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eowynstwin · 4 months ago

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the rain / neighbors

On a cold winter's day in the early morning hours, you knock on your neighbor Captain John Price's door to make a noise complaint. - Your thighs are taut and sensitive as a yearling’s flank, ready to twitch at the barest whisper of breath. - ao3

The moment you ’re home, I’ll give you everything you want.

There’s a dangerous cast to the sky—dark, heavy, near-splitting at the seams. It’s not a night to have rejected a ride home from the station, not with those words ringing in your ears.

But when the ride was your ex, you’d rather risk getting caught in the downpour.

The pavement is hard and cold beneath your tired feet. Your whole body is sore from the long train ride home, spent stiffly across from Ben as you’d avoided his gaze, but you’d walk twice the distance home to even halve the time you’d spent with him. His sad eyes and kicked-puppy stare had been stuck to you the whole time, as if magnetized, and they weigh on you now as heavy as the suitcase you drag behind you.

This trip was a mistake. You should not have gone anywhere with Ben, professionally or otherwise. Not with how weird the energy has been between you and him, ever since you broke it off.

“Can’t you just try to be happy with me?” he’d asked you then. “I’m a good partner, aren’t I? I just want to make you happy, sweets, and it’s like you won’t even let me.”

Objectively, Ben had been the boyfriend everyone seemed to want when they talked about romance—interested and engaged, excited about a future together, sensitive and willing to talk about his feelings. He even knew where the clitoris was. There was nothing—no red flags, no warning signs—that should have scared you off.

It was just you. There was something wrong with you, because none of that made you happy—not the lunch dates, not the weekly flowers, and not even the sex. All you knew was that when he started wondering when you would introduce him to your parents, ice had run down your spine.

A bad gust of wind slaps you from behind, followed by a crack of thunder, too close for you to make it home dry. Indeed, there isn’t much time after finishing that thought before the deluge unloads, raindrops falling heavy and cold and fat as bullets.

You come to a resigned stop in the middle of the sidewalk, tilting your face up to the sky. There’s no point in rushing now—thick, late-winter clouds spread low across Liverpool, slow-moving. By all appearances intending to linger as long as possible. You’d neglected an umbrella, and your coat is nowhere near waterproof. You think of the warm interior of Ben’s car and shiver.

You want John.

You struggle to understand it. He is nothing like what you’d assign yourself for a match—there is a wide gulf of difference between you and him, too wide for you to ever expect an easy crossing. He and you should feel disjointed, incongruous, as ill-suited as a war horse might be to a hummingbird. There shouldn’t be anything you could offer each other that either would have use for.

And yet, you do. It is easy. Breathable, in a way that feels unearned enough to make you nervous.

How are you supposed to navigate something that shouldn’t be working, but is anyway? How can something feel this good with barely any effort on your part? How can you go through with this, when you’re not even sure what it means?

The rain reaches its fingers down into your collar, pools around your feet. You close your eyes and try to hear John’s voice in your head again. Soft and low over the phone, coaxing. Inviting your fears out into the open to be soothed.

You’re walking again before you realize it—one cold foot in front of the other, heavy suitcase clattering behind you, familiar with the way home even through the sheeting rain. And what feels like mere moments later, you’re walking up the steps to his front door.

The window beside it glows a soft yellow around the edges. You can’t help but stand there, frozen again as this suddenly becomes real. John, and everything he’s offered you, is on the other side of the door. All you have to do is take it. All you have to do is knock.

But John opens the door before you can even lift your hand.

“Jesus, love,” he says, the moment he looks at you.

Time slows. Warmth pours from the open portal. He looks… comfortable. Soft around the edges in blue jeans and a knitted sweater—the same one he’d worn to dinner at the pub. You hadn’t realized how much you missed him, even in the few days you’d been gone, but once your eyes land on his you don’t want to look away. The angle of his brow; the shape of his mouth beneath his old-fashioned mustache. Looking at him is like looking at your bed at the end of a long day.

“Hi, John,” you reply, smiling apologetically.

“Come on, get inside!” he exclaims, hurrying you in as thunder claps behind you.

In his flat, the lights are low. As you stand dripping on his entry, you take in an arrangement of somewhat retro furniture and sparsely decorated walls. It’s utilitarian in a way that probably isn’t meant to be; spare of anything particularly homey because the inhabitant just doesn’t have time to pay attention to it. You’ve never actually been inside before. It’s very much like John himself; tidy but old-fashioned, practical, hiding absolutely nothing.

You don’t think the candles, though, sitting on a few end tables and shelves and glowing soft gold, are his standard decor. Nor is the crystal bottle of liquor languishing in an ice bucket at the center of a small coffee table, attended by two whiskey glasses off to the side.

“When you said you were on your way I didn’t think you’d be walking,” he says, taking your luggage and setting it aside. “Why didn’t you ask me to come get you? I have a car, would’ve been happy to drive you.”

“I—” and you laugh a little nervously, magnetized to the concerned slant of his brow, “I didn’t know you had a car.”

You’re not sure you would’ve asked him for a lift even if you had known.

He draws close, so close his warmth cuts through the chill of your wet clothes, his gaze moving across you like he’s drinking you in. He cups your face lightly with one hand, thumb tracing a gentle line across your cheek. The expression on his face is almost too tender for you to bear.

“You’re here now,” he murmurs.

There’s a tremble working its way through your chest. You feel desperately seen again, recognized in a way no one ever has before. “I’m a mess, I—maybe I should go and change, come back…”

“No,” he purrs, taking your chin between thumb and forefinger. “You’re stayin’ right here.” And quite easily, John kisses you for the first time.

His mouth is warm along yours. His free hand hooks your waist, pulls you closer as he moves to cup the back of your neck. You’re so surprised you don’t react for a moment, but that doesn’t deter him; he just coaxes you into responding, sipping at your lips, teasing at the seam with the tip of his tongue.

It throws you off balance. He kisses you as if he’s known all along how to do it; as if he’s studied you, all of those mornings, noting the way your lips touch the rim of your coffee mug and the way you look up at him when he talks to you. Calculating the angles, the ways your mouths could fit together.

He shifts, angling to kiss you deeper. A wave of vertigo threatens to overtake you—your hands fly to his chest, which is broad beneath your fingers. You dig them into the cable of his sweater, a little whine escaping you, and John huffs a laugh against your mouth before greeting your tongue with his.

You have never felt as small as you do now in John Price’s hands, at the mercy of the way he holds you—like he’s planning to keep you in place until he’s finished with you.

When he finally pulls away, you have the opportunity to take a deep gasp as he chuckles again. He thumbs your bottom lip, almost playfully.

“Mm,” he murmurs. “Wanted to do that the minute you walked into the pub that night.” You don’t have time to reckon with this confession—if you can even call it that, because once he says it you realize you’ve known the whole time—before he continues. “Come on, you must be freezing. Let’s get you warmed up.”

John helps you out of your coat, unwrapping you like peeling away a chrysalis. It exposes the thin, damp fabric of your dress to the warm air—and to his gaze—and you can’t help but feel suddenly naked in front of him. He’s revealed nothing that he hasn’t seen before, but irrationally, you want to cover your chest, or cross your arms over your stomach. Shield the most vulnerable parts of you from consumption.

John takes your hands in his and pulls you to an armchair—a comfortable, plush thing with a low back. He backs you into it so that your knees buckle, and you sit, looking up at him as he stands over you.

“First order of business,” he says.

He turns away from you to lift the decanter from the bucket, and pours a finger of liquor into a glass. You try to pretend your heart isn’t thrumming, like a bird’s beating wings behind your ribcage, as he turns back and holds out the drink, long fingers dwarfing the rim.

“As promised,” he purrs, “Balvenie.”

You accept it the glass; the scotch sparkles, amber-rich and glittering gold where the low candlelight catches it.

“It looks good,” you say, looking up at him.

There’s a pleased look on his face. “Give us a taste, then.”

Heat blooms across your face, spreads down your chest. You bring the rim of the glass to your lips immediately, still held by his gaze—

Smoke blooms across your tongue, heavy and soft, pricked with notes of honey and vanilla. You roll the scotch in your mouth, close your eyes as its warmth slides along your tongue, pressing it up into your soft palate, citrus appearing in a sudden, tangy splash. You let the drink flow into your throat and feel the smoke fill your head as you swallow.

You open your eyes and look up at John. “That’s really good.”

It shouldn’t surprise you, really, but it does: John bends over you, takes your chin in his hand, and kisses you again, dipping his tongue into your mouth as if searching for leftover drops of liquor. Your head swims; warmth suffuses you, waking up the nerves along the back of your neck. The hair on your arms stands on end as the world narrows to John’s mouth on yours and nothing else, the wet heat of his tongue, the prickle of his beard against your skin. It’s slow and molasses-sweet, rich and decadent. Thunder rumbles, far away.

“Mm. It is,” he says when he pulls away. Another brief kiss—like he can’t get enough of it, like he’s been saving up every moment he hasn’t kissed you, and is spending all of his chances now. “Promise me you’ll never drink Walker again.”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, taking an unsteady breath.

The ends of his beard move against your face in a smile. “Enjoy that. I’ll be right back.”

He straightens, and steps away. The tug of his gravity is so strong that you list forward, toward him, until he leaves your orbit.

You look around his apartment again, helpless, as if to find some sort of anchor that isn’t John Price—he’s going to get you drunk on his presence alone faster than the liquor ever could. You catch sight of a bookshelf, sparsely populated with a short line of books; as you stare at them, trying to figure out what they are, you realize with a start that they’re all brand-new copies of what you’ve lent him.

Actium. Nafisi. Da Vinci. McMurtry. They’re all here. The textual foundation of your relationship aligned in a tidy, even row. Living here, in the center of his home.

You take another nervous sip of scotch.

John returns with a stack of clean towels, unfurls one, and drapes it over your head. But before you can tend to your hair yourself, he lays his big hands overtop of the terrycloth, pressing down into your scalp.

Your breath leaves you in a rush, depressurizing your lungs. Pure sensation dances up your spinal cord, suffusing the space between your ears, as he kneads with an even, firm pressure, massaging the water from your hair. Your eyes slide shut of their own accord. Your mouth drops open as he digs his fingers into the tense nerves down the back of your head.

The little sound that escapes the pit of your throat is utterly involuntary.

John huffs a chuckle. “That good, then?”

“Uh-huh,” you hear yourself mumble again. Somewhere in the back of your mind, obscured by smoke, you think you should feel embarrassed, ashamed of how naked your pleasure must be. But John gives you no time to ruminate.

He tilts your face upward and presses his lips to your forehead, down the bridge of your nose, gentle, soft, to your mouth. Your mouth, over and over again, as calloused thumbs caress your temples.

It’s a gentle way of taking control. You have no need to reach out with unsure hands, or stumble your way through half-desires with no time to think about them. John has seen into you, divined your quietest, sincerest needs, and feeds them back to you now like he’s only been waiting for your go-ahead to do so.

The bird in your ribcage flutters nervously. Is this really alright? Should you be letting it happen like this? Shouldn’t you be…participating, somehow, in this, other than to take what he gives you?

“John,” you start, but you have no idea what you want to say to him. “Shouldn’t I…shouldn’t—”

“Shh,” he says. “You should let me take care of you.”

John squeezes your hair one more time, then sets the damp towel aside. With an expression you can only describe as beatific, he smooths errant strands of hair away from your face, and then lowers to his knees in front of you. He touches your ankles; nods toward the glass of scotch encircled by your nervous hands. “Don’t stop on my account.”

You hold his gaze, and take a sip. The satisfaction on his face is almost too much to bear.

“Good girl,” he says. He lifts the heel of your shoe onto his thigh, smoothing his hand up and down your shin. “You’re doing such a good job, letting me do this.”

He takes your shoes off as tenderly as he’d removed your jacket, tucking away the laces and setting them off to the side. With warm hands, he rolls your wet knee-high socks down your legs, exposing your chilled calves to his palms. After he folds them and places them by your shoes, his mouth and the warm scratch of his beard meet the top of one foot…move up your instep, and to the inside of your ankle, then to your shin…up your calf…to your knee—

“Is this—” you begin, and have to swallow the trembles in your voice, “what you talked about on the phone?”

“Mm-hm,” he hums, kneading your other calf as he urges your legs to open for him.

Your breath is shallow in your lungs—as if any one too deep might startle John away from his quarry, convince him you’re not aching for this. John kisses inward along the inside of one thigh, keeping the other open with his kneading hand. The flesh molds like clay to his touch, extruding between the gaps of his fingers. He makes an appreciative sound, a hum, as he slides his hands further upward and under the damp hem of your dress, cresting the angles of your hips. Inexplicably, you go tight, anticipatory, like the skin of a grape exposed to a knife.

It isn’t like you haven’t been here before. Your sex life with Ben had been—while not particularly active—not nonexistent. And yet this feels new anyway; as if John is sweeping dust off a body long left unused. Your thighs are taut and sensitive as a yearling’s flank, ready to twitch at the barest whisper of breath.

But isn’t this new, after all? No one, not Ben or anyone else who’s ever touched you, has made you feel this way.

“Lift your hips, darlin’,” John rumbles, and for the first time you catch a hint of scouse in his accent—low, slung around his words and leaving off the hard edges. Like a vein of gold unearthed. “Bring ‘er closer to me.”

Heat blazes across your face. There’s a small end table beside the armchair; you take one more pull from your scotch glass and set your drink aside. Then you shift, edging your hips forward, tilting your pelvis—angling your pussy toward John’s face.

He kisses the crease of your thigh and groin. “That’s a girl,” he purrs, and then presses the bottom half of his face directly into your underwear, opening his mouth over the wet fabric and inhaling deeply. The panties are nothing fancy, simple cotton with a floral pattern, but his eyes slide shut in what you can only describe as ecstasy.

“It’s like you’re getting as much out of this as I am,” you say, trying to laugh, to make this feel like less than it is if only for the sake of your nerves.

“I am,” he says, rough around the edges, and pulls at the gusset of your underwear with his teeth. “I’ve thought about this every morning—” he runs the flat of his tongue along the outer seam, touching bare skin “—and every evening—” edging his fingertips into the leg hole at the top of your hip “—since I met you.”

“You barely knew me,” you whisper, trembling.

“I knew enough,” he says, lifting his face to meet your eyes—his pupils are blown wide, encased in a thin rind of blue. Delicately he takes the waistband of your panties between his fingers, eases it down. “Knew you were a good girl, who wouldn’t even fuss at mean old bastard for waking her up. Wanted to eat your cunt to apologize.”

Something flushed and hot radiates from your core, molten and liquid. “Every time you call me that I—I don’t know what to do, John, I feel…”

“Good,” he says. “Lift your hips again.”

You obey. You think you’d do practically anything, if he told you to in that voice, rough and commanding like far-away thunder. John peels your underwear from your hips, dragging it down over the swell of your bottom, closing your legs to pull them down and—you swallow—shoving them in his pocket when they’re off. Then, like opening the shutters of a window, he parts your legs again, and slots his face between them.

The first thing that strikes you is how hot his mouth. He eases a molten tongue into your folds and you watch his eyes slide shut, feel the soft groan he gives vibrate against your flesh. Your body heat blooms, sight going liquid around the edges—or maybe your temperature is just rising to meet John’s own, thermoregulating to avoid meltdown as he stokes a fire between your legs. Hot breath meets you as he opens his mouth, gets as much tender flesh between his lips as he can.

He’s slow. Exploratory. He tongues your pussy luxuriantly, indulgently, as he loops his arms under your legs to hook them over his broad shoulders, thick forearms dark with hair snaking overtop of your thighs. Holding you in place as he eats— savors . He maps your topography, delving and cresting the landscape like trying to discover every significant landmark, and finds a spot on your clitoris that makes your thighs seize up and your hips jerk under his mouth. He chuckles low against you, playfully flits his tongue across it at what you’d swear is the same rapid pulse of your heartbeat.

You look at him between your legs. The curls of his dark lashes are pretty against the pale hue of his skin, freckled with sun exposure. Fever pink spreads across his cheeks as his brow furrows in the middle, creasing as he laps at the beads of moisture pearling up from your entrance. You watch him, mouth hanging open to allow your shallow breaths to flow free—and he opens his eyes, sharp blue, meeting your gaze.

A sound escapes you, raw, rough in the back of your throat. He smiles, drags the flat of his tongue up your folds as if to show off, and strokes along the sensitive border of your mons and lower stomach with the rough callus of his thumb.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, love.” He kisses your mound and then takes your pussy, soft and slow, back into his mouth.

There’s a trembling behind your sternum. Something in you breaks open—seeps cloying and honey-gold—into your bloodstream. Your head lolls back as his tongue slips deeper into you, stoking pleasure, your old friend, your old enemy, like turning embers out of ashes. Your thighs relax over the ballast of his shoulders. They’re broad enough that even as your legs fall further open, they don’t slip off.

It’s like your body and his are dovetail joints cut long ago, yet still now slide easily into place. Your heels rest comfortably on the expanse of his back with plenty of room left over; his big hands, as they spread wide across your stomach, fit along its curves and dips like rain sliding along soft green leaves.

It soaks you to the bone, warm and deep into your marrow, filling your veins and blotting the spaces between your alveoli until John, John, John is on every breath.

You must be saying his name aloud, because John’s grip tightens around you. The flint-strike of his tongue against your clitoris, lightning-sharp, catalyzes the pleasure in your bloodstream into a tight, unfamiliar gnarl. You gasp hard, almost painfully—how long has your body been able to feel like this, somewhere beyond your reach?

Has this pleasure always lived at the end of John’s tongue, along the contours of his hands, draped over his body like a mantle?

(How can something like this be a fair exchange for books and clumsy conversation?)

Your hand flies to John’s hair as it grows—a trembling feeling that touches places inside of you that you’ve always been dimly aware of, but never have given much thought to. It loosens you at the seams, grinds the fault lines inside of you together, dislodges your inhibitions from their foundation.

“John, please,” you whimper, brows drawn together, “please, please—”

He growls against you. Grinds through your center and then sucks your folds into his mouth, grazing the hood of your clit with the edge of his teeth, teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue—

Suddenly, it overtakes you.

