#like she says she got scouted but she's still in her first year of high school

[aparticularbandit]

...yui i know you didn't go to hope's peak because you chose not to after being scouted but i feel like maybe if kyoko disappeared you might have changed your mind

no this is not because i want her to have another girlfriend in the three years that kyoko disappeared

....

i mean, i don't even have to send her to hope's peak, seiko was homeless for a while after getting expelled, yui would absolutely take her in

the question is whether or not i want to include seiko in the fic or not and like whether that just complicates something that doesn't need to be that complicated

[masochistkatsuki]

Team Player : How to Fuck your Friend Group 101

Pt One → Masterlist

When you're tasked with having sex with every person in your friend group, the friend who put you up to it isn't excluded either. With Mina Ashido, you either go big or go home. It's a life or death (dealing with your friends stupid flirting) situation, and only you can stop it !

Luckily for you, she's your best friend, which means you can have some fun and figure out your next moves on everyone else.

See, now, there are some 'odd' aspects of your friend group. You often found yourself stuck on whether the dynamics in-between members were normal. You'd seen a lot of people who were completely comfortable, content with being physically intimate while having a full understanding of the platonic relationship.

On the other hand, so many people criticized or didn't understand it all. A lot of people could never imagine doing that with their friends. Its not exactly fitting under that definition, is it ? As soon as you crossed that line, you were in-between being friends and something romantic.

So, you never really knew what to think of those moments where you stood on the line of okay and not okay. Everyone in the group had kissed all the others at least once-- stuff like that was just.. regular. The insult gay or skank lost all meaning by your third year. You all were close in a way that was extreme for most highschool friend groups, but even so, the only actual romantic development was between Mina and Kirishima. Right ?

A part of you felt like there was something there, but it was unreachable in your mind. It was stuck to the tip of your tongue, like the perfect word for a situation, but one you just couldn't remember.

It was a mystery you were determined to solve in your Third Year. You weren't one of the top students for nothing.

You'd been scouted by the Public Safety Commission in your last year of junior high, something only Mina knew. Ironically, this led to your first "encounter" with her. If fucking your friends was a course, you learnt Minas lesson first.

It was your second year, and Class 1-A got their hands on alcohol for the first time. By the end of the night, just about everyone was wasted. Of course the class reps stayed sober, and a few people stayed responsible. But the culprits of planning the party, Bakugous friend group, were all fucked up. Especially the classes notorious party girls : Mina, you, and Jirou (who was more dragged into this by extension but still)

You and Mina set her to bed after wiping down her makeup and leaving water and a few ibuprofen pills on her bedside table. From there, you two figured youd ride down the intoxication with a movie in your room.

This turned to you two sharing secrets, past stories, and overall character traits. Highschool drunk bonding really is like no other bond. It was a big part of you two becoming the closest friend duo in the class. You two had calmed down enough to remember what was going on, but the ongoing buzz made the air around you two hotter than it probably would've been.

Still tipsy, you told her your biggest secrets. One, you were in special commission training in order to secure a spot in public safety after graduation.. totally not an insane accomplishment and huge breach of contract to say.. But more important..!

"I think I like girls too.."

The pink hair and skinned girl looked up at you, instead of surprised, or shocked, she only seemed confused. "Girl.. are you just now..?" How did you just drop that insane bomb then act timid about a glass closet ?

"Hey !! What's that supposed to mean ?" You pulled away from where you were resting on top of her before, growing embarrassed.

"Nonono, dont worry !" She pulled you back onto her, "im sorry, I didnt mean to make you uncomfortable." She rubbed softly at your waist. Gentle and soft, something you always loved about her. Its probably why she so easily could coax this information from you.

"Its okay" You brushed the messy pastel fluffs from her eyes, looking straight into them. You had an idea, you just needed to ease the tension in. You knew you were both already feeling it. "You wanted to know more about the Public Safety Commission processes and procedures.. why don't we combine the two ?"

Sharp teeth biting into your neck pulled you out of your thought process. "Minaaa" You sang, finally willing to commit to her challenge.

She looked down at you, "Ohh, you have something in mind, don't you ?" She smiled, she often had to be in charge of people, especially the idiots. You were one of the few people who let others relax as you took a calm control over things. It was something not just she, but everyone liked about you.

You and Mina were two sides of the same coin, similar in a concerning amount of ways, but contrasting like complimentary colors. You two understood the other's wants and desires more than anyone else. If anyone was going to pleasure either of the girls, they knew it'd be their best friend.

It's times like these, when you're practically practicing for your future job, but also stripping Minas leopard tank top from her chest, panting a hot breath over her skin, you wonder if your love for girls and everything about them began with her.

Goosebumps rise across the expansive area, her nipples beginning to harden just slightly. You sigh, "You're so pretty, Mina." You bite softly at her underboob, trailing your tongue towards her sternum.

"I know" She giggled, light and airy. Pulling your hand towards her bright pink dolphin shorts. Throughout the fabric, you felt her wetted lips cling to the cloth, creating a perfect mold of it against your fingers, when you havent even taken anything down there off. "I think I'm ready.."

You smiled, proud you could get such a pretty girl going so fast. Perfect. "Mina Ashido" You spoke softly, but sternly.

She looked up at you giggling, "This is my favorite part !" You held back a smile, as much as she loved these stupid roleplays, she never took them too seriously either. It helped, honestly. Youd probably get embarrassed acting all serious for too long.

You grinned wider, "You have one chance to provide the information needed." adding pressure to the inner area, rubbing softly through the fabric to start a slow, teasing pace. Her head fell back slightly, and while she had bitten her lip to avoid being too loud too quick, a content sigh gave away that you were on the right track. "Or the Public Safety Commission will have to deal with you personally."

She bucked her hips into your palm, grinding steadily against it. The moist fabric and further secreting liquid soaked into your skin. How cute. "Please, just get to it already !!" She whined, but still mischievously flashed her teeth at you.

"Ah, ah" You scolded, though in a joking tone. You pressed your hand against her, giving her the pleasure she began to beg for, but holding her in place. "What was this about flattering comments ?"

"Oooh, so you're actually going to do it ?" She looked pleased, but also kinda shocked. "Youre so amazing~" She teased, though you knew she genuinely meant it, "Im so happy we have someone who'd do anything to protect the public's safety !" Okay now she was trying to rile you up.

You slid your fingers through the shorts and under her panties, resting your middle and pointer fingertips against the hood of her clit. Not enough to do anything serious, but the light touches were going to break her down eventually.

"Lets start." You looked at her, asking if she wanted to continue, not just the physical intimacy but overall conversation. She smiled at you, aegyo sal growing plump under her eyes.

"Sounds good, (Hero Name)." You smirked. You couldnt lie, it was pleasing how into this Mina would get.

"So who from the list is the easiest to start with ?" Your fingers started to slowly circle around where she wanted it, occasionally brushing over it when you were pushing your fingers up left.

Me, obviously, she thought, but her words got caught in her throat. "Mm.. its.." Her legs trembled a bit, spreading out.

'Jesus Mina. You really need to fuck.' You slowed your movements, and placed your spare hand on her thigh, bringing her back to where she was. "Eijirou..", She moaned, voice a little too sensual while saying his name.

You were still quite shocked that she wanted you to actually fuck him as well. In you, her, and Jirous personal group chat, the topic of Mina keeping him in her basement was one of the most recurring conversations. "And how's that ? Be specific, Ashido."

Itd been such a long time since anyone used her last name, in the right context, it could feel like it was someone calling out her given name for the first time. "O..oh.." Her head tilted back. Between her tension with Kirishima, and intense work studies, you doubted shes had the time to herself. You could tell she was more sensitive than usual. "Hes.. real inexperienced.." She sighed, hips bucking slightly as you began to steadily quicken the pace again.

You thought back. There wasn't really a lot to be said about Kirishima. He was a sweet boy, got really hard easily.. unsurprisingly. You tried to come up with anything that could help. He was relentlessly respectful, and of course chivalrous. It's easy to forget hes just a man too.

"Sooo," you began, genuinely curious on how shed answer this next question. "If hes the easiest, why haven't you done anything ?" You began to make the circles smaller, enclosing directly to where she was the most sensitive.

"I..im.." Her legs were beginning to close and open sporadically, she was getting close. "Only you know how to do this stuff to me.. I need you to teach him..!" Without warning, her legs finally snapped shut, and you locked your fingers in a tight spiral against her clit, letting her ride out her first orgasm.

Wow, is she that scared hes gonna suck ?

"Thats hot." You gasped, itd been a while since you got to see Mina like this. She truly was breathtaking. "So.. I think I understand Kirishima.. but I still think you should teach him yourself.." You had an idea of what you were going to do, but hoped Mina would just grow a pair.

"Its even hotter when they magically know." She sighed, a dreamy look on her face. Is this what happens when you read too much Tumblr smut ?

"Thats not.." You still can't believe this is happening. "Its another girl who taught him-"

"Don't worry I can pretend." Oh my god okay shes seriously not gonna fuck him until you do.

You sighed, a little proud of Mina for how fucking insane she could be. Your eyes trailed down her sweaty neck, towards her collar bones and bare chest. Hmm.

"Well," You continued, readjusting your hand so your middle and ring were prodding against her entrance. Your body leaned over hers, and in a familiar move from tonight, the vibrations from your voice rumbled softly on her shoulder. "Keep going, whos next ?"

"Denki-" You slid your fingers in, down to the second knuckle. Of course it was him. You began softly massaging around, relaxing her to the movement.

"Im holding off on him for as long as possible.." You grimaced. Kaminari was one of your best friends, dont yet anyone wrong, but.. well.. its HIM.

"Makes sense.." She sighed. He was definitely going to need the least convincing, but a lot of self motivation and convincing was needed.

It was an unspoken rule that more graphic sexual conversations happened between the guys specifically, and the girls specifically. It wasnt often that theyd seriously talk about it to each other, given the awkward teen hormones going on. The most that was shared was small incriminating details the other group would tease the person for, or things willingly shared during a truth or dare type thing.

But Denki fucking Kaminari. Public group chat, "just learned I have a mommy kink" "hear me out on lactation tho" It wasn't too surprising given he was also friends with Mineta, but goddamnit did he make it everyones problem. Also everyone in that group chat has seen that one specific picture of his dick. Unrelated probably.

"There's some things you should probably know.." Mina continued, whimpering a little as you began you fuck her softly with your fingers. "Hes real fucking stupid, obviously.." She gasped, your fingers getting closer and closer to her gspot. "But he knows a lot .. he probably has files on everyone's sexual preferences and feelings."

you groaned, sinking your teeth into her lower neck, sucking a purple bruise out of her pink skin. "Hes a fuckin psycho.." you lifted yourself up, and brought one of her thighs up to her chest as you deepened your thrusts. "Well.. whos next on our list, Mina ?" You pressed a kiss against the edge of her mouth, her voice finally breaking as breathy moans slipped from her lips.

"Fuck..fuck.. um.." Her eyes struggled to stay open, her legs felt numb from the overstimulation but her lower stomach felt so fucking good. Heat rose through her body as she whined louder and louder. "S-Sero.. Jirou is close after th-though.." Her face was an even brighter pink, a telltale sign of blush for the acid girl.

You slowed your thrusts, opting to grind your fingers against the opening muscles. "Wait.. wait fuck.. no dont stop.." she pleaded. She was definitely close, and the roleplay was beginning to get thrown out her mind.

"Its okay.." you hummed, picking your pace back up. "Just tell me real quick and ill let you cum Mina, okay ?" You smiled, and held her chin in place to make eye contact with you. "Is that okay ?" Your place was back on par with how she liked it.

"Yes yes yes.. oh fuck.. okay .. Sero is.." Her head tilted back, her legs spreading. "Hes the second closest to you, casual sex is easier than you think with him."

Your fingers began beating softly against the edge of her gummy pad. right where she would fall apart. Honestly, you knew she was right. You and Sero constantly would build up sexual tension from conversation or body language alone, it probably would've happened at some point anyway. "Okayy.. and.." You began rubbing circular around the spot, fully preparing to feel her coming around you any second. "What about Jirou ?"

Mina was panting, and struggling to get her words together even more. "J..j.. its.. haaahhh.." She was totally beginning to lose it. You quickened your pace, more interested in seeing her let go again than what she was going to say. Being in the girls group, you already knew most of Jirous sexual preferences anyway.

"Its okay, Mina." You finally fucked your fingers into her gspot dirrectly, using your other arm to lift both of her legs up to her chest, gaining a deep and quick angle. "You did good."

"Fuckfuckfuck oh my.. oh my g..god.." Her hips stuttered against your hold, her warm walls tightening and releasing rapidly against your fingers. "Yes.. fuck.." She had a fucked out smile, eyes fluttering closed contently.

You let her rest, and took your hand away to take care of her. While gathering the warm cloth and a bottle of water (with a lemon slice, she likes citrus after intense.. situations), you briefly reviewed what you knew about Jirou.

She's a lesbian, so you had an easy chance. The issue is she gets flustered easily, you wanted to make sure you didn't scare her away. There was also the Momo situation..

While cleaning up Mina, towling town her sweat and using the warm damp cloth to soak up the mess between her legs, you thought about everything you knew now.

Kirishima is probably similar to Mina, in need of releasing all the tension they've been teasing each other with. You have a good idea of how to relieve him, but also set him up with Ashido once and for all.

Denki is a whore. You'll probably have to out slut him in order to get him to talk. Its going to be a long night for him, taking some time to study the bdsm test wont hurt.

Sero's pretty laid back, if you're upfront about what's going on and why you're doing what you're doing, you know he'll be cool with it. Besides, this is one you're looking forward too.

Jirou might be a bit tricky. You'll let her know your intentions, and set up a personal hang out to just relax and ease into anything at her pace. You can also try and see whats going on with Yaoyorozu !

Oh.. and Katsuki.. Well. There's not really a point in thinking about him. You know nothing. Despite being the first two at the table, he kept everyone locked out of his romantic or sexual life completely, as far as you knew. As it concerned you, he didn't have anything going on. You didnt need to ask Mina about him, you knew he would be the hardest.

As you finished up, you looked back over to the clock. "We're thirty minutes late by the way." You held back a giggle, stuff like this always ended up happening.

"Fuck !" Now this one sounded way less pleased than before.

A/N : Not a lot of Bakugou development, sorry, i like girls more. next chapter should have more though !! speaking of

i think its pretty obvious the order that the characters will go in, but who do you think will be the next chapter focus ?

tag list (ask to be added) : @adv3rs1ty @icarusthefoolish @hyunjinshairband7 @waterfal-ling

[daddydindjarin]

Chapter 2: Echoes

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x F!Reader Rating: 18+ Mature Wordcount: 7295 Summary: You navigate the chaos of PTMC with the usual rhythm—routine, patients, and the steady presence of Robby. Your friendship is solid, built on years of takeout dinners and sticky notes, but lately, the lingering glances and unspoken tension are starting to blur the lines you've worked so hard to keep. Warnings: Pining, Self Worth issues, slight body dysmorphia/self image, general ER Content. A/N: This chapter is long long long, the first time I've written something that's so many words and I feel like I've poured so much into this. I always worry too much about there being too much filler, but I really hope you like it! And forgive me if I get something medical wrong, hours of googling and watching Grey's Anatomy does not replace a medical degree! As always, the dividers are by @firefly-graphics

You’ve walked into PTMC a thousand times, but today your badge feels heavier.

Maybe it’s the weight of four back-to-back shifts. Maybe it’s the caffeine still burning your tongue. Maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about the way Robby’s shoulder felt under your cheek for three straight days.

You’re not in love with him. You’re not stupid enough to fall in love with your attending. You just haven’t figured out how to make your chest stop doing things when he looks at you like he did that night.

You shake your head as if you can physically remove the image of the way his eyes crinkle when he’s trying not to smile from your brain and focus on your surroundings. The sidewalk is wet. It’s not raining, but it’s the kind of Pittsburgh morning that can’t make up its mind. Cold mist clings to the edges of your hair, the kind that’ll freeze if you wait too long outside. You’ve got a coffee from the bodega on Fifth clutched in one hand and a Ziplock bag of muffins in the other. Homemade blueberry-lemon, your mom’s recipe. You told yourself they were for the nurses when you stayed up until midnight baking them in your fuzzy socks, wiping flour off your nose.

They’re not just for the nurses, and you can’t even lie to yourself about it.

You pass through the main ER doors with the same badge-swipe and tired smile you always wear, and the hospital smell hits you in the chest like it always does- antiseptic, plastic, that vague lingering scent of latex and too much living packed into too little space.

“Scout!”

Dana’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and familiar. You don’t look up—just lift your hand in acknowledgment as you move toward the nurse’s station where she and Princess are watching you. There’s a stack of tablets charging on the counter, cords coiled like snakes. Dana’s already snapping one off and sliding it across the desk to you.

“You’re on North today. And there’s a runner in Central 5 that needs hands and a little diplomacy.” Her eyes flash with something like glee. “Should be right up your alley.”

You catch the tablet, your thumb already sliding through the patient list.

“Someone bribing us for love today?” Princess asks, clocking the muffins instantly.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say in mock apathy, but you’re already handing the bag over. She peeks inside, makes a high-pitched squeal, and bolts toward Perlah like she’s uncovered gold. You laugh, turning your attention back to Dana. “Who’s covering trauma?”

“Robby,” she says, voice dry. “He’s still here, pretending he’s got nowhere else to be.”

You snort. “He’s gonna die in that hallway, I swear.”

“And you’ll be right there holding compressions,” Dana replies, raising an eyebrow. “Try to keep him alive, yeah? We’ve got enough ghosts in this place.”

You nod, slinging the tablet under your arm. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good girl,” she calls after you, voice crackling like static. “Get to it, Scout.”

Scout.

You almost forgot how it started, but then again, you didn’t think you’d ever forget.

You remember your intern year the way you remember storms- loud and blurry around the edges, all adrenaline and instinct. Everything felt too fast, too intense. The lights were always too bright, the monitors always too loud. You barely knew where the break room was until October.

And Robby? He was the attending who never seemed to leave. He was there when you clocked in at six and was still there when you clocked out at seven. You couldn’t tell if he just didn’t sleep or if he’d somehow hacked time and no one had noticed.

You remember the first day you worked under him. You were wearing brand-new sneakers that still pinched your toes, your badge clipped too high on your freshly ironed scrubs, and you still hadn’t figured out how to get your badge to work consistently when going through doors in the hospital. He introduced himself with that easy confidence of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. “Michael Robinavitch,” he’d said, extending a hand. “Robby, to anyone who doesn’t want me to ignore them.”

You took his hand a little too quickly. He didn’t seem to mind.

You started to say your first name, stuttering and correcting yourself last second to give him your last name. It still felt strange, introducing yourself like you were someone who belonged there. He just nodded.

“Alright,” he said, repeating your name back to you, and you pretended not to notice the blush creeping up your neck. “Let’s see if you’re as awake as you look.”

You followed him everywhere that first shift, footsteps falling into his without thought. He had a way of walking that didn’t seem rushed, but he was always on the move. You tried to match his stride, tried to keep up with the questions he asked that felt like tests, even if he never said they were. You remember the way he taught- never loud, never demanding. He’d ask you what you saw, and then he’d wait, and when you stumbled through your explanations, he’d nod, like he was turning your words over in his hands and checking them for cracks.

