair seemed to reinforce his heterosexual credibility and his appeal as the working class hegemonic man. It also provided a counter-narrative to the notion that Beckham represented a kind of new age man emasculated by his allegedly dominant ex-Spice Girl (‘girl-powered’) wife who reportedly chooses his clothes and fashion accessories.

Before the Kardashians came along and branded themselves in a very Americanised in your face kind of branding generated out of a sex tape and Hollywood notoriety, it was arguably the Beckhams’ who really updated and modernised the idea that a person could be a brand on the global stage. That idea has filtered down into mainstream culture and spread like a virus through social media. Instagram has turned millennials and Generation Zs into curators of their lives for public consumption, anxiously presenting an idealised version of themselves at all times, while professional ‘influencers’ now hire brand managers to protect the image on which their whole commercial edifice rests. At work, Generation Z are told to define their ‘personal brand’ if they want to get hired, promoted or simply noticed in a precarious and crowded freelance world.

For a human, famous or otherwise, to become a brand is more logical than it sounds. After all, the brand is just the part of a business that is associated with human qualities that trigger an emotional response in customers. Think of Marks & Spencer, and you probably think about reliability. Chanel means chic, Coke says feel good, Volvo spells sensible. As the explosion of choice on the high street has made customers more brand-aware, manufacturers have worked ever harder at imbuing brands with likeable characteristics to make them stand out. So it is a relatively short step from thinking that brands should have personalities to thinking that personalities could have brands, or a defined set of values to which employers and consumers will respond emotionally.

As my friend working as a senior corporate branding consultant in the luxury market put it to me over drinks: “People buy people. No matter how good you are at your job, if I haven’t bought into you as a person - if I don’t like you and trust you - it isn’t going to work.”

Yet even this level of self-promotion makes some people balk, just as some balk at paying over the odds for something just because it has a celebrity’s face on the packaging. For while many believed that the point of branding is to act as a guarantee of quality, something shoppers can trust, increasingly consumers are starting to question what they are getting in return for an expensive logo. Today it’s not uncommon to see in parts of social media, the phrase ‘personal brand’ become a kind of ironic millennial in-joke, a byword for pretentiousness.

But both millennials and increasingly Generation Z have a complex relationships with their curated lives. A lot about the way we now conduct ourselves, professionally and personally, would be considered achingly naff a decade ago; that everything is now ‘content’; or that you can choose ‘public figure’ as a title on Instagram. But, my savvy friend working in luxury branding would argue that branding does help make sense of the kind of portfolio careers pieced together from different gigs and side hustles. She would go on to argue that we are in a sense all freelancers and that we’re multi-hyphenates. That doesn’t mean dilly-dallying in lots of different pies for the sake of it. It means combining several different jobs to guarantee a fulfilled and financially successful working life.

There is an obvious downside to all this not withstanding that it has its practical uses as an umbrella for sheltering different work projects. To put it simply, branding can leave a person vulnerable. When the product is yourself, or an idealised version of it, it is very hard not to take criticism of that product personally. If you turn yourself into a brand then if you suffer, your brand does too - and vice versa. The expression ‘fake it until you make it’ comes to mind such is the pressure to keeping up appearances. The tendency of online social media when sniffing out inauthenticity is brutal and dehumanising. It’s definitely difficult to watch a character assassination of yourself take place online, by strangers who do not know you and take special glee in your humiliation.

And that is one downside of turning humans into products. We see ourselves as consumers first and it’s no wonder we just see others as products, disposable or impervious to hurt. When rumours swept the internet that the Beckhams were about to divorce, speculation immediately centred on what it meant not for them or their four children but for the brand, given that David’s marketability still rests on being seen as a devoted husband, father and general nice guy. Since the rumours turned out to be false, we will never know. Yet it was a timely reminder that, unlike Persil Automatic, people have feelings. Their lives can take unexpected turns, which most definitely aren’t on brand; they may get burnt out, or simply stop wanting to live in a goldfish bowl round the clock.

But the Beckhams show no sign of wanting to get out of the goldfish bowl glare. Indeed their own children have their own distinct brand within the Beckham brand. It’s an open question if the Beckham brand will run out of steam as the parents take a back seat and their children carry on the mantle as none of their children is terribly good or known for any one thing. In other words, famous for being famous. But as they have shown, that is not a handicap in these narcissistic days.

Much has been made of the fact that Beckham has damaged his brand by taking £150 million to be the face of the football World Cup in Qatar in the face of criticism of the lack of LGBT rights in that Muslim sovereign state. He’s faced online and public backlash amongst the Western LGTB community and it seems his days as a gay icon are over. But critics have missed the point.

Beckham the brand is bigger than his gay icon status. Beckham is already a dollar billionaire and so £150 million is (relatively) not a lot in the long scheme of things. Beckham’s branding team know the future of the brand lies in the East. Indeed unless you travel or lived in parts of the world other than a Europe in decline and an America at war with itself, you cannot fathom how big Beckham’s brand is. The ‘gay style’ brand is a smaller piece of the Beckham brand pie.

Beckham's global appeal is evidenced by the high percentage of people in Asia who recognise him. For many years, he appeared in 150 countries in Gillette shaver advertisements. The Japanese Meiji Seika chocolate and confectionary company made a three-meter high chocolate statue figure of Beckham as part of his endorsement of their confectionary before the 2002 World Cup finals. Beyond that, Monks at a Buddhist shrine in Thailand even moulded a gold-plated Beckham that people can worship.

Beckham is not an ordinary brand. Beckham is a moving advertisement. What is evident is that Brand Beckham has undergone a metamorphosis from the early days when his appeal was predicated on his football playing ability to a more complex multifaceted brand. David Beckham is not just a brand with a distinct personality; he is a portfolio of brands, each emanating from the different roles he plays in life - football player, father, husband to Posh, fashionista, sexual icon, and so on.

We all play multiple roles in life - a man may be a father, husband, employee, and soccer coach for example. Each is a role that often requires different personalities to implement successfully.

In Beckham's case, each of his roles, through media scrutiny and marketing magnification, has become a separate brand - each different, but all managed by Beckham’s backroom marketing gurus. Each brand is similar, but has its own personality. In Beckham's case, each persona is a distinct segment, and from a business perspective, each is a profit centre. This is why his branding people rightly calculated that taking the Qatari deal was more lucrative in the long run than just being a gay icon in the west.

To me David Beckham presents a unique case study of how a sportsman can transcend his sport by crossing over into the realms of entertainment and fashion. Although there are obvious lessons for other elite sports stars that desire to crossover into other arenas, it should be acknowledged that Beckham is thus far unique in the sports world in the way his brand personalities are leveraged in so many distinct ways than say Lionel Messi, Ronaldo, Neymar, or even Michael Jordan, Lebron James, Tom Brady, Tiger Woods, or Lewis Hamilton. Manchester United fans used to chant from the terraces "there's only one David Beckham." Today, while still true, it has been the successful leveraging of Beckham’s multiple brand personalities that have made him into a true global sports brand. In essence, Beckham is perhaps the ultimate in how savvy marketing can make the brand.

We talk less of ‘Bend it like Beckham’ and more of ‘Brand it like Beckham’. In other words, style over substance - which could aptly describe our current age of personal narcissism and self-obsession.

Thanks for your question.

[neondiamond]

Monday Snippet ☕️

I just finished the first draft of my fic for the @harryshouseficfest (inspired by Love Of My Life) and realised I hadn’t shared a snippet yet, so I decided to share one to celebrate! 😊

This is my first attempt at a proper canon-compliant fic, as well as my first time writing a 5+1 fic! For context, they’re on a tour bus somewhere in Europe here.

Louis lets himself sag against Harry’s side, craving his touch and affection.

“You alright, Lou?” Harry asks as he absentmindedly pushes Louis’ hair away from his forehead. “Still feeling homesick?”

“Yeah,” Louis mumbles. “Tired.”

Harry’s face morphs into a concerned expression. Louis thinks he kinda looks like a frog, but that’s beside the point.

“Want me to make you some tea?” Harry suggests, raising a brow at Louis.

Louis shrugs. “Sure.” He isn’t sure tea will be enough to make him feel better this time, especially since his stash of Yorkshire tea recently ran out.

Harry presses a kiss to his forehead before getting up and heading to the small kitchenette.

“Tommo, we’re about to play FIFA,” Niall says from across the lounge area. “Wanna join?”

Louis only shakes his head. He isn’t even in the mood to whoop Niall and Liam’s asses at his favourite game.

Thankfully, Niall doesn’t add anything, and Louis just stares into empty space until Harry returns with his favourite mug.

“Thanks, love,” he says once Harry hands him the mug and sits back down next to him, angling his body so that Louis can comfortably nestle under his arm as he sips at his tea.

Louis frowns when he takes his first sip of the piping hot liquid. It’s made just to his taste, because, of course, Harry knows his tea preferences like the back of his hand by now. That’s not what’s surprising to him though, but rather the strong familiar taste of the tea itself.

“Is this Yorkshire?” he asks, looking up at Harry with a puzzled expression.

“Yeah,” Harry replies casually.

Louis’ frown somehow deepens. “I thought we ran out of it last week.”

“We did,” Harry confirms. “I arranged for some more to be shipped over for you.”

He says it so nonchalantly like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, yet Louis is over here about to burst into tears because Harry did this for him. He went through the trouble of getting his favourite brand of tea shipped across the continent just so that Louis could have a little taste of home on the road.

“You know I love you, right?” Louis says, voice thick with emotion.

Harry smiles fondly at him. “Of course I do. And I love you too.”

“You two are disgustingly adorable,” Liam says from the other side of the room, not even taking his gaze off the television screen.

“Piss off, Payno,” Louis says, though he can’t wipe the smile off his face. “You’re just jealous.”

Tagging @larrieblr @wabadabadaba @littleroverlouis @brightgolden @thinlinez @marchessa @disgruntledkittenface @onlythebravest @itsnotreal if any of you want to share something! 💕

[imjusttryingtolivemylife1]

Liam: Stomach Bug

Liam sighed as he opened his eyes. He rolled over and checked his clock.

The numbers read 3:17.

He clicked off his phone and rubbed his eyes. Now was not the time to get behind on sleep. They were touring with One Direction and they had taken on a small band with the name 5 seconds of summer to be their opening show. The boys were really great at what they do. And Liam really enjoyed having them.

But in the midst of their growing fame, Liam was taking some classes to continue his education.

College. Or he was trying anyway.

They had a day off today. With the exception of the interview they had. That started at 9:30, meaning they had to leave the flat 8, so they could get there and get clothes and outfits and makeup-

He sighed. He was thinking too much for 3 in the morning. He rolled over and tried to continue his not so peaceful sleep.

________________________________________

A little while later, Liam woke up again. His head hurt, and his stomach was doing summersaults. He sighed and looked at the clock.

The clock read 7:15.

Great. Perfect timing. He stood up, slowly, so he didn't jostle his stomach, and walked to the bathroom. 

Once he was in the bathroom, he looked in the mirror. He was really pale, and his lack of sleep caused these light purple bags under his eyes. He knew he didn't look good.

As much as he didn't want to, he stripped off his clothes, and turned on the shower water. While it heated, he thought about all the things he had to do today. It really wasn't much, but he just wanted to go back to bed.

Once the water was warm, he stepped in. He didn't realise how tense his muscles were until the warm water hit him. His muscles instantly relaxed. He stood there for a few minutes, just feeling the water on his body.

After standing there for a few minutes, he did a quick wash of his hair and body. He stepped out, wrapped in a towel. He could hear the rest of the boys downstairs. He sighed and walked out of the bathroom. He walked to his closet and picked a random hoodie and sweatpants. He knew they would make him change, but for now he wanted to be comfortable. He walked back into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

His stomach hurt, but he was doing okay. He hasn't thrown up yet, which is a good sign. That was until he accidentally gagged himself with the toothbrush.

Great.

He could feel the vomit coming, and leaned over the toilet just as it started happening. He sat there for a few minutes, losing all of last night's dinner into the toilet in front of him. He flushed the toilet, then went and sat on his bed for a few minutes, while his stomach settled.

He walked downstairs to the whole group, minus Ashton, playing FIFA. He turned the corner, and Ashton, being the responsible one of 5sos, was in the kitchen making breakfast. The smell of the food immediately made him feel ill again. He stood there for a second to make sure he wasn't gonna puke

"Goooood morning Liam!"He smiled. He was a little too awake for 7:30 in the morning.

"Morning."Liam replied. He really wasn't in the mood to be happy today.

Liam went and sat at the table, and pulled out his laptop. At this point, whenever he wasn't singing, or in the car, he was studying. He just wanted to do the interview and get it over with.

"Liam? Earth to Liam?"

It was Louis waving his hand in front of his face. Liam snapped out of his trance, the food smell immediately making him feel sick again.

"Huh?"Liam questioned.

"Calum has a cough. Does daddy direction have anything to help him?"Louis teased

Liam looked over at calum. He didn't look bad, but you could definitely tell he didnt feel great.

"Uh yeah, in my bathroom cabinet" Liam replied.

"Great, thanks." Louis smiled and went off to get the medicine.

He watched Louis walk away, then went right back to his schoolwork. 

“HEYO HARRY” Louis yelled ---CAN YOU COME HERE?---

Harry rolled his eyes then jogged upstairs. 

“Liam, why does your bathroom smell so bad?” Harry questioned.

“I’m not sure?” He looked at him questiongly. It took him a second to realise. Shit. he forgot to spray something. 

He returned back to his computer and continued reading. 

“Breakfast is ready!” Ashton yelled. 

Everyone came out to the kitchen and began eating. The smell still made him feel sick, so he didn't get anything. 

“Payno, you best be eating” Louis smiled as she shoved a plate of food in front of him. 

He looked at the food, and held back a gag. The food wasn't bad, in fact, it looked really good. But he didn't feel well, and the smell. 

Oh god the smell. 

Liam sat there staring at the food. If he didn't eat, they would know something was wrong. They were already suspicious. If he did eat, he'd surely throw up, and they'd know something was wrong. It was really a lose lose situation. 

