#because my teacher SPECIFICALLY told me not to bother with anything but line numbers when i asked

[destinyandcoins]

10000 years of jail for my lit professor who just marked me down three points on this discussion post for “not correctly using MLA citation” because I only included the line numbers of the poem and not the author’s last name of last week’s text for the 8 times I cited something in well over 500 words 

[haztory]

hi mcdonald’s can i get uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh nanami + “nice tits”

“Nice tits.” from my writing event that ends today! 

 warnings: adult language and sexual themes, but that’s about it!

a/n: 3k words all for sanju that probably strays from the prompts but its fine bc i love you biiiiitch. thanks to everyone that requested a prompt! they will be out momentarily!!

nanami kento x gn!reader

There’s a universal understanding amongst the adults in the general realm of well-formed maturity and a sense of responsibility that there is no situation to ever exist in which listening to Gojo Satoru’s advice is a viable option. 

Much less any advice about love.

“You know,” His voice sings to your left, interrupting the tranquil silence of your office by his surprise warping, “If you needed help in satisfying your urges, you only had to ask. Looking at porn during school hours is a bit of a cry for help, (Y/N).”

“Go away, Gojo.” You reply, hardly perturbed at his unannounced visit and continuing the matter at hand. Your index finger continues its motions, pushing the wheel of the mouse downwards and studying the plethora of Google Search images the float past your eyes on your computer monitor.

Gojo leans his elbow on your desk, perching himself on the left side of your body, “Hey, I don’t judge! I’ve done it once or twice myself. I just always pictured you as more of an ass-person.”

Landing on an appropriate image for your task you click it, enlarging it on your screen. Gojo whistles.

“Now that’s just obscene, isn’t it?”

A finger enters your line of sight, pointing itself obnoxiously at the screen, specifically at the rather large pectoral belonging to that of a male model. An image that is necessary for your study of a new cursed technique that you witnessed on your last excursion with Nobara, and not at all the focus of sexual release as Gojo might insist. Even if they are rather admirable in their size. 

You would rather die before ever telling him that, though.

“They should really put a warning on those honkers—”

“Is there a reason you’re bothering me?” You ask bluntly, printing the image and retrieving it from the printer tray beside you.

“I just wanted to see what my second favorite teacher was doing, but never did I think I would catch you in the act of making a shrine to tits, so—”

You roll your head to the left, meeting Gojo’s shit-eating grin with a deadpan stare. With a sigh, you shake your head, “I’m studying.”

Even beneath the blindfold, you can see the waggle in his brows as he props his head on the bent elbow. “Oh suuure.”

Huffing impatiently, you swivel your desk chair to face him, placing a singular finger on his chest to push him back from your immediate space. He only continues to grin in his usual unabashed manner, as though he’s caught you red-handed. It makes you roll your eyes once more.

 You didn’t need to explain yourself; it wasn’t like you were doing anything immoral. Sure, staring at a number of pectoral muscles might seem inappropriate to the passing eye, but it was easily explainable. 

But as it always is with Gojo, he manages to rub that small part of you that just has to fight back. Fuckin’ prick. “We came across a cursed technique two days ago that targeted the chest. It caused—”

Gojo waves his hand in your face, “Seismic tremors in the pectoral muscles that affected a cursed energy point, yeah, yeah. Nobara told me all about it.”

“If you knew what I was doing why are you making me sound like such a creep?!” You exclaim, kicking his chest with the heel of your shoe. He catches your foot with a laugh, dropping it and holding his index finger upward.

“Because it’s fun to tease you.”

Huffing, you turn back to your monitor and point at the door, “Leave.”

“Oh, come onnn,” He warps in front of your computer, leaning himself over the top of the screen, “I’ve brought you a little gift of knowledge to help your studying.”

Even as he desperately tries to insert his gangly arms into your line of vision, you continue typing into the search bar. Some variations of “pectoral”, “muscles”, and “large men”. For research purposes, of course.

“Oh yeah?” You ask noncommittally, knowing full well the manner in which Gojo dangles his plots of mischief disguised as help, “And what would that be?”

Smiling largely once more, he lets out a giggle, “The larger the muscle, the more potent the attack on the cursed energy.”

Sparing him a quick glance, you mumble, “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

“No, but it does take a genius to figure out how to reverse the effects.”

He stops the statement there; grin audible in his words. After having spent years in the presence of the obnoxious Gojo Satoru, you already know there’s an ulterior motive to his words, something that is going to bite you in the ass rather aggressively.

And as much as you want to avoid being in the line of fire, especially the one directed by him, you’re simultaneously dying to know where this is going.

You hesitate to ask, but it comes out. Dripping in all of its cautiousness. “And?”

“And it also takes a willing participant to study.” His smile, in all impossibility, became even wider.

“I’m still not getting the picture.”

“A participant with rather large pectoral muscles.”

Oh.

Oh no.

“Someone who would willingly participate for the sake of education.”

Of all the people to have figured out about your (not so) little crush on a fellow sorcerer, it had to be the world’s largest idiot and nuisance. You had to end this, now. Before he does something so irrevocably stupid— 

“Shall we go ask Nanami?”

And that’s how you find yourself flushed with absolute mortification, gripping your clipboard with tight knuckles against your chest, wondering how you ever managed to forget the utmost important rule when it comes to Gojo Satoru.

Never listen to him, especially on the matter of love. 

Maybe that’s indicative of the state of your crush as a whole, something you should probably pay more attention to, seeing as the minute Nanami Kento was mentioned, you’ve forgotten the extent of logic and reason and followed the whims of Gojo without hesitation. 

It’s problematic, horrifying, and ultimately a monumental issue at the moment considering your mouth is as dry as a desert and your brain absolute mush, rendering you completely unable to formulate any words.

“Wow, Nanami,” Gojo shamelessly says, one hand shoved in his pocket as he stands beside your frozen figure, “Nice tits.”

Nanami hums unenthusiastically, unbuttoning the last button on his blue shirt and elegantly removing it from his large, muscular frame. Folding it neatly on the expanse of the couch beside him, he turns his stoic gaze back to you, hardly even concerned about his half-nakedness. 

Whereas you felt yourself almost drooling at the revealed expanse of firm muscles peppered with sparse hair. The fact that it was that easy to get to see this, to almost be able to touch it— 

Maybe listening to Gojo isn’t a bad idea after all.

“Shall we begin?” Nanami asks, pulling his glasses off of his face with his (large) hands and folding them on top of his shirt. A strand of blond falls onto the front of his face and his gaze trails from the impassive stare at Gojo, to you. 

And by all that is sweet and holy you swear that you’ve ascended to an ethereal plane and before you sits an angel waiting to take you to the pearly gates. No longer stares a man unamused at the teasing of the white-headed idiot beside you, but instead a celestial being with a body made of pure stone and dare you say, looking at you with a tenderness in his gaze that was absent only a moment before.

An elbow digs into your side, pulling you rather dramatically out of your stupor and towards the smug grin of the man beside you. 

“Well?” Gojo asks, “If you’re not going to touch him, I will.”

“Thank you, Gojo, but I can take it from here,” You all but hiss, pushing him once more away from your body, accompanying the action with a pointed glare. Beginning a backward trek towards the door, he holds his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I can see when I’m not wanted. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

Opening the door and stepping out of it, he halts, turning his head to look over his shoulder and says, voice coated in that familiar tone of teasing, “Remember to use condoms, lovebirds!”

He shuts the door quickly, hardly giving you a chance to spear your ire at his retreating figure, but you have half a mind to chase him down the hall when you hear his echoing laughter ring out. 

An awkward silence settles between you and the man of your horrid fascination that not even an uncomfortable laugh can ease. Clearing your throat and trying to remember your sense of professionalism, you straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath, facing the handsome man with a confidence that was growing incredibly difficult to face. 

“I’m going to touch you. For research. Your chest, specifically.”

In a move you’ve never quite seen before, Nanami sheds that formidable air of quiet stoicism and lets a small smile grace the features of his face. It gently pushes against the corners of his mouth and his bare shoulders move the slightest bit with the exhalation of his amused breath. 

“For the tremors in the pectoralis.” He says, leaning his body to rest against the backing of the couch, straightening his legs wearing their usual tan slacks to rest naturally in the position and hands folding in his lap. 

You gulp. “Y-yes.”

“I read your report.”

“You did?”

“I always do,” With his eyes still trained upon yours you can see them widen a bit at the realization of what he’s said as if that were an intimate detail he hadn’t meant to make you aware of. He quickly brings his fist up to his mouth, clearing his throat, “You are one of the few sorcerers here that fill them out correctly. I learn a great deal from your detailing. It’s… very helpful. You’re very thorough.”

Blinking repeatedly, you only nod at the compliment. Despite wanting to combust internally at the growing flames that burn inside of you, you take a step forward. Then another until, in an unforeseen reversal of circumstances, you’re towering over the man of great strength and respect. The man you’ve admired for the longest time.

The man that continues to stare at you with a softness you’ve never seen him reveal before. 

You can see the spattering of freckles that have intricately placed themselves over his broad shoulders resembling that of an artistic constellation and the delicious protruding of his biceps, great in mass yet telling of his of strength as your try to conservatively trail your eyes over his torso.

He’s beautiful, incredibly so. Baring himself to you in this way only affirms that.

 “Thank you,” you breathe out, and it’s more intimate than you intended it to be, but truthfully, it’s as fitting a phrase as it can be considering the proximity and the intensity behind his stare.

It’s all you can give him without crumbling at his feet. Placing your fingertips against his shoulder, you gently push him back, silently instructing him to lay on the couch. He follows suit like the dutiful sorcerer he is.

“I’ll just be examining the way in which your cursed energy extends from your chest. It shouldn’t hurt, but if you feel uncomfortable, just let me know.”

He hums once more from his supine position on the couch. Despite being much larger than the couch allows, he hardly looks uncomfortable. Only watches the way in which you press your fingers into his chest, pushing into his muscle and slowly massaging your finger in a circle. You circle around the left side, trailing around the outer edge of the muscle and above the rib cage, stopping and pressing rather firmly when you feel a surge in an energy presence beneath the skin. Almost on the center of his chest.

You snort a quiet laugh when you realize where it is.

“Should I be worried?” His deep timbre vibrates your indented fingers drawing your focus to his interested stare. He looks relaxed, the usual crease between his brow hardly recognizable. A stark refute to the question he posed.

You quickly shake your head, smiling growing wryer, “No, not at all. I just… think it’s funny that your energy presence is strongest where your heart is.”

Nanami quirks an eyebrow, “Isn’t that the same for everyone?”

“Would it be much of a surprise if I told you Gojo’s comes from his mouth?”

Nanami rolls his head, a breathless laugh exhaling as he stares at the ceiling. “No, I guess it wouldn’t.”

“Everyone has a different point from which their energy roots itself. Each one gives a different feeling of sorts. It doesn’t really mean much in terms of power and technique, but it is noticeable. You have an overwhelming presence as is, I just…” Your shoulders drop with a sigh, one stemming desperately from loving admiration and instead try to disguise as just an exhalation, “…never realized it came from there. Kind of fitting if you ask me.”

His brows furrow in contemplation, unsure if whether he could accept the statement. Unsure of whether it was a fitting examination or compliment for him. He must deem it something insignificant of his ponderance because he quickly moves on.

“And yours?” He asks, alight with curiosity, “Where does yours come from?”

You hum, grateful to finally shed the last remnants of awkwardness and engage in the usual friendly conversation you tend to have with him. The brief discussions that always prod a little too close for friendly discovery, but never breach the line of professional respect. That self-imposed limitation that you desperately wish he’ll cross, that this conversation is once again coming toward.

“Take a guess.” Allowing that lilting tease to infiltrate your words, you watch as Nanami adjusts himself on the couch. Bracing his arms against the cushion, he pushes himself into a sitting position and crosses his arms. Trailing his eyes over your seated body next to him, he leaves a burning trail in his wake.

He fixates on your face for a second and your breath hitches, before he travels downward over the column of your neck, then your chest, to your legs. Drinking you in as per your consent and request. Then, he extends his hand. Palm facing upwards in a silent request. You understand.

Placing your own hand in his, he turns your hand upward, allowing full access to the center of your hand and tracing his finger over the lines.

“Your hands. That’s your center.” He says with finality, monotonous but confident. With a small smirk, he looks up at you, “You are a healer after all.”

You give a small nod, “I’m not sure if it comes from my fingertips or my palm, but yeah. My hands.”

Looking back down at your hand in his, he traces the finger in a circle, “Palm. That’s where I feel it the most.”

“What does it feel like?” You ask with a laugh, expecting something asinine and noncommittal considering Yuuji once said your presence felt like a cool wind on a summer’s day and Nobara insists that it feels like a warm shower.

Two entirely opposite feelings, yet somehow categorized in the schema of comfort. You hardly expect Nanami to give something so introspective, nor anything that reveals too much considering the extent to which he tends to maintain the boundary of respect in the conversations of explorations. The kind in which two people teeter on the thin ice of interest, yet never voice it.

And yet, his eyes connect with yours again, and it's entirely too overwhelming for you to process. Too interested, too warm. His face betrays no nervousness nor any hesitation as he stares, entirely convinced that this is what was meant to happen. As though he knew from the moment Gojo asked that it was going to unfold this way.

Like he prepared for it. Like he decided today was the day that he crossed that line.

“Home. Warm and comforting.”

Slow heat the creeps its way up your spine that makes your brain halt thought altogether and sputter intelligently, “Gojo’s kind of feels like… tar. Thick tar. Super gross.”

His hand, large and warm, encompasses your hand once more, lays it flat against his chest to feel both his exuding energy and the steady beat of his formidable heart.

“And mine?” He asks, low and gravelly. Like sweet honey that has you captured entirely, unable to escape. Not like you want to. No, you’d rather drown in this overwhelming redolence than ever live without it.

You don’t even realize your breathing heavily, nor that his face has gotten closer to yours. When did he move there? Did you move there?

Either way, his face is in front of yours, noses almost touching and the compulsion to answer him on the tip of your tongue.

“Addicting,” you whisper.

And then his lips are on yours, molding sweetly into you, and it's everything you have ever imagined it to be. Slow, yet firm. Warm and craving, and you can only fight for more, more, more.

His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you in impossibly closer and you place your hands on his bare chest, the great reason as to your current predicament entirely, to steady yourself and your erratic heartbeat. Time seems to slow in the passion of his kiss, and yet when he parts for air, you feel as though you only had him for a second.

All the months of pining could barely make up for that singular moment.

“I’ve been meaning to do that for a while,” He says, leaning his forehead against yours, breath fanning over your aching lips. You scoff in laughter, meeting his smile with one of your own.

So, maybe, just maybe, listening to Gojo wasn’t a bad idea. And maybe, sometimes, he’s right about some things.

“Hey Kento?”

“Yes?”

“You really do have nice tits.”

“Likewise.”

[hairringtonsteve]

wrong house, right time

[joaquin torres x reader]

summary: Sometimes, life just sucks and nothing can be done. But when one (1) Joaquin Torres shows up to fix for air conditioner, your week gets just a little better.

word count: 2,262

a/n: I wasn't going to post this publicly, but @anna-phora told me to do it, so I'm accidentally stepping into MCU fic. Which like... was the eventual plan if I'm being honest. but this was written specifically for her because I'm a great friend. (edited so it's not including her name, lol)

________________________________________________

There are some weeks that are worse than others. You know this. You have accepted this It’s par for the course in life. But really – couldn’t Teacher Appreciation Week be better than the other weeks? It doesn’t even have to be by a lot. You’d take a smidge at this point. Hell, you’d take just about anything. You rested your head against the cool wood of your kitchen cabinet and sighed. On the counter, your phone chimed, signaling a text. A moment later, it chimed again.

“Better be something good,” you mumbled. You fumbled for it blindly, refusing to look for it. This week was exhausting. You weren’t going to move more than you had to for the next two days. After a few seconds, your fingertips bumped up against the edge. Unlocking it without looking, you finally cracked an eye open, pulling away from the cabinet just enough to catch a glimpse of your screen.

A second later, two more texts popped onto the screen.

You let out a snort of laughter as you read the messages. You’d almost forgot. One of your neighbors had recommended him, saying that a friend of a friend was pretty handy with fixing things, and would probably do it for a small fee. You’d hesitated at first, but thinking about how much money a handyman would be had swayed you over.

Glancing down at your dog, Darcy, you hummed softly. “If you’re extra nice, maybe he won’t charge us.”

You ran a hand over your face as you headed through the kitchen and to the front door. You hadn’t heard any knocking, so you assumed he was right in that he was at the wrong house. Opening up the door, you peered through the screen. It took a few seconds, but you spotted a guy slowly wandering down the sidewalk, eyes glued to his phone with a toolbox in his free hand. Every few seconds he would glance up, frown, and then look back to his phone. You figured that it was him, but you didn’t say anything. It was the safe thing to do, to not yell at random men from your house.

And besides, he was cute.

Your gaze slipped over him as he walked. Short hair, strong shoulders. Despite the distance, you could tell that he was handsome. A few more steps and he was one house down. Finally, you decided to put him out of his misery.

His head jerked up as he looked around, his gaze eventually settling on you. You quirked a brow at him and he held up his phone in question. You nodded, motioning for him to come inside. A grin stretched across his lips and something in your chest twisted.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was really cute.

Very cute.

Handsome.

Shit.

You swallowed and mustered up a grin as he started up the steps. Darcy started barking, excited at the prospect of meeting literally anyone. You unlocked the screen door and took a few steps back, hooking your fingers through her collar to make sure she didn’t take a running leap at him.

“It’s open,” you called as he reached the door. Darcy barked, tugging forward in Joaquin’s direction. “Sorry about her, she’s just really friendly.”

Joaquin was already kneeling down, setting his toolbox down beside him. “It’s fine, I love dogs. You can let her go.” He paused. “If that’s okay?”

You shrug as you let her go. Darcy shot forward, leaping towards him with an excited bark. She was all over him, unable to decide whether jumping or nuzzling was the way to go. You straightened up, your heart already doing triple time at the sight.

“So,” he started, taking his eyes off of Darcy for a second to look up at you. “Your AC is acting up?”

You nodded. “I have no clue what’s going on with it, but it won’t work. Thank you so much for coming to check it out.”

“Oh, no problem at all,” he said, rubbing Darcy’s ears. Her tail wagged furiously. “Especially for a pretty girl.” Red crept up from his neck to his ears, flushing his face in a way that made him even more attractive. He ducked his head, bashful, as he focused solely on Darcy. “So what’s her name?” The sentence came out fast, like one long word.

“Oh, um, it’s Darcy.” Words were hard to form when the phrase ‘pretty girl’ was echoing around your brain.

“Like the author?” He lifted his head as he asked, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I had to read a lot of her stuff in high school. Pride and Prejudice was always my favorite.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “You read a lot?”

You shrugged. “Well, I am a high school English teacher.”

Joaquin laughed and nodded his head. “So you read a hell of a lot, then?” His grin settled more into a smile as he -- somewhat unsubtly -- looked you up and down. A beat of silence, and then: “So, you wanna show me the unit?” He grabbed his toolbox and stood up, arching his back a little as he tried to stretch it out from being crouched down.

“Sure,” you said as you started up the stairs. It was quiet as the two of you walked.

“So when did it stop working?” Joaquin asked, breaking the silence.

“The other day. It just started to sputter a little bit and then quit after a few seconds.” You opened up the door and motioned him inside. The AC was still in the window, still mocking you as it sat in the hot, unmoving air.

“And it hasn’t started up since?”