The first trauma you ever handled under him was chaos- a thirty-seven-year-old, car accident, broken femur, femoral artery nicked but not severed. You held pressure for thirteen minutes straight until the surgeons arrived. Your hands cramped halfway through, but you didn’t let go. Couldn’t.

When it was over, you were scrubbing the blood off your wrists at the sink, fingers still aching, water running pink and swirling down the drain. You didn’t hear him come up behind you, not until he spoke.

“You were quick.”

You’d jumped, turning too fast. Robby was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you scrub with something like amusement in his eyes. You stared at him, a little winded, a little wild-eyed. “That was... that was okay?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You planning to do worse next time?”

You blinked, then shook your head. “No.”

“Good.” He patted your shoulder once lightly. “I don’t do charity cases.”

You had laughed, short and easy, and something in your chest unwound just a little, just enough to breathe.

He smiled back at you, his grin stretching across his face slowly and deliberately. “Reminded me of my dog growing up. She was always the first one out of the door, first to find whatever we lost in the park near our house. We called her Scout.”

You blinked, soap slipping through your fingers. “You’re comparing me to your dog?”

A grin spread across his face, unrepentant and easy. “Maybe. She was the best damn tracker I ever saw.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So, you laughed and turned off the faucet.

It stuck. Perlah heard it next, then Abbott, then Dana. By the end of intern year, it was what they called you on the radio, what you signed your name as on the whiteboard when you clocked in. Scout. Steady hands, fast feet. First in, last out.

And Robby? He still calls you that, softly, like he’s still a little proud.

You can feel yourself smiling at the memory as you slip around the back, heading towards the locker room. You enter unimpeded for once and slide your coffee onto the break room counter to dig for your locker key in your bag. You just unzipped your coat when you see it—stuck to the inside of the locker door, written in Robby’s handwriting, blocky and rushed:

Don’t let the toddlers win. (Or the attendings. Or Princess.)

Underneath, a doodle. It’s a lopsided cat wielding a stethoscope like a sword.

You have to cover your mouth to keep from smiling. You’d recognize his handwriting anywhere. He must’ve been here before you, maybe early, or maybe yesterday. It doesn’t matter. You take the note down gently, fold it once, and slide it into your badge pocket behind your ID. It’s the sixth one this month.

You step back into the hallway just in time to hear him laugh. He’s at the nurse’s desk, talking with Langdon and one of the new residents- what’s her name, Santos? - and it’s the kind of laugh you don’t hear from him often, full-throated and warm. It hits you somewhere under your ribs.

You don’t stop walking. You don’t look at him. But your hands are suddenly too warm in your sleeves, and your throat feels tight around the sip of coffee you try to take.

You’re not in love with him.

You’re just tired. You’re always tired.

And he’s always… there.

You turn into North 5 and let the noise swallow you whole.

A three-year-old comes in screaming with a Lego up his nose. Princess rolls her eyes so hard you swear they click. You pop it out with a few drops of saline and alligator forceps, and he gives you a sticker of Chase from Paw Patrol like you’ve performed a miracle while his mother tries to pay you in leftover Easter candy. You take a chocolate egg with a grin and tell her it's against policy not to, making sure to note for discharge to get her pamphlets about the Parent’s Kiss when (not if, judging by the way the boy’s fingers are jammed in his nose currently) this happens again.

By 9:30, you’ve had two febrile seizures, a teenager with a dislocated shoulder from a lacrosse game, and a baby with bronchiolitis who just won’t stay above 90% O2 on room air. You ride the line between calling PICU and calling his bluff, while Perlah helps you position the pulse ox for the sixth time.

“He just likes you,” she says, watching the monitor stabilize the second you rest a hand on his chest.

“That makes one of us,” you mutter.

At ten-fifteen, a school bus sideswipes a delivery truck at Fifth and Atwood, and the ER swallows four kids and a hyperventilating driver in less than ninety seconds. The automatic doors barely finish sliding shut before Dana is there, clipboard in hand, voice carrying across the bay like she owns it.

She barks your last name and doesn’t wait for you to turn before two transport sheets hit your chest like she’s playing dodgeball. “North 7 and North 8. One of them’s bleeding like he’s getting paid for it. Get ‘em cleaned up, start a line if you have to.”

You grab the sheets before they slide to the floor. Glance down. Name scribbled at the top- Parker, Theo. Age: ten. Next to it, Tran, Megan. Age: nine.

“Are they stable?” you ask, already moving.

“Stable enough to make a mess,” Dana says. “Now go, or I’m sending Langdon in there.”

You snort. “That’s child abuse.”

“Only if he starts talking,” she fires back, grinning. But she’s already moving, chart in hand, muttering about someone in South 3 with chest pain and no damn sense of urgency.

You push through the hallway, weaving past the mess of paramedics still unloading stretchers. North 7 and North 8 aren’t far, doors marked with Dana’s handwriting scrawled across laminated whiteboards: CLEAN UP.

You take a breath. Knock once. Step inside.

The girl, Megan, is sitting cross-legged on the bed in North 7, hands out in front of her. Her eyes are huge and bright, and she’s watching the nurses with the kind of wide-eyed fascination usually reserved for fire trucks and magic tricks.

The boy in North 8 is holding his arm close to his chest, knuckles white where they clutch his sleeve. His face is pale, eyes blinking too fast, like he’s fighting back tears.

You start with Megan, kneeling in front of her, voice soft and hands steady. “Hey,” you begin, introducing yourself gently. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

The little girl in North 7 blinks up at you, eyes big and wet. “Everywhere.”

You smile. “We can fix that.”

Her hands are scraped up raw and red, like she tried to catch herself, and a tiny bit of grit clings to her palms. You realize then: they must have scrambled out of the bus themselves. Maybe climbed out onto the pavement, bare hands skidding over concrete.

You peel on gloves one-handed, snapping them snug around your wrists. “Alright, Megan,” you say, voice soft and even. “You got a couple of scrapes, but I think we can make you as good as new. That sound okay?”

Her head bobs up and down, eyes still wide. “Is it gonna hurt?”

“Not if I can help it.” You pull the rolling tray closer with the toe of your shoe. “You want to tell me what happened?”

She looks down at her palms, frowning. “The bus hit this big truck. It went s-screech! And I fell out of my seat and hit the floor really hard.”

“Did you bump your head?”

“No… I don’t think so.” She scrunches her nose. “But I got out of the bus real fast. I went out the door on the back, and that’s when I fell and hurt my hands.”

“You got out on your own?” You nod, letting approval slip into your tone. “That was pretty brave.”

Her cheeks flush pink. “I’m brave sometimes.”

“I believe you.” You hold up a little packet of antiseptic wipes. “Okay, I’m gonna clean these scrapes, alright? It might sting, but I’ve got a secret.”

Her eyes narrow. “What kind of secret?”

You lean in like you’re letting her in on a conspiracy. “I’m really good at this. Barely even hurts. I promise.”

She nods, biting her lip, and holds her hands out. You start with gentle, slow swipes across the raw skin, careful not to push too deep. She flinches once, but you steady her wrist, murmuring soft encouragements until she breathes easier.

“See?” you say, flashing her a grin. “Not so bad.”

Her eyes are still damp, but she nods. “You’re right.”

“Yeah, I usually am.” You finish cleaning the cuts, toss the wipes into the bio bin, and unwrap a sterile bandage. “Do you have a brother or sister on the bus with you?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Just me.”

You press the bandage into place and smooth the edges down. “Well, I think you did a pretty great job getting yourself out of there. You know that?”

Megan’s mouth twitches at the corner. “Yeah… I guess.”

You finish with her hands, pack up the kit, and set it on the tray. “Alright, Miss Brave. You’ve officially survived the worst part. I’m gonna send a nurse in to check you over, and then you’ll probably get to go home. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” She nods, firmer this time. “Thank you.”

You grin. “Anytime.”

You step out of North 7 and breathe out, just once. North 8 is next, and from the quiet, you’re guessing that Theo isn’t as much of a talker. You glance through the glass window before you open the door. He’s sitting there, hands clenched tight in his lap, eyes fixed on the floor.

You knock once on the doorframe, softly. It barely makes a sound, but his eyes flick up, quick and skittish.

“Hey there,” you say gently, introducing yourself and stepping in. You leave the door cracked behind you. Can I come in?”

He nods, almost imperceptibly.

You move slowly, no sudden motions to avoid startling him. The tray you wheeled over from North 7 is still stocked, but you’re not reaching for it yet, not until he’s ready. “You’re Theo, right?”

His hands tighten in his lap. “Yeah.”

“Okay, good.” You pull the rolling stool over, flip it around, and sit so your knees are just a little lower than his. It puts you below his eye line, and you see the tension in his shoulders ease by degrees.

He’s pale. A bruise is already flowering on his forearm, deep purple bleeding out to blue. He has a laceration above the bruise, but at first glance makes you think he won’t need stitches. His knuckles are scraped but not bleeding. His eyes flick back down to the floor.

“Looks like you had a bit of a rough morning,” you say, softening your voice. “Want to tell me what happened?”

He hesitates, his fingers tighten, twisting the hem of his jacket sleeve. “The… the bus hit something.”

You nod, patient. “That must have been really scary.”

His head jerks once. A nod. He blinks hard, and you can see the effort he’s putting into holding back tears. “It was really loud. I…I didn’t know what to do.”

“Did you get out by yourself?”

He shakes his head, eyes still locked on the floor. “The driver…he came and got me. He pulled me out.” His voice wavers. “I couldn’t move.”

You nod again, even softer. “That’s okay. You did everything right. You’re safe now.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders release just a fraction.

“Okay, Theo,” you say gently. “I’m gonna take a look at your arm, alright? Just a quick peek. I’ll be careful.”

He nods, eyes still on the floor.

You reach forward slowly, gloved hands light as you lift his wrist. “Just let me know if it hurts too much, alright?”

He nods again. Doesn’t flinch. His skin is cool, his hands still shaking. You press lightly, fingertips tracing the outline of the bruise and the laceration. “Looks like you took a bit of a hit. I’m gonna clean this up, maybe wrap it, and then get you some medicine for the pain. How’s that sound?”

He blinks, like the words don’t quite process. Then he nods.

You work in silence. Gentle wipes across the scrapes, cleaning and wrapping the laceration with practiced ease. You talk to him as you work, keeping your voice low. “You like superheroes, Theo?”

His eyes flick up, just for a second. “Yeah.”

“Got a favorite?”

He shrugs. “Spiderman.”

You smile. “Good choice. He’s a tough one.”

“He always comes back,” Theo murmurs.

Your hands still, just for a second. “Yeah,” you say, voice softer. “He always does.”

You finish wrapping Theo’s arm with slow, even movements, careful not to catch the edge of his jacket. He doesn’t flinch, just watches your hands work, eyes tracking each pull and tuck of the bandage.

“There we go,” you say, smoothing down the last bit. “All patched up. You did great.”

He nods, still not quite looking at you.

“Can I get you anything? Some juice? Crackers?”

He hesitates. “Grape juice?”

You smile. “Grape juice it is. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nods again, so you step out, quickly grabbing the juice box from the snack cart and tucking it under your arm. When you push back into North 8, Theo’s still there, hands folded in his lap, eyes on the window now.

“Here you go.” You hand it to him and make a show of stabbing the straw into the foil. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

That gets you the tiniest smile. He takes the juice with both hands, careful not to spill. “Thanks.”

“You got it, Spiderman.” You give him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “A nurse is going to come in soon, just to check you over one last time before we get you on your way home. Alright?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

You leave him sipping his juice, staring out the window like maybe he’s watching for the bus to come back. You make it three steps down the hallway before Dana appears—tablet tucked under one arm; transport sheets fanned out in her hand like she’s dealing poker. “You done with North 7 and 8?”

You nod, a bit of gravel in your throat. “Yeah. They’re okay. Bruises. Scrapes. Shaken up, but good.”

“Good,” she says. She doesn’t slow her pace—just flicks a transport sheet in your direction like she’s throwing cards at a hat. You catch it by reflex.

“South 4,” she says, already halfway down the hall. “You’re gonna love it.”

You glance at the transport sheet. Weaver, Jamie. Age: 6.

“South 4?” you call after her. “What am I walking into?”

Dana looks back over her shoulder, eyes glinting. “Six-year-old with a marble up her nose.”

You blink. “Seriously? Another one?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s way up there. You might need a damn grappling hook.”

You snort, tucking the paper into your pocket. “I’ll let you know if I need backup.”

“If you find treasure up there, I get half,” she shoots back, and you laugh, the sound surprising even you.

You don’t see Robby for hours. Not really.

You hear him. His voice in Trauma 1. His name over the intercom. His laugh once, low and tired, echoing down the hall. But he doesn’t circle your bay, doesn’t drift your direction, doesn’t drop another note in your pocket or ask how the muffins turned out.

By the time noon rolls around, your stomach is tying itself in knots. You haven’t eaten. You’ve got a smear of someone else’s blood on your sleeve, and your hands shake a little when you go to re-glove.

That’s when the call comes in.

Pediatric full arrest. Five-year-old. Found unresponsive in the bathtub. Unknown downtime. EMS is coding en route. ETA two minutes.

The announcement cuts through the chatter like a blade, and the room stills. For half a breath, everything goes silent.

Then it erupts.

Princess is the first to move. She’s already grabbing the crash cart, pulling it up to the entrance of Peds Trauma Bay- North 3. Perlah’s at the monitors, flipping switches and plugging leads in like she’s running on instinct. You barely register the screech of the backboard being dragged across the floor. Your gloves are on, your mask is up, and you’re tying your hair back with practiced precision.

Dana strides by, slapping a tablet into your hand, eyes sharp. “Vitals are trash. Down for God-knows-how-long. CPR en route. They’ve shocked him twice.”

Your heart clenches. “How far out?”

“One minute.”

You nod. The adrenaline’s already kicking in, sharpening your focus, blurring out the rest of the room. You scan the vitals that have been transmitted from the field: HR 30, shallow and irregular. BP 60/40. Pupils sluggish. EMS bagging.

You don’t look away from the screen. “Princess, I need an IO ready.”

“Got it.”

“Perlah, I want that line started the second we stabilize.”

“On it.”

“You ready?” she asks, voice low.

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. The doors swing open, and for the first time all day, you see him. Robby is already there, tying his gown, snapping his gloves, firing off instructions with that unflinching steadiness you’ve come to rely on. His eyes meet yours for half a second—no hesitation, no doubt.

You fall in beside him like you’ve been doing it for years. Because you have.

Paramedics push through, a flurry of noise and motion, bagging him with hard, rhythmic squeezes. He’s pale- so pale- skin waxy, hair still wet. Water drips off the gurney wheels and puddles in uneven circles across the floor. Robby’s voice is calm, direct. “We’re at fourteen minutes down. One round of epi in the field. No defib needed. Let’s go.”

You move forward, voice loud and steady. “Let’s get him on the board. Keep compressions going. Princess, on the bag. Perlah, get that line started.”

Gloves snap. Monitors beep. The clock ticks loudly on the wall.

“ROSC?” you ask, voice clipped.

The paramedic shakes his head. “Not yet. Shocked twice, nothing.”

You take a breath. Robby’s eyes flick to yours. “Alright,” you say, voice firmer. “We shock him again on my count. Clear?”

“Clear.”

“One, two, three- clear!”

The jolt shudders through his tiny frame. The monitors whine. For a second, just a heartbeat, you think you see something on the screen, and then it flattens back out.

You swallow hard. “Resume compressions. Princess- bag him.”

“Bagging.”

You press your hand to his chest, feeling the way his ribs compress under your palm. “Let’s get that IO started. Push another epi. Dana, call for PICU backup.”

Dana’s already reaching for the phone. “On it.”

You keep your hands steady, your eyes never leaving his face. Then, suddenly, the monitor beeps once, twice. You almost don’t let yourself believe it. Almost don’t hear it. Then it flickers again.

A pulse.

Thin, thready, but there.

“Okay,” you breathe. “Okay. He’s back. Keep bagging. Perlah, monitor that line.”

The room exhales. You hold your breath until the pulse steadies out, just a little. Just enough.

Princess looks at you, eyes wide. “I think you got him.”

You nod once, barely moving, but your hands are shaking.

The kid’s not out of the woods, not by a mile, but he’s here, and you brought him back. You and Robby and Princess and Perlah and a trauma tech whose name you forget, and none of it matters because the monitor is singing again.

The PICU team sweeps in like cavalry. You hand off the chart, your notes, and the kid’s tiny, soaked shoe that someone found under the stretcher. The hallway is still buzzing when the PICU team wheels him away, but you’re rooted to the spot, watching the stretcher disappear around the corner. There’s a hush after, a moment where the world recalibrates, finds its footing again. You don’t move, just breathing for a moment to recenter yourself.

Robby is still beside you, hands braced on his hips, eyes trained on the floor like he’s watching the water droplets evaporate in real-time. The silence is comfortable, just two people sharing the same breath, the same heartbeat that still hasn’t quite slowed down.

“Nice call on the IO,” he says finally, voice low. “You got it in faster than I’ve ever seen.”

Your lips twitch. “Maybe you’re just slow.”

He barks out a laugh, “Yeah, okay, Scout.”

Your breath catches, just for a second. You haven’t heard that name from him in a while. Instead of calling attention to the way your heart thumps in your chest, you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “You questioning my reflexes, Robinavitch?”

“Never.” His voice is soft now, teasing edged with something warmer. “Wouldn’t dare.”

You nod once, like it’s a fact, and the silence falls again, stretching out like it’s daring one of you to break it. He’s still standing there, hands on his hips, looking like he’s waiting for something to happen.

It doesn’t. Not yet.

When he finally steps away, his hand brushes yours, not intentional or planned, but it lingers for a second too long, like he meant to stay. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but before you can find the words, Dana’s voice cuts through the hallway.

“Scout!” she calls, tablet in hand, marching towards you with that no-nonsense stride. “Got one for you. Head lac, 23 years old. You good?”

You shake the feeling off and nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Dana studies you for half a second longer, like she’s checking for cracks. “Good. It’s already a zoo in there. Go on.”

You glance back at Robby, but he’s already stepped away, hands back on his hips, talking with Princess about restocking the crash cart. His laugh echoes down the hallway, warm and familiar, and you don’t linger to listen.

Your hands feel strangely empty, like you were supposed to be holding something, or saying something, and the realization hits- what were you going to say? You barely remember opening your mouth, barely remember the breath you pulled in, ready to speak. But what would you have even said? Good job in there? Thanks for the note? You drew that cat really cute? Why do I keep feeling like I can’t breathe when you look at me like that?

You huff out a laugh, short and mostly at yourself. Right. Like you were going to drop that bomb in the middle of a hallway. Dana probably saved you from embarrassing yourself. Honestly, you should thank her for that.

You turn on your heel, toss your gloves into the nearest bio bin, and grab a fresh pair off the cart, the rhythm automatic- peel, snap, flex. You roll your neck, shake the tension from your fingers, and step back into the current.