He regretfully picked up a fork and began to eat. As soon as the food hit his stomach, He knew he was gonna throw up. He kept eating though. Too late to go back now. 

“When you guys are done we have to go, it's 7:50” Ashton said. He was cleaning dishes. 

He stood up, his plate half full still. He silently threw the food away and went back to his room to grab his phone and wallet. He also grabbed a pair of jeans in case he was told to change. 

As he was getting ready to walk out of his room, his stomach lurched, causing him to gag hard. Liam sprinted into the bathroom. He barely made it to the doorway before the first round appeared. He threw up on the floor, then stumbled to the toilet to finish throwing up. After he was done, he looked at his phone. 

The numbers read 8:07

“Shit” He said out loud.

He hurried and cleaned the puddle of puke on the floor, threw in some gum, and rushed out the room. 

He jogged down the steps and out the door. The house was empty, meaning everyone was already in the van. 

He got outside and ran to the van. He got in, earning himself a couple of annoyed glares from the other bandmates. 

“Any later mate, and we probably wouldn't make it”  The driver said to him. 

Liam ended up in the seat between Louis and Niall. Calum was half asleep in the row behind them. He kept half falling asleep on Louis' shoulder. Louis said nothing. EVentually, tired of fighting it, he let himself drift to sleep, head on Louis' shoulder. 

About 15 minutes into the ride, he woke up. He felt sick, but he didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t need anyone to worry about him. He leaned his head back on Louis shoulder. He had to fight the urge to gag. His stomach hurt. 

“You okay mate? You’re not acting like yourself.” Louis questioned. He was genuinely getting worried about his band mate.

“Yeah” Liam answered. He didn’t know who he was trying to convince at this point. Himself, or his band mates.

At this point, only a few minutes away, everyone started to get excited. Niall had convinced the driver to connect his phone via Bluetooth, to the van. So, the last 10 minutes was spent listening to ‘I should’ve kissed you’ on repeat.

Once they pulled in, they all climbed out of the van, and of course, there were cameras everywhere. People taking pictures, and asking the boys questions. Normally Liam wouldn’t mind, and would even stop and get a few pictures with the fans, but today was not the day. 

Liam felt himself stop. He felt sick, like he was gonna throw up. He didn’t move. Harry turned around and noticed him stopped.

“Liam? Cmon mate, we have to get inside” Trying to get the boy to follow.

Liam still didn’t move.

“Liam seriously.” Harry urged, getting a little frustrated. 

He still didn’t move, for the fear he would throw up.

“Louis. Liam won’t move” Harry called for Him.

Louis rushed back to see what was happening, while everyone else was getting the cameras and fans away. They all thought he was scared or claustrophobic. Nope.

Louis grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door. A few steps in, Liam gagged. He wanted to at least get inside before he threw up. Louis looked at him worriedly, and picked up the pace. 

Once inside, Louis took him into the bathroom, Liam had thrown up a little, and had his hand covering his mouth. 

He practically fell into the toilet, and began to throw up. He missed the first round, but we won’t talk about that. 

They say there for a good 10 minutes. Liam would throw up and Louis would rub his back, whispering calming words to try to calm the boy. 

Liam was in so much pain it was stupid. His stomach ached, the continuous vomiting not helping. 

His stomach eventually began to calm down. He sat there for a few minutes catching his breath. He felt as if he couldn’t stand. He felt weak.

“Cmon lad. I’m gonna try to talk to management, and hopefully get you out of the interview, okay?” Louis said, though he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. 

Liam nodded, stood up, and with the help of Louis, walked out of the bathroom. 

About half way there, Louis gave in and gave him a piggy-back the rest of the way. He wasn’t heavy anyway. 

They got to the room, and immediately got a bunch of confused and worried looks from the rest of the boys. 

Once Liam was situated on the couch, with a small trash can in front of him, Louis grabbed Harry and went to go talk to management. Ashton stayed to comfort and look after Liam. 

While they were gone, the room was silent. Nobody said a word.

Louis walked in, looking mad, with Harry not too far behind. By the way they looked, it was obvious what the answer was. 

“Those fuckers have no heart” Louis ranted, storming into the room, and slamming some papers on the table.

“What’s with the papers?” Luke chimed in.

The innocent boy never really spoke to the one direction boys. He was still warming up to them. 

“It’s a copy of the fucking contract we all signed.” Louis complained.

“The signer confirms ‘Under no conditions shall and interview or concert be delayed nor cancelled, nor missing any member.” He continued, again slamming the papers on the table. 

“I’ll be okay Lou.” I tried to calm him, but he wasn’t having it. 

“Yeah Liam, because throwing up in the bathroom for 10 minutes straight is just fine isn’t it.” Louis said angrily. 

Liam stayed quiet. Again, nobody said anything.

“I’m sorry Liam” he said finally. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” 

“It’s okay.” Liam half smiled. It wasn’t that he didn’t forgive him, because he’d be mad too, but he didn’t have the energy to give him a full smile.

“Boys. Let’s get ready to get out there. It starts in 5.” Paul came in and said. He should Liam a sympathetic look before walking out.

“Cmon I guess.” Harry sighed.

Liam got up and walked with the rest of the boys. This interview wasn’t supposed to take too long, at least he hoped not.

Once they got in there, they all sat down on the couches. Liam ended up scrunched in between Louis and Michael. The managers wanted the two bands mixed together, but Louis demanded to sit by Liam.

The interview had started, and they were asking them the usual questions. Like how touring was going, and how they felt about each other. 

They were told that the interview would only take about 30 minutes.

About 25 minutes in Liam began to feel sick again. But they couldn’t take a break because it was a live interview. 

He didn’t say anything for the rest of the interview. As she was rapping up, he knew he was gonna be sicker and he knew it was going to be soon. They turned the cameras off and Liam half sprinted out of the room. Though not knowing the place, he couldn’t find the Bathroom.

He stopped suddenly as he gagged. He felt it coming. He gagged again, this time vomiting on the floor I front of him. He felt as if he was gonna fall over. He started to sway back and forth, as he felt a pair of hands on him holding him up.

He continued to throw up. 

After a few minutes of throwing up, he started dry heaving. After a few minutes, he was done. 

“Cmon lad. I’ll find someone to clean this up.” Louis whispered, guiding him back to the changing room.   

After getting back to the room, Liam sat down, and almost immediately fell asleep. Louis went to go find a janitor or someone to clean up the mess.

When he woke, he was laying on Harry’s lap with Harry playing with his hair. He just laid there. He was tired. 

“Cmon guys. Let’s go.” Louis came back into the room.

“Did you find someone to clean up the mess?” Harry questioned

“No. They said since we made the mess that we had to clean it up. I wanted to shove their faces into it, but it’s done. I took care of it.” He replied.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I promise: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Liam rambled on.

“It’s okay Li. I'd do anything to make sure you’re okay. Now let’s head home”

They all went back outside to reload the van. They made sure Liam had a bag beside him, just in case.

The drive home was really anti climatic. Liam slept, and everyone else was either on their phones, or just sitting there quietly. The only sounds in the car were Liam’s snores and Calum’s coughs. 

Once they had arrived home, Louis carried Liam to his room. Magically he didn’t wake up. He placed him in his bed, took his shirt off, left a bucket and a cup of water by the bed, and left. A few minutes later, he returned with some pills and a thermometer. He placed the thermometer on his head and laid the pills on the table with the water. He heard the thermometer beep after a few seconds. It read 38 degrees. Not enough to worry about, but it was still a fever. He debated waking the boy, but decided to let him get some sleep instead.

————————————————————————

A couple hours later, Liam began to wake up. He looked at his phone to check the time. 

The numbers read 4:56

He rolled over, and saw the bin on the ground. The sick feeling immediately returned, and he began to gag once again. He grabbed the bin and threw up. Not a lot, but he also didn’t have anything inside of him, so even the small amount hurt. 

After he was done, he got up and went to the bathroom. He washed his mouth, and brushed his teeth. He then decided to recheck his temperature. He put it to his forehead, and a few seconds later, heard it beep. 

It read 38.7

It wasn’t super high, but he definitely needed to take something to get it down. He grabbed the pills and the water on the table. He didn’t want to throw up again, but he wanted it to help, so he took them. 

He also decided to change his clothes. He was swearing in his sleep, and he felt gross. He also probably smelt bad. 

After a quick change of clothes, he decided to walk back downstairs. Again, the lazy boys were playing FIFA. 

“OoO it looks like the zombies alive” Niall exclaimed. 

“Thanks for the compliment Ni” Liam grinned back.

“How do you feel? You’ve been asleep for a while” Harry questioned. 

“Better. I’ve gotta study.” Liam said quickly walking out of the living room.

“Wait.” He turned around “where’s Louis?”

“Having a meeting with management. They didn’t like his behaviour earlier.” Ashton said.

“Oh. Well I bet he didn’t like theirs either.” He half laughed, then walked out. 

He sat at the table and began to study. 

“Hey Li, we’re watching a movie! Wanna join?” Niall childish voice yelled from the living room.

“Uh sure. Just give me a second” Liam said, grabbing his computer and walking to the living room. 

He sat down on one side of the couch, and put the foot rest up. He started shivering, probably from his fever.

He was so focused on the movie, he didn’t see Calum get up, and Ashton rushed after him.

He was distracted from the movie by retching and coughing coming from the bathroom. 

Liam sighed. Now not only was he sick, but now Calum was sick too.

A couple minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom. Him and Ashton were both smiling. Liam was confused as to why they were smiling. 

Ashton noticed his confused look.

“Oh don’t worry Liam, he’s not sick.” Ashton said.

“But I heard him throw up-“ Liam continued.

“Yeah, he did, but he’s not sick. He laughed too hard, started coughing, and threw up. It was pretty funny, actually.” Ashton laughed.

“Oh okay.” Liam sighed in relief

The movie continued. Liam kept falling asleep. He would fall asleep for a few seconds, then jump awake, then repeat the cycle. 

“Liam needs to go back to bed” Niall said sarcastically. 

Liam instantly got annoyed. He didn’t know why, but he got really mad. 

“Fine” and with that, Liam got up and walked back to his room.

“Liam I was just joking, you just looked tired and-“ Niall started.

Liam ignored the rest. He was mad. He just went back to his room and went on his phone. 

Then, after about 10 minutes of laying there, all the sudden, he felt really guilty. He shouldn’t have yelled at Niall like that. He didn’t do anything wrong. He began to cry. Not like, soft sad tears, but like he couldn’t breathe. 

All this crying and hyperventilating made him sick again. He was throwing up, and he couldn’t breathe. He knocked the water off the table, which shattered when it hit the ground. 

He could faintly hear the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs before Louis bursted into the room.

“Hey hey it’s okay” he ran to Liam’s side to comfort him. 

“Why are you freaking out so much Li? What’s wrong?”

Louis continued, starting to panic.

After the few minutes of comforting words and trying to calm him down, Liam could finally breathe again.

“What happened Liam? You fucking scared me” Louis asked, a relieved tone to his voice. 

“I felt bad- I couldn’t breathe. I was so mean to him- Louis I’m such a bad person. I-“ Liam rambled on.

“Woah woah woah calm down. Look at me.” Louis pulled his head up, and looked into his eyes.

“That explains it.” He continued.

He stood up and got the thermometer off the table.

“One more time” he stuck it to Liam’s forehead.

It beeped. 39 degrees.

“Okay Liam, here’s the deal. I’m gonna give you some medicine. If you throw up, or your fever doesn’t go down, you’re gonna get an ice bath!” He said the last part with sarcastic excitement.

“Mkay” Liam mumbled.

He was delirious from his fever. He probably wouldn’t remember any of this. 

“Here” Louis handed him the pills

Liam took the pills and went back to sleep. He awoke again at 9:30. He got up and went downstairs. Everyone was asleep at this point. He was tired. He grabbed a cup of water, then went back up to his room.

He then fell asleep, hoping to get a good night's sleep before their big day tomorrow, and silently thanked Louis for all of his help today.

[castielsprostate]

You do realise that if they do wear the band they're not just going to get a yellow card, right? You realise that FIFA could take this further and suspend them from ever playing again, right? You realise that, the country they're in right now, would quite literally murder them, right? Like besties, girlies, girlbabes and girlbloggers.. this ain't as simple as you might want it to be from your comfy chair at home.

[damelucyjo]

I think I'm gonna come on here and spew my thoughts and feelings about each episode rather than on Twitter. I think I'll also say more about each episode here than over there...

Anyway! I'll keep everything under a cut just in case. Although it's been a while since the episode dropped, I just wanna be safe!

Episode 1 - Smells Like Mean Spirit

Here we go!

Oo scruffy Ted!! 😍

Why is she in his phone as 'Michelle Lasso'? I don't have anyone I really know in my phone with their full name. SHE IS THE MOTHER OF YOUR CHILD!!!

Still with the 'Ted has feelings for his ex' thing I see...

Henry's cute

Henry's been in London for 6 weeks and we saw none of it?! RUDE!

He still talks to Sharon! I love that

LEGO NELSON ROAD!!

OMG these Lego characters are brilliant!! And Ted & Rebecca next to each other 👀

It looks like they had fun whilst he was there...

EXCUSE ME why the same shower scene from season 1?!

So this season is going to be about Ted thinking about where he belongs then?

BRENDAN HUNT'S PARTNER AND SON!!! He is one cute baby!!

Earl Greyhound Training Facility. Nice.

Sharon Fieldstone! You cheeky bitch!! I love her

YYEEEAAAAHHH!!!!

Angry Rebecca is back. I'm in love

Hannah, looking delicious as ever 🥵

Something's wrong because he didn't rhyme? So true haha

I'm so fucking excited to see more Rupert this season!!

Ooo she's struggling with this, huh

She swears ALL THE TIME! Why did that one shock Higgins so much!?

Howdy & Yo. And then she nearly walked into the door frame. Amazing.

I need Dani's optimism

And Jamie's confidence haha

Roy & Beard's friendship is my favourite

FIFA reference, of course

His tiny car with those super cars is a great visual

Hello West Ham's Higgins

KEELEY!!!