Flying sparks finally catch along aching tinder. A single point of furtive, glowing heat blooms between your legs, unassuming except for that you’ve never felt it before. It only sits briefly in your folds before bursting outward, seizing every nerve ending in the immediate vicinity, blazing bright like fire spreads over paper. Then you tighten around nothing, the inside of you desperately grasping something that isn’t there, body snapping taut as you arch from the backrest, mouth hanging open as a sharp gasp dies in your throat. Sensation consumes everything. Your vision darkens; the air stills in your lungs.

The only thing spared is the heat of John’s mouth, the cords of his arms around your thighs, and the ballast of his shoulders hooked in the bend of your knees—he keeps you anchored, held together as you try to fly apart. The caress of his hands and fingers across your lower belly does not stop as his mouth continues moving over your cunt, moves until your whole body is shaking, moves as you finally gasp for air and cry out in overstimulation.

You collapse back into the chair, pushing now against John’s head even though you’re not sure you want him to stop. He resists—kissing your pussy, once, twice, three times as you come down—and then takes a wrist in one big hand and kisses your palm.

“That,” John rasps, “is a fucking climax, love.”

You swallow, throat dry and smoke-rough. Even in the aftershocks, the pleasure lingers, and you squeeze your inner muscles to hold onto it for as long as you can.

It doesn’t escape his notice. Of course it doesn’t. John’s fingers trek inward, gathering some of the wet slick between your folds and then lazily circling your clitoris.

“Look at you,” he rasps, “my poor girl needs more, doesn’t she?”

Ecstasy grips you again; you whimper as he manipulates your flesh. “John…”

“How long you been aching for it, love? Years? How long’ve you needed me, and I ain’t been there, mm?” He kisses the soft part of your lower belly. “You don’t need to worry anymore. I’m here now.��

You angle your head to look at him, running your dry tongue along your lips. What you see on his face steals the meager oxygen you’ve managed to pull in since your climax abated.

His face is flushed. Lips rosy and swollen from their work. The blue of his eyes has been eclipsed almost completely by black singularity—inescapable, unfathomable, a depth more vast than comprehension. Ready to swallow you whole.

This whole time, you’ve been afraid of John’s touch the way you are afraid of a hot bath on a cold night. There is a comfort beyond the first step into the water, languorous ecstasy waiting only for you to claim it, but the toll separating it and you—the shock of first contact, the split second of violent adjustment, makes you nearly content to remain in uncomfortable but familiar dissatisfaction.

Thunder cracks outside as you reach for him, as he reads your mind and surges forward to kiss you, hand catching the back of your neck to reel your mouth to his. You kiss each other hard and fast, over and over again, eager to end each one only so you can start the next.

Nearly content, in the end, is not content at all.

“John,” you murmur against his lips, as his hand still works your cunt, “I’m still cold.”

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stellamancer · 4 months ago

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prompt: peel back the layers of me, on purpose or accidentally + “i’m not stopping— not now, not ever.”

summary: in the aftermath of everything, megumi is barely surviving.

wc: 1.8k

contains: gn!reader (reader is not a sorcerer but aware of jujutsu society), canon divergent with spoilers post shibuya incident arc, mentioned character deaths (megumi is the only survivor 😭), angst, hurt/comfort

co-written by @seiwas as part of our milestone event collab: keep this love unspoken (tell me as loud as you can) [closed]

You find Megumi in the rain.

He stands from a distance, back hunched and fingers twisted in what you know calls for Divine Dogs. The moonlight lends itself to his shadows, a distant light cast upon what’s left below—illuminations over darkened silhouettes.

You know he can’t summon them anymore, their powers having trickled over to the handful of shikigami he has left. But you think at this moment, body slack and drenched in rainfall, that he looks like one right now—a lone wolf staring at the moon, searching, reaching.

(His howls are deafeningly silent.)

“Megumi!” you shout, the umbrella in your hand shaking as your waterproof jacket shelters you without warmth.

He doesn’t respond—you didn’t expect him to, anyway.

Megumi’s been different for a while. Withdrawn.

And though he’s always been hidden within layers of himself, it never used to be this many; he would always shed one off when it came to you.

“You’re going to get sick!” you attempt again.

You’ve known this secluded clearing since you were 10. It lies deep inside the training grounds of the college, hidden within tall trees and winding paths—as if it was always meant to safe-keep the memories made in them: the first time Megumi ‘trained’ with Gojo at age 7; the day when you, wide-eyed and seeing, knowing of the horrors of this world–his world–were eventually introduced as his training companion years later.

He doesn’t move.

You take a deep breath, stepping towards him.

Companion, not partner is what you are.

With your abilities limited to just seeing, you never had to fight his battles. Instead you watched, sat on the sidelines as you both grew, always around but never beside him—because, what else could you do?

Even when his world continued to take, and take, and take; Tsumiki. Nobara.

Gojo.

Yuuji.

It was (is) all you could (can) do.

Walking towards him now, with unease weighing on every press against crunching grass and sinking soil, you wonder if this is what it feels like to enter a battlefield.

The air is thick and damp, a sickening cold that seeps deep into bones—when you get close, he’s heaving, each rise and fall of his back punctuated by ripples of white cotton clinging.

“Megumi,” you say softer but not any less firm, “we should head back.”

The word rings in his ears.

(Back? Back to what?)

He turns his face to the side, droplets falling from the tips of his hair and down the slope of his nose. It’s awful how you’re reminded of a scene completely different from this—him, at 10, fighting back a smile as you play in the rain with his lone two shikigami.

“Still training,” he finally speaks, tone flat. Unfeeling.

Except he isn’t. You know he isn’t—isn’t training, isn’t unfeeling.

Eight years, you’ve known Megumi, two since he lost everything. You’d always seen it as a blessing that your hands could never bear the power to be weaponized against anything, but now you curse every twisted fate in jujutsu society that there’s no one left to carry the burden but Megumi.

You sigh, extending your arm as you step closer to cover him with the umbrella.

“I’ll keep you company then.”

That’s what you are after all—it’s what you’ve always been, throughout the past two years especially. His eyes no longer meet yours as if speaking to you without talking; the small smile he used to give you now falls flat, static. Fingers that once moved fluidly, surely, now fidget as he picks at the sides of his nail beds, skin peeling.

“You don’t have to,” he mutters tightly, the call for Demon Dogs morphing into clenched fists beside him.

Something in him feels like snapping.

How can you just always be there?

Waiting. Tending.

It shouldn’t tick him off as much as it does right now, but it does, because—

“Well,” you clear your throat, shifting your feet, “someone has to keep you dry if you’re staying out here.”

—you say it so easily, as if this is something you just do and not give.

As if he should even be here, when he shouldn’t. Especially not on the receiving end of it.

His chest burns.

“I didn’t ask for that,” he spits out, grabbing hold of the edge of the umbrella to tip it over, knocking it out of your hands.

It falls to the ground and rolls away, but you don’t move to grab it— your eyes are on Megumi.

Only Megumi.

The fire in his chest rages on, bright and hot, the flames licking at his ribcage. It hurts, it’s painful. His heart is charred, with little left to serve as kindling and yet, despite the rain, despite everything, it remains ablaze.

Just like the fire in your eyes right now.

Rather than reach for the umbrella, you take a step toward him, the rain saturating your clothes, your skin, but you don’t seem to notice, don’t seem to care.

All Megumi can think of is how it's unfair.

You shouldn’t be wasting your time on him, not with his bloodied hands and dark thoughts. He never should have survived, he didn’t deserve to survive. Fushiguro Megumi is living on time that isn’t just borrowed— it’s stolen, ripped from the hands and souls of those far, far more deserving.

Time is precious, he’s learned, but here you are trying to throw yours away.

“Megumi, please,” you say and while your words are soft, there’s a tautness there that Megumi painfully recognizes. Tsumiki would use that tone too, in her patience, in her frustration, whenever Megumi would act out. He’d always bend to her will eventually, but you are not Tsumiki.

He will not give in to you.

“Can’t you see how tired you are?” you plead. It doesn’t matter; he doesn’t care, and either you don’t seem to realize, or you do and you don’t care either. “I know you want to keep training, but I really think that maybe you should turn in for the night. Get a good night’s sleep and start again in the morning.”

Megumi hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in ages, and honestly speaking, he doesn’t think he will ever again. How can he when he knows that Yuuji and Nobara will never wake up again? He starts to turn away from you. “I’m not tired.”

“Megumi!” He hears you take another step and feels the slightest tug at his shirt—

Gojo gave him this shirt for his 15th birthday. It was two sizes too large and exactly the type of thing Gojo liked to wear himself. Whenever Megumi wore it, he looked childlike and ridiculous; in fact the first time he put it on Gojo laughed so hard that Megumi swore he saw tears in his eyes. Megumi remembers snapping at him, telling him if he was going to buy someone clothes as a gift, it would be best to buy clothes that actually fit, but Gojo had merely laughed it off, telling Megumi he’d grow into it one day.

Now Gojo is gone, but just as he said, Megumi's grown into the shirt. It fits better now, even though it’s worn and fraying. Whenever he wears it he can almost hear Gojo laughing at him, telling Megumi ‘I told you so’ in that annoying voice of his.

All he hears right now is the ripping of fabric.

Megumi’s body goes completely still and you are oddly silent.

It’s almost as if time has stopped.

But then the apologies start spewing from your mouth, unending and torrential, just like the rain above. “Oh my god, Megumi, I’m so sorry, I—”

He turns around to face you, and the shirt rips even more, tearing more and exposing his chest. Any hope of the shirt being repaired is gone, but Megumi doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, because all he sees right now is you, fretting and wide eyed, “I told you to just leave me alone!”

You fall silent, your words and apologies staunched. The downpour surrounding you both only seems to get louder, more relentless, and the both of you are soaked to the bone. There’s no way that either of you are getting out of this without catching a cold, but Megumi doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t—

“Why do you keep doing this?” he demands. “Why don’t you just—”

He stops short, all the words in his head trying to fly out of his mouth all at once.

In the midst of his silence, you speak up, your voice barely audible, “...just… what?”

Stop.

Leave.

Go away.

“...this is pointless,” he finally answers.

“No, Megumi it’s—”

“It is!” he argues, his voice rising. “You’re wasting your time with me, so just stop already!”

Life isn’t fair. Megumi learned that long, long ago. When his father abandoned him, when Tsumiki fell into a coma, when Yuuji died over and over, when Gojo died at his hands. Time and time again Megumi has had it beat into his head, burned into his mind that life isn’t fair.

And neither, he’s learned, are you.

“I won’t,” you say, voice firm, resolute. You take another step toward him, and it feels almost as if Megumi’s entire world is shaking, tilting on its axis and flipping upside down. The fire in your eyes burns bright and hot, the flames calling to the one raging in his chest. It aches and yearns. His heart is smoldering, but still it beats, drumming to a beat that’s at odds with the torrent surrounding you both.

You reach for him, and before Megumi can try to dodge, before he can slip through your fingers, your hands cup his cheek, gentle and firm before you bring him down so that you are both eye to eye. He sees himself reflected in your eyes, widened and bewildered. The only thing you see is Megumi.

Only Megumi.

“I’m not stopping,” you say, thumbs pressing into his cheeks, as if you’re trying to leave a mark. “Not now, not ever!”

And then you kiss him.

It’s like a shock to his system— lightning striking the ground where he stands. You’re putting everything into this, your frustration, your desperation, your love. Megumi can feel it, flowing from you to him, like electricity, like cursed energy. His hands shake, torn between pushing you away because he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve you, and holding you close because you’re all he has left.

This isn’t fair.

You pull away slowly, and Megumi only wants to give chase. He knows he shouldn’t and yet…

“I…” he begins, the words fumbling around in his mouth. “I don’t…”

“I don’t care,” you interject, cutting him off. “You can tell me that you don’t deserve this; but I don’t care. Life isn’t fair, I know, so why should I have to be?”

Megumi stares at you, speechless.

“So, Megumi please,” you plead once more, and this time all Megumi hears is you and you alone. “Please let me in.”

It seems the rain won’t stop anytime soon, and, for better or worse, neither will you.

With a deep sigh, he relents.

He gives in to you.

notes: requested by @firein-thesky

cielo! thank you so much for requesting and we're sorry it took so long, but hopefully it was worth the wait!!

um, i'm (niku) not sure what else to say regarding this piece. sel took the lead here actually and i did my best to match her in terms of writing but i think you can tell when i took over LMAO. i don't want to ramble too much but maybe i should do like sel and do my notes at the end from now on too... hmm.

#fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x y/n #fushiguro megumi x y/n #jjk x reader

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the-kr8tor · 4 months ago

Note

Let’s do this again

May I request a beach day with the arachkids and Hobie

Thank you for the adorable request! I hope you like it ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2 k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mentions, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The searing heat of the sand underneath you doesn't compare to how humid the air is. With the beach towel under you, the warmth still seeps from the thick cloth as you watch the trio play Marco Polo in the pool. You can still hear their whines when the lifeguard at the beach told them that the tides are currently too wild to be able to safely swim in. Good thing the little beach house that you and Hobie rented (With Miguel's money, courtesy of Lyla) comes with a pool complete with sand all around it for the extra immersion.

Gwen shrieks as she dodges the blindfolded Miles. He tries to grasp what's in front of him but could only yank at nothing but air when Gwen dives underneath to escape. Meanwhile Pavitr is silently laughing near the pool steps, happy that Gwen is the one getting targeted by Miles who has been ‘it’ for two turns now. Pav snorts, and you watch in slow motion how Miles turns towards the sound, ears perking up the second Pav let out a squeak.

“Oh no.” Pav softly says, quickly diving and doing evasive maneuvers to throw Miles off his scent. Gwen laughs, but doesn't make the same mistake like Pav did a second ago.

Miles grins mischievously, already running (slowly but surely) towards the splashing. “Keep swimming! I'll get you eventually!” He taunts, and Pavitr starts to panic as Miles is gaining speed right behind him.

“Psst!” You call towards Gwen, she turns towards you, still grinning widely. “Wanna help him?”

“Pav? Absolutely.” Her blue eyes twinkle in the sunlight, swimming closer to you.

“Are your webshooters waterproof?”

She sees where you're going, head peeking out from the end of the pool. “Yeah,” she mirrors your smug look as you hand her the webshooters. “You hang around Hobie way too much.”

You giggle, watching your evil plan unfold once Gwen shoots a ball of web at Miles’ head. Good thing web fluids are biodegradable and melt easily in water or it'll for sure clog the pool.

Miles shrieks, wildly twirling around to try and yank the web off his nape. “That's cheating!” Water splashes all around him while Gwen and Pav try to disorient ‘Marco Polo.’ He lets out a roar, screaming for revenge.

After the barrage of water at Miles' face, the other two scamper off in different directions to avoid Miles, who is definitely using his spider senses now. You laugh loudly when he predicted where Gwen would swim, effectively capturing her.

The sudden cold against your cheek makes you stop laughing. A shadow casts over you as you look up from your seat, you beam at Hobie, he nudges you with a can of cola on your face. “Where'd you go?”

Hobie looks immaculate in the light, bare torso shining in the sunshine, eyes soft for you, and toned muscles in full display. He takes your breath away with a simple tilt of his head, the glow from his silver piercings almost blinds you. “There was a burnin’ building a few ways away. Had to go and save the day.” He sits down on the towel next to you, opening the can and then handing it off over to you nonchalantly, as if he didn't just make your heart jump from the affectionate act.

“Really?” You take a sip, sighing at the refreshing cold. The trio's excited yelling fades into the background, now abandoning the game of Marco Polo to make whirlpools in the pool.

Hobie drops his seriousness, chuckling while he wipes at a bead of sweat off your brow. “Nah, I was buyin’ soda.”

You can't stay mad at him when he looks at you like you're a pearl he found at sea. “You ass.”

“You're welcome, love.” He gives your bare shoulder a quick kiss before turning towards the trio who are turning around in a circle while there's a small whirlpool slowly forming in the center. “Oi! There's soda inside!”

They stop simultaneously, looking at Hobie expectantly. “Are there chips?” Miles asks, and the two nod along.

“Crisps, but yeah there's some inside.” After Hobie confirms, they immediately head off towards the end of the pool, fighting each other so they could get the best ones first. Pav has his hand on Miles’ face, while Gwen webs both of their hands on the pool before cackling and leaving them in the dust.

“Not fair!” They both cry as they rip off the webs lightning quick, and then they run towards the door. You're glad they have incredible balance or else they would've slipped and fell.

Once they're inside, you hear their muffled fighting through the glass walls. Hobie takes your attention from them though. His head is tilted back, letting the sun bathe him in its light. Elbows propping him up, his legs are outstretched as beams of light shine through his long lashes. Lips curled in a content smile, you're happy that he's happy. His muscles look like they were carved on the side of a mountain, and his shoulders are completely relaxed, something you haven't seen in a while. He looks like he came out of a renowned painting.

Hobie senses your eyes on him, he cracks his eyes open to stare back at you. “You wanna take a picture instead?” He asks teasingly, index finger playing around with the string of your swimwear.

“No, I want to paint you.” Hobie rolls his eyes, trying his best not to show how flustered he is. “Now I understand why artists have muses.”

He moves to your side, facing you fully, head tilted up with ease; clearly and blatantly flirting back. His finger twirls the stray string connected to you, your eyes flick downward, trying very hard not to melt on the spot. “I'd be your muse?”

You tuck your chin on your shoulder, hiding your flustered smile. “Yeah,” taking his hand, you knead at his fingers lest he accidentally unties your swimwear. “You'd get sick of posing for me.”

With a scrunch of his nose, he fights with your hand for dominance, massaging you instead. He feels like he's on cloud nine, holding you in the sun while the sound of waves lap at the beach a few steps away; while the most important people in his life are in the same place, happy to join him, happy to make memories with him. Even for just a moment of peace. No villains to stop, no loud city noises or smoke filling his lungs, just the sea and the sun. What more could he ever ask for?

“I want to paint you too.” It's a simple sentence containing multitudes of tenderness and love.

You inhale, almost forgetting to breathe. “We'll make it a day then. I paint you, you paint me.”

To him, you've been his muse for a long time.

Hobie lifts up his hand to cradle your warm cheek, the cold condensation from the soda can soothes you as you lean in closer. “Deal.” He leans closer, you grasp his hip to pull yourself to him.

