#Thanks for tolerating my ramblings guys

[notwordsspoken]

I really did shitpost my way to the top

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

Perspectives

marshmallow floof plot: Megumi recalls you and Gojo falling in love through his eyes. content: fem! reader, megumi is in denial about caring about Gojo, Gojo is obsesseddddd with you shamelessly, but its okay because so are you with him! warning!: megumi is not good with emotions :/ or tolerating Gojo word count: 5.7k satoru gojo x reader note: can we pretend utahime and gojo are the same age pls and thank u - also i am delusional and in my head suguru did not defect so gojo never had to go thru all of that okay <3333 anywau i hope you enjoy!! put a lot of thought and love into this!

At only six years old, Megumi was already quite intelligent. As an extremely perceptive child, he understood far more than he should have at such an age. Typically, kids his age were naive and gullible; Megumi however was the complete opposite, and that was partially due to his aloofness.

When Satoru Gojo first met Megumi, he felt like he was talking to a grandpa in a miniature body, sassing anyone who dare interact with his little self. As stern and as gloomy as the boy persisted on to be, though, Gojo picked up on hints of tenderness and compassion laced between every word Megumi spoke about his sister, Tsumiki. Easily, Gojo could discern what he deemed too much deeply rooted pain and defensiveness in the young Fushiguro. Having his guard up was engraved into his mind; the wall he placed between him and the world had it's own sector in his immune system and acted with automaticity, an innate defense mechanism.

Despite all of the anguish intertwined in every breath Megumi exhaled, and despite his cold nature he employed to protect himself from being hurt again as he has before; despite being abandoned, and despite not being surprised he was; despite not even hitting double digits, yet already carrying the attitude of a the wisest owl; despite all of the thoughts racing through Gojo's head, he knew Megumi was special. Though a part of it may have been due to the responsibility he felt over the boy after murdering his father, Satoru Gojo was confident in one thing: he would take care of this kid like his life depended on it.

From then on, Gojo took the role of Megumi's benefactor, funding him and his sister so that they could live without worry. Megumi begrudgingly allowed him to endow his life, though it was rather difficult. The guy was so over-the-top and bothersome when he decided to actually go and physically check up him. Visits from were sparse, though, if Megumi really cared or needed anything, Gojo was always a text away.

And soon he would learn that you were, too.

The first time your existence was brought to Fushiguru's attention, it was mildly unintentional on Gojo's end. He was completing his routine check-in on Megumi about six months after taking him under his wing, ensuring he was doing fine in school - other than the fights he found himself in every now and again, of course. And after everything checked out okay, he rambled on about his week and how exhausting it was being the strongest, greatest individual to exist in this time and how much Yaga has been up his ass since he was promoted to principal and blah blah blah...

"Can you believe he was expecting me to get to the school before nine A.M.? Hah! Funny man. I need my beauty sleep. How else would I always look this handso- Oh!"

Megumi, who was in no way religious, praised in that moment whatever God up above sent a call to Gojo's phone at that exact moment, for he failed to believe he could have pretended to listen to another second of his unimportant and unnecessary rant. It truly was over-the-top, and Megumi was not a fan. He had never, nor did he think he would ever, warmed up to the way Gojo's ego seems to make a nearly empty room feel claustrophobic.

"Heyyyyy!" Gojo dragged, acting like a highschool girl with the way he twirled the end of his hair and giggled at whoever was at other end of the phone. If Megumi cared to look closely enough (which he totally doesn't, since he is so disinterested in Gojo and does not dare to look at him too long or he will automatically become annoyed), a rosy hue could barely be seen on the apples of the older man's cheeks, growing more and more apparent the longer the phone call went on.

Obviously, Megumi did not want to listen to the likely boring conversation, but since he was stuck in the same room as Gojo, he had no other choice but to eavesdrop on the phone call. Or, more accurately, he was playing detective to solve the mystery of who on the other end was transforming Gojo, as childish as he is, into a tweenage boy talking to a cute girl for the first time.

"I'm with Fushiguru, actually," Megumi overheard, his interest only minutely piqued after hearing his name. Whoever was on the other end must have known who he was already given the way Gojo did not feel the need to elaborate on who exactly Fushiguru was. That irked Megumi.

"Yeah, just hanging out, you know. I'd say we're best buds! Right, Megumi?" Gojo moved the phone away from his ear and looked at the boy across from him expectedly.

"No," is all Megumi spoke in response.

Gojo's eyes widened slightly, not expecting such a response, before he laughed and continued, "Silly guy! Such a silly guy."

The call took way too long and Megumi was half tempted to leave the room, but he was still getting used to Gojo and did not fully understand what his role was in his current situation. Was Gojo considered a houseguest? Was Megumi supposed to have something prepared as a thank you? Even if he was, he wouldn't do that for Gojo. What if something went wrong, or Gojo did something stupid? Tsumiki was at her after school club, being the natural social butterfly she was. Megumi had assumed the role of the man of the house at merely seven, and he was not going to disappoint her or let anything go haywire on his watch. This was his roof, and nothing would happen to their humble little abode under his watch.

Finally, Gojo said his goodbyes to whoever he was speaking to, set his phone down, and sighed in the most i-must-be-living-in-a-daydream-because-there-is-no-way-life-can-be-this-good-and-i-am-so-in-love-but-i-dont-even-know-it sort of way.

"You would like her," Gojo broke the silence after a few moments of savoring the butterflies in his stomach.

"Who was that?" Megumi queried, and if Gojo listened closely, he could hear echos of intense interest in the boy's simple question.

"A friend from work."

"You don't have friends."

"Hey!"

-----

After your existence was brought to light, it became a thing that whenever Gojo visited, he spent half the time on the phone - whether texting or on a phone call, it didn't matter. He was always talking to you.

Megumi supposed he should have felt grateful since Gojo finally became less unbearable. His check-ins, although hard to predict when they would be or how long in between they would reoccur, became less about how much Gojo loves himself and more about... well, you. It was a nice change from hearing his neverending egocentric comments, to be fair. Megumi was not complaining.

"You remember her, right, Megumi?" he asked while walking Megumi home from school one day. He was on a tyrant about something that had happened at Jujutsu High a few days prior before realizing he might had forgotten about the most important detail: you. The chance that Megumi may not even know who he was speaking about generated a sharp gasp escaping from Gojo's lips.

"Yes. She's all you talk about," Megumi deadpanned. What a stupid question, the boy thought to himself, when Gojo asked this every single time he bothered to show his face around here.

Gojo chuckled, responding in a voice that was way up in the clouds, as if he was skipping through a meadow abundant with good feelings and the potential for new relationships, "Hm, yeah. I guess you're right! Sorry, kid. Just had to make sure you knew."

At this point, Megumi learned a lot about you: You taught second-year sorcerers at Tokyo Jujutsu High, you went to Kyoto Jujutsu High, you were in same year as Gojo was, you were acquaintances for a while, your best friend (unfortunately so, as Gojo whined when he told Megumi) was Utahime, who was oddly protective of you and rude for no reason to Gojo (it is most definitely within reason), you were the most selfless person to walk the surface of this planet, you cared more for others than for yourself, and you and Gojo were really, really, really good friends now that you worked together and you two were close and he was friends with you and you texted him all the time and hung out too and you spent time together and you are theprettiestpersonhehadeverplacedhissixeyeson-

Basically, Megumi knew more about you than he comfortably should, and you were all Gojo seemed to talk about now.

Megumi found it sort of... endearing how much Gojo spoke about you. For someone so certain in himself and all of his glory, it was nice to hear him talk about someone else that way. He discerned an innocent intent in Gojo's actions, from the soft grin that graced his face when he rattled on about you, to the way he had begun to ask eight-year-old Megumi for advice on women (which he has surprisingly been helpful with - especially the time when Gojo didn't know if you'd prefer a specific flavor of mochi over another, and Megumi's suggestion ended up being the perfect one because it was your favorite). And though he would never, ever utter the words out loud, Megumi enjoyed hearing Gojo talk about you. It brought him down to earth and made him feel more like a mortal being; even Satoru Gojo crushed, fawning over you like you were a brand new toy and he was a toddler unwrapping gifts on Christmas Day. Even the man who had everything in the world simply wanted just like the rest of the world; he yearned for things in life that he did not ("Not yet, but surely soon!" Megumi was certain Gojo would say if he could read minds) have.

The two boys sat together at Megumi's, eating some sweets Gojo brought back from his mission. Gojo had a bouquet of flowers set delicately on the table in front of him, preparing himself to go to your house after his pep talk with Megumi and ask you on a date. Finally.

Staring at the flowers beside him, Gojo resolved to pick a flower out of the bouquet; a pretty, pale pink daisy that reminded him of the shade of your cheeks when he teased you. He rolled the green stem of the daisy back and forth between his index finger and thumb while echoing the declarations of his planned speech confessing his feelings for you. He had his heartfelt soliloquy memorized, but he was still feeling... apprehensive.

"She loves me," Gojo began, plucking a petal off of the flower and setting it delicately on the table. He spoke lowly, as if his life depended on the resolution he would find when he would extricate the last of the daisy's petals.

Megumi looked up from the book he was reading - a true crime mystery he had been quite invested in - to figure out what the man next to him was doing.

"She loves me not," Gojo plucked another petal, placing it on top of the other one he had already taken off.

Ah, Megumi understood it now. He's transforming into a child; his obsession with you had turned his brain to mush. He had now, mentally, been beat by Megumi, descending into the intellect a five year old smitten with a kindergarten crush.

"She loves me!" Gojo chirped. He plucked another petal before reporting with a glum tone, "She loves me not."

This went on and on. Megumi observed without a word and Gojo continuing the game that is so typically played on on a children's playground.

How on earth did you have such a drastic effect a man so above the rest of society? The man put on a pedestal by all of the Jujutsu world; the one who could take on any obstacle and leave without a scratch; the same guy who died and brought himself back to life; he could isolate himself from the rest of the world in an instant using only his limitless technique, yet, you always found a way to draw him back him - and somehow, somewhere in the mix, you had The Strongest Sorcerer wrapped around your finger.

"She loves me, Megumi!" Gojo proclaimed when he picked the final petal from the flower. "I mean, of course she does. Look at me."

Ah, there was the daily dose of Gojo's big ego; his head was as inflated as expected, but was on display little later than usual. Megumi referred to it as The Daily Dose of Gojo: DDG. He was bound to hear at least once a day about how much Gojo loved himself, whether through text or in person. But today, it was more like he was venturing to persuade himself on that fact, too.

Megumi then realized that this was the first time he had seen Gojo nervous.

He wondered what about you could make Gojo nervous, because not even the strongest of curses causes The Strongest Sorcerer to break into a sweat. What exactly is it that you have that grants you the title of the one human who could make Satoru Gojo nervous? He understood that you were special to him, but he still had never met you, and he is starting to want to.

He wasn't sure why he felt so protective over you. You were a twenty-year-old woman who he has never even met in person, even though he knew from Gojo the color of your eyes and the smell of the perfume you always wore. One thing was for sure, though: if Satoru Gojo messed with your heart, Megumi would fight him with all of the effort his child body could exert in one go, then kick his ass all the way to the core of the earth to be at such a heat that his infinity disfunctioned, ensuring he suffers for ever even considering toying with your feelings.

-----

"Fushiguru!" Gojo hollered as Megumi exit his elementary school.

Megumi glared at the white-haired male as he stalked toward him, untrusting of the motives at play. Gojo watched the child over the rims of his sunglasses, a toothy smile spread across his face while he waved excitedly. He had something planned, as per usual.

"What do you want?" Megumi groaned, and he eyed the two individuals in front of him with suspicion, though he already had an idea on who you were.

It was an uncommon sight for him to be picked up from school, but for Gojo to be accompanied by someone other than Ijichi was borderline shocking. There was only one person you could be, however, and Megumi suppressed the fluttering of excitement he felt as he saw you.

"Hey! Rude to speak to your elders like that," Gojo jested flippantly. "I want you two to meet!"

Fushiguru listened as Gojo repeated every syllable of your name that he has repeated a million times before. It rolled smoothly off of his lips, like caramel drizzle on the sweetest treat from his favorite bakery. It has been about two months since you, somehow willingly, agreed to a date with Gojo. It has been about a month since you agreed to officially be his girlfriend, which Yaga was not the most pleased to hear, but Gojo dealt with that and ensured the security of both of your jobs.

"Hi, Fushiguru!" You waved, a wide smile adorning your face. "Nice to meet you! Gojo talks about you all of the time."

"Hi," Megumi quietly said. He suddenly felt shy in your presence. You stood in front of him in all of your beauty, with the kindest smile on your face and the softest look in your eye, gazing at him as if he were the most important person in the world. Gojo did not do you justice when describing you to him.

And suddenly, everything Gojo ever said about you made complete sense - now, he finally understood how even the famed Satoru Gojo fell victim to the enigma that was you.

"I'm a friend of Gojo's! I wanted to meet you, and I don't know if you would want to, but I would love to get to know you," you offered. You folded your hands together in front of you and smiled politely toward the young boy. You were doing your best to not look too nervous because you really did want to get to know this kid, but from what Gojo's told you, he was not the most sociable character. Something about his melancholy aura is rather intimidating, to say the least, and you were doing your best to accommodate.

"...will he be there?" the kid questioned after some thought. As he spoke, he pointed his thumb toward his benefactor who immediately took offense to whatever he was implying, whining loudly in the background of what had become the two of yours conversation.

"Who, Gojo? Oh, well, he doesn't have to be," you suggested over Gojo's objections. "It can just be you and me. Or, if you are more comfortable with it, he can come with-"

"No. No Gojo," he interrupted. Gojo continued in his protests, but they all drowned into white noise as Megumi continued. "But sure."

You craved so badly to smile widely, high five Gojo for the feat you just accomplished, jump up and down, and display your excitement for his agreement on your face. But you were so worried you would scare him off, so instead, you opted for a soft smile while you said, "Great! Is now okay?

"Sure," he returned, emotionless as always.

"Perfect. Your pick on what we do. And it's on Gojo!"

And you walked away, ignoring Gojo whining after you. You'd coddle him tonight when he would inevitably pout to you about abandoning him for a little kid. For now, though, the important task at hand was getting to know Megumi Fushiguru - who reluctantly held your hand as you walked to the arcade he selected.

From then on, you were a common face in Megumi's life.

When he was in fourth grade, the two of you started a tradition where every other week, you would pick him up early from school and get ice cream and talk (as much as Megumi was willing to, at least). You had surprised him after school one day a couple months ago, and the routine stuck after he asked you to go again the couple weeks later. Not that you ever complained - you would never in your right mind take for granted Megumi willingly hanging out with you.

"So, how has school been?" you probed, Megumi begrudgingly held your hand as you walked through the busy streets of Tokyo (he claimed he was old enough to walk on his own, but you told him it was just for your own sanity in the scary world of Tokyo and when he turned ten you wouldn't do it anymore, and who was he to deny you of peace of mind when that is all you ever wished upon everyone els?).

"Fine," Megumi muttered. He was not the most fond of crowds, which was glaringly obvious as he squeezed your hand more aggressively the farther you ventured into the city. So yeah, maybe he did kind of appreciate your overprotectiveness.

That was the day you learned Megumi had his first crush.

Well, okay, it wasn't really a crush. He just thought someone was cute.

As you sat side-by-side, he ate his vanilla ice cream cone with chocolate sprinkles, you ate your choice of ice cream, and the two of you chatted - meaning you talked, and he occasionally threw in a word or two.

"Any girls you think are cute? Or guys?" You sought, emphasizing the teasing nature of your question by tapping your elbow into his side. Megumi glared up at you through the strands of his hair, but you could see the red tint on his pale skin - a sign you were on to something. "Ooooh! Tell me all about them!"

"Stop it," he sulked and stared off into the distance, ice cream forgotten in his hand. You could tell he was thoroughly embarrassed, but you just could not for the life of you get over how adorable he looked.

"Aw, Megumi. I'm just teasing. But you can always talk about that with me, you know?" you offered. "I can give you all the advice on girls. I would not recommend asking Gojo about them. His flirting skills are... unconventional. Plus, I know I'm your favorite. So just gives an excuse to rub it in his face!"

"Thanks," Megumi spoke broodingly. His ice cream was starting to melt a little down the side of the waffle cone. The treat regained his attention as he finally noticed the melting mess, and immediately, he tackled cleaning it up. He hated messes.

"So... does that mean I'm your favorite?" you interrogated. This had been a debate between you and your boyfriend for a long time now.

"Sure."

And amongst the crowds of people, you - a full grown adult - hollered and jumped up and pumped your fist in satisfaction, because that was the best thing anyone had every said to you.

-----

Megumi took back whenever he had the ignorant thought that Gojo was becoming more bearable. Completely rescinded it. He was absolutely the most unbearable human to ever have walked this planet; residing in the same millennia as this man was barely tolerable, let alone inhaling the same air or sitting in the same room.