“Nope. I’ve been dying of heatstroke since Wednesday.”

“Makes sense,” he said as he began to shrug off his jacket. The black t-shirt underneath fit him well.

A little too well, if you were being honest.

He stepped over to the unit and began to lift the window up, as though he were planning to get it out by himself when it was clearly a two-person job.

“You need help?” You asked, already moving towards him.

“I’ve got it, I’m strong,” he said, waving you away. You went to argue with him, but he was already wrapping his arms around the thing. With his attention focused on lifting the unit out of the window, you were free to watch as his muscles strained. What was a two-person job for you was easily a one-person job for him. He took his time in setting it on the ground, guiding it down gently. He pressed his lips together as he sat down on the ground and reached for his toolbox. He looked up to where you were still standing.

“Oh, did you want me to -- I can head downstairs? So I don’t bother you?” You took a step back, but paused as he shrugged.

“Or you could stay up here. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Your stomach flipped. You stepped inside and took a seat on the ground a few feet away from him, making it a little harder for Darcy to investigate what he was doing. That was it. You were there to keep Darcy away. But as you sat there, you realized that you had no clue what to talk about? What was he into?

It was quiet for a few seconds before he asked what your favorite movie was. And suddenly, the two of you were off. Time passed quickly as you spoke, moving from favorite movies to books to exchanging family stories. You learned that he was in the military, and traveled often. You’d asked what he did, and he just shrugged his shoulders, looking from the AC unit to you, and smirked.

“Stuff.”

“Like top-secret stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” he’d said, holding the smirk for another second before laughing. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

You liked it.

Despite it feeling as though no time at all had passed, he announced the culprit -- a bad wire -- and it seemed like once he’d figured it out, he was done. But when you glanced at the time on your phone, your eyes widened. Two hours had gone by.

You shifted your gaze over to the window as Joaquin straightened up and tried out the AC unit. It worked like a charm. He nodded and gave the unit a little pat, as though silently congratulating it for working once more.

“So how much do I owe you?” You asked as he turned to face you.

“Nothing, that was easy.”

“That was two hours, I have to give you something.”

He shook his head. “Your company was enough.”

“Come on, let me--”

“Y/N,” he said, taking a step forward. “Your company was worth it, I’m not accepting your money.” He pressed his lips together, looking as though he wanted to say something more when his phone went off. He glanced down at it and sighed. “One sec?” He asked, already swiping to answer the call. “Hey Mom, yeah I -- yeah. Yeah, yes. I can pick that up. You want me to snag one for Grandma, too? No, I just finished fixing up the AC, I -- She’s -- Mom.” You couldn’t tell what was being said, but his cheeks were starting to flush. You could hear laughter on the other end of the line. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in a bit.”

You raised a brow. “Your mom?”

“Yeah, she wants me to stop by the store on my way to visit her.” He glanced from you to Darcy and sighed. “I should probably be on my way out.”

Disappointment made itself at home in your chest. “Right, yeah,” you said, heading towards the door. The two of you made your way down the stairs, Darcy following happily behind. When you reached the first floor, you went to lean against the couch. Joaquin had his hands in his jacket pockets as he made it a few steps after you. He stood there, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Thank you, seriously. I cannot thank you enough for fixing that,” you said.

He shook his head and grinned softly. “It was no problem, Y/N.” He took a few steps towards the door before turning back to look at you. “I’ll see you around?”

You returned his grin with one of your own. “You’ve got my number.”

His grin grew even wider before he turned and headed out the door. Darcy trotted over to the door after it closed, her eyes tracking his every move as he headed towards the sidewalk. You watched for another second before calling Darcy away from the door. A minute and one treat later, the two of you were cuddled up on the couch. Idly, you switched tabs from Facebook to Tumblr, trying your hardest to avoid thinking about the last couple of hours before you heard your phone go off. Thumbing into your messages, your face instantly lit up.

________________________________________________

Two months later, you found yourself walking towards a small, hole-in-the-wall bar tucked into a sidestreet. Joaquin’s hand on the small of your back as you walked, you trying not to laugh as he gave you what felt like a rundown before one of his missions.

“Just… ignore them if they try to embarrass me, okay? I’m much cooler than whatever they say.”

You laughed. “Are you, though? Are you really?”

“Hey,” he said, giving you an indignant look as he held the door open for you. You stepped inside, taking note of how warm it was inside. People crowded around tables, the low hum of voices occasionally getting louder when the television in the corner showed someone making a basket. Joaquin tapped your shoulder, nodding to the right. “I am very cool, I’ll have you know. Just last week, I –”

“Hey, Torres!” A voice called from a back booth. Joaquin sighed as he stepped in front of you and lead you towards the booth. “Weren’t you the one to say, ‘be there at seven and don’t be late, I really like this girl?’ And you’re what, thirty minutes late?”

“Thirty-two minutes late, by my count,” another voice chimes in as the two of you get closer. You’re already grinning as you note how Joaquin ducked his head.

You lean forward, just close enough so he’ll be able to hear you. “You really like this girl, huh?”

It was difficult to hear his response with his back turned to you, but you watched as his shoulders slumped and caught what sounded like a “not you too.” You tilted your head back and laughed, bright and airy, as you approached the table. Your eyes settled on the two men crowded into the booth, your laugh cutting off as recognition settled in.

He hadn’t said that they were these friends.

“Y/N, we’ve heard a lot about you. Like a lot about you.”

He’d only ever talked about work in the abstract, which made sense. It wasn’t like he could go on, telling you all the details about whatever mission he was on. But he’d spoken of coworkers and even one that had become a friend. But he’d never mentioned names, or the context of things, or…

“Honestly, the kid doesn’t shut up about you.”

Or the fact that they were literal Avengers.

Joaquin groaned. “Can you two—”

Sam Wilson settled back into his seat and grinned as he motioned for you to sit down. “I’m Sam, this is Bucky. It’s good to finally meet you.”

[script-nef]

An actual break | Gojou Satoru

Category: fluff

2.6k words; Beach date [4/6]

← Previous chapter | Masterlist

You haven’t been to the beach in months. So a car trip for hours, where you can blank out and peer out of the window to enjoy the wonderful and ever-changing scenery is amazing. Dipping your feet in the water or eating from food vendors or enjoying the warm summer sun on your skin. Perhaps getting a tan if the weather is perfect. This would all be perfectly enjoyable and possible.

If it wasn’t for work.

“[Surname]-san, why are you coming with us? You said you can’t fight.” Itadori calls from the backseat, nestled not-so-comfortably between Fushiguro and Kugisaki. 

Wouldn’t it be better if Kugisaki is in the middle since she’s the smallest and the skinniest? The thought drifts into your head but you soon understand why. As soon as the words leave his mouth it’s met with a firm and resounding slap on the arm. Itadori’s yelp of pain is silenced under her hiss of “God, you’re so tactless! Now move over, it’s getting cramped with all of the bags.” Ah, she didn’t want to sit in the middle. And what bags? I didn’t bring any.

They keep their banter up and a quick glance to both Gojou and Fushiguro indicates that they have no intention of stopping it. Gojou is actually humming through the bickering. Why do I have to be the adult? He’s like, 5 years older than me. That’s literally what he said as the reason to drive instead of you. 

“It’s fine, Kugisaki-san. I’m coming along because there’s been a lot of cursed spirit activity around here and I need to see if something abnormal is happening. I’m not going to get in the way of the fight so you don’t need to worry.” You send Itadori a smile through the back mirror which he responds with a quick nod, then a confused look.

“Isn’t that Gojou-sensei’s responsibilities?” The mentioned adult laughs and smoothly makes a right turn. You want to slap him.

“Normally, yes, but he insists on being insufferable.” You turn to face them, leaning onto the seat with a scowl. “The report he made was nearly illegible and last time something like this happened, and I had to sit down with him for 3 hours to complete it. Even then, he was going off topic half the time and trying to distract me. Itadori-kun, Kugisaki-san, listen to me. If he doesn’t do his work, you have to practically force him.”

“Doesn’t work.” Fushiguro comments while looking out the window. Gojou has the audacity to laugh again.

“We had a great time! You were laughing your head off by the time we were done.” A light tug on your shirt makes you sit back properly. The scowl stays in place.

“I missed dinner! And I missed the last episode of Haikyuu thanks to that!”

“Fine, fine. I’ll take it up by buying you dinner, okay?” He must be kidding if that makes up for missing your favourite anime. Kuroo came and went thanks to him. The car comes to an abrupt stop just as you’re about to complain again. “We have arrived!”

Salt wafts in the air as the sea twinkles underneath the afternoon sun. It’s hot today, and humid enough to make your clothes stick to your skin, which is gross. Sunny and warm means a swim will be ideal, but you have to take care of the whole recurring curses thing first. Previous reports have said that they were all mid-level, so hopefully Gojou’s students won’t have that much of a problem taking care of them. That also means they, including you as well, might have the opportunity to relax for the rest of the day. 

The actual spot is somewhere in the nearby forest, filled thick with trees and so large that even if someone went missing it would take ages to search. An ideal hunting place since a lot of people visit there. Numbers dropped quite a bit after the fifth person “went missing”. 

The first task is to cover the place with a curtain. Since the place is so large and not encompassing the entire place was deemed too risky, large amounts of cursed energy is required. Hence Gojou’s efforts right now.

“[Name]-san.” Kugisaki calls you. “Are you coming in with us?” Her voice is tentative, like she doesn’t want to offend you. It’s kind of funny because she shows more respect for you than her actual teacher for some reason. Gojou complained about it before. She doesn’t know the extent, or more accurately the lack of, your powers and has a right to be worried. All she knows is that you can’t fight. 

“Ah, I am coming in, but I’ll stay far away from the fight. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“And I’ll be right by her side!” Gojou snaps into thin air, linking his arm with yours.  “Your personal bodyguard! But I’m sure you guys can handle this one.” Still humming a tune, he sends them along their way with a reassuring smile. You smile at Kugisaki and wish her good luck. Shooting Gojou a suspicious glare, she runs ahead to the two boys and starts whispering. They look back at the two of you and get into what seems to be an argument. A bad thing to do right before a possibly life-threatening mission.

You watch the group disappear deeper into the woods, fear gripping at your heart. This is actually the first time in the field after years of being tucked away in an office. Ken-chan specifically requested it due to your unique cursed energy situation. Apparently that was the first time he asked for a favour to the principle and he never asked for anything again. They can handle themselves, you’re sure, but Itadori already had a close call.

“Worried?” Gojou, on the other hand, sounds like he has no concerns in the world. Maybe that’s a testament to how much he trusts his students. It doesn’t alleviate your agitation. “It’s fine, we can just take a break here and if trouble comes, they can take care of it themselves.” You stare at him incredulously. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I’ll step in if something goes wrong. You’re all in safe hands.”

There is no one better than him in terms of fighting with cursed energy. How on earth someone like this gets imbued with endless power, you’ll never know. Sighing, you take a seat on a fallen log. The moss on them tickles your fingers. It feels nice, something to distract you from your brain being its usual bastard and thinking the worst case scenario. Gojou plops himself down right next to you. 

“We can go see them if you’re that worried, mother hen.” Nudging his leg shuts him up. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on reaching out for their cursed energy. Eight signals flicker from where they went, three blazing stronger than the others. One of them is nearly blinding. Sukuna is on a completely different level. If there’s that much of a difference in energy, they’ll finish soon and come back to have fun for the rest of the day. God knows they need it.

Your eyes flit open and come face to face with Gojou’s blindfold. It causes you to fall backwards and you brace for impact with a little yelp. But Gojou’s arm surrounds your abdomen, lifting you into the air and onto your feet. Heartbeats thud in your ears thanks to the sudden adrenaline boost.

“Did I scare you?” His laugh is cheeky. “I’m bored… Wanna play 20 questions?” As usual, his train of thought is impossible to even attempt to follow. A window of hundreds of tabs wrestling to be the first all the time is probably what the inside of his mind looks like.

“Sure, why not.”

Fushiguro, Itadori and Kugisaki all perk up when they receive the news of a day off to enjoy the beach. Since it’s closed off to the civilians, it’ll be like a private party. Something to keep their mind off of another mission that’s bound to come soon.

While they run off to the beach, you go to talk to the park rangers for the paperwork. Gojou asks if you want company but someone needs to supervise the children. The process takes barely 10 minutes anyway.

When you come back to the beach, the trio is screaming in the sea while trying to fight each other. Even Fushiguro is laughing. Childlike innocence is beautiful and long overdue. Two huge parasols and towels are laid out nearby where they’re playing. Gojou is out of his usual attire and in a swimming trunk. His blindfold is still on. Is this what was in the bags?

Now that you look more closely at the students, they’re all in swimwear as well. Looks like you’re the only one that didn’t get a memo. 

“Heya! Done?”  

“No thanks to you, Mr The-Whole-Reason-I’m-Here-In-The-First-Place.” He laughs at the nickname. 

“You should change.”

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit. Nobody told me and I was just thinking of dipping my feet.”

“Nobara brought you one. It’s in the bag labelled ‘If you look inside I’m going to kill you.’” Laughter comes out at the absurdity.

“Why did Kugisaki—”

“Because she wants you to relax. Now come on! Let’s have fun!” he pushes you excitedly towards the car. It’s really weird how someone your senior has more energy than you and his three students combined. Sighing, you trek back and find the bag. It really is labelled that, in caps. Kugisaki is a good kid. 

There’s a bathroom nearby for you to change in. The wind is still pretty strong when you walk out but you’re saved thanks to the school jacket. There’s also a pair of flip-flops. Ken-chan must have helped since they all fit perfectly. 

Itadori is being half-drowned when you come back. Fushiguro and Kugisaki are merciless when it comes to fighting. Gojou smiles as you walk into his line of sight. Scooting over to let you into the shade, he lies back onto the towel and stretches his legs out into the sun with a slight groan. You stay sitting up, watching the three children absentmindedly. 

Sunlight tickles your feet. The sea breeze stops it from being too hot but it’s slowly getting stuffier under the jacket. Quickly discarding it, Gojou catches your eyes while you fold it up.

It’s impossible to tell if he’s awake or sleeping thanks to his signature blindfold, but this is the most relaxed you’ve seen him in years; hands folded behind his head and muscles completely loose. Small scars dot his body, probably gained from fights which he deemed insignificant enough to bother Shouko with or heal himself. In a way, it’s a reminder for all the battles he’s survived. Pretty easily too, you’re guessing. There’s a deep one on his stomach and your hand moves towards it for some reason.

Long fingers intercept your hand just before it touches the scratched skin, entwining themselves to you. One end of Gojou’s lips quirks up. 

“I’m going to be embarrassed if you keep looking at my body, you know.” You immediately attempt to rip your hand back but he’s got you locked tight. He’s not even using Infinity. Heat threatens to explode your face because he’s been awake all this time and you’re going to die from shame. “If you wanted to touch me then you could have just asked.” Your fingers graze against the skin on his stomach for a split second but he loosens his grip and you will be damned if you don’t take that chance. 

Gojou cackles, enjoying your flustered state, and he’s halfway to suffocation because he’s laughing too much. His instincts still allow him to move out of the way for your punch. Doesn’t stop him from laughing though. Even his students, who were screaming and playing like they didn’t have a care in the world, are looking at the two of you. God, where’s a hole for me to die in right now?

Eventually, his laughter dies off. He’s still chuckling though. His teeth glint in the light as he gives you a wide smile. A sense of foreboding washes over you. 

“Up we go!”

“What?” Two arms hook under your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly into the air. Your body bounces in his arms every time he takes a step closer to the sea.

“Wait Gojou, wait wait wait wait!” 

“Gojou-sensei wai—” 

The water is freezing. 

“Gojou Satoru, I’m going to kill you!”

“That’s admirable! I’m sure you can do it!” Fushiguro snickers as you swipe an arm at Gojou, who moves away effortlessly again. Hair is plastered to your face and this rage is not going to subside unless you rip the blindfold off his smirking face and dunk his head into the water. But he keeps dodging you, just barely, as if to taunt you further.

Exhaustion sets in quickly since moving around in water is a lot harder and anger eats away at your stamina. Just as you’re about to give up, Gojou’s face is slapped with a wave of water. Everyone looks to Kugisaki. She has the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Pfft.” Fushiguro’s laughter breaks the silence. Itadori snickers at Gojou’s drooping hair. Soon everyone’s laughing. Then Gojou whips water that hits all three of them straight in the chest with a resounding smack. They immediately retaliate with a wave that you get caught up in. 

It somehow turns into a students vs adults fight. Delighted laughter echoes in the air as everyone yells and shrieks when assaulted with icy water. There’s an unspoken rule to not use cursed energy, which is why your side is being pushed back. There’s no beating three excited kids when they’re on a holiday high. 

Backtracking a bit to get away from the constant surges of water, you don’t realise you’re going deeper and deeper into the sea. A rock shifts underneath your feet and you’re plunged into the cold grips of the sea, not even given enough time to call for help. Panic overtakes your senses as you squeeze your eyes shut, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. 

“[Name]!” Warmth engulfs you as Gojou lifts you out of the murky depth, worry and dread weaved into his voice. You blink rapidly as he gently brushes the hair off your face, and you see his eyes without the blindfolds for the first time. “Look at me, are you alright?”

They’re… indescribably beautiful. It’s the purest and translucent blue you’ve seen in your life, able to beat the colour of the ocean or the sky on its clearest days. It could compete with even the most exquisite sapphire locked up in a vault underground. And they’re clouded with concern and fear because of you.

“[Surname]-san!” Bringing yourself up by hugging Gojou’s neck, you see the trio wading through the water to you, dread clear on their faces. Itadori reaches you and rapidly asks if you’re fine and that he can’t possibly describe how sorry he is. It looks like he’ll dig his head into the ocean floor if you ask him to do it. Like he’s waiting for you to reprimand him.

But all that comes out is laughter, bright and childlike. They all look at you like you’re crazy. You have no idea why you’re laughing either. Maybe you’ve finally gone insane.

But being in Gojou’s arms, seeing his and Itadori’s face relax, brings you so much happiness. Tightening your arms around Gojou’s neck, you rest your head on top of his as he calms them down. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from nearly drowning, maybe it’s something else, but your heart thumps rapidly into your ribcage, probably loud enough for him to feel.

Next chapter →

[savrenim]

What does a “mathematical brain” mean ? My math teacher told me he didn’t know why I couldn’t get good grades in math because I have the mind for it so I’m very confused by what having a mathematical mind is supposed to be.

I really don't think there is such a thing as a mathematical brain? Especially because math is a huge subject, and different parts of it require very differently skills and instincts. Writing off an entire subject as "your brain is just good or bad at it/ you're just pre-disposed to be good or bad at it" is bullshit, especially in math, where any given problem will have multiple solutions and especially when you're first learning standard maths taught through the calculus sequence and not where it all came from and how it all connects with each other the best way to go about remembering how to do everything in my opinion is find the one way that really makes sense to you, and then stick to it.