'Fuck you, Joe Rogan' Exactly.

'Angel, Mentor, Guru Rebecca' How fucking cute are they!! 🥰

It's Katy Wix!! Love her!

Keeley's office looks like a fun place... 🫣

Their friendship is gorgeous. I love this gossip dynamic

Rebecca's reaction to Keeley just throwing her coat 😂 Amazing.

Yikes?! Where did she pick that up, I wonder...

Don't cry Keeley!!

Aww, mumma Rebecca to the rescue 🥹 She's so maternal

We must protect Dani at all costs!!

I love spotting Will in the background, he's always doing something fun

Of course their driver was a cult leader

EVERYONE RUN EXCEPT ROY!!

'Like an orgasm for the soul' You sure have a way with words, Rebecca

Gotta let Ted be Ted. Too right!

I KNEW that 'legend' bit was edited in the preview clip!

Loving uncomfortable, awkward Rebecca

And of course Keeley sees no problem is spending £200 on flowers because they look and smell nice

SHE SEEMS FUN!! Great Beard call back! 😂

Corporate Flying Object. Please never change Keeley!

She's eating meat again...👀 Hmm, okay

I can't wait for more Keeley & Rebecca bonding. It's my favourite

Fucking dumb-dumb line. Nathan is vile. Nick is brillaint.

They named him Disco purely for that line. Tell me I'm wrong

RUPERT! In his cartoon villain lair! Complete contrast to Rebecca's office

I fucking LOVE Anthony Head. He plays slimy so well

We're getting to see how Rupert charms his way onto people, interesting.

'Roy Kent, that you?' 'Get fucked' I just love him, guys!

'Why are you dressed like an umlaut?' Why ask if you have a matching one, Leslie??

MY GOD does Hannah looking FUCKING FIT in this episode. Only thought in my head every time she's on screen

Field trip to a fucking sewer! Let's go, boys!

Of course Henry asked to tour the sewer system because he watched IT and got scared. It is fucking smart, well said Roy!

'Twat' Well said Rebecca

Rupert is going to keep saying 'Wonder Kid' isn't he, because he knows it gets to Nate 👀

West Ham's press room isn't as fun as Richmond's

Oooo a King & I reference... okay, okay

I really wish spitting wasn't his 'thing'. It's gross. I know it makes sense, I still hate it.

LESLIE HIGGINS IS EATING HER BISCUIT AND SHE'S SO FOCUSED SHE DIDN'T REALISE!!! wow

Of course Jamie says poopy and not shit

I love how these boys trust Ted so much that they just went into a sewer, then asked why when they were down there

She's gonna break that laptop one day

Jamie being the one to reiterate the lesson they just learnt? Boys growing up!! AND HE'S RHYMING!!

Oooo she's angry 🥵

Rupert is laughing at me, Ted 🥺 ouch

And I am begging you, please, fight back OMFG 😭😭

I love how they highlight how different the press rooms are. They're all friends at Richmond, press included

And the contrast between Nate saying vile stuff and Ted saying encouraging stuff. Beautiful.

I'm kinda surprised though that Rebecca looks worried and doesn't trust him

But of course she's the only one who catches his baseball reference

Did Brett get in a Twin Peaks reference? Good for him!!

They're really highlighting the fact that kindness & comedy win, huh?

Ooo Rupert buying Nathan fancy gifts... so it begins!

Roy & Keeley not saying the same thing is very telling, I think

Firstly, why did it take them 6 weeks to tell Phoebe? And secondly, did they not actually discuss it themselves?Nobody knows what's going on!

Phoebe is so grown up! Asking the important questions

'Can I say a bad word? I think you're being stupid' I love her

Another conversation about why he's still in London? This really is going to be the theme of this season, I guess

Is moving that Lego Nate foreshadowing him coming back???

'Mommy's friend' 👀 uh oh

And that's episode 1 done!! Yes, I probably will be watching it on repeat until next Wednesday, thanks for asking.

[shingekinosimpson]

You Had Me At B Minor: Chapter 11

First | Previous

Pairing: Jean Kirschtein x Marco Bodt

Other relationships: Reibert, Springles, Historia x Ymir, Levi x Hange, a smidge of Jearmin

Rating: Mature

Summary: Jean's band needs a new bass player. Cue freckled Jesus.

Warnings/tags: Long fic, slow burn, Jean POV, friends to lovers, British AU with cannon locations, northern Jean, Unsigned band AU, nonbinary Armin, I promise there will be smut eventually! drinking, mentions of death, descriptions of domestic violence, panic attacks, see start of each chapter for more specific trigger warnings

******************************************************************  

Trigger warnings: Panic attack, traffic collision (aftermath)

I'm sick of spending these lonely nights Training myself not to care

Things could always be worse.

I can’t tell you how many times I've heard my mam say those five words. It was her mantra when dad left her. It was my mantra when dad left me. A phrase to cling to during moments of intense anger or sadness.

It was by no means a way of forgiving my dad; things were worse because of what he did. Period. No, it was more a means of coping, of grounding myself whenever I felt like I was spiralling.

Things could always be worse.

Well let me tell you, now I know what it feels like when things get worse.

My day from hell starts like this...

It's been six days since I last saw Marco. Or anyone really, with the exception of a couple of nights off I've shared with Connie. Training to be a firefighter serves as a pretty good excuse for being AWOL lately, genuinely or otherwise. Like Wednesday, when everyone helped Marco move into Eren’s, I was conveniently on a longer training session. Did I want to come round for a drink and a few matches on Fifa after work on Thursday? Oooh well today was pretty physical and I have an early start tomorrow so, no can do.

Wednesday was a long day, but only because I purposely stayed an extra hour to do some online training modules. Thursday was pretty physical, but only because I did an extra gym session afterwards.

Half lies are still just lies I suppose.

I do have an early start today though. Once a week we get to ‘buddy up’ with someone in our station to see how they apply what we’ve learnt so far to real situations. We also get to accompany them if a call comes in, though if it’s for anything serious we just observe. I’m looking forward to it. It’s a good way to get used to the everyday routines of the station before I start working there permanently.

Daz and I are buddied up with Hannes; a veteran of the fire service having worked at West Trost station for over twenty years. He takes a very laid-back approach to everything which puts me at ease. Everyone else we meet seems really friendly too, not just with us but with each other; Shadis was right about this place feeling like a family. I find the thought really comforting, especially with how disconnected I feel from everyone outside of training right now.

The morning is enjoyable and informative. We get to explore all the compartments of the fire engine in more detail and observe people carrying out checks on the breathing apparatus (I swear it’s more interesting than it sounds). Then we get to see a training exercise in action – extinguishing a fire in a three-storey building. They even let us help out with a few things, putting our new ladder skills to the test.

It all serves as a wonderful distraction and I don’t think about anything except the job in hand. It’s only during break times that I start to drift off, lost in my own thoughts, all of which concern Marco. Six days is a long time, though I’ve been trying not to think about it. To be honest, I’ve been learning so much recently that I didn’t realise just how much time had passed until I bothered to count the days. The number six just kind of snuck up on me.

That’s not to say I haven’t thought about it, because I have - believe me I have – and the feeling of something digging into my chest, getting deeper and sharper with every day that passed, has been hard to ignore.

Especially at night.

Despite how much of a toll this training is taking on my body, there have been some nights where sleep refused to take me for hours. It’s in those moments that an endless loop of our last conversation plays behind my eyelids. My mind chatters incessantly with half-baked apologies, knowing I want to speak to him and end this silence but having no idea what to say. I’ve tied myself in knots trying to think of a way to start a conversation, but then my anger takes over and I can never bring myself to do it.

I know I have no right to be angry. He doesn’t owe me an explanation. I know I shouldn’t have shouted at him…but knowing that doesn’t make it easier to shut the anger off. I try not to dwell on why I’m so angry, why I’m so upset, why the knot in my stomach twists so tight when thoughts of him and Floch together push their way to the forefront.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Hmm?”

Daz is regarding me with a concerned expression. Though to be fair, he always kind of looks like that - I thought his nerves would have lessened by the second week.

“Yeah! Sorry did you say something?”

“No, you just looked kind of spaced out is all. You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Just tired.”

“I know what you mean. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so much in my life since starting this.”

Must be nice.

After lunch, Hannes tells us we’ll be joining him out in the community, carrying out checks for at-risk areas (abandoned properties and the like). We’re just about to head off when the alarm sounds and everybody drops what they’re doing, springing into action.

“Right boys never mind. Looks like we’re heading out.”

We follow Hannes as he makes a beeline for his uniform peg. We don’t have ours yet, so we’re instructed to just put on the jackets that identify us as trainees for the other emergency services. Hannes is suited and booted in the same time it takes me to get the jacket on, and he directs us to one of the fire engines.

Adrenaline rushes through me as the siren starts and we pull out of the station. I know I’m probably not going to be doing anything, but it’s still pretty exciting!

Hannes turns in his seat to give us a debriefing.

“Okay guys we’re heading to a traffic collision on the motorway. If we’re first on the scene, we’ll need you to stay inside while we secure a blockade in the road. Then you can come out and observe. These kind of calls need to be dealt with swiftly to ensure safety and avoid further collisions, so there won’t be any opportunities for you to practise your skills. However, we may need some assistance with removing debris or talking to the public, so you may be called upon to lend a hand. Services will know you’re trainees, so you won’t be asked to do anything above your grade, but please speak up if you feel uncomfortable with any requests. That sound okay?”

“Yeah understood,” I reply as Daz nods vigorously next to me.

We make it in less than ten minutes; the built-up traffic parts like the Red Sea to let us through. I’m excited to see these guys in action and testing myself to see if I can identify everything they’re doing. However, when the collision site comes into view, my heart drops into my stomach.

I take in the scene before me – a broken barrier, crumpled cars and chunks of metal littering the ground, and the people…

This next part will be quick…I don't think I'll get through it otherwise…

Six cars and an HGV. Three dead. I don’t look.

We’re first response. Mike’s group assigned to cut a woman out of her car. Hannes’ group to check status of injured. So much to deal with. Not enough of us here. Where are the ambulances?

I’m called to assist. Talk to girl while they assess mother. Mother in a bad way. Daughter looks fine. Not even a scratch on her. I try not to look at the driver’s side. I talk to the girl. I don’t know how I sound so calm.

Indy – short for India. Six and three quarters. Has a dog. Boxer called Benny. He likes sleeping in her bed but is only allowed to at weekends. Likes school. Favourite lesson science…Indy goes pale. No response. I scream for paramedics. Both taken away in ambulances. I help others but it's a blur. Hours pass in a blink.

Update on injured from hospital. Mother still in surgery but not hopeful. Indy...internal bleeding. Couldn't save her…

Back at the station, I’m taking my bag out of my locker with shaking hands when I hear my name.

“Jean. Can I borrow you for a moment? Daz I need to catch you afterwards if that’s okay.”

I nod and follow Mike into an office where Hannes is waiting. He gestures for me to take a seat next to him and I do.

I feel numb.

“We just wanted to check in before you leave,” Mike starts. “We know today can't have been easy. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, erm…”

My emotions flood over me in a sick wave. I feel like I want to cry for days at the utter unfairness of it all. I want to pick up the chair I’m sitting on and smash it through the wall. I want to scream until I rid myself of all the pain and rage in my veins.

“…not great.”

“Yeah…I know today was rough. It's unfortunate you were thrown in the deep end like that at such an early stage in your career. But if you can go through an experience like this and find a way to move forward, you can take on anything.”

It sure doesn’t feel that way at the moment but I nod anyway.

“The realisation you can't always save everyone in this job is not a nice one. It's hard losing anyone, but losing kids is...well, it's a different kind of pain. But we wanted to tell you how well you handled everything today. You had a really calm manner with that girl.”

He looks down at his desk, sadness crossing his face. My stomach flips and writhes horribly.

“The nature of her injuries...please understand there was nothing you could have done to save her Jean. No signs you should have looked out for, nothing okay?”

“Okay,” I mumble weakly, unable to meet his eye.

“And I don't know if this will be of any comfort but, if you hadn’t been there today, that girl would have been scared out of her mind. By talking to her, you made sure her final moments weren’t spent in distress. You should be proud of what you did today.”

I guess I hadn't thought of it that way. The tension in my chest gives a fraction.

“Others who've been in your position…have decided this career is not for them after all - and there's no shame in that - but I thought you should know how impressed we are with you so far Jean. You’ve shown great leadership when it’s asked of you. You make quick assessments of situations and support the team to tackle them. That kind of decisiveness saves lives Jean. We need more people like you in the service.”

Hannes nods in agreement and clears his throat before speaking.

“Most of our call outs end in success Jean, but as you now know, losing the people you're trying to protect does happen sometimes. It doesn't get any less painful, but it does get easier to cope with when you're part of a well-established team like me and Mike.”

“He's right. We look after each other and we're all very open when something is bothering us. We have access to great counsellors too if needs be. Hannes and I can both vouch for them, can't we?”

“Yep. Certainly can.”

They both smile at me and my breathing becomes less shallow. I feel a lot less alone in this than I did moments ago.

“Listen,” Mike says, “I'm going to shuffle things around next week and look at well-being with everyone. It's not scheduled until week four, but I think, given what you and Daz have gone through today, it makes sense to do it sooner rather than later. That sound okay to you Jean?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Okay good. Now you've got the weekend to yourself which, if you're anything like me, means you're at risk of ruminating on this. Do you have family or friends you can rely on if you need to talk about anything?”

“Yeah. Yes I've got people. I live with my best mate.”

“Good, that's good. Don't bottle anything up, okay? And I'm going to give you my number and email. If you need to talk at any point you can get in touch with me.”

He scribbles his info down on a post-it note and hands it to me.

“You have access to our counselling service as well. You don't need to make a decision now - take the weekend to think it over - but the option's there if you need it.”

I don't think I've ever felt so well-cared for in my life. At least not by anyone that wasn't my mam. I can't believe the level of support they're giving me with this. It feels above and beyond.