Gojo wanted to propose to you and he wouldn't stop talking about it.

Or asking Megumi for advice.

Yeah. Satoru Gojo was asking an eleven-year-old boy for help proposing to his long-term girlfriend.

You had been dating for over three years, and Gojo was growing impatient; he wanted you to be fully his. Not that you weren't already, but he wanted to be officially - by the law, by the symbol of marriage, and by the ceremony that accompanied it. He wanted you to take his name and be a new addition to the Gojo lineage, and if it came to the day, maybe add some little ones to the family. It was getting the point where want wasn't enough to describe how he felt - it was a necessity to marry to, to be yours forever.

Megumi had grown a lot closer with you with the past months, even opening up a little. He mentioned to you his internal debate regarding "good people" and "bad people", to which you listened, you heard him, and you cared. Genuinely. You hugged him, and in that moment, he felt so loved, he never wanted to leave your arms - the arms that would protect him from anything scary, like nightmares or curses, and shield him from experiencing any more hardships. He wasn't used to that - yeah he had his sister, whom he loved so dearly and she did in return, to be cared by a motherly figure was something he had barely experienced.

For the life of him, he could not figure out how or why you willingly, even happily, subjected yourself to the hinderance that was Gojo. Every time he asked you why, you respond, "Oh, Megumi, you're a funny one!" and laughed the heartwarming laugh that made him feel like home. Megumi knew, deep down somewhere he wouldn't ever like to admit, that you were happy, and Gojo made you happy. He knew you loved Gojo. He was fully aware of all of that. And he had witnessed as your relationship grew more serious with time Gojo beginning to think for more than just himself - he grew as an individual, doing what he thought was best for the ones he loved, rather than what suited him best. Megumi knew that come to it, Gojo would lay down his life for you. If it meant making a deal with the most dangerous curse, or if it meant sacrificing his soul, Gojo would do it for you, and honestly, Megumi had the inkling that Gojo would do it for him too.

"What if I have a plane do the whole 'marry me?' in the sky? Ugh, but that is so overdone. I need to be creative and go all out for her. What do you think, Megumi?" Gojo inquired, to which Megumi only tuned back in because he heard the sound of his name.

"Just ask her. You know she'll say yes," Megumi grumbled what he already knew was fact.

"Well, of course she will. Who would turn down my handsome self?" Gojo gestures to his person, a confident smile on his lips. "But you're right. Ugh, Megumi, what do I do?" Gojo held an ebony ring box, anxiously passing it from one hand to the other and back, the piece of jewelry it contained an indicator of how serious he was about this. Why he was carrying such an expensive ring around so casually was beyond Megumi's pay grade, but he knew Gojo would not let anything happen to it.

"You'll figure it out," Megumi said, as he had no ideas either - you deserved everything in the world, and no proposal or material thing would be enough to thank you for all you have done for everyone else.

"Oh my god, I did!" Gojo jumped from his seat, giddy as a little kid, and celebrated whatever idea he came up with. He placed the ring box in his pocket, where he would protect it with every cell in his body.

"Great," Megumi said. He prayed to himself that Gojo would now finally get out of his hair.

"I'll take her on a nice trip - she's always wanted to sightsee in Europe, but hasn't had the time - and then, once we land in Greece, I'll do it there and- and I'll leave it at that. Don't wanna spoil the surprise yet for everyone. Thanks Megumi!"

And Megumi smiled a tiny little smile to himself as Gojo exited his house, excited for the two of you.

And he congratulated you when you came home from the trip Gojo planned for the two of you. You visited him and ran up, showing off the ring you were sure Gojo spared no expense on. Though, Megumi had already seen it from the hundreds of times Gojo showed him it, and not to mention all the pictures you send him from overseas.

And he continued to be excited for you as he helped you with planning - because if there is one thing to know about Megumi, it's that he is organized. So he helped you figure your ceremony out by ensuring all the paperwork you had and the appointments you booked and all of your purchases were kept track of, or else the wedding would have been a disaster. If Gojo asked him for help, though, he would laugh in his face and say absolutely not.

And then, before he knew it, the wedding was there. Megumi was the ring bearer, of course. He was almost 13 at that point, and he was starting to grow into himself and show signs of growing up (puberty!).

He felt... happy.

Happy for you. Happy for the new and official makeshift family that established itself. Happy to know that you were genuinely happy, and that for all of the love you constantly gave to others without hesitation, someone gave finally was giving you that love back, and then some. Because he saw how much Gojo adored you, and honestly, there was no one else he would want to be with you.

Now he stands, at Tokyo Jujutsu High for his first year at the school. His benefactor who drives him up the wall is his teacher, and now, not only does he have to deal with him normally, but he actually has to listen to him.

But at least you're there too. He has you, always.

And for that, he smiles. A rare smile reserved for the sparse moments where he is genuinely happy - and he is, because he knows you'll save him from Gojo if he needs you to.

The improvised family he's found himself in may not be exactly what he dreamed of, but he's happy with it nonetheless.

And he still struggles with the dilemma of what is good or bad, and he still struggles to find his purpose in the world, and he is still angry at the universe for putting him in this world when there was no reason for him to be there, and he still struggles with the pain of abandonment and his found comfort in solidarity.

But that's okay. It'll be okay. He has you. He has you because Gojo brought you into his life.

He's grateful for that.

Megumi hopes one day he can find the love you share for himself. But that's a problem for the distant future. And when he has another crush, you will be the first to know - not because he would admit it to you, but because somehow, you always know. You know him better than he knows himself at this point, and it's a scary talent you have, but one you most definitely possess.

With that, Megumi steps forward, walking alongside you into the building he will be at almost everyday for the next few years. While he wasn't holding your hand like old times, it was okay. Because he was growing up, and he had a future ahead of him that made you so excited for him.

"I'll see you later, Meg. Got a long day ahead," you bid farewell and ruffle his hair. The two of you stop in the barren hallway facing each other, and you are disappointed at how he keeps growing, and at some point in the near future, he will surpass your height. It feels like you're shrinking, honestly, with how fast he's growing.

But you always knew he would at some point, just like you knew that he would one day decline holding your hand while in public, and how one day he would outgrow your ice cream runs (though they still happen every now and then, just not as frequent as in the past).

"See you," Megumi responds.

"Love ya!" You lean and place a chaste kiss on the side of Megumi's head. You remember when you used to be able to place one on the top of his head without going on your tiptoes, but times are changing, or you're shrinking or whatever, and the side of the head will do.

"Yeah, love you, too," Megumi says, rushing the end of the sentence and turning around to walk away. You say it to him so often, and he loves you, but it's still difficult for him to express that.

But that's okay. It's all okay.

He knows whatever is in the future, you will protect him, and Gojo will watch over him, and everything will be okay. The two of you will love him unconditionally, even if he struggles to say it back.

And he'll never admit it, but if there is one thing he's grateful for in life, it's Gojo, for he brought you into his life, and what a blessing it is to exist at the same time as you do.

"So, let me get this straight," you begin, staring at the three individuals in front of you. "You sent Megumi alone to find Sukuna's finger at some school, which was taken by random students who tried to unravel it, which ended in this kid-"

"Yuji Itadori, sensei!" Yuji introduces himself, saluting to you for some reason.

"Right. Itadori ate the finger. Sukuna's finger. And he is now Sukuna's vessel."

"Yup!" Gojo confirms and he gives you a thumbs up. "That about sums it up."

"So tell me why when I asked about three hours ago why all of the higher-ups were acting like they were shitting themselves, you didn't think to tell me what happened?" you ask, irritation with your husband woven in between every syllable you speak.

"I did, but I knew it would be fine, so I didn't want to worry you."

"Worry? Really? Do you know how worried I was when they said Sukuna was there?"

"Honey, you know I'm strong. I can face him."

Itadori looks to his new comrade, Fushiguru, to see if he was uncomfortable to watch the couple argue in front of them. He fails to be consoled when he sees Megumi wasison his phone nonchalantly as if nothing's wrong. Yuuji assumes Megumi was just tuning them out as a student being used to teachers bickering, so he decides to try to do the same. But it's not working.

"I don't care about your strength, I care about Megumi, and I care about the lives of those students, and-"

"Hey, Fushiguru?" Itadori says, and Megumi hums in response. "Is this normal?"

"-they were put at risk, Satoru! Do you understand that?"

With the couple continuing to argue in the background, Megumi looks up from his phone finally, answering, "Huh, this? Yeah. Get used to it. He's an idiot."

"Yes, baby, I understand, but I made a judgement call and I stand by that. I'm sorry-"

"Ah. Well, um. Can we leave? Do we have to stay?"

"-for not keeping you informed, but I promise you, I had it under control."

"Yeah. They won't even notice we're gone until one of them asks for our opinion and then they notice we're missing. It's just funny to watch them sometimes."

"The higher ups want to execute him! An innocent kid! And I know you got sweets in the middle of all of that. Are you serious-"

"You're used to this?" Itadori inquires, a naturally curious kid.

"-ly telling me that nothing different could have been done to prevent this?"

"I guess you could say that."

rawrrrr thank u for reading i love you SMMMM i loved writing this hehee <33333

[mascdestr0yer]

Number one (1)

Hopkins!Paige x Fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, a bit cheesy, a girl and basketball player (zombies ref)

Trope: slow burn

Synopsis: Senior year just started, who knew paige was sooo ‘charming’ (eye roll)

“do you ever stop talking?”

Previous | Next

YOU’VE GONE THROUGH the first three out of six periods fine, until you got to calculus. You walked into class, your nose scrunched up at the coolness of the AC blasting.

The room was dimly lit, but also cozy in some way. Fucking partner desks.. You hated tables where it was big enough to fit two seats, maybe because you hated the awkward silence of the infamous ‘turn and talk’ that all teachers seem to enjoy.

What you did enjoy was the fact the table were higher, you liked swaying your feet in the taller chairs. Plus, lunch was after this, so a win is a win.

The class was three quarters of the room was empty, mainly because the bell hasn’t rung for the end of passing period or people are just lost.

“What’s your name?” A young woman, with a dark brown bob and mushroom earings, asks. You assumed who was your teacher, obviously.

“Y/N,” You answered, the youthful woman jogs over to her desk and looks at her laptop.

“you sit,” Her voice trails off when she’s up from the screen. “there.” She points to the empty partner desk in the back, you muttered a small ‘thanks’ and made your way to your seat. you decided to take the one close to the wall, charging your phone is at the top of your priorities right now.

You put your backpack down, scrolling through your phone, since class didn’t start yet. About three minutes later, a tall blonde girl, okay, you know who she was.

She threw a basketball at your head during pe freshmen year, she kept apologizing for months everytime she saw you, you felt like she was mocking you.

Then, she followed you on instagram, that summer. you saw her oddly large following for a now sophomore in high school. she was a basketball player, good one at that. how ironic, you thought.

You had to admit, paige bueckers, was so.. you could never explain the feeling, but you knew, it was definitely something.

You guys didn’t really talk much, unless it was for those stupid icebreakers for the first two weeks of school. Then she became the biggest chatterbox of them all.

“psst,y/n?” The taller girl whispered, lightly tapping your knee.

“we’re right next to each other, you don’t have to ‘psst’, it’s stupid,”You mumble, trying to keep up with Ms.Carson’s, your teacher, notes.

“are you always upset or do you have some grudge only against me?” She whispered back.

“no, how could i have s grudge when i barely know you,” You, getting annoyed even more by the second, scoot over in your chair.

she snickers, “well, your actions say otherwise.” You ignored her, continuing to highlight away in your notebook. “you know-“ she starts, before you cut her off.

“you talk a lot..you know that?” you mocked, finally looking up at her, making eye contact. She just smirked and opened her notebook, writing down her notes.

You could tolerate her bugging you in class but, ever since she found out where you hung out at during lunch, it’s starting to become difficult.

“What are you reading today?” the taller girl asks, as she sits down next to you in the library. “this is a different one from yesterday, right?” You just ignored her, finding the book more important.

“i don’t have basketball practice today, we could like.. hangout, only-only if you want too, i mean.. you don’t have too if you don’t want too,” She rambles on, talking your ear off. “do you have friends, i mean it must be boring-“

“paige, please..” you scolded the girl, she was making it harder to focus.

“right, my bad,” she whispers, she began fiddling with her fingers. “for real though, do you have friends? like actual friends?” you closed you book, making sure to bookmark it.

“why does it matter?” your face was scrunched up with confusion.

“Well, i was thinking.. we could be friends, you know, since you don’t have any.” she fidgets with the hem of her shirt, not making eye contact anymore as her voice trails off.

“you’re so weird.. i never said i didn’t have friends,”

“you think i’m weird? crazy comjng from you.” She sits up, now completely offended.

“i’d love to be friends with paige bueckers..” you softly replied to her earlier comment.

it’s not finished or proofed, so bare with me

[goldtheorys]

General Ticci toby headcanons

(x gn reader, platonic and romantic)

_Just some random thoughts!

══════════════════ -`♡´-

First off, platonically or in a relationship, he can be a sweetheart, but GOD is he fucking rude

Always playing the meanest pranks

Jumps on you while you’re carrying a hot drink

If you ask him to stop doing smth just does it more obnoxiously smh

If you take too long to wake up and he wants to do something with you, might scream in your ear or beat you with pillows

BUT he isn’t always an asshole

Maybe doesn’t show it all the time but gets all warm inside when you invite him to do things with you

Wether it’s a walk in the forest or playing some random video game, just happy to be there tbh

Also loves when you return his weird affections

Turns over while laying next to you and bites your cheek, which you immediately return with a chomp on his shoulder

Making silly faces at eachother across the room

He makes a mean joke about you tripping earlier and then you lean over to lick him

Just fucking adores someone who can match his energy, even if it’s only every now and then

Sometimes after a hard day or a particularly brutal mission, just likes to hug you. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, he’ll walk right up and wrap you in his arms for as long as he wants

Compliment him. The first time you say something about how cute his smile is or that he looks nice in a shirt he’s wearing, he’ll bring his hand up to cover the biggest grin while he stutters out a small thank you.

In my perception of him he comes off very closed off and mysterious at first. And he does stay like that for awhile!

But overtime he warms up, leans down (if ur shorter than him, if not stands on his tip toes) to whisper a mean joke about some poor guy you both just witnessed eat shit

And even then he doesn’t seem the type to talk about his emotions n crap, but slowly gets less and less hesitant to lean on you while softly rambling, hold your hand even if just for a second while he walks with you, puts you in a fake chokehold while you cuddle

That reminds me, definitely play wrestles with you

If you’re weaker he MIGHT, POSSIBLY consider going easy on you

If you’re about the same in strength or stronger tho, he’s relentless

Cheats.

Cheats at every god damn thing honestly it’s so annoying but you tolerate it

Also shares his food with you <3

I think he’s just into casual, small shows of affection tbh

══════════════════ -`♡´-

_Okay okay this getting too long lol. I just wanted to get a post or two out to start up. Requests are welcome, and likes are appreciated! <3

[love-anddeepression]

Feel free to ignore this, but I saw you want Miguel requests soooo.

Platonic Miguel x teen spider reader. Preferably gn. And like, he sees his daughter in the reader or smth, idk how to explain it, but I think it would be cute to see it

ONGOSH THANK YOU I absolutely love this<33 I wrote this on my phone but Im honestly so hyped up I love father figure!miguel. I hope you don’t mind but I’m doing this in the form of headcanons.

Miguel O’Hara x teen!spider!Reader

-okay so your obviously one of the only people Miguel loves tolerates.

-your universe isn’t “home” to you, Miguel is. He’s like the father you never had and at first, the both of you absolutely detested one and other. In fact, Jessica was the one who convinced him to recruit you, way before Gwen or even Peter came into the picture.

-at first, he was stand-offish and a total dickhead to you, but slowly warmed up and began to humour you. He’d smirk at your horrible jokes and pretend to roll his eyes when you teased him.

-in fact, when you first laughed your ass off at one of his remarks, something in him knew that he’d do anything to protect you.

-he already lost one daughter, he wasn’t losing you.

-In all honesty, your relationship is very similar to Joel and Ellie from the Last of Us.

-you have inside jokes that even Lyla doesn’t understand, and she’s an AI.

-It takes all his strength to not snort when you make faces behind someone’s back, he knows you do it to make him laugh.

-he gives you tips on how to take care of yourself.

-a whole bottle of baby powder suddenly appears in your room in spider society. He says he knows nothing.

-lyla shows you the camera footage of him placing it on your bedside table.

-he’s close to tears when you specially make him empanadas. He’d been in a bad mood and when he went to his desk, there was a plate of empanadas with a post it note from you.

- “dont waste them I spent like two hoursmaking them for you”

-he scarfs them down of course.