By the time you hit the step back towards the central hub of the ER, the noise is already swelling. Nurses move with quick, practiced steps. Monitors beeping in tandem. You catch Javadi’s eye where she’s fumbling with a blood pressure cuff and nod her toward the right drawer. She stumbles a thank-you, and you’re already moving past.

The adrenaline hums back to life, threading its way through your muscles, and just like that, you’re back.

Hours later and the hallway is still humming with the steady rhythm of triage. The shuffle of carts, the distant beeping of monitors, and the soft murmur of voices filtering out of rooms, it all washes over you as you tuck your tablet under your arm, already scanning the board for your next patient. You spot North 2- triaged for chest pain, sixty-two, history of hypertension. You tap the screen to pull up the vitals and information, head to the room, swiping your badge at the door. 

Inside, Langdon is already there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a look on his face that teeters between amusement and impatience. He catches your eye and smirks. “Look who decided to show up. Thought I’d be seeing the man of the hour alone.” 

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, stepping around him to wash your hands. “I didn’t know you missed me that much, Langdon.” 

He chuckles, “More like I was hoping you’d save me from trying to convince Mr. Jackson here that Diet Coke is, in fact, not a cure for high blood pressure.”

You glance over your shoulder at the man propped up on the bed. Ray Jackson is wiry and weathered, cheeks flushed, and his hands are gripping the thin blanket like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. He sees you watching him and grins widely, showing off teeth that are coffee-stained. 

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite doctors,” he crows. “Didn’t think I’d get the A-Team today.”

You snort, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves from the box on the wall. “That’s because we’re the only ones that put up with you, Ray.” 

He laughs, a crackling sound that borders on a wheeze. “Come on, Scout, you know I’m indestructible. Living off bacon, and Diet Coke and God’s good graces for sixty-two years, and I’m still here to annoy you.” 

Langdon scoffs, stepping up to the monitor. “Yeah, you’re invincible. You were invincible the last heart attack, too, right? And the one before that?” 

Ray waves him off flippantly, unconcerned. “What can I say? I’m a bona fide miracle.” 

You press your stethoscope to his chest, the familiar thump of his heart filling your ears. His rhythm is steady, but heavy, like a drumbeat that’s just a little too slow. You catch Langdon’s eye and nod, and he’s already tapping through the screen with quick efficiency. 

“Can you breathe in for me?” you gently ask. He complies, chest rising with the effort, a slight wheeze threading through his exhale. “Alright, I’m gonna get you some fluids and start you back on the meds we talked about last time, just to get that pressure down. Sound good?”

He waves his hand again like he’s brushing off a fly. “You’re the boss. But I’m tellin’ ya, it’s the bacon that’s keeping me alive. Stopping now would probably kill me faster.” 

Langdon steps up beside you, his voice low. “Think it’s just the BP, or are we looking at something bigger this time?”

You glance back at the monitor, watching the numbers blink back at you. “Hard to say. I want a scan, just in case. You clear for a ride upstairs?” 

Langdon nods, already tapping on his tablet. “I’ll call it in. Again.” 

You turn back to Ray, keeping your voice even. “Alright, Ray, we’re gonna take a trip up to radiology, just to make sure we’re not missing anything. You okay with that?” 

He nods, grinning again. “Long as you’re the one driving.”

You snort, pulling off your gloves with a snap. “I’ll let Langdon do the heavy lifting. I’m just here to make you look good.” 

Langdon rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. “Don’t worry, Scout. I’ll let you take the credit.” 

You grin, tapping your badge on the way out. “Damn right you will.” 

Langdon lingers at the door for a second, hand on the frame. His voice softens just a touch. “We’re gonna lose him one of these days, you know?”

You don’t let your smile falter, but his words settle in your chest heavily. “Not today.” 

He nods once, eyes flicking back to Ray, still grinning on the bed. “Not today.” 

Langdon wheels Ray out of the room, and you watch them go for a second, hands braced on your hips. Ray’s voice echoes back down the hall, something about his diet being better than any of your pills, and Langdon’s easy, practiced laugh in response. It’s the kind of banter that only comes with repetition- too many visits, too many second chances. You shake your head, flexing your fingers to get the tension out, and turn back toward the nurse’s station. 

Princess is there, leaning over the counter, tablet in hand. “You still alive?” she asks, eyes flicking up. 

“Barely,” you respond, dropping your tablet onto the counter with a soft thud. “Did you see the board? Ray’s still kicking, and keeping us employed.” 

Princess nods, barely hiding her smile. “He’s never gonna leave. You should’ve seen him last year- came in for chest pain, and left with a milkshake.” 

You huff out an exasperated laugh. “Of course he did.” You take a second to breathe, leaning against the counter and stretching out your back. Your shoulder cracks audibly, and Princess winces.

“That sounded like it hurt.”

“It always sounds like that,” you say, grimacing as you rub your shoulder. 

She shakes her head, tapping on the screen of her tablet again. “Well, try not to break yourself. We can’t afford to lose another body in here.” 

You grin, already moving away. “No promises.” 

You slip back into the flow of the ER easily. A fall in South 3, a fever in North 9, and a sprained wrist in Central 2. It’s a dance you know the steps to well, the kind where you don’t have to think, you just move. 

It’s nearly the end of your shift when you pass the break room and see him again. Robby is leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, sipping from one of those ridiculous oversized water bottles that you’re pretty sure he’s had since before you were an intern. The sticker of a whale you stuck to it in your second year of residency is still there, faded and peeling, but he never removed it.  He spots you and raises his eyebrows. “You hanging in there?”

“Barely,” you say again, your go-to response for everyone asking the same question in a different way. You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms tight over your chest like you’re keeping something from spilling out. “I heard you lost a fight with Gloria.” 

He winces. “If you call listening to her talk about Press Gainey scores for half an hour a fight, then yeah. I got my ass kicked.” 

You laugh, grinning up at him. “Should’ve called me. I’d have sent Perlah in as backup.” 

Robby’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Perlah would have made it worse.” You don’t argue, you both know it’s true. 

The silence stretches on a little too long, but you don’t move-you can’t. At some point, he ditched his jacket, his scrub top pulled tightly across his broad shoulders, and it’s not like you’re staring. You’re not. You’re just…looking. 

It’s different. 

He catches your gaze, and you blink, heat creeping up the back of your neck. You drop your eyes, focusing on the floor, the scuff marks from shoes moving too quickly. “Alright,” you finally say, your voice softer than you mean for it to be. “I gotta head back out.”

“Yeah,” he nods, picking his water bottle up and lifting it to you in a mock salute. “Don’t let the man keep you down.” 

You roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted. “Try not to let Gloria suck your soul dry.” 

“We'll see how it goes.” 

You’re halfway down the hall before you chance a look back over your shoulder. He’s still leaning against the counter, still watching you. You almost stop walking. Almost turn around. Almost-

But you don’t. 

Instead, you keep moving, the moving parts of the ER sliding back around you like a protective armor. It’s better this way. It has to be. 

Because it’s easier to be just Scout- reliable, quick, not taking up too much space. It’s easier to be his colleague, his friend. The one he laughs with, shares coffee with, tosses sticky notes back and forth with, watches sports with (that admittedly you don’t care much about, you just enjoy spending time with him). If you stay in the background, if you don’t reach too far, then you don’t risk becoming too much.

Because the truth is, you know you take up space, too much of it sometimes. Your hips always bump the edge of the counter, and you’ve long since learned not to tuck your scrub top into your bottoms. It’s not that you hate it, but you know what it looks like. You know how it must seem. 

And Robby- well. Robby has always felt like someone who belonged in the foreground. He’s solid, clean edges, like he was carved out of something stronger, even though you know he has his demons lurking just underneath his skin, too. People notice him when he walks into a room, they clear a space for him. 

You don’t.

And maybe that’s why you don’t say anything. Won’t say anything. Because the last thing you want is to be just another person who tries to hold on too tight, who tries to be more than she should be. 

You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, glancing back one last time to catch him laughing at something McKay just said, and then you turn away. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving.

The shift finally comes crawling to an end with a flurry of charting, tablet taps, and handoffs. You make jokes with John Shen as you transfer your remaining patients over, blush at Ellis Parker’s flirting, and remind Jack Abbott that there are muffins in the break room, some hidden in the healthy snack cabinet just for him. Dana finds you before you leave, pressing a protein bar into your hand like she knows you’ll forget to eat otherwise. “Don’t let me find you passed out on the sidewalk,” she warns, but you can see the fondness in her features. 

You grin, sliding it into your bag. “I make no promises.” 

Perlah throws you a two-fingered salute from across the hall, her voice cutting through the noise. “Get some sleep, Scout. You look like you died three weeks ago.” 

“Love you too,” you call back, waving over your shoulder. 

The waiting room is still full as you make your way outside, and the buzz of the ER is finally snuffed out the second you pass the doors. The air hits you, immediately slicing through the warmth you’d built up inside. The city is loud, buses coughing exhaust, footsteps pounding on pavement, and distant music you can’t begin to place. 

You tug your coat tighter around yourself and start the familiar trek home. It’s a few blocks away, just enough time to shake off the adrenaline and let your mind unravel. The streets are slick with mist, glimmering under the streetlights, puddles reflecting shards of neon. You step over them carefully, sneakers scraping the wet concrete. 

You’ve walked this path hundreds of times- thousands, probably. Past the corner bodega with the flickering sign, the one that sells coffee Robby claims is undrinkable, but you get anyway. Past the bookstore with the barred windows and dusty “half off” sign that hasn’t changed since you moved to this neighborhood four years ago. Past the Chinese restaurant with the hand painted sign, the one that smells like ginger and sesame oil even when it’s closed, where you and Robby pick up chicken and broccoli (for you) and Kung Pao Chicken (for him) on nights when the Pittsburgh Penguins have a game, laughing over the fortune cookies on your couch. 

You stop at the light, waiting for the crosswalk to flash, and your breath fogs in front of you. You watch it dissipate for a moment. It’s quiet out here, nothing like the chaos you just stepped out of. Nothing like the sharpness of Robby’s laugh, still echoing somewhere in your ribs. 

You think of him leaning against the counter, arms crossed, and his grin half-hidden behind his water bottle. How easy it always is with him. How easy it would be just…say something.

But you know you won’t. Because you know better. 

The light flickers green, and you step forward, shoulders hunched against the wind, head down. One foot in front of the other because it’s what you’re good at. 

By the time you reach your apartment, your fingers are numb, and your cheeks are red and raw from the wind. You fumble with your keys, cursing under your breath when the lock sticks like it always does, and then you’re inside. The heat slams into you, almost overwhelmingly so, but you don’t move to adjust it. You drop your bag by the door, peel off your coat, and collapse onto the couch without bothering to change. 

Junebug stretches lazily from her perch on the windowsill, blinking at you like she’s judging your life choices. You toss her a half-hearted wave. “Don’t start. I fished you out of a dumpster, you don’t get to judge me.” 

She meows once, soft but insistent, and you huff out a laugh. “I know, I know. You’re starving.”

You get up, feeling the weight of the day in your bones, and shuffle into the kitchen to fill her dish. She bumps against your ankles, winding herself around you with the kind of affection only bribery can buy. When she’s fed and content, you make your way back to the living room, falling back into the couch cushions with a groan. The silence surrounds you, and you close your eyes just to breathe it in. 

Somewhere across the city, Robby is probably still at the hospital, finishing up notes, double-checking scans, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk the way he does when he thinks no one is watching. You can almost picture it, the way he rubs the back of his neck, the way he taps his pen against his knee when he’s thinking too hard. 

You shake your head, dragging a hand over your face. Stop. You won’t think about him right now. Not when you name what it means. Not when you’re not brave enough to find out if it means anything at all. So instead, you pull a blanket over your shoulder and close your eyes. Junebug hops onto the back of the couch, curling into a loaf shape above your head. The city bustles outside your window, traffic and life moving forward, steady and indifferent. 

And you drift.

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[httpswritings]

Lost On You

alexia putellas x realmadrid!reader and misa rodriguez x realmadrid!reader (as friends)

This story contains unrealistic plots (you'll know which ones I'm referring to as you read throughout the story) and it doesn't have a closed happy ending for ale/reader but it does have a cute ending for misa and reader's friendship.

It’s still a blur how it all happened, but somehow, you caught the attention of a Real Madrid scout. The memory feels hazy, like a dream you can’t quite piece together.

Almost three years ago, you walked Misa, your lifelong friend, to one of her training sessions. You were always early—your fear of being late to anything saw to that—and that day was no exception. With time to kill, Misa insisted you join her for a bit until her session started. She grabbed a ball and nudged you to take a few shots, claiming it would help her warm up.

“This isn’t fair. You know I’m terrible at this, Mimi,” you protested, shaking your head.

“So what? You’re here with me. We’ve got, like, forty-five minutes to kill,” she replied, grinning.

“No, you have forty-five minutes until training. This isn’t exactly my thing,” you shot back, though your resolve was already crumbling.

You could never say no to her, especially when she looked at you with those dark brown eyes. Misa was three years older than you, but she’d always been your rock. She was your protector—through school, through high school, through everything. No one dared mess with you because they knew Misa and her friends would have your back.

There were only two times anyone tried to tease you, both involving girls who thought they were bold enough. Both times, it took just one of your tears for Misa to lose her temper. She got expelled twice—once for each girl—and she never once regretted it. That’s just who she was: fiercely loyal, always protective, and endlessly caring, like the big sister you never had.

So, of course, you gave in. You took the ball from her hands, laughing as she bounced on her toes with excitement. Her Canarian accent always thickened when she got worked up, and you couldn’t help but think it sounded even more beautiful than usual.

In the background, unbeknownst to you, a Real Madrid agent had been watching.

You’d never played football before. Growing up, you were too afraid of being judged, of people labeling you as something you weren’t. The fear of being seen as "too masculine" or "lesbian" kept you on the sidelines, even though you secretly loved the sport. You only ever allowed yourself to enjoy it from a distance, never daring to join in, even during playground games. And even if you had wanted to, you knew your parents couldn’t afford to pay for football lessons.

It was Misa’s passion for the game, along with your own journey towards the acceptance of your lesbianism, that slowly helped you feel more comfortable with yourself. But by then, it was too late to learn—you had no idea how to play.

That’s why, when you took the ball and Misa urged you to take a few shots, you missed all three attempts. Both of you burst into laughter, treating it as nothing more than a silly game to pass the time. But just as you were about to leave, a woman approached you.

She introduced herself as Sara and began asking questions—your name, where you played, what position you were in. At first, you and Misa thought it was a joke. After all, Sara had just witnessed your disastrous technique. You played along, teasingly telling her you were Misa’s biggest rival, both of you laughing at the absurdity of it.

But then Sara started asking more specific questions, and it dawned on you that she was serious. You quickly apologized for joking and admitted the truth: you’d never played football before.

To your surprise, Sara didn’t seem fazed. She insisted on scheduling an appointment to see more of you. You had no idea why she was so interested, but Misa’s piercing stare made it clear that refusing wasn’t an option. Denying the request would’ve driven her crazy, so for the sake of your friend, you reluctantly agreed.

At the appointment, Sara closely analyzed your movements. You felt completely out of place, convinced this had to be some kind of elaborate joke you weren’t in on. You struggled to keep up—missing the ball, running out of breath quickly, and looking utterly lost most of the time. It was embarrassing, to say the least.

A few days later, Sara asked you to come back. That’s when she dropped the bombshell: she wanted to sign you to Real Madrid. She made it clear that you’d be starting from scratch, and it would take years of hard work to even dream of making it to the first team. But she believed in you—enough to set an ambitious goal: she wanted you to debut by the age of twenty-two. Surprisingly, you managed to do it a year earlier.

Your playing time was limited, especially in high-stakes matches. Sara was cautious about putting you under too much pressure too soon. Real Madrid’s women’s team wasn’t a powerhouse, and she wanted to shield you from the weight of failure. That’s why you didn’t play in the Copa de la Reina final, where Real Madrid came agonizingly close to winning their first title, only to lose to Atletico de Madrid. You also sat out the matches against FC Barcelona, and honestly, you were grateful for it. You watched Barça evolve, seeing the names of players who came and went: Lieke Martens, Jenni Hermoso, Asisat Oshoala, Aitana, Patri, Graham, Pinà… and Alexia.

Since entering the world of women’s football, you’d studied Alexia closely. She was the epitome of perfection—a relentless winner with an insatiable hunger for success. Her passion for the game was unmatched, and it drove everything she did.

To your astonishment, you were called up for a few friendly matches ahead of the World Cup. It was your chance to prove how far you’d come. Your improved physique and growing understanding of the game shone through, and after a standout performance, you earned your spot on the World Cup roster.

Your inclusion raised eyebrows. You’d only played two matches with the National team and had limited experience with Real Madrid’s first team, mostly featuring in their youth categories. But you were determined to make the most of the opportunity.

During the first training session, you stuck to Misa’s side like glue. You’d already met Jenni and Laia during the friendly matches, and they’d been incredibly supportive. But Alexia was a different story. She arrived late, still recovering from a long-term injury, but she was ready for the World Cup.

The first time you saw her, it felt like witnessing a celestial being. Her bright pink hair framed her face, and her eyes seemed to light up the room. She was warm and approachable as she introduced herself.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, glancing at her teammates with a smile.

Your cheeks burned red. Misa, standing beside you, bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She knew all about your crush on Alexia, and she wasn’t about to let you live it down.

Alexia was an absolute sweetheart, always going out of her way to help you. She became so invested in you that she couldn’t help the feelings that began to grow. The tournament ended with your victory over England, and you scored the most crucial goal of the match. Over time, you and Alexia grew so close that the thought of returning to your separate lives filled you both with anxiety. Fortunately, you had one last chance to spend time together—the trip to Ibiza—and you made the most of every moment.

Afterward, you returned to your routine: striving to improve at Real Madrid B, focusing on your studies, and catching glimpses of Alexia whenever your paths crossed during national team camps.

You watched FC Barcelona thrive, and a pang of envy crept in, wishing you could one day celebrate such victories with your own team.

As time passed, you turned twenty-two, sitting on the bench as your team suffered yet another defeat in El Clásico. What hurt the most was seeing Misa’s disappointment. Your body ached to step onto the pitch, but your mind held you back..

It wasn’t until Spain’s Supercopa final, with your team trailing by three goals and forty-five minutes still on the clock, that something inside you snapped. You didn’t know what came over you, but you stood up, driven by an unshakable determination. You practically begged your coach to let you on the pitch, to at least try to lessen the blow, even if it meant losing by just one goal.

Alexia watched as you prepared to step in, and her heart ached. She thrived on Real Madrid’s defeats, but the hatred she held for the team paled in comparison to the love she felt for you. Her mind was set on scoring, even if it was just once, but her heart wanted to pull you off the field. She wanted to humiliate Real Madrid, not you. To her, you were different—you always had been.

When you were subbed in, you delivered a stunning performance, scoring and assisting to help your team clinch their first title. It was a wild, unforgettable display, fueled by your desire to see Misa succeed. It was an unusual philosophy, but Misa was everything to you in football. Even as you wore the Real Madrid badge on your chest, right on top of the area of your heart, where Alexia belonged, Misa was the one who dominated your thoughts. You had stood by her side through every defeat, every heartbreak, every moment when the weight of the game seemed too heavy to bear. Each loss had carved a little piece out of you, not because you were the one on the field, but because you felt her pain as if it were your own. She was more than just your best friend—she was your closest friend.