I will say that "I am bad at languages" / "My brain is just bad at languages." The actual truth of the matter is, I'm... not bad, like, I certainly don't have any sort of auditory processing disorder, but at the very least sub-optimal at purely auditory processing. I am very bad at remembering people's names or hearing them right in the first place unless I see them written down in front of me, rip my DM for having to send me character lists every new arc of gay murder elf bachelorette or I just will call everyone the wrong name, I cannot do 'listening to podcasts' really well, I don't bother with audiobooks, etc. Very specifically, if something is purely auditory with no visual component attached, it seems like my brain just doesn't interpret it or remember it correctly. And again, this definitely isn't a disorder or anything! I mildly prefer subtitles, but I watch movies without subtitles just fine all the time. I can listen to podcasts so long as I have an appropriate activity like driving or cooking or laundry that I'm doing at the same time occupying just enough brainpower. I have zero problems with my hearing, zero problems with speaking to people in English, zero problems in general with learning/ learning disability. But oh boy, trying to learn a different spoken language. I did just fine, in fact straight As because tests were written, in six years of Spanish and three years of French, but I cannot for the life of me understand a single word in one of those languages. Despite the fact that I can still somewhat read French. The spoken bit never clicked. Teachers asked me why I did not join the honors sequence or even the AP sequence for the languages I was in because I was so good at it and I externally went "my courseload is busy enough" and internally went "you mofos those classes would actually grade me on the oral bits, I can do this now bc I'm good at charts and grammar and written things and memorization, but that will not make me good at speaking the language."

I am fairly certain if I devoted years to it and tried really hard, I could learn to speak a different language. I deeply admire people who do learn other languages. But it's Hard for me and I've decided to use my time for Other Things, and that's okay.

The thing with math is that it's similar. If you're dealing with anything up to and through a college calculus sequence, there are specific skills you'll be using and depending on how those skills are taught, they may or may not align with your natural instincts. For me, math is pretty much visualization. A lot of working with functions and manipulating values and what-not is at least for me something that I did with internal sketches of what was happening the whole time. For example, why is the solution to |x-a|<b a single interval but |x-a|>b two intervals? Well, the picture in your head of a number line, and think of point "a" and distance "b" then you're either highlighting "distance b close to a" or "distance b away from a". Or what is the domain and range of f(x)=8/(x^2-16). Well, the picture of x^2-16 is a parabola but most importantly it has zeroes at 4 and -4 and a minimum of -16, so once that sketch is in your head you kind of. Instinctively reconstruct the reverse sketch of 8/(x^2-16) by thinking of where it's positive, where it's negative, where it goes to 0, to infinity, or hits a local maximum/minimum.

For higher maths, the only thing that I can really think of in terms of having a "mathematical brain" is training oneself in formal logic for proofs. But again, that involves way more learning of tools (proof by contradiction, proof by induction, proof by construction) and figuring out on your own how to make them work for you than any one given particular type of skill. A lot of actual math research though is fucking around playing around with things until you see what stuff actually sticks. Whole bunch of trial and error trying to get things to work, and them either working or not.

I think the public perception of what makes a "good mathematical brain" is probably something along the lines of: (1) an exact/precise person, whatever that is supposed to mean, (2) someone good at memorization, and (3) someone who seems logical/organized? But that is kind of delving into stereotypes and way less what actually makes people good at math. But also I'm pretty sure pretty much every person has their own internal stereotypes, and a teacher will probably have their own specific stereotypes after teaching a class for years about which general types of students are usually good or bad.

But mostly, flat-out? Any teacher who tells you something like that is a shitty teacher, and fuck them.

[neoheros]

how would haikyuu boys handle falling for someone out of their league? feat. kuroo tetsuro + iwaizumi hajime

kuroo tetsuro

the way i see it, if kuroo is crushing on anybody it’ll most likely be on someone he’s either been close to for a while now or someone who’s really caught his attention in a big boom bam kind of way

when it came to you, it was a mix of both

he knew you from class but never really talked to you since there wasn’t any reason to

but then one 2 am ramen venture in the nearest 7/11 later, the two of you officially met

it was so weird for you to see a classmate in the same convenient store at 2 in the morning buying hot patches and gatorade

you: so are you a really energetic murderer or is that for the volleyball thing

kuroo: somewhere along both but i keep the volleyball part a secret

kuroo was certain that the minute those words came out of your mouth he was GONE

a one way ticket to having the fattest crush on you

he only wanted to get something for the cold since he couldn’t fall asleep and instead he’s met someone from class who’s way too cute in pajamas with yakult and ramen on hand

kuroo: i’ve never had that kind of ramen before

you: if you don’t murder me then i’ll share

kuroo, smiling: you took out the best part

you: i am the best part

after that night, kuroo’s pretty sure that you singlehandedly derailed his thoughts and emotions in a snap

he’d see you wave at him in the halls and sometimes when he’s not too busy you’d let him sit with you at lunch

it was definitely weird to be friends with him since he’s never really talked to you before but the day you two exchanged numbers and the first thing he sent you was a tiktok, you knew how much you’d like being close to him

you’d spent nights on end facetiming or sending each other funny links and tiktoks and it always felt like you could talk about anything

lots of repeats of 2 am in the same 7/11 spot where you two had your first encounter and each time it’s just get more and more memorable

kuroo: the more i see you, the more tired you look

you: i told my aunt who has a modeling agency about you ❤️ she said no 😌

you two became best friends in no time and even though you told him countless times how much you hated the smell of sweat and getting hit in the face by a ball you never failed to attend all his practices and matches

kenma: are you two dating

kuroo: no

kenma: are you lying

kuroo, sighing: i wish :/

when kenma pointed out the obvious that you two should be dating, he was just hit with an overwhelming feeling in his chest

he thought about it and honestly? the more he did the more he felt like he didn’t have a shot

you were so nice and kind, the teacher’s go to when they need help, and he’s basically seen you turn down 2 guys in the midst of walking home together

yaku: we know you’re lame and stuff but shoot your shot y’know

kuroo: how am i friends with you

so one day he decides that he’s just had about enough from staring at you from afar !!! he’s gonna try his luck and if he strikes out then so be it

it was 3 in the afternoon and they didn’t have practice so he asked you to come over— which at this point, something you did every so often

it was chill at first, the two of you watching a movie in the living room together but then he gets up from his seat

a goofy smile on his face as he says, “let’s make a tiktok,”

you’re confused but you agree nonetheless

the two of you have made tiktoks in the past but they usually stayed in the drafts because you never could get past one without breaking into laughter

he never told you the sound or what tiktok to make but as he put his phone against the kitchen cupboard a smile immediately broke into your face

you look at him and he’s anxious which by nature also made you anxious

the audio played and you really didn’t recognize it, you curse yourself for being so out of loop in the latest fyp trends

he stares at the camera as the song played and you’re unsure of what to do except laugh

he turns to you when the beat drops, and your smile becomes nervous with confused eyes

you are out of my league

he mouths along with the song, the smile on his face matching yours as you let out a brighter grin

you realize what he just said and you laugh, softly hitting his arm, “i am not!”

he pulls you into a hug as the video played, the song looping in the process

he’s laughing as he hugs you, “yes, you are.”

you look up at him, pressing a soft quick kiss on his lips and when you pull back, you’re sure he’s got the stupidest grin on his face

kuroo: i can’t believe we had our first kiss on camera

you: i can’t believe i kissed the lamest boy in school

iwaizumi hajime

being friends with iwaizumi immediately means being friends with oikawa too

it’s okay though, you love them both

you forgot when the three of you became that close but at one point in your life, two boys came running around your local playground and hit you with a ball and the rest was history

later on you guys find out that all three of your moms were close also and everything felt like it just clicked yk?

you go to school with them and it’s pretty ditzy how they force you to go to all their volleyball practices and tournaments

you: i don’t want to go

iwaizumi: but we’re not asking you to

oikawa: we’re TELLING you

you’re close to both of them in a level that they’re like your brothers and they knew that

oikawa was really flattered when you mentioned that and he went on and on about how he’s gonna be the best fake brother you can look up to

iwa however ? nah fam he was silent

and (unfortunately for him) oikawa noticed

iwaizumi wasn’t sure why he felt a bit uncomfortable when you told them how you thought of them as family but all he knew was that he had the most bothered look when you said it

oikawa: omfg you’ve got a crush this is so exciting

iwaizumi: a what

it didn’t surprise him that much when his friend told him the possibility of crushing on you because to be honest? it was weird enough to not like you like that

it takes a while for him to get used to the idea but then it clicks and he realizes

all the times he’d take off his jacket in the freezing weather just to give to you

the days when you’d fall asleep on the corner of the gym so he can walk you home

even those annoying 3 am starbucks trip you’d never stop bugging him about until he agrees

now he’s irritated and flustered because all this time when he felt an overwhelming urge to punch the guy that’s been relentlessly hitting on you it was actually because of what he felt about you

oikawa: nope that one was definitely your anger management issues

at this point everyone in the team basically knows about how hard he’s pining even when he’s sure it’s not that obvious?

and it’s true !! he’s really fricken discrete with the entire thing that you feel like he’s physically repulsed by the idea

he had a sharp tongue and he certainly didn’t hold back on comments but whenever you wouldn’t notice, he’d have a soft gaze at you matched with a tiny light red dusting across his face

kunimi and kindaichi had to tell him that if he didn’t do anything about his feelings he’d risk the chance of seeing you date someone else and Boy ! he did Not like that

some guy trying to ask you out: h–hey

iwaizumi, staring them down as he stands next to you:

the guy trying to ask you out: bro nvm lol

you were sick of it !!!!!!!!! even your guy friends were starting to get too scared to be seen with you and you’re just like ?????????

you: stop making my friends too scared to talk to me

iwaizumi, irritated: you said you saw me as an older brother, this is what they do !!

you: when i said that i obviously meant it as a joke ?? brothers are cool not MEAN

iwaizumi: wait what

HE !!!!!! was ecstatic !!! but in his own iwa way so he had to play it cool !!!!

this was it !! he finally had the chance to shoot his shot !!!

so before his confidence could water down, he texted you immediately if you’d be cool with him driving you to school tomorrow

you: omg iwa never offers to do that, thank you sm body snatching alien <3

iwaizumi: due to personal reasons i will be passing away

he arrives at your house at 7 and he’s very nervous because even though he has a plan on what to do, it’s your reaction he didn’t know how to handle

once you got in his car, you were suspiciously quiet and the brim of your nose was oddly coated in a red hue

before he starts to drive, you stop him, a shy smile on your face, one that is easily out favored by your mischievous one

“let’s make a tiktok,” you tell him, and if it was any other time he’d 100% tell you no, but it was 7 in the morning and the sun had just come up and you looked so adorable he just couldn’t resist

he looks aside, softly muttering, “fine.”

you put your phone on the dashboard of his car, softly pressing play as the song started

iwa recognized this song, in fact, he loved this song

he didn’t know much about tiktok but he was very familiar with the ones that oikawa would send him at 4 am

and one of them happened to be this exact trend

his face flushes a dark red as he realizes what you’re about to do and you’ve got a silly grin on your face as you’re looking at him

you are out of my league

you laugh as you mouth it, pointing to him when you looked at the camera again

he playfully rolls his eyes, nudging you a bit to look at him

“you’re so stupid,” he tells you with a smile and you’re still laughing from the song

the rest of the song plays, and he’s got his eyes on you the whole time like !!!!!

you spend the rest of the morning repeating the song over and over again and it’s just you and iwa pointing at each other whenever that specific line comes up it’s 🥺

when you arrive at school, before you unbuckle your seatbelt, he takes your hand and pulls you close, giving you a quick peck on the forehead

you: does this mean you’d finally go with me to starbucks whenever

iwaizumi: no but that’s a nice try ❤️

[how-disgr-ace-ful]

Welcome back to lets hurt Bakugou

Episode No. idfk: Scars

(Disclaimer: this got way longer than I intended lol)

Bonjour, I have still not finished my French homework and I am very aware that this is me procrastinating but that’s not gonna stop me. Also I’ve run out of stuff to read for this hc so I’m resorting to writing something myself.

So, we all know the popular headcanon that Bakugou doesn’t scar, and we all recognise the angst potential for this. 

(Quick note: idk what I’m talking about when it comes to science and all this information is stuff I’ve got from other people’s headcanons and fics, so this probably doesn’t make much sense.)

There are so many things that could have happened to Bakugou that nobody would even know about because there’d be no evidence of it happening. There’d be no proof of all the countless times he accidentally burnt himself with his quirk or all the times he fell as he tried to teach himself how to fly with his explosions.

Taking a darker route, how many times could he have beaten and bruised at home only for the dark marks to be gone by the time he went to school?* (Going off the assumption he heals faster too.) How long would it have taken his mother to calculate the point at which she could reach before the injuries wouldn’t heal fast enough?

Maybe, when Bakugou learnt that his home life wasn’t normal, he tried going to his teacher, but was accused of lying for attention once the teacher took one glance at his flawless skin.

Maybe his mum forced him into modelling for her in his teenager years, his skin so unusually clear for someone of his age.

It could be that before UA, he wasn’t bothered by his unblemished skin - he could handle his home life fine by himself; he wasn’t weak. But once he saw his classmates gaining marks - proof - of their hard work and improvement, he started paying more attention to the way his skin stayed blank. The others all had something to show for their efforts, but what did he have? Sure, he was getting better and improving, but was he even trying that hard? 

He knew he had gotten some semi-serious injuries while training, but now that he thinks about it, were they even that bad? There was no lingering scars, so he must just be overreacting, right? Even if he can still feel the way his skin was sliced, torn and burnt, there’s no proof. He must just be making things up.

And then the sports festival happened. All he wanted was a fair fight, but instead he came to his senses chained up on a podium, his head spinning as he tried to make sense of what the fuck was going on. As he strained against the restraints, he could feel the sharp edges of the muzzle cutting into his cheeks, blood slowly trickling down his face.

Maybe he considered going to Aizawa or Recovery Girl, but he had no way of knowing if they were involved in the decision to chain a fucking child to a podium. Instead he just headed straight home, making a beeline for his room as he avoided all the creaky spots on the stairs. He already knew his skin on his cheeks would be back to looking “perfect” by the time he had to go to school, and in a moment of impulsivity, he took a selfie.

A couple of days later, when the wounds had completely, he looked at the picture of the bleeding, untreated gashes. It had happened. He hadn’t exaggerated or made it up. On a whim, he made a folder simply labelled “proof” and moved the picture to it. The next time he got an injury, he took a photo and added it to the folder. And the next time. And the next. Before he knew it, it was second nature.

Then the kidnapping happened. And Kamino. And suddenly he was spiralling again. Not only had he basically ended the Symbol of Peace, but All Might’s entire existence and appearance now seemed like a testament of his work, and Bakugou had the nerve to be this strong, to get this far without so much as a mark on skin?

Of course, the media ate the whole Kamino thing right up. Some talked about how strong and heroic All Might was, others shamed his true appearance, opening up a whole conversation about body image - and body image specifically surrounding scars. 

Aizawa had never seen any of his kids students express any insecurities about the scars they gained from training and fighting and a variety of other things, but he supposed a lesson or workshop about body positivity couldn’t hurt. He’s positive that all his students have at least some scars, even if they had none before coming to UA, so he begins the lesson with asking them to write down how they got one of their scars. The intention is to then find something positive that came from the situation, but he quickly notices that Bakugou isn’t writing anything on the piece of paper on his desk. Aizawa just assumes that he doesn’t want to acknowledge weakness - that wouldn’t be out of character - so he calls on him.

“Bakugou, you’ve not written anything.”

“Wow, haven’t I? Thanks for pointing that out, teach, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Bakugou, you need to take part in the lesson.”

“No, I don’t think I do.”

“See me after class. We’ll deal with this later.”

After class, Aizawa tried to make Bakugou do the exercise again, thinking maybe he’d do it if the rest of the class wasn’t there. Spoiler alert: he wouldn’t. The kid just insisted he didn’t have any scars, something Aizawa knew couldn’t be true because of all the injuries he’s seen him gain.

“Kid, there’s nothing wrong with having scars.”

“How many times I gotta tell you? I don’t have any scars.”

Aizawa was about to go off on a spiel about how scars are a sign of strength and not weakness or whatever the internet had told him to say, when Bakugou let out a wordless sound of frustration and pulled his phone out. After a few seconds, he shoved it in Aizawa’s line of vision.

“See. This would have scarred if it was anyone else, but it didn’t because I don’t fucking scar.”

Aizawa looked at the phone screen and came face to face with a selfie of Bakugou, the boy’s cheeks adorned with two deep gashes, blood smeared across his face.

“Bakugou... when did this happen?”

Bakugou seemed to realise what he was showing his teacher and snatched the phone back.

“None of your fucking business.”

“Bakugou.”

“...”

“...”

“The sports festival.”

The sports festival...? Then... that was from the muzzle?

“Bakugou, how many times has this happened?”

“How many times has what happened?”

“You getting hurt and no one knowing.”

Bakugou didn’t reply, tapping on his phone screen a couple of times before handing it to his teacher. It was open on a folder labelled “proof”, the number of pictures in said folder being way too high for Aizawa’s comfort. How was he supposed to handle this situation? It wasn’t exactly common.

Why did he have to care about his kids students so much?

*This is not me saying that Mitsuki is abusive in canon. I don’t want to get involved in that discussion.

[messwriting]

Dream Girl - Aizawa x Reader - Part II

Summary: “He catches himself begrudgingly thinking about Dream but he tells himself it is about her safety and not the way in which he thinks she looks so much better with her original hair color.” -- Or Aizawa begrudgingly helps in a undercover mission and meets someone he didn’t anticipated. Then, he’s appalled at being interested.

 Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Warnings: Reader is a hero involved in intelligence work, with a specific quirk. There’s also mentions of physical characteristics (hair color and boob-size rs) here, that are meant to be different from yours, but may not be the case. If that’s so, that’s no problem to the progression of the story, just thought of warning. Eventual smut.

Note: GUYS I’M AWFUL AT SUMMARIES BUT THIS IS GOOD. Yes, this is a note i’ll left permanently in this. /// I’m so happy you guys are enjoying this!!!! 😍 It got me giggling like crazy seeing the notes and receiving asks and messages!  💘 So, this part is unbetaed because i didn’t want to bother my ofc beta @mixedhell​ on her weekend out. If there’s any problems, please tell me. <3 

When the day comes, Aizawa leaves the dorm right before the sunset. 

It’s fairly early for the marked meeting time, but he needs to meet with both Centipeder and Bubble Girl before meeting Dream and discussing the plan of action… again. 

The two of them had met again in the middle of the week, as promised when she left him in front of the School. Y/n had done a whole show when Aizawa called her to arrange the meeting and once she found out his phone number, even if it was the hero-business’ one, his messages exploded like never before. It was common occurrence now for Eraser to wake up in the morning with tons of messages ranging from suggestive to flirty or her attempts at being cute, and sometimes just downright rambling, which had doubled the amount of coffee the permanently tired teacher needed in the morning.

Aizawa refused to answer most of the girl's messages even if he happened to be online at the moment he received them. Other times he made a show of leaving her conversation clearly on read. It was a whole different satisfaction to see Y/N answering “really? leaving me on read again?”. 

The problem had been when the woman had managed to turn the game around, upping the level of suggestive messages to the verge of inappropriate. He realizes she does it to both get his attention and annoy him, but some of her messages begrudgingly lifts his spirit. 

Aizawa is not very good with anything that requires a lot of expression, even with a screen in between, but for once he’s fine with it. Not dignifying her with an answer turns out to be his answer, especially since he knows she’s going around trying to push his buttons. Even so, after most of five days in this routine, he’s in a bit of a mood when the morning comes and he has nothing waiting for him on his phone. Not even a ridiculous emoji. 

He wonders if she’s busy while most of the day passes by and he’s already halfway through his meeting with Centipeder. 

They agree on the arrest and what is to be done about the drugs once the police are involved – Centipeder being responsible to fill the Chief on it and Eraser assuring him that he’ll get the triggers into custody. When Eraser feels the meeting’s approaching its end, he feels he can finally ask something without sounding too suspect …And he quickly shuts down the internal question of why would it be suspect before he starts overthinking.