“I'm going to outpaint you, Hobie. They'll put your portrait up in the louvre after I win.”

“I didn't know it was a competition.” He whispers against your lips. You close your eyes when you feel his lips brush along yours. “I'll win though.”

“Y/N! We're out of chips!” Fumbling from the sudden presence, you accidentally knock your forehead against Hobie's nose. You two groan out in pain while the trio rushes to help. Both your portraits have to wait now, or until the bumps subsides.

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 2 months ago

Note

Happy, happy birthday Pandora! <3 I wish you all the health and happiness!

"I’m not saying I like you, but if a sea beast ate you, I might cry a little." (that prompt is just so cute ahhh) with Eustass Kid please - fem!reader, sfw

Isn't it a cute prompt anon? I had fun with it! Especially with this firecracker of a Captain! Thank you soooo much for the birthday wishes and I hope you enjoy this! ❤️

Source for pic

Drowning in Flames

Word Count: 1652

Tags: fem!reader; cursing; feelings; love confessions;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You saved Kid from drowning and your thanks involves scrubbing the deck.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid

|Masterlist|

“Reckless idiot! Stupid moron! Thoughtless imbecile.”

“Oi! I’m still yer Captain! Watch yer filthy mouth before I wash it with soap!”

Water puddles gather around your feet and each step you take makes a sploshing sound. Your eyeliner is running and you blame your freaking idiot captain for it. Okay, not all of it. You could’ve been less stingy and bought the waterproof eyeliner like - clearly - Eustass fucking Kid did. But the rest was his fault.

“I don’t give a shit!” You’re standing up on the deck and he’s sitting down, but you still need to look up to meet his eyes. “You almost drowned you reckless-...” Kid arches his eyebrow and growls. “Captain!” A hiss leaves your lips just as the salt from the water makes contact with a cut from the sword fight you were engaged in before having to save your captain’s ass!

“So did ya!” He shouts, throwing his arms in the air and splashing more water over the deck.

You could make out the faint sounds of Killer ordering the crew around so you could manoeuvre away from the wreckage of the pirate ship you all had just annihilated.

“I only almost drowned because you fell in the water like an idiot! A heavy, fat-assed, idiot whom I don’t have the strength to save from fucking drowning!”

“Oi, lass! I will tell ya this one more time,” Kid rises, looking more menacing by the inch, and leans down until his face is right in front of yours. “Ya call me an idiot again and I’ll have to punish ya.”

A mischievous smile curves your lips upwards and you cross your arms over your chest in a clear teasing manner, trying to push your captain further and see where it gets you. “Oh, really, Captain? And what’s the punishment?”

Eustass Kid’s unhinged grin should’ve given you a hint of what’s coming.

It did not.

-*-

“Fucking Captain. I save his ass from drowning and I have to scrub the freaking deck. Figures.” You keep muttering between clenched teeth. As soon as the Doc patched you up, Heat handed you a rag, a bucket and a mop, telling you Kid ordered you to leave the deck glistening.

He didn’t even have the decency to tell you himself!

You almost drowned trying to save his heavy ass from the freezing, relentless sea, and this is the thanks you get?

“Fucking glistening? It’s gonna be fucking perfect! You’re gonna be able to eat off this shit.”

And you mean it too. Even when you crack a third nail by scrubbing too hard.

-*-

Dinner time comes and goes and you are still scrubbing. There are no more nails left to crack or break. Your hands are red and raw and your knees are bruised and have definitely seen better days.

There's a moment when you think you might have reopened that slash in your leg, but it stops bleeding after a while so you shrug it off. You’re not going to be the first one to cave.

When the stars are high up in the sky and the moon is casting its glow on the deck, you fall on your butt, kick the bucket to the side and sigh in satisfaction as your back hits the balustrade.

“Fucking glistening. Look at that reflection! I can count the stars without looking at the sky.”

A pained grunt leaves your lips as you start to feel sore and tired, cramped and cranky. A heated battle followed by almost drowning and a thorough scrubbing of the deck does that to you.

“It just took ya all day, lass.”

Fuck.

“Captain. I hope you’re happy.” You close your eyes and rest your head against the railing, exhaustion seeping in through every bone of your body. You don’t have to open your eyes to feel him settling down near you.

“I’m fucking pissed.”

A moment of silence surrounds you before a chuckle emerges from your lips. It starts as a soft snicker followed by a snort, but soon evolves into something you can’t control and you laugh out loud.

“Glad to be of service.” Kid grunts, clearly not amused. “How’re ya feeling?”

“Like I died. Except not really, because everything hurts.” A groan leaves your lips as Kid places his flesh arm on top of your shoulders and pulls you against his body.

“Ya did good, lass.”

A stubborn tear prickles behind your eyelids and you bury your head against Kid’s body. The scent of metal, oil and sea makes you want to cry, but you’ll be damned if you do that.

“You almost drowned!” Your whine is pathetic and desperate. You don’t really care.

“But I didn’t.” He chuckles softly, or as softly as he can.

“Now you’re amused? Seriously?” You remove your head from the crook of his neck, your hand grabbing his shirt as your eyes pin him, anger written all over them. “You almost died! Do I have to spell it out for you?”

You’ve never been so afraid in your life before. Somehow, in the midst of the fight, Kid tripped and fell overboard. He was being so reckless with his attacks that it was bound to happen. Everyone was so busy with their own fights that no one noticed. So, you didn’t even think twice before jumping after him.

Obviously dragging his heavy, unconscious ass out of the water was the most tiresome and dreadful experience of your life.

Not to mention the panic and despair clawing at your chest. The possibility of losing the man you love to the clutches of the unforgiving sea. You only saved him by pure luck and adrenaline, there was no other explanation.

“Aww, look at ya so worried about me, lass.” His hand grabs your chin as his playful eyes mock your tearful ones.

“Fuck off.” You brush his metal hand away and cross your arms over your chest, staring into the sky to blink away tears.

“Ya like me. Admit it.”

There's this weird dance between you and Kid: he flirts and you avoid it, turning the conversation to safer topics or actually fleeing the scene; Then when you flirt he avoids you, by being gruff and bossing you around.

You know there are polls running around the crew, betting on when one of you will finally cave and fess up. Some are only about how long until you fuck each other. Others are about who will kill whom first.

You love him, that’s the truth.

But you’ll be damned if you’ll admit it.

Crinkling your nose and placing a hand on your chin, you say whimsically: "Well, I’m not saying I like you, but if a sea beast ate you, I might cry a little…” You shrug, avoiding the real topic of the conversation. “That’s the only reason I saved you.”

Kid pins you under his fierce gaze and you shift uncomfortably. It’s like he’s reading into your soul.

“What?” You add, not sure how to respond to his stare.

“Yer lying.” He leans forward and the sound that leaves your lips is half-squeak, half-weird-horn-like-sound.

“The fuck would I lie about?” You squirm again under his gaze and try to move, but his metal arm grabs your chin, keeping you in place, challenging you.

“Yer lying.” He repeats.

“Fine!” You relent, an urgency in your voice. “I would cry a lot! Happy?”

He leans in again and the distance between you is so small that you can smell rum and chocolate on his breath.

“Better. Yer still lying. That’s not the only reason ya jumped into the water for me, is it lass?” Each word is a caress against your lips, a promise of something more, a plea to confess.

Yet you don’t.

“You're my captain.”

“Not enough.”

“The crew needs you.”

“That’s not it.”

“Killer would be devastated.”

“Try a little harder, lass.”

“Heat-...” He interrupts you with a pinch to your chin and a growl.

“Yer pissing me off again, the truth, lass!”

“Fine!” You yell in his face, your cheeks turning red as your chest heaves with shallow, nervous breaths. “I need you! I would be devastated! I would miss you! I love you!” Inhaling a gasp at the sudden confession, you purse your lips, trying to trap the words inside, but they have already escaped.

Kid’s shit-eating grin travels through you like a wildfire that burns and destroys everything in its wake. It's powerful, it's raging, it's burning. It speaks to your soul and leaves you in a shaking, trembling mess.

“Finally, the truth.” His metal hand releases your chin and, for a moment, you think he’s getting up to leave. Your heart skips a beat, thinking about the vulnerability of your words and how he’s going to dismiss them so quickly until…

The cold of his metal hand against your nape does nothing to cool off the heat of his scorching kiss. His lips crash into yours, demanding, hungry and commanding. A little nudge from his flesh arm has you climbing his lap in a desperate embrace as both of you deepen the connection.

After a moment he pulls back and you're left panting and dazed, your eyes lost in his, your heart pounding so hard against your chest that you fear it might explode.

“I love ya too, lass. Don’t ever jump in the sea again without my permission.”

The wildfire that is Kid may burn everything in its path, but the embers left behind don’t fade out. They keep sparking to life, burning bigger, hotter and more dangerously than the previous fires.

“Not even to save your ass from a sea beast?”

He chuckles before he gets up, settling you over his shoulder, ready to take this somewhere else.

“Especially not to save my ass from a sea beast. I will never die, lass. Burn that into yer pretty little head, will ya?”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #op #kid x reader #reader x kid #you x eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #eustass x reader #reader insert #kid x you #you x kid #birthday event

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based-and-uncouth · 2 months ago

Text

Caught in the Rain

"MePad? Me...ad! No, no- no no-!" WATER DAMAGE DETECTED. INITIATING SHUT DOWN MODE. - Taco and MePad get caught in a storm, and Taco comes up with the perfect plan to sneak herself into Hotel OJ. (It doesn't go very well).

Objects are humanized

It was raining— hard. The sound of raindrops pelting the leaves of the trees and the ground of the forest was peaceful and the scent of petrichor in the air calming. To the contestants inside Hotel OJ, the storm outside was nothing less than zen background noise.

To Taco, glaring at the brightly-lit building with a vengeance, this was a cold, soggy hell. Her arms wrapped around herself as she trembled in the rain, cold fingers squeezing a bit of moisture out of the drenched sleeves of her shirt. The trees she took shelter under were doing little to lessen the downpour’s onslaught against her shivering body. it had been raining for days at this point, and she was exhausted. But she had refused to stoop to the low of showing up on OJ’s doorstep, looking pathetic and sad, begging for a temporary room. She wouldn’t be caught dead doing such a degrading thing.

So, why was she here?

Well, she had a plan.

MePad’s robotic body laid lifeless beside her, wrapped in her soaked, beige vest. The fabric did virtually nothing to protect him from the rain, and yet Taco bundled him in it anyway, because that was all she could do. Meeple’s technology was advanced, but clearly not advanced enough to waterproof their own robots; MePad had shut down in the middle of the night as a branch had given way in their home (and that term was used very loosely), showering the both of them in the cold rain water that had gathered in their roof. To Taco, it was a minor annoyance with the threat of hypothermia. To MePad, with all his sensitive hardware and his electronic body…that much water could spell death. Or, the Meeple-product equivalent of it.

Taco’s breath stuttered in her chest again, and she forced down a cough. She pushed her hair, stuck wet to her face, away from her eyes, and pulled her vest-coat tighter around his robotic body.

Come on, Taco. You can do this. This may be the only way to get inside. She thought. She took a deep breath, choking on another cough, before loading the heavy robot onto her back.His screen-chin dug into the back of her neck. Her legs nearly gave out beneath his weight, but eventually she managed to take a step.

He needs to get dry.

Then another step.

I need to get dry.

And another, until finally, the welcoming lights casted shadows on her face.

Click she activated her InvisaBow, and the tingling feeling of going invisible shook her body. Slowly, she began to shuffle her way out of the forest. The wind and rain battered her body, pushing her off course and knocking the wind out of her lungs. They were both cold, freezing cold in this weather, and she nearly crumpled in relief at the doorstep of Hotel OJ. Her hand slapped desperately at the doorbell, a cacophony of ding-ding-didididi-ding- resounding in the hallway inside.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Jeez, calm down…” came an exasperated voice from inside.

Taco slipped MePad off her back, not-so-gracefully depositing him onto the floor with a loud CLANG. She stared at her companion, debating her plan, before finally the front doors opened. She pressed herself against the wall beside them, trying to cover her visible bow tie, and watched as OJ took in the sight.

“Oh my- MePad?!” He sounded shocked, horrified at the condition of the robot at his door. It almost made Taco flinch at the volume. “Hey! Mic, Trophy, Paintbrush! Pause that game- I need help lifting this guy. Get him to the fireplace, quick!”

What.

What?

The names of her former…friend made Taco freeze up. A gust of strong wind blew more cold rain into her face, and OJ grunted, putting a hand up to block the worst of it from hitting his face. He took MePad up by the shoulders and began to drag him inside. Taco stared with wide eyes as Microphone and Trophy rushed out of the double doors, her throat getting choked up at the sight of her old…friend.

“Mic…?” She whispered, her words getting swallowed by the torrent around them.

Microphone and Trophy each took one of MePad’s robotic legs, shoving the robot inside and out of the rain. Taco blinked, shuttering off her shock. She had a plan she needed to stick to, she needed to. So she willed her lethargic, invisible limbs to move, and squeezed herself through the doors of Hotel OJ before they slammed closed.

REBOOTING. PLEASE STAND BY.

WAKING UP SYSTEMS.

PROBLEM IDENTIFIED. INITIATING FLUID EXTRACTION PROTOCOLS.

PLEASE STAND BY.

Kssshhhhhh…

ACTIVATING INTERNAL HEATING SYSTEM.

PLEASE STAND BY.

Vvvvvrrrrrrrrrr…

WAKING UP SYSTEMS. RESTORING MEMORY.

“God, how long is this going to take?”

“I thought Meeple’s tech was- I dunno, better than this.”

“Hey shh- MePad’s waking up!”

With a few more various beeps and boops, a few whirring and shifting noises, and finally MePad blinked into life again. The LEDs of his face flickered back to the bright magenta, and the shutters covering the upper half of his face slid away.

“Hello.” MePad greeted. He blinked, taking in all the information around him: there was a fire thrumming in the hearth to his right. Beneath him were cushions, or perhaps a couch, and on top of him were four fluffy towels. There were many people hovering above him, also with looks of concern or anticipation. OJ, Lightbulb, Microphone, Paintbrush, a few season one contestants whose names were stored in his deeper memory banks- quite a few people, that was the point.

But…she was not among them.

“MePad! What were you doing in the pouring rain?!” OJ fretted, pulling the robot upright. His orange hair was pulled out of his face in a messy bun, and the glasses on his nose were askew. “How did you end up on the doorstep of the hotel?!”

“I do not know. All I remember is that I had gotten caught in the rain, and powered down.” MePad responded. He made a surprised sound as Trophy dropped another towel on his head. “Thank you, for saving me.”

He looked around, scanning the perimeter for the person who knew must be here somewhere. She had murmured her plan to him before he fully shut down, but he could only make out her foggy voice calling his name again and again whenever he tried to remember the plan’s phase two.

“You came all the way from the contestant grounds? But, that’s so far from here. You couldn’t have wandered here by yourself, waterlogged or not.” OJ muttered in confusion.

“Who cares?” Trophy wrinkled his nose in disgust, lightly kicking at MePad’s metal leg before yawning. “If lugging this hunk of junk is all you needed me to do, I'm going to my room. Game night’s been ruined anyway.”

The small crowd that had formed muttered things in agreement, some wishing MePad well, before returning to their rooms for the night. Lightbulb sighed, rolling her eyes.

“What a meanie. Don't take anything he says personally, MePad! Sometimes the weakest ones like to put up the toughest masks. But in my opinion, masks are so four years ago, and super suffocating.” She blinked. “But- but your mask is cool! It's like, glowy and stuff, and I like glowy. Wait, that is a mask, right? Or is that just your face?”

She slid down to sit beside MePad, tapping at the glass screen that was his mouth. It made MePad chuckle. Paintbrush sat beside her on the arm of the couch, rolling their eyes as Trophy yelled something about Lightbulb being a loser.

“Well, since you’re here, soaking all the towels and taking up all the space on the couch, the least you could do is play Mario Kart with us.” A gaming controller was thrown at MePad’s chest, and he looked over to see Paintbrush holding another two. They smirked at MePad’s confused eyes. They tossed a controller to Lightbulb and Microphone, however the controller just hit Microphone’s head, and she yelped in surprise.

MePad looked over at her instead, tilting his head. She had been staring at him, it seems, and was now desperately trying to avoid it. Her eyes were distracted, and her hands were shaking as she gripped the plastic remote. Something was on her mind, and MePad had a feeling he knew what.

Or rather, who.

“Are you ready to get creamed?” Paintbrush grinned. Microphone shook herself out of her mute trance, groaning.

“You say that, yet the highest you’ve ever gotten is second place.”

“That's just because we end when I'm so close to winning!”

“No, it's because OJ comes and shuts us down because you’re raging too loud!”

“Wha- look who’s talking!”

As they argued, MePad looked helplessly at the TV as some animations played, the gaming controller unfamiliar in his hands. He had a feeling that Taco would be much more socially adept at whatever was going on than him.

He hoped Taco was somewhere in the Hotel, getting dried off with fluffy towels by a fireplace, and playing games with friends. But, as much as he hated to admit it, he doubted that was true.

Her plan was working perfectly. MePad’s sudden arrival had drawn many people from the common areas to the main living space, giving Taco ample time to sneak through the hotel and find a hiding spot. It was a huge, ornate building on the outside, and felt even bigger on the inside. There were so many hallways and so many doors that she began to think she had gotten lost in some liminal space instead. Taco was surprised that this hotel cost only one million dollars to build— surely OJ must be suffering from crippling debt to keep it up and running.

And yet, there was nothing in it's walls that suggested lack of funding. No spider-webbing cracks in the windows, nor black mold creeping in the corners of the walls. The paint wasn’t peeling, not even chipping could be found. Warm, centralized air thrummed through the ceilings, blowing in through clean grates and making Taco feel a bit less cold as her soaked shoes squelched against the carpet.

She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped walking until she found herself turning in a circle, taking the hotel in. Hotel OJ was nothing like any of the sketchy motels she’d stayed in throughout her life. The little, hidden corners of the world where she would just make do. No, compared to those dumps, Hotel OJ was like a castle. A luxury resort. It…it was…

A place she didn’t belong.