“Okay,” I say standing to leave. “Thank you so much.”

“Not at all. You look after yourself.”

“Yeah good work today Jean,” Hannes adds, patting me on the shoulder.

I bid them both farewell and finish collecting my things. Daz offers me a weak wave as he’s called into the office next.

______________________________________________

I drive home on autopilot, my mind swimming with Hannes and Mike’s words.

How impressed we are. Great leadership. You had a really calm manner. Nothing you could have done. Proud of yourself. Need more people like you. We look after each other.

It’s strange to be devastated but also…hopeful, I guess is how I would describe the feeling. Having some validation about how I’m performing feels good. And I don’t think they were saying it just to make me feel better. I feel like they want me to succeed and by extension, care about me.

A flicker of optimism starts to glow in my mind - maybe I will get through what happened today. I think, with their support, I can do it.

The upcoming lights change to red and I slow to a stop at the crossroads. The radio is on and I find myself humming along, tapping a beat on the steering wheel. There’s still a fragility to my voice, but I tell myself I’m okay.

Another car pulls up in the lane beside me, and when I glance over…it feels like the world has given way beneath my feet.

There’s a little girl with long dark hair in the passenger seat, bouncing her teddy up and down on her knee and chattering happily. She looks just like Indy.

I stop breathing. My fingers tingle as a prickling starts running up the back of my neck. I stare at the girl and see Indy’s face turn pale as her head slumped forward. I remember the way her eyes fluttered closed as she lost consciousness and the prickling gets worse, my chest tightening, head buzzing.

My gaze follows them as they pull away and wait to turn right, but then the sharp blast of a car horn jolts me back to reality and I realise I’m holding up traffic. I pull away as fast as I dare, gripping the steering wheel with both hands whenever I don’t have to change gears.

Breathe. Just breathe. Don’t cry. You’re okay.

By the time I make it home I’ve just about got myself under control. I feel like my chest is bruised on the inside, but my breathing is steadier and some feeling is returning to my fingers.

You’re okay. You just weren’t expecting to see someone that looked like her so soon after. Bad luck that’s all. You’re home now. You’re okay. You’re okay.

If I say it to myself enough times it might come true.

I must have just missed Connie leaving for work, because nobody answers when I call up the stairs after locking the front door. I was psyching myself up to act normal – I wouldn’t want to worry him when he has to go to work – so I thought I’d be relieved when I didn’t hear his voice. To be honest though, now that I’m walking into a silent living room, I really wish he was here.

You’re okay. You’re okay.

I get changed into my sloppy house clothes and think about what to do. My mind’s still too on edge to concentrate on TV and I’m not in the mood for the PlayStation. Maybe I should eat something. It’s been quite a few hours since lunch and making something will keep my jittery hands busy.

You’re okay.

I put the TV on just for some background noise and set to work looking in the fridge for something decent. There’s a few things hanging around in here that are definitely past their best – Connie loves cooking programmes so will often come home with random items that he half uses or just forgets about completely. However, I do find some okay looking veg and half a tub of green pesto, so I set about making a pasta dish.

‘A collision involving multiple vehicles resulted in five fatalities today.’

I drop the pan on the countertop with a clatter and whirl round. It’s on the local news. The collision is on the local news.

‘Emergency services were called to the M7 on the outskirts of West Trost after…’

Images from today flash up on the screen – scraps of metal littering the road, the barrier where it was twisted and mangled by the HGV, a close up on one of the cars - badly damaged with a front that looks like a concertina.

‘One of the victims was India Begum, a six-year-old girl from…’

A photo appears on the screen of a girl. It’s a school picture. She’s smiling, vibrant and full of life. It’s the Indy I never got the chance to meet, that so many others will never get the chance to meet.

The tingling in my fingers is back with vengeance, sick chills rolling up my arms making me nauseous.

‘…while her mother remains in a critical condition in hospital. The family are said to be devastated by the news.’

A sudden whimper leaps up out of my throat and I press my hand to my mouth like I’m trying to push it back in.

Why? Why are they reporting this? Why are they reminding me what happened?

It's like the world is taking a sick sort of pleasure in torturing me when I least expect it, tearing into me and laughing as I frantically try to stop myself from bleeding out.

I choke out a sob against my hand, the burning in my throat almost unbearable, and look around for something to hold on to. My other hand slams down and grips fiercely along the edge of the countertop as tears sting my eyes...and then I break completely.

Horrible, violent sobs tumble from my mouth but my body can’t keep up with them. I gasp for air, trying to fill my lungs before the next one hits, but it feels like nothing’s going in. I’m drowning, struggling in quicksand. My vision blurs with tears and I’m pulled under, choking and crying and pulling at my hair.

When I finally resurface, I’m sat on the floor in a ball, with my head on my knees and my back against the oven. My breathing is shallow, but at least it feels like it’s actually working now. I keep my fingers twisted in my hair and my forehead resting on my knees. The feeling helps to ground me, and I start to feel in control of my body again.

I’m not sure how long I stay like this, but eventually the seriousness of what’s just happened starts to weigh cold in my gut and I realise, I don’t want to be alone right now.

I’m not okay.

I could call Connie - I’m sure he’d find a way to leave work - but (and I know it's pathetic) I want to be held. I need to be held, because I genuinely fear I might fall apart at the seams again any second.

My mam is an obvious choice - I have no doubt she'd hold me close and stroke my hair just like she used to when I was a kid – but I'll make her worry, and when my mam worries, she tends to make things worse. She means well but sometimes she overreacts, and I end up getting more stressed trying to put her mind at ease.

So, I'm really only left with one person. Or more accurately, there's only one person I'm desperately craving the company of right now.

It's so selfish of me to ask though, to hope all is forgiven. I haven't properly apologised to him yet and I don't want him to think I'm only doing it now because I need something. But then again, I'm struggling to think of anyone else whose eyes overflow with the kindness and understanding I’m in need of right now.

I shift and slide my phone out of my pocket. With shaking hands, I hit the green call button and will myself to gain some composure as I listen to the dial tone.

I freeze when he picks up, bracing myself for a curt hello...

"I swear to God I was just about to ring you when my phone started go off in my hand! You scared the shit out of me!" he chuckles breathlessly. “I’m so glad you called.”

Hearing his reaction, I should be relieved – like, over the moon, pissing my pants with happiness relieved - and I'm sure a part of me is, but it’s overshadowed by the painful clench in my chest, twisting up into my throat and around my vocal cords.

"H-Hello?" comes Marco's voice again.

Calm down. Calm down.

"H...Hi, erm."

My voice barely chokes out those words and I'm painfully aware of the quiver at the end. This is not how I wanted this to go.

"...Jean what's wrong?"

He knows. He knows something's not right. He can hear it in my voice.

My words stick in my throat when I try to speak again. "So...today, erm...a-at work I..."

That's as far as I get. There’s a half-second moment where I’m just numb and floating before the weight of everything smacks into me like I’ve just landed face first onto concrete, and I disintegrate into strangled sobbing again. I wince at the pain behind my eyes, trying to hold back the flood gates, but they've already been breached.

"Jean!?"

I gasp a breath, trying to gain my composure long enough to speak. "I'm sorry, I just- Can I come over p-please?"

"No."

Wait, what?

"I'll come to you. Are you at home?"

"Y-yeah."

"Okay I'll order a taxi and come over now. Do you want me to stay on the phone until I'm there?"

"N-no...well, I-I dunno. Maybe?" I stammer pathetically. I hate how weak my voice sounds.

“I’ll stay on the line,” he says firmly. “I’m just going to put you on speaker phone so I can order my taxi, but don’t worry, nobody else can hear you.”

“O-okay.”

His voice is assured and filled with so much tenderness. It helps to steady me and the panic starts to melt away.

“Okay, I’m just on the app now. It says there’s a car three minutes away so it shouldn’t take me long to get to you.”

“Okay that’s good,” I reply, my voice finally finding a little more strength. I already feel better knowing he's on his way and some of my anxiety shrinks back on itself.

I can hear movement that sounds like him gathering up his keys, or maybe his wallet with the chocobo key ring attached. Listen to him, just listen to this boy dropping everything to come help me when he doesn’t even know what’s wrong…even after I acted like a complete and utter arsehole.

My heart twinges painfully and I realise just how much not speaking to him has affected me. I’ve fallen out with friends before, but this has been different; a deep, festering sort of discomfort that’s been slowly eating me from the inside out.

And the worst thing is I’ve been letting it. Why the hell didn’t I pick up the phone sooner?

I can’t hold it in anymore.

“…’M so sorry Marco.”

His voice sounds distant. “Sorry Jean what did you say?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Marco.”

No sounds come through the line for a moment and I feel my eyes burn once again, forewarning the next bout of tears.

“Jean, there’s nothing to be sorry for okay?”

“N-no there is! I’m so sorry about what I said to you.”

“Jean.”

“And that I haven’t called or text you until now!”

“Jean.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Jean!”

I clamp my mouth shut and let the tears run silently down my face.

“Jean listen you don’t need to…I’m sorry too.”

Despite my best efforts to hold it back, I start sobbing again. I don’t understand how my body is still capable of producing tears at this point.

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey you’re okay. Jean? Jean listen to me I’m leaving now. Just take some deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”

I cling to Marco’s voice like a lifeline and do what he says, heaving air into my lungs as slowly as I can.

“Okay, I’m in the taxi now alright? It won’t take me long to get to you.”

He stays on the line for the whole journey, describing exactly where he is and what he can see. When I hear the rumble of a car engine outside, I drop my phone and run down the stairs, wrenching the front door open to make sure he’s really there.

His arms encircle me and I collapse against his chest, my hands sliding up his shoulder blades and squeezing him tightly. I cry, but it’s not the uncontrollable sobs I had before. I tremor from how cold my body suddenly feels, but my breathing is calmer now that I have his warmth against me.

“Jesus you’re shaking,” he whispers.

He guides me to sit on the stairs and keeps hugging me, running soothing circles over my back and stroking my hair. A minute passes like this before he leans back and looks at me, his deep eyes full of concern. He has one hand on my knee, the other holding the side of my head.

“Shall we head upstairs?” he asks in a gentle voice, his thumb running across my cheek to catch a stray droplet.

I croak out a reply and he stands to lead the way, holding my hand and checking over his shoulder every two seconds, like he’s scared I’ll stumble or something. He guides me over to the sofa, taking a seat beside me when I draw my legs up to hug my knees.

My skin is covered in goose bumps and I rub at my biceps in an attempt to ease my shivering. Initially, Marco reaches a hand out to rub at my arm too, but then he retracts it and pulls his hoody off over his head.

“Here,” he says, gently putting it over my head and encouraging me to reach my arms into the sleeves. I just sit there like a small child and let him, still too shaken to do much else. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

The hoody is warm and smells like him. I take a deep breath and recount everything from the collision today, breaking down again when I talk about Indy. I get through it though. Marco doesn’t say anything beyond and occasional hum or an ‘oh god’ when I get to an especially upsetting part.

“God Jean, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Yeah…me too. You know, signing up for the fire service, I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew things would sometimes be hard, but actually seeing the reality of it...five people died today Marco.”

I swallow hard as my vision swims with more tears. I quickly wipe them away and move to sit cross-legged.

“…I don’t know if I can do this.”

His gaze drops to my hands, which are currently wringing the life out if each other. He pries them apart, unbelievably gentle with me.

“Jean there’s no shame in walking away from this if that's what you need to do. Everyone would understand.”

They would, I know they would. They’ve all been so supportive, knowing how much this means to me. They’d get me through it if I decided to walk away.

But then I think of the people that were saved today, like that woman we freed from her car. I think of Indy and imagine how traumatic her final moments could have been if I wasn't there to talk to her and keep her calm. I think of what Mike said about my leadership and I think of letting down my team.

My mind is made up in an instant. I can't walk away from this. I refuse to disappoint anyone by giving up before I've barely started. I can do this. I know I can.

“No. I don't want that.” My voice sounds firm, though that doesn't save me from sniffing unattractively before speaking again. “I'm not ready to give up yet.”

Marco takes a deep breath and I swear my own lungs fill with air, a kind smile gracing his beautiful features.

“God Jean, I think you’re so brave.” He doesn’t look me in the eye when he speaks, so he doesn’t notice the way my jaw drops.

Is this guy for real? The shit he’s had to go through and he thinks I’m brave?

“Hmm, I don’t know about that. Maybe if I was braver this whole thing wouldn’t have got to me so much,” I sniffle.

Ugh. I sound so bunged and disgusting.

“I don’t think that has anything to do with bravery Jean. I think the fact that this affected you so much just shows you care. What’s brave is you’re not letting it stop you from helping the next person.”

This time he does look at me and the tenderness I see in his watery eyes almost makes me want to start balling again.

“Thanks Marco.”

“No worries,” he smiles. “Hey have you eaten yet? I was thinking I could make us some food if you like.”

I feel a warm tug on my heart strings and have to metaphorically pinch myself. How did I get lucky enough to find someone like Marco in my corner? And how did I get so stupid as to almost throw it away because I can’t keep my feelings in check around him?

I won’t make that mistake again. I don’t care if he never feels the same way I do. He’s doesn’t have to like me back; it’s enough to just be in his orbit.

“Yeah but I need to do something first.”

“Okay, what’s that?”

I shuffle closer to him and nearly laugh at the way his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. My hands reach his shoulders and I pull him to me, sliding my arms around his strong back and nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you. Thank you for coming over and…just being you I guess.”

He chuckles softly into my shoulder and squeezes me back, letting his chest melt against mine.

“ S’alright.”

“And I’m sorry. I know you said it doesn’t matter but it does. I’m so sorry for shouting at you. I was completely out of order.”

I hold him close as I speak. Not seeing his face makes it easier to say what I need to say.

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have got so defensive. I’m sorry I yelled.”

“S’okay.”

He gives me another squeeze before pulling away. He looks sadly at his lap before speaking again.

“I’m not back with Floch by the w-”

“You don’t have to tell me anything Marco.”