“And where’s Dream? She’s not going to show up for this meeting?”

“No. She didn’t tell you? She’s been in character all day already.”

“What?”

“Before missions like these, she normally sets the ground for the cover she’ll impersonate. Since this was a minor job, she spent the week organizing things like renting an apartment, finding a job...” Bubble girl answers without looking at Eraser, writing something away in her notes. Centipeder doesn’t seem surprised by the fact that the pro-hero who’s assisting Dream in the job doesn’t know any of this. Eraser, on the other hand, is annoyed that she’d been texting him stupid things all week when she could be telling him this.

“She doesn’t like to share much about her routines before missions.” Centipeder clarifies to Eraser, a very tired expression on the mutant that says he’s too used to doing so. “I suppose I get where it comes from, but I also understand how that’s unpleasant while working together on a job, even if a minor one.”

Eraser nods, lights up a cigarette and breathes it in before answering. “I’m just surprised.” He says while blowing the smoke out. “But I also understand where it comes from.” He’s enough of a lone wolf while working to understand that much. Identifying patterns of behaviors it’s one of the first things you learn while working intel and something that you only get better at the longer you work. Habits are hard to lose and easy to fall back into. The more she lets people know hers, the easier it is for someone to try and find their way into her routine. While he understands… he doesn’t know why it unsettles him.

“I guess it comes with her job. Intel work is…” Centipeder stops for a second, eyes drifting off while looking for a word, “Different from hero work.”

Aizawa just nods his agreement.

-

He doesn't recognize her immediately when he sees her.

Eraser's in one of the alleys behind a residential building in a not-so-good area of ​​the city. Dream told him to wait for her there and she’s late, just a few minutes, but late. Aizawa places himself hidden in one of the existing shaded corners, his traditionally dark clothing acting like camouflage. He waits to hear footsteps at the entrance of the alley, but nothing happens; until the sound of a door opening catches his attention.

He almost dispenses paying attention to the woman who opens the door, a beautiful platinum blonde with clear eyes that clearly could not belong to the woman he remembers. But she waits, standing against the door, her eyes searching without being able to see in the shadows of the alley. Aizawa sucks in the air, ponders, and takes a step towards the light.

“So this was what got you busy all day?”

“Why? Did you miss me?” Even her smile is different, her teeth somehow more white in a straight line of perfection. It’s odd and he can tell right away this has nothing to do with her quirk. She seems to notice his attentive eyes noticing the changes and her expression softens, turning closer to the woman he remembers. It makes him question what does she truly looks like.

“The day was pleasantly quiet. So, no.” He tells her and moves inside when she gives him space, closing the door with a loud noise. He eyes her, but she doesn’t seem concerned, walking ahead of him in unhurried steps. Somehow even that seems different, a measured small distance between each step. They’re inside the buildings’ laundry room now, after stepping through an empty dark corridor.

“Should we be meeting here?” Eraser assumes this place is her rented apartment for the current mission and meeting there it’s stupid. Creates a link between him, the pro-hero that’ll make the apprehension, and whoever she’ll be tonight. She eyes him over her shoulder in a way that tells him that’s not where they are – and there’s an undertone of judgment for him even considering it being that has his face turning sour.

She leads him through the laundry and into another corridor. Then a few flights of stairs down and another corridor, then inside something that looks awfully shady with red lights, through a corner, a door, more stairs, and inside a parking garage. Aizawa prides himself on being a man with incredible direction skills but he’s at loss about where they are. She stops in front of a black car with tinted windows and they get inside without talking.

“No cameras in the garage?” He asks, but already knows the answer.

“Nope.” She still shakes her head, driving with enviable ease out of the garage and into the street. He tries to recognize the location and is really surprised to find that he can't identify immediately, only locating himself after she turns a few streets toward the docks. A corner look at the girl tells him that she’s proud to surprise him. 

He lights a cigarette out of habit. "Will it take long?"

"No." She turns into another street, heads towards a busy avenue, and drives for a while until she finally enters an open garage, in one of the buildings on the avenue. She goes down to the last garage basement and Aizawa notices the red door two spaces later before anything. There shouldn't be a fire door there.

 They head towards it, Aizawa notices the small keyboard on the side where Y/n presses six numbers and when it opens he’s again surprised to find a private elevator. They go upstairs and when the doors open, they’re inside an apartment that he has no way of knowing which floor or where in the building without having to search the surrounding buildings. It's a nice apartment, though. And it seems surprisingly lived in.

“Huh.” It’s all he says. Then he sucks the last breath of his cigarette before throwing it out. “Why go through all the trouble of bringing me here?”

“It’s fairly early. And I need to show you something.” She says somewhat secretive, moving through the living room to a bedroom. Aizawa blinks once he’s inside. There’s a very state of the art computer there, the kind that makes people with electronic quirks proud. On the three screens there are images being shown and he’s quick to realize that one of the people showing up there it’s the guy that’ll make the buying today.

“Fuck.” Slips past his lips, drifting off with the smoke.

“Finally got a reaction out of you!” She celebrates, turning on the lights and showing everything inside. It has a large wardrobe-slash-open-closet on one wall and a large mirror on the side, with lights and a complete dressing table with numerous makeup and hair items. A half-open door shows the large bathroom and all there is in the middle of the room is a divan with a cover and a pillow thrown on it. He puts two and two together and finds out that whatever that apartment means, here is one of her hideouts. Not truly her house, but a place she uses an awful lot. And Eraser is at loss to why she’s showing him it.

“Are you monitoring him?” He asks.

“Yes. I need to make sure what he’s doing and that everything is okay for tonight. It is, he already got the money.” 

“And the other places?” He motions with his head to the other two images being shown, which he doubts he could guess where they’re from.

“Oh, this is what I want to show you.” In the light, Aizawa realizes some things he didn’t notice before. Like the fact her breasts are bigger in the black outfit she’s wearing and she looks like she lost weight.

“What exactly do you do to change like this?” The question leaves his lips before he can stop it, and somehow she manages not to be surprised even if he is.

“My appearance? A wig, contact lenses, bigger bra filled with silicon, and a bit of dehydration to lose some weight. I’ll do makeup and dress up too. Normal stuff.” She explains like it’s nothing, sitting on the expensive computer chair and turning back to look at him.

“Why do so if you’re going to use your quirk? And since I’ll deal with the security cams.”

“Do you want me to alter the perception of everyone in that club?” She sounds almost offended.  “Also, everyone is going to remember a bright blonde with pretty eyes and big boobs in a very slutty dress. No one’s going to be looking for me.”

Her logic is difficult to argue with. And Aizawa finds himself admiring her hard work and diligence.

“Ok, what do you need to show me?”

“This.” She turns on the big, comfortable computer chair, and walks him through a very didactic explanation of the clubhouse architecture and electric panels. She has a software that looks like it’s right out of a spy movie and once they’re done he’s fairly certain he could walk that path and destroy the night security recording without even looking. Aizawa almost wants to congratulate her, but she’ll probably gloat at the mere hint of compliment. 

Though it’s a very good scheme: She planned so that the cameras will continue recording, but nothing will be saved. Anyone could look at it like it’s a simple glitch, a fortuitous problem happening on a bad night – shitty luck. 

“You put lots of thought into this.” It’s what Aizawa opts to say instead, though he admits there’s a bit of admiration there. He’s done missions like this with a grand variety of pro-heroes and also intel personnel and she’s by far the one who surprised him the most. He has done little to no effort on his part for today and she has delivered to him a clear plan of action with logical directions and perspicuous counter-measures into making this a clean operation.

“You could say so, yeah. I want this to go smoothly.” Still, she sounds as if she’s pleading the gods for good luck. Aizawa holds his instinctive snort and catches his eyes before they give him away and instead just nods – he doesn’t ask why.

Once they finish the ordeal, she’s washing her face to begin the whole makeup setup and Eraser’s finishing his third smoke. Before he leaves, she tells him directions on how to leave the subsoil garage where the elevator will lead to and he listens attentively while pretending to not find interest in the way she prepares her skin to look different; while pretending to not be trying to guess how she’ll look.

When he’s finally at the street, Eraser can't understand why she went through all the trouble of taking him there to just let him out, but he considers that she’ll probably stop using the place after tonight. It’s already time for him to begin his night patrol though, so Eraser moves quickly. Hours go by idly, his mind shifting to his later plans. He catches himself begrudgingly thinking about Dream but he tells himself it is about her safety and not the way in which he thinks she looks so much better with her original hair color. Eraser’s moving in the direction of the club a few minutes before the agreed time.

The pro-hero manages to cut the image recording so easily that it takes less time than they’d estimated, giving Eraser time to leave the building and watch from above one of the neighboring rooftops when Y/N arrives on the spot in a car. The only reason he knows it’s her it’s because the signal that comes in his phone – a single ping indicating her arrival. She’s looking even more blonde than before, the color of her hair so bright it shines. Her dress is white and he’s fairly certain, with a choked breath, that she’s not wearing much in all that silk. 

The thing is surprisingly not as short as he imagined and he’s quick to discover why, a slit opening all the way through her thigh. She stands there like she bears the light inside her muscles because he’s fairly certain the woman is shining. From all the way up where he stands, there’s not much he can get from her face without wearing his goggles, but then she moves inside and the place looks dark again – a dirty street with fewer lighting where before stood some kind of goddess.

Aizawa finds his cigarette out of habit and tries to free his mind of those nonsensical thoughts while he distances himself from the place to wait at his support spot. It’s hours and too many smokes after when another ping sounds on his phone and he's quick enough to catch the sight of Y/N leaving the place hanging off the arm of their target, his other hand firmly locked on a suitcase. They’re talking animatedly and she’s prettily laughing at the man’s words, while his hand slowly molds itself on her waist and pointedly tells Aizawa he may be right about his early assumption. A sports car parks in front of the couple and they get in. 

Eraser follows.

-  tag list: @therealwalmartjesus​ [UASHUAHS MY GOD I HAVE A TAG LIST]

[dragon-swords-prophecies]

Sacrifice Chapter 1

So I'm trying to edit chapter 1 of Sacrifice because I really don't like it and even I can tell how much my writing style has changed in three ish months but I can't figure out exactly whats wrong with it and since I've never shared anything on here ever thats this long and also I need want someone's opinion on this (Please & thank you very much), here's the first chapter of Sacrifice. I already know a bunch of stuff I'm cutting out the awkward romance part specifically i really should not even attempt to write stuff like that its just awkward but I can't figure out exactly what else is wrong with it so this is my solution instead. You sincerely truly don't have to read it if you don't want to I just thought this might be a good idea. And also its something to do if you're bored.

It's below the cut.

Taglist: @golden-eyed-writer

I grinned. Anne and Enna were arguing over the rules of Gin, while Anne, she was Enna’s twin, anyway, while Anne’s kids played tag with my nephew, Zane. Jen and Zebra collided in the middle of the room, and Zane didn’t stop in time, so they ended up in a pile of tangled limbs. My sister emerged from the other room and sighed, then burst into laughter, her wavy, silver tipped, black hair bouncing up and down. We were nearly identical, same silver blue eyes, silver tipped black hair, and dark skin. Our scales were different though. Ana’s smooth, tear drop shaped, silver scales covered her collarbone and wound down one arm; mine encircled my torso. Mine were easier to hide, but more people knew about them. I cast a lot of wind spells.

Ana only showed her scales to people she trusted, so walking in the room in a black tank top was a statement. Anne and Enna were identical, and their names mirrored each other. Blue black hair, Anne’s in twin buns and Enna’s in a half ponytail. Alabaster skin tinged with blue, and blue eyes. They had wings, but Enna was grounded. There was a knock on the door of Lei’s apartment. Lei, a blond Demonsblood, was standing closest to the door and pulled it open, sticking her head out. Two seconds later a boy dressed in the Barony’s colors entered.

“Uh, is there any person named,” He checked the sheet of paper clutched in his hands, “Anne Jones & Enna Helder-Kromlin here?” The twins stood up from the corner and scowled briefly, then Enna darted across the room, grabbed the paper, read it, and swore in Dragon.

“You can go now.” Said Faith, Lei’s redheaded younger cousin.

“Yes, ma’am.” He mumbled, then scampered away. “What is it? Dennis explode something again?” Asked Anne, striding over.

“There’s a gnome, blond, asking to see us. The note says she’s carrying the seal of the last baron.” Her twin answered in a shocked voice.

“Mae?”

“Maybe.” While they conversed, and Ana shrugged her jacket off after yanking it on when the door was opened, there was a second knock. Emily, a gnome alchemist and a friend of ours, answered this time, and her lavender eyes stared unseeing into the face of a second messenger. This one had a message for Ana. After reading it, my twin turned to me and grinned. Ana’s smile sometimes scared people. We both had pointed, sharp canine teeth, courtesy of our draconic ancestry. And that had the side effect of looking like you were about to murder someone when you smiled.

“Cerea’s alive. She’s here, with the gnome En mentioned. Joshua recognized the name.” A rush of emotions went through me. Two hundred and seventy four years ago mine and Ana’s home had been burned to the ground by Dizerdrat, an ancient red dragon. Cerea had been the name of a half elf with impressive innate primal magic, who had left when she was twenty, three months befor A'sshyse burned, leaving us the only survivors. The name was a bit ironic actually, A'sshyse sounded like Ashes if pronounced correctly, and that’s all it was now. Ashes and memories.

We didn’t bother to say anything, no one did. Two sets of twins walked out the door, leaving confusion, five friends, and three ten year olds behind. Enna twisted around before leaving, threatening, “If anyone touches those cards I will kill you.” Then she ran, and the second she and Anne were outside they broke out into a full out sprint, matching each other pace for pace. When we got to the main hall area, which had a bunch of alcoves off it that served as slightly more private spaces for meetings and the like, Anne and Enna had already tackle hugged a gnome with curly blond hair, and a black haired half elf stood nearby, awkwardly. Enna was whispering,

"Thirty five years Mae. Thirty five goddamn years. Where were you?"

“I was- Thirty five years?!”

“Yes.” Answered Anne. Mae rounded on the half elf, who put her hands up in a sign of surrender. Before the gnome could get a word out Cerea spoke.

“I didn’t know alright? I’m bad with time.”

“Still. You should have told me!”

“I know. I should have done a lot of things.” It was at that moment she looked in our direction, and saw us. Ana didn’t hesitate, rushing in to embrace a woman she hadn’t seen in nearly three hundred years. I hung back a bit. Not because of my sister, but because me and Cerea hadn’t exactly parted on… civil terms. Half a minute later Ana grabbed my arm, muttering Draconic into my ear.

“I don’t care what happened last time. You never got over it, I doubt she did.”

“Erm, okay-”

Cerea interrupted. “You survived?! What in the nine hells happened to A’sshyse?!”

“Dragonfire.” Ana answered. Then I blurted out, in Dragon, before I had to wait another three centuries to apologize.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was stupid, and, and an idiot-” Cerea intterupted in the same language.

“Yes, you were sometimes. But I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said what I said. We were both wrong about the other.” She hugged me tightly, but quickly. As Cerea stepped away I noticed how much toll the last three hundred years had taken on her. She still had raven hair and coffee colored skin, but the freckles that once covered her face were gone. Her eyes still had the same twinkle, but the green was darker, closer to emerald than I’d ever seen them and older than they should be.

“So where were you?” Asked Enna, directing the question at Mae.

“I was petrified. I left right after you guys killed Shallodet, and then it’s a blur until waking up to find my very surprised teacher.”

Enna shuddered at the mention of the name. Shallodet was not a pleasant memory for her.

“Teacher?”

“Yeah. Anne & Enna, this is Cerea Roven. Cerea, these are my sisters. Anne and Enna Helder.”

“Helder-Kromlin. Claimed Mom’s name properly. But I’m not forgetting Helder. It’s hyphenated now. Drove the official crazy.” Corrected Enna. Anne followed with,

“Erm, it’s actually Anne Jones. I might have gotten married.”

“Sorry, what?!”

“I’ll explain later.”

“Hi?” Cerea grinned awkwardly, raising one hand in a half wave for a brief second. “Who’s the Gnome?” Asked Ana.

“I’m Mae Helder. Who are you?”

“Anastasia. Call me Ana. He’s Dash.”

“Hey. So you’re their sister?” I asked, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

“Uh huh. How’d you meet these two?”

“The War.” Answered Ana.

“War? What War?”

“Little sister, you’ve missed a lot. About a decade ago there was a War. Norfolk is gone.”

“Wow. Anything else I need to know?”

“Well, here’s the slight matter of there being a different Baron.”

“What?!”

“His name is Fredrick Falk.”

“Wait. Does that mean?”

“Yeah. He’s gone. Died about two years after you left.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I know how much he meant to you.”

“It’s okay.” The previous Baron had been the first person who had believed in Enna for a long time. When he died she had taken it hard. He had been the latest in a long line of parental figures; and each one had died.

Pike, her adopted mother, had died when she was 10. Her older brother, Zibra, had died when she was nineteen, and everyone thought it was her fault. Everyone except Anne. Her mentor, a half-dragon named Sasha, had died when she was twenty eight. When she was 40 she came back to the capital, only to find Anne missing. She thought it was her fault. Anne had nearly died. Then her Uncle, her mother’s twin, had turned out be her mother’s murder, confessed to killing Zibra and framing her, then he tried to kill both the twins, leaving Enna with thin scars that covered her arms, shoulders, back & torso.

“Anyway, why are you here?”

“Well,” Said Cerea nervously, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. “Gray has heard some things, concerning things. They’re actually what led to me finding Mae.”

“What things?” I asked.

“The forges, the ones under the mountain, are waking up again.”

“I still don’t understand why he would put forges there, of all locations.” Muttered Anne.

“You need to tell someone.”

“That’s why we came here. Under the Code, you need two high ranking Druids to request a meeting with a ruler.”

“That’s surprisingly smart for a twenty five year old.” Said Enna, perhaps the third time in her life she had judged someone because of their apparent age. Cerea, unsurprisingly, burst out laughing.

“I’m two hundred and ninety ish. Can’t remember the exact number. Not 25.”

“Two hundred and ninety four.” I muttered quietly.

“Two hundred and ninety four, then. Either way, I’m not twenty five.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Twenty five is the oldest anyone’s ever thought I looked. I had a couple friends, a few years ago, they thought I was nineteen. Never got around to correcting them.”

“Uh-huh.” I muttered. Cerea had always looked young for her age, and it, plus her innate and extremely powerful primordial magic and wildshaping powers, had allowed her to get away with more things than the average kid would. Most of these exploits were related to stealing jelly tarts, which Ana stole from her and I then stole some of them from Ana. Yeah, fourteen year old me probably had better things to do than steal pastries from a 7 year old prankster, but it was either that or get possessed again, which is not an experience I’d recommend to anyone.

Yes, you read that correctly. Possessed. It’s a very long story that will probably come to light in time. Probably. Either way, we were interrupted by Joshua, the Baron’s 19 year old half-dragon grandson materializing from out of nowhere. His brown curls were more rumpled than usual, and his blue eyes shown with exhaustion. Joshua’s robes, the outfit commonly worn by wizards-in-training, were rumpled, like he had slept in them. He wasn’t strictly half dragon, closer to a quarter dragon. His dad’s dad had been a black dragon. His Mum, the Baron’s youngest daughter, had eloped with his dad and Joshua had only been raised in the court after his parents died in an Orc raid when he was seven. Before you ask, yes most of us had/have sob stories for backgrounds. Happy people who are mentaly stable don’t go out and hunt literal dragons.