The realization came crashing down on her, making her throat seize up and her heart rate spike. The orange walls towered over her short figure. Her muddy shoes sank into the carpet, as if she were to fall through.

She dredged up her foot and took a step backwards, then another, and another, away from the towering walls, until her back hit something solid. She whirled around, heart in her throat, and caught sight of her bowtie in the window she had run into.

The InvisaBow on her neck glitched, and her body shivered with rematerialization. God, she was filthy. Soaked to the bone with rain, white shirt stained brown with mud, sweat, and blood. Her once clean-ish cut hair was tangled in with her bow, the greasy strands much longer than the bob she remembered it being. Her right eye thrummed with pain, the scratches and bruising swelling into an ugly purple-red. Beyond that, she looked exhausted. Eyebags sagging from lack of sleep, cheekbones much more prominent than she remembered them being, wrinkles lining her face, lips chapped and cracking, skin freckled from sun exposure.

Ugly, was the first word that came to mind. Vulnerable was the second. Pathetic was the third.

Terror shot through her veins at the thought of somebody seeing her like this. Seeing her so pathetic.

Taco’s head spun, and she coughed wetly when she attempted to breathe in deeply. She jammed her hand into the InvisiBow again, returning to invisibility, and fled down the hallway at the sound of approaching people.

People.

People lived in this Hotel. People who didn’t like her, who probably wished she was better off dead. Who would kick her repulsive face back out into the pouring rain if they caught sight of her in their wondrous, royal, luxurious home.

Taco couldn’t face them.

So she ran. She ran and ran, like she so often did. Heaving and suppressing her coughs, she ran. She had been so focused on getting somewhere warm and dry, she hadn’t even thought about what she would do if everything went wrong.

What would happen when MePad woke up? Would he sell her out? He had no reason to, unless-

Unless he realized she had used him. Like she had with every other person who had the misfortune of trusting her.

She should have built up a sturdier relationship first, or explained her plan as a benefit to him, or even admitted she was scared when he suddenly blacked out. But instead, she had cut corners. Rushed plans. Not thought things through.

Mic was wrong. She wasn’t changing. She wasn’t capable of it.

In the midst of her turmoil, she slammed into a door labeled “DO NOT OPEN!” Immediately, she tugged on it. At the slightest hint of give, she dove inside and shut it behind her, collapsing against a supply shelf. Her lungs stuttered, and her hands touched a suspiciously slimy substance. But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

It was quiet. It was dark. It was slightly damp, and it was stuffy. It was nothing like what she was used to, and nothing like what she was hoping for.

But it worked. She would have to make do for now.

MePad couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t used to this comfortable bed, the downy pillows and the soft quilt. Granted, he normally slept on a hard, metal charging platform right beside MePhone, so anything that normal people would deem “comfortable” would not apply to him. He was not human, after all. He had no pain receptors in his metal body.

OJ had told him to “get some rest”, but all MePad could think of was the empty, clean bed on the other side of the spare room he had been lent. One that Taco should really be sleeping in, because Taco was a human. She had a toughened body yet a weakened immune system. She would benefit greatly from being warm, dry, and cozy, and MePad would not.

The robot sighed, sitting up mechanically in bed. He neatly laid back the quilt before standing up, dressing in a robe —orange colored, because of course it was,— before walking to the door and grabbing the handle.

He was going to find Ta-

“Ah!”

He blinked in surprise. Microphone stood in front of him squinting her eyes at the brightness of his LED eyes and mouth. She was standing surprisingly close to his door, bleary-eyed and dressed in a grey sweatshirt and pink sleep pants.

“Y-you’re so bright…” The girl mumbled.

“Apologies. I did not expect someone to-“

“Shhh!” Microphone pressed her finger to his screen-mouth, although that would not work on an android like him. “Can't you speak quieter too?!”

MePad nodded. He closed his eyes, visualizing the dials for both his brightness and volume. When he opened his eyes again, Microphone was no longer squinting in his face.

“Apologies, again.” MePad said, much quieter. “How may I help you, at this time of night, Microphone?”

“Well-“ She shifted on her feet, nervous. MePad stepped aside in the doorway, welcoming her into the borrowed room, and she ducked inside with gratitude. Once the door shut, she got straight to the point.

“Taco.” She said, unreadable emotion on her face. “Where is she?”

“I'm afraid I do not know.” MePad sighed. He watched from his standing place as Microphone moved to sit on the bed opposite him. “I had thought that she was here, in Hotel OJ, however I was unable to spot her once I awoke. I have vague memories of teleporting us near the hotel, yet everything after I have failed to recall.”

Mic sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. Despite their rocky relationship and sudden falling out, MePad could see the concern etched into Microphone’s face. She was worried for her friend. It was kind of her to continue to care for Taco, even after recognizing all the hurt and manipulation the girl had put her through.

“You are worried for her.” MePad pointed out as such. Microphone’s back went rigid at the words. “That is kind of you.”

“W-whaaaat? No, I…” Microphone trailed off, and her cheeks flushed red. “I'm- I’m worried about what she might do in the hotel! I mean, OJ will be furious if he finds out she snuck in. Pickle, too. And, uh…”

MePad hesitated.

“You are not worried for her wellbeing?” An edge of protectiveness tinged his tone, a sharp warning.

“No, no! I didn't mean that, I-I am!” Microphone sat up straight again, and MePad was even more confused at her reaction. “I just…its complicated. Complicated feelings-y stuff. Y’know?”

“No. Not really.” MePad shook his head, and Mic sighed.

“Ah. Robot. I forgot.”

They lapsed into a tense silence, and MePad’s gaze was drawn towards the door again. He couldn't waste any more time than he already had.

“Well, I was just about to look around and search for her.” He looked back over to Microphone, hand outstretched. “Would you care to join me?”

After what felt like hours, perhaps even days, Taco got her breathing back under control. Her brain had stopped somersaulting, and the walls had gone back to being just, well, walls. The darkness of the storage closet she had stuffed herself in helped, --she supposed that the bright lights had disoriented her poor vision-- but the disgusting, half-dried goo that coated the shelving units inside was not doing her any favors. If anything, she had felt even more sick now than she was before, as if that could even be possible.

But it was whatever, she could make do, so she had no reason to leave-

Knock knock knock.

Taco tensed up, staring at the door in front of her. No, it couldn't have been for her. Perhaps a tenant room beside the closet-?

Knock knock knock.

She stayed silent, finger hovering over the InvisaBow on her neck. Perhaps it was MePad. But if it wasn't, it could be Microphone, or OJ, or Pickle, and she did not want to take her chances with them yet

“Hey…um, Taco?”

The helium-high-pitched voice behind the door startled her, her brow scrunching up as she began to think that maybe Suitcase was not the only one experiencing hallucinations.

“So, uh, I know you’re in here. I think. Uh, there was a trail of wet footprints, so I guess I assumed it was you-” Damn her un-waterproofed boots, foiling her plans again… “-but, whatever. If you’re in there, hi! It's um, it's Balloon.”

Balloon? What would Balloon want with her? She knew him, of course, they had done Season 1 together years ago. But nowadays, she barely knew the guy. Much less had a vendetta against him, but-

“I just wanted to help someone who, I thought deserved…another chance.” Suitcase’s words rang in her mind.

Yes. Another chance.

I see.

“Well, whether or not you want to talk or not, that's okay. I'm used to talking to myself, so uh, I guess I’ll just go on and monologue, or something!” He slid down against the door, and Taco found herself moving closer to the door to hear him better.

“Um…so I won't ask how you’ve been doing, since it's probably been not-so-great. Heheh, believe me I understand.” He sighed. “I'm sure you remember how I acted way back then, in Season 1? A huge jerk, yeah. Not the greatest person, I’ll admit. And, um, it wasn't fun, believe it or not, being a not-great person. Of course, I didn't realize that at the time. It wasn't until when the season ended that I realized that I was alone.”

Taco sighed, leaning her head against the door. If it were any other night, one in which she was dry, rested, and not feeling like utter crap, then she would have probably fired back with a defensive rant.

“You probably won't believe it, but…well, it's hard for me to talk about, and I still kind of hold a grudge against OJ for this, but…it was raining, too, on the night I came back to ask for forgiveness. It was cold and wet, and I thought I’d get hypothermia or frostbite if I stayed outside for much longer. So I tried, wrote a whole long apology note and everything. All that got was my butt kicked back to the curb. But hey! At least he gave me a sweet, orange umbrella, right!?” Sarcasm was ripe in his voice, and Taco found herself rolling her eyes at the tone. Balloon huffed, as if sensing her gesture.

“Honestly, I didn't even notice you sneak in here. But it was probably a much better idea than groveling. You were always the clever, quick-thinking type. Me? I was just a meaner version of Knife.”

“Oh, please.” Taco found herself mumbling. Her voice was shot, thick with a cough, and she cleared her throat. “No one can be more brutish than that ironically-dull kitchen appliance.”

“So you can talk!” Balloon laughed from behind the door. “Ah, I forgot you turned British.”

Taco laughed, wheezing a little bit, but a laugh nonetheless. “I was always British, I'm just a very good actor.”

“Sure, sure.” Balloon said sarcastically again. They went quiet, and Taco sensed Balloon had something to say. But before he could speak, she cut him off.

“I appreciate your words of comfort, but I'm afraid our situations aren't so similar anymore.” She looked down to her black-gloved hands, ripped at some seams and still damp with rainwater. “Gods know how, but you got Suitcase on your side, and managed to complete a nice little redemption arc. Me? I can’t say I’ve even started one.”

“Really?” Balloon hummed. “Well, Lightbulb told me she thinks you’re getting there, slowly but surely. Don’t know how true that is, but what I do know is that turning over a new leaf is always easier with a friend by your side.”

Taco scoffed. “But I don’t-”

“Balloon? What are you doing, sitting in front of the storage closet?”

Taco’s eyes widened, and she scrambled to her feet. She stared at the door, straining her ears to hear that voice again.

“You don’t have any friends, you say?” Balloon said, a smirk evident in his voice.

Taco pushed the door open, accidentally slamming Balloon in the face; but she couldn't care less. A relieved grin stretched across her face.

“MePad!”

MePad’s eyes flickered brightly as Taco’s lithe body barreled into him. That was sure to leave a bruise on her skin, but considering how she was hugging him with all of her strength, she didn’t care, and MePad wasn’t about to spoil the moment. He wrapped his arms around her back, feeling relief melt off him in waves. For something who claimed not to feel emotion, he certainly was getting a little soft.

Taco’s own relief was short lived, however, as when she opened her eyes again she was met with a few people staring at her. Microphone, of course, was looking at her with concern in her dark eyes. OJ was behind her, arms crossed and clearly only begrudging her presence in his hotel. Balloon had emerged from behind the door, rubbing his red cheek, looked less than happy about being slammed in the face, but still held a small look of pride.

They were staring at her, waiting for her to…speak. Do anything at all. So, Taco pushed MePad away, cleared her throat and fought the urge to look away. Instead, she stared them all right in their eyes.

Alright, Taco. Say something, she thought to herself. Speak your lies, and manipulate them into letting you stay. Or at least, to not say anything. Blame it on MePad, he surely wouldn't mind. Yes! MePad teleported us here and- and I had no say. Perfect.

Mind made up, Taco opened her mouth to explain��only for her lungs to seize up and a fit of wet coughing to wrack her body.

How embarrassing…

MePad made a distressed beep! at her sickness, trying to pat her back like she was a choking baby (which she wasn’t, thank you very much). Even still, she kept her head held high and her back straight and attempted to smoothen out her wrinkled shirt. She had class, elegance, and a simple cold wouldn't stop her from appearing her usual posh self.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Taco raspily muttered, waving MePad’s concerned arms away from her. She coughed into her fist once more before facing the dumbfounded group. “Honestly, OJ, you should up the security on this fancy little hotel you have here. You’d be surprised-” “Taco.” Microphone strode up to her, arms crossed and face scrutinizing. Taco swallowed discreetly, but still stood her ground against her former friend. Even if sweat dripped down the back of her neck, and her cold fingers began to tremble. The taller girl stopped in front of her, her face hesitant as she stared Taco down.

“M…Microphone, I-”

“Shut up.” Microphone said quietly. Taco blinked, a little surprised.

“But I-”

“Just- just shut up.” She was still keeping her distance from Taco, and yet she looked…worried.

Worried for Taco, of all people. The way she stared into her eyes was stifling with hatred, and yet softened with concern. Taco…didn't know what to say to make this better.

The air was thick, as if Microphone had something more to say but she couldn't get it out.

“OJ, do we have any more dry towels? Or spare clothes? And is the fire still going?”

OJ looked at Mic with a small smile on his face. “Who do you take me for?” He looked back at Taco, the corners of his mouth only twitching just slightly.

“Listen, we can work this out later.” OJ said to her, turning to the stairs. He paused, giving her a once-over again, and sighed. “Once you don't look like you’re about to keel over with a flu.”

“I am not-!”

“According to my health sensors, your body temperature is higher than average, and you are at risk of suffering from exhaustion and hypothermia. I strongly encourage you to sit by the fire, even for an hour or two, Taco.” MePad said, concern replacing his apathetic tone of voice.

“Trust me, you do not want to develop pneumonia.” Balloon, emerging from behind MePad, shuddered.

“Please, Taco, just this once?” Microphone was practically begging her. Huh, strange, she was acting as if they were still friends…

“Alright, alright, alright!” She pressed a hand to her temples to soothe a developing headache. “All of you, quit your yakking. I’m…I’m coming.”

Microphone smiled, the tension in her face melting into relief. Hesitant, she extended her hand to Taco.

Hopeful to begin again, Taco took it.

“Achoo!”

Swaddled in towels and blanket so much that she resembled a burrito, Taco warmed herself by the fire. She leaned against Mic, who, despite obviously still uneasy about Taco’s presence, had a comforting arm around her as she huddled near the fire. MePad was humming quietly, fans running to keep him from overheating. Taco closed her eyes, ready to give in and fall into a deep sleep that would surely cure her of whatever illness she had developed, when she was stirred awake by heavy footsteps.

A teacup clinked down beside her, on a plain white saucer. It smelled of lemons and ginger, and was still lightly steaming. The warm ceramic chased the damp chill away from her fingertips, and she breathed in the calming aroma as best she could through her stuffy nose.

“Thank you.” She muttered, looking up at the person who had handed her the cup; only to find him part-way up the stairs. He stopped and looked back, and Taco’s eyes widened.

There was something in Pickle’s stony look that proved he was not one to forgive as quickly as Microphone. And yet, he had still brewed her a cup of her favorite tea, and (even if begrudgingly) accepted her into his home.

He simply gave her a subtle nod, and continued on his way. Taco took a sip of the warm drink and smiled.

#another fanfic!#enjoy :)#inanimate insanity #ii taco #taco ii #ii mepad #mepad ii #tacopad #ii balloon #tacomic #rosin writes #ii fanfic #also posted on ao3 #but on my main acc

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jaegeraether · 10 months ago

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Sunsets and footballers (Part 60)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (52) / Alexia Putellas x Character (20) & Jordan Nobbs x Leah Williamson (10)

Masterlist (other parts here)

Join our WOSO Discord chat! Link in bio :)

((**6.1k**))

YFN POV

“Was that Alexia?” Lucy asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” YFN murmured, just as shocked.

“Calling you?”

She met Lucy’s green eyes – the ones that made the butterflies in her tummy do somersaults. “Don’t be jealous, Luce.” She teased, knowing full well that she wasn’t.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Is she okay?” She asked as she bent in front of the bed and patted YFN’s thigh. “Up you get, little one.”

YFN shuffled to the edge of the bed and pressed herself against Lucy’s strong back, wrapping her arm around her front and her good leg around her waist while the other stayed straight in her brace. Lucy stood and walked them to the bathroom. They had gotten used to getting around the house in all different ways, Lucy insisting on helping her everywhere.

YFN put her nose to the back of Lucy’s hair and breathed in her smell. She always smelled extra sweet after she’d just woken.

“She wants to talk… and also said Barca wants an update call with you two…” she murmured as she planted a soft, lingering kiss to the back of her neck in appreciation.

Lucy hummed happily. “Thank you for that.”

She placed her down gently on the sink in the bathroom and pulled the high stool to rest her leg on. At this point, they were a well-oiled operation.

“She’s coming over?”

“Yeah, I thought it’ll be good for her. I told her I’m interviewing you today and suggested that we can talk after it, but she said she wants to come and watch and be interviewed as well.”

“It does make sense doing hers soon as we won’t know when she’s headed back…” Lucy agreed as she removed her sling, and her shirt. The cool air of the bathroom hardened YFN’s nipples immediately and Lucy gave a smirk as she ducked down to kiss them. “Hello, friends.”

“You’re a child.”

“I hope not, otherwise we’ve got a real problem on our hands.”

YFN scoffed as Lucy put waterproof coverings over her collarbone bandage, and her arm cast. “You’re the cougar here.”

“It’s okay, mummy’s here.”

“Oh god, Luce.”

Lucy chuckled at her own joke as she usually did and finished taping the top of the soft plastic around her arm cast. She put a hand on the sink either side of her and leant it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy hearing me say that.”

YFN bit her lip instead of responding and Lucy leant in, her lips brushing over her bruising, her dimples, her lips. YFN gave a soft, agreeing sigh as she leant into her, but Lucy had already retreated teasingly with a smirk. She gave her a soft peck on the forehead before moving her attention down to wiggle the sleeping shorts and underwear from YFN. It was embarrassing for her; having to be looked after, though Lucy was so kind, so patient, and never made fun of her for it.

She was now naked sitting on the sink and trying to keep her arm still as if the sling were still on, all the while watching Lucy and blushing. The footballer was getting a large black bin bag that they’d been using to cover her knee brace while she showered which she was also ashamed to admit she was embarrassed at.

Lucy looked up at her, perhaps because of her silence, and saw her red cheeks. “Oh, little one. No need to be embarrassed, okay? It’s just me.”

She put the bag down and came close again, peppering little kisses onto her cheek. “I can’t help it. I wish I could…”

“Here…” Lucy stepped back and YFN watched as she stripped herself naked, putting their clothes into the laundry basket. She put her arms out and gave a little wiggle that made YFN laugh. “Now we’re even.”