-like all fathers, he can be strict sometimes, especially because you’re a kid. He doesn’t want you getting hurt. If you’re hurt he helps patch you up himself.

-“you fucking crazy? What were you thinking, trying to catch a car instead of dodging it?”

-your arguments are shushed by him shoving a spoon of soup into your mouth.

-“don’t waste it.” He says, “I spent some time making it while you were asleep.”

-he can’t pinpoint an exact moment from when he started seeing you as his daughter, but it’s probably from the time he got super protective around hobie.

-ain’t no kid coming near his daughter.

-almost snarls when hobie jokingly flirts with you.

-he subtly pushes hobie away when the guy walks behind you.

-you’re the only person other than lyla who can snark him and get away with it without an insult being jabbed at you.

-he’s hugged you a total of two times.

-the first was when you almost died, the second was when he almost died and you freaked out.

-you’d already lost your family, you could not lose him too.

“Miguel, get up.” You tearfully say to his sleeping form, “I can’t do this without you.”

-when he’d stirred, the first thing he saw was your shocked face and then you tackled him.

-he loves you. Like, a whole lot.

-he smiles at you when you walk around in his office, rambling about random stuff. He’s glad that you’re comfortable enough around him to stop masking your personality.

-his jokes are LAME. Like dad jokes are his jam and they’re just so bad.

-“why do sharks live in salt water? because pepper water makes them sneeze.” “Miguel PLEASE-”

-did I mention he’d probably die for you? Like fuck the universe(s) he’s not losing his baby daughter again.

-OOO IMAGINE THE BOTH OF YOU AS DRACULA AND MAVIS

-it’s weird but it’s funny.

-Gwen loses her shit when she sees you sitting next to him with your head on his shoulder.

[reidmania]

The lack of fics for Derek is criminal. I lovedddd unprofessional !!!

MIDNIGHT SNACK | derek morgan

summary; Derek can’t forget the pretty bartender he met while working a case and comes back to ask her out!

warnings; drinking, mentions of kidnapping and murder, (about a case) normal cm stuff, flirting, their banter is adorable, bartender!reader, references bar owner reader as well… Fem!reader

an; this was so fun to write, also spencer in the ‘id rather take my whiskey neatttttt’ trend had me on my knees so i referenced it in him ordering a whiskey neat LMAO

The room was lit by ambiance lighting, warm tones but not too bright, keeping the atmosphere warm and light hearted without being overwhelming. The bar was busy but not to the point of a rush.

It was nice.

You stood behind the bar, shaking up a cocktail for a customer humming the lyrics to the song playing over the speaker quietly, just loud enough for subtle background noise without being overbearing in anyway.

You poured the drink handing it to the customer who thanked you before turning away. You slid slightly over looking up to serve whoever was next.

Two men stood there, you smiled widely as you retired your hair. “What can I get you?” You asked looking between them, your voice was just loud enough to hear over the music.

Your eyes lingered on one male a moment longer than the other. You waited for their reply but instead of being met with drink requests, they both pulled out badges.

“Im agent dr Reid.” The first said, he looked a little nerdy and had glasses perched up on his nose as he seemed slightly overwhelmed by the atmosphere. “Im Derek Morgan.” The other said, offering you a hand.

You smiled as you reached over to shake his hand — despite the heavy confusion. “Is that just Derek Morgan or Agent?” You asked, squinting your eyes slightly — you didn’t mean for it to come off as flirty as it sounded.

Derek chuckled, “I am an Agent but you can call me whatever you want.” He mirrored your tone making your cheeks flush slightly.

You shook your head, looking between them. “What do I owe the pleasure of the FBI?” You asked. You were almost certain you hadn’t done anything illegal.

“The pleasure is ou-“ Derek was cut off by Spencer nudging him with his elbow. “We are here about someone who presumably came in three days ago, do you recognise this guy?” Spencer asked, pulling out a photo.

You looked down at it with furrowed eyebrows before your eyes widened. “Oh yeah he ordered like twenty shots, had to get him kicked out cause a girl came up saying he was creeping her out. We don’t tolerate creepy men here” You rambled slightly.

“Do you remember what the girl looked like?” Derek asked, looking over at Spencer for a moment. You nodded your head as you recalled the memory from a few days ago clear as day.

“Yeah she was stunning, long dark hair, beautiful blue eyes,. She was probably around my height I think — why? Is she okay?” You asked, slightly panicked.

“Shes missing and we think this is our guy.” Derek explained, your lips parted in shock as your eyes widened. “Oh my gosh” Fell quietly from your lips.

“Do you have cameras in here?” Spencer asked, you were quick to nod your head. “Yeah we have them everywhere — hold on” You called over you coworker to take over the bar before leading them into the back room to go over the camera footage.

“Thanks for this” Derek smiled at you as Spencer sat down in the chair, going back a few days. You didn’t bother questioning how or why he knew exactly how to do so.

“She left with a group of her friends, I thought everything was okay. She wasn’t very drunk at all..” You recalled, feeling a tad bit of guilt wandering through your blood stream.

“It’s alright. We think he was waiting for her. Its not on you, you did exactly what you were supposed to do” Derek said as Spencer paused on a clip.

“Can I get you guys anything while you work? A drink or something — its on the house” You offered.

Derek smiled, “How good at you at making drinks?” He asked, tilting his head.

You felt your cheeks flush, feeling burning hot under his fixated gaze on your face. “Im the best there is” You may of hyped yourself up a little but you were pretty good.

“Ill take a whiskey neat” Spencer said, looking over his shoulder at you. “Please” He added.

“One whiskey neat, and you?” You asked, looking at Derek. He grinned at you. You tried not to let the nerves of having FBI agents going through all your camera footage scare you to the point of insanity but it was a little difficult.

“Make me your favourite.” Derek said. You laughed as you thought about it, shaking your head. “I don’t know if you’ll like it” You said, knowing it was a more fruity drink and he didn’t look like the type of guy who would drink it.

“Im sure Ill like anything you make” He threw in a wink that only made your cheeks redden. “Alright, a whiskey neat, and a my favourite.” You pointed between them as you listened their drinks.

“Thank you” Spencer called from where he was sitting, gaze fixated on the clip.

“Thanks beautiful” Derek smiled, you smiled back before turning on your heels to go make them their drinks.

A week passed and you hadn’t been able to get the silly little FBI agent out of your mind. He was super appreciative of the drink and made a few flirty comments here and there before you returned to work while they watched through the footage, before long they were leaving, and he was waving goodbye.

You were closing, the only person left in the bar since you had sent the rest of the workers home early — it wasn’t busy and it wasn’t overly messy, nothing you couldn’t handle yourself.

You were putting bottles of alcohol away when the door let out in chim, making you turn around. “We’re closed!!” You called before your eyes landed on the man leaning opposite you on the bar. “Oh hi!” You smiled.

He smiled back. “Hi. Sorry to come in late, just finished up” He said, fingertip grazing back and fourth over the edge of the bar table.

“Its okay, How is she? Is she alright?” You asked, the case hadn’t left your mind since you heard about it. “Can I get you something?” You offered.

He nodded, “Shes safe, he is locked up.” He recalled the case for you. “And yeah, a whatever you made me last time please gorgeous” He asked.

You nodded your head — almost shocked you found yourself giving him drinks after you most definitely were closed, the till was already closed but you decided you would pay it back in the morning.

You poured his drink, before sliding it over to him. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this all week, best drink Ive had in — forever” Derek said as he took a sip.

You smiled, “Its just a stawberry margarita.” You laughed gently, shaking your head as you began re-cleaning up.

“The drink isnt the only thing I havent been able to stop thinking about” He muttered, his heavy gaze fixated on you. You chewed at your lip.

There was something so.. special about this moment. It made its way into your stomach through your chest leaving a mark.

“Really?” You asked, trying to maintain the half flirt in your voice but it only wavered slightly. You tilted your head slightly as your eyes trailed over his features — you knew he was pretty before but something about the way he was looking at you under the tinted lighting of the bar sitting there in a fbi jacket he looked — too— pretty, to the point in was making your heart hurt as its beating grew rough against your ribcage.

“Really.” He confirmed, mirroring the tilt of your head as his eyes studied your own features, noticing every curve of your lip, nose, the way your eyes squinted, the smile lines that adorned your cheeks in a way he found so lovely — because it meant you smiled a lot, and he adored the idea of that. He cleared his throat, “Theres also this really pretty bartender, I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about” He sighed out dramatically.

Your cheeks flushed, “Oh I’m sure that would be very difficult for you” You say with faux empathy, a smile dragged your lips upwards. He smiled back. “I knew you would understand” He muttered shaking his head with false sadness.

You chuckled softly, as your hands continued working to clean up the bar for the night. You were glad you had made the decision to send the other workers home knowing they would probably be standing in the corner gossiping about this very interaction you were having.

Derek bit his lip, “So anyways.. I just couldn’t stand it anymore, she is a very distracting thought — just so you know” He continued on talking about who you were 99% sure was yourself in third person, the smile on your lips remained as you nodded your head, playing along.

“Oh yeah, Im sure that would be horrible when you are doing all your important FBI business” You hummed, smiling at the way he smiled at you.

“Exactly— So i figured I just had to come back to ask her out” He said, sighing out as if it was a serious issue. Your cheeks rose as your smile widened. You placed the tray of glasses down under the sink, before standing up straight, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well of course — thats obviously the only very logical thing to do” You smiled. You couldn’t remember the last time you had banter with someone like this.

He grinned, pearly white teeth on display and god he had just a pretty smile. “Exactly.” He nodded, “So I was wondering if i could please take you to dinner when you get done, or else im not sure how else to handle this distraction thing you have caused” He sighed out.

You breath caught in your throat briefly at his question, he was asking you out. The sexy FBI agent was sitting across from you, after you worked 11 hours and probably looked and mess and was asking you out. “Its 11pm” You muttered as you looked at the clock on the wall behind. It wasn’t rejection in any form — as if you would reject him. “That is a late dinner” You raised your eyebrow slightly.

He shrugged his shoulders softly, “Okay then, How about I take you to a fancy place for a midnight snack” He winked, changing his idea in order to convince you, not that you needed much convincing in any way.

You hummed endearingly, “What fancy places are open at midnight?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean against the opposite side of the bar. You knew in the end you were going to say yes, you just wanted to drag it out a little tiny bit more, keep him on his toes.

“Many, theres two open right now down the road. I checked earlier.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he openly admitted how much he wanted this, he had googled places that would be open late before even asking you.

You grinned widely, “Okay. Ill go out with you”

[onelastskip]

oh joyous day, my our life now and forever mc, Rena Michou!

Just a bunch of doodles for now I'll do a full body ref and make it purettyy later, maybe… ahh side note i need to learn how to draw tam and qiu qwq something just doesn't look quite right.

and now time to ramble about her: (warning very long)

EDIT: WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME IT SAYS 8W3??? she's supposed to be a 8w7 😭😭😭

She was pretty stand-offish and cold to Tam and Qiu when she first met them, she did not like Qiu at all, from her perspective her Ma's moved her to this town in the middle of nowhere, she accidentally goes into someone's backyard (clearly no way for her to know smh) but she's being the better person and apologising only for him to make fun of her??? Terrible manners. Not only that but he's a show off and has an insufferably smug grin. Not to mention he acts like he knows everything (it's okay when she does it, she's not from a random town in the middle of nowhere).

She still lets him tag along when she goes to find the mystery air plane sender because she's nice like that (how hard was that jeez!) And while Tamarack is loud, she looks a hell of a lot better in comparison to Qiu. Anyway this goes on for a bit with her being annoyed at basically everything he does and tolerating his presence because she's nice (it's because of Tamarack and her Ma). She is however very startled when Qiu gives her the welcome note, she definitely thinks it's a prank or disingenuous, but gosh dang it, he looks so happy she's polite so she'll say thank you.

She starts liking him after the park where they race and she wins, and opposite to all her expectations - because this is something he's been most proud of, he doesn't get upset or annoyed he's even more happy somehow… And that's when she has to accept everything she thought about this guy was wrong.

Some more random stuff about her personality and yeah:

She doesn't get most jokes, and she can't tell teasing apart from being genuinely cruel which is- yeah mostly why she doesn't get along with Qiu at first.

She thrives on the challenge, she's always down to do the riskiest thing for the greatest reward, she likes beating the odds (and proving people wrong).

She places a lot of value on following rules and being polite, two things that have been repeated to her basically her whole life (because she struggled with that growing up), so now she's very opinionated/black and white about it.

She likes listening to rock/alternative music mostly, probably tries picking up the guitar in the future- she'd be bad at it.

She likes strategy and puzzle videogames, absolutely terrible at racing, fighting, and rhythm games.

She's got no problem telling someone no respectfully and doesn't like to compromise at all - but even more she hates other people doing her favours, so she takes the path of least inconvenience.

She really wants to be independent and prove she's responsible and can take care of herself, however she still really respects her Ma

She values getting good grades a lot and she's pretty advanced however her Ma didn't want her to move up grades because of her social development. She is not a big fan of this, probably one of their biggest arguments.

She wasn't exactly bullied persay- but she didn't have any friends before Tam, which is probably in part due to her prickly personality but yeah, not a big fan of people her age.

bonus ms paint scribble because she's so cool !

[magics-neptunes-things]

Collide (6)

Hi guys!

This new chapter is a little bit more angsty but also very sweet 😇

Please enjoy!

TW : Injury, nightmares, mention of bad past, angst.

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5 | PART 7

______________________________________________________________

You didn’t give Alessia all the reasons for your nightmares, not because you don’t trust her, but because you don’t want to put her in front of the darkness of some people. When you see her the next morning for breakfast, Leah singing in the shower, it was without daring to look at her that you spoke.

"Less?"

"Mhm?"

Lost in her thoughts until now, the blonde looked up at you. You are leaning against the island of your kitchen while Alessia is seated at the table. You are never very in talking much in the morning, both needing time to wake up.

"You know, for last night…"

"You don’t have to explain anything to me" Alessia kindly assured you with a smile. "It’s okay"

"I know" you answered with a slight smile back. "It’s just that sometimes my dreams are a little too realistic. Things have happened in my past, but… well, you know."

It’s a very awkward explanation, but the blonde didn’t seem to want to hold it against you.

"And thank you, for staying and being there for me" you mutter shyly.

"You would have done the same for me"

The calm, safe tone that Alessia used made you look up at her. She’s not wrong, obviously.

"Yeah. I know you already have your share of best friends, but I’m happy with the place you’re taking in my life. You’re more like a sister to me than a simple friend"

Alessia’s chair rattles on the floor when she gets up, something that would have made you moan in everyday life. But since it’s to offer you one of her biggest teddy bear hugs, you don’t take the time to scold her, choosing to hug her back.

"I love you too" she whispers affectionately, rubbing your back.

Even if it’s not exactly what you told her, you understand the message and you hug her back even harder. That’s when Leah showed up in the kitchen, ready for today’s game.

"Molesting my girlfriend again, Russo?"

********

You and Leah are in the restaurant face to face when you talk about the subject that has been bothering you for a few days. It’s not a huge stress, but you’re wondering how to approach it, fearing a negative response from Leah.

The evening is going well, you have already come twice to this restaurant and each time you liked it very much. The choices are not multiple, but there is enough to satisfy your cravings for culinary discoveries and the list of foods rather restraint tolerated by Leah. The blonde is breathtaking in her outfit, once again, and you are happy to see that she made this clothing effort just for you.

It’s at dessert that you finally broach the subject, swinging nervously on your chair.

"Besides, I was wondering… do you have any plans while I’m away?"

You are called to training camps for the national team, Norway having to pass the play-offs to qualify for the next competition. With England already being on, Leah is kind of on vacation next week.

"No, not really. Probably spending time with my family, seeing Alex… that kind of things. Why?"

Leah looks at you curiously over her ice cream and you play mechanically with your spoon and a piece of cake.

"Would you like to come with me?"

"In Norway?"

You nod at her, without daring to look at her. The only time you offered it to Alina, she laughed and asked what the hell she would do there. You may not have chosen the best time since it was in summer and most people prefer to fly somewhere warm, but still.

"I thought I could show you some places I like and grew up in. And my parents have really wanted to meet you, since I’ve been talking to them about you. You can say no, if you don’t want to. There is no pressure and I will understand."

Leah’s hand gently settles on yours, making you look up at it immediately and stop your rambling.

"I'll come with pleasure Honey."

The simple answer makes you feel so relieved that you feel like your anxiety is deflating like a balloon.

"Yeah?"

"Of course"

"Awesome"

You can’t mask your smile, which makes Leah laugh softly. Her hand gets loose from yours when she starts eating her ice cream again, but you don’t take it personally. You have neither confirmed nor denied the rumors of relationship between you, preferring to live your story day by day. Plus, who are you against a mint chocolate chips ice cream?