Either way, the top half of his face, on a diagonal from right to left, was covered in smooth, black scales. They continued down his neck, and onto one arm. Joshua asked, “So you guys do know each other. I mean, I didn’t think there were a lot of black haired and crazy powerful half elven druids, but hey. There could’ve been more than one. Anyway, Grandpa’s ready to talk to you two. You know how to get there?”

“Yep.” Confirmed Mae, leading Cerea down the hallway. Joshua stayed, leaning against the stone wall.

“Hey.” Anne raised one hand half heartedly, in a sort of wave.

“Hi.”

“So I know how Ana & Dash know the mildly terrifying druid lady, but how do you two know the Gnome?”

“She’s our sister.”

“But neither of you are two Gnomes in a trench coat. So how?”

“I don’t even own a trenchcoat.” Muttered Enna.

“Exactly.”

“She’s our adopted sister, our foster mother fostered her too, though we didn’t know that then.”

“You had a foster mother?”

Anne sighed. “Yes. Pike Helder. Why do you think we speak Gnome?”

“I don’t know. Figured you just knew a lot of Gnomes.”

“I mean, we do, but that’s not the point.”

“Also, I think we would know if you guys were just Gnomes in trenchcoats.” I remarked.

“Yeah, I think you would.” Said Anne.

“You okay?” Ana asked Joshua, probably in response to his disheveled appearance.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m fine. Just stressed.” Ana scoffed, but didn’t say anything more. Enna turned to me. Her arms were crossed.

“Spill.”

“What?” I asked cluelessly. Anne added, “You and Cerea have history. What is it?,” she asked, her body language the same as her twin.

“Nothing, we just knew each other as kids.” “Uh huh.” “So that’s all?” “Yes,” I lied. Anne laughed.

“It’s almost like he thinks we don’t know that he’s lying.” “Yeah.” I looked anywhere except at the twins.

“It wasn’t anything!” I said, coming way closer to yelling than I should.

“You apologized to each other in Dragon when you saw each other.” I swore under my breath. I had forgotten Enna knew Dragon. I tended to forget she knew a lot of languages, Elven not among them in spite of her heritage.

“That was nothing.” I mumbled.

“It was not nothing. I saw Ana’s expression when she saw Cerea. She looked like her best friend had just come back to life.”

“She has.”

“Please. We all know you’re Ana’s best friend. If it’s not you, it’s Zane. Anyway, Ana looked like her best friend had just come back to life. But you, you looked like, I don’t even know how to describe it. You looked a lot like Anne when she got married to Jones. You looked like you were in love.”

“No-o. Not in love with her. Dated her once, sure, maybe we kissed a couple times, but I’m not in love with her,” I protested, turning redder than Faith’s hair, which was very, very red. “Dash, either I tell them or you do.” Threatened Ana, switching into rapid Demonic. Demonic was the one language we both knew that the twins didn’t speak.

“Can we not do this now?!” I replied, in the same language.

“What, you don’t want all our friends to know that you and Cerea were etinye aka?” She asked, using an Elven word.

“No, I would prefer not. And I really think that Cerea wouldn’t either.” “You’d be surprised. She’s changed a lot in 300 years.”

“And how would you know? You’ve seen her about as much as I have.”

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip and thinking. “I knew she was alive.”

--------End Chapter 1---------

If you've read this far THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt.10/25

Previous

The flat was filled with the melodic sounds of sitar strings, or more accurately, the screeching sounds of sitar strings.

Jaskier still hadn’t gotten the hang of his new baby.

It was a truly beautiful instrument but completely different to his usual stringed instruments. The long neck of the sitar had way more pegs than he used to and he just couldn’t get it to sing like he wanted. He was struggling to play with the microtones that the sitar music was famous for. He would probably have to see if he could find a teacher to help him. That wasn’t going to be easy.

He gently put the instrument back in its case and sat down at his piano instead. His flat wasn’t really big enough to house his baby grand piano but he just hadn’t been able to leave the beautiful instrument behind in the shop. It had called out to him like a siren and he’d been helpless to resist its call.

Of course, he’d probably be able to afford a bigger flat if he managed to stop buying instruments.

He laughed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

His fingers idly pressed the keys without him putting much effort in. He closed his eyes and let the music free from his heart.

School was starting back the next day and he’d been up almost all weekend trying to finish up his lesson plans. He hadn’t meant to leave it to the last minute but time had just gotten away from him and suddenly it was Saturday and he’d not done any work. Luckily coffee and cat naps were his bestest friends in the whole wide world and he’d finally managed to get it all done. Just in time to enjoy his last evening before the kids took over his life once more. His kids were amazing but full of energy and it took a lot out of him to be so switched on all day long. He’d already drafted his email to the parents to send out on Friday evening based on his lesson plans for the week, but he still had Geralt’s left to write.

Not that Geralt received any special treatment or anything.

It was just that he needed to be mindful of Ciri’s special circumstances.

Or at least that was the lie he’d told himself all term.

But at least he still personalised each of the emails a little before sending them out!

And so what he he wrote Geralt handwritten letters more frequently than the other parents.

It wasn’t a crime.

The only crime was Geralt’s ass.

It was to die for.

He groaned and shook his head to try and clear out the thoughts of his love, his fingers slipping on the keys of the piano, but there was really nothing he could do to stop the barrage of Geralt thoughts. Since parents’ evening he’d developed a blooming friendship with Geralt and it was making him feel all sorts of things that he really shouldn’t be feeling if he wanted to keep his job.

They had managed to meet up a few of times over the last half of the school term to discuss Ciri’s progress at school, although Jaskier could count on one hand how many times Ciri’s classwork had actually come up in conversation. Jaskier could never resist flirting with the firefighter which Geralt took in his stride. Although Jaskier wasn’t entirely certain that Geralt even realised he was flirting.

Jaskier was ninety-five percent sure that Geralt was interested in men, and in him specifically. He’d never explicitly said it and there was nothing about their meetings that really screamed anything more than friendship, but every so often Geralt would seemingly flirt back and it floored Jaskier every single time. How was he supposed to handle that? This tall muscular amber-eyed God was actually paying him attention. The small smiles that Geralt gave him made his heart sing, and to the gods when Geralt laughed, he felt his insides turn to mush. Geralt was usually happy to let Jaskier hold most of the conversation, talking about his new instrumental conquests, books he was reading, the beautiful birds he’d seen on the walk to work, but the white-hair man was beginning to open up.

Jaskier had learnt more about Roach, who he’d mistaken for a large dog in Ciri’s drawing. He had, of course teased Geralt over his choice of name but that hadn’t lasted long when Geralt had turned the table on him and asked what Jaskier would call a horse and the only name he could think of was Greg. Geralt offered up a little information about his teammates but notably avoided talking about his childhood. Jaskier couldn’t blame him for that. He had avoided that topic himself.

He knew that Geralt struggled to find time to cook but always made an effort to cook something from scratch with Ciri’s help at least once a week. Their favourite thing to make was pizza, it was also their favourite take-away. He’d learnt that Geralt tended not to watch much tv unless it was with Ciri and the man could tell you far too much about Ciri’s favourite cartoons, which explained his Apple Jack lunchbox. Geralt preferred to read in his free time instead, normally fantasy books, anything with a dragon in. Geralt’s favourite colour was blue which Jaskier adored. He could pretend that the reason was because his eyes were blue. He had filed that information away to fuel several romantic daydreams which ended in a summer wedding.

His fingers began to dance over the keys in a previously unheard melody.

It was beautiful.

“Ah fuck!” He cursed and scrambled to find manuscript paper as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

It was buried in between his lute and his computer. There was barely a spare page in the notebook but he managed to find one in the middle. Once he’d got the melody captured he would copy it over into a fresher, more organised book that held his complete compositions.

He closed his eyes again as he tried to remember precisely what he’d played before but it was missing something. The chords weren’t quite right and it left the piece sounding almost empty and dead.

“Bollocks!”

The moment had passed and his muse had left him.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his recents calls until he found the number he wanted. The phone rang twice before the sweet dulcet tones of his younger cousin sounded in his ears.

“What do you want?” Essi asked wearily.

“Lovely to speak to you too.” Jaskier shot back.

Essi sighed. “I’m working, Dandelion.”

“This late?” He double checked the clock. It was almost nine in the evening but then again she was a professional singer. If she had a gig then it was likely to be later on in the day, and now that he paid more attention he could hear the sounds of a bar in the background of the call.

“Not all of us work nine til five, Dandy.” The old nickname slipped out.

“Essi!” He groaned. “I stopped calling myself Dandelion years ago”

“Says the man that realised an album last spring under the alias of Dandelion.”

“It’s a stage name.” He pouted before he remembered she couldn’t see him.

He heard someone calling her name in the background and she yelled back. He winced as the shout hurt his ears. “I gotta go, did you need something?”

He sighed as he ran his fingers over the keys of his piano without making a sound. He could still hear the notes in his head as he desperately tried to recall the tune he had played before. “I just lost another composition to the cruel winds of time.”

“Who were you thinking about?” She asked and he could picture her easily. One hand on her hip, guitar case slung around her shoulder, long blonde hair falling in front of one of her cornflour blue eyes, eyes they had both inherited from their shared grandfather.

He frowned as he considered her question. “Who said I was thinking about anyone?”

She laughed before shouting again at whoever was trying to get her attention. Jaskier held the phone away from his ear this time. Essi really did have a set of lungs on her. “Dearest cousin. Your first album was all about your failed relationship with Pris. The second album was your failed relationship with Stella, and Valdo’s betrayal by stealing away your true love.”

“Wow. Geez. Thanks Essi. You really know how to build a man up.”

“So what failed relationship is it this time?”

“There is no relationship.” He spat back through gritted teeth, wondering why he even bothered with his cousin sometimes. In many ways she was like his little sister and she never hesitated in telling him exactly what she thought of him.

“Sure, sure. That’s why it’s failed. Look I really have to go. They need me on stage. Don’t be a stranger Dandelion!”

The phone line cut off and Jaskier stared at the phone in his hands.

“Oh cock!” He cursed as he realised she was completely right.

He’d been thinking about Geralt.

He closed the lid of the piano with more force than necessary and moved to sit back down on the sofa. He hadn’t meant to think about Geralt. He’d just been thinking about the work he needed to do for school and his thoughts had drifted to his infatuation on their own accord.

As if reading his thoughts, his phone buzzed signalling he had an email.

From Geralt.

“Oh no. No no no. Can’t do this right now.” He moaned and put his head in his hands, knocking his glasses half off his face. “Can’t I have a moment in peace?!” He asked the ceiling.

It was Sunday. He didn’t have to worry about what to say to Geralt until Friday. That was the rules… unless they had a catch up about Ciri but they hadn’t organised another meeting yet. Yes he missed Geralt desperately but he was aware that that was borderline clingy and he didn’t want to scare the man off, and yet here he was emailing Jaskier out of the blue.

It was probably about the present he’d bought Geralt. It wasn’t much, just a voucher for one of the outdoor activity shops in town and a poem he’d written about Roach.

It was terrible.

He hated it.

“Oh fuck off.” Jaskier groaned at his own thoughts and clicked on the email.

 Jaskier,

 Sorry for bothering you. I know you’re busy.

 I wanted to say thank you for my present. I read Roach the poem. She was very impressed.

Jaskier grabbed a pillow from his sofa and hugged it tightly as he continued to read, feeling very proud of himself.

 I am sorry I didn’t think to get you anything from me but hopefully you liked Ciri’s gift.

He had. Ciri had bought him a brand new travel mug. It was covered in music notes just like his mug from the staffroom at school. There had also been a little photo of Roach tucked into the card because Jaskier hadn’t stopped asking Geralt about her.

 I need to ask you something. It would probably be better in person or over the phone. I’m not good at emails.

 - Geralt.

Jaskier re read the last paragraph twice before hitting the reply button.

He sent Geralt his number before he could change his mind and then threw his phone onto the sofa. The phone barely managed to bounce on the cushions before it started ringing and Jaskier lunged to pick it up.

He clicked to accept the call and all at once he felt lighter than he had in weeks.

“Geralt!” He cried happily. “Hi!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s gruff voice answered. Jaskier felt like he’d turned to goo. The way Geralt said his name never failed to make him feel weak at the knees.

Pull yourself together Jaskier! He chided at himself.

“So, my dear, what was it that you wanted to ask me?” He kept his voice light like his fingers on his lute strings, not betraying the way his heart thundered in his chest.

Geralt grunted on the other end of the line and Jaskier rolled his eyes and smiled. How was it that he even missed Geralt’s ineloquent grunts?

“It’s not a stupid question, Geralt.” He replied. “If you don’t know something then you should ask.”

“I’m not one of your kids, Jaskier.” Geralt huffed.

He laughed at that and put the phone on speaker. His fingers were itching to move and he was getting restless not being able to play whilst holding the phone.

“Yes yes. I know that.” He hummed as he let his fingers trail across the many different instrument cases that were stacked up against the wall. They landed on his lute, an instrument long forgotten to many but one that remained so dear to him. He’d originally started to play the lute because it was different and he liked to stand out. Every musician in the folk scene played guitar or violin or piano.

He didn’t want to be like every other musician.

He wanted to be the best.

So he’d pick up the lute and never looked back. It was an expensive and delicate instrument so he tended not to bring it into school that often but he often found himself playing it at home.

It was also a reminder as to why he’d begun teaching full time. At first he’d only taught guitar and piano whilst he was at university in Oxenfurt to help finance his music career and pay for his rent after he had had a disagreement with his parents. The lute was the first instrument he’d bought for himself after the argument, to celebrate having enough students to finally make it through the month without begging his friends for cash and managing to save for the first time.

Soon after he realised how much he really enjoyed teaching and after graduating with a degree in music, he went on to study teaching. He’d worked as a teaching assistant in Oxenfurt before moving to Upper Posada where he finally had his own class, the Buttercups.

“Have you put me on speaker?” Geralt asked.

“Don’t you have sharp ears?” Jaskier teased his friend, he was sure they were friends. “It’s just me here, I just needed my hands.”

“You needed your hands.” Geralt replied and Jaskier could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

“Not like that!” He cried. “Honestly, Geralt, is that really what you think of me?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I just wanted to grab my lute.”

Geralt laughed. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“Geralt Rivia!” Jaskier exclaimed.

Geralt just laughed in response. It was infectious and soon enough Jaskier was laughing along. Once they’d calmed down he began to strum the strings of his beloved instrument gently, fiddling with the pegs to make sure it was in tune.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject, Geralt.” Jaskier spoke softly as Geralt’s laughter faded away.

“Right.”

“Geralt!” He all but whined. “You said you needed to ask me something. Come on! The suspense is killing me.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll finally get some peace.”

“Now hang on!” Jaskier gasped in offence. “You rang me!”

“Regretting it already.”

“I’ll hang up!” Jaskier warned.

“No. You won’t.”

Jaskier sighed. “No. I won’t, but honestly Geralt. Is something wrong? Not that I’m not delighted to be talking to you, but…”

“But you’re Ciri’s teacher.” Geralt finished.

“Yes.”

It was a topic that had come up a few times. They weren’t doing anything wrong exactly. The friendship that had sparked up between them came as natural as breathing. They argued as if they’d known each other their whole lives, an easy banter that was unpracticed and yet almost flawless. Jaskier was fighting his attraction to Geralt the whole time, and he was sure the other man was doing the same with him but there was still this cloud looming over them. The line between professional and appropriate behaviour between parent and teacher.

He knew teachers and parents had hooked up before. It was scandalous and often the topic of vicious rumours in the staffroom. If it was reported to the headmaster and proven those teachers got in a lot of trouble, some of them were often asked to resign. Jaskier knew his professional relationship with Stregobor was rocky at best. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

But he was falling in love with Geralt, hard and fast.

It had moved beyond infatuation the moment he’d sat in the fire engine and they’d began to talk. The more he learnt about the man, the more he fell in love. Geralt was a complex man. He struggled to express himself and he constantly worried about being a good father to Ciri, but he was kind and loyal to his family. He had a surprisingly quick tongue that never failed to make Jaskier cackle. He wasn’t a pushover either, he was strong-willed and relentless in sticking to his own morals.

His determination to be a good man made Jaskier feel all fuzzy inside.

This strong and handsome man was just a gentle giant, one that could absolutely kill him given the chance, but there was just something about Geralt that made Jaskier trust him.

It was probably those eyes.

He adored Geralt’s eyes.

They were so unusual, like swirling pools of amber brought to life by bright beams of dazzling sunlight.

And that was why it was so important that their calls and meetings had to remain professional.

Without the guise of Ciri or work then their friendship was ruined. Jaskier would fall head over heels in love with Geralt and then…

and then…

He’d have to break it off.

He couldn’t risk it.

Even if there was a chance that Geralt fancied him back.

So he constantly reminded himself that they were friends and managed to frame every meeting or conversation they had as a work based thing. It was imperative that he didn’t forget that.

Friends only, and even then he really should be careful. Tissaia was right. Stregobor was just looking for an excuse to get rid of him and if he was shown to be favouring Geralt ,and in turn Ciri, too much then he might as well start looking for a new job.

He closed his eyes and mentally chastised himself for being a fool.

“So talk to me Geralt.” Jaskier pleaded. “What did you need? Did Ciri say something?”

Geralt just grunted again.

“I told you it’s not stupid.” Jaskier sighed. “It was obviously important to you.”

“It’s for Ciri.” Geralt stated bluntly. All traces of their easy laughter was now gone from his voice.

“Good. I am her teacher, what does she need? Did she say something?” Jaskier’s mind instantly recalled every interaction he’d had with the young ashen-haired girl over the last few days, looking for moments where he might have upset her or said something wrong. He couldn’t think of anything but he could have easily misread the situation.

“We went to Lambert’s for Solstice.” Geralt added.

Jaskier frowned trying to follow Geralt’s train of thought and failing. He stayed silent, waiting for Geralt to find the right words.

“He likes this band and Ciri just started screaming.”

Jaskier felt his heart skip a beat in his chest.

A band.

It wouldn’t be.

It couldn’t be.

Barely anyone even listened to his band. They barely had a thousand views online for their most popular song.

“She swears to the gods it’s you, Jask.” Geralt finished.

Jask.

It wasn’t the first time Geralt had called him that. He hated it. It made his heart do weird things in his chest that was not appropriate when talking to a friend.

He took a page out of Geralt’s book and hummed noncommittally. “Right.”

“And then Lambert pointed out Ciri’s Ukulele teacher is called Priscilla just like Dandelion’s bandmate. I thought it was all just a coincidence, but then I realised, Jaskier, Buttercups.” Geralt added, sounding weary. “Dandelions. All flowers.”

“Ah.”

“Jaskier?”

His fingers stilled on the lute strings. He pressed down with the palm of his hand to dampen the resonating sound. “It’s, well, it’s sort of a hobby?”

“You’re Dandelion?” Geralt stammered.

“Hello?” He tried to joke. “Nice to meet you.”

“Fuck.” Geralt swore loudly. “We all told Ciri she was wrong.”

“And now you’ll have to tell her she was right. That’s embarrassing for you.”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

Jaskier scowled. “Hey! None of that grumpy firefighter stuff. It’s not my fault you didn’t trust your daughter!”

Geralt growled and hung up the phone.

Jaskier gaped at the blank screen.

“Oh no you don’t!” He rang Geralt straight back and to his surprise, he actually picked up.

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier said before Geralt could say anything. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Hmm.”