“I think it’s less about the nakedness and more about the bin bag. But I do appreciate the view…”

Lucy winked as she came close again. “Little one, you could be in a crowd of people all dressed up in their little suits and dresses, and even wearing nothing but a bin bag, you’d still be the most beautiful.” She leant down and kissed her gently, pausing only to murmur against her lips. “And you’d be the only thing I’d see.”

They kissed slowly, loving; their tongues meeting briefly before a cold shiver from YFN had Lucy pulling away and sliding the bin bag over her leg. “Come on, we need to get you warm.”

“I still can’t handle this.”

“Calm down Bree, you’re acting like a fan,” Emily teased.

“But we are fans,” Bridget insisted as they looked out the large glass doors of the living room to where Lucy and Alexia were sitting together outside on a video call to Barcelona management. As if she knew they were talking about her, Lucy looked over and lifted her sunglasses up to flash her a wink. YFN returned a knowing smile from her position at the dining table; her work spread out in front of her.

“You’ve met Lucy before-” YFN started.

“-briefly!” Bridget interjected.

“And they’re both lovely.”

“And apparently Alexia is single too…” Emily muttered as if day-dreaming.

“Right here, Em.” Bridget groaned.

“Alright you two, less gawking and more prepping.”

Bridget and Emily had arrived shortly before Alexia and almost had a heart attack. It had apparently been bad enough for them to prepare themselves for filming an interview with Lucy, let alone la Reina herself.

YFN let them finish setting up their camera and the backdrop against the wall of the living room for the interview photos. YFN went through a few more questions she had to ask Alexia, as her interview had been a last-minute addition. When she arrived, she’d agreed to do it in English and so YFN made a note to use clear speech and simple wording. She was going to ask if she wanted Ridley there for translations, but she had chosen not to mention her just yet. She was always just a phone call away, and they could always edit it anyways.

Alexia came back inside from the video call first and YFN watched as Emily nervously directed her through how to stand and sit for her photos. A grey figure appeared suddenly next to her and she jumped, wincing at her collarbone as Chiquito rubbed his cheek against her jaw for attention.

“Hey little man,” she greeted with a kiss on the cheek. “Missing mum?”

That had been a surprise to YFN, when Alexia had arrived with Chiquito. She knew how much he meant to Ridley.

His attention turned to watch Alexia posing politely for photographs while YFN started to work again… until her phone rang. Reading a line, she picked it up without checking to see who it was.

“Hello, YFN speaking.”

“Hey YFN, it’s Leah…”

“Oh! Hey mate, how are you?”

“Yeah good, good.”

“How’s the training coming along?”

“Yeah, really good. Not fully back training just yet, I will be soon.”

“But you’re running again?!”

“It feels great to be fair. Really good being around the girls again too. I’m sick of not being able to play.” She sounded a little frustrated which was completely understandable. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Here I am complaining about me while you’re stuck as home all bandaged up.”

YFN chuckled as Lucy now approached her and wrapped her arms around her from behind. “It’s okay, Leah. It means more time with Lucy which is never enough. She’s been really amazing the way she’s looked after me. I feel like a newborn.”

“Remember that I can help out too…”

“I will and I appreciate the offer. Now, what can I do for you? Are you just checking up or…?”

“I… look I’ll be honest, I want to talk to you about Jordan. We’re meeting up tomorrow night and you’re good to talk to about these things. Are you busy today?”

Lucy nuzzled into her hair while YFN looked around. “Uh… yeah kind of. I’m doing interviews for Lucy and Alexia today so we’re just at Lucy’s place-”

“-our place,” Lucy interjected too quiet for Leah to hear.

“Our place,” she corrected. “With two girls from Lumos to do some filming. Are you not training today?”

“No, not today. Physio today. The girls are training hard for the game tomorrow.”

“Ah… well I can let you know when I’m free after if you want? Lucy is taking Alexia to a boxing class later on.”

“I mean, I could just come over now if that’s okay? I’ll bring you all some lunch if you want.”

She felt Lucy nodding eagerly against the back of her head and she chuckled. “That would be amazing, thanks! A bit of this has been last minute, so we haven’t actually organised lunch yet.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in half an hour.”

They hung up and Lucy’s lips found her cheek. “I fell in love with a real problem-solver, didn’t I?”

Lucy took her photos, grinning in some, almost smouldering in others and YFN had to work hard to pay attention to what she was doing.

“So just talk normally, like we’re having a usual conversation. Any time you want to pause, we can. Any time you need to find an answer first, we’ll edit those parts out. And if you need a translation, I can organise that too.”

“Ridley?” Alexia asked.

YFN nodded hesitantly. “Is that okay?”

She nodded in agreement as something crossed behind her eyes. YFN put a hand on her arm to bring her back. “We’ll talk after the interviews, okay?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

“I’m done,” Lucy said, joining them at the table. “Who’s going first?”

“Alexia first and then you, but I’m more than happy for you to get involved from off camera in each other’s interviews. It’ll make it feel a bit more normal and relaxed.”

“Oh, I can do that,” she grinned.

Bridget and Emily finished packing their camera away and joined them; YFN using the opportunity to discuss with them all the plan and what she expected. All five of them spoke a little more until it was time to begin the interview and they moved to the couch.

“Up you come, little one.” Lucy murmured as she picked her up and carried her to the couch. She blushed at a few looks she received but she wasn’t embarrassed. Lucy settled her down into a comfortable position on the couch, making sure her water was close by, and her notes, as Alexia settled down facing her with one leg folded up. She looked comfortable, though a little nervous which YFN was confident would disappear after a few minutes.

And it did. Alexia relaxed into the interview and YFN with it, as she was just as new to the concept as the footballer. They started off with football, mentioning YFN’s own current disabilities and Alexia able to show that comforting side of her. Lucy hopped in with a few cheeky comments of course, though stayed silent as the conversation moved a little bit more serious as they spoke about her family. Her English was easily understandable, even when she was struggling a little emotionally talking about her dad. As if he knew, Chiquito jumped up onto her lap and settled there as if he were Alexia’s pet. She paused to see if she should put him down, but YFN just smiled and segued the conversation back into the fun. Into the side of the footballer that people didn’t usually hear about like her hobbies, holiday destinations, personal quirks etc.

Leah arrived towards the end of the interview and could do nothing to avoid the camera as she came in with apologies. She pulled the sunglasses up to hold back her hair and leant over the couch to greet Alexia and YFN with a kiss on the cheek.

“Sorry! Sorry, I’ll move.” She apologised as she put the few bags of food that she was carrying, off camera.

YFN loved it, though. It felt relaxed, and real. She knew it’d be something she’d keep in the interview. People rarely saw players like Alexia and Leah interact.

The interview took about thirty minutes in total, and then they stopped for a lunch break with the food Leah had brought them.

“Did you get this from that café around the corner?” Lucy asked as she sucked some sauce from her thumb.

“Yeah it had some good reviews, so I thought I’d try it. You’ve been there?”

“One of my favourites.” She said as if not wanting to waste time talking when she could be eating.

“Are you all sorted for tomorrow?” Leah asked YFN.

“Oh, yes. I organised a lot of it from the hospital, and so everybody’s prepped for the games on Sunday… tomorrow.”

“Where are you two going to be?” Leah asked Bridget and Emily who were watching the conversation like a tennis match, almost too nervous to speak.

“We’re doing the Gunners, Hammers game at Meadow Park,” Emily said with a smile.

“They’re Gooners so I try to keep them close to your club,” YFN explained.

A piece of salad fell out of her sandwich and Lucy was quick to help.

“Let me cut it up for you, little one.”

She gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as she took her plate and cut her sandwich up into smaller pieces, so it was easier to eat with one hand. She didn’t miss the longing looks that Alexia and Leah flashed their way.

“Are you going to the Lioness games next week?” YFN asked Leah, hoping the subject wouldn’t be tender.

She nodded. “I was hoping you could come with me, if you’re comfortable with it?”

“I’d be happy to go if the doctor clears me to start putting a little weight on my leg next week…”

“To Scotland?” Lucy asked, worried.

“Maybe… I know it’s important for you…”

“…and we’ll get better seats if we have you with us. And better access.”

“Not good reasoning,” Lucy said protectively while YFN chuckled.

“I think it’s great reasoning, Luce. Plus, I love seeing you play for England. You’re a maniac.”

“She’s more…careful at Barcelona,” Alexia agreed.

“She’s very good in the important games,” YFN said, enjoying teasing her as she took a cut up piece of her sandwich and ate it.

“Yes yes, very scary,” Alexia said and her accent made it that much funnier.

“Okay, is it attack Lucy day?” Lucy grumbled as she took another bite.

As the girls were tidying up after lunch, Lucy was helping YFN change her clothes and settle back onto the couch ready for their interview. She wanted to look like it was filmed on a different day.

“Little one?” She said quietly.

“That’s my name.”

“Are you okay if I go to the Arsenal game tomorrow afternoon? I wanted to ask Alexia at boxing if she wants to go…”

YFN knew full well that Lucy wasn’t an Arsenal supporter, she was a Man City supporter having had played for them, and so she knew that her objective was to keep Alexia entertained. “You’re a good person, Luce.”

Lucy smiled. They’d done that thing where they’d communicated without communicating.

“Thanks.” She gave her a kiss on the cheek. “And maybe I’ll ask Leah…”

“Not Leah.”

Lucy’s head tilted in question. “No?”

“No…”

Lucy could see she had something else in mind and didn’t question it. “Okay then. Maybe Ridley will want to come over and spend time with you?”

“Sure, if she’s back…”

“Back?”

Before she could answer, the girls were back around them and they settled in for their interview, sitting much closer than she and Alexia had been, with Narla joining them on the couch.

Lucy was such a natural in front of camera. She was so confident, cocky even and very flirty which made YFN have to hide a grin back to her, though she knew her dimples were giving her away. She gave the same attitude back, proudly drawing goofy grins out of Lucy during the interview.

She’d conducted it the same way as Alexia’s. They’d started with football, both Leah and Alexia throwing comments in off camera that she either answered or was teased with, then they moved to a bit more depth when speaking about her family and the bullying nature of the industry, and then finishing with happiness, fun, flirting, food, Spain, Narla. She’d had no idea that Lucy would be so openly flirting with her, though she didn’t mind it, it gave it more character and showed a side of Lucy the public didn’t really get to see that often. Anything more personal, she would keep just for themselves.

“Can we do player on player?” Lucy asked when they were done.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Leah and I, maybe?”

Alexia looked confused but YFN knew she was giving the two time to speak alone. She nodded. “If Leah is comfortable with it…”

“I can’t promise anything will be postable,” she laughed. “But sure, let’s do it.”

“Okay, I have a list of generic questions you two can use if you’d like.” YFN said and gave them each a copy so they’d have something to work with.

Lucy helped YFN make her way outside to their outdoor seating with Alexia where they still had a good view of the pair inside being filmed chatting away by Emily and Bridget.

“Ah, I wonder what Lucia was doing,” Alexia admitted.

“She’s pretty good at subtlety,” YFN admitted as she watched her laughing away with Leah as she pet Narla between them.

“Yes, she is. I didn’t know that until she… met you.”

YFN was aware that Alexia and Lucy had gotten much closer recently and that’s why she’d only just learnt that about her.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Si… yes… Ridley.”

“I assumed so. I noticed you had Chiquito…”

Alexia smiled at the cat who was getting attention from Emily as Bridget filmed.

“She gave him me when you said I was lonely.”

She always knew Ridley was chivalrous but that was something else. That was romance. “That’s a pretty big gesture.”

Alexia nodded. “She save me yesterday.”

“What happened?!”

“My knee was frustrating me and so I push myself hard to… to see if it can help but I overwork my body.”

“And Riddles was with you?”

“No… no she sees me and take… taken me back to the home and look after me.”

“She was just stopping by to see how you were doing and found you?”

“Si.”

“And that upset you?”

“No… it was nice. She look after me with food and my knee…” she made a gesture.

“…massaging?” YFN suggested.

“Si, massaging and… and we had nice day and dinner and she make alarm for me to wake up for Meg.”

“Meg the physio?”

“Si. She… si.”

She didn’t feel good about the way she avoided speaking about Meg. “What aren’t you saying?”

Alexia sighed and averted her eyes. “We argue.”

“Argued about what?”

“About her carry me.”

“Ah. She’s used to that, though.”

“Yes, she say that. She talk something about SERE?”

She understood where it was going. “SERE training? Yes.”

“I make her tell me…”

“Ah.” It was one thing that Ridley hated speaking about. That, and her family. “Did she tell you?”

“She say… she say they break her. Drown a…and starve and…” she gestured again.

“Tortured?”

“Si.” Alexia’s eyes met hers. “It is true?”

“It’s worse that you can ever imagine. Riddles was being kind. They make them unbreakable. They do all of that and… they even sexually humiliate them.”

“Humil…” Alexia started. YFN found the translation and showed her and watched her face pale. “This… this is why she…”

“Why she sleeps around? One of the reasons, yes. She’s very comfortable with her body.”

“She does not open to me.”

“She’s…” YFN let out a large sigh. “She’s very complicated and very simple at the same time. She hasn’t broken, I’m assuming?”

Alexia shook her head. “She… she tells me to go with Meg.”

That didn’t surprise her. Ridley would want her to be happy and from what Alexia hadn’t said, Meg liked her.

YFN wondered just how much she should say. She thought for a minute about what would be best for Ridley. Was Alexia what was best for her? She saw the way they acted around each other, and it was almost like herself and Lucy. Lucy. She looked inside and found her looking at her, still talking to Leah. She’d always wanted Ridley to find someone to make her happy, to fully open up to. Someone other than herself.

YFN reached out and gently took Alexia’s fingers in her own and met her eyes.

��Alexia… she won’t break. She won’t break, because if she does… she will lose herself.” Alexia’s eyes flooded with questions. “One of the only reasons she got through the military, through the deaths and the lives she took and the torture…” She almost choked on that word. “Was because she wasn’t doing it for herself. She told herself again and again that she wouldn’t break because of us. Me. Her brother. Her mum. And so, if she lets herself give in, then she’ll essentially be losing her anchor. The one thing to keep her grounded and sane. That love she buries so deep.”

Alexia’s eyes flooded with tears. “So… so there is no way… no way to love for her? No way to let me in?”

YFN’s heart broke for her. “She doesn’t believe so…”

A tear broke free from each eye and Alexia wiped them away with her spare hand. YFN squeezed the fingers she was holding. “But I do.”

Her head whipped up. “You do?”

“I really do.”

“How?” The question was almost whispered and YFN was worried she would feel like she was betraying her friend, but she felt the opposite. Like she was saving her.

“She needs to know you’re not going anywhere.” Alexia listened eagerly, and empathetically. “She lost her mum. Brother. Almost me. Friends. So many friends. She needs to know that you’re here to stay and that you won’t leave her. She never attaches because she thinks she’ll lose them and it hurts her too deep. So don’t try to break her. Let her pull you into her bubble herself. It will take a long time, and it’ll be frustrating and maybe feel like you aren’t getting anywhere with her, but you will be. I promise. You’ve already started and you haven’t even noticed….”

Alexia blinked and YFN knew she was thinking about the ten months she’d admired her from afar.

“She… want a home.”

YFN nodded. “She does. She planned on making us one but I have Luce now…” The thought of a home with Lucy was heart warming to her, though she felt horrible that Ridley didn’t have that same feeling. “Because Lucy is my home. She made that apartment in London for her brother… she made a home in Australia for her mum. But all of that is just material. Look close enough, Alexia, and you’ll see she’s trying to find a home, and she doesn’t even know that she’s doing it. She doesn’t realise that home is about people. Or… a person.”

Alexia fiddled with her fingers, and YFN knew she was doing it subconsciously.

“Alexia, please… please don’t break her heart. Don’t try to force her. Don’t try to break her. And if you don’t have any intention on being there for her whenever she needs then please… walk away now. I’m saying this as someone who loves her so, so much, you have no idea.” YFN felt herself tearing up. “We’ve been through everything together, and I couldn’t handle it if you hurt her.”

“You love her.”

“I do. I really, really do. And I would drop everything to pick up the broken pieces of her and put her back together again. But please, don’t put her in that situation. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. She deserves everything good.”

“I won’t hurt her…”

“You’re going to stay?”

Alexia nodded, as if it were the only choice. “Yes, I stay.”

“You have my number. You call me or text me anytime, okay?”

“I will.” Her voice was husky.

“You need to let her know you’re not going anywhere…” she repeated. “That you’re ‘right here’.”

After the Lionesses were done with their player on player, Bridget and Emily passed YFN the footage and left, taking the spare sandwiches and pastries upon Leah’s insistence, YFN making sure to compliment them on how well they did. Shortly after, Lucy and Alexia headed out to their boxing session in the city. Lucy had made time before they left, however, to quietly make sure YFN was okay after seeing her red eyes, ducking down next to her and letting her know just how much she loved her.

“You’re an amazing friend, little one. An amazing person. An amazing girlfriend. I’m so lucky. I love you.” She’d whispered to her; the two sharing a kiss before she went.

“Luce… come back to me,” she’d murmured in return, giving her a longing look. It felt strange to say, as they’d been inseparable the past week, but she wanted her. Always. Especially after the conversation she’d had with Alexia.

“I’ll be back before you know it, love. I’ll bring dinner home.”

“I love a breadwinner.”

She’d grinned, teasingly. “That’s mummy to you.”

“Argh,” She’d replied, disgusted, and shoved her and pointed to the door. “Go, cougar.”

“Isn’t there only three years between you two?” Leah asked as Lucy chuckled her way to the front door.

“Yes, but the maturity differences evens it out… and then some.”

She heard Lucy scoff from the doorway as it clicked shut, and then there were two.

“You must feel pretty attached to that couch by now…” Leah said.

“Oh, you have no idea. Pretty sure my body is imprinted on it.”

She let out a chuckle. “So, it appears I’m not the only therapy you’re giving today.”

“Did Lucy say…?”

She shook her head. “No, I saw you two out the window. Alexia and Ridley, right?”

“Yeah. It’s much, much more complicated than your situation.”

“Have you spoken to Jordan?”