Leah asks you what kind of clothes she needs to take and you laugh when she pouts when she learns the temperature differences between London, Oslo and your hometown. You have already spoken to her several times about your parents and she doesn’t seem otherwise stressed at the idea of meeting them. She’s right, you know your parents are going to love her very much. You’ve been working on it for a long time now anyway.

"Oh and there will surely be Mapi with Ingrid too" you inform Leah with a little amused smile.

"Excuse me?"

********

A few days later, you are on the plane to Norway, with some of your compatriots but especially Leah. You have another flight of a few hours to reach Tromsø, where you lived and grew up until you were stupid enough to want to run away with your first girlfriend to a bigger city. Having met her on the Internet, you have no memories with her in this city, which pleased Leah rather well. It’s not exactly the same for Oslo, but we’ll talk about it later.

Your parents, delighted to have their only child for a few days, have both picked you up at the airport. If Leah hasn’t been stressed in the last few days, she seems to have skyrocketed in the last half hour and the blonde didn’t stop talking for a single second. It made you laugh, but remembering how stressed you were when you officially met Leah’s relatives, you patiently answered each of her questions.

"It’s going to be ok Babe" you smile when you see her playing nervously with the tag of her suitcase while waiting to pass the security.

Since you are behind her, you step forward to put a kiss just behind her ear and you smile as you feel her letting her go against you. In recent days, it was rather her role to reassure you, the blonde fearing that your nightmares came back constantly. That hasn’t been the case, but Leah’s increased attention to you hasn’t been unpleasant. Especially because it means you get even more hugs and kisses than usual.

You have one of the biggest hug from both of your parents at the same time, before detaching from them to turn to Leah and make the introductions. As you might have guessed, the first contact is more than successful. Your parents speak English very well, which is lucky. Leah speaks a few words of Norwegian that you taught her, but she might not be able to have an ongoing conversation in that language.

On the way home, your parents ask you about the trip and your level of fatigue. If you slept during the first flight, the second not. They also inquire about what you are planning to show Leah over the next few days, also informing you that they are planning a dinner with some of your family members. Your cousin will come to see you play in Oslo too, this will allow Leah to meet her before finding herself with her in the stands of the football stadium. Your parents will be there too.

Dinner goes well (you made sure to give your mother the list of things Leah eats) and the kindness of your parents seem to help Leah relax quickly. You show her the house of your childhood, finding your bedroom that you had at the time.

It's a fairly simple room whose only large window overlooks your garden. Your double bed is glued against the back wall in the middle of the wall with your collection of stuffed animals. Your black carpet on which you have spilled paint hundreds of times above is at the feet of it, giving in your opinion an artistic touch to the latter. There are old trophies you won with your football teams on a shelf, a desk full of memories and useless things in its drawers and dozens of photos hanging on the wall.

"Is that you?" laughs Leah as she approaches the photos on one of your bedroom walls, picturing you behind your first birthday cake.

"No, that's the neighbor" you answer with a grin.

Leah laughs again and you let her discover your room quietly, taking the opportunity to join the bathroom adjoining your room to change and refresh a little. You see Leah entering the bathroom too from the mirror, which allows you not to jump when she sticks to you to put kisses on your cheek.

"How are you feeling?" you ask the pretty blonde.

"Good. Your parents are adorable, but it’s not surprising when you see their daughter" Leah says maliciously.

You roll your eyes and close the water tape, then turn in her arms to put your arms around her neck. That’s all Leah needed to put her head on your neck and put some kisses in it.

"What about you?" she asks between two of her kisses.

"I’m glad you’re here" you smile.

********

The next two days were spent in Leah discovering your hometown, your favorite places and different members of your family. As you would expect, Leah are doing perfectly well in the setting, getting along wonderfully with everyone. Despite the difficulty of the language sometimes, but you gladly play the interpreters between the two different worlds. Only the cold seems to be a bit of a problem for Leah, but you are in the very north of Norway, even further north than if you were in Iceland.

One day before the day set by the Norwegian federation, you fly back to Oslo. You managed to get a room for Leah in the same hotel where your team is staying and you’re counting on your family to keep Leah busy during practice. You don’t know yet whether you’ll be able to slip into her room at night, but you’ll see. For the moment you share the hotel room with Leah and it suits you very well like that.

While waiting for the gathering, you show Oslo to Leah and you have an appointment for lunch with Ingrid and Mapi. The idea that the two blondes meet makes you laugh a lot and you know that it’s the same thing for Ingrid.

"Does she speak English?" asks Leah as you join the restaurant where you are supposed to meet.

"She understands it very well but answers Ingrid in Spanish. But I'm talking English with her, even if she speaks great Norwegian. Anyway, I never had any problems communicating with her."

Leah drops a little grunt as a simple answer and you roll your eyes. You managed to get from Leah that this tension would have been born since the elimination of Spain during the Euro, which is in your opinion a little futile.

"You’d better pass over. Ona and Lucy don’t seem to have this problem" you noted with amusement.

"Don’t count on me to coo with Maria Leon" grumbled at Leah.

"I don’t ask that much" you laughed before changing the subject.

You are the first arrivals and you inform Ingrid of your presence once seated at the table. Leah asks you some more questions about the city, which you answer with pleasure, happy to see your girlfriend take so much interest in your native country.

A few minutes later Ingrid and Mapi arrive, and you get up to greet them, imitated by Leah.

(The words in italics are in Norwegian but for the good of all I have not translated them)

"It’s good to see you" Ingrid smiles, hugging you before looking at you. "You look good."

"It’s fresh Norwegian air" you joke, before resuming in English. "Ingrid, this is Leah. Leah, this is Ingrid."

You let your best friend greet Leah, knowing your girlfriend is in good hands when you hear Ingrid greet Leah in a joyful tone. You turn towards Mapi, to whom you also give a hug. You then turn to Leah to redo the presentations, between Mapi and her this time. The exchange is a little more tense than with Ingrid and you roll your eyes when you see them shaking hands, but it’s already that.

The conversations finally go very well, even if Ingrid and you are very often the ones who link things. Leah’s hand settled right at the beginning of the meal naturally on your knee and you didn’t hesitate to interlace your fingers.

After the meal, you decide to take advantage of the mild weather (the term makes Mapi snorts) to go for a walk a little more. You know you’ll see Ingrid again in the next few days, but if your respective girlfriends can get along well and discover commonalities, why not.

"Hot chocolate?" offers Ingrid when you walk past a hot drink stand to take away.

"I’m coming to help you" you tell Ingrid, dropping Leah’s hand to follow her to the booth.

"I like her" immediately announces Ingrid in line to get your drinks. "You did well about listen to yourself"

You smile softly, your chaotic beginnings being far behind you now. Well, only a few months but a lot has already happened between you and you feel so good with the blonde that you have the impression that all this is far behind you.

"She’s great, really" you answer always smiling.

"And you look so happy" Ingrid adds without leaving your face with her eyes.

"I am" you confirm sincerely.

You have no trouble supporting Ingrid’s inquisitive gaze, which nods with her smile. You don’t have to add anything to convince her, but she will tell you a little later that she already was just by hearing you on the phone.

"Look at them" you laugh softly pointing at your two blondes.

Ingrid follows your gaze on Leah and Mapi, both talking from the tip of their lips at eachother as if they were afraid of being seen by someone. The scene seems to amuse Ingrid as much as you since she also laughs before it’s your turn to order.

Your return is greeted with a big smile on both sides and if Leah isn't begged to recover her hot chocoalt, she also doesn’t hesitate to put her arm around your waist. There are fewer people on the streets of Oslo than in London, but if Leah is spotted in the stands of your next match, people will probably quickly draw the right conclusions.

It’s finally in the late afternoon that you say goodbye to the couple who must join Ingrid’s family for dinner. You propose to Leah to show her the citadel, the nightfall offering you magnificent colors. Leah graciously accepts when you ask her to take pictures together before you return to the hotel.

It’s on the way back that your eyes are hung by a shop front that you know rather well. Your glance is noticed very quickly by Leah, who slows down a little. She understands very quickly.

"Do you mind if we say hello?" you ask Leah.

She seems to hesitate a little and you gently tighten her fingers in yours, trying to make her understand that you will respect her answer regardless of her nature.

"I guess" she finally answers, shrugging her shoulders.

You drag her to the tattoo shop, the doorbell ringing when you open it. It hasn’t changed much since the last time you came, except that other drawings were added to the wall. Leah quickly spots your signed football shirt on the wall.

"Y/N"

Leah’s eyes follow the sound of the voice to fall on a young woman of your age, whom she hadn’t seen. The girl gets up from the desk behind which she was half hiding, resting the pencil she had in her hand to come to you. Well, right up to you because she’s hugging you for a warm embrace. What annoys Leah a little, she was often talked about Spanish and their tactile side but she was never warned that in Norway we also went without stopping touching her girlfriend.

"I didn’t expect to see you! How are you?"

"I’m fine" you answer with a smile, casually getting out of her arms to introduce Leah.

You slide an arm in the hollow of her back to advance her to your height, resuming in English.

"Nora, this is Leah. My girlfriend."

If the blonde couldn’t help but feel a touch of jealousy, she can only smile when seeing the smile and the pride with which you designate her. Finally the ball is put back in the center quickly, she thinks, before extending her hand to the tattooist to greet her.

"I don’t speak good English" Nora apologizes to Leah.

After your blonde assured her that it was fine like this, Nora’s attention turns to you and you exchange your latest news. You didn’t lie to Leah, you didn’t have any recent contacts, the jersey she hung on her living room wall was from the last international game you played before moving to Manchester. Leah quickly notices this by paying more attention to the frame. She also realizes that a photo of you and your tattoo are displayed just below, under your jersey.

What she doesn’t appreciate is the affectionate tone with which Nora seems to talk to you. Leah therefore takes care not to let go of your hand for a single second during your exchange.

"Does she know about us?" asks curiously Nora after a few minutes.

As if she had understood that you were talking about her, Leah looks away from the photos of tattoos displayed on the wall to report her attention on you two. You smile at her before you answer Nora.

"Yes. I don’t think there’s much she doesn’t know about me" you answer honestly and shrug your shoulders.

You are interrupted by another couple of clients entering the establishment and Nora apologizes for taking care of them, letting you drag Leah a little back from the entrance.

"If you tell me that it’s on her tattoo table that you did your disgusting business, I’ll burn the store" whispers Leah from the corner of her lips.

You laugh softly as you hear her, glancing at her in astonishment. You did notice Leah’s touch of jealousy at first, but there was nothing special about the rest of your conversation.

"This isn't where we did our disgusting business, likeyou say" you smile and roll your eyes. "You can calm your inflammatory tendencies. Plus, I have done way more disgusting things with you, Williamson."

"Not if she keeps looking at you like she does" the blonde grumbled, ignoring the second part of your sentence.

"Don’t be jealous" you say while tiptoeing to put a kiss on her cheek.

"You slept with her"

"It was a long time ago. I find the best one since"

"Hm."

You roll your eyes one more time and you cross her eyes without letting go of your smile. Leah ends up not being able to hold her smile and you deposit a new kiss, on the corner of her lips this time.

********

A few hours later, in your hotel room, you find yourself awake very early in the morning. Which is surprising since usually Leah almost have to push you out of bed. When you look at the time on your phone, you realize it’s barely 5:00 in the morning. And no matter how hard you try to go back to sleep, you can’t. Your mind flies over the different places in Oslo that you visited with Leah.

And the part that you’ve carefully avoided, afraid of running into Helena. You don’t know if she still lives here, you don’t know what happened to her either. But you could still find the house in which she lives (lived?) very easily. Without giving yourself too much time to think, you end up getting out of bed by taking all the precautions to not wake Leah. You dress quickly and before looking for what drives you to do this, you find yourself in the streets of Oslo in the direction of Helena’s house.

As you expected, you quickly find the way to this place that you hate more than anything. The lights are on upstairs and you take care not to being visible from where you are. With the day beginning to rise, you can observe the garden and see that it is still poorly maintained. The walls are even more decrepit than before and when a silhouette passes in front of the window without curtains you suddenly freeze.

It’s her.

But, unlike the last times you saw her, you didn’t feel the terror that inhabited you in her presence. Which is intriguing and difficult for you to understand. Then, finally, you realize that you don’t care. You can’t say that you don’t feel any negative emotions when you think about her, but you don’t care what she’s become.

On the other hand, thinking about the panic that Leah could feel if she wakes up without seeing you by her side makes you retrace your steps.

Leah is still asleep when you find your hotel room, but she quickly starts moving as soon as you get rid of your shoes and coat. You get back on the bed and put a hand in her hair, only now realizing your body temperature difference.

"Your hands are freezing" Leah complains, shivering, trying to stick against you probably to regain a little warmth.

"I'm sorry" you mumble while laying a kiss on the top of her head.

It only takes a few seconds for Leah to realize that you are no longer wearing your pajamas, stepping back to better observe you. Her eyebrows are frowned when she looks at your clothes and her eyes are uncertain when she rises on yours.

"Where did you go?"

"I went to Helena’s"

You didn’t hesitate a second to tell her the truth, but you flinch when you see Leah's face drops.

"Why? What happened?"

"Nothing. It’s okay Babe"

But Leah doesn’t seem convinced and even seems to have trouble understanding what pushed you to go there. And honestly, you wouldn’t be able to explain why either. Actually, you recognize a little of panic in her eyes and in her voice when she talks again.

"Did you talk to her?"

"No" you answer by shaking your head, taking her hand in yours to play with her fingers. "I didn’t see her either, just out the window. Nothing changed there, it’s still creepy and poorly maintained."

"Why didn’t you ask me to come with you? If something had happened to you, I wouldn’t have even known where to get you Y/N, you’re completely unconscious"

"Leah stop, I’m fine"

Leah looks at you with a skeptical air before suddenly drawing you against her by mumbling things far too quickly and too low for you to understand something. But you let her do it, pressing your face on her chest and letting your hands slide on her arms.

"Never do that again. Never leave without telling me where you're going."

"Promise" you sigh softly, lulled by the beating of her heart and her arms around you.

"No sleeping now" Leah grumble while tickling your ribs.

"Leah" you moan, wriggling on her to avoid her fingers.

"I’m serious Y/N. If anything happened to you…"

You quickly understand that under her grumpy air, there is also a great deal of concern. So you hurry up to look at her. It will be necessary to quickly clarify your ideas to try to make her understand what you have done.

"Nothing will happen to me, Babe. I think I just needed to see this place again to realize where I am now. To realize how far I’ve come since. And to realize how lucky I am, too."

"It has nothing to do with luck. You’ve worked a lot to get where you are" Leah says, finally relaxing a bit.

"I wasn’t just talking about football" you point out with a smirk. "But the beautiful blonde in my bed, too."

Leah laughs while hearing you and you take advantage of her change of mood to deposit several kisses on her face, in the hollow of her neck and about every square centimeter of her skin that you can reach.

********

The match being important, the training camps were rather harsh and severe. You get up early in the morning to have breakfast with the team before going to train until lunch. A short walk through Oslo follows to relax before resuming training for the afternoon. In the late afternoon you have either physical strengthening or other activities such as swimming pool or other things that are supposed to increase your chances of winning.

Needless to say, when you return to your room at night, you are exhausted. Luckily Leah continues to discover Norway with your parents or cousin, or all three, which doesn’t make you feel too guilty for bringing her here without being able to take full care of her. The team is staying in the same hotel, three floors below Leah’s room. You managed to sneak into Leah’s room several times during the stay, regaining the comfort and benefits of her arms.

The massages and baths she offers you are much more pleasant than the care provided by the team caregivers, we will not lie.

The day of the game comes quickly and you learn that you will be part of the eleven players of the beginning of the game. You play against Italy, a team that you don’t know too well but that has shown its qualities many times. You are not extremely confident, but as you have nothing to lose it’s with some form of conviction that you join the field.

The stadium is pretty full and when you listen to the Italian national anthem, you look for Leah in the family area. You can’t help but smile when you see her, even if you quickly realize that she put on a Norway team jersey over her jacket. When she realizes that you are looking at her, she turns around before pointing to the back of the jersey. If you can’t read the name from where you are, you have no problem recognizing the number. And it’s yours.

"If that’s not dedication" mumbles Guro next to you with an amused smile.

You give her a quick look in turn, before greeting the Italian players who parade in front of you. You spotted Mapi a few rows above Leah and your family in the bleachers, all also dressed in a Norwegian jersey.

As you might have guessed, the game is physical and tactfully hard. Italy play in a rather rough way, each time flirting with the limit of the yellow card. So you find yourself quite often on the ground and it starts hitting on your nerves from the middle of the first half. You swear in Norwegian when the referee whistles after another tackle against you, accepting Ingrid’s hand to help you get up.