“Well. I did mean that’s it not my fault and I don’t know why you’re cross that I have a band, but I shouldn’t have said that about Ciri.” He rambled on.

Geralt still didn’t answer. Jaskier had to check the screen to make sure he was still on the line, quickly putting it back onto speaker. “So I’m sorry. I can explain to her tomorrow at school, about the band. Although, you really should be able to admit your mistakes. I know it’s not always easy.”

“Hold on.” Geralt said and then was a thud. Jaskier assumed that was Geralt putting the phone down. He could hear footsteps and the sound of a door opening. He held his breath whilst Geralt did whatever Geralt needed to do.

He picked his lute back up again and began to play. The notes flowed easily this time, the same tune as before. He grinned and scribbled the notes down onto the coffee stained page of manuscript. He got so caught up in the music he didn’t hear Geralt enter the room on the other side of the line, and this time he wasn’t alone.

“Mr Jaskier?” Ciri sounded exhausted. Geralt had probably just woken her up given the time.

Jaskier blushed and thanked Freya that the young girl couldn’t see him.

Ciri wasn’t supposed to know they’d been talking more outside of school in case she got confused or the wrong idea. Why was Geralt involving her?

Unless the wrong idea… was the right idea?

He swallowed nervously.

“Hello Buttercup!” He put on his best teacher voice, smiling brightly even though she couldn’t see him.

“Dad said you needed to tell me something. That it couldn’t wait.” Ciri asked in a small voice. “Did I do something wrong, Mr Jaskier?”

“Of course not Ciri!” Jaskier reassured her. “Geralt just wanted to ask me about the band your Uncle Lambert likes.”

“In the middle of the night?” Ciri groaned.

“Well…” Jaskier searched for a good explanation.

“It’s not as late for adults.” Geralt suggested.

Which wasn’t entirely true. Jaskier had to be up early for work and he was exhausted from his late night the day before. Geralt would have to up early too to get Ciri to school on time. They both needed to get to bed soon but there wasn’t a better explanation.

“Hmm.” Ciri hummed starting to pick up on some of Geralt’s mannerisms.

“Your father said you thought that Dandelion sounded like me?” Jaskier asked cautiously.

Ciri gasped and squealed excitably. “It sounded exactly like you Mr Jaskier! But everyone else said it was impossible and then Dad said my guitar teacher was called Priscilla and Uncle Lambert said a naughty word and apparently you are Dandelion, which I already knew because I’d already told them it was you and then Dad said a naughty word!”

Jaskier chuckled. “I am, indeed, Dandelion.”

“Of course you are!” Ciri answered completely certain in her assessment.

“But I need you to keep that quiet. Have you told any of your friends yet?” Jaskier asked.

“You have to speak, Ciri, he can’t see you.” Geralt answered softly.

“Nope.”

Jaskier sighed in relief, his band wasn’t exactly child friendly and he didn’t want it getting out that he’d inadvertently taught his whole class how to swear like a sailor. “Can you keep it to yourself, Ciri?”

“Yes, but why?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier ran his hand through his hair as he tried to think of a good way to explain. “Umm….”

“The band is something Mr Jaskier does outside of school. It’s good to keep work and play separate, Princess.” Geralt answered for him.

“Will you still play for us?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier laughed. “Of course I will, Ciri. It wouldn’t be Buttercups without song time!”

Ciri seemed to consider that. “Good. Dara likes it. Everyone else assumes he can’t listen to music but he can. Dara said he can hear it through the vibe…vibe—”

“Vibrations?” Jaskier suggested.

“Vibrations!” Ciri agreed “and he can still understand the words. He likes that you don’t treat him differently.”

Jaskier almost sobbed. That was probably one of the sweetest things his kids had ever said to him.

“I’m tired now. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight Mr Jaskier, Goodnight Dad!” He heard Ciri’s footsteps patter away.

“Fuck me.” Jaskier sighed and Geralt chuckled. “She’s a good kid.”

“The best.” Geralt agreed. “I should go too.”

“No hanging up this time?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt hummed in response.

“Goodnight, Geralt. Sleep well.”

“Night, Jaskier.”

Jaskier hit the end call button, his hands shaking in his lap.

“Fuck me…” He repeated under his breath and rubbed his eyes, smearing his glasses.

Geralt Rivia was going to be the death of him, and he would die happy.

______

Next

[sugassetter]

❀ Helianthus | Toshinori Yagi x Reader ❀

a/n: It took me a while to come up with something for this collab and i am very nervous about it but I hope I did All Might justice,, If you want to read the work of other amazing writers, check out the masterlist 

Warnings: Depression, slight mention of abuse, Fluff

Word count: 1.3k 

Summary: Your past lover has left many scars on you. Yet, your loving husband has other plans for you. 

The morning sun shone through the closed blinds, causing various rays of sunlight to highlight your face. A quiet groan escaped your sore throat, a cause of barely hydrating and leaving your own room. You didn’t even bother opening a window. Instead you rolled over, your eyes closing to attempt to slip back into your peaceful dreams. Reality needed to be escaped and you were willing to make the sacrifice. Your husband had other plans with you. He wanted to show you that life can be beautiful even with the misfortunes happening. Sadness was temporary and he wanted you to achieve the happiness with him in your life. 

You had been in an abusive relationship with someone. That time Toshinori Yagi, your husband, was your closest friend. The one you trusted the most. You hadn’t kept your partner a secret from him. You couldn’t keep it to yourself. Fortunately, Toshinori decided to help you out in the process of moving your partner out of your life. It took you a long time but it was worth it. The constant abuse left you in a state of depression and insecurity. 

You thought you couldn’t love and trust ever again. The thought of any man near you terrified you. Toshinori had asked you out on a date one day and you could feel butterflies rise in your stomach. Deep down, you had always loved the former number one hero yet there was a feeling inside you that prevented you from admitting your feelings to him. 

Your date with him went well. You had expected to receive roses from the man but instead he arrived with multiple beautiful sunflowers. 

From then on, sunflowers became a symbol for your relationship. A lot of time passed and you felt better. You barely felt insecure anymore with your husband around. Until one day, your depression and insecurities hit you like a truck. Now you’ve been holed up in your room, specifically bed, and haven’t moved at all for the past 5 days. Your husband had decided to leave you be. He believed you’d be able to recollect yourself to the hardworking person you used to be. He was dead wrong. Toshinori tried getting you out of bed multiple times with different methods. Food, your favorite movie, chocolate. This time, he only sat at the end of the bed, staring at your form covered in blankets. “Love…Won’t you get up?” His voice spoke to you in a soft manner, trying to coax you into getting up and spending time with him. You only responded with a groan, shifting under the many blankets. “I miss you.” He spoke clearly, his hand resting on you. You turned around from your position facing the wall as you stared at him. A little smile formed on his face, glad he could capture your attention. “Aren’t you tired of laying in bed all the time, love? I’m sure you want to spend time together…” He quietly spoke, his hand reaching for yours as he intertwined them. You thought about it as you stared at your husband’s face. You knew something was up with you. You knew your depression came back. It was so very obvious. You also didn’t want to slip back into this state. You loved spending time with your husband and you definitely wanted to go back to your old stable self. Toshinori recognized those unsure eyes, the way they glinted with desire. Tears formed in your eyes, the thought of never being able to go back to normal terrifying you. As soon as he caught glimpse of the tears streaming down your face, he panicked and leaned forward as he pulled you into his embrace by your arms. “Let’s work on this together, love. I know we can. I’m your hero now.” He stated, a reassuring smile on his perfect face. You stared at him, more tears escaping your eyes as you nodded. 

The time went by and the two of you worked on getting you back to your hardworking, caring self. He did anything he could to help you. He spent hours in libraries to study up on depression and what to do about it. You felt yourself slowly going back to normal. It was little things little eating together and spending time together that made it easy for you. You had your bad days but you easily overcame them with the help of your loving Husband. 

You two were now spending time on the couch, your favorite movie playing and your favorite snacks being devoured by you in just a few minutes. It was little things like that you loved doing with him and he did too. “Y/N.” He suddenly spoke, making you stop shoving another chip in your mouth and paying attention to him instead of the movie. “I’m proud of you. You worked really hard.” He pressed several kisses across your face with every word he spoke. “It was because of you, Toshi.” You replied without batting an eye, surprising him and causing a mild blush across his pale cheeks. “I wanted my wife back. I love you, always.” That made you stop entirely, your eyes widening at him. It’s been a while since he said it and you surely didn’t expect it. He suddenly stood up, moving towards the kitchen. You were about to turn around when he spoke up. “Don’t look yet. It’s a surprise.” He laughed softly, the laugh you loved the most. He stepped into your line of view again, one of his arms behind his back. “What have you got there, Toshi?” You asked innocently, knowing it was something for you. It made you feel a little cocky to be honest. He stood right in front of you by now, his arm slowly moving towards you. In his hands he was holding a bouquet of sunflowers. Your eyes gawked at it, comprehending it as a smile spread on your face. You were about to thank him when he reached into his pocket, pulling a small silver box out. “We’re already married, Toshi.” You joked, laughing softly. His smile only got wider as he stared at you with pure admiration. The way your dimples show when you laugh and the way your hair is perfectly in place. The sunlight shone right in your face, like it did months ago, but this time it was different. You were who you wanted to be and it was thanks to him you could. “Then it’s about time you call me Yagi, isn’t it, love?” You blushed at that. You were always too nervous to call him but right now you were weirdly excited. He gave you the box first, watching you open it as your eyes sparkled at the item in it. It was a beautiful sunflower necklace with bright colors. Just the right item for summer, you thought. Then he handed you the sunflowers and you took them gladly. They always smelled so good and they were so soothing for your nerves. “Do you know the meaning of sunflowers, Y/N?” You stared at him, a smile decorating your, in his opinion, perfect face. “admiration and gratitude.” Both of you stated in unison, laughing at yourselves. You set the bouquet down, attempting to put the necklace on. He took hold of it and told you to turn around, putting it on for you. “I am no hero anymore. Just a teacher and a husband. But I’m glad I could spend my time with you.” He stated and you recognized that tone. He was kind of upset about not being able to be a hero anymore. “But Tosh-- Yagi, you’re my hero. You saved me in a way no one else could. Thank you, my wonderful and loving hero.” You whispered, leaning in for the long awaited kiss as your necklace glistened in the sunlight. 

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

CW: transphobia, homophobia. Also pretty long and I'm on mobile so I cant put a read more thing on it.

Ok so this is kind of a personal post so if you don't wanna hear about some of my personal drama, just scroll along. But I feel like I need to get this shit on record somewhere since I don't have the screenshots of the texts this is concerning anymore.

So a little over a year ago, I told the person who'd been my best friend, we'll call her E, since I was about 9 that I didnt want to be friends with her anymore. More on that later.

Back in senior year of high school I started thinking I might be Bi. I brought this up to E and she was super dismissive right off that bat. Saying that I wasnt, sounding like she was trying to console me. Like being Bi was this awful thing that I needed to worry about.

Well fast forward about a year and a half and I went up to my college with her so I could do new student orientation since I was starting the next semester. This is when the fact that I was Bi sort of smacked me in the face because the girl doing my orientation was super hot. I immediately knew I wouldnt be telling E that.

Fast forward to march of 2017. Its spring break. I've reconnected with my high school friends. I've never felt the need to hide my sexuality from them and they were instantly nothing but supportive of me. We never really hung out outside of school back in high school (or in elementary school either in Eric's case.) I start realizing that I've been having more fun with them then I ever did with E. And I finally had people to geek out about sciencey stuff with because E doesnt believe in science but eric LOVES science. It was nice.

Well a couple weeks after spring break me and Es mutual friend Althea asked me to drive her to the shelter so she could get her boyfriends cat fixed (it's way cheaper there then at the vet) and spent the day hanging out with her because she WAS planning to walk back there to pick up the cat afterwards and I was like "uh no. I'm not gonna make you walk across town by yourself." So I finally got to meet her boyfriend. Well that afternoon E came and picked me up to go up to the KU campus to get some more bus passes to go to our college in KC because our school was out of bus passes and didnt know when theyd get more.

Here's when I kinda started to realize I should maybe get out of this friendship. On the way to campus E starts telling me about her day at school and how "theres a girl that used to be a guy in one of my teachers other classes. It's making me uncomfortable."

Me: "that sounds like a you problem, E."

Now I knew she kind of thought that way already. She may not have said shit like that around our other friends but I had to hear it a lot. But because I'm pretty nonconfrontational and she was my only close friend outside of school and I was terrified of being alone, I usually just ignored it or politely debated her about it but generally just agreed to disagree. This was the first time I ever decided to speak up to her about it. Unfortunately I couldnt say much cuz her mom was the one driving us and i knew she agreed with everything E said.

But I'd been hanging out with althea and her boyfriend (who just so happened to be trans) all morning so suddenly having to hear E talk about how uncomfortable trans people make her got me more fired up than usual.

After this I slowly started distancing myself from her. I'd been hoping for a few years that she'd grow up and accept that not everyone is like her and try to be more open minded and accepting of people. Apparently that wasnt happening.

I stopped responding to her texts as often. I was trying to think of a way to talk to her about it but all my past friendships that fell apart, did so naturally and on a silent mutual agreement. So I was half hoping that would happen. Pretty stupid. Dont recommend. Just be straight with people.

After a few months of me only answering her texts every once in a while, she decided to start calling me multiple times a week. Often while I was at work. Sometimes from her mom and sisters phones when I wouldnt answer from her number. Idk y she thought that would work. She knows I hate talking on the phone.

I still didnt know what to say to her. I probably should've just told her I needed some space and she might've backed off for awhile so I could figure it out. But subway stressed me tf out. And i have no idea how you're supposed to end a relationship with your best friend of over 10 years.

(Also some of my other reasons for not wanting to be friends with her were specifically because of althea and I didnt want althea to get dragged into it. Unfortunately it ended up happening anyways. But basically back in highschool, if we were planning for all four of us (me, e, althea, and nikki) to get together, and nikki would have something come up, E would tell althea our get together was cancelled but would still have me come over and then made me promise not to say anything to althea about it.)

Around march or april of last year I blocked her family's numbers. This is when they started showing up at my work. The first time it happened I had a long ass line and was helping my coworker get through it before I left. Her sister came in by herself and just asked how I was doing but left pretty quick after she got her sandwich since it was busy. A couple more times they came and just parked outside like they were waiting for me to get off my shift but ended up leaving. The last time it happened E came in while I was there alone and I really didnt wanna have THAT conversation while i was at work alone and her crazy overprotective mom was out in the car waiting for her. So i made her sandwich very quickly so i could get her out as fast as I could.

I was planning on finally talking to her around the end of april but was still having trouble figuring out what to say.

Unfortunately any plan I had to let her down easy was sort of thrown out the window on may 13th of last year.

My mom texted me that morning about how she got a weird call from Es aunt. On her work phone. This is basically how that call went:

"IS THIS OLIVIAS MOM?????"

My mom, suddenly worried it's my work and something happened to me, "Yes?"

"Why isnt olivia talking to E anymore?"

"............I dont know."

So that kind of crossed a line for me. It really freaked my mom out.

I'm bad at articulating my thoughts when I'm mad or stressed out tho. So my friend Alice ended up writing out the text for me and I read through it to make sure it was ok.

Basically it said "I'm sorry but I dont think we can be friends anymore. The way you talk about the LGBT+ community makes me extremely uncomfortable, especially seeing as I am bisexual and have several friends in the community. The way you used to exclude althea from hanging out with us because you think shes annoying and then expect me to lie to her about it makes me uncomfortable. It was inappropriate to show up at my work unannounced to corner me into talking to you when I needed space. And it was even more inappropriate for your relatives to call my mom at work. I'm sorry I didnt say something sooner but I'm tired of pretending I'm ok with everything you've said over the years."

Then her mom texts me. I dont remember all of it but the gist was "you're a horrible person. E never judged you or anyone else (sure, miss "gay people are gross. I can see how conversion therapy might work." Totally isnt judging anyone and 100% cares about the lgbt+ community.) The only reason she did those things is because she was worried about you."

Then E left me a voicemail that I couldnt understand at all cuz she was crying and I felt terrible even tho everyone was telling me I shouldn't. Now I probably should've taken out the part about althea because it effectively threw my "not wanting to get althea involved" plan out the window. Honestly what really pissed me off about this next part both made me pissed at E but also at myself. E removed herself from the group chat I had with her, nikki, and althea. Blocked althea on Facebook and blocked her number. Didnt bother to explain why. I still feel terrible about this even tho althea has told me many times that it's fine and if she'd had to pick a side she wouldve picked mine. But I still felt like she at least deserved an explanation.

Alice told me to screenshot the texts. I almost didn't cuz I just wanted to forget about all this. But I did.

Anyways life moved on. Eric got a new phone and gave me his beat up galaxy s7. I stuck my s6 into a drawer and let it die and forgot about it.

Then on new years I got a call from althea. Not weird at all. She calls me every major holiday and birthday. Shes done this every year since junior year of high school.

Normal phone call at first. But then she says that her mom has been talking to E's mom. Apparently E's mom told altheas mom that I told E that althea hates her and thinks shes a terrible person and that's why E hasnt been talking to althea. Althea of course didnt believe that but wanted me know about it. This prompted me to try and charge up my old phone and get the screenshots off of it. I had it plugged in for a couple of days and it never turned back on. So that's out apparently.

That's also why I felt the need to get all of this written down. It may not be as great as having the actual screenshots but I'm bad at articulating my thoughts when confronted so I want to have something written down in case any of this comes up again.

[your-high-lady]

Realisation

Summary: This story is about Feyre. She has a couple of small dreams she wants to achieve but turns out it isn’t as easy as she imagined it would. Trust me, the story is better than the summary. Modern AU. Feysand.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4  Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't anything except for the plot. All credit goes to Sarah J Mass. That woman is fucking amazing.

Chapter 6: First Glimpse

Art History. Remind me again, why I chose this class. Oh, that's right. Because I thought it'd be interesting. How wrong I was. I shake my head at my own thoughts before crossing the threshold that would lead me into my next passage of life: college.

But why does Art History have to be the first class I ever took in college. Couldn't it be something like yoga, which I also happen to enjoy?

After almost an hour and a half of the balding male professor droning on and on, the rustling of students and scraping of chairs being pushed back awakened me from my half-unconscious state and I stood up to pack my bag. The next class, Visual Art was the total opposite. I found what the teacher was saying so interesting and barely two sentences into the class, and I was hooked. As I doodled—Miss Berger, a middle-aged woman who had a very good sense of style, light brown hair and huge glasses covering most of her face, had given us free time after explaining what we'd be learning over the semester and what our syllabus was—I thought about it all: I hadn't really known what I'd wanted to do during the first couple of months in Year 13, and I'd started getting a bit worried. And then the rape happened. Exactly two weeks after the incident, it had randomly hit me. I'd just been painting random things on a spare canvas I'd been able to salvage from my mess of a closet when I realised what I wanted to do. I wanted to teach. I wanted to teach people how to paint. Specifically, people who were mentally disturbed due to some incident in their life. I hadn't painted at all during the last couple weeks and today was one of the first times I'd even tried putting something onto a canvas. I didn't want that to happen to other people. I wanted to help them channel their grief into their painting, to create something new. I wanted to see if I could teach them to heal through their art, rather than stopping it altogether, as I had even it was only for a short time. I wanted to make my own business that did exactly that. And that is exactly why I took all the classes I had.