“No I know but, I get why it would be a shock after what he did…I did see him again, but only once. I was feeling pretty down last Thursday and then he sent me this text saying he missed me.”

Thursday. I knew something had been wrong with him that night.

“I shouldn’t have gone ‘round – I knew exactly what would happen if I did – but I just felt so shit and lonely and…we’ve only slept together that one time since we broke up. And I felt like fucking shit afterwards…It wasn’t even that good,” he huffs through his nose with a sad laugh.

It shouldn’t make me smile but it does. He catches me trying not to and we both let out a soft breathy chuckle, our cheeks tinging slightly red.

These past few days, having no contact with Marco, I’ve woken every morning with a heavy feeling in my chest, like a stone was lodged there. Now I can feel it crumbling into dust.

“He text me a couple of times afterwards but I didn’t know what to say so I ignored it, hoping he’d get the message, which was pretty shitty of me I guess.”

“Marco nothing you’ve done to him could be as shitty as what he did to you.”

His face twists in a way that tells me he’s not convinced, running a hand through his hair as he turns to flop back against the sofa.

“I have spoken to him now though. After that message you saw, I told him it was a mistake, that it wouldn’t be happening again and I couldn’t forgive him for what he did.”

Good. You need that creep out of your life Marco.

“It’s stupid. I know I’ve done the right thing, and it was my decision, but I still feel so shitty about everything. I thought cutting ties with him would make me feel better, but it hasn’t really.”

“Marco, it’s okay if you still…” I’m already wincing at what I’m going to say. “If you still have feelings for him. You were together a while. It’s understandable that you can’t just switch it off.”

“No, no it’s not that…not really. It’s more that…that I still don’t understand what went wrong.”

Anguish skates across his face as he stares at the ceiling. He swallows audibly and then in a soft voice that breaks my heart adds, “I just wish I knew…why wasn’t I enough for him? Why am I never enough for them?”

At first my voice won’t come out. Seeing how much pain he’s still in grips my throat despite how much I want to rave and scream that he’s asking the wrong question. Of course he’s enough. He’s more than enough. Floch and those other arseholes should be asking why they couldn’t be enough for Marco.

But when I hear him sniff, my strength comes rushing back to me. I have to make him see.

“Marco, I think I know you well enough by now to know you are more than enough for anyone. You’re a fucking amazing guy. Nothing that happened was your fault. Floch doing what he did had nothing to do with you. That shitty choice is on him. All of it. And there’s nothing you could have done to change it.”

He nibbles on his bottom lip as he nods, still staring at the ceiling.

“Some people are just, well…dicks.”

Wow. Eloquent. How the fuck are you a song writer?

He slowly turns his head towards me and I worry I might have overstepped the mark, but then he snorts and starts laughing, his red eyes regaining their sparkle.

“You never did like him did you Jean?”

I’m laughing too and finding it really hard to look coy.

“Shit. Was it really that obvious?” I ask scratching the back of my head.

“I mean…Yeah. Yeah it was.”

We both descend into giggles, catching stray tear drops on the back of our hands, some from laughing, some from earlier.

“God we’re a right mess aren’t we?” he laughs, wiping his damp hand on his jeans.

“Well, at least we’ll be a mess together,” I smile.

His own smile softens. A short moment passes between us where he just looks at me fondly, but then it’s ruined by my stomach making an ungodly growling sound.

“Bloody hell. You’d think I hadn’t eaten in days!” I laugh.

Marco chuckles and stands. “C’mon let’s see what we can rustle up in the kitchen.”

He offers a hand to help me up and I follow him to the fridge.

______________________________________________

After a short debate, Marco convinces me that a few more ingredients will transform my pasta dish from ‘bland to grand’ and I agree to go to the shop with him. I keep his big hoody on over my comfy clothes, deciding I’m going for the ‘I’m feeling sorry for myself don’t fucking @ me’ look. I offer him one of my hoodies in return, trying to not blush at the fact we’re wearing each other’s clothes.

The fresh air makes me feel better, helping to calm my red cheeks and clear my nose. Marco grabs a basket when we get there, looking very domesticated.

“Right we need some cherry tomatoes and some mozzarella…Oh the fresh basil’s reduced! We’ll get some of that too.”

I can’t help but quirk a smile at him. How the hell does he manage to make food shopping enjoyable? Though, I’d probably find just about anything enjoyable with him by my side.

“Hey Marco, do you like macarons?” I call out as he scans the bazillion types of cheese they’ve got here.

“Yeah why?”

When he turns, he sees me waggling my eyebrows and holding up a huge platter of them - reduced from the party food section.

“Oh man. Do they have pistachio ones?”

“Yeah but you’ll have to fight me for them,” I smirk, chucking the platter in the basket.

“Excuse me, I am about to cook you a fabulous meal. I think that merits at least half of the pistachio macarons!”

Suppose I can’t argue with that, and I certainly can’t argue with the butterflies doing loop-da-loops in my stomach at the thought of Marco cooking for me.

“Fair enough, we’ll share them. It’ll be nice to have a meal that isn’t just stuff from the freezer. I’m not much of a cook. Connie likes to think he is but his experiments in the kitchen definitely go wrong more than they go right!”

“I love cooking. I know everyone says this about their mum but, my mum is literally the best cook in the world. I’ve learnt a lot from her. She makes amazing Italian food.”

“Oh yeah, your Grandma was Italian right?”

“Yeah. My mum was born here but every summer my grandma would take her to Florence to stay with my Great-Aunt and all they’d do is cook together. Sundays are the best at my house when Mum isn’t working. She always goes all out with a three-course meal for me and Mia and any other family members we happen to drag along.”

“Three courses?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “You’ll have to come some time. She’s always desperate for people to feed.”

He says it likes it’s nothing but the gesture gives me a wide, bashful smile, imagining myself sitting around the kitchen table like one of the family. “Never say no to a free meal,” I say, jostling him in the shoulder.

We head down the aisle with the dental products after I remember I need to pick up some toothpaste, but when the brushes catch my eye I stop, something dawning on me that I hadn’t thought of until now.

Marco waits patiently as I give a hum, thinking about what I want to say.

“Marco.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you, erm…”

Fuck. I really wish I’d thought of this when we were still at the flat and not now, in the middle of Sainsbury’s with people all around us.

“I was just thinking…” I start again.

“What?”

I let go of the packet I’d been fondling and grab my toothpaste instead. “No, it’s dumb.”

I feel a gentle tug on my shoulder as he turns me back around. “Jean, c’mon what’s up?”

“Well…please feel free to say no but, I was just gonna ask…I mean…I’m just a bit worried about being on my own tonight and Connie won’t be back ‘til quite late so…d’you think-” a lady with a pushchair squeezes past us. “Would you mind staying over?”

He blinks at me owlishly, but smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah of course I can,” he answers to my relief. “I mean, I’m working at Bean’s tomorrow so I’ll have to leave early enough to go home and get changed but…Yeah, I can stay over.”

He rubs my arm soothingly and I let out a breath. “Thanks. I’m just worried I’ll be…I dunno-”

“You don’t have to explain Jean. I’m happy to stay over,” he grins turning to the toothbrushes. “Guess I’ll be needing one of these then.”

He goes to grab a plain blue one but I cut him off, reaching over him.

“I think you’ll find you’ll be needing this one!”

He shakes his head at me and laughs, chucking the Hello Kitty brush in the basket and heading towards the tills with me sniggering behind him.

______________________________________________

Witchcraft. Literal black fucking magic. That’s the only way to describe how Marco takes a few simple ingredients and transforms them into something so delicious, it’s borderline orgasmic.

“Oh my god,” I mumble around a mouthful of heaven. “I’m having a foodgasm.”

He replies with a hum and a nod, too busy tucking in himself for anything more articulate. We decided to be total heathens sit on the sofa instead of at the breakfast bar, using a couple of cushions to balance the plates on our knees.

We don’t say much beyond an occasional laugh or comment at the TV. Marco got way too excited when he discovered Spaced in my DVD collection so we’re watching it from the beginning – something that will no doubt result in a lot of silly gifs and memes in the coming days. It acts as a nice buffer between us and the raw feelings still hanging in the air from earlier.

I hoover my food up in no time, lying back against the sofa with a satisfied sigh once I’ve cleared every last morsel from my plate.

“Seriously, did you sell your soul to the Church of Gordon Ramsey? That was so fucking good.”

“Ha! No. But if churches dedicated to chefs actually existed, I’d be praying at Nigella Lawson’s.”

“Hmm, I’m sure that has everything to do with her food!”

We relax and let our food settle, happy to be in each other’s company. It feels so comfortable. Eventually though, the temptation of dessert becomes too much for both of us, and I heave myself off the sofa to go get them.

“D’you want a beer?” I ask when I open the fridge.

“With macarons? Are you mad?” he says aghast. “Put a pot of tea on!”

So I do, and there we sit a few minutes later, eating macarons and sipping tea like two old ladies on a Saturday afternoon.

“Mate, if my teenage self could see me now. What a wild way to spend a Friday night,” I laugh.

Marco quirks an eyebrow at me. “Would you rather be doing something else?” he asks, taking a bite of a pink macaron and smirking at me.

It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. “No way. Tea and sweet treats – what more could a person want?”

“Exactly.”

______________________________________________

We make it through the whole of season one, ending with one of my favourite Mike Watt moments - leading the club in a dance routine to the A-Team theme song.

I snort unattractively and look over at Marco with a smile, but see he’s fallen asleep – snuggled in my hoody and slumped against the huge cushion between us. He’s breathing softly through his nose, which at this proximity, I realise is covered in an assortment of freckles. Usually just the darker ones stand out, but now I can see the lighter ones that pepper his skin too.

I try not to think about what it would be like to kiss each one.

Instead I watch the throw that’s draped over us both move up and down with his steady breathing, and then let my eyes wander back to his serene expression. I stare down at those beautiful, dark eyelashes fluttering prettily against his cheeks, a tranquil smile curling at my lips. I’m starting to think I could write an entire fucking album about those eyelashes if I tried hard enough.

A lock of hair has fallen in front of his face, tickling his eye and making it twitch every so often. My hand decides to move without consulting me, reaching forward…

I’m not stroking his hair. I’m just…helpfully brushing it back for him.

The wavy strands are soft to the touch when I gently move them aside and out of his eye. The lock doesn’t quite go back far enough though, so I push it again, my fingers carding ever so slightly through his hair in my attempt to tuck it away.

The ache in my chest is palpable as I watch the rise and fall of his, my fingers yet to stop their steady back and forth motion. It’s damn near excruciating how much I want to lean down and brush a soft kiss against his forehead and knowing I can’t...yet I can’t tear myself away.

“Mmm.”

My hand snaps back like it’s been electrocuted when he stirs and snuggles further down into my hoody.

Fuck! What are you doing?

Fearing his eyes will snap open any second, I jump from the sofa and start gathering our plates off the coffee table. I’ve just placed them on the kitchen counter when I see his eyes flutter open. He sits himself up straight and pushes the throw away so he can stretch.

“You okay?” I ask, praying to god he didn’t feel anything in his sleep…but then he hits me with a gorgeous smile and I find it hard to care.

“Yeah thanks. Sorry for dozing off.”

“S’alright,” I reply relieved. Then a cheeky thought crosses my mind, “I could’ve done without the loud snoring though.”

“I don’t snore!”

“You do. Sounded like a tractor getting fucked by a motorbike.”

His jaw drops with a huge smile as he grabs a cushion and launches it at me. I duck behind the breakfast bar with an ‘eeeep!’ to avoid it.

“I do NOT snore!”

“I know. Just wanted to see if I could convince you otherwise,” I laugh, chucking the cushion back.

He yawns gently and itches his eye in a way that’s a million times more adorable than it should be.

“Should we call it a night?” I ask.

“Yeah, probably should. Do you have spare blankets or anything? For the sofa?”

“Oh…erm…”

Crap. I’ve got plenty of pillows, but I don’t actually have a spare duvet to give him.

“Or just a sheet to go with this throw will do to be honest.”

“Marco, I’m not letting you kip on that with just a sheet and a throw. A leather sofa’s not the most comfortable thing to sleep on at the best of times, never mind without proper blankets…Just kip in my bed…if you want.”

“You…you sure that’s okay?”

Is it okay? Am I really about to do this to myself?

“Yeah of course. Don’t worry I don’t bite,” I grin. “It’s big enough for two people anyway. C’mon.”

I don’t wait for an answer and lead the way to my room, my sudden wave of bravery carrying me along. He follows me inside, glancing around at the various pictures and old posters on the walls. I move my bag and a couple of other things I’ve left lying on the bed and notice him shuffling awkwardly on his feet, like he’s not sure where to put himself.

“I sleep on the right side in case you were wondering.”

“Oh,” he smiles. “That’s good. I prefer the left.”

The butterflies in my stomach make themselves known again at that comment, twitching and flipping around. I savour the discomfort.

“That works out well then. Do you want something to sleep in?”

“Yeah please if you don’t mind.”

“’Course not.”

“Thanks. Can I pinch a t-shirt?”

I turn to my chest of drawers and start rummaging through my stash of old band t-shirts. Marco’s a little wider across the chest than me so I try to find a baggy one.

“Is Sonic Youth okay?” I ask, chucking the bundle and laughing when it hits him in the face.

“Oi! he squawks. “Yeah that’s fine. Oh, I’ve got The Simpsons version of this!” he chirps as he unfolds it.

“A Simpsons version?”

He strips off his top and my hoody with a smile, chatting away and thankfully oblivious to the way I have to force myself to keep looking at his face.

“Yeah it’s got Bart and Milhouse on and the writing’s about their squishy bender.”

“Aw that sounds-”

I momentarily forget how to brain when he ducks to pull the top over his head and I get a really good view of his torso. He’s got a smattering of freckles across his slightly fuzzy chest, lessening in their frequency as they lead down his smooth stomach. That’s a nice view in of itself, but when my eyes lock onto his hips, I almost have a nosebleed - his happy trail and follow-me lines daring me to do just that. I try really hard not to think about where they lead.