“Yeah a bit actually. She doesn’t like Birmingham too much, I think.”

“Do you feel like you’re missing your home there?”

Chiquito launched up onto the couch, finding interest in Leah before climbing his way over a now sleeping Narla, to settle in YFN’s lap.

“Is it too corny to say that I feel like I’m missing my home whenever I’m without Lucy?”

“A little.” She agreed. “But I know exactly how you feel.”

“Like you’re missing your home without her?”

She nodded. “I’ve struggled over a year without her. I miss her and Blu and our home. She used to live with me in London and we’d see each other every day and then… then I ruined both of our lives.”

“You did it to protect her.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“No, it doesn’t. Because you should have done it with her.”

“I know,” she admitted, not able to look up from the couch. “She’s my person and I just… I fucked it up.”

YFN didn’t let that negativity sit long. “Dory said you protected her the other week from the paparazzi…”

“I told them not to approach her or harass her and they didn’t listen.”

“But you told them. That meant a lot to her.”

Her eyes came up to meet YFN’s. “It did? I was worried she’d feel like I was going behind her back.”

“On the contrary, she thought it showed how much you cared.”

Leah’s shoulders dropped, a little relieved.

“And she also said you and she had a really, really good night.”

“It wasn’t perfect.”

“Perfection isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s about the imperfections, the working together, the unknown. She was telling me in the hospital all about it and it felt like it had a year ago. Natural and stress-free and beautiful.”

“She said that?”

“In her own words. She also loves your hugs.”

Leah gave a sad chuckle. “Yeah, she loves those.”

“You know all of this already. So why did you want to talk to me?”

“I guess I feel like talking to you is the closest I can be to her… because I know how close you two have become.”

YFN nodded, understanding. “My whole life changed the day I saw her on that beach.”

“Now you have Jord, and Lucy, and because of you, she’s talking to me again…”

“Do you have another date planned?”

“Tomorrow night. I wanted to know what you think I should do... or if she’s expecting anything?”

“Dory just wants to be around you. You make her happy.”

“I was going to try and cook for her again. I’ve been taking lessons and I actually know where I messed up last time.”

“Can I suggest something else?”

“Go ahead, probably better than my ideas.”

“I think you should go and watch her game.”

“In Birmingham?”

“Yep. You’re not a sub at the Arsenal game, right?”

She shook her head.

“So go to Birmingham and show her that you’re there to support her. Show her you’re willing to go out of your way for her. Don’t have expectations because she needs time, you know that, but just go and… be. You can take her to a restaurant after the game, or go to our place and spend time with Blu and cook or order in. You’re more than welcome to use my bedroom if she’ll let you sleep there, but like I said, no expectations. Expect that you’ll be driving back that night. We both know she’d never let you, but still, just let her have all of the control, yeah? Give her that power and see how she uses it.”

“You don’t think she’ll be overwhelmed if I show up?”

“Honestly? I think it’d melt her heart. You watch her face when she sees you, Leah. In that first split second that it takes to recover her expression… you’ll see everything she’s feeling.”

Ridley POV

Ridley was staring out the window of her hotel room, unable to break her mind from her. She’d tried so hard and every time she got to the point where she knew she’d succeed, she fell back into it, because she wanted to think about her. About the way she always looked sad… because it made her happy expression that much sweeter. About the way she stood her ground and challenged Ridley like no one had before.

She looked back down at the follow notification from Alexia that she’d just received. Of course, that came with a multitude of other people following suit, being la Reina fans, and she smiled as she looked at her profile picture. Alexia in her beloved number 11 Barcelona jersey; that blonde dyed hair Ridley was obsessed with, up in her high ponytail.

She’d received the notification an hour or so after her meeting, and as she stared at it a little longer, she pressed the button to follow her back.

She found herself scrolling through her posts, unable to stop herself from pausing and admiring one particular photo of her lying face down on the front of a yacht. Her hair was in a messy bun, her tattoos stunning, her ass… was something that had Ridley wondering how she even existed. The things she’d sacrifice to be behind her as she laid like that in front of her… and then there was her hand. It laid palm up, her fingers partially curled and begging for Ridley to entwine her fingers with. She looked so… soft.

Her phone started buzzing and she tilted her head in wonder as Alexia’s name popped up on the screen, just minutes after she’d followed her back.

“Thinking about me, were you?” She murmured in Spanish as she answered.

“Hello to you too.”

“Good afternoon, la Reina. What can I do for you?”

“You can have dinner with me.” Her voice sounded like honey through the phone.

“Oh?”

“I had fun the other day and you’re right, I’ve been too much. I was hoping just to spend some more time with you.”

“You’re leaving London?”

“I never said that.”

Ridley’s stomach did a sickly thing at the thought of Alexia leaving. “Would you like to leave?”

“No, I’d like to stay and spend time with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

That settled her nerves a little.

“So,” Alexia continued. “Dinner and a swim, maybe?”

“I’m not sure if I’ll be back tonight…”

“Back?”

Ridley hummed. “Yes, I have another meeting with a client and it may push me to stay another night if it goes for too long.”

“Where are you?”

“Currently? Switzerland.”

“What…?!” It was more disheartened than shocked.

“Let me just have a look at the flights. I was originally planning to stay here another night.”

“I don’t want to put you out…”

“You could never put me out, Lex. It sounds like a great idea.” Anything to be around her. “Just let me check.” Ridley scrolled through the flights and found two potentials. One landing at 6pm, and the other at 7:30pm. Though, she knew there was more chance she’d be on the later flight given how frustratingly underprepared the clients had been. “I have one that I will most likely be on. I’ll get to the apartment around 8pm, if that works?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

“Would you like me to organise it?”

“No, I’ve already booked a place for 8pm. I’ll call and change the time to a little later.”

“Oh, you have? How presumptuous of you.”

“I learned from the best.”

Ridley chuckled at her humour. “Are you going to dress up for me?”

“Only if you dress up for me.” Cheeky, but not flirty.

“Deal. Let’s both dress nice for each other. I’m heading into my meeting now, but I’ll see you tonight, la Reina.”

Alexia POV

She was nervous. It was 6:30pm and Ridley was going to be at the apartment in the next hour and a half. She’d barely had time to buy a dress with Lucia before picking up Chiquito and getting back to the apartment for her rehab appointment. She’d forgotten about it so late that it had been too late to cancel, and now she was checking her watch for the tenth time to make sure she left before Ridley arrived.

That wouldn’t be good, especially after the discussion she’d had with Blau about letting Ridley know she was always going to be there.

“How is it feeling today?” Meg asked as she scraped her thigh with a plastic device. It was always so painful. Alexia groaned and gripped the gym bench harder from where she sat.

“Okay until you do that…”

Meg giggled. “But it helps. You know it does.”

Alexia didn’t agree with her. She’d been very careful to not encourage her, especially with the physio’s wandering hands.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?”

The question was so off-topic as they’d been professional for the whole session thus-far.

“Si,” she groaned again. It felt like she was peeling her skin off. “I do.”

“Oh? What are you doing?”

“M…Meg I do not wanting to talk about this now.” Alexia said, tilting her head back and squeezing her eyes shut in pain.

“Almost done,” she giggled again and finished up, starting to massage instead. After a few more moments of silence, Meg spoke again, seeming to build confidence from somewhere. “I think you should spend the night with me.”

Alexia’s head shot up and her eyes opened to see Meg staring at her, very, very seriously.

“I have plan tonight…” Was all she could say.

“Then cancel,” she murmured as she moved close to Alexia. “We can hang out and have some fun like we always do, yes?”

Their sessions had been fun, sure, but it was bold of her to make a move. Of course, Alexia should have expected it, having led her on with her flirting the past few sessions.

Meg got even closer now while Alexia stared, wide-eyed and worried she’d hurt her feelings.

“Your session is done,” she whispered as her lips found Alexia’s.

Alexia didn’t kiss her back, she just stared, stunned and pulled away, unable to find words.

A voice sounded from the doorway then and Alexia’s head snapped to where Ridley stood with an expression that was far too neutral.

“Should I come back later?”

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foxbirdy · 20 days ago

Note

hi!

just saw your pictures of you doing some marine biology fieldwork and i just wondered if you have any stories about the experience that you would like to share. Im in 1st year uni right now and i have no idea what im gonna specialize in other than “science!!” but i work on boats for my job right now (tallships, very cool stuff) and so marine environment work really appeals to me. If you have the time, I would love to get a picture of what the work you’re doing entails.

(What does the day-to day of marine biology research look like? What kind of stuff are you studying/information are you gathering? Whats it like? Is it awesome? feel free to answer none of these also)

thank you!!

OH, I'm jealous - it's a dream of my mine to get to work on a tallship. & I love to talk about this stuff!

In all honesty, the day-to-day changes pretty dramatically depending on what project work is available. Right now, as a student, a lot of what I'm involved in ties into coursework or research that's happening at the university! I volunteer with a couple different labs, and there's a huge variety of stuff to get in on. For example:

Last Saturday, I spent about six hours pulling otoliths and gonads out of eighty invasive roi, taape, and toau caught by local spearfishermen. Otoliths are the ear bones of fish, and similar to the rings of a tree, they have ringed annuli that can give a lot of information about the life history of the individual species. We cast these otoliths in resin, and then cut cross-sections to look at them under the microscope. The hope is that this information will help us understand when these species become reproductive, and how to control their populations.

The last several Fridays, I've been involved with an effort to collect some water quality and plankton data after a lot of heavy rain. This work was out on the boats, and we used deep and shallow drogues, YSI, light meter, secchi disk, and a couple plankton nets, moving out from the swollen rivermouth and into deeper, saltier water.

Last month, I spent a lot of time on invertebrate snorkel surveys, mostly looking for presence/absence in the nearshore. Next Tuesday, I'll be doing fish surveys in the same location. The Wednesday after I'm hopping on a wetlands restoration project & removing invasive bull grass, and a night snorkel afterwards. Next Friday is a lab day, working to process the plankton samples we've collected, and I'll be in the coral nursery afterwards. That's the really fun thing about university - there's so much different work going on, all the time!

In the summers, outside of school, that work is just as varied. I've really enjoyed having jobs that allow me to do a little bit of everything, and thus far, my supervisors have been very supportive of me in that. Here's some other projects I've gotten to work on, all within just one position:

Servicing passive monitoring systems! These are pictures of my replacing a SEABIRD logger, which has been taking a water temperature measurement every thirty seconds for the past 360 days. This helps conservation managers track heatwaves in sensitive ecosystems. We prepped new loggers with batteries and SD cards and waterproof tape to prevent biofouling, and then used snips and zipties to make the switch.

Scientific fishing! This helps get life history and population data for our target species, large pelagic fish. We collected biopsy samples, placed tags, and released primarily ahi, but also ono, and mahi. (Full disclaimer: this picture is from a subsistence fishing trip and not a scientific one, where people generally have too many things in their hands & are moving too quickly to take pictures. He was a very delicious dinner for our crew, though.)

Other marine tagging! I got to assist with bluewater cetacean tagging of several different dolphin and small whale species, and shark tagging for galapagos, blacktip reef, grey reef, and dusky sharks. Cetacean tagging was done with an air rifle, not easy at high speeds on the boat. Shark tagging was more hands-on, as we had to manually apply the tags.

Coral reef monitoring! The mission of these surveys was to track coral health through heat stress events, and to identify harmful species. I'm looking under the coral head in these pictures for crown-of-thorns starfish, one of the most urgent species threats to reefs in the Pacific.

This is the bastard. Notice the dead coral around him.

Oh I'm about to smack into the photo limit, huh. Please hold!

#beckett.txt #field journal #asks #bastardoftheblade #id in alt text #beckett.jpg

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aoioozora · 5 months ago

Text

Simon.

Part 11

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 12 - Part 13

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au TW: Mentions of murder Note: Thank you for your patience! Here is Simon's angsty backstory.

“Simon?”

A beacon of harsh white light appeared right under the face of the shadow, illuminating its grim face and casting ominous shadows under its eyes, nose, cheekbones, and lips like the teller of a ghost story would do. She let out a frightened squeak before finally recognizing the face of the shadow.

“You scared me!” she chuckled as she put her hand over her racing heart.

“That was the point.” He laughed as he watched her climb up to the porch. Under the ghastly, sharp light of the torch, he playfully flashed a devious grin.

“Stop it, you look terrifying!” She exclaimed, shaking her head with a smile.

Simon switched off the torch and was hidden in the shadows again. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness again and to see him a little clearer. She could vaguely see him slouched on the bench, wrapped in a thin blanket from the elements.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, now sitting next to him and placing Little Simon aside.

“Johnny’s snoring,” Simon shook his head, letting out an annoyed grumble, “Can’t sleep with such a delightful little jukebox cozied up next to me, you know.” He turned to her when she chuckled. “What about you?”

“I slept too much in the afternoon,” she sighed, “and so I sat up working on my novel, thinking I’d get sleepy soon enough, but that didn’t happen, so here I am.”

He let out a short “hmm” as he stared at the rain that was now falling a little heavier. ____ leaned forward to check on the tent.

“I hope the tent’s not getting wet inside,” she said.

“Don’t worry, it’s waterproofed. We’ve slept through many rainy nights in that tent, so it’ll be as right as rain,” he answered, smirking at his unexpected pun, and feeling quite gratified when he heard her chuckle.

“I remember you made a rain pun the second time we met at the book cafe,” she remarked, continuing to giggle.

“What can I say,” he sighed a self-gratified sigh, now half-joking and half attempting to make her laugh again, “I can be pretty funny at times.”

“For sure,” she smiled and said with sincerity, “I really do think you’re funny.”

His eyebrows shot up slightly. Outside of his friends, he didn’t think anybody found him hilarious, knowing that he frightened most people with his massive build and dark, beady eyes, and his general serial-killer vibe. He felt a warmth build in his chest at her compliment and smiled gratefully.

“So do the three of you go camping often?” she asked.

“We usually go every weekend unless one of us is busy. Actually, it’s been a while since we went camping because Johnny and Gaz always have prior plans on the weekend.”

“And you never did?”

Simon felt needles pricking him in the chest and he chuckled painfully at the question. “I rarely have plans with anyone except the lads. I normally spend my weekends going on long rides or I’d visit my family.” He inhaled the scent of the pattering rain, “I don’t have a lot of friends besides the lads and you.”

She gave him a sympathetic look and turned back to the rain. Feeling a shiver course through her body, she instinctively moved closer to Simon and sat shoulder to shoulder with him. “It’s cold,” she shivered and rubbed her goosebumped arms, “and I left my hoodie in the tent too.”

Simon immediately saw his chance and opened up the thin but warm blanket he was wrapped in. “We can share the blanket if you want to,” he invited, holding one of the corners of the blanket in his hand, opening it out to her.

She didn’t hesitate to move closer to him, and as she did, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her still closer, draping the large blanket over her body. Their legs pressed together, her shoulder pressed against his side, and her head found itself resting in the divot of his shoulder. His body radiated heat like a loaf of freshly baked banana bread that she couldn’t help but snuggle closer to him. Simon blushed and blushed; he was over the moon. Her closeness only increased his body heat and started revving his heart’s engines. He silently thanked the rain for being a wingman.

As if in response to his silent gratitude, a cold wind blew, sending a spray of rain their way. Simon quickly raised the blanket over her face to shield her.

“This man is forged by Chivalry himself,” she thought. “Oh wait, that’s a brilliant line! I should write it down.” But when she realised she didn’t bring her phone with her, she had to resort to carefully stashing it in her mind. For now, she decided to focus on how jittery and warm his touch made her feel, and wanting more of it, she moved closer again.

At her slight movement, his head turned slightly, hyper aware of how close his face was to hers. “Are you warm, darling?” He whispered, his voice carrying a slight tremor of the nervousness of a reclusive man experiencing an unknown but pleasant feeling.

“Warm and toasty like a marshmallow,” she answered, grinning gleefully at him.

His body burned at the sight of her smile. He tightened his arm around her shoulder, and she could feel his muscles tense and flex around her neck, and his fingers grazed lightly against her upper arm. His rugged shoulder was under her soft cheek. The damp air, the smell of laundry detergent and rainforest cologne from his clothes wafted to her nose, reminding her of the night she first met him. He could smell femininity from her proximity, and he inhaled sharply, pursing his lips tight and fighting the urge to lean down and kiss her senseless.

“Simon,” she called, her voice soft.

“Yeah?”

“You said you don’t have a lot of friends,” she began and then paused for a moment, “Were you never in contact with anyone from school or university?”

She felt his body go stiff; she didn’t see it in the dark, but his jaw tightened too, and he answered through his teeth, “No darling, not one contact…”

His voice trailed off and a heavy silence from him followed. She sensed that there was something more hiding behind his tense answer, a hidden, brewing, twisting whirlpool in a blackened vase. She was afraid to pry, but her concern and curiosity overcame her. “How come?” she asked.

She could feel his chest expand as he inhaled a sharp, whistled breath. He cautioned in a whisper, “Darling, it’s not a pretty story.” His voice was solemn, and she understood that what was behind the reason was truly heavy and unpleasant.

“Do you not want to tell me? She pressed gently, “I understand if you don’t want to.”

He looked at her, brows furrowed, eyes slightly narrowed, and jaw still taut. “If I tell you, you might hate me.” he thought, weighing his options. He knew that if he was to possibly date her one day, he’d have to reveal his murky past either way. And he wasn’t dating her now so, “the sooner the better. If she hates me now, so be it.”

“Well…” he began, “As a lad, I was, to put it mildly, in bad company. And this bad company scared off any potential friends I could’ve made in school.” He paused, letting that information sink in first.

She asked, “What was this-” in air quotes, “-“bad company”?”

No more beating around the bush when he admitted directly, “I was in a gang.” When he saw her wide eyes, he added, “Can’t get a lot of good friends in a gang, can you? Everyone and their mum would be too scared to associate.”

She was silent for a while, and he looked at her with pursed lips and a tense brow, worried about her silence. “That’s…” she began, “wow.” She turned to look at him, and her eyes swept over his dark silhouette with a look that told him that she started to view him differently. She was both worried and intrigued by this; her opportunistic writer’s mind was selfishly curious. She shook off the feeling and chided herself to have some empathy for him.