After Visual Art was over, I decided to go for a short walk. I had an hour before my next class, which was with Mor. Business—my only class with her. I was glad I had the class with her, but there was also the fact that Rhys and his friends were in that class too. The thought instantly brought butterflies to my stomach. Mor had messaged me halfway through Art telling me to come ten minutes early so that she could introduce me to him and his friends. Reading the message had immediately brought a picture to the front of my mind. A picture of Mor's cousin and his friends, who incidentally were also friends with Mor. The thought of seeing them made my skin crawl. It wasn't that I didn't want to see them. I was just a bit nervous. I'd only recently started getting used to the presence of men—though, I still shuddered and got all sweaty if I noticed someone with particularly golden or dark features—but I knew that the second I saw them, I would go back to square one where I was still a quivering mess. They were just so handsome. All three of them. As if God himself had handpicked each of their features and carefully put them together to create the closest thing he could to someone as overpowering as he was himself, in every sense. Plus, all of them had features that reminded me of that night. Rhys's dark blue hair reminded me of the shadows that had been in that dark alley; Cassian's golden skin reminded me of how beautiful and smooth Tamlin's had been under his clothes; and Azriel's hair, though not holding the same darkness in them, was still black. Too much like Dagdan's. Just thinking about them gave me a cold sweat so I quickly kicked all the horrid thoughts out of my head and started imagining the type of car I might want to get, and before long, I was swapping my art diary for a couple of textbooks and heading off to Business.

—

After having nearly asked ten people where my class was, I finally found it. And there they were. The class was half full, some people looking down at their phones or books while others chatted among themselves. But no one was as loud as Mor. She was practically shouting. But then my attention went towards the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. Rhys. Sensing my gaze, he turned to look at me, and I blinked in astonishment, a silent gasp escaping my mouth. I took a couple of steps back, wanting to run away but then Mor turned her head, following Rhys's gaze, and exclaimed, "Feyre, you're here!" She jumped out of her seat, grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me back into class. I was pretty sure at least one of my ankles were sprained judging by the number of times I tripped over my own feet as Mor dragged me in, by the time we reached Rhys and his friends. Moving to stand behind me she pushed me forward before standing on her tippy toes and peeking over my shoulder. "Guys, this is Feyre. Say hi." Mor drawled. Strangely Rhys just stared at me but, thankfully, Azriel replied before he could say anything. "Hello, Feyre. I'm Azriel." He stuck his hand out, and I stared at for the shortest second.

In that second, a hundred things went through my mind: the rape, the emotions I went through afterwards, me flinching at my father's touch, me promising myself that I would stop that. Azriel's handsomeness. Because he was handsome. All three of them were. But each of them was also so different in their own way. Azriel's face was straight and void of any emotion—though a small smile lit up his face, every time he looked at Mor—and he was tall and mysterious with his black hair and hazel eyes. His skin was tan, the planes of his face elegant. Peaking above the neck of his long-sleeved t-shirt I could see a swirling mass of night-blue coloured tattoos. If I was being honest with myself they were a big intimating but despite that, strangely enough, he made me feel… safe. As if he would protect me no matter what. It gave me some solace because I had always trusted my gut. And right now my gut was telling me that he was good. So I shook his hand.

And then it happened. I flinched.

Thankfully it wasn't big enough for Azriel to notice, but it still made me angry. Why didn't my body understand that I was safe now, or at least as safe as I could be? Tamlin was back in Auckland. Far, far away from here, from me.

Taking a couple of subtle deep breaths, to calm myself down, I took my hand out of Azriel's and moved my eyes to look at Cassian. Whereas Azriel made me feel safe, Cassian made me feel…happy. It took a couple of seconds for me to realise that but when I did, I knew that that was in fact what I was feeling. Happiness. It was something so foreign to me now. But it was impossible to not feel happy when I looked into Cassian's hazel eyes and saw humour and laughter and happiness. His rough-hewn features that reminded me of wind, earth and fire had been twisted into a giant smile. His black shoulder length hair brushed his shoulders on which I could also see tattoos similar to the ones on Azriel's body. A quick glance at Rhys told me he also had the blue swirls. Maybe they'd gotten them together at the same time?

Cassian gave me a wave in greeting, his smile widening. "Cassian." He said, in introduction. I waved back, forcing my mind to stop thinking about the flinch. But it was impossible. I turned to find Rhys's hand outstretched. Ignoring it, I looked up at his face. His eyebrows raised slightly as I took in his heartbreakingly handsome face, my eyes widening a little. The pictures I'd seen did him no justice at all. None. His hair was a strange shade of blue and black, cut short. They reminded me of a raven's feather. His violet eyes had flecks of silver in them making it seem like stars in the night sky. He was also tan like the other two, though unlike Cassian and Azriel, there was a tightening in his muscles. I could see it in the ways his shirt tightened around the shoulders. Other than that, lines also made his otherwise-perfect face, a little flawed, though if I was being honest to myself, even the lines made him handsome.

I don't know why I noticed such an odd and minuscule thing, but it bothered me. Someone like Rhys shouldn't have lines caused by months, if not years, of stress and grief marking his face. Someone cleared their throat, and I blinked, then quickly shook my hand with Rhys which was still expectantly waiting. But I hadn't thought about it. And because I hadn't thought about it, I flinched. Harder. Not much more than before, but enough that he noticed. A line formed between Rhys's brows and his head tilted a little to the side in silent question. I shook my head just enough so that he noticed, but the others didn't. I slipped my hand out of Rhys's and Mor started babbling about things that passed right over my head, though I did hear a few words like "art", "passion" and "own business". I guessed that Mor was telling them about me as a person. But even as Mor was talking, I could feel a set of eyes on me. I turned to look at Rhys, who was staring at me. In those stunning eyes of his, I could see it as he'd written it across his forehead. His eyes told me that he was surprised by the flinch and would not let it go. I cursed at myself silently, for letting the flinch get through my defences. Soon the professor came in, and we all took our seats.

But still, I felt those eyes burning two giant holes into the back of my head. I tried convincing myself that I was just imagining it, that he had no reason to stare at for me for so long, but when I turned around to look, I found them. Every single time. And each time, I whipped my head back around, blushing. It made me think: Rhys had no reason to be staring at me; what was he thinking about?

But running along with those thoughts, were also the thoughts about how he made me feel. Physically. Because, though I don't want to admit it, he made me feel… hot. Right down there, in my core. I'd never thought I could feel something like that. Not after what Dagdan did to me. Yet here I was, flinching at the surprise of feeling aroused.

But then, of course, I was.

—

The professor released us, and as we were packing our bags, Cassian suggested we hang out on Saturday. Mor piped up with, "Ooh, ooh, can we go to that mini golf place that stays open really late? We can have dinner somewhere, first, and then go there! Please, please, please?" She says turning to Rhys, and she brings her hands together as if praying and jumps up and down in excitement. He smiled, nodding causing Mor to squeal and give her cousin a tight hug.

—

"But I don't want to go!" I whined. Mor shushed me and strutted a couple of steps ahead of me before turning around to look at me. As she walked backwards, she said, "But why don't you want to go? Give me one good reason. Just one." And damn me, I said nothing, just breathed deeply in and out of my nose. I shook my head, defeated and she smiled at me before linking her arm in mine and skipping sway, dragging me along with her.

The truth was, I did have a reason. I just couldn't tell her. It was Rhys. I just knew he was going to do something that would either annoy the heck out me, offend me, or in worst case scenario blow my cover. Nobody knew about my flinching problem other than Dad and Rhys, and neither of them knew why. And I wanted to keep it that way. But something told me Rhys wouldn't let that happen.

Ugh.

AN: I really, really hoped you like that. Did I describe the boys properly? Do you like them? Are you happy? Do you have any feedback or advice for me? Tell me everything. I love it so much when you write to me telling me what you think of my story. It really makes my day and also motivates me to keep writing. Thank you so much for reading and I hope to see you again.

Thank you again. So much. XOXO

[tammistories]

Our Dilemma Chapter Four: The Game | Christine Mynt

Christine's POV

Everyone was getting pumped up for the game. The last class was a mess and the teacher didn't even try to silence everyone, actually, he was beginning to talk about the game. I'm super excited for Aim, George and the rest of the team, actually Mia was getting annoyed of me constantly talking about it.

"How come you're so excited about this game?" Mia is sitting backwards on the chair and Aim's next to me. His hands are shaking, he must be super stressed and nervous for the game.

"I'm always excited about Aims games! He's gonna kill it, right Aim?" We both look over to him and he's spaced out, not paying attention. Mia leans over telling me to leave it be and let him be until he calms down.

Class end and we all go to our lockers to leave everything and grab our wallets to get something in the cafeteria. Aim walk us there but then head to the basketball court to prepare and warm-up.

"Don't look so worried, you know he gets like this when it's game season." Mia push me a little as we get in line. We pay for our coffees and take a seat outside on an empty table. Mia sits on the table while I take a seat on the built on bench. Almost everyone is in the cafeteria waiting for the game to start and allow people into the court.

"Christine!" I hear George call me over the crowd and he moves over and when he gets away from the thick crowd inside I notice the dark-skinned, purpled hair girl clinging to his arm. I look over to Mia who's slurping her soda through a straw and she's looking back and forth between me and George. I ignore her and greet George as he takes a seat.

"Shouldn't you go and warm-up for the game?" I look over to the clinging girl and she was looking at me but turn away when she noticed me watching her.

"I'll go down soon, I was actually looking for you." Mia's slurping stops.

"Okay?"

"There's a party after the game. The team is gonna go and a lot of people from school. You guys should come." The girl next to him looks shocked and whisper something to his ear, he laughs it off.

"Don't be ridiculous Lena." Lena. I've seen her but never spoken to her. She always looked at me with such hatred, at least that's what it feels like.

"I've already sent you the address. Come, you won't regret it." He winks and then walks off with Lena.

"Did you know there was gonna be a party?" Mia shakes her head. I know for sure we're both thinking the same thing: why haven't Aim mentioned the party? I give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he was stressed and forgot. Nothing to make a big deal out of. Mia did not think the same though. She snatches my phone away from me to look for George's message.

"You had his number and you didn't tell me!" Ursula found us and have taken a seat with us. In silence, she drinks her bubbly water and watch us.

"It's just George and he put it there himself, I didn't want it." I look over at Ursula who shrugs her shoulders and look over at Mia and tells her it's no big deal.

"No big deal? First of all, have you seen George, he some sweet eye candy."

"God Mia." Ursula and I chuckle as she continues explaining her reasons for knowing everything about me and my life. I guess it's nice to have such good friends as Mia and Aim that cares and actually wants to know about me and my life.

Finally, after a while, we're interrupted as the cafeteria empties. They must be letting people in. In a hurry, I grab Mia and Ursula's arms and pull them with me through the crowd to get the best seats.

"Slow down!" I hear Mia call me as I drag them with me but I don't slow down. We need to get the best seats so Aim will be able to see us cheering him on. We get the seats in the third row and sit down. In front of us is the team talking tactics, I see Aim and George exchange a few words to the rest of the team.

"Aim!" Out of nowhere, Ursula yells out his name to get his attention. When he looks over so does the rest of the team, including George. We cheer them on yelling their name, Pirates, along with the rest of the crowd. The principal walk up to the middle of the court and says a few words and the whole gym quiet down.

"Welcome to this semester's last game. The Pirates will play against the Cheetahs..." He speaks some more but no one is paying attention. It feels like a small forever until the game begins when the whistle is blown.

The Pirates doesn't get a good start as the Cheetahs took the ball and made a goal. George doesn't look happy but Aim tells him something as they walk by each other and he swallows his anger. Throughout the game, each team make a goal one after another. Mia, Ursula and I are surely the loudest in the gym when the Pirates hit a goal.

"Come on Pirates!"

"Go Aim! Go, George!" We all yell together when the time is counting down. Less than a minute. We and a few others, that includes Lena and the rest of her group are the only ones standing and cheering. The players run back and forth as they take the ball from each other. It's a tie and the clock is ticking down too fast. Aim takes the ball from one of the Cheetahs players, he passes it to George. George throws the ball to the hoop but he's too far away.

"They're gonna miss it!' I hear someone behind us say in a panic but as if playing with our minds the ball roll around on the hoop and then falls inside it. Our side of the gym screams of excitement, as do I and jump with Mia and Ursula. The Cheetahs side of the gym has gone silent and are starting to leave.

"Way to go George!" I yell out with a bunch of others in the crowd and he looks over at us and quickly stops by me and waves in victory. The whole team is cheering and singing their victory song along with the cheerleaders.

***

We're at Aim and Mia's getting ready for the party. On the way here we asked him why he hadn't mentioned the party but he refused to answer us. Since we got here Mia has asked him no stop why he hadn't told her about the party. I try to stay out of the conversation, it's not a big deal he didn't tell us I honestly was unsure if I want to go.

"Because these types of parties always get out of hand. They're not much fun." I smell the cologne I bought Aim for his birthday and quickly comment it in the middle of Mia's fit.

We all have dressed up for the party, Aim hasn't gone all-in though as Mia. He's wearing a plain black shirt and ripped jeans with his long necklace with a thin metal hanging from it. Mia, on the other hand, is wearing a tight pink tank top that exposes her belly, with that she's wearing black shorts. Mia forced me to put on one of her tight, belly exposed tops which I'm not very comfortable with but just for tonight, I guess. I have blue shorts with my jacket over.

When we arrive at the place which is surprisingly close I feel like I've seen it. I must have passed it a million times when I walk to work. I wonder who from school lives here?

"Dude you should have put on more makeup." Mia complains. I had only put on a little mascara and lipgloss that she had borrowed me but I didn't apply any more. The music is playing through the windows and when we walk up to the door and are about to knock it flies open as a girl, that I don't know, storm out in laughter with a guy following her. I look over at Mia and Aim that are giving me the same looks as I am. We're all thinking the same thing I'm sure of but we don't say anything and step in.

This isn't my first high school party but it definitely was something different. The play is already full of drunken boys and girls, laughing, playing, dancing and kissing. Anything you can think of their doing. Upstairs I can see people dancing, or more like grind on each other.

"George!" Aim calls out to the crowd and I then notice George's tall figure walk over to us. He first greets with a brotherlike hug and hugs both me and Mia too. When he hugs me the smell of alcohol comes like a punch and I hold my breath a little.

"You guys came! I've been waiting for you." He only looks at me as he tells us he has waited for us but he's 'you' sound more specific. Maybe I'm imagining it so I decide to ignore it.

"Come one, let's get you guys something to drink." He guides us to the kitchen table that is covered with bottles of alcohol, all kinds of alcohol and when he asks us what we'll have I look helplessly to Aim that might know more than me of alcohol. Aim just asks for beers and George hand us them after asking us before if we don't want something else, but we decline.

Mia's looking around at the place like it's heavenly. She drags me along for a good while to talk to our classmates from different classes we meet. She pulls me into playing a game beer pong, that I lose very quickly. Before I can leave the games area George comes over and gently grab my arm.

"Me and Christine against Sarah and Alec!" He shouts and people start cheering to the game. I couldn't even bother to react to Alec's name, another round here we come. He walks over to the table with Sarah clinging like a koala on his arm, it looked ridiculous. When I meet Alec's eyes he's already looking at me, I thought he would look mad but his eyes seem empty. George start and misses which gives Alec the turn. He put the ball in one of the cups, the public cheers and he has a smug smile on his lips. I take the glass and drink it, I don't know if I have to drink it or not, I just want to erase that smug smile off his face. I take the ball and for a small second, I feel dizzy but shake it off, the ball flies and fall into one of their cups. Without losing eye contact Alec takes the red cup and swallow it all in two chugs. We continue back and forth just me and Alec, George and Sarah aren't playing by this point, just cheering on. Near the end, he has 3 cups left and I have one. It's gotten harder to put the ball in the cup, it always jumps over the cups and Alec catches the ball with that annoyingly charming smile. He throws the ball and it falls into the cup, I pick it up without taking out the ball and chug the beer.

"You almost had him, Christine!" Mia says loudly next to me and George have changed to cheering for Alec now, he had walked over to him calling him a champion and being silly. Mia tries to talk to me but I don't take my eyes of Alec, he's still looking at me with that stupid, stupid smug smile, I feel his satisfaction like waves falling over me.

"I need some air." I excuse myself from Mia and walk away from the table and through the crowd. I try to walk to the door but oddly enough I get lost and find the stairs so I go up them hoping to find a little privacy. Further inside the house, I find an empty hallway and enter one of the rooms, luckily it has a small balcony I can go out to, to get the fresh air I'm needing.

From here I can see the backyard, there's light shining from underneath the grass. I hadn't noticed that there were people outside when we got here but maybe they moved out there since we got here. How long had we been here? I take out my phone from my pocket and see the clock, 1 am. We've been here for 4 or 3 hours, how is that possible?

"Are you okay?" I hear a dark voice come from behind me and when I turn around I just see a dark figure standing in the dark. I try to focus with my eyes to see who it is but nothing until he walks out to the balcony and I see that smug smile on Alec's face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’ll keep updating every weekend!

On my Instagram (@tammistories) and Twitter (@peredo_tamara) I’ll be posting teasers and other things on my current stories, so make sure to follow me there!

[letspretendfictionpressworks]

chapter 20

The amusement park seems different, somehow, in the fall. Maybe it’s the trees with their multi-colored leaves that cluster, falling to crunch under foot. Or maybe it’s the fact that there’s a bite in the air, the temperature falling to something that requires layers, a hoodie, a sweater.

 This time, though, I am not the third wheel. This time, I am not an inconvenience. I am not left to entertain myself as my party heads off to enjoy the park together. This time, Trevor takes my hand and leads me through the twists and turns of the footpaths, insisting that we need to ride this, we need to get on that, we need to see this, we need to play that.

 He is the type of person who herds around the photo kiosks conveniently located at the end of the exit lane of the rollercoasters, craning his neck until he spots what he’s looking for.

 “Look!” he yelps excitedly, pointing. “It’s us!”

 I spare the picture a glance. Mumble something.

 “We look great!” he insists, backing away from the counter to get in line, tugging me along with him.

 “You’re buying that?” I ask, dumbfounded.

 Trevor smiles, that upturn of one half of his face. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s,” he adds, shrugging, sheepish, “sort of an anniversary, right?”

 I can only stare.

 He buys it, though. The picture of us, that is—with him, face wild with excitement, and mine, quiet and tense. Even in pictures, I’m quiet. Always so quiet. Do I know how to make an expression? I’m not sure.

 “It’s great!” Trevor enthuses, clipping it onto his keys. He looks at it fondly before tucking his keys back into his pocket.

 I have no idea how to tell him that no, it isn’t. There isn’t anything great about the photo—or, maybe more accurately, there isn’t anything great about me in the photo. Trevor looks great, sure, as ever. It’s me who looks out of place, who makes the photo look off and not right.

 But it seems ridiculous to argue the point right now when Trevor looks so pleased. I’d be the bad guy. I’d be the downer. Markus, the downer, that’s me. So for now, I say nothing.

 “Oh,” Trevor says suddenly as we wander through the footpaths, on the hunt for what to do next, “remember those?”

 I look. And I do.

 “The spinning wheel games.”

 “Yeah,” Trevor agrees. “That’s how I met you. Well, how I noticed you,” he corrects with an embarrassed shrug. And then he tacks on, “You know, you never did tell me how you knew what number the wheel would land on.”

 “Oh,” I say, and falter, because I have no idea how to explain.

 But Trevor waits patiently, head cocked in curiosity.

 “Well, um,” I fumble, “I watched and I noticed there was a pattern and then, um, it wasn’t so hard to figure out.”