“Ahem,” I cough. “That sounds cool.”

I look at him again thinking I’ll be safe now that he’s got a top on but have to catch my breath for the third time in less than a minute. There is nothing sexy about the shirt I’ve given Marco, but…there is just something about Marco wearing my clothes that gets me more hot and bothered than I care to admit. And the realisation that I’m about to have Marco Bodt in my bed (even if it’s not in that way) makes the feeling ten times worse.

Crap. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Oh, I’ve left my toothbrush in the other room,” he says turning to leave.

“It’s in the bag on the bench,” I call to him.

I thank my lucky stars for the few seconds peace I have to collect myself. With fumbling fingers, I quickly pull my joggers off, giving my dick a quick check to make sure it hasn’t gotten any funny ideas, and grab a t-shirt for myself. Marco strides back in just as I’m stretching my arms up to pull it on.

He stops in the doorway. “Oh,” he says with a flat expression. “I was really hoping your underwear would be more ridiculous than that.”

My eyes bulge out of their sockets as I look between him and my plain burgundy boxers. “Wh-what!?”

“Okay promise not to laugh,” he grins, putting his toothbrush down and unbuttoning his jeans.

Hoh boy. Like watching this guy undress could ever make me laugh…

“Ta-da!” he cries with a smile, pushing his jeans to the floor and lifting his arms.

Oh!

I splutter unattractively before my body gives way to full-on belly laughs.

Marco Bodt is standing in my room…wearing blue and white Cookie Monster boxers.

“Hey! I said don’t laugh!”

“Yeah but I never promised I wouldn’t!”

“Look, it’s not like I knew I’d be joining you for a sleepover when I put them on this morning!”

“Why did you decide to put them on at all!?” I wheeze.

“They’re really comfy! You’re just jealous your unmentionables aren’t as cool as mine.”

He smiles brightly when I burst into giggles again, awkwardly kicking his jeans off the rest of the way.

“Clearly. I’m gonna leave you to think seriously about your life choices while I go brush my teeth.”

I chuckle to myself as I wet my brush and squeeze a blob of toothpaste onto it. I’ve just started brushing when I see him walk towards me in the mirror. He bumps his hip into mine to shuffle me along the sink and I narrow my eyes at him, unable to make a snide remark with a mouthful of toothpaste.

I wait until he’s just about to squeeze some toothpaste over his brush and knock him back, causing most of the toothpaste to go over the back of his hand. My look of smug satisfaction smiles at his reflection as he grits his teeth and tries really hard not to laugh.

“Dick,” he mutters, scraping the paste onto his Hello Kitty brush.

I snigger around my brush. We elbow each other a few more times, my giggles getting the better of me again when he puts his Hello Kitty brush in the glass next to mine with a cheeky grin.

Marco turns to leave before me and the tug in my lower abdomen makes me really wish I’d walked out first, because Jesus Christ - Marco Bodt might actually have the nicest arse in the entire fucking world. My cheeks are already pretty hot from laughing but I feel them flare even more as I watch him walk away.

Fuck me, it’s actually perfect.

I try really hard not to think about how firm and round it looks. I especially try not to think about the satisfying sound it would make if I brought my hand down on it, but then he turns around and that dirty thought is quickly replaced by another one.

“Am I alright to grab a glass of water? I sometimes get thirsty through the night.”

Oh for fucksake! This cannot be good for my health!

I’m momentarily lost in the shape of a different curve, this one at the front of his underwear, accentuated by the stretch of the cotton - I am clearly not the only one in danger of feeling thirsty tonight!

Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it.

I quickly avert my gaze. This would be the worst possible time to get caught creeping.

“Y-yeah, help yourself.”

I turn the light off but leave my bedside lamp on and climb under the covers to give myself a talking to.

Right that’s enough now! He’s going to be sleeping in your bed in a moment and you CANNOT make this weird.

He returns with his glass of water and a coaster from the coffee table to rest it on. He’s such a nerd. At least thinking about how cute he is isn’t as bad as perving on his arse and dick.

“Hey, have you spoken to Sasha recently?” he asks, climbing in beside me.

“No why?”

“She’s invited us all to stay at her Grandma’s holiday cottage.”

“Holiday cottage?”

He rolls over to face me. “Yeah. She told us all at Eren’s the other night. Her Grandma has a cottage in Dauper she uses for holiday-lets. She told Sasha she can use it for free one weekend next month so we’re making it into a road trip.”

“Is there enough room for us all?”

“Apparently yeah. She said it’s two cottages that got knocked through into one.”

I’ve never been to Dauper, but somewhere that far out in the countryside is bound to have pretty low levels of light pollution. I feel a smile stretch across my face at the realisation that this might be the perfect opportunity to do some star gazing.

“If the sky’s not too cloudy, might be a good chance to see the night sky in all its glory.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can’t remember the last time I went star gazing,” I say, looking up at the ceiling and imagining I can see right through it. “Plus I can put my new knowledge to the test.”

“What knowledge?” he asks.

I turn back to him with a smile. “You know, from the book you gave me.”

“Oh yeah.” There’s a hint of a blush on his face as he struggles to maintain eye-contact. That, coupled with the sleepy look in his glittering eyes, does nothing to stop the twinges in my chest. “You had a look through it then?”

“Yeah course! I really like the illustrations.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“For what?”

“When I bought it for you, I didn’t realise you couldn’t read,” he teases, biting his tongue to keep from laughing.

“Hey!”

I reach out to jab him in the side, and then go for a full-on tickle when he yelps. I take pity on him pretty quickly though, too sleepy at this point to fight when he pushes my hand away with a giggle.

“Serves you right, calling my adulthood into question. You’re the one lying there in Cookie Monster kecks!”

“Haha. They’re not even the worst ones!”

“Seriously??”

“Yeah. I’m a total nerd for silly underwear. My favourite ones are BMO.”

“Oh my god they sound amazing. You’ll have to show me sometime. No wait! I don’t mean…Oh no.”

His eyes crease up and he descends into giggles, rolling onto his back to clutch his stomach. I may have just made an idiot out of myself, but I’m finding it really hard to care when Marco Bodt is snuggled in my bed and laughing his head off without a care in the world.

“I didn’t mean it like THAT!”

He gives himself a moment to breathe, before smirking at me.

“Pervert.”

His wicked little giggles give way to uncontrollable laughter and cries of ‘Ah stop!’ that fall on deaf ears when I tickle him again. His legs tangle with mine as he gives up trying to throw me off and rolls onto his side to grab my hands.

His wicked little giggles give way to uncontrollable laughter and cries of ‘Ah stop!’ that fall on deaf ears when I tickle him again. His legs tangle with mine as he gives up trying to throw me off and rolls onto his side to grab my hands.

“Stop! Stop!” he laughs breathlessly, finally succeeding in grabbing both my wrists and holding them still. I don’t try to wrench my wrists from his grip, and I definitely don’t think about how easily he could pin my wrists above my head if he wanted.

“Truce?” I ask with a quirk of my eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he pants smiling. “Truce.”

I retract my arms when he lets go and snuggle further under the blanket. My eyes are starting to feel heavy after that burst of energy.

We chat a little longer about how he’s finding living with Eren, speaking in hushed tones. We don’t have any real reason to lower our voices – Connie isn’t back from work yet – but we do anyway, as though neither of us wants to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

And I really do feel at peace. I may have had the day from hell, but this evening is one I’ll remember for a long time. That twist of melancholy is still there, but with him lying next to me, I can live with it.

When both of us start yawning like crazy, we agree to knock the lamp off and try to get some shut-eye. He shuffles further down and draws the duvet closer with a contented sigh. I can no longer see his face, my eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark yet, but when he mumbles, “G’night Jean”, I swear I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Night Marco.”

______________________________________________

She’s here.

She’s okay.

Indy smiles at me from a table covered in crayons and paper.

There are desks and chairs and bright pictures on the walls. I think we’re in school, but there’s other people rushing around us – too blurry and shapeless for me to grasp who they are. Indy’s drawing a picture. When I walk over, she starts to hold it up for me to see. It’s a car. Two people are sat in the front…but their faces…

My eyes whip back to Indy but it’s already too late. Her pallid face and lolling head steal every scrap of air from my lungs. I lunge to catch her and try to scream but no sound comes out. I look to the figures around me, some now more distinct in their uniforms. Why is nobody helping me? Somebody do something!

Nobody helps. I’m on my own. And I’m useless. Utterly useless.

I’m alone. I can’t save her.

My hands shake her frantically as guilt eats at me from the inside out. Wake up! Wake up!

I’m alone. I can’t save her.

But then someone wrenches her from my arms. A woman. She sees what I’ve done, and when she opens her mouth, my blood turns to ice. Her pale, sickly face contorts around her too big mouth; manic eyes bulging at me. And then she screams. A horrid, wailing screech, like a train that’s just slammed its brakes on, deafeningly loud. I want to cover my ears but I’m too terrified to move.

I stare at Indy’s tiny, limp body in the woman’s arms.

I’m alone. I can’t save her.

I’m sorry.

I’m alone. I can’t save her.

I’m so sorry.

“Ah!”

I gasp sharply, my eyes snapping open. Darkness engulfs me. There’s nothing but the sound of my harsh, shallow breaths coming in quick succession and my heart thudding violently in my ears as it pinballs around my chest.

Fuck…Fuck!!

The sound of my heaving breaths and the continued blackness start to freak me out. Am I even awake? Is this just a horrid continuation of the nightmare? But then I blink. My eyes adjust to the lack of light, catching the outline of familiar shapes like my wardrobe, and my mind begins to find a foothold in reality again.

You’re in your room. You’re not back there. Breathe. Breathe.

I focus on my breathing and slowly my attention is drawn to other parts of my body; like my fingers, which currently have a white-knuckle grip on my blanket; or my face, which is red-hot despite the sickly feeling of cold sweat running over my body in chills.

My fingers are stiff when I try to flex them and release the bunched-up fabric, but once I do, I feel the pressure in my chest begin to ease. My hand reaches up to drag itself down my face and comes away damp. I scrub harder at my eyes, trying to erase any trace of tears. You’d think I’d be all cried out by now…guess not.

Adjusting my legs is an effort but it helps to relax my body further, or at least it would if something else didn’t feel wrong; not alarmingly wrong just…odd. Then I realise, it’s the feeling of the mattress dipping beside me. I turn my head and feel an instant wave of relief when I see Marco sleeping soundly next to me. 

You’re not alone.

It all slowly comes back to me – our phone call this evening and everything that followed. A surge of affection and gratitude ripples through me and I let my body turn fully towards the source of it.

The moonlight streaming through the gap in the curtain illuminates him just enough to make out his beautiful, serene face; that strong jawline that still has a softness to it, those freckled cheekbones and matching nose, those soft round lips…he’s sculpture-perfect. Part of me desperately wants to run my fingers through his hair again, but I’d never forgive myself if I disturbed how peaceful he looks now.

My pulse slows as I watch his drowsy form bob up and down and I focus on my breathing until it syncs up with his. It’s amazing how much he grounds me, even in slumber. The sound of my own breath going in and out, panic-inducing only moments ago, now acts as a comfort...something that tethers us both together. I breathe with him and feel calm.

My eyes grow heavier and I let the rhythm of his steady inhales and exhales lull me back to sleep.

______________________________________________

A snippet of birdsong gently wakes me on Saturday morning. I keep my eyes closed as other sounds come into focus – the breeze rustling the tree outside my window, a car rumbling up the street. I breathe deeply through my nose and sigh softly.

“Mmmm.”

I could get used to this – waking up with the calming scent of Marco all around me. He smells like a forest on a summer day – like a mixture of rich earth, fragrant herbs and wildflowers, but in the evening when everything is still warm and the sun’s just beginning to set. It’s unbelievably comforting.

I crave more of it, so I snuggle my nose in closer and take another deep breath, letting it out slowly with a satisfied hum. It’s warm, too warm with him pressed against my chest, but I can’t find it in me to care, tightening the grip I have around his waist.

He shifts against me with a sleepy huff and I feel myself drifting back towards the unconscious.

“Jean?”

He pats the hand I have on his stomach, pulling me back from the brink of slumber.

“Jean?”

Fine, I’m awake…sort of. “Mmm.”

“Jean…erm.”

I lift my head and squint a sleepy eye at him. “Hmm?”

He twists to look over his shoulder at me. His cheeks are bright red. Why does he look so awkward?

I lift my head and squint a sleepy eye at him. “Hmm?”

He twists to look over his shoulder at me. His cheeks are bright red. Why does he look so awkward?

“Oh!” I slam face first into reality when I realise what I’m doing and scrabble back over to my side of the bed. “Sorry man! I didn’t…sorry.”

Fuck! What the fuck were you thinking!?

Christ I’ll never forgive myself if I’ve fucked things up. Everything that happened between us yesterday and I go ruin it all by acting like a total creep in my sleep. I am so fucking lucky I don’t have morning wood!

His cheeks are still red when he rolls over to face me. I’m about to start babbling another apology but as he sits up, an amused grin starts to tug at his lips. “It’s fine Jean don’t worry about it. I like a cheeky cuddle as much as the next guy,” he chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

My cheeks burn hotter than the sun. At least he’s not mad or freaking out though. “Sorry. I guess I get a bit, err, ‘spoony’ in my sleep.”

Apparently.

“Sheesh, you could’ve warned me before I agreed to share a bed with you,” he teases, his grin turning into an all-out smirk.

“I didn’t know I was gonna-! Shut up!” I squawk, smacking him with my pillow. “Bet you loved it anyway!”

Laughing at my obvious embarrassment, he holds up a hand to defend himself against my vicious attack. I’m starting to think I’ve had the last word, but then he looks at me and smiles in a way that screams ‘up to no good’.

“You’re right Jean. I’m sorry. Let’s hug it out.”

“Ah!”

At first I succeed in shoving him away him away, but then before I can comprehend what’s happening, he launches himself forward again and pins me to the bed, lying sideways across my stomach and trapping my arms either side.