But this time was different. This time, you weren’t just watching her fight—you were watching her soar. The cup gleamed in her hands, a symbol of everything she had worked for, everything she had sacrificed. The smile on her face wasn’t just one of victory; it was one of triumph over every doubt, every setback, every moment when the world had tried to tell her she wasn’t enough. And as you stood there, watching her bask in the glory of her hard-earned success, you felt a surge of pride so overwhelming it brought tears to your eyes.

This was everything. This was the moment you had been waiting for, not for yourself, but for her. You had seen the sleepless nights, the endless training sessions, the quiet moments when she questioned if it was all worth it. And now, as she lifted the cup high, her laughter ringing out like music, you knew it was. Every drop of sweat, every tear, every ounce of pain had led her here, to this pinnacle of joy.

You caught sight of Alexia’s sad expression, and it weighed heavily on you. You moved closer, but she stopped you, forcing a small, fake smile and telling you to celebrate your victory and enjoy the moment.

In that moment, as she lost and you won, she felt like she had lost you too. She had lost herself in you, and now, in defeat, she was determined to find herself again. But rediscovering herself meant letting you go. She had to lose you to find who she was.

[sweetbans29]

Injured - PB

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Summary: You tear your ACL and Paige is there to care for you (based on THIS request)

Warnings: slightly angsty, fluff, Paige as caring GF, role switch when it comes to injury (mirrors timeline of Paige's actual injury)

Word Count: 2.1k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: I am still figuring out how to write for Paige but we are out here trying. Any and all feedback is always welcome!

You never imagined your life to be what it was. At no point growing up did you expect to play college ball or go to one of the best colleges for women's basketball. Basketball was always something you enjoyed and mostly played because your friends played. It wasn't until high school that key people in your life started encouraging you to take it more seriously.

The summer before going into freshman year of high school your middle school coach sat down with you and your parents and highly encouraged them to put you in basketball year-round. He saw something in you that no one else had seen up to this point.

Your parents asked you if you wanted to play year-round and you just shrugged.

You did. Your parents switched you to a high school with a better program. When you weren't dominating on the court in high school, you were dominating on another court - turning the eyes of a lot of coaches and brands.

Your first brand deal was with Gatorade. It was all thanks to your old middle school coach who had some connection within the company and told them they would regret not getting you early. You were only a sophomore when you signed with them.

Your current coach did an interview that explained who you were as a ball player when someone came out right after you closed the brand deal.

"Her mentality when it comes to the game is unmatched. She is a sophomore in high school and is ready to play in college - if you haven't seen her play, you must." Coach Rudd says. When asked about what specifically stands out about the young star compared to other up-and-coming players that colleges are scouting, his response was not what you would expect. "There is no doubt that her talent is seen when she is on the court. That is known. But what impresses me the most is how she brings her teammates into her thought process. She takes the IQ that she has for the game and is able to explain and teach that to her teammates." Coach Rudd says. "There are times I feel like she gives me a run for my money as head coach of this team." Rudd jokes. "The world needs to watch out for her - she may not enjoy standing in the spotlight but it will follow her wherever she goes. She is just getting started." Rudd finishes.

Even with the interviews and the brand deals that followed, it wasn't until colleges started reaching out and asking about your plans for college that it dawned on you to play after high school.

All of your teammates at the time thought it was comical how much you had your head in the sand when it came to how sought out you were. They would tease you endlessly about it, just shrugging them off and playing the game you love.

After becoming one of the most known high school ball players, you committed to UConn to play for Geno. The way he approached you about college ball was different than any other coach had. He understood your basketball mentality better than anyone else had up to this point.

It wasn't until you got to college that it really hit you how many people knew you. You walked into your first practice and the whole team started mumbling about you. Not much bugged you, but for some reason this did.

You feel someone come up beside you but you don't pay them much attention until they speak.

"Don't worry, they aren't saying anything bad - I heard them talking about the freshman superstar that's coming in and how she is going to change the Huskies game for the better. I thought they were talking about me, but then they said your name..." The girl says as she extends her hand to you. "I'm Paige," she says, and you shake her hand introducing yourself.

"Oh I know who you are ma, everyone here does," she says with a little laugh. You pull back a little embarrassed now.

"This is all new," you say trying to justify your body language. That was the truth - not many people talked about you in high school and you just kept your head down. But this was much different.

"Just stick with me, I got you," Paige says and you follow her over.

She was your saving grace freshman year. The more you got to know her - the more you realized you had in common with her. Her understanding of the game, her understanding of outsiders looking in, you both loving the sport and just wanting to play to the best of your ability.

It was toward the end of your freshman year that you admitted your feelings for Paige. You had spent the night at hers and woke up entangled with the blonde. You watched her sleep and decided you had waited long enough. When she woke up, you were already staring at her. As she looked into your eyes, you leaned in and kissed her without warning.

It caught her off-guard but she melted into you.

The two of you decided to keep your relationship as lowkey as possible, knowing that you don't like being in the limelight. You told the team a few weeks in and it came as no surprise to them. Most of the time, Paige took the lead which was nothing out of the ordinary.

Everything in your life had been pretty smooth. It all changed during an early-season game your sophomore year.

You were mid-transition when you pivoted and felt a snap in your knee, immediately falling to the ground. You were guarding a girl from the other team, and by the looks of anyone watching, it looked like she had faked you causing you to lose your footing and fall. It was only when you were on the ground holding your knee that everyone realized something had happened.

Initially, the play kept going. Both teams believed you were going to get up and continue to play. After the other team finished the play, the refs and your team noticed you were still on the ground.

You knew exactly what had happened the second you felt the pop but refused to believe it. After the initial pain, you tried to get up on your own while the play was still going but couldn't. Not that anyone would expect you to but yourself.

Paige was the first person to run over to you, kneeling by you and asking you what hurt. You were holding your knee, rolling around trying to find any sort of unpainful position which didn't come. Your hand kept hitting the ground in frustration.

Paige is yelling furiously at the bench for someone from the medical team to come over to you. No one was moving fast enough for Paige's liking.

She kneels by your side, grabbing the hand that keeps hitting the ground. She knew she could let anyone see how scared she was, but she was terrified. If there was anyone in the building who understood you better than yourself it was Paige.

"Someone is coming, babe. Someone is coming." Paige keeps muttering.

"Just get me up," you say - frustrated with the whole situation.

"Someone is coming." Paige repeats again.

"Get me up!" You yell indirectly at Paige. Paige doesn't want to move you without someone coming to help but Azzi reaches out her hand to help you up. Nika is behind you and hooks her arms under your arms.

"1, 2,3," Azzi counts and you let out a grunt as the two girls lift you up. You balance on one leg as Azzi puts one of your arms around her shoulders, Paige on the other side with Nika still behind you. The three girls help you to the bench - the medical team meeting you halfway.

You see Paige turn to them and yell something that you can't make out.

Paige doesn't want to leave your side but is grabbed by Geno when Azzie and Nika pass you off to go back to the locker room.

"We need you here," Geno says. "They will take care of her," he says as Paige looks down the hall where they had just taken you.

She heads back out on the floor and finishes the game.

You on the other hand were being looked at.

The game ended - it was a total upset. After you left the floor, Paige fouled out leaving the team down two of its best players. When the team made their way back to the locker room, you were lying on one of the tables with your leg elevated with ice. You have your arm covering your face as your mind races with a thousand different thoughts.

Girls from the team come and make their way to you but you don't say a word. Everyone but Paige tries to talk to you and you just give nods or little exhales.

Once the room cleared out - Paige walks up to you.

She puts a hand on your stomach and it is like she releases all the pent-up frustration you had been harboring since going down. You feel tears stream down the sides of your face as you bring your other arm up to stifle the cries that are coming whether you want them to or not.

"It's all so stupid." You say. Paige pulls up a chair and sits next to you.

You don't say anything for a few minutes.

"I'm stupid." You finally say.

"Don't say that ma, you aren't stupid," Paige says as her hands come up to remove your arms from your face.

Your arms fall and she begins to rub the one closest to you.

"This could have happened to anyone," she continues. "I know this sucks - it is the last thing you want to be dealing with right now but this isn't the end okay?"

Paige sits there knowing that if the roles were reversed, there is nothing that you could say to make her feel better about the situation. So she just sits there with you, holding your hand and rubbing your arm until you are cleared to go home.

Paige takes you home that night You don't say much but you are incredibly thankful your girl is there.

She helps you into bed and runs out to get you all the necessities. Your phone is turned off, not wanting to hear what anyone has to say about what happened.

When Paige walks back in, she hands you some meds and water.

"I let your parents know how you are doing," she says in the softest voice. You don't look at her, knowing if you do, tears will begin to fall.

She comes and lays next to you, opening her side up for you to cuddle into. She makes sure your leg is positioned well before you finally feel her settle and exhale.

After a few minutes, you speak.

"It's funny how I wasn't even thinking about college basketball until someone mentioned it to me. I never would have imagined playing past high school. I mean I have always loved the sport and knew I would always play but coming here and playing at this level has been amazing. It opened my eyes to the potential of more. The potential of a championship. The potential of multiple championships. The potential of the W. The potential of coaching someday. If there is anything that this injury has shown me it's that I'm not finished." You say.

"I am going to do what I need to do to come back better than I left the court. Not only physically but mentally. The world has no idea the drive that is burning inside me." You finish.

Paige can feel your breath pick up as you talk - only backing up what you are saying. She kisses the top of your head with a smile.

"I have no doubts that you will come back better." She says as she intertwines her fingers with hers. "But for now, I need you to rest, ma."

You nod.

"Rest is good." You say with a yawn. "But tomorrow we start."

"How about we give you a week or two, then we can talk about it," Paige says knowing you are going to be a challenging girl to care for. "We will have plenty of time to get you where you want to be, but before then we gotta get you fixed up." She is rubbing your thigh.

"We will see about that," you say and nestle into your girl.

Right as you are about to fall asleep, you let out a deep sigh.

"Thank you, P," you say. "Thank you for knowing me and loving me for me." You say knowing you can be a lot.

"I can't imagine my life with anyone else," Paige says, voice laced with sleep.

"Good," you say. "Because you are stuck with me."

AN: First Paige request in the books. Hope you all enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 💙

[evilminji]

OKAY, FIRST? Like the Picture Says...

So!

Here I was, sittin', thinkin', pondering my thoughts. Thing to myself? "How could one? Presumably female, much like myself, Jedi repopul-" and THAT is when my brain, worn and weary, from years of The Internet? SLAMMED its fucking pint down on the bar counter, turned to me with an ugly scowl and sneered?

"You KNOW fucking how. Don't be coy."

( O.O) w-well alright then, brain. Little aggressive. Kinda wondering where you got the knife. I... I'ma just... go... *pint glass is thrown after me, shattering on the door as it just barely misses*

So! Yeah. Birth, probably. But STILL! That's like? Still ONE(1) fuckin Jedi right? And even IF Mr. "I am literally half midi-chlorians by blood" sired two Force Sensitives on his first go? That's no guarantee EVERYONE does?

Unless..... >.> we are taking into account a Force Sensitive RACE. THEN? Oh, THEN? It's not a matter of IF, but HOW MUCH. Enough to hit that arbitrary cut off point? What if you don't care? What if you say "everybody can be a Jedi"? Want to TRUELY spread the Light. Not just to those who are STRONG enough... but to EVERYONE.

There are a few races like that! But! That STILL? Doesn't solve the Puzzle! The Problem! Of how could One(1) VERY determined Jedi lady, who? Presumably is pretty cool with motherhood. Rebuild The Jedi Order, by NOPING™ out before Order 66.

Again, presumably AFTER taking on the role of Creche Master. And AFTER taking all the youngling on a Super Fun Unplanned Don't Tell The Other Grown Ups Suprise Feild Trip~☆ (yaaaaay!)(who wants snacks! Everybody got their travel bags and buddies? Let's gooooo~☆!)

Cause like? Still need a stable population. And enough Jedi to *obscene gestures multiculturally* at the Sith.

My? Proposal? We turn to the Wisdom of the Monster Fuckers. (Wait wait WAIT! Don't leave! HEAR ME OUT!) I KNOW this sounds like a sex thing! Not a sex thing! It's a "Who said Humanoid Meant Live Birth? Were fucking Aliens, Bro" thing! Just because? Our SI-OC? Was reborn AS a vaguely human shaped sentient?

DOESNT MEAN SHE'S A MAMMAL.

That weird hair color could mark her as some WEIRD, man! Fuck, for all we know she could be a fungus! It's vaguely body horror! You get over it! Adapt to new biology!

Learn?? You lay CLUTCHS. Fuckin EGGS. All baby making is external after the first bit. Something, something, easier to defend against predators. SI-OC doesn't remember that part. There was this high pitched ringing in her head then a thump. She was on the floor. May have fainted. What're you, a cop?

They offer her weird alien birth control.

She takes the birth control.

Learns she is a Rare and Near Extinct Species, a la Master Mundi. Learns it's VERY detrimental to her health to lay clutches. Takes a lot of resources, she can't LEAVE it, so with out a partner or community (or sufficient hoard of food) she WILL starve to death. It HAS happened.

No, seriously, look Mafame Che in the eyes. It HAS happened. And no you CAN'T "push your impulses into the Force". It's a biological imperative. Your body physically won't LET you.

Exactly three options. Babies born, they die, or YOU DIE.

......little intense. Got it. Yes she would like that birth control. She will continue to be both average and forgettable. Pay no attention to the Jedi Creche Master In Training! Oh look! It's kenobi! *yeets fellow jedi under the speeder*

Take some.... research trips >.> <.< >.> which is of course totally not scouting out new Temple locations! To the Wild Zone. Mmmmm, no one for WEEKS by hyperdrive! It's so calm out here!

Only took, like, 278 different planets scouted! To find the right one.

*starts building dwellings.* *starts directing "too old" Force Sensitives or Families that want to stay together and are willing to move, towards the location.*

New secret Jedi planet? Whaaaaat? Nooooooo. That would be illegal. Jedi can't break RULES! Don't be silly. Oh? Is that Skywalker? *same Speeder, new jedi. YEET!*

But WAIT! The War Approachth! D:> upsetting. Better get ready to give that "we totally need to Hide The Babies For War Reasons" presentation she has prepared. But FIRST?

A clutch. Got a transport pod ready to go. Got food stockpiled. Got the birth control out. Now? Just need a male! Too uh... contribute.

.......look, she wants her legion of tiny jedi babies okay? They glow like STARS. Everything is BETTER with them around. And she's kinda come around to this whole... disgusting slime... goo... Thing™. Cause I mean? At LEAST it's not pushing one OUT! ( o7 Padme, you have her respect. But also you are a madwoman.)

The Healers, are of course, FROTHING at the mouth.

YOU DUMB MOTHER FUCKER. They hiss, like healing and very concerned paragons of needle weilding fury. Where the FUCK are you going to just? GET?? A male of you INCREDIBLY RARE AS FUCK Species? You damn near dead and no longer existent species??!? You have DELIBERATELY put yourself in EXTREME medical distress! For WHAT?! Did you HAVE a plan!?

Yeah. :3 I call it Pulling a Yoda's Linage *Yoda ears move from Concern, to Intrigued*

*click*

..........what was that. Jedi SI-OC, What Was That?? *comms start blowing up* What did you just DO?

Oh :3c simple. She asked. It's the only polite thing to DO after all. She DOES need assistance. Surely someone would be willing to offer. If they can. How? You may ask?? Why look so CONCERNED Councilors! She simply assumed, that? Since there is no way of KNOWING where in the Galaxy surviving members of her Race are? And time IS of the essence? She SHOULD reach as wide an audience as she can, as FAST as she can... RIGHT?

>:3c so, of course, she posted her request to the Holonet.

Video and all.

"Grettings, I am Jedi SI-OC. I am an [race] and currently a Creche Master here at the Jedi Temple of Coruscant. I require the assistance of a healthy, willing Male of my species, as I have laid a clutch. And wish to have it fertilized. I would like to have children. We would, of course, discuss co parenting the children before beginning. I have, attached, further details. Thank you for your time. May the Force be with you"

Sexiest shit a LOT of people for egg laying races have seen in years. Well... those with Very Specific Jedi Kinks. Of course, no one ADMITS to jedi kinks. But like... you've thought about it. Don't lie. Everyone's thought about it. It's them and the Mandalorians.*commiserating noises*

But like? The NEWS CYCLE.

Holy SHIT.

Yeah, yeah, tensions and possible succession from the Republic. Sith plots in the background. But? *new casters violently clear their planned segments for THIS* JEDI? Horny on main!? Is THIS ALLOWED? IS this horny? What race is that? C-can other people volunteer? And if so, who? We take to the streets! Sir, what's your opinion on-?

OUTTA MY WAY, I'MMA BANG A JEDI! *frenzied mob like behavior*

*temple guards, unnamused.* back! BACK! Horny jail! For ALL OF YOU!

Just?? It's? So, SO? Important to me? That their are Mandalorian [race] that show up. Because the need to repopulate their people is more important then *scrunch nose* Jedi(ew). That it becomes the Galaxy's hottest Bachelorette show. WHO? Amongst these Fine And Acomplished Men? Will the Jedi CHOOSE? To have babies with! They ask.

And, presumably, marry and learn the power of family and friendship and emotions and be HEALED by LOVE etc etc.

There are shipping charts. It's horrifying. The talk shows LOVE it.

Council? Day drinking. Except for Mundi. He's just like "....but did you HAVE to you they Holonet? It's so MESSY >:/ everyone's in our BUSINESS now." Cause he's not a hypocrite. Grumpy asshole? Absolutely. But not a hypocrite.

Just? The single most "....who?" Jedi ever. Causing the BIGGEST fuss. Right at the worst possible moment, for Sidious. Causing an explosion of glee and hope and laughter etc, all across the Galaxy. Good feeling towards the Jedi. EVERYBODY talking about them. There's gonna be HUNDREDS more!

If she does this AGAIN (in a decade. Madame Che was NOT joking on the stress it puts on the body) there could be thousands new Jedi over the coming years! (Probably why the Sith fuckin wiped them OUT, not that she thinks about it. Fuckers. Who's laughing NOW?! Huh? WHO LAUGHING NOW?!)

Again! Very, unspeakably Ace. Not a sex thing. I just think I'd be funny? That the Forces answer to The Evil Sith plan was... Babies™.

What are we? Fuckin YODA?

@babbling-babull @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @hypewinter @mayfay

[nomie-11]

The General - Part 2

masterlist!

synopsis: hockey had always been ellie’s first choice. yours? not so much (soulmate au)

pairing: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

Ellie was nine when she was adopted by a fifty-one year old man named Joel Miller, who had lost his one and only daughter when he was thirty-four. They didn’t have much to talk about, much to bond over, except for Ellie’s love for comic books and dinosaurs, and his love for playing her favorite songs on his guitar. 