"Don’t let them get in your head, that’s exactly what they want. Stay focus." Ingrid tells you before joining the players standing close to the goal to try and get the free kick to the bottom of the net.

In Arsenal, it’s Katie who shoots the free kicks, but in the Norway team, it’s you who does it. You have been watching her a lot over the last few months, her kick and the precision she shows have always given you a lot of admiration. Even when you played her in Manchester City. Trying to remember the advices she gave you over time, you exhale before you step out of the ball to hit it.

You have the impression that it flies in slow motion, before finding the head of Vilde Bøe Risa and finishing at the bottom of the nets. The shouts of the crowd suddenly resound and you quickly join the rest of your teammates to celebrate the goal. You smile when you feel a few of them tapping on the head to congratulate yourself, returning to your place to allow the match to resume. When you look towards Leah, you can only smile when she raises her thumb in your direction.

It’s only with a small advantage on the counter that you find the changing rooms, but as your coach says, it’s better than nothing. You take advantage of the warmth of the changing rooms to warm up a little, accompanied by a hot tea. When you find the ground fifteen minutes later, the cold is still present but it seems to you less unpleasant.

Italy manages to equalize at the sixtieth minute, but thanks to a good pass from Ingrid you manage to allow Norway to regain the advantage about ten minutes later. The tension is palpable as the minutes pass the contacts become even more brutal than before.

And what was to happen happened.

It’s in the eighty-eighth minutes that you are again launched towards the goal.

You know that if you manage to score, it will definitely qualify your team. So you try to ignore your painful muscles and the different bruises that will definitely mark your body in a few hours to move away at full speed towards the opposing goalkeeper.

You only have one opponent to eliminate to get there, but she seems determined not to let you pass. The tackle you undergo is far from clean, your leg gripped in pincers between her two, emiting a sinister crack when you fall back on the ground.

The pain is immediate and so intense that you cannot hold back a real cry of pain. With your face leaning against the grass, you try to grab your leg to try to reduce the pain but you release it quickly when you understand your mistake. You’re in such pain that you can’t figure out exactly where you’re hurt.

Above you, an argument quickly broke out between several of your teammates and the player responsible for the tackle. The medical team is quickly at your side and you can’t help but push their hands when they start examining your leg.

"Don’t touch me" you beg by turning on your back.

Mixed up in the argument, Ingrid ends up shifting her attention to you by hearing the talking you have with the doctors. When she kneels beside you, one of the doctors quickly asks her to hold your hands to let them work. Ingrid obeys, letting you grab her hands as hard as you can.

Your best friend looks up at the family stands in front of you. She can therefore see that Leah has left her seat and moved as close to the field as possible, seeking to see as best as possible what is happening. Her face is twisted by worry, but what surprises Ingrid above all is to see that Mapi joined her and put a hand probably supposed to be comforting on Leah’s shoulder.

At their side, your parents and your cousin don’t seem to be particularly comfortable either.

Her eyes then rest on you when you are given morphine, before transferring to a stretcher. You leave the field under applause, but the pain and fear of the reality of your injury don’t allow you to appreciate them. Stretcher movements give you intense pain and you have to bite your hands so you don’t scream again. It’s a real relief when morphine finally takes effect some minutes after.

On the field, the end of the game is quickly whistled after the incident. When Ingrid joins her family and yours, she hugs Mapi while being having to answer hundred questions from your parents.

"Is it her ACL?" is the only question Leah asks.

"I don’t know" sighs Ingrid shaking her head, always in Mapi's arms. "She was... She wasn't able to say where exactly her pain was. I can try to get you into the locker room and infirmary if she hasn’t already left for the hospital. But maybe not everyone."

"Go ahead, Leah" your mother replies almost immediately, tapping on the blonde’s shoulder.

Leah hesitates for a split second, not wanting to interfere with the needs and desires of her in-laws. But one look at your father is enough to convince her and she skillfully jumps over the fence.

Ingrid trains her more or less discreetly towards the tunnel to reach the inside of the stadium, exchanging only a few words with your national coach in Norwegian. Obviously Leah doesn't understand a word of it, she only has in mind to be able to find you and know what you have.

Only a few dozen minutes have passed since the shock and your injury, but it seems to you that it's rather long hours. Despite the morphine, you continue to feel spikes of pain. You have never felt such intense pain and you find yourself having to focus on the painting of the ceiling to not lose consciousness.

After three knocks against the door, it opens slowly, letting your best friend and girlfriend pass.

"Leah" you manage to croak and she rushes towards you.

One of her hand squeezes your hand and the other gently caresses your hair while her eyes search for yours.

"What did they say?" Leah asks

"Nothing" you admit pitifully "They were waiting for morphine to take effect, it was hurting to much until now"

Speaking of which, you see two doctors come back inside the room and Ingrid slips away without having laid a kiss on your forehead. And after getting Leah’s promise to keep her informed.

Some new swearing in Norwegian escapes from your lips when they start auscultating you, Leah mentally promises herself to ask you about it in a few days. But right now she’s too busy sympathizing with your pain and looking for a way to turn you away from what’s happening.

"Did we win at least?"

"Yeah. 2-1. You were amazing by the way, we’re gonna have to fight to keep you at Arsenal if you keep playing that well."

You roll your eyes but you are quickly brought to the heart of the matter by the main doctor. He speaks Norwegian, so you have to translate it to Leah.

"What did he say?"

"He thinks it’s a fracture. They’ll transfer me to the hospital."

"At least it’s not your ACL" Leah sighs of relief.

You grimace before addressing the doctor again, asking if it's possible that someone could bring the things you left in the locker room.

Ingrid brings them to you, already changed and showered when she appears. Your parents, your cousin and Mapi follow her. All these people are not allowed to follow you to the hospital, but you reassure them as much as possible. You promise once again to keep them informed and you kiss them before going to the ambulance. Quickly realizing that it's impossible to put your foot on the ground or even hop while holding on to Leah, you are pushed on a bed to the vehicle.

Arriving at the hospital, you enjoy being able to wash yourself, with the precious help of Leah. You sigh with despair when you have to put on one of these hospital gowns, but this gives you the right to have access to a room and it's always more pleasant than the ambient noise of the reception of the emergency.

You leave Leah for a few moments to go for the scanner and she's eating the vanilla pudding of your meal tray when you come back.

"You hate vanilla" she exclaims for an excuse with an innocent face when you look at her with an half amused-half severe smile.

It also turns out that this is the only food that the blonde likes on what is offered on this set. You eat without much conviction under the insistence of Leah, the blonde certifying that she promised your mother to take care of you and that it begins by ensuring that you eat properly.

You both doze off when the doctors come back with your test results, you on your bed and Leah in a chair next to you. The blonde stubbornly refused to lie next to you despite your insistence, being too afraid to hurt you.

Leah’s frustration is at its height when you are given information in your native language, not understanding any of the words spoken. There is no similarity between these two languages and she wonders how you learned to speak English so well under these conditions.

"So?" she asks barely a second after the doctor has finished talking.

"Tibial tray fracture" you mumble

"Do you need surgery?"

You shake your head negatively, a little stunned by all this. You are interrupted by the doctor who tells you a few more words before leaving the room, shaking your hand then Leah's.

********

The night at the hospital was complicated for you, apart from the pain that kept you awake for many hours, you had to be taken away so that they put a cast that you will have to keep for a few weeks, before changing it for a splint. The only time you got your smile back was when you could choose the color of your blast.

"Red" you answered without hesitation.

"Red?" Leah asked when she saw the nurses preparing the mixture.

"If I have to stay stuck in the bleachers for a few weeks, I might as well match the colors of Arsenal"

You shrugged, trying to hide your sadness from this idea. Leah went through a lot more difficult than that and you don’t want to impose your moods on her. But she seems to have perfected her ability to read your thoughts since she immediately raised your face gently for you to look at her.

"Oh no, not that. You have the right to be sad, you have the right to be angry and you have the right to blame the whole world. But you don’t have the right to shut yourself up and not talk about how you feel. You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather confide to Less or someone else, but don’t shut yourself. Please."

Throat knotted, you couldn’t say anything, so you just nodded. That was enough for Leah who laid a tender kiss on your cheek.

"And you can count on me to be there every step of the way"

"I know" you smiled softly

With you and Leah not leaving until two days later, you mostly stayed in your hotel room after leaving the hospital. You have been busy for a long time with the various calls and messages you have received from many of your relatives. Instead of calling you once a week, your mother called you every day. And of course you got calls from Ingrid, Leila, Laia, Alessia (who in the meantime changed her name in your phone by Sis ✨), Katie and finally almost all of Arsenal.

"Nice free kick" told you Katie when she called you via FaceTime "I will have competition to take it at Arsenal, it’s good."

When you flew back to London and you’ve never been happier living in an elevator building. All that remains is to hope that it doesn’t break down for the next six weeks, when you can apparently start walking again without having the leg immobilized.

Leah will keep her promise to not to leave you alone for the slightest minute as she will establish a whole program with the club’s doctors so that your rehabilitation and the strengthening exercises you have to do will be planned at exactly the same times as the workouts of the others. When you’re not at Arsenal facilities, you are at home with her.

And on game days, you watch them play. The next match is against Aston Villa and you regret a little not participating in the game alongside Leah. Being able to beat the team in which your two exes evolve is a little too interesting idea for you, but it will wait next time. Meanwhile, you just follow Leah with your eyes, carefully studying Jordan’s behavior towards her.

Arsenal wins hands down and even if you are disappointed not to play with your team, you are very proud of your teammates. At the end of the match, you follow Lia who was replaced towards the end of the match on the field with your crutches, struggling a little because of the slippery ground. But you quickly reach the height of Alessia that you take in your arms to congratulate her on the goal she scored.

You’re having a hard time finding Leah in the crowd of players and you can’t help but get a little nervous about Jordan getting her before you. It’s however Katie who turns you away from this idea when she suddenly arrives behind you to lift you and begin to carry you like a bride.

"Let go of me, you maniac" you laugh when you see her starting a lap without letting you go.

"Why? Show everyone your cast!"

During one of the lunch breaks, her and Leah worked hard to reproduce the Arsenal logo on your cast and they are both very proud of their work. Your cast also has the names of all your teammates, a cat drawning made by Viv supposed to represent Raven, flowers made by Alessia and an Australian flag made by Kyra.

You roll your eyes, your arms around Katie's neck to stabilize you.

"Uh, the other way please" you mumble realizing that Lia is now exchanging a few words with Alina, right in the direction that Katie is going.

"Oops."

The Irish changes direction, only so that you find yourself facing Leah who looks at you both with fun.

"Can you give me back my girlfriend now please?"

"Dunno. I like her" Katie tease Leah as she tighten you up against her.

"I’m here too, by the way"

You see Caitlin waving her arm with a big smile a few meters from you, making the three of you laugh. When Katie finally puts you down, Leah beckons you to climb on her back, making you frown.

"People are gonna think this is weird, no?"

"Leah was in the stands of your last game with a jersey named after you. What would be weird is that they haven’t figured it out yet" Manu, who joined you, says.

"She’s right" Leah shrugged. "And at worst, we don’t care?"

Since the blonde doesn’t seem to see the slightest inconvenience, you don’t make yourself pray any longer. Leaning on her shoulders, you jump on her back, Leah passing her arms under your thighs so she can carry you properly. You greet the crowd from time to time when you hear your name, talking about everything and nothing with Leah and your teammates.

"So, we don't care right?" You ask Leah after a few minutes.

"Yes, why?"

You’re not answering her question. Instead, you lean over her and kiss her cheek, then the corner of her lips when she turns her head towards you. She grins and you grin back at her.

"Hard launch" Caitlin sings, her arm around Katie's waist.

"Yeah, you're the one to talk" Leah laughs while looking at them.

You didn’t see Jordan after the game and when you ask Alessia a little after, she will tell you that she actually went back to the locker room almost right after the whistle. It probably means to you that seeing you with Leah is difficult for her, probably confirming your theory. But the photos you see on social media a little later, while you are peacefully lying in Leah’s arms in your bed, could alone confirm that the blonde has indeed moved on.

The way she looks at you on those pictures gives you butterflies in your stomach and a wave of affection for her. Leah will only have two seconds to understand what happens to her when you drop your phone on the mattress to go up for her lips and kiss her passionately. She’s yours.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light

Omg here we are. At the end. I'm sad, I've been having such a blast with you guys this week! But all good things... Anyway, this is a strange one, rambling and mournful but hopefully with some sweetness. I hope it makes you feel things, I hope it gives you something, I hope we part on this final day of Painland Week as friends and confidants 💛 Huge, huge thanks to the organisers of Painland Week for putting this magical event together! Special love on this day goes out to @mellxncollie , who has been creating amazing gifs all week and has made beautiful ones for this very fic. It's been so so wonderful to collab with you and everyone should go and look at these wonderful creations at ONCE. Warnings for canonical character death (sorry, Charles) and the stuff that comes with it (i.e. refs to bullying/hatecrimes), non-graphic injury description, and just general mournful grief vibes all round. But hopeful ending bc let's face it, we all know how this played out! 7.3k, M-rated, available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Colour! What a deep and mysterious language. The language of dreams."

~ Paul Gauguin

Edwin Payne had always possessed a thirst for knowledge. As a child, he'd wished to learn just about everything there was to learn — every fact in every field. He'd been told, many times, that he could live to be a hundred years old, and still not have enough hours to do so.

Edwin had most certainly not lived to be a hundred. But he supposed that if you added his sixteen years of life to his seventy-three of death, he was getting rather close.

The dead years, however, had been far from conducive to study. Knowledge was hard to come by in Hell. Found either in burnt and bloodied books scavenged from individual damnations, or delivered in the form of cruel trials. He'd been taught a lesson or two in his time, but not on anything so polite and pedestrian as geometry. Edwin's key area of personal study in Hell had been one thing, and one thing only: how to escape from it.

It had taken seven decades, a slew of disembowelments and innumerable failed attempts, but at last he'd passed his final exam with merit. Or at least, a version of him had. But there wasn't much to be done for his original self, whose body lay mouldering on the dollhouse floor beneath a thousand savaged duplicates.

Best not to dwell on it.

He supposed he should have been upset about where the door to Hell spat him out. Not many people would be happy to return to the place where they'd met their untimely, violent demise. But to Edwin, after a small infinity in the blackest pit, stepping back into St. Hilarion's hallowed halls felt like greeting an old friend. Well, friend might be a tad generous. More of an acquaintance, or perhaps a second cousin one barely tolerated. Not a person one enjoyed spending time with, but nonetheless a familiar face.

For a day or so he'd wandered about in a bit of a daze, glancing over his shoulder for any sign he'd been followed from the depths. He'd drunk in every familiar feature, and puzzled over the unfamiliar ones. It was a small change in the grand scheme of things, but he suspected they'd replaced the drapes. They were a lighter grey now than they had been in his time. He wondered what colour they'd chosen — or for that matter, what colour they were in the first place. He'd never thought to ask.

Then on his second day of wandering, he'd stumbled across the old library. And that, for several weeks, had been that.

He'd probably had dreams about this, in his youth. Dreams of being left to his own devices, surrounded by books. All the information he could inhale, with no interruptions. Not even from the other boys. Their voices had startled him a few times, and he was always wary when a gaggle of them descended on the library. But he'd quickly realised that none of them could see him, and so long as he turned the pages quietly, he was free to continue his reading unmolested.

And he did so, continuously, for days. Not even boring old human restrictions like hunger, tiredness or eye strain could stop him now. He read everything he could get his hands on, brushed up on everything, filling in the gaps of the last decades. On the future that had been robbed from him, subsiding into history while his back was turned. He'd sat in his own shellshock when he read not only about how the so-called 'war to end all wars' had concluded, but also how little time had passed before the next one. He'd blushed and skimmed the pages pertaining to the nineteen-sixties free love movement. He'd gazed, thunderstruck, at the moon through the library window; wondering what the Earth must have looked like to the man they put up there.

All these years he'd been trapped in the gutters at the deepest depths of suffering, reaching up towards the light; all that time, humanity had been reaching, too. Up, up and up, all the way to the stars.

It became habit, after that, to gaze at the moon in between books and chapters. An opportunity to gather his thoughts on what he'd just read, to file away the facts, to jot down the most pertinent in his notebook. It was rather a meditative process.

Or at least it had been, until the night he'd seen something else beneath that moon. Something tragically earthbound amidst the gently illuminated greys of the grounds. A hunched and trembling shape against the trees, lurching by Edwin's window. A boy, on the run — his pursuers baying for blood like wolves at his heels.

They could put a man on the moon, but some things never changed.