“Ahh! What the hell!” I wriggle and kick but he’s strong and it gets me nowhere.

“Sorry,” he grins up at me from my stomach, “Do you only like hugging me when I’m unconscious?”

“I hate you. I hate you so much right now.”

“No you don’t,” he chirps with an ungodly amount of glee for this time in the morning, moving off me and jumping up from the bed before I can retaliate.

I feel like my cheeks are starting to calm down, but then he turns to stretch his arms up, and all the blood comes rushing right back again. I’d almost forgotten how ridiculously good his arse looks in those tight Cookie Monster boxers. And if that wasn’t enough to set my face ablaze, I also catch a peek of the cutest fucking back dimples when his t-shirt rides up.

Welp.

After a few satisfying shoulder clicks, he turns to grab his phone from the bedside table.

“Hey, do you know which buses run from here to South Trost?” he asks, shaking me out of my staring.

“Buses?”

“You sure you’re awake? Yeah buses. You know, those big metal things with four wheels and lots of people inside,” he snarks, eyes glinting and a smirk tickling his lips.

“I know what a fucking bus is Mr Sassy Pants!” He sniggers cheekily when I scoot over to shove him in the arm. “Why do you need to know?”

“‘Cos I need to go home and get changed first, remember?”

I stare at him with knitted eyebrows until my sleep-addled brain catches up. “Marco, I’m not letting you get the bus you dumb-dumb. I’m giving you a lift!”

“What? No. Jean it’s your day off, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Getting the bus is a pain in the arse from here Marco. It’ll only take me ten minutes to drive to yours and then I’ll drop you at work.”

He chews his lip. I’m just about to argue with him but the offer must start to tempt him. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asks with an apologetic expression.

“’Course not it’s no problem. Although…after the bullying I’ve received this morning, I’m tempted to make you walk home.”

He chuckles at my teasing. “No, please. Don’t make me pull the puppy dog eyes on you.”

“Try me. They can’t be that convincing.”

Marco drops his head down, and when he looks back up I swear it’s like that moment in Shrek with Puss in Boots. His big brown eyes look close to tears and his bottom lip sticks out and trembles. It’s a good job Marco’s a kind person, because I imagine he could convince anyone to do anything with that look. I’m half tempted to fall to my knees myself and vow to do whatever he commands.

Instead I just laugh, “Okay I take it back. It’s fairly decent.”

“Told you. Seriously though thanks for the lift,” he says sincerely. “I won’t need to rush around as much now. D’you mind if I have quick shower? Saying as I’ll have more time to get ready?”

The thought of Marco having a shower makes my voice squeak like a total dork when reply, “N-no! ‘Course not. Erm, here.” I stagger to my feet to retrieve a towel from the top of my wardrobe. “Just help yourself to any shower gel or whatever.”

“M’kay. Thanks mate.”

He strides off towards the bathroom and I allow myself the pleasure of watching him go before flopping down to the mattress with a huff. Still feeling a little flustered from the spooning and the wrestling and…everything, I take a moment to lie starfish in the middle of my bed.

Okay, so that happened. You spooned Marco. Lucky for you he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

As awkward as my snuggling was, it really was nice to be close to him like that. God, imagine what it would be like to wake up with him every morning, with his warm, solid torso in my arms. I roll over to his side of the bed and rest my face on his pillow. It still smells like him. I inhale deeply but…it doesn’t have a calming effect this time. Instead, it draws my attention to a hollow sensation in my stomach and an ache in my chest.

Ugh. Maybe I was better off not knowing how he feels in my arms. Maybe having a taste of ‘what ifs’ and ‘could bes’ is worse than living in ignorance, because now I know exactly what I’m missing.

The annoying thing is, I don’t have anyone to blame but myself. I was the one who asked him to stay over, I was the one that invited him to sleep in my bed and I was the unconscious idiot that wrapped myself around him like a damn octopus.

Great going Kirschtein.

I’d rather Marco didn’t find me lying in bed clutching his pillow and looking like a kicked puppy, so I drag myself out of bed and head into the kitchen to put the kettle on. I assume Marco will appreciate some breakfast before we go, so I poke about in the fridge and cupboards to see what our options are.

“Gooooood morning!”

“Jesus! Fuck!”

Apparently Connie has the power of teleportation, because I swear he just fucking appears next to me.

“Don’t fucking sneak up on me you dick!” I yell, swatting him across the head when he laughs at me.

“Ow! I didn’t! Not my fault you were in your own little world.” Then his ears prick up and look out the door. “Is someone in the shower? Oh my god did you pick someone up last night!?”

“No, Connie it’s just-”

“Is it someone from work? Did you pick up a hunky fireman!? C’mon Jean who is it?” he babbles.

“It’s Marco!” I say exasperated.

His reaction is fucking weird. He just freezes and blinks at me.

“You’re fucking Marco?”

“Wha- ?? No!! The hell is wrong with you!?”

He ducks away from another head swat.

“I dunno!? I just thought- Well why did he stay over then?”

“We didn’t plan it on it! He just came over to hang out and it got a bit late so I offered. Is that okay Mam?”

“Alright touchy don’t get ya knickers in twist!”

I will tell Connie what happened at work yesterday – I know he’ll be really understanding – but now does not feel like that moment. I’ll tell him later when he’s not flapping about someone being in our shower.

“D’you want a coffee?” I ask to change the subject.

“Yeah go on then.”

He hops up onto a breakfast stool and rubs his hands down his face, his muffled yawn sounding something like a dying mongoose.

“Work alright last night?” I ask.

“Meh, not bad. New person is a bit serious though.”

“New person?”

“Yeah, Yelena. They’re only doing Fridays and Saturdays. No bloody craic though. Thank god Thomas was working too.”

“Maybe they’re just shy or something,” I say, turning to place a steaming mug in front of Connie.

“Yeah, maybe.” I’ve just let go of the handle when Connie puts his palms on my cheeks and squishes them. “I sure do miss working with my little Jeanbo though!”

“Ger’ off!” I cry, half scowling half smiling.

He chuckles at me. “How’s your training been this week? I feel like I’ve barely seen you.”

My stomach sinks into my feet. “Oh…well, erm.”

“Hey man! You alright?”

Thankfully Marco saves me from a conversation I’m not quite ready for when he enters the kitchen. He’s put on his clothes from yesterday (so no awkward spluttering from me) but still has a towel around his shoulders to catch any drips from his hair. It looks longer – I guess he’s taking my advice about growing it. The thought makes me smile.

“Alright?” Connie smiles. “How’s your head?”

“No complaints yet mate!”

What the hell?

“Have I missed something?” I ask to interrupt their laughter.

“Yeah you missed Marco cracking his head off the kitchen cupboard at Eren’s the other night. I’ve never heard him swear so much in one breath.”

“Oh, haha.” My laugh sounds really disingenuous and I regret it instantly. I hate this side of me - the petty jealous side that comes out just because something Marco-related happened without me. “You didn’t split your head open did you?” I ask quickly, hoping to mask my odd laugh with genuine concern.

“Nah, still got a bit of a lump though. Here, feel.” He cocks his head to the side as an invitation for me to prod his head but I freeze, remembering just how much I enjoyed running my fingers through his hair last night.

“Oh erm,” I try to be gentle without making it weirdly intimate, running my fingertips over his head until I find the lump near his crown. “Oooh yeah, quite a bump you’ve got there!”

“It was classic,” Connie grins.

“So sympathetic as always Con.”

“What? Friends hurting themselves is funny. I don’t make the rules!”

Quick as anything, I take the teaspoon I was using to mix Marco’s coffee and whack Connie on the head with it.

“Ow! Fuck!”

“Guess you’re right, it is pretty funny.”

“Ow Jesus! It was still hot from the fucking coffee you dick!” he squeaks, rubbing his head while Marco and I chuckle at his expense.

“D’you want some breakfast?” I ask Marco with a smile, ignoring Connie’s continued complaining.

The three of us sit at the breakfast bar enjoying our toast and cereal, having a laugh and talking crap. It’s nice to do this with Connie included. He was right when he said he’s barely seen me. I guess I’ve been too wrapped up in my own head to realise I’ve kind of missed him.

I duck out of the room to put some proper clothes on and we bid Connie farewell soon after. The streets are pretty quiet with it being a Saturday morning, so it takes barely anytime at all to get to Eren’s – or I guess Eren and Marco’s as it’s now known.

Eren’s up and playing Mario Kart when we arrive. After offering a quick hello, Marco heads off to get changed and I flop down next to Eren, grabbing the second controller.

“What'd you do? Slip him a roofie or something?”

“You what?”

“Getting him to stay over. Bet you thought all your Christmases had come at once.”

“Fucking shut up will you!” I snap, keeping my voice as low as possible and shoving him with my elbow. “He’ll hear you!”

He starts to laugh but it quickly turns into screechy complaining when I land a shell right in his path.

“Serves you fucking right…knob.”

I snag the first victory but Marco still hasn’t appeared, so we go for another game.

“You got any plans today? After you’ve dropped Marco off?” he asks.

“No. Why?”

“I’m heading into town to pick up a few things. Wouldn’t mind the company if you fancy it.”

I’m not daft. Part of me knows he’s just desperate to get the gossip on Marco staying over last night, but if I’m honest it would be nice to talk to someone about what’s going on – not just with Marco but with work too.

“Yeah go on then. I could do with picking up a few things myself.”

“Sound.”

Then Freckles re-enters the room. “Hey, I’m good to go.”

Godammit. Why does Marco look so frickin’ cute in his work uniform? It’s literally just a black polo with a logo! Though I’m guessing my opinion on his adorability has less to do with what he’s wearing and more to do with the 100-watt smile he’s throwing my way right now.

“Cool. I’m finished kicking this one’s arse anyway.”

“First time for everything bitch,” Eren smirks. He jabs me in the butt with his foot as I stand up, which I promptly yank, almost pulling him off the sofa. “Ahh no!”

All three of us laugh but Marco’s seems a little awkward for some reason. He does that nervous neck scratch and looks away from both of us. Weird. Maybe he’s still finding his feet with Eren and doesn’t feel comfortable taking the piss out of him the way I do.

“Should I swing by when I’ve dropped Marco off or meet you in town?”

“Just swing by. I’ll start getting ready soon.”

“Okay later.”

“Later. Have a good day at work Marco.”

“Thanks mate,” he replies and follows me down the stairs and out the front door.

Marco says nothing for the first few minutes of the journey, and I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something on his mind; there’s a definite shift in the atmosphere between us. I drive in silence while my brain whirrs with possible causes, but I quickly realise my lack of conversation is making things worse.

“So what time-“

“Hey thank-“

We glance at each other sheepishly and I break first. “Sorry Marco, what were you saying?”

“Just err…I wanted to say thanks for last night. For letting me stay over and...what you said about Floch and stuff…it really helped.”

“Oh! Yeah of course. Anytime. Though I feel like I should be thanking you more for coming over, and y’know…babysitting me.”

I force an awkward laugh. Marco’s not having any of it though. “You don’t have to do that,” he says seriously.

My eyes flick nervously between his and the road in front. “What?”

“Make it sound like you were overreacting or something. You’re more than allowed to need your friends after going through what you did you know?”

Images of the crash flicker through my mind so I double down on my concentration, focusing on the streets of Trost, which are busier and more hazardous now that I’m nearing the city centre.

“Yeah…I know. I just mean, I really appreciate you coming over and…staying.”

“Anytime.” I hear the fondness in his voice before I turn and see it beaming out of his face. The last of the uneasy atmosphere disappears completely as I turn back to the road with a smile.

“Am I okay dropping you at the end of this street? I think I’m gonna struggle to get any closer with all the one-way systems.”

“Sure, anywhere is fine.”

When I stop, he twists in my direction to unclip his belt and I feel like, in another world or another timeline, this would be when I lean in for a quick kiss and wish him a good day. As it is, I settle for just the latter.

“Thanks,” he replies climbing out the car. “Look after yourself today alright? And if you need anything just drop me a text or something okay?”

“I will, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright. Thanks for the lift.”

He flashes me another one of those 100-watt smiles and I melt into a puddle in the footwell.

“No worries. Catch you later.”

There’s no traffic behind me, and it’s just as well given how long I sit in my car staring after him. Even from the back he’s gorgeous.

There’s a tug in stomach as I watch him turn the last corner and move out of sight, but it’s not exactly uncomfortable. It’s a pleasant sort of discomfort. Just as well really - I can’t imagine it’s going away any time soon.

[ohmytamara]

Ok let's get back to those first months after that short distraction of the present.

I was kind of translating Master's foundation statute, while she and him were preparing to meet with their Slovakian partners and lawyers whom they found on the internet. Like, makes sense, right, if you want to do big business in Slovakia and you need a partner fluent in local laws, partner with first result of googling "lawyer Zilina". I learned that's how they found that dude later, when it was way too late for any "seriously, what, you're asking to be fooled?".

At that point, like I mentioned, I was unable to be the person to ask that question though. She kept my mind on serving and avoiding punishment. Eyes down and on my knees was my position, eating from a plate put on the floor, if standing, only to clean the house or shower myself. Still digesting what I considered betrayal of trust and thinking about leaving, or actually if that's even possible while she has a hard financial chokehold on me. All that, and while their business plan seemed half baked, I still could presume there's all details I am not told about and they were both so confident it will bring them wealth.

Anyway, while reading documents in Slovakian and realised our sweet Slovakian partners wrote it very in their favor (as in no real ways to ensure they do their part of the deal) and I told that to both her and Master. That was aupposed to be important point in their next meeting.

I really wonder how these meeting looked like. Master knowing only Italian and rudimental English, her with bad English, them with bad English, presumably her and Slovakians communicating in Russian, her translating all onto Italian, oof.

Anyway, while they are away she suddenly writes to me than they are at the meeting and Master will call me and I am to pretend I am his very important FIFA lawyer friend and to confirm to all gathered at the conference what we said about statute in private.

Let me add, just in case, I am not a lawyer, I never had anything to do with FIFA, my English is good but I surely lack professional law vocabulary, and there I was in my slutty fishnets, on the phone, pretending to be big fat cigar smoking lawyer.