She didn’t know much about her birth family—didn’t know much about her mother or where she was from, all she knew was Joel, his house in Jackson, and her aunt Maria and uncle Tommy. That was her entire world, and she was content with her world to be that. 

Until one freezing December where a lake outside of Jackson froze over solid, and the boys from the high school cleared out a section for hockey, where Joel put her in a pair of Sarah’s old skates and a puck in her hand, and taught her to skate. 

Ellie was nine when she first stepped onto the ice. 

From then on, her world was that: hockey, Joel, Jackson, aunt Maria and uncle Tommy. 

Joel had been hesitant at first—Sarah had been more into soccer, and Ellie had the foot-eye coordination of a baby deer on a good day. But after weeks of watching the older boys play pickup games on the frozen lake, Ellie had begged to go out again. And Joel, who had already lost one child and was still figuring out how to love another, couldn’t find it in himself to say no. 

She had started with Sarah’s old figure skates, the leather stiff with age and the blades dulled from years in the attic. They were a size too big, and the first time she stood up, she fell flat on her ass. Joel had just laughed, crouching beside her with his own skates laced up tight. 

“Alright, kiddo,” he had said, offering her a hand. “First lesson: learn how to fall. Second lesson: learn how to get back up.” 

And that was how it started. 

Joel taught her how to find her balance, how to push off with just enough force to glide without toppling forward. At first, she wobbled like hell, arms flailing as she tried to keep herself upright. But every time she hit the ice, she got back up, scowling, determined. 

And then Joel gave her a pair of hockey skates and a stick. 

That was when something clocked. 

Ellie didn’t just like skating—she loved hockey. She loved the speed, the way the puck glided across the ice, the sharp scrape of her skates when she made a tight turn. She loved the way Joel’s face softened when she scored against him, how he called her kiddo with something like loving pride in his voice. 

She started playing with the older boys on the lake, bruises blooming on her arms and legs from rough checks and missed falls. They played hard, but Ellie played harder. She never backed down from a fight in the corners, never shied away from a body check, even when she was half the size of the guys coming at her. 

Joel saw it in her then—that aggression, that fire. 

She tried playing with the little girls’ league in Jackson for a season, but it didn’t last. Teh coaches kept telling her to be gentler, to play nice. She got called for roughing in every other game, even when she ‘barely touched anyone.’ When she checked a girl ‘too hard’ into the boards one time, her coach benched her, saying she needed to learn some self-control. 

Joel hadn’t been angry—not with her, at least. He had just sighed, shaking his head.

“Think you need a different league, kiddo.” 

So Joel fought for a spot on the boys team, and she played with the boys instead. That was where she learned how to really play. 

They didn’t hold back, and neither did she. She fought for the puck like her life depended on it. She took hits that rattled her ribs and gave them right back. The boys stopped underestimating her. They stopped treating her like some little girl who couldn’t take a punch.

She wasn’t just good. She was vicious. 

And then the scouts came, and then the offers, and then the University of Vermont. 

Hockey was her whole word, and she was good at it. But then—

University of Vermont Women’s Hockey got destroyed by Boston University Women’s Hockey Team Ellie’s sophomore year of college, and she got into a few too many arguments after that loss. But after being kicked from the Vermont team, Joel didn’t let her quit, and Ellie went to open tryouts for the very team that wrecked her. 

And suddenly, she was here, stuck at Boston University, being forced to play on a team that had steam-rolled her. 

Ellie thought that the Boston University team was just… better. There was nothing more to that, they had stronger players, the individuals were just better. But then she met you—The General—and her army. 

Ellie hated you. 

She had hated you front the second you told her to pass the stupid puck like the tattoo imprinted on her wrist in a radiant gold. 

You were the perfect captain—the golden child of BU women’s hockey, the one every listened to, respected, her soulmate. You played like you had something to prove, like winning was the only thing that mattered. And worst of all, you were right. 

Ellie had spent years thinking she knew hockey better than anyone, that she didn’t need a cohesive team, that she could bulldoze her way through any defense if she just tried hard enough. 

But you—you had systems. Strategies. You saw the ice like a general plotting a war. You read plays before they happened, called shots before they were taken. And every time Ellie ignored you, every time she tried to do things her own way, you made sure she paid for it. 

By the fourth week of practice, Ellie had bruises in places she didn’t even know could bruise. 

She had learned fast—if she didn’t pass, Vi would crush her into the boards. If she didn’t keep her head up, Caitlyn would pickpocket her before she could blink. And if she let herself get distracted, even for a second, you would strip the puck right off her stick and leave her in the dust. 

She had never played hockey like this before. 

She had never played smart. 

And she hated that it was you teaching her. 

It was after one particularly brutal practice—after Vi had laid her out twice and Abby had chirped her so hard she nearly threw a punch—that Ellie found herself lingering by the locker room, still fuming. 

She had been careless. Sloppy. 

And worst of all, she had let you see it.

You walked past her, still in your gear, your helmet under your arm. You didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at her. 

That pissed her off even more. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Ellie blurted. 

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?” 

Ellie scowled. “You act like you’re fucking invincible out there. Like you know everything.” 

Your eyes flickered, something sharp and unreadable behind them. “I know the game, Williams.” 

“Yeah? Well, guess what? So do I?” 

You exhaled sharply, turning to face her fully. “Do you?” 

Ellie clenched her jaw. “Yeah. I do.” 

You stepped closer, your expression unreadable. “Then prove it. Play with us, not against us.” 

Ellie scoffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t need a lecture, Captain Perfect.”

You held her gaze, unwavering.

And then, quietly—

“Why are you really here, Williams?” 

Ellie froze. 

She knew you weren’t asking why she was standing in the locker room. She was supposed to be at Vermont, not Boston, playing D1 on a team that had given her a full ride, not a team that had picked her up on a whim, making a name for herself. 

But she wasn’t. She was here. And she didn’t have an answer for that. So she just swallowed hard, set her jaw, and shoved past you. 

But as she walked away, her wrist burned. 

And she hated that, too. 

—————————————

Before hockey, there had been figure skating. 

Before Ellie Williams and her infuriating smirk, before the rough checks and brutal scrimmages, before you had built a fortresss of a team around yourself—there had been sequins, music, and the dream of gliding across the ice like you were weightless. 

You loved figure skating. More than anything. 

You had started young, barely old enough to tie your own skates, chasing after the older girls at your rink with wide eyes and boundless energy. The first time you had landed a jump, you thought you could fly. The ice had been a blank canvas, and you had painted it with your blades, carving out stories with every routine, every careful, practiced step. 

And for a while, it had been perfect. 

Until it wasn’t.

Until your coach started correcting things that had nothing to do with your footwork. 

“You skate like a boy.” 

“You’re too stiff.”

“You don’t have the grace for this sport.” 

You tried to fix it. Tried to make yourself softer, quieter. More delicate. You watched the other girls, their effortless elegance and beauty, the way they seemed to float rather than skate, and you tried to be more like them—be more normal. But it never looked right. Never felt right. 

And then, when you were thirteen, your coach found out you had a crush on one of the other girls in the club. 

The comments changed. 

“That explains it.”

“No wonder you skate like that.” 

“You’re too much of a man for this.” 

The whispers spread through the club like wildfire, turning warm smiles into cold shoulders. One by one, the girls you had spent years laughing with started avoiding you. They avoided the locker room when you were in there. Invitations to hang out after practice stopped. You were alone, locked out of the one place that had always felt like home. 

And suddenly, the ice didn’t feel safe anymore. 

You held on for as long as you could, forcing yourself through practice after practice, pretending it didn’t sting when your coach praised the other girls for their ‘feminine grace’ while you got sharper criticisms and even sharper glares. But eventually, it became unbearable. 

You quit. 

You quit, and for the first time in your life, you thought you might hate the ice. But the ice wasn’t done with you yet. 

Because while the figure skaters had turned their backs, the hockey girls had welcomed you with open arms. 

They didn’t care if you were graceful or not. They didn’t care if you were too sharp, too aggressive. In fact, they liked it. They wanted the power, the strength. When you skated, it wasn’t about looking delicate—it was about speed, control, and dominance. 

And you thrived. 

At first, hockey had just been an excuse to keep skating. A way to stay on the ice without the crushing weight of expectations you could never meet. But then, something shifted. The first time you laid someone out with a clean, brutal check, you felt something electric in your veins. The first time you won a puck battle, fought for it like your life depended on it, you felt it. The first time you scored? The roar of the crowd, the way your team tackled you in celebration, the rush of it all—that was when you realized. 

You didn’t just love hockey. You were made for it. 

So you fought. You trained. You climbed. You worked harder than anyone, outskated every single person on the ice until you had no choice but to become the best. Until you made it here—captaining the Boston University team, leading your girls into battle, proving to every single person who had ever doubted you that you didn’t need to be graceful. You didn’t need to be soft. 

You would carve your name into the ice with your skates, with your bruises, with your victories. 

You were Boston University’s General—fearless leader of the women who believed in every play you called, and you wore that title with pride.

And then Ellie Williams showed up. 

Ellie, who played like she had something to prove. Ellie, who fought against her own teammates instead of with them. Ellie, who burned with the same kind of rage you had buried deep in your bones. 

Ellie, who had your words etched onto her wrist. 

“Pass the stupid puck.” 

It made you sick. Because she didn’t listen. She never listened. 

And yet…

She had something. Something raw. Something untamed. Something you recognized because you had spent years trying to beat it out of yourself. 

You hated her. You hated her because you saw too much of yourself in her stubborn defiance, in her reckless style, in the way she played like she was trying to prove something. 

And you hated her because she saw right through you, too. 

You could feel her eyes on you every time you yanked your sleeves down, every time your fingers twitched toward your wrist. She hadn't figured it out yet, but she was curious. 

And curiosity was dangerous. 

So you did what you did best. 

You kept your distance. You shut her out. You reminded yourself that she was a liability, a problem to be fixed, not someone to be close to. 

But then, in a late-night practice, when the rink was empty except for the two of you—Ellie finally passed you the puck. 

And you thought, just for one second, that maybe you were both exactly where you were supposed to be. 

This is part two of a multipart series!

<- previous part | next part ->

If you enjoyed this series, please make sure to check out my others!

taglist: @vahnilla , @sevyscoven , @taurtel

[ayanominitrash]

Act Cool, Senpai! (Geto Suguru x reader)

₊˚ ♡

Geto-san takes a liking to his cute kouhai.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

First Entry. 2nd Entry here. Masterlist. AO3

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Geto Suguru never thought of love.

Unlike his classmate, Gojo Satoru, who thinks of it 24/7. Despite this, he isn’t oblivious to the fact that he’s ironically Jujutsu High’s campus crush over the Gojo. Who knows why, but he guesses it was something about his ‘nihilistic smile’ as his senior Mei-san once mentioned, not missing the way she eyed him from head to toe with a flirtatious look.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Regardless, he’d rather focus on his studies and on working hard as a Jujutsu Sorcerer. That’s all he knew after all. It’s what got him out of his rural village and scouted into the busy streets of Tokyo.

Except, he can’t help but notice his cute little kouhai. 

During Midterms months in the First Semester, you’d politely knock on the door to their classroom and shyly poke your head in, asking for Shoko. Geto would always look forward to that time of the day, the third period in the morning. He finds his heart suddenly racing as his eyes land on you, only to look back down to pretend reading the notes he took for their last class when really he was thinking how you look so cute today, just like any other day. Or how that cute new sweater you were wearing over your dark Jujustu uniform looks so good on you. How cute your hair looks when you clip a few of your front hairs back. 

Needless to say, Geto Suguru, for once, was a mess.

And it was all because of you.

“Who’s that girl who always comes here?” Geto innocently asks Shoko one day after their first class in the morning. 

They were all sprawled in their seats: Gojo on his right-hand side, lazily doodling some god-awful looking Digimon characters over his empty ‘notes’; Shoko on his left side, messing with her phone, texting who knows what. 

“Who? Oh, you mean our kouhai? She’s a year below us with Haibara and Nanami. Why do you ask?” She answers, not bothering to look up from the small screen.

“She’s like, always here.” Gojo pipes up, still scribbling in his notebook. 

“You guys close?”

“Obviously. Why else would we go to our next class together?” 

“Ah, you two share a class together? You don’t mean that. . she can also do external Reverse Cursed Technique?” Geto asks in awe. 

The brunette only nods with a bored look on her face. Gojo stops his ministrations on his notebook for a moment to whistle. “Another rare one. It’s good to know our new batch of sorcerers are coming in with talent.”

“I’m just glad I’m not alone in class anymore. You couldn’t even imagine just how - ” 

She was probably reminiscing about her first year when she had to take RCT-specialized classes all on her own, often complaining to them about how boring it was to be the only student there at the end of the day. Of course, the rest of the conversation went over Geto’s head as he was still processing the fact that you’re so rare, talented, and powerful to be one of the only few RCT users in all of Jujutsu Society.  On top of all of that, you’re gorgeous. You probably have a few boys fawning over you, sorcerers or none-sorcerers.

Geto, for a moment, forgets that he’s one of the 2 strongest sorcerers in this generation, and suddenly feels inferior to you, like he’s out of your league. After all, both he and Gojo couldn’t use RCT on themselves, let alone do it to others.

You’re, in no doubt, a gem.

“Anyway, why did you even ask? Are you annoyed she keeps coming over or something?” 

He blinks, realizing that his friend is looking at him now with the same lazy eyes she has, expecting an answer.

“Oh - what? Of course not. I was just curious since she just started popping up a few months ago.” 

Gojo hums in agreement, insinuating that he too was curious about you.

The raven-haired teen goes back to his reading, making a mental note to not ask too much about you, or else they’d get suspicious. Geto has never really felt these feelings before so he might be wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

Also, he mentally begs his heart to stop racing with the mere mention of you. 

Please.

₊˚ ♡

One afternoon after classes, Geto volunteered to clean up and erase the writing on the chalkboard, while Gojo and Shoko were packing their stuff to up and leave.

He wasn’t expecting it, but there was that same tiny knock on their class door. 

It was you, awkwardly standing in the doorway, hands gripping the straps of your bag.

“Ieiri-san. . .” You say in a shy voice, only flicking your eyes momentarily to both him and Gojo, before subtly hiding behind the doorframe.

Too cute, Geto thought.

“Your girlfriend is hereeeee.” Gojo sings, to which Geto whips his head in panic, only to realize that the tease was addressed to Shoko. That little act was thankfully, not noticed by any of those present.

“Shut up, Gojo.” The brunette tsked before shooting you an apologetic look. “Ignore him. Do you see what I have to deal with? Hold for a minute, still fixing my stuff.” 

“You guys heading somewhere?”

Geto doesn’t know where he finds the courage, but he decides to set down the chalkboard eraser and approach you. Maybe because he’s been itching to talk to you these past few months. You immediately stand upright when he starts to get close, no longer hiding behind the doorframe. 

“Ah- Geto- san! H-hello!” You quickly bow, “I-it’s an honor! E-er, Ieiri-san, and I w-will be going somewhere - eh, yes! Getting Ice cream…cones.” You lift your head up but still stare at your shoes, inwardly cringing at yourself.

Geto and Gojo share a look, the latter wierded out, and the former does a breathy chuckle. 

Too cute! Geto thought once again.

“Ah, is that so? She must be fed up enough with us to leave us out of it. Anyway, It's an honor that our kouhai knows my name. It makes me a little guilty of not knowing yours. So, name?”

You shyly tell him your name.

“Ah, that's a pretty name. It's imprinted in my brain now.”

“Oi, you!” Shoko elbows Geto’s stomach out of the way, pushing past the doorway and hooking your arm onto hers, dragging you away. “Stop harassing my kouhai, will you? We’re off.”

“E-eh! It was nice talking to you, Geto-san, a-and Gojo-san!” 

Geto tries to wave the both of them off but can’t help slide his back down against the wall, rubbing the spot Shoko elbowed him on. She did not hold back.

But that wasn’t why he was weak in the knees.

He finally got the chance to talk to you, and he didn’t stutter at all. Geto does find some relief that you were just as flustered with talking to him as he was feeling with you, all red in the face with those wide eyes like that. It’s making his heart do 360’s. 

“Weird little fella, ain’t she?” Gojo asks as he passes by Geto on the floor, his backpack in hand. “Let’s go before the little runts fill up the arcade. I wanna make sure to get all these school stress out of my veins.”

Geto huffs as he stands up, “You barely even study.”

“Take that back.”

₊˚ ♡ - - - -

Meanwhile . . .

“Ieiri-san, Geto-senpai looks so great today, as always.” You swoon with your eyes closed and your hands to your face as the both of you exit the school campus, the orange sunset bathing the skies.

“Huh? Really? You know, sometimes I feel like you're just using me to see him. I don’t know why you like him, but I guess he’s better than that other idiot, Gojo.”

You loop an arm back around hers, "Of course, I’d never use you like that, senpai! I'd literally die of boredom without you!"

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

(❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡ reblogs and comments are appreciated//do not repost my work anywhere

//

THE FACT THAT I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING FOR DADDY SUGURU SINCE OCTOBER IS A SIN I NEED TO REPENT FOR ASAP ✞✞✞ would anyone even want a part two of this? any maybe turn it into my first series here //

[cleverwhvre]

✿ 𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓮𝓝𝓪𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓐𝓤 ✿

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

✿ Jackie and Natalie met in elementary school. Jackie was always the one with the cute dresses and pretty jewelry while Nat had the old shirts and shorts that she’d hand-wash and wear two days in a row because she couldn’t afford / didn’t want to ask for new ones.

✿ they met / became friends in Girl Scouts. Jackie joined because her parents wanted her to and Natalie joined to have an excuse not to go home.

✿ Shauna was also in the troop! Natalie didn’t talk to Shauna much, but Jackie did. She still talked to Natalie though.

✿ the two grew close over the years— they didn’t go to each others houses or anything but they talked during Girl Scouts and got along fine.

✿ fifth grade is when the two of them became really close.

✿ Jackie started sitting next to Natalie and talked to her during class more. Jackie liked to talk and Natalie liked to listen.

✿ Jackie would often get very physical with Natalie— she’d hug her, rest her hand on her leg / arm, and sit close enough to where their sides would touch.

✿ Sometimes, she’d even lay her head in Natalie’s lap and let the other girl play with her hair. (This happened less often + mostly when they were younger because the Scout Master would always tell them to stop.)

✿ During the campouts / overnights, the two would share tents and hold hands until they fell asleep.

✿ (Well, until Jackie fell asleep. Natalie would be too focused on the feeling of Jackie’s hand in hers. She’d have to pull back in order to move / get comfortable. Jackie would grumble, but release her, and then she’d latch on again once Natalie was comfortable.)

✿ by this point, Natalie had developed a crush on Jackie, and Jackie had reciprocated the feelings. However, Jackie never acted like it was anything more.

✿ Jackie would make comments on how pretty other girls were, which made Nat think that she was into girls. Natalie had been very quiet about her sexuality, saying that she “didn’t care enough to figure it out.”

✿ “but you’re not straight. right?”

✿ *cue held eye contact before Nat looks away*

✿ “…I don’t think so, no.”

✿ (Shauna’s still alive for all this btw but she doesn’t talk to Natalie so I’m not including her much here!)