It would be the first time Edwin had left the library since re-discovering it. Holding aloft the pilfered lantern he'd been using to read into the night, he trod carefully through the darkened corridors. The majority of staff and students were in dorms or common rooms by now, voices a soft patter, bleeding with the light under the doors. No one marked Edwin, or came to investigate the lantern floating past. Though some extinguished their own lights and hushed their voices, mistaking him for a warden. Edwin didn't wish to scare anyone, but he drew some comfort from it. He'd grown tired of being pounced upon in long, black, twisting hallways. How comforting for once to be the root of fear and not merely its captive.

Edwin had to search a little while, but he was already familiar with the best hiding places. It wasn't long before he was creeping up to the attic, minding his ghostly tread upon the stairs. He didn't wish to cause alarm, or send the boy deeper into hiding thinking his assailants had found him.

He crossed the threshold, and at once heard a shuddering intake of breath as the harsh white aura of his lantern bounced off the walls. He supposed there was no disguising the glow. He hung back a moment, conflicted. All he wanted was to offer some light and warmth, but perhaps a floating lantern would be a sight too much for the terrified boy. Well, it was too late for that, now. He stepped into the room proper, peering past the flare of his lantern to the source of the sound. A shivering bundle on the floor, tucked into a nook behind the shelves. Trying to be as small as possible and, by and large, succeeding.

Wide, hunted eyes stared into the light. A voice, low and wary, spoke.

"What do you want?"

It was then that Edwin realised the eyes weren't looking into the light. They were looking at him. He glanced behind himself, just to make sure, but he wasn't mistaken. "You can see me?"

It was also when he noticed something equally perplexing happening to the light. It had started to look... less white. No, in fact it no longer looked white at all, but it had not dimmed, and it bore no resemblance to any shade of grey Edwin had ever seen. It was... he didn't even have the language to describe it. If he had to choose a word, he could only say it looked warm. He'd never seen anything like it. Not in seventy years of Hell, nor in his life before. It simply defied description.

He tore his gaze from it. There were more pressing matters to attend to. "I... I thought this lantern might help," he said, still dumbfounded. He approached, with care — this boy was clearly a victim in this circumstance, but there was a defensive set to his jaw. A wild look in his eyes. A creature caught in a trap was as liable to bite a rescuer as an attacker. "You can simply extinguish it if those boys come up here."

The guarded expression cracked, vulnerability bleeding through. As Edwin drew closer, he noticed that the strange new quality of the light was reflected where it hit the boy. There were notes of something else beneath the pallid grey tones of his skin, something richer. Just as something beyond simple black glistened in his enormous eyes.

"You saw them?" the boy rasped.

"I did. I went to school here a long time ago." Edwin knelt before him, bringing the light closer to the lad’s face and marvelling, quietly, at the strange tones that sprang into sharp relief. Whoever this young man was, Edwin's very perception of the world appeared to be shifting in his presence. "We had bullies, too."

He looked so weak, curled up and trembling. He certainly wasn't weak, Edwin suspected that much. Peeking out from beneath the blanket were shoes and trousers of a kind he'd seen these modern boys wearing out on the sports pitch. The lad was no delicate flower, but at this moment, at the mercy of his wounds, he was helpless.

And if he could see Edwin... then his fate was already sealed.

Edwin looked at the boy levelly, at the fear in his strange eyes. He'd seen that fear upon countless faces these last seventy years, on the wretched souls crying out for respite from their torment. He'd worn a similar expression some decades ago, when a careless act of cruelty had damned him, too.

"Rest assured," he said, gently, offering the lantern. "I shan't hurt you."

He could see the moment the boy decided to believe him. His shoulders slumped, his breath escaped in a rattle of relief. He reached out from his blanket shell, and flashed a sliver of that curiously saturated skin at his shoulder. Against the stark white of the sleeveless vest he wore, the difference was now undeniable. Not grey, not white, but something altogether different. Like his eyes, like the metal at his throat and ear that glimmered in the lamplight. Tones Edwin had never seen before, couldn't even name.

It couldn't be...

"Cheers, mate," said the boy, shivering as he brought the lantern closer. "I'm freezing. Never been this cold in my life."

Swallowing, Edwin nodded. "It's the least I can do."

The boy's lips twitched in a feeble half-smile. "Yeah? You mean you can do more?"

Probably not as much as he'd like. But Edwin nodded again. "Of course."

The light shone upon the boy's face and the dark, waterlogged curls of his hair. Steeped in that impossible hue.

"Stick around a bit?" he asked, his voice very small indeed. "Bit lonely up here..."

Edwin had not come here with any plans to stick around. He'd wished to help, of course. But to say he was unaccustomed to dealing with people was a tremendous understatement. He'd planned to drop off the lantern, check the boy was alright, and slip away without a fuss.

But the boy was clearly not alright, half-alive and fading fast. And he'd seen Edwin, asked him in no uncertain terms to stay. Asked him with all the broken hope in his voice and all the impossible buried, blooming hues in his eyes. And if those colours meant what he had always been told…

Well. How could Edwin begrudge his own soulmate a last request?

"My name is Edwin," he said, as measured as he could manage. "Edwin Payne."

The boy grinned. It wobbled at the edges. "Charlie," he introduced himself. "Charles Rowland."

Edwin hummed. Charles. A pleasant name. Respectable. He thought it rather suited the young man. "A pleasure to meet you, Charles."

Charles chuckled, drawing the lantern closer to himself. "Pretty bloody brills to meet you, too, Edwin."

The colour — for it surely was a colour, Edwin knew of no other word or explanation — of the lantern seemed to pulse, then settle, stronger than before. It illuminated the feeble grin upon Charles' drawn face in hues as yet unnamed.

Edwin would have to find some names. Compare what he could see with what he'd been told, what he'd read. Identify what he could.

While he still had the chance.

"Best thing to happen to me all night," Charles mumbled. "You showing up."

Edwin wished to tell him things could only improve from here; but he knew it to be a lie.

~

"It is the color closest to light. In its utmost purity, it always implies the nature of brightness and has a cheerful, serene, gently stimulating character. Hence, experience teaches us that yellow makes a thoroughly warm and comforting impression."

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"Just didn't seem right. Letting that kid get beat on 'cause he's from Pakistan," said Charles.

His socks peeked out from the blanket, bright white in the lamplight. Interesting — a part of Edwin had always presumed that white would look vastly different with the rest of the spectrum unlocked. It didn't, but there was much less of it. The world was full of more off-whites in more hues than Edwin could've previously imagined. Charles' skin wasn't dissimilar. Pale-ish, but bearing pleasant warm under-and-overtones that made Edwin's look near-translucent by comparison.

"I mean, I'm half Indian," Charles continued. "Why am I so different?"

"That is a fair point," said Edwin, thoughtful, harkening back to some of the history books he'd skimmed of late. "They were the same country back when I was alive."

Fascinating how the times changed, new lines drawn in the sand. Fascinating, and frustrating. In the time Edwin had been gone wars had started and ended, entire countries had been ruptured, borders reshaped. And yet some of life's most persistent mysteries remained unanswered.

He'd not looked much into it, but it seemed little advancement had been made in understanding of the so-called 'soulmate' principle. It had been a frequent enough phenomenon to be common knowledge in Edwin's time, but no one ever had any real explanation for it. Plenty of spiritual explanations, of course. But it seemed no one could point to any tangible scientific reason why a person, upon hearing the voice of a certain other person, had the entire hidden colour spectrum revealed unto them. An entire dimension of the visible world remained inaccessible to the vast majority of the population, and still no one knew why, or even how. Clearly, there was still much research to be done on the subject.

And clearly, the notion of this mysterious person as a 'soulmate' was romantic drivel. Charles seemed a pleasant fellow, but he was a fellow. And two boys could hardly be soulmates, could they? No God-fearing Christian would embrace the concept if that were the case. So no, Charles couldn't possibly be his soulmate. Perhaps the phenomenon represented something else entirely. Like minds? Charles seemed an easy boy to get on with — and Edwin seldom got on with anybody. He even felt at ease sitting beside him on the hard attic floor, nearly touching. Perhaps Charles was simply his universe-appointed fastest friend; the one person in creation who could truly understand him.

Or maybe it was a cosmic fluke, a quirk of biology. Maybe it could have been absolutely anybody in the world.

Yes, that was probably it. Nothing deeper at play than that.

Still, it was a pity Charles would be dead before the night was out. Soulmate or not.

(Definitely not.)

"Right..." Charles mumbled. Followed by a frown. "Wait, what?"

"Hm?"

"What d'you mean 'when you were alive'?"

Edwin looked at him. Charles still seemed rather small, rather sorry. A chilly little lump, all curled in on himself, even now they were side by side and of a height with one another. He looked cold, sallow. Not even the warm hues of the light Edwin had tentatively designated yellow could hide it, cheerful though it may be.

"You ought to move around a bit," said Edwin, standing smoothly. "You must keep your circulation going."

It would do no good, of course. But who knew? Charles might be hardier than Edwin gave him credit for.

"Edwin," said Charles, all seriousness. "What d'you mean when you were alive?"

Edwin's brow twitched. He held out his hand. "Get up, and I shall tell you."

Charles took his hand — and startled. "Fuck — you're colder than me, mate!"

"And for good reason. Come, now. Two or three quick laps of the room. I'll hold the lantern."

~

"Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead."

~ Wilfred Owen

Edwin had heard some truly hideous sounds in his time. Crunching bones, squelching organs, agonised screams. And yet somehow, the wheeze of Charles hacking up water from pulverised lungs was among the worst to date.

"Are you alright?" Edwin asked, hands clasped upon the table — lest he risk something overfamiliar like a pat on the back.

"I'm fine," Charles deflected, voice hoarse and unconvincing. "Just answer my question.

Charles was looking worse by the minute. The warm tones of his skin that Edwin had grown so fascinated by were receding under sallow grey. A new colour was blooming, in and around his eyes; in the puffy lids underneath, in the spiderwebbing veins across the whites.

This colour was not nearly so puzzling — the veins were a dead giveaway. Edwin had read more than enough crime literature to be able to identify the colour of blood.

So, this was the famous red. A bold colour, possibly quite charming in the right context; which this most assuredly was not. Edwin was no physician, but he'd read a number of medical textbooks. Charles bore all the hallmarks of a man bedevilled with internal bleeding. It was not a matter of whether he would die, but of what would kill him first; the cold, or the injuries.

He tore his gaze away. Anger, bitter and harsh, had him by the throat, had his fists clenching together until his gloves creaked. Who were those wretched boys, to lay hands upon Charles? To break him so? This boy who, insofar as Edwin could tell, hadn't a bad bone in his body? Whatever Charles was to him, soulmate or not (definitely, definitely not), he was his. He was supposed to be his, and soon he would be dead, and Edwin understood, now. Understood how people found themselves mired in Hell's fifth circle, swamped in wrath and rage. For no reason, no reason at all, those boys had taken Charles’ life without a care. Taken his life, and the colour from Edwin's eyes, all in one fell swoop. Soon both would be gone; and if Edwin ever found the hooligans responsible they'd have a formidable haunting on their hands.

"Nineteen thirteen, to..." he counted one, two, three, slowly. Collecting himself. "Nineteen sixteen."

"Bullshit." Charles cocked his head, a small smile of disbelief upon his lips. It was a charming expression, in its impertinence. "When did you go to school here for reals?"

"Nineteen thirteen to nineteen sixteen," Edwin repeated, slower. "I am dead, Charles."

Charles laughed. Edwin raised his eyebrows — and pretended not to be fascinated by the flash of not-red in Charles' mouth, his tongue and gums. What was the word for a light red, again? He was sure he'd read it somewhere...

The laughter died, and Charles' eyes went wider still. "...Oh."

There was more of that not-red than Edwin had thought, actually. The shells of Charles' ears, where the dawning light from the window glowed through translucent skin. He'd never considered that a person's ears might appear a different colour to the rest of them. How many secret tricks of the light had he been oblivious to all these years? How many more had he yet to discover? How many would he never get the chance to see for himself?

Just how much more could possibly be stolen from him?

"I... I dunno if this is, um, bad to ask, or what, but..." Charles swallowed. "How'd you die, mate?"

His lips, too, were redder than the rest of him; although that was fading, rapidly. Cooling at the edges. Edwin suspected that wasn't supposed to be the case.

"As I said," Edwin replied, sadly. "We had bullies, too."

~

"Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

~ Robert Frost

He had Charles move around again, though it was clear it would serve no purpose. He was delaying the inevitable. Charles was all but shutting down already; the occasional boost to his circulatory system was hardly going to bring him back from Death's door.

But perhaps Charles would beat the odds. Why not? He seemed a resilient fellow. Perhaps he would, indeed, outlast the night, see another day. Perhaps help would arrive. Perhaps Edwin could give him the push he needed to survive this if he only persisted.

Besides, he couldn't let Charles seize up and expire just yet. Charles had questions and damn it all, Edwin would answer them!

"Actually, you can move around any space however you like," Edwin explained. "It is not that you cannot touch things, you just cannot feel them."

A blessing in disguise, on occasion. Though Edwin had done his utmost to fill up this nook by the window with whatever musty blankets and futons he could salvage, he doubted the floor was comfortable. He himself sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, bracing for discomfort he couldn't feel. It was far from ideal. But he supposed that a hard floor was the least of Charles' problems.

Charles was rapidly declining. That cool tinge upon his lips was growing more prominent, his coughs harsher and more visceral-sounding. But here, at least, he seemed as snug as Edwin could make him. Swaddled like a babe, tucked up against the cluttered old shelves. Perhaps this was warm enough to get him through. It certainly seemed warm, with the yellow light burning merrily on.

It glowed not only off Charles' skin and his eyes, but a myriad small reflective surfaces strewn about the forgotten nook. Edwin was particularly taken with the shimmer of it off what appeared to be a dented instrument — possibly a tuba? — near Charles' head. Metals had always looked very similar to one another, in Edwin's grayscale vision. Now he could see the metal of the horn was a somewhat deeper shade than that of, say, the earring Charles wore. Finally, he could see first-hand the differences between the precious and non-precious metals. Alas, he had few of them to choose from, and little way of knowing which was which. He supposed it safe to assume that the instrument was brass, hence its orchestral designation.

But the metal Charles was wearing was his favourite so far. It had a little of the yellow about it, but richer, more lustrous. Edwin found himself quite transfixed by the way it fluttered and flickered in the light.

He was familiar with the saying all that glitters is not gold, of course. But for want of further evidence, gold seemed as good a guess as any.

"It's stupid, but... I think I'd miss kissing," said Charles. He looked right at Edwin, earring and eyes twinkling with the motion. He did have... handsome eyes. Edwin simply must figure out what colour they were. Of a similar hue but different tone to his hair, to the old wooden shelves at his back. "Do you miss kissing?"

"Mmm-mmmm," Edwin mumbled, with a small shake of his head. "No. Not as such."

How many people had Charles kissed, he wondered? Surely not an abundance, they were of a similar age. Had he kissed someone this month, this week? Today? Before his lips grew cold and chapped, when they were... oh, what was that word for a lighter red? Pink, yes, that was it.

Then again, perhaps he went about with painted lips in every day life. He already wore some sort of cosmetic on his eyes, after all, so maybe it wasn't a stretch for a modern young man. Imagine. A boy, staining the lips of his paramours with lipstick when he kissed them...

Goodness. The world really had moved on.

Edwin cleared his throat. "No," he repeated, firmly. "No, I don't miss kissing."

He supposed it was fine that Charles liked it, though. And maybe he'd get the chance to do it again. He just had to hold on a little longer, outlive the dawn chorus, until the teachers noticed his absence and sent people searching. Then he could keep on living, and kissing and whatever else he wished to do and Edwin...

Well, Charles probably wouldn't have much use for a ghost friend. But at least Edwin could keep the colours. Just a little while longer.

Charles chuckled. It was a bit of a sadder sound than the last time Edwin heard it. "Must've had some shit kisses in your life, mate."

Edwin smiled, tightly. "Something of that ilk."

"Shame we weren't mates," said Charles. "I'd've..."

"You'd have... what?"

A smattering of colour returned to Charles' face, then. It might've been a trick of the light, but Edwin could've sworn his cheeks warmed. "I'd've... well, I'd've found you someone to snog, wouldn't I?" he laughed, drawing his blanket closer around his chin. "Got some fit mates from my old school. And the birds proper fancy the brainy lads."

Edwin frowned. "The... birds?"

"Y'know. Lasses. Girls."

"Oh." For whatever reason, Edwin felt... disappointed. And not just at the apparently abysmal state of modern slang. "Yes. Girls."

He cocked his head, watching Charles carefully. He was a very good looking boy. And he wasn't Edwin's soulmate, couldn't be, but...

Edwin cleared his throat. "Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I look..." He wavered. "...Unusual, at all? To you?"

Charles blinked. "Um. Well. Outfit's a bit retro." His eyes widened slightly, a dash of mortification. "Not being rude! I like it! It's... it's cool."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "I don't mean my outfit, I mean... have you noticed anything different about this room since I walked in?" he pressed.