He’d half expected she’d get up and leave and never speak to him again, but her voice was still soft when she asked, “Why were you in a gang anyway?”

She was beginning to step deeper and deeper into the most vulnerable parts of him, and it made his stomach churn anxiously like a beaker filled with all the wrong chemicals. His knee bounced restlessly and he answered, “Didn’t have a lot of friends, darling. Johnny was my only friend back then, but I wanted more…” he inhaled shakily, “I wanted a whole group of friends. A clique. A posse.”

She looked understandingly at him, leaning a little further against his shoulder. His arm tightened around her shoulders, as if wanting more of and appreciating her support.

“I was about fourteen, right, and at that difficult age, fitting in with your peers means everything,” he sighed, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against her shoulder, filling her with a warmth that she sadly had to ignore so that she could pay attention to him, “and I was invited to join the gang that had their turf around my school. One of the olders- that’s what the higher ranking members were called- scouted me and Johnny off the street. Johnny refused, but I accepted almost immediately.”

Her gaze never left him, even though he stared straight ahead at the now rainy lake. “And what was that like, being in a gang?” she asked.

“It was kind of fun at first to be honest, but the novelty wears off soon enough. It’s a dangerous, reckless business, especially for kids. You’re always being stopped by the police and searched for small knives, and they can even sniff out the safehouses where we stash drugs and weapons. There are always ongoing feuds between gangs, and the older, higher ranking members use the younger kids as their soldiers. The feuds can sometimes turn into turf wars too.”

“Turf wars?”

“Each gang has their own territory, and there are consequences if you trespass. But the gang I was in was a strong one, and we had beaten down enough smaller gangs to expand our area in London, where I lived.”

There was a pause and she sat pondering for a moment. “Have you directly participated in a turf war, though?” she questioned.

“A couple, yes. As one of the youngers myself, I had to.” he nodded. He paused, pursing his lips for a moment before he admitted, “The last one I’ve been in landed me in prison.”

Her eyes flew wide with shock. “In prison?” she exclaimed.

Simon grimaced at her reaction, his worries only increasing. “I don’t think you want to know the details, darling.”

“But now I’m really curious,”

He hesitated. Well, he had come this far; there was no backing out now. He fiddled with his fingers as he continued, “I went to prison at the humble age of fourteen for… manslaughter.”

He now feared that she would definitely walk off and leave, but she sat there, still close next to him, her eyes widening further. She was frozen in silence for a long time, considering how he could have committed such a gruesome crime at such a young age. The patter of the rain and the howl of the wind filled the brief, heavy silence.

“I didn’t enjoy it,” he blurted truthfully, hoping it would keep her from seeing him as a heartless killer, “It was all an in-the-heat-of-the-moment thing. We got ganged up on in an alley, me and two other of my lads against five. It was a stab fest from there. Three were heavily injured, one of which succumbed to their injuries, and I killed the other two by stabbing them in the neck and chest,” he paused to point to his neck and then his heart. She could vaguely make out the remorse on his face in the darkness as he whispered, “I stabbed them like I was the senate stabbing Caesar.”

Her jaw slackened and her brows furrowed, almost feeling like a cold blade had sunk into her own body upon hearing this dreadful account. Her chest tightened and her stomach and she felt a painful throb in her heart as she imagined what the situation would have looked like.

“I was stabbed too, in many places,” he said, turning his head and pointing to the curious scar on his cheek. As he pointed at a spot on the left side of his chest, his stomach, and his right thigh, he could remember how it felt to have the short, cold knives sink into his skin, how they twisted harshly enough to wring out strangled screams from his mouth and his lifeblood out of the wounds. As his fingers passed over the scars under the fabric of his t-shirt, they thrummed and tingled in response to his memories.

Her features winced as she imagined a juvenile Simon drenched in his own blood and the blood of his victims, staggering and out of breath as he remorsefully stared at the work of his hands, feeling the weight of his guilty conscience and of the heavy hand of the law that would soon follow.

“Proper gangs are rarely in the business of killing, and they won’t kill unless they absolutely have to. As the youngers, we were instructed only to injure and never kill, because dead men tell no tales, and it’ll only start a vendetta. But I killed. And the two other lads who were with me abandoned me and didn’t want to associate,” he shook his head, “So much for wanting new friends.”

“Were you ever found out by your family?” she asked when she found her voice.

“Yeah, by my elder brother. The alley where the stabbing took place was not too far from our old residence, and Tommy happened to be taking a shortcut to go home. On the way, he caught me slinking around. When he saw all the blood on me, he was shocked. Bombarded me with tons of questions. He was furious when I told him everything and he smuggled me to our uncle John’s place.”

She grimaced slightly at the mention of her ex. Now that she thought of it, she remembered John telling her back then of his family member who was in prison, and of his visits there. To think that it had to be the same man in front of her.

Simon continued, “Tommy and I told our uncle about the whole thing and at first, he refused to shelter me since he didn’t want to get in trouble with the law. But after some convincing, he showed me some pity and let me stay with him. Of course, he didn’t do so without a price,” he paused to chuckle bitterly at the pun on his uncle’s surname, “the price being a severe lecture as he treated my wounds.”

The lady sighed, feeling pity for him, and even a little for John too.

“Eventually,” he shifted in his seat, “the police found me, came knocking on my uncle’s door. He had no choice but to surrender me to them, and I was angry with him for it. But I guess it was for the best.”

There was a pause from him for a moment. She gently pried, “and what happened after that?”

“I was taken to court. Me and the lads who were with me,” he answered, “They got a slightly lighter sentence. A couple measly years in prison and rehab for them. But mine was pretty severe, even for a fourteen year old. Eight years in prison and rehab. Ten years if I was remorseless, but my guilt lightened my sentence.”

She gulped harshly, unable to imagine such a young boy in prison. “And your family… how did they take it?”

He let out a laboured sigh, his gaze towards the rainy lake going out of focus as he vividly recalled the reactions of his parents. “My mum was inconsolable. She cried when she heard about what I did. She cried in court and she cried nearly everyday I was in prison. Uncle and Tommy tried to comfort her, but she wouldn’t be comforted. It was only when I assured her that I was undergoing rehab and continuing my schooling from prison that she felt a little relieved.”

Her shoulders relaxed when she heard that. “What about your dad?”

She felt his body stiffen. He was silent for a moment before he answered sorrowfully, “My dad… he was deployed in Iraq when he heard of this. He was angry with me– actually, angry is an understatement, he was livid. If it weren’t for my mum and uncle, he’d have disowned me already.”

“Disowned!” she exclaimed softly.

“Yeah, disowned. Being a Colonel in the Army, he didn’t want a criminal, murderer son. He thought it was disgraceful and embarrassing.” he answered bitterly, “I can clearly remember the time he came to visit me in prison for the first and last time. He said, “having a son like you is worse than death”.”

The lady was shocked to hear this. “He said that?” Her brows furrowed and she felt a twinge in her heart. “That’s awful. How could he be so heartless and say that to a child?”

“Yeah…” his voice trailed off, “But he’s always been like that. Strict and hard on both me and my brother. I never liked him. I always wondered what mum saw in him to love.” He ran a hand through his hair wearily, “He was an absent father, physically and emotionally. My mum knew it. She didn’t want us to be without a positive male role model, so she asked her younger brother to help her raise us. That’s where uncle John comes in. I liked him way better.”

She pursed her lips, now understanding why Simon and John were so tight-knit. She then asked, “Did your dad ever get over this? I mean, it’s been years now.”

He sighed yet again, shaking his head resignedly. “Not at all. He refused to visit me in prison, refused to talk to me after I was released, and still doesn’t want to talk to me. From what I hear from Tommy, it seems that I have ruined his reputation as an officer and a father by being a criminal.”

Her heart sank. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t have to see his face to understand that he was deeply hurt by his father’s treatment. Looking down, she saw his clenched, trembling fist resting on his thigh. She gingerly placed her hand over his fist. It took him a moment but his fist loosened, and she gently stroked the back of his hand with her thumb to console him.

“I'm so sorry, Simon,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

Simon drew in a shaky breath, relieved that she was still by his side after hearing about his pathetic past. Her gentle touch soothed and calmed his anxieties and fears. “It's fine,” he managed to croak out, his reassurance ending in a weary sigh, “It's fine.”

“And now there's the family reunion to go to.”

“I didn't want to go,” he admitted, “I only agreed for mum's sake. I honestly don't want to face my dad and have him look at me like I'm…” his jaw clenched, “the scum of the earth.”

She eased her caress on the back of his hand, and slipped her hand into his, giving him a squeeze so gentle it gave him butterflies.

“Don't worry, you won't have to face him alone,” she declared quietly, “You've always had my back, and now it's my turn to have yours. If he or anyone says anything bad about you, I’ll fight them!”

He chuckled at her determination and squeezed her hand back, feeling relief so strong that it felt like he was a barren land being bathed in rain for the first time in years. “You are too sweet,” he said, smiling a little.

“Only for you, because you're special,” she giggled.

An overwhelming feeling of warmth enveloped his body at her words. You’re special. The words replayed in his mind like a broken vinyl record. A lump choked his throat, and his eyes nearly welled up and burned with tears that threatened to spill over. He blinked them back quickly and steadied his breathing, not wanting her to know or see. He squeezed her shoulder, saying breathlessly, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” she couldn't help but think, almost wanting to lean in and kiss his forehead to reassure him further. But she held back.

The two then sat in comfortable silence watching the rain until Simon felt the lady's weight grow heavier against him. He tilted his head down to check on her.

“Darling?”

Silence.

He strained his eyes in the dark and saw that she was fast asleep. Even in the loud patter of the rain, he could clearly hear her soft breathing. His heart melted at the sight. He had just revealed to her the bloodiest stain on his past and she still trusted him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder? Simon's chest swelled with elation and joy to witness such love from her.

Peeking over her other side, he noticed Little Simon looking cold and forlorn. Smiling, he carefully reached over and took the soft toy, and lifting her arm up slightly, he tucked the little fellow against her stomach. He then adjusted the blanket over her so that she could experience maximum warmth.

And then, the cherry on top.

He lightly pressed his lips against her forehead, whispering with a tenderness foreign to him,

“Good night, my love.”

End of Part 11.

Part 12

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serosblunt · 1 year ago

Note

If u can, could u do showering with dekusquad?

I sure can my lovely, thank you so much for the request! I don’t write much for the Dekusquad so hopefully I don’t disappoint you x

DekuSquad: Showering with Them (Pt. 1)

DekuSquad x (Gender-neutral) reader

Characters: Midoriya and Todoroki

Warnings: Mentions of nudity and hints at spicer scenes, mental health struggles; insecurity and depression are very lightly touched on.

Description: Same as my Bakusquad showering thoughts, just with Dekusquad! Part two will feature Iida, Uraraka and Tsuyu :)

—————

Izuku believes that relationships are first and fore-mostly built on respect, and this extends to every aspect of your lives together.

Even before you were dating, his level of respect for you knew no bounds, to the point that you had to finally make the first move and ask HIM out.

He was too worried that asking you out would somehow demean the relationship or you.

In the bathroom, and bedroom for that matter, Midoriya clearly displays this inhuman level of courtesy.

Even if the door is open, eagerly inviting him in, he always ensures he knocks before entering the room. Once he does make it into your shared ensuite, if you’re nude or in the process of undressing, he refuses to let his eyes drift from yours without express permission.

You’d honestly be amazed by the amount of self-control he possess, considering Izuku’s reckless tendencies.

As a child, Inko used to always put your green haired lover in the bathtub to wash up. This was a habit he carried through to his adult life, favouring the warm embrace of the water surrounding him from all sides.

But Izuku’s hero career took a toll on him. And as he still learnt to get a handle on his quirk, your boyfriend coming home with a cast was not an uncommon sight.

Trying to navigate waterproof coverings for the plaster, and often being left to wash himself one handed, usually forced you both into the shower.

He saw how carefully you handled him when he was like that. Despite the event becoming less and less common the stronger he became, he couldn’t help but to feel guilty every time you sighed a long breath you thought he couldn’t hear.

In Izuku’s eyes, you were at your most natural state in the bathroom, both mentally and physically. He saw your walls come down as you let the spray of your shower embrace you, washing away some of your worry and his guilt.

Hearing the soft hum of the falling water became quite meditative to him. He would often sit in the next room and listen to you singing softly, healing yourself.

Izuku was your hero, he would always have your back, but he also knew there were some things he had to let you do yourself.

Midoriya didn’t really have a skincare routine, at least for his face. He was too busy trying to torture himself into being the next All Might to have a five step routine. But his wounds and injuries did regularly need tending to with any number of creams, ointments and bandages.

Perhaps out of remorse, or more likely another way to demonstrate his undying affection for you, your boyfriend would often slather you in these same products for even the tiniest of injuries you received.

A paper cut?! Oh no! He has to find the antibacterial wash, healing balm and themed bandaids immediately!

He acts like you could lose a finger, but it’s okay. Good thing you think his concern is adorable.

It would be safe to say that your ensuite was the heart of your home- it kept beating, kept repeating the same pattern, and kept you both running for each other.

He was there for you to lean on and curl into to forget the world entirely. And you were there for him to collapse into, allowing him to remember his safe haven was still a safe place.

Shoto strives to show you all five love languages each day, he could never be convinced that you don’t deserve the best of everything the world has to offer.

But try as he might, his love of gift giving quite often exceeds the other languages by some distance.

Although Shoto rejects his father, his money does come in handy when it comes to buying you all the expensive self-care products you add to your wish list, often accompanied by a longing sigh.

Little do you know.

What can he say? He loves to spoil you.

When it came to his own skincare routine, the young Todoroki was already quite rigid about this process before he met you. He had trialled product after product for years on end to aid the prolonged effects of his scar.

He had even toyed with the idea of cosmetic surgery at one point. Ultimately, you managed to convince him that his scar was something to display- a mark of his family’s impact on him, no matter how he may feel about them.

Similarly, you were very secure in the knowledge that if your boyfriend wanted your advice on the subject, he would absolutely ask for it. But in the meantime, you left him to his accumulated mix of products, knowing that if nothing else, it helped him come to terms with himself and the way things were.

Long-term Shoto chose to nurture the mark on his face, rather than to try and rid himself of it.

Now, you…

Shoto adores you entirely, with every fibre of his being. And in his mind, there is no better opportunity to worship you than in the bathroom.

He can’t help but to admire how far you’ve come and how comfortable you’ve grown to be in your skin- a journey you’ve both being on parallel to each other.

He glances around the room itself, inspired by how you’ve created the perfect sanctuary in a slice of the home you had both carved out for yourselves.

If you were ever confronted with this information, he knew you would adamantly deny it. Though he saw the growth.

He worships your beauty and the marks of your struggles and courage. He marvels at your history, his history, all bared out on your skin like a map back to the heart of the person he loved most.

Todoroki could admit that his ‘words of affirmation’ had been lacking lately. Perhaps he would present you with a bunch of your favourite flowers, and those words he so desperately wanted you to hear, carefully concealed in an envelope.

He would lead you to the shower, as was custom most nights. He would then gently kiss his reassurances and praise into every inch of your skin before he bundled you up in his arms, letting the world fade away as you became entangled beneath the mist.

In those moments, Shoto knew the meaning of heaven on earth.

—————

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discount-shades · 2 years ago

Text

Contract Spouse Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Realizations

A/N: This is a sad one. I've written Chapter 9 and only one chapter left to write!

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning: Angst, death of civilians, war, PTSD

Length: 3000ish

Summary: Jake does some thinking and we find out why he is like that.

Previous Masterlist Next

“What we need are those veterinary gloves that come up to your shoulder.” You have a roll of tape out and combined with elastics and a small garbage bag you are trying to waterproof Jake’s cast. After finally being released from the hospital after 4 days, Jake is in desperate need of a shower. “Then you could use your hand. I’m going to order some from Amazon.”

“Why do vets need gloves that come up to their shoulder?” Jake watches you struggle to carefully tape the edges of the bag to the skin of his arm, fighting with the extra plastic.

“You know the long gloves Ellie wears when she digs in the dino poop looking for West Indian Lilac in Jurassic Park?” Jake blinks at you in confusion, trying to remember. “Vets wear them for a similar reason.”

“Eww.” Jake checks the seal around the tape job you did. “How do you even know that?”

“Remember when I dated a farm boy in university?” Jake nods. He remembers thinking the kid wasn’t good enough for you. “Well in those two months we were together I went and helped them when they preg checked their cows.” You give him a little half grin, “I learned I am not cut out for farm life.”

You start the shower for him before carefully helping him remove his shirt. You wince when you see the bruises crossing his torso from the seatbelt harness of his jet. The brush of your fingers, featherlight over the bruises, burns before you abruptly leave the bathroom, telling him to call if he needs help.

Jake sighs and finishes stripping before getting under the spray. Everything hurts and the concussion makes him feel like he is in a fog. His head is a constant dull throb and what he really wants to do is lie down and sleep some more. He holds his left arm hand up at a right angle and does his best to shower mostly one handed.

Pulling a shirt on seems too difficult so he walks into the bedroom half dressed. You've pulled the curtains, so it is dark and he collapses into the clean sheets. A water bottle and his painkillers lined up neatly on his end table, as well as a few protein bars.

You’ve thought of everything, you always do, but you seem different since the accident and he can’t figure it out. Every time he tries to think his head begins to ache. You are more clinical, less warm. Maybe it is because he is injured, maybe he is imagining it.

He thinks back to the morning of the crash. Remembers waking up with you in his arms, how good it felt to hold you and talk to you. The hospital had been so lonely when they wouldn’t let you stay overnight.

He wanted you to stay in California. He wanted to come home and have you there to talk to, he could always call you before, but living with you was better. He loved watching movies together, cooking together, cleaning, and grocery shopping. Every mundane task was better with you.

He couldn’t ask you to stay. He was too much of a mess. He couldn’t sleep and the guilt of what happened was always there. You didn’t deserve to be pulled into that. He was sure that you would stay if he asked. You and your misguided sense of duty and the belief that you owed him something. But if he asked then he would have to tell you and if he told you you would never look at him the same way.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he notices is your voice calling to him gently. His eyes flitter open and he can see you sitting on the edge of the bed. You are beautiful in the light filtering from the hall, and in that moment you take his breath away. “Doctor says you should be up and moving, so come have dinner.”