✿ they stayed friends throughout sixth grade, but eventually Jackie started acting different. She was one of the “popular girls” and Nat was the social outcast

✿ they still talked during Girl Scouts, but Natalie began showing up to that less and less because she felt left out and it felt like the other girls didn’t really like her

✿ Jackie stopped touching Natalie for any reason.

✿ when her and Jackie did hang out, Jackie would often describe her type as “tall, blonde men” (aka: NOT NATALIE)

✿ Jackie said that she was straight and that her queerness was “just a phase” and she was “just confused”

✿ that was sort of the last straw; after that comment, Natalie started hanging out with people who actually liked her, like Van (VanNat childhood bsfs agenda !!) and the other stoners

✿ the two didn’t talk much until high school, when they both joined the soccer team.

✿ Jackie acted like nothing had changed, like she didn’t remember the longing glances and shared tents and times they’d held hands for no reason.

✿ the first time Jackie clapped Natalie on the back after a game, the other girl went rigid. She was surprised that Jackie was being nice to her again.

✿ Natalie couldn’t help being a little jealous of Shauna, who Jackie was a lot more touchy with.

✿ Natalie became more resentful, despite being over her crush on Jackie by this point.

✿ She recognized the signs of Jackie having a crush, and almost pitied Shauna because of it. She knew Shauna felt the same towards Jackie as Jackie did towards her.

✿ she never said anything to Shauna, though. because Jackie might be able to change. Maybe Natalie just wasn’t worth changing for.

✿ Natalie never brought any of it up again. To anyone. But she still cared for Jackie in a way she didn’t truly understand (or like).

that’s it! I just wanted to do a little thing about them because i was in my feels about my own childhood (ex)friend. ignore the aspects of this that feel a little too real, if you’d like. i’m projecting. </3

i hope this makes sense / is somewhat cohesive! I wanted to try and explore some of the relationship between them.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

✿ can you tell this one is from personal experience? guess which one i was ! (Jackie or Nat ?) ✿

[alexihollis]

The Initiate

"You aren't going to like this," were the first words out of Cleon's mouth when Swan got home.

Swan blinked. Closed the door behind her. Began to shrug off her jacket and vest. "Hello to you, too."

"We have a guest. On our couch," Cleon said, voice quiet.

Swan nodded. When Cleon did not continue talking, "All right."

"She won't tell me her name."

Huh. "New recruit?"

"I'd like her to be."

Again, Cleon stopped talking when Swan did not expect her to. "You're Warlord."

"She's fifteen."

Oh.

Fuck.

"We said no kids," Swan said.

"She doesn't have anywhere else to go," Cleon hissed. Swan looked around her to look at this supposed guest.

Jesus. They were lucky if she was fifteen, the girl was tiny, even tinier the way she sat hunched on their couch, bag in her lap, like she was ready to take off at the slightest hint of trouble. Her leg was bouncing.

"We said no kids," Swan repeated.

"I didn't actively recruit her," Cleon said. Cleon never actively recruited anyone, not really, though Swan chose to keep that little tidbit to herself. Cleon's Warriors was an interesting gang in many respects.

"Where did you find her?" Swan asked instead.

"The arcade," Cleon said. "I heard security call the cops to report a truancy. I pretended to be her older sister."

"Fuck, Cleon-"

"You were a kid, too."

"I was kicked out," Swan corrected. "That's different."

"How different could it-"

"My parents weren't looking for me. People look for runaways."

"Hardly," Cleon said. "Rembrandt was a runaway."

"Rembrandt graduated high school. It's different."

"She's got comic books in her backpack. And bubblegum. Right next to all the clothes she owns and she doesn't want to get another bag, because its hard enough keeping track of one when she spends the night at the youth shelter." Cleon was not playing fair. In the least.

"Do you remember how long it took us to get me a legit ID?" Swan asked. "How much more difficult its gonna be if we have to deal with a missing child case on top of that? What kind of charges we could pick up if she's caught in this house?"

"I'm not a runaway." Holy shit the kid could move quietly.

Over the few years with the Warriors, Swan managed her startle response, but her breath still caught when the words came from far closer than she expected. The girl stood there, clutching her backpack to her chest, looking at Swan and Cleon. She was tiny, short with birdlike bones, like Rembrandt almost.

"Kid," Swan sighed, guilt tugging at her just a bit about the kid hearing what they were talking about.

"I'm not," she insisted. "My parents are dead. I was living with an uncle and he said I could leave if I wanted. So I left." Then, when Swan looked at Cleon and Cleon looked at Swan, "You can meet him. If you want. If I can stay."

...Huh.

"You don't even know us," Swan said.

The kid shrugged. "Cleon saved my ass and- well. I've heard good things. I'm fast, too. Quiet. I could be a good scout. I've been watching the Riffs' scouts, to figure out the best times to go through their terf."

Swan's eyebrows raised. "You can spot Riff scouts?"

The kid's eyes narrowed, her head cocking just slightly to the side. Like a puppy, Swan's mind betrayed her. "...yes?"

As if the kid did not realize how impressive spotting a Riffs scout was. They were practically ghosts in the city, the shit they got back to Cyrus. The Warriors barely managed to breathe in the vicinity of a recruit before Cyrus knew they had added to their numbers again. Pissed off Rembrandt and Ajax to no end, as they never managed to spot a Riff scout on their terf.

"Do I even have a say?" Swan finally asked Cleon.

Cleon clapped her on the shoulder. "Not really, but its nice to get you on my back for this."

Fantastic.

Cleon decided to give the kid a week of sleeping on the couch, before they moved forward.

"Shouldn't she be in school?" Swan asked that first day.

"We'll figure that out if she stays," Cleon said.

"...I really don't want her to not be in school."

"We'll figure it out," Cleon repeated.

On the third day, it became pretty clear the kid wasn't going anywhere. That day started with Cowgirl and the kid sitting cross-legged in front of each other in the living room while Cowgirl did the kid's eyeliner and ended with Rembrandt showing her how to sketch characters from her comic books.

"Ajax seems to like her, too," Cleon said as her and Swan washed the dishes, after Swan reported how the others seemed to be warming up to the kid.

"Ajax wasn't a question," Swan said, because Ajax wasn't.

"...fair enough." Because it wasn't. As much as Ajax tried to pretend, as much as Swan did not see it in the beginning, Ajax had a protective streak larger than the city itself and the kid on their couch needed protecting.

On the seventh day, Swan looked at Cleon and asked: "So where is she going to sleep, now?"

Because it wasn't like they had an extra bedroom in their apartment. No one they trusted did, either.

"My room has space for a twin," Swan said after a moment.

Cleon raised her eyebrows, "Are you sure?"

Swan shrugged. "I'm the youngest besides her. Makes the most sense and I'd rather have her here than anywhere else." Then, "But we're meeting that uncle first. And getting her documents."

"Documents?" Cleon's eyebrows furrowed.

"Birth certificate. Letter from him stating he's chill with her living here. All that," Swan said. At Cleon's continued confusion, "We need it to enroll her in school."

"Oh," was Cleon's only response.

"She's going to school," Swan said after a moment, firm.

Cleon just looked at her, though. Then, "I didn't realize how important school was to you."

"The kid's smart," Swan said. "And we're going to need to stop calling her Kid. She won't be one forever and I don't want that name to stick."

Cleon winced. "Yeah. Good point. Good luck getting Ajax off that, though."

Ajax still called Swan Stray when she thought Swan was being annoying.

Later that day found the kid leading Cleon and Swan to Staten Island, of all fucking places.

"I hate boats," Swan grumbled as they finally made it to land.

"Had to be Staten?" Cleon teased as they got onto their second train of the damn trip.

The kid scowled, like a true Staten Islander, "It's not that bad."

The uncle was, though. Considering the man didn't blink twice, barely noticed the clearly displayed colors and waved his hand in the general vicinity of where he thought important paperwork landed, Swan considered it a miracle the kid survived as long as she did with him. He signed the necessary letter and Cleon managed to find the kid's birth certificate and they were on their way back to Coney Island.

"He wasn't horrible," the kid said to Swan, Cleon off to get some air - she hated being trapped, could barely stand trains, and boats freaked her out a bit. "Not really, I just- I couldn't be there anymore."

"Was that your parents' house?" Swan asked.

The kid scowled. "It's supposed to go to me, when I turn twenty-five. He's wrecked it, though."

"When did they die?"

"Four years ago," the kid kicked lazily at the junction between the floor and the wall, scuffing the white rubber of her shoe. "Car accident."

"Sorry to hear that."

The kid looked at her out of the corner of her eye. Shrewd. Discerning. She was smarter than she seemed initially. "Yours are still alive."

"Mm."

"You said you got kicked out," the kid continued. "Why?"

Swan moved her jaw to the left. To the right. "My dad found out that I'm gay. He thought I was a bad influence on my younger sisters."

"Oh." The kid blinked. "That sucks."

"Yeah."

"Ajax and Rembrandt are dating right?"

Swan laughed, a small, huffed sound. "Yeah. Yeah, they are. A long time now."

"Thought so," the kid nodded. "I don't want my name to be kid."

"It won't be."

"I want it to be something cool," the kid said.

"Like one of your comics?" Swan raised an eyebrow, checking the kid's shoulder with one of hers.

The kid rolled her eyes. "No. Like yours."

"Mine?"

"Yeah. Swan's are cool."

Later that night, after they showed the kid her new bed in Swan's room and the kid had fallen asleep, Swan retold the story in the living room.

"Fuck that," Ajax scowled. "My name's way cooler. Mythology, like Athena or something."

"You are such a nerd," Cowgirl whined, causing Ajax to throw a pillow at her.

"Let her pick her own, that's what I did," Rembrandt said.

"Because you nearly killed me when I suggested Van Gogh," Cochise reminded.

"He cut off his ear-"

"I was thinking Fox," Cleon said, as the others descended into bickering.

"Fox," Swan repeated. Feeling the name. Pictured the flighty, intelligent kid. "Fox."

"Keeps the animal theme."

Swan's eyes flicked to Cleon. "You recruited her."

Cleon shrugged. "Still."

Fox liked the name, in the end. Though they got little time with her excitement before they got to learn exactly how miserable an unhappy teenager can make everyone around them.

"Wait, I have to go to school?" Fox stared at Cleon and Swan like they sprouted three heads.

"You're fifteen," Swan deadpanned.

"School?! I'm in a gang and I have to go to school?"

"Okay, maybe don't mention that at school," Cleon said.

Fox narrowed her eyes. "Will that get me kicked out of school?"

"Graduating's your initiation," Swan said. The look on Cleon's face was priceless, if not for the fact that, technically, this was not a Swan decision and she had not cleared it by Cleon. It got the proper reaction from Fox, though, wide-eyed and quiet. "No graduation, no colors."

"But I'm years away from graduating," Fox gaped.

"I got my colors when I was eighteen. You'll still be the youngest person initiated into the Warriors," Swan said, silently begging Cleon to go along with this. To see what Fox would do in seconds of being enrolled if Cleon did not make this a requirement.

"Yep," Cleon said after a moment. "You'll be protected, though. Live here. You'll do some light work to cover your rent and expenses. And you'll get to wear colors, it'll just be...semi-probational."

"And you are not wearing them at school," Swan said. Because that would be another disaster.

"Absolutely," Cleon agreed fully on that at the very least.

But, boy, did Fox make sure everyone knew what her initiation was.

Ajax was less than helpful, laughing as Fox recounted the trip to the registration office that day and looking at Swan, "Isn't that a bit hypocritical of you?"

Swan could have killed Ajax, her hand tightening around her fork as Fox's head snapped to Swan.

"What do you mean?" Fox asked.

"Swan didn't fucking graduate," Ajax said.

"Ajax!" Cleon hissed.

"She didn't!" Ajax exclaimed. "She doesn't even have her GED- Jesus Christ, Rembrandt, ow!"

Rembrandt had jabbed a very pointy elbow into Ajax's side.

"Why do I have to graduate, then?" Fox gaped.

"Because you have the opportunity and it's important," Swan said.

Fox stared at Swan. The rest of the Warriors. "No one is ever going to believe me if I say that my gang initiation was graduating high school."

She worked hard, though. That first progress report, Fox brought it home all smiles, As and Bs all the way down.

"Is that good enough?" Fox asked, after she pushed the paper at Swan.

"It's great," Swan said.

"But is it good enough?" Fox pestered.

Swan gave her a look. "Have you graduated?"

Fox frowned. "No."

Swan ruffled her hair. "They're good grades."

"Swan, seriously-"

And Swan knew that it was largely a sham. Fox worked hard in class, but she didn't stay after school. As soon as the bell rang, Fox ran back to their apartment and donned her colors, patrolling the boardwalk and bouncing between Warriors. She read her comic books still, but Ajax taught her to throw a proper punch and Swan helped her learn how to fight. Fox never asked Cleon for money to buy a dress for a dance. But when they moved to a new apartment and Fox got her own bedroom, she proudly displayed her comic books and the stuffed toys she won on the boardwalk and Swan knew they did the right thing with her initiation.

Then, her senior year, it started getting a bit dangerous.

Gangs were getting restless, a strange energy that even the Riffs couldn't keep a lid on. Fights along borders were becoming more violent. Seventeen was an age that many gangs saw as prime recruitment and Fox's school bordered on the territory of at least four separate gangs, not even including the Warriors, so that year saw Swan walking Fox to and from school every day.

Over the years, Fox changed. She rankled against being the kid of the group, took it less light-heartedly when people teased her about still technically being an initiate, and she started poking harder at Swan for her initiation. She talked a bit less, stared a bit more, and hit way harder when Swan and her sparred.

On one of these walks back home, the spring of her senior year, Fox broke their comfortable silence. "Why didn't you get your GED?"

"Hm?" Swan looked out of the corner of her eye at Fox. "My GED?"

"Yeah."

"...I never actually went to school."

"What do you mean?"

"My parents' homeschooled my siblings and me," Swan said, staring straight ahead. "They were really religious. When my dad kicked me out...I tried, at first. One of the first youth shelters I went to gave me a placement test. I was seventeen performing at a fifth grade level in all subjects, maybe sixth in math. Even to do my GED...that's a lot of catching up."

Fox was quiet for a long while, before all but whispering, "I didn't know that."

"No one does."

"Not even Cleon?"

Swan shook her head.

"That sucks," Fox said, with all the righteous fury of a seventeen year old.

Swan laughed, a short, bitter thing. "Yeah. A bit."

The night of Fox's graduation, the Warriors celebrated. They ate and drank and played music way too loud and Fox beamed from ear to ear. Cleon kept talking about framing her diploma on their living room wall. Ajax teased Fox about being the longest initiate in history.

As the night wound down, Fox found Swan on the roof, smoking.

"Can I have one?" Fox asked, because she always asked.

"Nope." Swan said and Fox laughed.

They stared out at the city. Companionable silence between them.

"You could do it, you know," Fox said.

Swan looked at her out of the corner of her eye. "Do what?"

"Get your GED," Fox said. "I could help."

"Hm."

"I'm serious," Fox pressed. "You're more than capable of it."

Swan hummed, looking out at all the lights.

"I really think I could help you study," Fox said. "And I found a group at the library. They break during the summer, but they have a study group and assistance things starting back up again in the fall."

Swan didn't say anything.

Fox didn't either, for a moment. "I only recently started realizing how many jobs require a diploma. Or a GED."

Way too fucking many.

"Thank you," Fox said. "Even though I gave you shit for it."

Swan chuckled, just a bit. "I'll think about the study group."

"You have the opportunity and it's important," Fox teased and Swan considered tossing the kid off that roof.

Swan did consider going to that study group.

But by that fall, there was an empty bedroom in Cleon's apartment that they pretended didn't exist. Filled with comic books no one would ever touch and stuffed toys that gathered dust and a diploma still waiting for that frame and no one to walk with Swan to the library.

----------

I think I might need Witness Protection after that last paragraph.

Does it help if I say I made myself cry?

[feyreshumanheart]

Feyre's Power and Versatility

I feel like Feyre's skill set, power, and versatility is so creatively done in the series.

I saw some people say that Feyre didn't fight a lot or show her powers or abilities much in the series, and I never got that impression when reading. I was blown away at how many skills she shows, powers and abilities and the unique combinations of them.

So I went through a looked at examples of skills/abilities and how they're used creatively-

Archery

The obvious first one, but beyond her backstory and the first chapters of acotar, it comes up even after she turns fae; like in acowar, killing a couple of the naga hounds as they escape from Hybern's camp:

It's not a forgotten skill even if Feyre has so many other abilities to utilize later that it comes up less often.

Hunting

Feyre the huntress is basically the origin of her character and a defining skill; you can see it in her trapping and killing the Middengard Wyrm as a human, but it also comes up when she saves Rhys from the Hybern soldiers in acomaf:

The Hybern scouts even attempted to conceal where they'd taken Rhys by using his shirt to carry his scent and splitting up into two groups, and Feyre is still able to figure out which group to track.

She doesn't just understand snares/traps, she understands animal habits, tracking, and applies that knowledge to kill the Wyrm in impossible odds and save Rhys in acomaf.

Hand-to-Hand Combat

Feyre is a skilled combatant, even without relying on magic:

She even does this while also incorporating (and keeping up with a thousand year old Hybern Commander utilizing the same) winnowing into her fight here.

(To say nothing of how she's poisoned and weakened during this and adapts her fighting to end it quicker, get Lucien free, to finish before the poison can fully take hold).

It's so impressive that Lucien (who's centuries old) and Brannagh (who is a thousand) are visibly shocked. Lucien even comments on it later.

Winnowing

Winnowing is "a rare gift" that "only the stronger Fae can do"; only a few of the Inner Circle are shown to be able to do it. Thousand year old Hybern royalty like Brannagh can't do it.

But Feyre is able to. She even is shown to winnow with others (saving Rhys in acomaf and taking on another sentry in early acowar).

And it's implied she'll get better with time since it's established training is important (not just power) to go further distances and carry others and that what Feyre needs is more time and training to go farther:

"[Winnowing is] wholly dependent on your own reserve of power—and training" - Rhys explaining winnowing to Feyre in acomaf

I still had not yet mastered doing it over long distances. At least, not with many stops in between. -Feyre, end of acomaf

Strength/Speed

Feyre is noted to be unusually (physically) strong and fast for a High Fae, which is one of the first signs of a High Lord's Heir.

Her strength is shown in the Weaver's Cottage when she loosens and throws bricks at her and in her inability to keep from destroying doors and silverware and whatnot on accident after being turned, literally not knowing her own strength.

Shielding

Her mental shielding is so good, she successfully keeps Rhys out; she's also able to physically shield against High Lord powered attacks (like Tamlin in acomaf and Beron in acowar):

She also shields Lucien and Tamlin's minds and protects them from daemati attacks without them even realizing in early acowar.

Daemati

Daemati are even rarer than fae who can winnow, and her burgeoning abilities were so strong, she slipped into Lucien's mind without meaning to multiple times.

She was also able to influence a High Lord (Tarquin) and infiltrate Ianthe's mind so deeply it took days for the King of Hybern to unravel.

We also see her power to sense minds, cast of "net of awareness" and see if any fae are hiding or nearby.