"Well, yeah."

Edwin inhaled. "You have?"

"Yeah."

He leaned in closer. "What have you noticed exactly?"

Charles smiled weakly. "Well. It... feels a lot less lonely. With you here. Warmer, too." He chuckled. "Daft as that sounds. With you being dead, and all."

Edwin's fingers flexed on his knees — all he could do to stop himself hugging them, wretchedly, to his heart. "Yes," he agreed, dully. "Daft, indeed..."

~

"Green makes me think of silence, or maybe it’s loneliness. I get the feeling of a terribly distant star."

~ Kobo Abe

Edwin had only ever known one person ‘fortunate’ enough to meet her soulmate.

Aunt Florence had always been a bit of an odd duck. Flighty and fickle, a perpetual embarrassment to her brother — Edwin's father — whose job it had been to lend financial support to her spinster lifestyle. As she alleged it, she'd found her soulmate in the late eighteen seventies. For reasons undisclosed (to Edwin, at least) they had never married. Edwin had never had the pleasure of meeting her mysterious match.

She had always seemed very fascinated with the world around her, Aunt Florence. A trait she shared with Edwin; though while his interest lay in facts, hers lay in aesthetics. He’d seen her dedicate hours to the study of a singular rose petal in her garden. Edwin was told she could do quite beautiful things with oil paints, for those with eyes to see. They were passable, too, in black and white, but lacking dimension.

Once, when Edwin was about nine or so, Aunt Florence had taken his chin between her willowy fingers.

"What lovely eyes you have, my boy," she'd said, in a smoker's croak. Uncouth for a woman to smoke, particularly one of her social standing, but she'd never much cared what others thought of her. Her tobacco-stained nail had nipped his chin as she held him close. "Your mother's eyes. Sea green... You'll find yourself someone who can appreciate them, won't you?"

Edwin, of course, had had no idea what green was, and little desire to find out. Not if finding a so-called soulmate was the prerequisite condition. He was of an age where the fixation that grown-ups seemed to have on kissing one another was both vexing and perplexing to him. A phase of his life that, to be frank, he'd never entirely left behind. He'd extricated himself from Aunt Florence's talons as politely as possible, and given her a wide berth for the rest of her visit.

The next time he'd seen her, she had taken one look at his eyes, and burst into tears.

They all ended the same way, these soulmate stories. It was a law of nature. Death was not neat, or particularly fair. No matter how blissfully happy the pair, someone always had to leave first; and when they did, the colour left with them.

Some, at least, got time to enjoy it all. Before their love — and their colour — died away. A few decades, or years. Months, even.

Some, like Edwin, got far less. Hours, if that.

And some, like Charles Rowland, got no time at all.

~

"They're out of the dark's ragbag, these two

Moles dead in the pebbled rut,

Shapeless as flung gloves, a few feet apart —

Blue suede a dog or fox has chewed.

One, by himself, seemed pitiable enough,

Little victim unearthed by some large creature

From his orbit under the elm root.

The second carcass makes a duel of the affair:

Blind twins bitten by bad nature."

~ Sylvia Plath

"Shut up, mate. That is brills."

Edwin was inclined to agree. Especially now he could appreciate the full effect. He'd been aware, of course, that his form seemed to partially dissolve into a mirage when he passed through solid surfaces. He'd been unaware that the mirage seemed to possess a certain hue. Not unlike the hue beginning to bleed through the filthy window.

The pre-dawn light was different to the majority of the colours Edwin had identified so far. It was colder. Greyer. Pale and stark against the opaque black silhouette of the distant treeline (interesting, how the trees still seemed black in this light. He wondered if he'd get a chance to see this green he'd heard so much about before the night was over.) If Charles' face was warmed by the yellow lamplight, it was cooled at the edges by the seeping tones through the glass.

This, like the red and the blood, came with an easy reference point. Everybody knew that the sky was supposed to be blue.

Seemed Edwin finally had a word for the sickly tint of Charles' lips.

"Why don't you fall through the floor?" Charles asked, puzzled.

"There are many, many, so-called ghost rules," said Edwin, sagely. He had, after all, spent several weeks conducting his own personal study and compiling the rules himself. "I shan't waste your time listing them."

"Well, I only asked about the floor, didn't I?" said Charles, a teasing lilt to his lip. Honestly, the cheek of the man.

"Because I choose not to fall through the floor," Edwin replied, in utterly falsified exasperation. "Happy?"

Charles had a certain way of smiling; one that spread up from his grinning mouth and into his eyes. Despite the cold, miserable state of the rest of him they fairly shone with warmth, a merry humour. A knowing gleam that said 'look at us, in on the joke'.

Edwin had never been in on the joke, before.

Charles chuckled; and Edwin did likewise, helpless to the draw of it. The magnetic sound. It had his lips lifting of their own volition — even as his heart sank further and further into the floor.

The blue devils, that's what his father had called it. On those rare occasions when he acknowledged Mother's low mood, or found Edwin weeping silently upon his bed. "You've just got the blue devils, my boy. Chin up, now, and soldier on. You've better things to do than mope."

He could feel them, now, those blue devils upon his shoulder. Cold, heavy, and the colour of Charles' bloodless lips. Weighing Edwin down like stones in his pockets. He hadn't felt hot or cold in decades, but now he felt as Charles must have done with the chill lake pressing down upon him, filling his lungs. And unlike Charles, he wasn't sure he possessed the tenacity to break the surface before the bubbles stopped.

He'd fought his way from the pits of Hell itself, and yet this climb seemed more insurmountable by far. He was no longer fighting his way from the dark to the light. There was no light above the surface of this icy water, no light at all. The light was here, the entire spectrum of it; above was only grey, grey, grey, as far as the eye could see.

"Oi," said Charles. He looked so very tired; but still inquisitive to a fault. "What other cool stuff can you do, then?"

Edwin huffed. "I can travel through mirrors, if you must know."

Charles' blue lips parted, breath escaping on a wonderstruck wheeze. "Wicked."

He ought to be more careful with his breaths. He couldn't have had all that many left to draw.

~

"We love the sight of the brown and ruddy earth; it is the color of life, while a snow-covered plain is the face of death."

~ John Burroughs

Charles Rowland passed away in the small hours of the morning. Edwin didn't even need to look up from the page; he just watched the pinkish tint bleed from his own ghostly fingertips, and made a deduction.

Even before his passing, Edwin hadn't looked directly at Charles in some time. He hadn't been able to bring himself to. The colour in his ailing new friend had diminished all but completely, his skin a sallow patina, his lips a cracked grey slate.

Edwin had only come to know colour on this night, and already he could feel its absence like a hole in his heart. He understood, now, why Aunt Florence had dragged herself so mournfully through her twilight years. Going through the motions of existing. Colour, for Aunt Florence, had been life; without it, there was simply no point living.

Somehow, Edwin found his voice, and he read on. Because Edwin was no Aunt Florence, arty and flighty and prone to outpourings of passion. Edwin was his father's son; he soldiered on. No matter what.

But the ache in his chest persisted, despite his best efforts to quash it. There had been so much yet to see. He'd never witnessed the colour purple — an expensive hue of which he'd heard a great many appreciative things. He'd never seen a flower, any flower, in full bloom, or watched one of those famous sunsets.

In the end, he never even got to see what his aunt meant about his eyes. But he had no reflection anymore, so. Perhaps that one was always a lost cause.

On the topic of lost causes; there was someone else in this room with him, yet. Someone who'd lost far more than a fleeting glimpse of creation in technicolour.

""— I cease to believe,"" Edwin finished reading with a soft, forced chuckle. To no response. He looked up to find Charles standing tall, gaze turned to the window. It was the first time all night he'd been without his blanket; and the first time he'd borne not the slightest shiver.

Well. At least he would never be cold again.

"Not enjoying this one?" Edwin prompted, gently. "Carrados the blind detective was just becoming quite popular in my day."

When Charles turned around, of course Edwin already knew what he would find. Knew what his own eyes would fall upon when they followed Charles’ gaze.

But knowing did not prepare him for the reality. The cold, desaturated tableau of Charles Rowland's demise, illuminated like a crime scene in the stark white light of the lantern. How a person so vital, so vibrant as Charles should be without blood and colour defied all reason. And yet there he lay; bereft of hue, and of life.

Edwin swallowed, and closed the book gently upon Max Carrados. "When you could see me, I knew it was too late."

Charles was silent. For the first time all night. Silent as the grave.

"But I simply..." Edwin hesitated. "I did not want to scare you."

In the corner of Edwin's eye, the lantern guttered and died. Good. It didn't seem right; all that light upon Charles, and not a drop of warmth in it.

"Well. Glad you didn't say anything." Charles' voice was stronger, now. How different he sounded, without the rattle of lake water in his lungs.

Charles looked at his hands. As did Edwin. How strange they appeared, in the bleak grey of Edwin's impoverished eyes. How unsettlingly close to the pallor his skin had taken on in his death throes. And yet he wasn't pallid, not in the slightest. Standing tall, unchained from his ailing flesh, he was more wholly and healthily Charles than Edwin had yet seen him.

"Doesn't feel like I imagined. Being dead," said Charles, thoughtful. "Feels okay, doesn't it?"

In truth, there was nothing remotely 'okay' about this situation. Edwin felt... robbed. He felt robbed. Because he would never know the colour of Charles' skin when it wasn't frozen grey, or beaten black and blue. He'd never see this Charles, standing tall in the dawning sunlight, the way he was designed to be seen. The way he was chosen, by God or fate or an impossible quirk of biology to be seen, by Edwin. Only by Edwin. For he was Edwin's, no more could he deny it.

And Charles would never see Edwin. Not the way Edwin saw him. Because by the time they met, it was already too late. Because in a wretched twist of fate, Charles’ soulmate — his unfortunate, unorthodox soulmate — was dead in the ground before Charles was even born.

And Edwin had thought Hell to be cruel and unusual punishment.

"I sincerely wish we could have been friends for longer," said Edwin, dropping the magazine and standing from his seat on the old trunk. "But Death will come for you, now. You should go with her when she arrives."

He turned, and began his brisk march to the door. What's done is done; and Charles was, unmistakably, done. Done in and done for, done in just about every sense.

So Charles would be off, now. He'd be off, and Edwin would just have to carry him, too. In his head, with his facts and his torments and a thousand tiny heartbreaks. What was another one, in the grand scheme of things? What else was there to do in this fugitive afterlife but keep his chin up, and soldier on?

"Well I'm not ready, am I?” Charles called out. “I don't wanna go somewhere else, yet."

Edwin faltered. Turned. Charles was watching him.

"What if I stay here for a bit with you, instead?" said Charles, preposterously.

"Then you will always be running from her," was Edwin's quick, logical response. But Charles was still watching him with those... those damnably appealing eyes, and he felt the need to defend his case. "Also, I'm not good with other people. And I only just came back to this school after escaping Hell, so. I'm out of practice, to be perfectly frank. So. When the light comes. You stay, and I go."

He smiled, tightly, and turned once more. There. He'd avoided mentioning Hell all night, but it was done, now. No boy with a lick of sense would —

"Well, I'm aces with other people."

… He simply could not be serious.

"Pretty chuffed you got out of Hell, mate," Charles continued, maddeningly blasé. "That sounds hard. Nice job."

Edwin turned on him, incredulous. "That is not how you make decisions," he snapped, taking a challenging step towards Charles. "Just based on whatever you happen to be feeling in the moment!"

"It's how I lived my life."

Charles turned his head, looked down at his own body. Edwin couldn't bring himself to do likewise.

"Doesn't seem all that different now."

Charles looked at Edwin, unflinching. And what a different creature he was, free of cold and pain. Lithe but lax, eyes slightly narrowed in almost catlike contemplation of Edwin. He stood before a hellbound soul, near naked and freshly dead, and yet the easygoing slope of his narrow shoulders bore no strain.

He shrugged, nonchalant. White light glimmered from his dangling earring. "Looks like you're stuck with me.”

For a moment it was nigh on impossible to believe he hadn't seen it, too. Hadn't seen the spectrum unfold when Edwin said his name. Because how else could someone look at anyone, let alone Edwin, with such certainty? As if he'd never been more sure of anything or anyone in his tragically short life.

Breathtaking was not a word Edwin liked to use lightly. In fact, he preferred not to use it at all. Who had ever seen something so rare, so staggeringly beautiful they'd lost their breath? It was the sort of word Aunt Florence would have used; flowery and hyperbolic.

It seemed Edwin owed her yet another apology.

Light flared in the corner. Their eyes leapt to it. It was of no colour that Edwin could see and yet he could feel it, deep in his soul, he knew its shape and colour; blue. A kinder, softer blue than that of bloodless lips and dreary skies. The wild blue yonder that he was barred from forevermore; the one that awaited Charles Rowland with open arms.

Charles looked at Edwin.

Edwin looked at Charles.

Charles smiled, soul glowing lantern-bright in those dark, confident eyes. He didn't move, not towards the light or away from it, but he held out his hand. Planted like a tree, unbending, unbowed. His roots sunk deep into the loamy earth of life; his branches beckoning Edwin into their boughs.

Oh, thought Edwin, when he understood — didn't see, simply understood — the colour that had been gazing back at him all along. That's the word I was looking for.

~

Thirty years passed, fading into memory, and with them faded the sting. It was hard to mourn the loss of colour when one could scarcely remember what it looked like in the first place. Those fleeting hours blended and blurred amidst the grey years, lost to time; a single hand-tinted frame in a hundred miles of monochrome celluloid.

Though he tried to remember, Edwin struggled to visualise the yellow light that had bathed their faces; the gold that glinted at the cut of Charles' jaw. Pink lips, red veins, the blue stain of death. Such things were impossible to note down in a world of black ink and white pages, and his aide-mémoires soon failed him. The colours fluttered away into the past, scattered to the winds of memory like his mother's smile, his father's voice, Aunt Florence's smoky laughter and the roses she painted on the guest room walls.

But though he could not recall the exact shade of Charles' eyes, nor compare them to any other — not even his own — Edwin knew something about them. Just as he knew Death's light shone heavenly blue. And for once in Edwin's long and tormented afterlife, he felt truly fortunate. Because he'd been allowed to experience only a fraction of what the visible spectrum had to offer; colours he could count on less than two hands.

And yet somehow, by some stroke of luck, he'd seen the best one nonetheless.

~

"At breakfast that morning I had been struck by the lively dissonance of its colours. But that was no longer the point. I was not looking now at an unusual flower arrangement. I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation - the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence."

~ Aldous Huxley

~~

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, my darlings 💛 Love to hear your thoughts! Reminder to check out Olly's amazing gifs! This one took a little while to come together, bc in my first draft Edwin's feelings/progression were a bit all over the place. But I realised that all the sections of the attic scene (not including the very first one/my inserted flashback about Aunt Florence) could track along the five stages of grief quite nicely and that gave me a good framework to loosely follow, starting in his denial of the implications and ending in devastated acceptance of what he's lost. As to why he didn't like, *tell* Charles, well, what would you do? Be honest? If you were a dead Edwardian ghost boy and you found out your actual soulmate was not only another boy, but a doomed one? One who isn't even seeing what you're seeing. Maybe he thought Charles wouldn't believe him, or would take it badly. Maybe he thought telling him would sway him unfairly into staying when Edwin believed he should go. I think he will tell him, one day. And Charles is gonna be PISSED that he kept it from him so long xD For the quotes, I tried to stick to things Edwin could possibly have read, so pre-1989 things, as I like the idea of him using literature as a framework for understanding what he's seeing. It was really interesting writing about colour from the perspective of someone with no reference for it! Some of the quotes might have ended up anachronistic by a couple of years, tbh people are *shit* at sourcing their quotes and while I could source authors easy enough it was hard sometimes to isolate what specific book/anthology the piece came from, or what year it was published. If I'd have had more time I would have done more digging! Anyway, that's about all I got right now. I dunno when I'll be back, probably (hopefully) in a few weeks with the next chapter of Lonely Bones. In the meantime please, feel free to continue chatting with me in the comments, on my tumblr, come be a pal, I've had the time of my life with y'all this week and I'm not ready to get off this train just yet! Until next time! 💛

[signanothername]

So, kinda knew this would come up sooner or later, but i need to make one thing very clear

If you send me an ask, please don’t push/rush me to answer it, this is a red line for me, meaning if you do rush me, it’ll be an immediate block, i will not tolerate or entertain it

I try to be as gentle as possible and i try to give people the benefit of the doubt and think of a million reasons/excuses to pardon who do me wrong, even tho I frankly think that I don’t have to

But just like everyone else, i’m a human being, I try to answer asks as fast as humanly possible when i run a daily blog, another social media account, have a life outside my online one with responsibilities and work, keep up with people’s messages, all while dealing with moderate chronic pain and fatigue

This is how many asks i have in my inbox right now, and every time i answer one i get +3 more

I’m not saying I hate it, It puts a smile on my face when I receive asks, and you’re absolutely welcome to send me as many as you want, cause Tumblr is extremely convenient and believe me, if I ever get too overwhelmed I can simply just close my inbox, it’s not that big of a deal

What I’m trying to say is that i have so many different asks, MOST of which would need a big ramble (and words are extremely difficult for me) or which I plan to include art with, which, if it didn’t click with you already, means that I need TIME to answer it

Even if it takes me months or even years, I’ll eventually answer your ask (as long as it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, which so far none have, thank you for being wonderful <3333)

All that I wish of you guys is patience, if not, then I don’t have to be patient either and will simply use the very convenient block button at my disposal

[jymwahuwu]

I'm ascending with all this yan Jing Yuan content, thank you for feeding us 🙏

Ngl you got me giggling and kicking my feet over this stupid man thing, affectionate.