 The space between Trevor’s eyebrow folds into a crease. “What do you mean?”

 I cannot use words to explain this. Maybe if I had pen and paper I could write out a string of patterns so he could see for himself, but I have no idea how to even begin an explanation of what I mean.

 Finally, frustrated, I simply say, “Maybe I can just show you?”

 He agrees and we take a seat on a nearby bench. We’re close enough that we can see, and we can hear when the attendant announces the winning number each round.

 “Just… pay attention to the numbers,” I murmur. Trevor nods, looking studious, like a student who’s just been told by a teacher to pay attention to this specific lesson because it’s going to be on the next test, word for word.

 Somehow, it’s cute. It’s endearing that Trevor takes me so seriously.

 We wait. We watch. We listen. The wheel is numbered one through twenty-five, with a counter surrounding the wheel, and numbered spaces filling the counter, each number its own color. Players place coins on the number they bet on, and most lose their coin. A few manage to win. Not many people seem to pick up on the fact that there’s a pattern to this madness, easy enough to pick apart if someone would only stay enough rounds to notice. Most don’t. They wander away, sour over their loss or too euphoric over their win to stick around for another dance with chance.

 It’s not chance.

 We continue to wait and watch and listen. More rounds go by, and I think I’ve picked up on the pattern—14, 19, 24, 4. Increments of five, then? It’s an easy pattern today. Each wheel must have it’s own pattern, or they must change day to day. This wheel has smaller prizes, and maybe that’s why it’s easier to predict. The wheel I predicted before had a more convoluted method to it.

 “What are we looking for?” Trevor finally asks me.

 “You don’t see the pattern?” I murmur. “It’s easier today than it was last time I—we were here.”

 He shakes his head and looks at me curiously. And, emboldened by that look, I stand, take his hand, and lead him to the numbered counters of the game.

 “Then,” I say simply, “let’s play and see if I’m right.”

 “Which number?” he asks, glancing at the numbered spaces on the counter.

 “Nine,” I tell him.

 He places his coin on the appropriate slot without hesitation.

 There is such a heady power in knowing that he—what?—blindly trusts me? I suppose that’s the best way to express it. For now, he asks me no questions and makes no demands, and trusts me without any reason other than he wants to.

 It makes something in my chest flutter.

 And I miss the game’s attendant calling out the winning number, the number that the wheel landed on. But Trevor’s face lights up, and he hoots a noise of jubilation, and he looks at me and says, “I won!”

 The attendant comes over and asks which prize Trevor would like. He points, and the attendant hands it over. Trevor turns to me and holds it out, smile turning up one half of his lips, expression warm.

 I blink stupidly, coming out of my thoughts. “What?” I ask, thinking he’s said something I didn’t quite catch.

 “It’s for you.”

 I point at myself like I’ve forgotten what those words mean. “For me?”

 “Of course.”

 Of course. So, I reach out tentatively, and Trevor deposits something small and soft into my hand. I take a moment to look at it.

 It’s a keychain. It’s a small, soft hedgehog plush with a plastic snap-on clip. The hedgehog’s spikes are soft, a dark brown against the lighter brown of its body. It’s cute.

 I look at Trevor questioningly.

 “It reminded me of you,” he says simply, an answer to the question I don’t know how to ask.

 Maybe on another day I would take offense. This creature that’s made to be prickly and untouchable being compared to me. But today, there’s no space in my mind for arguments or fighting. So instead, I smile. Before I can decide what to do with my new prize, Trevor’s expression shifts into something competitive.

 “Again?” he asks. “Think you know what the next one is?”

 I nod and push the little keychain into my pocket. “Fourteen.”

 He slides another coin onto the slot for fourteen. And he wins again. The attendant congratulates him for his luck and he laughs, tilting his head towards me.

 “I brought my lucky charm,” he tells the attendant, who glances at me. I duck back, quickly looking down.

 But I’m smiling as the attendant asks Trevor which prize he’d like this time.

 “You pick,” Trevor murmurs to me.

 It’s a small thing, but I’ve never liked being the center of attention, small or large. I look up at the small wall of prizes, intending to point at the first one I see. But somehow, there’s one in particular—

 Banana.

 What?

 —that catches my eye, and I point. The attendant fetches it, hands it over.

 It is a plush, velvety soft and palm sized, of a banana.

 The memories slam into me, unwelcome and unbidden.

 “What’s that?” Trevor asks, frowning, coming closer to inspect. “A banana?” His face crinkles in confused amusement. “Why that?”

 “I like to keep a theme,” I whisper, not quite here, not quite there. Not quite anywhere.

 But that will not do. It’s with force that I shake myself away and free and look up at Trevor, glancing at the curl of hair against his neck.

 He shrugs, accepting this as he does everything—with little question. “A theme, you say?”

 I nod.

 He chuckles. “Somehow, I’m not surprised. Anyway, I’m starving. Hungry?”

 I tighten my grip on the velvety soft banana plush. “Yeah.”

 He suggests one of the nearby restaurants, and I nod again. I’m so good at nodding. But I’m also trying to shove away memories that do no belong here and focus on the here and now, which is oddly distracting, and it feels like all I can do right now are non-verbal things.

 It isn’t a fancy restaurant he takes us to, more like a casual eatery. I get pizza because that’s easy to order, and he gets a sandwich. We sit and start eating.

 “Didn’t you get pizza last time?” he asks.

 Did I? I wouldn’t be surprised if I did. Something flutters in my stomach at the thought that he remembers little things like that, that he takes notice of me.

 “Oh, hey, there’s something I wanted to tell you,” he says once he finishes his sandwich. “I ran into my ex-girlfriend and turns out, she’s pregnant.”

 My eyebrows arch up.

 “Yeah,” Trevor says, a little bitterly. “Turns out that friend of mine she was sleeping with didn’t use protection.”

 “Wonder if he tacked his condoms to the wall?” I tease because I’m not sure what his mood is right now. He stopped mentioning his ex-girlfriend every other sentence several weeks ago, but I suppose it might still bother him to think about her. Why is he mentioning her?

 Trevor smiles, abashed. “That was just one time.”

 I can’t keep my eyes from rolling.

 “Well, so,” he starts again, clearing his throat. “I guess her new beau isn’t interested in playing house. They split up. She was living with him, and now she’s homeless. She’s pregnant, and she doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

 “That’s terrible,” I offer because it is. I may have had stints with homelessness myself, but at least I can’t get pregnant. At least I don’t have to worry about figuring out how to provide for another human. I can barely provide for myself.

 “Yeah, so she needs a place to stay. I mean, I’m not happy about it, but I think we can make it work. I was looking into it, and my apartment complex has two bedroom floorplans. The bedrooms are a little smaller, but the rent isn’t too much more per month. We could definitely make it work.”

 Now I’m lost. “Make what work?”

 And then Trevor looks lost, like he doesn’t know how I’m lost. “The three of us.”

 Three of us? Are we getting a dog who gets its own bedroom? Are we raising this lady’s kid? Who is the third party of this equation?

 Oh.

 I realize who he means—what he means—very suddenly, and I feel stupid for not realizing sooner what he was saying, what he was implying, why he’s telling me this.

 “She’s moving in with you,” I say.

 “Well, with us,” Trevor corrects with a shrug. “I wanted to let you know since she’s going to start moving her stuff into the apartment this weekend. I guess she’ll take the couch. I think we’re going to get lucky about the apartment thing—apparently a two bedroom is opening up in a few weeks and we can take it. We’ll have priority over getting it since it’s three tenants currently in a one-bedroom, plus she’s pregnant.”

 Something hard clamps around my stomach. Something hard and cold, like metal on a winter day.

 “You,” I say slowly, trying to keep up with what he’s saying. “You already talked to her about it? And everything?”

 “Yeah,” Trevor tells me. “I figured it all out this morning. It all kind of happened fast. I didn’t want to surprise you with anything. I didn’t know if she already started moving her stuff in, so I don’t know if some of her stuff will be in the apartment when we get back to it. Or if she’ll be there.”

 That thought sends a jolt through me. It feels close to panic.

 I don’t even know this woman’s name, and she’s going to live with us. She’s Trevor’s ex-girlfriend, and even if she’s pregnant with someone else’s child, I can’t see her having any love or affection for me for being in a relationship with Trevor, given how she hadn’t seemed to want to end things. I hadn’t realized how easy things were between Trevor and me, but now, imagining what a life with her would look like, I start to see it. Trevor might have his little eccentricities, but it’s always just been him and me.

 Is his ex-girlfriend spiteful of my presence, angry at her situation, controlling of her surroundings? Will she try to take control of things like Kay controls his household? Is she going to be a difficult roommate, angry that she’s going to give birth to a child with a father who doesn’t want anything to do with either of them? Is she going to take that out on me, on Trevor? Is she going to be spiteful that Trevor broke up with her in the first place? Is she going to try to get back together with him? Does she know about me? Does she think she’s moving back in and things are going back to how they used to be?

 My thoughts fire off so many questions I can’t think straight. I can’t even really hear any one question, they overlap, a tumble of noise in my head. But one does manage to scream louder than the others.

 Am I going to have to compete with this ex-girlfriend for Trevor? I am not competitive. I am not strong enough for that. I cannot live with my guard up all the time. And even if she somehow is at peace with the fact that she’s going to live with her ex-boyfriend and his new boyfriend, I don’t know anything about her. I already jumped into a bad living relationship with Kay. What if this is somehow worse? I want better, not worse.

 I just wanted to live with Trevor.

 “Okay?” Trevor asks, pulling me back to here and now, sitting at this bench in this cheap eatery in the amusement park that was supposed to be an anniversary date.

 I nod because that’s what I always do when people ask me questions I don’t know how to answer.

 And then I stop.

 Because no.

 It’s not okay.

 It’s not okay and I can’t just blindly agree to this like I blindly agreed to live with Kay, thinking, How bad can it be?

 Because it was bad. It is bad. It’s terrible living with Kay and I hate it. And I don’t want to live somewhere that I wind up hating more.

 “I,” I say finally, and my voice seems so small, so tired. But I keep talking, I get it out. “I wanted to live with you.”

 Trevor frowns, confused. “Isn’t that what you’re going to do?”

 “No,” I say. I try to say. It comes out a whisper.

 Trevor puzzles over me and finally teases, “Are you jealous?”

 Maybe it’s jealousy that speared me, hot and painful. Maybe it’s not. I’m not sure what to call this feeling. But if it’s jealousy, there’s a lot more to it than that. It’s much more. It’s knowing that there’s no way I can live with his ex-girlfriend, knowing that my every day will be a balancing act. It’s thinking that everything will be a competition, even when it’s not. It’s knowing that Trevor was a good enough ex-boyfriend to offer this to her, but not a good enough boyfriend to ask me about it. It’s knowing I’ll have to live with someone who hates me.

 Pretty sure this lady hates me, anyway. If she doesn’t already, she will soon.

 “What happens when the baby comes?” I ask.

 Trevor shrugs. “We’ll figure it out. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It isn’t a big deal. She’ll have her own room. It’ll be like having another roommate.”

 It isn’t a big deal.

 Except it is a big deal.

 I can’t do this.

 “What can’t you do?” Trevor asks, and I realize I said that out loud.

 “If she moves in,” I say, “I can’t.”

 Trevor looks confused again. That’s all I do, confuse people. How often has Trevor been confused over me? Too many times to count.

 “What do you mean?” he asks finally.

 “If she moves in,” I say, “I can’t. I won’t.”

 Trevor looks pained. “Markus, I can’t just let her live on the streets. She’s pregnant.”

 Maybe I’m a terrible person for thinking that this isn’t Trevor’s responsibility. This woman probably has other friends or family she can stay with. Why choose Trevor?

 The answer to that question is easy.

 Because this is who he is. Trevor is the nice guy who doesn’t say no to people who need help.

 “Then I can’t move in,” I say.

 Trevor’s face falls. I look away, pull the key out of my pocket. It still has a little trash can attached to it. Please recycle.

 I am, I think bitterly. I am recycling.

 I’m giving this key over for someone else to use. I’m giving Trevor over to someone else to use. To keep using.

 He doesn’t take it from me so I lay it down on the table between us.

 I need to say this now or I never will.

 “I don’t think we should see each other again,” I say. I force myself to say. “I don’t want to hang out anymore.”

 I just want to curl up and throw up. Or cry. Or sleep. I feel sick with misery, and so tired.

 I am always so tired.

 I need to stop pitying myself.

 “Markus,” Trevor says quickly as I stand. I gather my trash. He reaches for my hand to halt me and I step back and away.

 “Look at me,” he says softly.

 I do. No, I don’t. Sort of. I can’t make eye contact. I only ever made eye contact with him by accident, and quickly skittered my glance away. I’ve always focused on his nose or his eyebrows or his cheek or his ears or the strand of hair that curls at the end and lays on his neck.

 I’m looking at it now.

 “Bye,” I say.

 Bye, curl of hair.

 I throw my trash away but Trevor is on his feet. I don’t want to talk to him anymore. I just want to go home—to Kay’s home, not the one I was going to have with Trevor—and curl up on my bed and sleep. But Trevor has a creased expression and looks like he wants to walk over to me and I don’t want that right now.

 I do what I do best, which actually isn’t nodding and agreeing all the time, as it turns out.

 It’s running away.

[tsgnorthwestarkansas]

TSG Contributor Nicole Calhoun on Inclusion And What That Means Today

To put it mildly, 2020 has been rough. First we get hit with a global pandemic, and now we are forced-again-to get up close and personal with social injustices that are rampant in our communities and our country. Although I am of mixed heritage, I personally identify as a black woman. And with most people of color at this time in our country, things have been very rough emotionally and have forced me to examine our society, what’s going to help our society heal, and how I can personally make a difference. As with most things for me all roads lead back to yoga. I won’t bore you with why I fell in love with yoga, that’s not what this blog’s about, but I will say that the practice of yoga is so much more than stretching. It’s a practice of getting to know who you truly are inside and transforming into something greater.

In this country, the practice of yoga has traditionally been very white-washed. Yoga has been marketed, packaged, and sold as a fitness activity for white women of a certain socioeconomic background. Don’t believe me? Open the browser on your cell phone (after you read this blog of course!) and search Yoga. Tell me what you see. Do you see people of color? People of all body types? Men? The short answer is no. And that’s because of how yoga has been marketed to us since its inception in the United States. With that being said, it may not shock you that the number of yoga studios that I have practiced in (and I’ve been practicing for over 12 years) where I have actually felt comfortable and welcomed in, I can count on one hand. Normally what happens when I walk into a yoga studio that I have never been to before is a little less than welcoming. I will normally get a lot of stares, no one will speak to me, and whoever is checking in clients will normally have a look of surprise/shock on their face. This person will then normally change their demeanor when I approach the desk to one that walks the line between cool and downright rude. It wasn’t until I started talking to other yogis of color that I realized that I wasn’t the only one having this experience over, and over again. In my earlier days, I never really questioned why this was. I just accepted that this was the way things were in the world of Yoga. People are always going to be shocked to see a person of color so why should I let it bother me. After all, I was there to transform myself, not make friends with people who felt strange around me.

Fast forward about six or seven years. I had been practicing yoga religiously, had fallen head over heels in love with the practice, and decided that I wanted to become a teacher myself. So I went to a yoga studio that I loved in Texas for yoga teacher-training with a teacher that I loved. The training was amazing and I could not wait to get back to Fayetteville and apply for my first yoga teaching job. I had been practicing at the same yoga studio in Fayetteville for years. I had actually made friends there and felt like I had become a part of the studio. So naturally, I wanted to apply to teach at that studio. I taught a mock class to the current teaching roster as an interview, like most studios require. Of the seven yoga teachers that I taught, the feedback I received after teaching my class was extremely gracious and overall very good. After that interview I wasn’t hired on to teach a regular class, but was asked to substitute teach a few classes, which is also very normal in the yoga business. The classes that I subbed went very well and I got a lot of praise from clients at this yoga studio after my classes, along with questions of when I would have my regularly scheduled class at the studio. I was stoked! So I approached one of the owners of the studio and inquired if a class on the regular schedule would be a possibility. What happened next really shaped the person I am today and the yoga teacher I am today. I will never forget it and I remember it like it was yesterday....the owner of the studio told me – verbatim – that they would not be hiring me at the studio. She told me that no one liked me and I didn’t fit in with the current teachers or their studio. She also told me that she thought I was a show-off and was only there to make YOGA about myself, not the clients. I...was...devastated. I cried. A lot. And as a woman of color applying to teach at an all white yoga studio who has experienced “coolness” and micro-aggressions in almost every studio I’d ever been to, the phrase, ‘you’re not like us’ meant one thing. They don’t want you because you’re a black yoga teacher. This was the pinnacle of my feeling like an outsider who didn’t belong because I was a yogi of color.

After that, I pretty much gave up on teaching. I spent months licking my wounds as a yoga teacher and decided to start playing around with yoga on Instagram. A few months later another yoga studio owner called me up and asked if I would be interested in teaching at her studio. I was unsure at first, but eventually decided to give it a try. This woman – a white woman – is who I credit with helping me pick myself back up as a yoga teacher and carry on. At her studio, I found my chops as a yoga teacher. I found out who I am as a teacher and what specifically I want to offer as a yoga teacher-physical, emotional, and spiritual transformation via power yoga.

Power yoga is not for the faint of heart. Taught correctly, it’s a practice where your heart pounds, you sweat your butt off, and burn tons of calories all while gaining physical strength and flexibility. It’s a practice where you’re FORCED to face your true self as you are. You’re forced to examine your emotional strength, your courage, your commitment, and your grit as well as your fears and your anxieties. (Sounds awful, I know, but it’s LIFE CHANGING!)

And so I began teaching power yoga and eventually began teaching at another yoga studio in Northwest Arkansas. It was at this second yoga studio that I really started to sharpen my skills as a teacher and build a following in this area. I haven’t looked back since.

After teaching there for a couple of years, I’d gained a following online and in person and I thought to myself “now's the time to strike while the iron is hot and really make a difference in the yoga community of NWA.” And just like that, EYL was born. ĒLXR Yoga Lounge (EYL for short) opened its doors on November 14, 2018. Our mission: intentional creation of a space where EVERYONE feels welcomed at all times and everyone can experience the power of yoga, no matter their race, gender, or sexuality. Such spaces have to be INTENTIONALLY created. Otherwise, things default to the status quo of exclusion. If you asked most people what they think makes EYL successful, they would say it’s the music. Sure, most people love hip-hop music! It’s fun, but that’s not why. It’s the intentional and actual creation of a space where diversity is welcomed, encouraged, and honored.  No one will ever walk into the doors of EYL and experience what I have experienced at other yoga studios. Not on my watch. In addition to that, I’m going to teach you the practice of yoga and help you get in the best emotional, physical, and spiritual shape of your life!

If anything, the events of the last few weeks have shown us that the lack of diversity and ignorance about the racial structure of this country are real issues. Not only is it up to us as a society to educate ourselves over these issues, it’s up to us to help alleviate these issues. As a society, we have to acknowledge these issues, educate ourselves about these issues, teach our children about these issues, and put in work to actually solve these issues. Until these things happen, we cannot begin to heal as a society and move forward as a people. If you're a person of color, tell your stories. Educate everyone about your experiences and how they are REAL. If you're not a person of color, educate yourself on the issues, on the experiences of others and then step up to make a change. We MUST work together to stop the spread of hatred and ignorance. We must work together to heal. We must work together to progress. And oh yeah, do a little yoga along the way too.

Stay safe,

Nicole Calhoun, PhD, ERYT