Curse-Breaking/Spell-Cleaving/Ward Breaking

Feyre can cleave even difficult and powerful wards/spells. Even the King of Hybern is impressed-

She cleaves his wards/breaks his spells multiple times and also breaks a High Lord's:

Moreover, she's able to almost trick spells:

She also can detect spells as part of her abilities:

Shapeshifting

She uses her shapeshifting abilities to enhance her body in combat (i.e., eyes that can see in the darkness, talons to fight with, and wings to fly with). She's also able to use it to impersonate others, like infiltrating Hybern's camp as "Ianthe".

Beyond that, Azriel notes that her attention to detail as an artist allowed her to create detailed, accurate wings, highlighting the intersection for how she views the world as an artist with her powers:

Elemental/Misc. HL Powers

Beyond the others above, she also inherits a variety of often elemental type of powers specific to different courts that she uses in varied, creative way- a few examples:

Night (shadows): uses the shadows to blind the Hybern soldiers in the halls of the Adriata palace and use the cover of darkness to winnow repeatedly and kill them (while using the shapeshifted eyes so she has night vision)

Day (light): blinds Eris on the ice in acowar to get away

Day (wind): uses the wind to create shields and block weapons like arrows

Dawn (healing): mostly seen speeding up healing herself but we've seen it save Rhys's life when he's poisoned

Winter (ice): after drenching the flying Hybern soldiers with water in the attack on Velaris, she uses the ice to freeze them and bring them to the ground to shatter; she also uses the ice to negate Eris's fire cuffs in acowar

Summer (water): the water wolves speak for themselves- but just creating water animals as weapons that can charge and fly in general; she also drowns a Hybern soldier on land in the Adriata palace

Autumn (fire): she uses lashes of fire to behead Hybern soldiers in Adriata and even set an entire clearing ablaze in acomaf (before using other powers to smother it)

You can see in many cases, she plays off the complementary powers (using water to soak flying soldiers only to use ice to freeze them; using shadows to blind Hybern soldiers while using her shapeshifting to give herself night vision and winnow in bursts to take out the soldiers).

This gives her abilities and powers that are unique from the individual High Lords.

Glamouring

She uses the shapeshifting magic to conjure a glamour of their entire army. This is a glamour that a high lord (Tarquin) was skeptical could be done. The NC army is significantly bigger than the Summer army, too.

She also uses glamouring when she hides Bryaxis and the Bone Carver before the battle with Hybern, with no one on either side aware.

Wielding the Cauldron

Feyre possesses an ability to use the Cauldron that's incredibly rare. It's shown that part of it is due to being Made, but also Feyre's own ability to control herself/her mind and withstand its power.

She is the one able to be a conduit and reforge it, even without the Book of Breathings, in a cool moment that purposefully references The Mother and "the story of Prythian":

Her power also goes in to remake the Cauldron with Rhys's:

Her ability to do this (use the Cauldron as a conduit to unleash Amren and reforge it) is the only reason they win the war, that any of Prythian's forces live.

She also can sense it and track it:

The King of Hybern even notes that the Cauldron "purrs" in her presence.

General Power

The acotar books aren't great with power scaling imo; having said that, Feyre's considerable power is discussed and acknowledged multiple times.

Her use of magic in the Court of Nightmares when people try to test "whatever power she might have" causes people to faint, tremble, whimper, and flee even:

In the High Lord meeting it's especially apparent.

I think some misunderstand that though Helion establishes that what it feels like for the High Lords is that they're missing an inconsequential bit of their power (to the point that only he is shown to have noticed it), he also says in the same breath, that the power Feyre just displayed makes him say "no wonder" she was made High Lady, establishing it as HL level in his eyes:

I think it plays into how Feyre is repeatedly asked "what are you?" by people like the Weaver or established as "like and unlike all".

Because despite all the HLs acknowledging Feyre was given just a drop/they aren't missing much, it's also acknowledged that she could've killed the oldest High Lord (Beron) and her display seems like "far more" than what was given:

It's not that 7 drops of power from the High Lord's adds up to much and took anything noticeable from them individually, it's that the combination created something unexpected, "outside anything" recognizable and with a "behemoth" of power.

Feyre being Made this way literally became something more than the sum of her parts- and that's only emphasized with how she combines her powers and abilities to make something new.

Seven Courts/Connection to Prythian/Made

Feyre notes that her unusual powers respond differently, to the High Lord and their court/land. This comes up when she's tracking items, when she's getting past their wards, and even from the land itself.

Like her other abilities, she combines her connection to the HLs to other gifts- like using her shapeshifting to physically become Tarquin and then her connection to him to be perceived as him by spells.

Another interesting thing is that Feyre's power responds to both the High Lord's power (it "writhed" in response at the start of the battle against Hybern when they use theirs) and the land of their courts. She notes that her affinity to use certain court powers responds and is strengthened when she's there:

In the Middle, there's even a moment where Feyre feels the very land of Prythian accommodating her:

Which connects well to how she reforges the Cauldron with a purposeful reference to "the story of Prythian" (when the Mother held the Cauldron- notably depicted in a "starry, endless night") and the start of all life.

The whole "child of seven courts" with powers that respond to the land is fascinating as the power in Prythian is so tied to the land and that moment that she parallels.

-

I liked how Feyre's skills and powers are shown because readers really get to see it and not just hear "she's powerful" or "she's a huntress".

You see her apply training (so much emphasis on power training with Rhys and combat with Cassian and flying with Azriel for instance and all get payoff) and experiences (her years hunting shows up in all three books and makes moments like killing the Wyrm and finding Rhys after he's taken feel more earned) rather than just suddenly have "power".

You get to see how she applies her powers, how she combines her skill set, rather than just a generic blast of power that demonstrates "power" but no skill or strategy. And that creates abilities that are new and unique.

Anyway, this was fun to do- Feyre's a badass whose versatility lets her build upon the individual powers she has and her powers and skill set are used very creatively in the series.

[thirstywoso]

Caffeine for the Heartache - Jessie Fleming x Reader (part one)

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: none - maybe a little angst but mostly fluff

Synopsis: you find comfort in caffeine and Jessie after a shitty break up and club move.

Six years, six entire years you'd shared with her. Now here you were in your apartment alone, you weren't even sure who you were without your girlfriend. Well now ex-girlfriend.

You'd started dating in college and she followed you across the pond when you got scouted by Arsenal, after playing there for a few seasons you decided now was the time to return to your home country.

~

You'd packed up your St Albans apartment and had bid farewell to your old teammates, genuinely looking forward to the fresh start when...

"For fuck sake Emily, the last truck will be here in ten minutes and half of your stuff is still scattered around the apartment!" You seethed trying to gather your girlfriends stuff together.

Bending down to gather some of her books you heard her feet pad across the now nearly empty apartment and felt her presence behind you as she sighed. Your stomach dropped as you stood up to face her, she grabbed your hand and looked into your eyes for what felt like an eternity.

"The thing is y/n/n... I'm not coming" blinking away tears you look at your girlfriend who now looks so small dropping her hands as you try to formulate a response.

"What do you mean? We are literally leaving for the airport in four hours Em! Of course you are coming?" Your last sentence trailing off in a question, beginning to doubt what you thought was real.

"Look, I've done some thinking and I moved out here to help you with your dream, I've been nothing but supportive. You have to understand though, I have a career too and I can't just stop and pick up again in another city. It's just not fair"

You sigh and nod, you understood it wasn't fair but you thought you'd at least have an understanding with the girl.

"Can we at least discuss it?" You look down fiddling with the hem of your shirt, your foot sweeping back and forth across the hardwood.

"I've already decided" she says in a more cold tone than you were expecting.

"What about us?"

"I'm not sure.." she replies.

"Is there someone else?" You thought it silly to ask but you had to, yet her reaction maybe made the question not so silly after all.

She couldn't look you in the eye or give you a straight answer and that's all you needed to know.

You didn't know what to say, instead you just asked her to leave whilst you gathered your things unable to even look at her.

A few hours later you found yourself at the airport, you were alone and the reality was setting in that this next adventure would be a solo one.

As you got on the plane you sent her a message telling her it was over, you then blocked her number and turned off your phone. Taking off for Portland and not looking back.

~

Which brings you back to now, standing in your new apartment alone surrounded by boxes. None of which you wanted to open knowing it would be too painful to even see anything that reminded you of her.

Moving to Portland was a choice you had made for your career, some of your arsenal teammates had also played there and sung high praises of the club. This made your choice of NWSL club easy.

You knew a fair few of the players at Portland too, the likes of Sam and Sophia from National team and Janine and Jessie from when they also played in the WSL.

Your first training session with the Thorns had come around soon enough with it only being a few days after your move to the city.

You had settled in well sitting with Janine and Jessie and lunch and partnering with Sam for drills. In fact it was a pleasant distraction from what was going on in your normal life.

You were pleasant and kind to everyone but to some of those who had known you longer it was obvious that you weren't your normal self.

One of the people that noticed was Jessie, you knew her from parties back when you had both played in London and had gone out with her and some of your shared friends on several occasions but never just the two of you.

You'd count her as acquaintance but not quite a friend or at least not a close one, that didn't stop her from showing you kindness though.

After the first week of training she had invited you to dinner at her apartment along with some of your other teammates and their partners to help welcome you in.

It wasn't until she had mentioned that you could bring your girlfriend that you remembered that you no longer had one. Awkwardly scratching the back of your neck you admitted to Jessie what you were currently going through.

Jessie's cheeks flushed pink and her eyebrows furrowed embarrassed that she hadn't known, worried she had upset you she began profusely apologising before saying it was okay as she was the only single one that would be there and that she would keep you company if you still wanted to come now she had put her foot in it.

You laughed at the way she had become flustered and took her up on the offer to spare her from further embarrassment.

When you'd gone to dinner it wasn't as bad as you had worried it would be with other couples around, Jessie's company had distracted you from a lot of those thoughts and together you and even mocked some of the other couples.

Once the night had come to the end and everyone began to leave you'd offered Jessie a helping and which she accepted, as you helped clean the dishes and the dinner table you mindlessly chatted with her.

You hadn't even realised how much you had opened up, it's not like you'd really had anyone to talk to about the break up since you got to Portland and you found it easy to let go of some of the hurt that had been building up.

When you went to bed that night you felt content knowing you'd deepened your friendship with Jessie and that you had someone to rely on close by.

Waking up the next morning you'd seen a message from her in your phone

Jessie 🇨🇦: Hey, I know it's late notice but did you want to go grab coffee? I know a great little place downtown? 8:43

Looking at your clock you notice it's 9:02

You: That would be great, I've just woken up though! Would 10am work?

You pull yourself out of bed and go through your morning routine before heading out to meet Jessie, the coffee shop turned out to only be a few blocks from where your apartment was.

Walking in you see a peppy Jessie already sat in the corner at what you'd soon find out was her favourite table.

"Hey, I didn't know what you liked but in my opinion you can't go wrong with an iced coffee" she says sliding the drink she had gotten you across the table as you sit down.

"You shouldn't have" you say taking a sip "delicious though, you were right really can't go wrong with an iced coffee" fishing out your purse you go to grab so bills before realising you didn't know how much it was.

Looking up at her "how much do I owe you?" To which she just laughs.

"It's on me, put your money away" she says sincerely.

"Okay well next time it's on me, thank you!" She gives you a smile in response. "What's your go to then?" You ask her. "Ooh probably a latte or an iced caramel latte, guess it depends on my mood" she gives with a shrug.

"I can't get behind that" you agree

"I usually come in here to read and relax with a coffee but we can go for a walk if you like?"

"Sounds good to me" you pick up your respective coffees and head for the door, Jessie holding the door open for you.

As you walk along the streets you talk more about how you're finding the city and the move, Jessie intently listening to you vent. Every now and then giving you feedback to let you know she was engaged in the conversation.

"Anyways, I've been talking about me too much. How have you been since moving back here?"

Jessie then talks about her settling in and it being easier than she thought with the likes of Janine helping her. She also noted that she hadn't recently gone through a break up so it was probably a lot smoother than your transition.

Before you knew it you'd walked around a majority of the city, Jessie telling you various facts as she rambled on about her time here. A welcome distraction for you, you then notice Jessie has stopped walking and you turn back toward her.

"So I don't mean to presume, but it's getting late and I'm in need of some lunch. Would you like to get some and go sit in the park" she nods at a small sandwich shop to the side of her before pointing across the road to the park.

"I could go for some lunch" you say "it's on me though" you tell her as you enter the small establishment.

Making your orders before paying the cashier, you watch as your sandwiches get freshly made and wrapped up in paper with the name of what you found out was the family that owned the shop across it.

Arriving at the park you see Jessie dig into her bag and pull out a checkered blanket. She wafts it in the air before placing it on the grass, pulling you down with her so you could sit and eat.

"Anymore surprises in there" you motion to where her bag at as you chewed on your mouthful of sandwich.

"I mean just my latest book, a notebook, a pen and my camera" she lists off.

"Oh yeah, what are you reading?"

"Well really it's just a book of poetry but more of a compilation of poems rather than a specific poet" she tells you.

"It's kind of inspiring me to do my own little private project" she says

"And what's that?"

"I mean I don't really tell anyone about it"

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked" you quickly apologise feeling slightly bad about it.

"No no, I want to tell you, I just haven't really shared this part with anyone before"

"Well feel free, you can trust me but also don't feel like you have to"

"Okay so, I've been writing my own poetry, nothing great just little poems and then I capture a photograph that encapsulates the poem, or the other way around. I like taking photos but recently I've been writing poems inspired by the shot I've taken"

"Holy shit Jessie, that's so inspired, can I see?" You begin excited before almost whispering the request.

"Uh sure" she replies pulling her camera and notebook from her bag.

She shows you a few of them and it completely blows your mind, until she gets to the last one which has you almost speechless.

"This one I call 'storm season'" she says showing you a photo of a moody sky

Something about the emptiness of the picture the way the moody sky contrasted with the fields, it seemed so full and yet so empty and void and it struck something inside you.

She handed you the notebook and you looked at the poem scribbled in her handwriting across the page, it was short but kind of haunting in a way that matched the photograph.

This is a poem for lonely days

With little colour and mostly greys,

For people who are sick in bed

And those of us with lots to dread

Of things to come, or things in past,

Of things that didn't seem to last

"Wow" you say, kind of taken aback by the rawness of it all. "That's beautiful" you whisper looking up and meeting her eyes.

"I mean I don't know, I wrote it at a time where I was struggling you know"

"It's raw, it's good" you say unsure how to put into words your feelings about it.

After tucking her stuff back into her bag you lay down next to her looking up at the growing skyscrapers around you.

Both content in each others company, you tilt your head to look at Jessie, noticing she's reading some of the poetry in her book.

"Read me something"

"Sure, what would you want to hear?"

"Anything"

"You treat them as if

They have a heart like yours

But not everyone can be

As soft and as tender as you

You don't see

The person they are

You see the person

They have potential to be

You give and give till

They have taken everything

Out of you and leave

You empty"

You lay there staring up at the sky for a second

"That was Rupi Kaur, that poem kind of reminds me of you" she spoke

You leant up on your elbow looking at where she was sat, her eyes looked sad but not as if she pitied you but like she could also feel your pain.

After some time of enjoying each others company you walked back to your apartment discovering it was only a block from Jessie's and that you were practically neighbours.

You waved goodbye to Jessie as you made your way into your apartment building, arriving home you close the door falling back against it slightly sighing to yourself, wondering why you felt so guilty for having a good time.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Bruno Roy, various Roys (Morgan/Theo); contraband

For the prompt: Does Bruno Roy notice the tension between his poor rookie and Theo in the house?

Bruno would like to think he’s a pretty observant fellow. His teammates would certainly describe him that way. He’s been keeping an eye out for his younger teammates practically since the start of his career, and that takes paying attention, because fuck knows most of those guys would rather get their teeth knocked out than actually ask for help.

His wife would probably disagree, though. She’s the one who notices what’s up with the kids, always filling him in. He doesn’t know if that’s because she's more observant, or if it's because he spends close to half of his time on the road during the regular season, sees his kids less than his teammates, most of the time.

If that’s it there’s nothing he can do about it, and honestly, the last time he was around for an uninterrupted stretch, laid out with a groin injury, his kids were as happy as him when he got cleared to play, and Celine was the happiest of all. He is, he’ll admit, not very good at staying still, and there was a lot more of that than he’d like on bed rest. He’s best in motion.

But with three of his kids firmly in the teen years now, the problems are multiplying. Matt barely leaves his room unless food or school’s involved, and there’s a hell of a lot of reluctance on the school thing. Alexia’s reached the baffling stage of teenage girlhood Bruno won’t even pretend to understand, where everything that used to make her happy makes her mad instead, plus her friends are all dicks. Celine puts it a little more diplomatically, but they’re in agreement on that one.

And Theo, well — Bruno thought the hard part was over after Theo came out to them, and it mostly was — before that he and Celine spent an entire year debating whether they should tell him they knew or wait until he was ready to tell him, and they were getting precariously close to the first one when he sat them down.

But now Celine says something’s up between Morgan and Theo, and scoffs at him when he says he hadn’t noticed. He’s sure she’s not wrong, and he might worry if it was anyone else billeting with them, but Morgan? Morgan’s the opposite of a worry.

“Morgan’s a good kid,” Bruno says. “It’ll probably work itself out.”

“It hasn’t yet,” Celine says. “And it’s been awhile.”

“Can’t be that bad if I haven’t noticed it,” Bruno says, and that’s when he learns just what his wife thinks of his observational skills.

Frankly, he doesn't think she needed to laugh that loudly.

*

Bruno keeps an eye out after that. Not that he doesn’t keep an eye out, but, you know, he keeps a focused eye. Like the difference between casually watching a game and scouting the opponents. And of course, now that he’s paying close enough attention it’s pretty obvious that as usual, Celine is right.

‘The vibes are off’, as he’s pretty sure his kids would say. Also pretty sure that they’d call him embarrassing for saying it, like he doesn’t share a locker room with kids barely older than them. Houses a good number of them too, though thankfully it’s been one at a time. They’re all good kids — his teammates and his children — but they can be, well —

Matt slinks out of the kitchen, hunched over in a hoodie, arms wrapped around his torso. Bruno doesn’t need to be around 24/7 to recognize that trick. And unless Matt’s suddenly gained a significant amount of weight in one area and one area only, Bruno suspects he’s smuggling something. A bag of chips, Bruno believes. Family size too, it looks like.

“Matt,” Bruno says from his spot on the couch, and Matt guiltily pauses, one foot on the stairs. “No chips before dinner. Also, no eating in your room. Take your pick on which rule you’re breaking.”

“I don’t have chips,” Matt says.

“You pregnant?” Bruno asks, and Matt sighs and pulls a bag of chips from where he’s been hiding them under his hoodie. They keep the AC on high, but not that high: hoodie is an immediate tip-off smuggling’s happening. Well, that or that his kids have been in Texas too long.

“I could have been pregnant,” Matt mutters as he goes up the stairs, which is an argument so nonsensical there’s no way Bruno should be dignifying it by replying.

“No you could not have been pregnant!” Bruno says, because it’s an argument so nonsensical Bruno can’t help but reply, dignity or not.