But have you considered Jing Yuan subtly using Yanqing?

Jing Yuan knows you have a soft spot for the kid, it's hard not to, he's very endearing, and knows you'd never do anything to hurt the kid.

Yanqing is very oblivious to his guardian's true nature, he just thinks you're a bit bashful is all about dating the general. The kid adores you and always begs you to come visit, how can you say no to him?

You don't want him to ever be afraid of you, it'd hurt your poor heart too much, so you never lash out when Yanqing is nearby and tolerate Jing Yuan's antics.

Jing Yuan, being the rat bastard he is, would use this to his advantage.

But I also love the idea of Yanqing being a platonic yan for you, always clinging to you when you're walking the streets of Luofu. Keeping tabs on things that you like or people you interact with to keep dear ol dad in the loop, definitely might've eliminated someone who got a little bit too chummy with you or most likely went to Jing Yuan later on and in a few days that person is suddenly convicted of a serious crime.

You three are like a little family to him, poor kid has always wanted a mom and you're perfect! You seem to fawn over him and when does accidentally calls you mom/mama/etc you never correct him, if anything you encourage him to do so since you believe he needs a maternal figure (also to balance out Jing Yuan's influence over the boy)

Yan Yanqing is highly aware that you're weak to his whims, so he's going to take advantage of it. He really is like Jing Yuan in that sense, but his love for you is purely familial.

Sorry for rambling djxjcjcj I just got excited about the possibilities

Both possibilities are fantastic 🙈😚���And sorry for taking so long to reply like I lost touch on another planet🥺

TW: yandere(jing yuan), platonic yandere(yanqing), non-con

You can't resist this precious cinnamon roll, especially with his puppy eyes on the attack? He tells you about his experiences in Cloud Knights. Yanqing may act proud in front of you and crave recognition and praise.

If you tell him that your relationship with Jing Yuan is not the expected couple relationship. He is just harassing you. This truth will break the heart of this child. Jing Yuan is aware of this and uses it as an excuse to bring Yanqing to visit your home, groping you in the kitchen while you prepare your afternoon tea, and putting his fingers in your panties. You still hold the tray of milk and cookies in your hands as you flee from the kitchen, panting.

If Yanqing is platonic yandere? The core of platonic yandere! yanqing is: He is afraid that you will leave him and the general, and disappear silently from the long life. After all, you have nothing to do with them or have an obligation to be around them. You can leave anytime. He feels care and sincerity in you. He wants him to have a mother who loves him. Is it that difficult?

Just like what you described! When you wandered the streets of Luofu, Yanqing followed you closely, helping the general watch out for all possible threats. Yanqing noticed that there is a guy who is too close to you - why are you giggling when talking to him? He even grabbed your hand and confessed to you? Never mind, this dangerous man will be deported to a remote planet soon 🫡

[ghost-bxrd]

Greetings!

I was wondering about your thoughts on Bernard Dowd for the Owl Court Family AU, you said the Drakes were new money and that’s why they’re (in part) not a part of the Court.

Based off what we’ve seen of seen of Bernard’s parents in Tim Drake: Robin we know that 1) they have money (but not if it’s new or old money) and 2) that they’re up to something SHADY.

Would you imagine them as part of the Court? Part of some other organization/cult?

Do Tim and Bernard get together in this AU, and does that cause any drama because of Bernard’s shady parents?

How do the others react to them getting together if they do?

——

I personally can imagine Bernard’s parents, if they know about the Court, but aren’t a part of it, after finding out about Bernard’s crush on Tim, trying to get him to “snap out of it” (His mom did call Tim Bernard’s “friend” in Tim Drake: Robin #7) and then when that didn’t work think well, if he’s into Tim Drake, might as well make the most of it and try to manipulate the situation

Which, if that’s the case, poor Barnard because things would definitely not go well for the Dowd’s if Cobb found out about that 👀

——

(Sorry for the many questions/mini rant lol, I think your AU is really neat and I’m rather curious about how Bernard might be incorporated if he is)

Thank you for reading my rambles! ^.^

Hi! 💚

So I can totally see the Dowds being part of the Court, but also… I can see them keeping their… “extracurriculars”… a secret from their son (for whatever reason).

Bernard is the ultimate fanboy of anything vigilante/conspiracy related, and with the absence of actually vigilantes in Gotham I think he’d fixate on rumors of shady cults. Like the Court of Owls (something his parents are none too happy about).

Of course, there’s also Robin/Nightwing beating up criminals eventually, always accompanied by something darker, something scarier, that keeps the Boy Wonder safe. Bernard only gets far enough in his investigations to hear about “the Gray Son of Gotham” before he hits a dead end though, so everything beyond that is mostly speculation.

I think Bernard and Tim would meet in school during the time neither of them have anything to do with the Court. Maybe they’re friends, or perhaps just acquaintances. Either way, Tim ends up falling head first into the world of the Court (thanks to Jason’s near death) and as a consequence he would probably cut back on interacting with his civilian friends a lot. At first out of fear that Cobb will make true on his threat to kill everyone Tim loves, and later because… well, the damage of distance is done.

But they’d meet again a little later, hit it off (Tim just can’t help finding all those wild conspiracy theories absolutely adorable. Shut up, Bruce, I remember you staring at Will all night last night because the guys smiled), and I’d like to say the rest is history but… it’s not.

When Bernard works up the nerve to tell his parents about Tim Drake being his boyfriend… they appear curiously delighted. Ecstatic, even. Encouraging meetings and dates and inquiring one too many times if everything is going alright between them. (Never asking if Bernard is treated well, never asking if he is happy, only Drake, Drake, Drake…)

And naturally, the Dowds go too far. Demand too much. And Cobb becomes suspicious of their motives, uncovers a whole lot of dirt on the Dowds, and… well, the Court of Owls does not tolerate traitors. One foul egg spoils the whole batch. Court protocol is to exterminate the entire immediate family.

Including Bernard…

[botanicalbasilly]

Have you ever walked through an evergreen forest to clear your mind? Eaten a nice warm vegetable stew? Received flowers from someone you love? Well... thank our hidden hero:

Arbuscular Mycorrhizal Fungi!

Hidden beneath your feet, nestled away inside the roots of 80-90% of vascular plants, there is a complex network of hyphae working in tandem with their plant buddies to keep our ecosystems alive and thriving!

Essentially, these microscopic fungi give plants Super Tolerance. Hyphae are much smaller than roots, which means that they can reach out farther while expending less energy and worm their way into places that are normally inaccessible to plants. This allows vascular plants to access more mineral nutrients than they normally could on their own. These fun-guys are so effective that some plants can even live their lives completely achlorophyllic (without chlorophyll)!

In return, plants will partition some of the carbon and simple sugars produced from photosynthesis to give to their buddies. This is done through vesicles formed by hyphae in the plant cells.

This isn't anything new either! In fact, you might even thank AMF for plants migrating onto land at all. A popular hypothesis for the colonization of land by plants is that the first vascular plants formed from an ancient partnership between algae and fungi, where essentially the fungi would act as the algae's roots to collect nutrients not available to the algae alone outside the water. If you'd like to see a cool example, look up the Rhynie chert!!

Thank you for letting me ramble a while at you about my favorite organisms on this planet :•) I encourage all of you to do some more research on your own, there is a TON that I haven't covered here! If you have access to a microscope, you can even dissect and stain some common garden roots to say hello to these little buddies yourself!

[This piece is directly inspired by the work of @/byjacobparis on Instagram! Please go give him a follow :•) ]

[unhingedpolycule]

Pookies your works are amazing honestly. But how would the boys drink their alcohol. Tell me i need your thoughts right neow.

OHHHHHH I have thoughts! Nikto and Krueger are going hard! I will answer this for my general headcanons! NSFW for drug use / sexual content under the cut

Krueger: A social drinker but in the “what is even the point if you cant use your inebriated state to act more drunk than you are and fuck with people” kind of way. He is either borderline sober or REALLY drunk on purpose. He prefers vodka, due to being socialised in a Russian friend group in his teens/early 20s. He really likes Russia and everything associated with it (especially the men and the language!) but he will drink pretty much everything and isn’t too good to drink directly from the bottle. But he will probably consume everything with high amounts of alcohol in it. Not a longdrink/cocktail type of person. Prefers shots and many of them, due to his high tolerance. Probably unironically likes Absynthe. Drinks the last swig of beer from others with a grin just to provoke the group he spends the evening with in order to disgust them. (The last swig is said to be pure spit in Germany/Austria) It simply amuses him and it’s also a way of (very disgusting) flirting. It works with Nikto, who gets jealous if Krueger does it with someone else’s bottle and horny if it’s his own. It’s his luck then, that Krueger can very much fuck while drunk. (One of his many sexual talents!)

Nikto: He doesn’t drink, because it interferes with his meds and it’s simply not worth it to him. That being said, he is into chemsex. Big time. If he has a few days to acclimate afterwards, he will let Krueger give him a dose of whatever his Austrian seems fit. I adopted cerosin-bis headcanon of Nikto being a bit of a coke head back in the days of his undercover work and he still really likes it, as it makes him both euphoric and horny. They will absolutely fuck while high off their asses. It’s nothing that happens often and most certainly something that reqires days work of aftercare on Krueger’s part, because sometimes the drugs leave Nikto pretty shaken (also due to his regular medication). He promises that this is the last time, just to start pushing and grunting in that special way again after a few weeks/months. He likes to bottom when they do it but he swears that it’s a lie whenever Krueger brings it up while sober. If the others drink, he either has water or an alcohol-free beer. He doesn’t really like that he has to resort back to it, but it’s better than nothing.

Bonus Nikodim, because I love him:

Nikodim: A ✨social drinker✨. Likes beer, but also has a secret sweet tooth (Krueger brought him a bottle of Berentzen Cherry once and he really liked it. Nikodim is prone to sharing his drinks and trying everything. He is very vocal if he dislikes something, but it’s in a jovial fashion. He is a happy drunk, it boosts his self confidence and he likes joking around. It makes him more prone to bad decision and he was probably drunk the first time he messed around with Nikto, even if not overly so. Even if he has grown out of his teenage “I need to get blackout drunk” phase, he likes being tipsy, which makes it even easier for Krueger to manipulate and tease him. In the end, Nikto usually puts an end to it and sends Nikodim back home (more often, he accompanies him. You know. Because he is such a good guy. And because… well Nikodim is in a good mood so he might just be prone to make another bad decision tonight!)

Pookie, I love answering asks so thank you for giving me space to ramble! This was a fun one! (That being said, I do not drink, I am the perpetual driver :) So my hc are informed by cultural osmosis! I prefer aesthetic grape juice to wine on a nice evening so… there you have a general idea of how “wild” I am :D)

[xycuro-illuminati]

I finally sat down and did a ref of Andrew Murdock Smith, the bitter exes stuntdevil clone son. Big thanks to my friends redfingrs and cowumbo-uwu for helping me fix up the design and finalize it.

DO NOT TAG AS M/CU

More info and art under cut

Andrew came from a shitpost What If idea of George obtaining the piece of the criminal cowboy DD suit that Johnny ghost rider damaged that contained Matt's blood and dead skin cells to create a clone son with his and Matt's DNA. The guy has connections and was able to obtain drugs specifically made to trick Matt's powers, why would he NOT know a scientist that can clone people. Made it into a way less-shitposty idea where George did that not only to get revenge on Matt but to have a true Stunt Master successor.

Andrew was made physically and mentally a grown adult in his mid-late 20's, but George still raised him for a bit. He tricks Andrew into believing that his other father, Daredevil, was a megalomaniac that was too dangerous to be around and that he needed to be put down, despite the news showing him as a hero. George showed Andrew "how Daredevil really is" with evidence of Matt's criminal cowboy days and even the shadowlands incident. He also convinced Andrew that he should the one to replace Matt as Daredevil while also being a Stunt Master successor. Eventually, Andrew got sick and tired of George because George sucks so bad as a parent, so he ran off to start his mercenary life. With enough training, he gained the name Infrared and goes after Daredevil. However, Andrew found out that DD had trained another vigilante before named Blindspot. So he decides to go after Sam first just to test him and get an idea of what to expect from fighting Matt. Andrew shows up randomly to challenge Sam many times until one fight led to Sam putting the pieces together.

After that particular exchange, Andrew finally goes after Matt. Sam had trouble finding/contacting Matt to ask questions, but Andrew got to Matt first. As explained in one of my late night ramble posts, Andrew had this idea of Matt in his head, expecting him to be arrogant, cruel, and downright malicious. The Daredevil that George described aligned more with how Matt acted during his criminal cowboy days, so Andrew was fully expecting that. He wasn't expecting Daredevil who refused to fight back after learning the truth, and wanted to help him instead. That shattered Andrew's world view and made him leave.

Later on, he comes around and tolerates Matt and his attempts at being a parent. As for Sam, they act like rivals. Sam can't stand his ass and wants to beat the shit out of him for all the trouble/injuries he's caused and Andrew just likes to annoy him and fights him for fun. Horrid stuntdevil offspring.

Andrew uses a kusarigama bc he thought it was similar to batons but sharper (and I thought it would look cool leave me alone). He also uses pistols and other types of guns, but mostly for his merc work rather than his I'm-going-to-fight-vigilantes-for-fun work.

Also here's his motorcycle:

[ioser-boy]

rahghghsh phighting fans finally appearing on my dash!!!1!1!1

this isn’t a request (although I do have an oc) but how do you feel about coil???

also could u give me some kewl fun facts about ur paintbrush oc 👉👈 /silly

AHH HELLO HELLO!

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED ABOUT PAINTBRUSH /GEN

WILL YAP ABOUT THEM UNDER THE CUT!!!

me personally i actually really like coil!! i’ve heard some people say they don’t like his design but honestly i think he’s super neat :}

okay YAPPING TIME.

WEHEHEH OKAY soooo i’m gonna try n yap in small bursts just to make it easier to digest :}

Paintbrush is actually like my 7th (8th? idk i’ve lost count) phighting oc!!

Phighting abilities:

Brush is a melee phighter!

they’re based off of this ^ gear that was posted for an event back in 2018

their paintbrush works like that of a sword (think splatoon paintbrush? kinda?) and then the palette is a special ability that’s pretty much a weaker/smaller version of boombox’s shield :}

lore stuffs

In terms of Brush’s lore it’s a littlleee scattered so stick with me here.

Paintbrush, or Brush, is a 23yr old artist who used to live outside of Crossroads and is factionless (as of now, that might change). They showed up in Crossroads because they had been commissioned to paint this super big mural and they decided they wanted to use the commission as an excuse to take a little vacation.

after visiting and meeting a ton of new people, Brush kept deciding to extend their vaction- until eventually they realized they didn’t want to leave and just started living in Crossroads permanently!

They’re pretty shy upon first meetings, but once you get to know them they’re rather rowdy and chaotic :]

(there’s actually a ton of outside lore for paintbrush but it’s apart of an AU I created that I may share? I don’t know if you guys would be interested in it seeing as it’s 30% my oc’s and then 70% canon characters but i’ve worked pretty hard on it so who knows.)

little fun facts

Brush uses They/Them pronouns!

Paintbrush mainly hangs around Sling, Boombox and Skateboard

Brush and Skateboard don’t like each other very much, but they’re pretty chill for the sake of their friend group

Brush’s father, Dragon (or Jupiter, name is pending lmao), actually joined them in their little vacation to crossroads

Paintbrush met Rocket through their father’s connection to Zuka. Brush finds Rocket pretty cool, but doesn’t talk to him out of fear of him blowing them up

Brush is terrified of P.Bucket and Valk

Brush thinks Dom is pretty cool

Brush absolutely hates The Broker and hardly tolerates Medkit.

Okay! That’s it for my ramblings. Thank you for the ask!! I genuinely got so excited seeing someone ask about my oc in my inbox, so again, thank you!

Have a good rest of your day :}