Fast forward to way later. Fuckers whose involvement in this thing was to have Slovakian citizenship to esily register Foundation in Slovakia and got a lot of money for that, they disappeared with that money, never registered shit, and never again answered any phone calls or emails.

He was so depressed. She was so surprised and angry.

Anyway, we never ever spoke about Zilina again. But soon after there were talks about moving to Bratislava for Mistress to start her professional domme's career there.

[first-impressions-gaming]

Nobody Saves the World

Developed & Published by DrinkBox Studios

Release Date 2022

Tested on Xbox Series X

MSRP 24,99 USD

Do games surprise you these days? Are there games that have “wow” effect on you? When we look at the range of games that are released each year, we simply disregard yearly-releases such as FIFA or Call of Duty. The games that carry gaming industry to new heights are always indie games thanks to out-of-the-box thinking backed by no-holds-barred approach. Nobody Saves the World fills a hole in my gaming sphere that I did not know existed, as a person who doesn’t enjoy himself playing dungeon crawlers Nobody has been a shock to me, it is purely addicting, it is bombastic, it goes hard all the way & all the time without skipping a beat!

Nobody is a dungeon crawler and hack-and-slash game with colourful and exquisite graphics (both environmentally and characteristically) in a 2.5D setting. The protagonist wakes up in a room that’s stranger to him, he’s aptly named Nobody that reflects that he is simply a nobody in this unknown universe. You can dig this approach philosophically as well: he (or she) is nobody because this realm does not owe anything to him, he simply came to be here, he doesn’t remember anything, or doesn’t say anything, even when we are interacting with NPCs he doesn’t protest that he shouldn’t be called ‘nobody’ or does not announce his real name. He just swallows and keeps going on. The game doesn’t waste any time introducing the universe to you as a player or Nobody you find yourself in. This notion is strengthened by the fact that there are zero tutorials, as if the game ejects you into this world and forgets about you. You, as the player, may expect NPCs to be friendly or welcoming at the beginning, but alas!, they are not. They do threaten you, they attack you, they come after you.

In this game you unlock 17 classes to play with over time, in the first chapters of the game the protagonist, Nobody, is the weakest of them all, the twist with this is that he can only slap enemies, which is an extremely weak and useless way to attack enemies, let alone magic, powerful abilities or skills. With each class you unlock, class-specific quests become available as well, for example quests require you to use your non-main attack skill to kill enemies or use a particular skill to eliminate them. With the quests completed, you earn XP for the class and general level.

The environments and locations for missions are so well-thought that you embark on missions before you realise and you are always on the-go. Travelling to lower or upper levels of dungeons is pretty fluid and when you fail and die you are instantly returned to the gate of the dungeon and respawn without losing any moment.

You have a wide range of classes that you can switch to on the fly and maintain the momentum and you can make necessary changes and modifications for your abilities. Each dungeon has a different set of enemies and bosses therefore each dungeon will require you to adapt to its enemies and design, for instance you can go for ranged or melee build or poison-based abilities when mere brute force isn’t enough. When you’re thinking about builds in a dungeon crawler, you got to keep your mind open in Nobody because your combinations are almost infinite, as I stated there are 17 classes to choose from and you can switch between them as you are going through dungeons, what’s more is that each class has abilities of their own and you can use every ability in every class. For instance there is a ranged character that shoots arrows, and there is a rat class that gnaws at enemies and poison them, right there you can mix and combo a ranged ability in rat class and you can shoot poisonous arrows with the rat. The sky's the limit and you can just go wild and try and mix and match abilities from all over the place. 

And this is what it looks like changing classes in-mission:

Check out the menus here:

There are sub menus that I can note:

Current Quests: includes class-specific and general quests

Build: includes Active and Passive abilities where you can make changes

Upgrades: upgrades for abilities with upgrade points that you obtain by levelling up

Classes: allows you to transform into other classes

Map: the entire map with which you can view all the levels (both ground and dungeon levels) and this provides you to clearly see what quest is in what level.

Nobody has currency too, you can use the money to purchase upgrade points, unlock new missions, passive abilities, stat improvement, location reveals on map (such as dungeons). 

Nobody has a lot going for it in the best way, its high-adrenaline gameplay with smooth transitions enhanced with over-the-notch class system keep the flow going on and on.

[calacuspr]

iSportConnect: It is good to talk – but not all publicity is good publicity

In this Member Insights piece, David Alexander looks into some of the PR nightmares that have faced sport over the past year.

The opportunity for sport to engage and inspire a wide range of diverse audiences endures.

And yet, a lack of communication or a total failure to understand internal and external audiences has led to another catalogue of crises that have damaged reputations and potentially the bottom line.

Organisations should certainly be undertaking regular communications audits, preparing for the unpredictable and utilising communications executives to provide strategic counsel.

However, there have been so many examples this year that suggest that communications executives are not being given the support and influence that their expertise deserves.

What is clear this year is that many sports organisations do not put enough thought into some of the things that they do, or they treat their audiences with indifference, confident that they will stick with them come what may.

Whether that results in sponsors departing, leadership leaving or fans boycotting, it’s another reminder that what you do is as important as what you say.

We saw it with FIFA, breaking commitments to sponsors and trying to proclaim football to be the global game for all while banning rainbow armbands and failing to support the LGBTQ+ community with a raft of deflections that no communications director could have been party to.

Rainbow campaigns were a theme of 2022 – with Australian rugby league side Manly Sea Eagles ultimately getting relegated after a breakdown in communications.

Seven of the team boycotted a game in July, citing religious and cultural beliefs they said prevented them wearing the pride jumper with coach Des Hasler also seemingly unaware of the initiative.

Protests abounded from those angry or supportive of the players, the Sea Eagles never recovered and their divided team ended up getting relegated, Hasler was sacked and leaked emails suggested that the campaign had been months in the planning.

Human rights remain a big issue where sport is concerned. The Australian Open’s heavy handed approach to demonstrators campaigning for the release of Peng Shuai, while at the same time enjoying fruitful partnerships with Chinese brands, was at odds with the WTA, who admirably took a financial hit and scrapped events in China until Peng’s long-term wellbeing was resolved.

Those who think sport and politics cannot mix may look to FIA president Mohammed Ben Sulayem, who argued the sport had become ‘too political’ because of drivers taking the knee or wearing rainbow helmets to support marginalised strands of society.

He quickly backtracked when he realised that the issues weren’t going away while delays in team punishments for financial misdemeanours created an information vacuum and a brutal war of words which did little to benefit the sport.

In mid-February, Brittney Griner, possibly the greatest female basketball player of all time, was detained and later imprisoned for nine years in a highly political move by the Russian government amid the backdrop of the Ukraine war.

The somewhat muted response from the WNBA, whose relatively low salaries are connected with Griner’s appearances in Russia, is a reminder that not all governing bodies fight the corners of their athletes as vigorously as they should.

Equally, some do not always value all their athletes the same, with the ICC’s Independent Chair, Greg Barclay, pouring scorn on the idea of five day tests for women, increasing the clamour for a separate women’s cricket governing body once again.

Talking of women’s teams, Raith Rovers Women cut ties with the club when they signed former striker, David Goodwillie, who had been found by a civil court in 2017 to have raped a woman.

Sponsors, employees and even the Scotland First Minister condemned the decision, which the club declared was purely for footballing reasons, before having to accept their error of judgement and cancel his contract.

That fate also fell to Henrik Stenson, who was relieved of his duties as Europe’s Ryder Cup captain after signing with LIV Golf.

The Saudi-backed golf competition, looking to shake up the game, took an aggressive approach under CEO Greg Norman rather than engage with the PGA and DP World Tour.

Under-briefed players were left to face the media, critical journalists were thrown out of press conferences and golf legend Tiger Woods joined World Number One Rory McIlroy in condemning the competition’s format and conduct, fracturing the sport perhaps irrevocably.

Sport should be about building relationships, sharing cultures and, most importantly, providing a fair and reasonable platform for athletes that dedicate their lives to competition.

The International Boxing Association (IBA), which relies upon a strong and collaborative relationship with the International Olympic Committee (IOC), remains in exile after years of corruption and mismanagement.

Abortive elections which remain under a cloud, the banning of Ukraine’s boxing association while welcoming back internationally suspended Russia and Belarus and a refusal to seriously address the IOC’s concerns suggests that only when an entirely new regime takes over Olympic boxing can the sport move forward at amateur level.

These, and so many more, are reminders of the importance of engaging with stakeholders, from athletes to fans, coaches to staff and suppliers and sponsors.

Transparency, authenticity and ethical behaviour should be at the heart of the culture of every organisation – and take precedence over short-term gain that usually causes long term pain.

Research shows that people want to support or associate themselves with organisations that do good and behave ethically, treating every stakeholder with respect and consideration.

That so many lose sight of this, so often, underlines how much work there is to do.

To read the original article, please click HERE

[blackswaneuroparedux]

To feel envy is human, to savour schadenfreude is devilish.

- Arthur Schopenhauer

I was in the stadium with members of my family and friends watching the epic Japan vs Spain World Cup game. What an atmosphere at the end of the game when both Japanese and Spanish fans realised they were now through the group and that Germany were now knocked out of the World Cup despite their 4-2 win over Costa Rica.

Spain completely dominated the first half, but Japan overcame this to win 2-1 stunningly. Spain chose Alvaro Morata as their customary number nine, which instantly paid dividends as the Atlético Madrid player headed in the opening goal after receiving a precise cross. As Spain dominated possession and limited Japan to a few half-chances in the first half, Morata continued to provide a threat from inside the box.

After the break, Japan's high-intensity pressing punished Spain for sloppy passing by stealing the ball, which replacement Ritsu Doan skillfully finished. Almost shortly after, Japan put the ball in the back of the net once more, and a VAR review affirmed that Ao Tanaka's goal stood. Minutes before the end, Dani Olmo came within inches of winning, but Japan held on thanks to an outstanding second-half performance to win Group E. The ‘Samurai Blue’ more than deserved their draw and to go through. They were tenacious and full of self belief and energy. It was a great game.

At the end of the game Japanese fans were crying with joy and the Spaniards along with neutrals in the stands joined them. It was a cathartic moment for all football fans when it dawned on us that German were humiliated and on their way home.

In the hotel bars afterwards the drink flowed. I was with Japanese friends and Spanish friends and others as we celebrated. Never did a Suntory Yamazaki 12 Year Old single malt whisky taste so sweet. We watched around us Qataris on television having fun at the Germans’ expense.

On the eve of the World Cup the game’s governing body threatened to book players – such as the seven European captains, including Germany’s Manuel Neuer – who were planning on wearing the OneLove armbands, which promote diversity and inclusivity. Same-sex relationships and the promotion of same-sex relationships is criminalised in Qatar, a Muslim-majority country with Islam as the state religion.

In protest, the Germans had covered their mouths - a reference to being silenced by FIFA - for their pre-match photograph before the Japan game. “Human rights are non-negotiable,” the German federation said in a statement at the time. “That should be taken for granted, but it still isn’t the case. That’s why this message is so important for us. Denying us the armband is the same as denying us a voice. We stand by our position.” Their conduct greatly angered the Qataris - and indeed many Arabs and other Muslims here at the World Cup. They saw double standards and starch western hypocrisy at work, and even racism.

The Germans have a point - up to a point. But so do the Qataris - it is after all their sovereign country, not ours. Qataris and others would say if you don’t speak up for the Uygher Muslim being rounded up in concentration camps in China during the last Winter Olympics, or speak up for the endless litany of human righrs violation in Putin’s Russia during the last footbal World Cup, then what leg are you standing on to speak up for others elsewhere? Why are you so selective in your activism? Activism is easy when it doesn’t cost you anything.

Much of the Western media coverage of the World Cup is so misinformed and just plain hyperbolic BS.

In any case, German had decided to focus their energies on their holier than thou woke virtue signalling at the start of this tournament rather than focus on the football.

They paid the piper.

The Japanese have a saying: “The misfortunes of others taste like honey.” The French speak of joie maligne, a diabolical delight in other people’s suffering. The Danish talk of skadefryd, and the Dutch of leedvermaak. In Hebrew enjoying other people’s catastrophes is simcha la‑ed, in Mandarin xìng‑zāi‑lè‑huò, in Serbo-Croat it is zlùradōst and in Russian zloradstvo. More than 2,000 years ago, Romans spoke of malevolentia. Earlier still, the Greeks described epichairekakia (literally epi, over, chairo, rejoice, kakia, disgrace). “To see others suffer does one good,” wrote the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. “To make others suffer even more so. This is a hard saying, but a mighty, human, all-too-human principle.”

The Germans of course call it schadenfreude. I love the German word: schadenfreude. From Schaden, meaning damage or harm, and freude, meaning joy or pleasure: damage-joy.

The philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer called it “an infallible sign of a thoroughly bad heart and profound moral worthlessness,” the very worst trait in human nature. (He also said that anyone caught enjoying the suffering of others should be shunned from human society.)

I have come to believe that Schopenhauer was wrong. We might worry that a taste for other people’s misery will corrupt our souls, yet this emotion is far from simply “bad.” It touches on things that have mattered most to human societies for millennia: our instincts for fairness and hatred of hypocrisy; our love of seeing our rival suffer in the hope that we might win ourselves; our itch to measure ourselves against others and make sense of our choices when we fall short; how we bond with each other; what makes us laugh. If we peer more closely at this hidden and much-maligned emotion, liberate ourselves from its shame and secrecy, we will discover a great deal about who we really are.

It’s telling no one I’ve observed talks about LGBT rights or even migrant labour exploitation in the bars or just amongst the football gathering of fans. They just came for the football. It’s a reminder that the self-important culture wars of the West are of little importance to the wider world. They really don’t care.

Football may not bring the world together around LGBT issues but it sure can unite the world around having a laugh at Germany’s ignominious exit from the Qatar World Cup. I would call that progress.

Photo: Qatari telelvision hosts say goodbye to Germany with typical Arabic hospitality.