The front door opens just in time for someone to overhear that, because of course it does. Morgan stands frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed, looking like he’s considering turning right around and walking away rather than deal with whatever he just walked into. Bruno doesn’t blame him at all. It’s kind of a wonder they keep letting him billet rookies, though Kai and Grigory did okay, he supposes, considering the level of Roy exposure they got. Morgan’s struggling. He’s too nice a kid for his own good, honestly.

“I was talking to Matt,” Bruno says.

“Um,” Morgan says, then smiles weakly without asking a single question, even though he must have a dozen of them. Too nice for his own good, like Bruno said.

“He was smuggling chips,” Bruno says.

“Under his hoodie?” Morgan asks, relaxing, before shutting the door behind himself and slipping off his shoes.

See? In this house hoodies are only used for smuggling. Even Morgan knows it, and he’s only lived here a few months.

“I didn’t know I lived with the KGB!” Matt yells from upstairs.

“That doesn’t exist anymore!” Theo calls from the kitchen — Bruno didn’t even know he was there, but say something wrong and he’ll appear from nowhere just to correct you, like a genie that provides fun facts instead of wishes. Also not so fun facts. Usually they’re not actually fun facts.

“I’m sure they haven’t stopped spying or anything,” Theo says as he comes into the hallway. “They just changed their name.”

“Thank you, Theo,” Bruno says.

“You’re welcome,” Theo says, then, “Um.”

“I’m going to,” Morgan says, then heads upstairs without actually finishing the sentence, taking the stairs two at a time.

Okay, if it’s been like this the whole time, maybe Celine was right to cackle.

“Anything you want to tell me about?” Bruno asks.

Theo’s eyes dart toward the stairs, and Bruno swears he can see him debating whether it’s a better idea to flee, and potentially look like he’s following Morgan upstairs, or stay where he is and have to answer Bruno’s questions.

Looks the exact same in his house as it does the locker room, and Bruno’s roster has been young enough, in recent years, to see that struggle plenty of times, guys in a snit with each other, stuck on the road. Worst case is when you’re pissed at someone and they’re right ahead of you getting onto the plane. No choice but to follow, and if you’re going anywhere cold, you’ve got to deal with them putting their shit up in the overhead bins.

“Got homework,” Theo says, and retreats back into the kitchen. Bruno had forgotten about option three. That was an oversight, especially when it’s Theo: he always seems to pick the option Bruno hadn’t considered.

“Did you want—“ Bruno says, cut off by Theo’s “No thanks, it’s due tomorrow, bye!”

Bruno sighs, eyeing the stairs himself, then decides to go sit back down. If intervention is needed, he needs to call in the cavalry first, because he’s all out of ammo.

He's got chips now, though. So at least he's got that going for him.

[elfieafterdark]

It's the first day of school. Santa Monica is the same as it always is. The September air probably isn't actually that cold, but it certainly feels cold to Harrow Tridentarius.

She's spent seven years living here, with her adoptive family. Her real family. She wakes up, gets dressed in her new fit (now with more mesh), packs her bag, and heads downstairs.

Corona must still be asleep, but she can always count on Ianthe to have woken up and made coffee.

"Mornin' Harry." Ianthe says, looking like a pale fairy queen, if said Queen short shorts and a big university sweater. "Sleep all right?"

"Yes, thanks." Harrow replies, grabbing her favorite travel mug and the coffee pot. "You?"

"Not really, but what's new huh?" Ianthe is lounging in a really big leather bar chair. Picking at some toast.

"Aww, I'm sorry Thay." Harrow tops off her travel mug with a healthy dose of creamer, then digs through the fridge for a Pop-Tart. "What are you up to today?"

Ianthe sets her plate down and grins, "I don't have classes until tomorrow. So naturally I'm going to a party tonight."

"Judith?"

"Hah, no. Dulcie."

"Makes sense." Harrow shoves the foil wrapped pastries into her oversized pockets. She hugs her sis, and makes for the entryway. "I got to run."

"Be late for once Harry." Ianthe says, "You know you don't have to arrive at school an hour early right?"

"I like to-"

"I know I know, you like to get your locker sorted and figure out where all your classes are." Ianthe gingerly picks up a piece of toast again, buying like it's plotting something. "Love you! Have fun! Get sloppy, make bad choices!"

Harrow rolls her eyes, slipping on her dark purple high tops. "Love you too, make sure to drink water." And she's out in the street.

She loves Santa Monica, she loves the ocean, she loves the beach, she loves the salty air. She loves the piers, she loves all of it.

It's way better than Montana that's for sure. She shudders, either from the chill or from remembering that ranch she spent her early years on.

Doesn't matter. They're gone. Anna is doing well, she's doing well. She walks, she doesn't need to, she could have someone drive her. Mom's, well there's no way around it, mom is loaded.

But Harrow likes to walk. She likes to look around, she likes to see how things along the route she always walks change day to day. The old bakery, the new five-story tall multi-use buildings. The dog who's always lounging on the porch of that old house.

Canaan secondary school is the same as it always is, an upscale architectural nightmare of faux stone and glass. It's perfect. Seems like she isn't the only person here either, a few cars in the student parking lot, a bus full of nervous freshmen pulling up. Noise. But the comfortable kind of noise.

She gets her schedule, and is grateful to see a few familiar teachers. As well as a new name: M. Cristabel for biology.

Wonder who she is.

Harry hits a brisk pace to her new locker, which is mercifully down in the art wing of the school. Her favorite haunt, walls plastered with noteworthy projects from last year.

A few excessively dark and tastefully macabre samples are her own. She's proud of her art. Of herself. Even if she is a little bit strange. The polished floors shine, and her converse squeak a little as she goes.

She scouted out all her classes, she's crammed all her unnecessary stuff into her locker. (Extra hygiene products, extra non-perishable snacks, a spare jacket because she gets really cold randomly; and so on). Now she can find her friends, or wait for them if they aren't here yet.

Down the main hall she goes. Past the somehow even more nervous freshmen, down the front steps.

And she crashes into something sturdy with red hair.

"Oh shit!" The red haired sturdy thing, a girl apparently, says with some kind of new england accent.

Harrow falls, drops her stuff, namely her Pop-Tart. But none of that really matters. Not when she looks up and sees the girl. Tanned skin, freckles, a swishy top of hair and shaved sides. A flannel tied around her waist. Jeans and a white tank top. Mirrored aviators slipping off her nose.

"I'm so sorry!" The tall and muscled girl blurts out, "Oh God I hope I didn't hurt you."

"No harm. I'm all good." Harrow says, smiling as this slab of girl helps her up. "You did accidentally smash my breakfast though."

"Fuck." The girl says, "We got a bit of time before class starts, can I buy you something from the corner store?"

Oh. Uh oh... This girl is smooth. Chances of her being like Harrow are pretty low of course... But what's the harm right?

"Well I'd have to know your name first." Harrow says with a smirk.

"Right. Gideon. Gideon Dve." Says Gideon, Gideon Dve.

"I'm Harrow."

"Your name is Harrow? That's actually badass. Okay Harrow, can I take you to the corner store and buy you some replacement breakfast?"

Harrow feels a shiver, like a drop of cold water running down her spine. It's not at all unpleasant though.

"Yes," she says, "I'd like that. Lead the way, Gideon."

[ilikesaladforks]

i just saw on yt, pokémon masters’ story between Grusha and Malva and now I got an image of Rika going into protective girlfriend mode and possibly decking her across the face.

i think rika would fume because malva stepped on the exact thing that rika herself had been so careful all along to tiptoe around that grusha was clearly sore about

ok ok so assuming the anime didn't exist at this so we only had scarvio and mastersex lore to go off of:

we don't know exactly when grusha went pro, how long he'd spent on snowboarding (presumably he spent a long time on it), when he oopsy daisied his way into retirement, how long of a break he took between the injury and his subsequent parlay into battling or how long he'd been a gym leader by the time of the story, except for the fact that he's definitely an adult by the story's events/by the time he started being a gym leader

as geeta's assistant rika most probably has high enough clearance with regards to who geeta intended to scout for the gym challenge and who is applying for jobs and whatnot. even if she's not the hr person, she at least keeps tabs on goings ons at bare minimum. probably.

i like to think that rika was careful about the way she approached grusha. light prods here and there, but never touching on anything too personal, but they both know that she knew enough about his past and why he's here and a lot of it goes unsaid. she keeps a respectful distance because she could tell that he still hasn't fully come to terms with his new path. he wants to snowboard, but he no longer can. he's a gym leader as a means to an end. he wanted to get strong so that geeta doesn't have a reason to kick him out

and then some pesky little kid wiped the floor with him twice and he was fuming and got his act together. instead of thinking about whether geeta will make him jobless for not beating a kid, he's sore because he wanted to win just for himself. now he's motivated to get better because there's a goalpost up ahead that he wants to reach for himself. i think it's also interesting to think about how this was probably the same flame that he had burning as a snowboarder - he was 2nd best in the world, he was so high, but he wasn't high enough, he had a goal to reach and he was young and full of himself and rash and oops there goes his leggy

so even as he decides to make the most out of his new career that he is gonna dedicate himself to, there's still an inkling of yearning for the slopes on the inside that continues to burn - and this rando from god knows where saw it and call him out on it. is he here because he didn't want to? what exactly does he really want now? even in blueberry, he finally got on a snowboard again and did hit the slopes for the first time in almost forever since his incident. it never completely died out, and that's why it was a smouldering flame. grusha has tried to extinguish it by changing career paths, retiring from the sport and swearing (until blueberry) to never snowboard again. it's quite a hard turn and a determined one at that for him, yet he couldn't help himself when he saw the cetoddles having fun in the polar biome. he loves it and he still does!

rika probably can see that too, but chooses to respect his decision not to reawaken that passion. yet this woman from kalos who barely knew any of them just walks right up to him and says it to his face!!!! after she'd spent years shutting herself up to not rip open any raw wounds!!!!! rika's not just furious, she's salty and jealous!!!!

and after the encounter she's sulking for way longer than usual

but also this got me thinking about that story and about grusha's attitude towards uh. things. because it's just so interesting!!!!

now that we found out from the anime that grusha actually is still able to snowboard but chose not to post injury, there must be more than 1 person like the snowboard dude who thinks it's a shame that grusha no longer boards the snow. with a fixation on results, i think grusha has a view that he cannot do something if he cannot perform it to the highest possible level. so like snowboarding, post injury he retired because he could no longer board like he used to. whatever the doctor told him, whether he will never board the same like he used to, whether he will be back as fit as ever with some rehab, whatever it was, it wasn't enough to convince grusha to pick it up again. he went on to battle and was able to get good at it, so maybe that's why it became a viable career path in his eyes. i'm not even trying to paint grusha as some egotistical maniac who only wants to be the very best that no one ever was, but it seems to me that he puts a lot of value in the ability to perform, so much so that if he ever loses that potential and is unable to perform to the same standard he held himself to, he feels that he has to give it up even though he loves it

perhaps when malva said that she could see his smouldering flame for snowboarding, she was echoing the opinions of the masses (i don't even know this character so i won't say whether it fits her or not, this is just my thoughts on what her actions mean) who lament the fact that grusha, in his prime, retired after an injury. now i'm not gonna be the judge of how traumatising or debilitating an injury is to an athlete. i'm just a crazy fandom person who writes crazy fanfics from time to time and i absolutely am not sporty myself. but what malva was seeing is grusha struggling with the decision he consciously made (with his rational mind i guess?) to retire from the sport he enjoyed because he could no longer perform as well as he could. what was the point if he was no longer able to reach the peaks he was once able to?

with his conversation with malva, grusha was forced to confront this flame that he could never douse entirely and face the question of what he truly wanted to do moving forward. there isn't a right answer for her, what she sought was an answer from him. grusha in mastersex (essentially post scarvio, maybe pre dlc) is determined to dedicate himself to battling, but that encounter with the scarvio protagonist isn't about to undo months or even years of internal turmoil about his career change that he still has yet to come to a conclusion about. in sum, his cool mind tells him that it's cringe to pick up snowboarding again if he's not gonna be that good at it, but his uncool mind still exists no matter how cool he tries to be. to malva, he is only being a gym leader as a 2nd best option in life and he still has enough lingering feelings for snowboarding that he ended up giving in to in blueberry.

because of her prodding, he was able to finally settle on an answer for himself. and with the anime in context the fact that he went on about the uncertainties of the new path he's taking

"It might lead me to a bright future or a steep fall... I don't know."

"I'll still make it all the way to the end, no matter what twists and turns the snow-capped mountains throw at me."

"I'll ride this course of life with everyone—including my Pokémon."

does he seek certainty in life and that's why he was always so strict about producing results and why he gave up on snowboarding? by getting so good at snowboarding/battling, there was/is a certainty or stability that he could feel. but when he lost that certainty with snowboarding it became too much for him to handle and that's why he felt the need to switch careers?

idk tbh

i remember reading this story some time back maybe a few months ago and thinking that malva was literally just a mastersex npc lololololol and i certainly did feel the same kind of indignance and anger towards her words since it felt like she was trying to taunt him, but now that i'm reading it again especially with the anime knowledge that he's still able to snowboard i just can't help but think about how the mind of the wild grusha works. i hope this ramble made sense!

[beezelarts]

I've always wondered what Nat and Jake's backstory is. I like to imagine that they were friends at some point until a fight got in between them. So naturally, I tried to write it.

Please don't feel attacked by what I wrote about Nat. I was just kind of imaging how Jake feels about her and the situation and well... we all know that Jake can be an asshole. But in my opinion, Jake also has a point in some aspects that he mentions down there and I like it like this because if there's anything I enjoy when it comes to writing characters it's definitely giving characters some rough edges. And yes, even Natasha. Especially Natasha.

Because I like strong characters that have flaws. Not even childhood trauma - you can't really do anything about that - but actual flaws when it comes to personality. Because everybody has them. Everybody can be a shitty and unreasonable person in their own way.

So, here's my (sort of) controvers take on the topic, part of my mission to make the Top Gun characters as unlikable as possible.

Context: Nat and Jake are on the same squadron, aiming to go to Top Gun. Every training excercise and performance matter. So therefore, Jake puts himself first.

---

“What the hell was that, Jake? Damnit!” Natasha swears as she follows Jake to the locker room, struggling to match his pace. He’s not running, definitely not fleeing, but it’s close.

“What do you mean, Tasha?”, he asks tries to sound confused and non-chalant about it, even though he knows exactly what she’s talking about. This thing between them has been going on for weeks now, ever since their CO told them they were both being scouted for Top Gun.

Top Gun. The place, the goal, Jake’s been aiming for from the moment he crossed the doorsteps of the naval academy – hell, perhaps even before that. The place is legendary, mythical. He’s seen it. Fellow aviators being called to North Island, leaving their squadrons with shining eyes and their heads held high, coming back with their heads held even higher, glowing with an aura of confidence and sancticity.

They get promoted and praised and recognized, leaving the others in the dust because they’re chasing the sun.

Recognition.

Something Jake has been chasing after his entire life.

He wasn’t recognized by his father when he was at his best, trying his hardest to be the son the old man wanted him to be. He wasn’t recognized by his mother when he was at his worst, crying alone in his room after his brothers made it clear that he was not welcome in their circle. He wasn’t recognized by his classmates, by the football coach when he tried out for the team for the start of every school year. It was like he wasn’t even there. Like he was a nobody, destined to be dismissed for eternity.

But he is an adult now and there are no more excuses for being insignificant. So, Jake decided to take charge of his life for the first time. Even if it means leaving one of his best friends hanging.

“You hung me out to dry back there, what the fuck!”, Tasha says, her voice rising in pitch like it always does when she’s upset. And Jake can’t blame her, honestly. He’d be pissed, too, if their roles were reversed. But it’s either him or Natasha. Of course, also the rest of their squadron, but, in all honesty, they’re by far the two most talented pilots of their group.

“Just did what I had to do,” Jake says, quietly, because even though he was doing something for his career Natasha was still right. He left her hanging.

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, Natasha doesn’t let it go. “What you needed to do? Seriously? You do realize that if this were a real-life scenario I’d be dead right now, don’t you?”

“Then you should be grateful that this wasn’t a real-life scenario, right?”, Jake answers, and seriously, how long until they reach the locker rooms?

Natasha huffs, finally fully catching up with Jake but he refuses to look at her. He made his bed so he’s going to lie in it and he’s not going to give Natasha the satisfaction of seeing the shame that’s probably written all over his face.

“You know, Jake, I thought you were different. That you weren’t one of those assholes who think that just because I’m a woman I don’t deserve a place among the best.”

At that, Jake can’t suppress the dry burst of laughter that’s been clawing its way up his throat since their argument started. Of course, Tasha’s playing the woman-card, now. She tends to do that these days. Admittedly, sometimes it’s justified. Other times, it just seems like a lame excuse. Jake is not sure whether she actually believes that every minor inconvenience she experiences is simply because of her sex. It’s also likely that she simply wants to justify her own failure. Jake can’t blame her, honestly. It’s always easier to blame other people and their biases for your own lack of success. It’s definitely better for your ego. But blaming others will only get you so far in your life. Natasha has yet to learn that lesson, apparently.

“It’s not because you’re a woman, Tasha. I would have done it to anyone, and if you truly wanted that spot at Top Gun, you would’ve done it to me, too.”

Natasha scoffs loudly. “You see, that’s where we’re different, Jacob. I wouldn’t do that. Ever. Because being a pilot means being able to work with a team. With a wingman.”

“Being a pilot also means finishing the mission. There’s no benefit in flying in pretty formations and making sure no one dies if you can’t manage to get the job done while doing it. We’re not being sent up there to help each other stay alive. We’re up there for a greater purpose. Otherwise, why bother even having a military.”

They’re standing in front of the locker rooms now. The door is only a few feet away. Almost there. But Natasha is not having it. She steps in front of him, blocking his escape. It reminds Jake again of how much her new callsign fits her. She’s a force to be reckoned with. Her anger is like a fire storm and when it’s directed at you, you’re basically fucked. Once she’s worked up enough there’s no more reasoning with her. You just try to get away. “This is life or death, Natasha, so you need to give it your all. And if that’s still not enough, well, then maybe you shouldn’t be here. Perhaps the ground crew is still looking for reinforcements.”

He almost regrets saying it. Almost. But it’s that comment that finally makes Natasha freeze in her spot, allowing Jake to side-step her and flee into the safety of the men’s locker room. It’s not the first time someone has questioned the young woman’s place among the naval aviators. As far as Jake is aware she’s become more or less immune to those comments at this point. However, that’s probably mostly because the guys that are saying bullshit like that were in no place to criticize Natasha’s character or performance. To be fair, when it comes to judging someone’s character Jake can begrudgingly admit that he doesn’t exactly have the high ground either. He’s been called an asshole ever since he started having his own opinions. But performance-wise? He’s pretty sure that his point of view holds some weight.

And apparently Natasha thinks so too if the look she gives him before he closes the door in her face is anything to go by.

Disappointment. Betrayal. Jake doesn’t turn back though. Maybe he regrets what he said to her but that doesn’t matter anymore. What’s done is done and Natasha would never accept his apology. Especially not since they both know that what Jake said might be at least partially true.