When you go to leave he curls his good hand around your arm and revels in the feel of your soft skin sliding through his fingers. When he thinks you are about to slip your hand through his fingers you catch his palm and give a gentle tug and he feels himself following you automatically.

“This can’t be what you are used to.” You say with a grin as you grab a shirt and help him into it. “Women are probably more keen to take your shirt off.”

“I’ll do anything if it's with you, pretty girl.” The words leave his lips before he can comprehend what he has said. Your sharp inhale makes him want to kick himself. Why did he say that? He never flirted with you. It was a line he refused to cross.

He can see the flustered look on your face as you stand to go. “Come on flyboy, you must be hard up if you are flirting with me.” He follows you down the hall to the table. That wasn’t completely fair. Why wouldn't he flirt with you? If you weren't his wife he definitely would have tried to pick you up in a bar.

That evening as you lie down beside him in bed you turn to him. “We have our first meeting with the couples therapist tomorrow, he wants to meet us separately first.” Jake had forgotten about the marriage counseling. “I think we should just say we want to keep our relationship strong, and I don't know, talk about how adjusting to living together is a challenge or something.” He just mumbles an agreement.

Jake has no idea how the two of you are going to sell being married to a professional. He thinks of all the ways this might go as you slowly drift off to sleep beside him. Once he can hear your steady breathing his mind starts to slow and as he falls asleep he rolls over so he is curled around you.

When he wakes the next morning he slides his arm across the bed feeling for your warmth but the sheets are cool. You are already gone. When he gets up he finds you making omelets in the kitchen.

“The contractor is going to be finishing up the repairs in the ceiling of my room today,” you tell him as you add the cheese. “You will have your bed back, free of my cold toes tonight.”

“Oh, ok.” Jake doesn't know what to think and it takes him a moment to realize he is disappointed. Last night was the last time he would sleep with you in his arms. He thinks about all the times he left you in the mornings. He shouldn't have run away. He could have just rolled back to his side of the bed and talked to you on those mornings, now he would never get the option.

You drive to the counselor’s and he spends his time in the passenger seat fighting his motion sickness. It's your turn first and you give him a worried look as you go, as he sits in the waiting room trying to get his head to stop spinning. If he says something wrong in the counselor's office he will just blame it on the concussion.

When it is his turn you squeeze his hand as you trade spots. He can't help himself as he pulls you into a hug. Jake presses his lips to your hairline. He should hug you more, he thinks.

You rarely initiate physical affection more than holding hands, and hug only on special occasions. He likes the feel of you in his arms, the scent of your shampoo, and the warmth of your skin. The way you melt into him is overwhelming before you pull away.

The session went well. A mixture of the truth and agreed upon lies slip easily off his tongue. At the end of the session Jake is given the same homework that you received.

“I want you to come up with a list of all the reasons you are in love with your wife.”

The homework is a fixture in his mind over the next few days. Jake can’t figure out why he keeps repeating the counselor's words in his head. He lists the reasons he loves you. You are smart, funny, tough as hell, your kindness, you are supportive, you are so easy to talk to and you always know what to say, you call him on his bullshit. You are capable.

He stares at the words he has written and feels they are not personal enough to sell it. You are beautiful, your smile makes his stomach clench, your laughter, you feel so good in his arms, how you being in his life made everything better. He stares at his list as the words play over in his head, ‘reasons you are in love with your wife.’

Jake drops the pen and buries his face in his hands as the realization hits him. “Fuck.” He is in love with you. When did that happen? Was it before you moved in or is it a recent thing? Sometime during the first or second year of the marriage he noticed he loved you. But it had always felt so platonic, a love of friendship, of convenience, and connection.

You have always been beautiful, and, if he was honest with himself, he had always been attracted to you, but with the nature of your relationship he had always locked those thoughts and feelings away. You were untouchable. But in the last month with you sleeping in his bed everything blurred. It didn’t matter when he fell in love, the only thing that mattered was that he is completely and irrevocably in love with you now.

It is weird to feel terrible about an emotion considered so positive. Jake stares at the closed door to the office where you are working from home. He can never tell you. You had only stayed married due to his inability to process his trauma.

He felt tainted, like you being with him would somehow mark you too. He didn't deserve you, he didn’t deserve anything good. And he loved you too much to let you be ruined by him. He wouldn't let you give up your life and the love you deserve. Because you need someone who is in love with you unconditionally, someone good.

The day he had agreed to marry you had told him that you would always be there for him and he had taken advantage of that over the years. Taken advantage of your kindness and good heart. Someone as good and kind as you would never stay married to him. He could never tell you he loved you. He wouldn’t be that guy, the man who thought he was owed something just because he had feelings for a woman. He would let you go even if it killed him.

– – –

Sleeping next to you didn’t stop the nightmares. They always came at the same frequency, mild ones a few times a week and the bad ones every week or so. What sleeping next to you did was calm him when he woke. Your breaths and the warmth of your skin would ground his mind and bring him back to the present like nothing else could.

Before you he would never get back to sleep after a nightmare. He would go for a run or go to the 24h gym. He sometimes would mindlessly watch tv or stare at his phone until it was an acceptable hour to get up. In the weeks after the concussion he couldn’t do that. Strenuous activity and screen time were two of the things the doctor told him to avoid.

Most nights he would just lay in bed. He had tried audio books but he could not focus on them. So he would lie there in the dark thinking about you, and everything that he loved about you, and torturing himself.

His post concussion nightmares were more intense than any he had before but he still hadn't had a bad one yet. He could feel it coming. Lack of sleep and anxiety tended to trigger the nightmares. Stress also played a role and the night before the second marriage counseling session it hit him.

Jake’s heart is pounding as he sits up in bed struggling to breath. The nightmares are rarely the same and his mind alway finds ways for his dreams to be somehow worse than what had happened, combining events and reimagining others.

You died tonight. The person he had killed was you, and even though he logically knew you were fine he needed to check on you. Stumbling, eyes bleary, he walks to your room and pushes open the door. The smell of new paint and construction is almost gone. Leaning on the door frame Jake can see you sleeping and he takes in the sight.

If he holds his breath and listens he can faintly hear you breathing from the doorway and he can’t help the muffled sob that slips past his lips. You stir and he bites his lips to keep from waking you but it is too late.

“Jake?” You lean up and look at him. “You ok?” he gives a jerky nod, unable to open his mouth. Afraid he would begin sobbing if he did. “Another nightmare?” He doesn’t know how you can tell. Maybe it is written on his face.

“Come here,” your voice is soft and you open your arms and beckon to him and he is moving his feet before he can think about it. Jake collapses on top of the covers and into your arms, head pillowed on your chest listening to your heartbeat. His eyes flutter closed as you rake your fingers through his hair and down his back. Your gentle movements calm him and steady his mind but soon it is not enough. There are too many layers between you.

He sits up and motions to the covers. “Can I?” he asks hesitantly, wanting to be able to hold you without the blanket between you. You nod and he slips beneath the covers and returns to his position with his head on your chest. Your hands resume their motions carding through his hair and stroking his back.

It’s still not enough. He sits abruptly and takes his shirt off before lying back down, slotting his body between your thighs and his head on your stomach this time. He needs to feel your skin pressed against his. He eases your shirt up so he can rest his cheek against your stomach. He can hear your sharp inhale but you don't say anything and for that he is grateful. You just go back to smoothing your hands over his bare skin. He doesn’t know how long he lays there with you beneath him, his hands curl around your rib cage as his thumbs smooth over your soft skin.

After a while of your hands moving over him he feels you pause. “If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” He shakes his head in denial, not wanting you to know. But when he feels your nails scratch his scalp and drag down his neck he starts talking.

“You know the military severely under-reports civilian deaths, right?” There is no change in you. Your hands keep moving in the same rhythm and your breathing is steady. “Every time we drop bombs we kill people and there is a chance we kill civilians. Mostly we don’t think about it. It is easier to drink the kool-aid. Accept the Navy’s narrative. But if you watch the news from other countries they will report it; show videos of civilians killed by American bombs.”

Jake stops talking, wanting you to respond, hoping you don’t. Looking for a clue to stop talking. You don’t give him one so he continues. “I shot another plane down, the first air-to-air kill in three decades. The Navy pinned a medal on me.'' Now that he was talking he couldn’t stop. The words he had never spoken to anyone pouring out. “No one mentioned that after I shot the jet it crashed into this community building. There were families inside. Sixteen people were killed, nine of them were children.

“They gave me a fucking medal for killing children. I saw the footage, the crashed jet and the injured people. There was this man carrying his dead son and I can’t get that out of my head.” Jake feels you shift and he raises his head to look at you but all you do is place a gentle kiss on his forehead before lying back down and resuming your motions.

“Please hate me.” He doesn't know why he says it; why he needs you to condemn him. As if your condemnation will justify everything he feels.

“No,” you say simply.

“Why not?” he can feel a sob building in his chest. “I fucking deserve it. How can you just learn all that about me and not care?”

“Javy told me years ago,” you confess, “actually I suspected. It was on the news that an American Navy pilot shot down a plane and what happened, I knew you were stationed in the area and you changed whenever we talked after, so I figured it was you and Javy confirmed it when I asked.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jake had been keeping his knowledge and shame bottled up away from you for so long; not wanting to change the way you saw him and to find out you had always known was gutting.

“I knew you would tell me when you were ready.”

“You should hate me,” Jake hates the way he sounds. Small, meek, hesitant. “I hate me.”

“I hate that it happened. It breaks my heart for those families, but I can’t hate you for it. You are responsible, but not culpable.” You say simply.

“Then who is to blame if not me?” You don’t have an answer for him, he knows there isn’t one, at least not an answer that will make him feel better. Some things you just have to live with. The tears start to flow down Jake's cheeks in ugly sobs as you pull him closer. He clings to you and finally lets himself grieve.

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman/reader #top gun hangman #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #topgun maverick #jake seresin

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valy-gc · 2 months ago

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TWST Fanfics ideas - Classes exercices

I was wondering... what are the clases exactly? What do they learn in it? So here are my guess:

In the « normal » class (music, math, art….) the exercices listed here would be in addition of the « normal » exercices. Also I give a list of 10 potential exercices per class, but you can imagine others

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In a "Practical Magic" class they would focus on everyday magic for chores. The exercises could include: 1. Cleaning Charms: Students practice spells to clean objects or spaces without manual labor. 2. Cooking Spells: Learning to prepare meals with a wave of a wand, including chopping, stirring, and temperature control. 3. Repairing Enchantments: Casting spells to mend broken items, from clothing to furniture. 4. Gardening Magic: Using magic to tend to plants, making them grow faster or shaping them into artistic forms. 5. Laundry Spells: Enchanting clothes to wash, dry, and fold themselves. 6. Organization Charms: Spells that sort and organize personal belongings, books, or tools. 7. Protective Wards: Setting up magical barriers to keep homes clean and safe from pests or intruders. 8. Weatherproofing Spells: Enchantments to protect against weather, like waterproofing or temperature regulation. 9. Light Charms: Magical ways to illuminate spaces efficiently. 10. Summoning Spells: Conjuring objects to hand, saving time on searching for misplaced items.

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In a "Conjuration" class, the focus would be on summoning objects, creatures, or elements from thin air or from distant places. Here are some exercises: 1. Basic Summoning: Students learn to summon simple objects like feathers or stones to their hands. 2. Targeted Conjuration: Practicing conjuring items from specific locations, such as retrieving a book from a shelf. 3. Creature Summoning: Safely summoning small magical creatures and learning to interact with them. 4. Food Conjuration: Conjuring edible items, focusing on getting the taste and temperature right. 5. Elemental Conjuration: Bringing forth elements like water or fire, controlling their shape and intensity. 6. Conjuring Clothes: Instantly outfitting oneself with appropriate attire for different occasions. 7. Multiplication: Learning to duplicate objects, which is a complex form of conjuration. 8. Conjuring from Nature: Drawing materials directly from natural sources, like summoning water from a lake or leaves from a tree. 9. Advanced Conjuration: Summoning complex mechanisms or devices, understanding their assembly and function. 10. Emergency Conjuration: Quick conjuration drills for situations requiring immediate access to tools or aids.

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In a "Magical Potion" class, students would learn the delicate art of brewing magical concoctions with various effects. Here are some potential exercises: 1. Ingredient Identification: Recognizing and categorizing potion ingredients by their magical properties. 2. Mixing Methods: Mastering the techniques of stirring, shaking, and combining potion ingredients. 3. Temperature Control: Learning the precise temperatures needed for different stages of potion brewing. 4. Timing Practice: Developing a sense of timing for adding ingredients and the duration of brews. 5. Safety Protocols: Understanding the importance of safety when handling dangerous or volatile substances. 6. Potion Analysis: Testing and analyzing the effects of potions on inanimate objects or consenting magical creatures. 7. Remedy Brewing: Creating potions that heal ailments or counteract poisons. 8. Enhancement Elixirs: Concocting brews that temporarily enhance abilities or senses. 9. Transformation Potions: Experimenting with potions that can change one's appearance or species for a short time. 10. Invisibility Mixtures: Perfecting the tricky art of brewing potions that render the drinker invisible.

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In an "Alchemy" class, the curriculum would likely explore the mystical side of transforming substances into new forms, Alchemy would also be a form of magical chemistry class. Here are some exercises: 1. Metal Transmutation: Practicing turning base metals into gold or silver, starting with small quantities. 2. Elixir Crafting: Brewing elixirs that promote longevity or enhance physical abilities. 3. Philosopher's Stone Theories: Studying the legendary Philosopher's Stone and attempting to replicate its properties. 4. Substance Purification : Learning to purify and refine substances to increase their magical potency. 5. Gemstone Synthesis: Creating precious gemstones from common minerals through alchemical processes. 6. Liquid to Solid Transmutation: Transforming liquids into solid forms, such as water into crystal. 7. Herbal Alchemy: Using plants and herbs to create powerful extracts and essences. 8. Magical Ink and Paper Making: Producing materials that can hold enchantments or spells. 9. Alchemical Symbols: Understanding and using runes to enhance alchemical reactions. 10. Advanced Alchemy: Attempting more complex transmutations and understanding the ethical implications of alchemy.

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In a “Digital Engineering” class, students would likely explore the intersection of magic and technology. Here are some exercises:

1. Magical Circuit Design: Learning to create circuits that are powered by magical energy. 2. Enchanted Programming: Writing code that interacts with magical objects or creatures. 3. Rune-Based Computing: Using ancient runes to perform computations and process magical data. 4. Golem Programming: Crafting and programming magical automatons for various tasks. 5. Magical Interface Development: Designing interfaces that allow wizards to interact with digital devices. 6. Virtual Spell Simulation: Using virtual reality to practice spells in a controlled digital environment. 7. Enchanted Object Fabrication: 3D printing objects with embedded magical properties. 8. Magical Network Security: Protecting magical databases and networks from unauthorized access or curses. 9. Spellware Development: Creating software that enhances or channels magical abilities. 10. Technomancy Projects: Integrating technology and magic to create innovative solutions to common magical problems.

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In a “Magic Analysis” class, students would delve into the theoretical aspects of magic and its practical implications, to understand them and maybe creating your own. Here are some exercises:

1. Spell Structure Decomposition: Breaking down spells into their basic components to understand how they work. 2. Magical Flow Charting: Mapping out the flow of magical energy in spells and enchantments. 3. Ritual Analysis: Studying the steps of magical rituals to determine their purpose and effectiveness. 4. Magical Artifact Examination: Investigating the history and magical properties of various artifacts. 5. Potion Formula Deconstruction: Analyzing potion recipes to understand the chemical and magical reactions involved. 6. Enchantment Efficiency Testing: Measuring the strength and duration of enchantments to optimize them. 7. Magical Language Syntax: Exploring the grammar and syntax of magical languages and their impact on spellcasting. 8. Magical Ethics Debate: Discussing the moral implications of different magical practices. 9. Historical Magic Research: Examining historical texts to understand the evolution of magical practices. 10. Magical Theory Papers: Writing and peer-reviewing academic papers on various topics in magical theory.

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In an “Ancient Curses” class, students would explore the history, creation, and counteraction of curses from ancient times. Here are some exercises that might be included:

1. Curse Identification: Learning to recognize different types of curses and their symptoms. 2. Historical Curse Study: Examining ancient texts and artifacts to understand the origins of famous curses. 3. Curse Crafting: Understanding the components and ethics of creating curses (theoretical exercises only, magic analysis basics needed). 4. Protection Amulets: Designing and creating amulets that protect against curses. 5. Counter-Curse Development: Practicing spells and rituals that can counteract or break curses. 6. Curse Simulation: Role-playing scenarios to understand the impact of curses and practice countermeasures. 7. Language of Cursing: Studying ancient languages and scripts that were traditionally used to cast curses. 8. Ethical Implications: Discussing the moral considerations and consequences of curse usage. 9. Curse Removal Techniques: Learning various methods to cleanse objects, places, or individuals of curses. 10. Field Research: Visiting historical sites believed to be cursed and conducting investigations.

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In a “Defense Magic” class, students would learn how to protect themselves and others from various magical threats. Here are some exercises:

Shield Spells: Casting protective barriers to deflect or absorb magical attacks.

Counter-Spells: Learning spells that can negate or reverse the effects of incoming spells.

Disarming Techniques: Practicing spells and maneuvers to disarm opponents without causing harm.

Magical First Aid: Applying spells and potions to treat injuries caused by magical means.

Dark Arts Defense: Understanding and defending against dark magic, including curses and hexes.

Stealth and Concealment: Using magic to hide one’s presence or escape detection.

Anti-Poison Spells: Identifying and neutralizing magical poisons and toxins.

Magical Combat: Engaging in controlled duels to practice defensive and offensive spells.

Mind Protection: Strengthening mental defenses against magical intrusion and manipulation.

Environmental Defense: Using magic to manipulate the surroundings for protection, such as creating barriers or camouflage.

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In a class dedicated to “Poison Making,” which would be a highly controlled and ethically sensitive subject, students might engage in the following theoretical exercises:

Toxicology Basics: Understanding the properties of various toxins and their effects on living organisms.

Antidote Formulation: Learning to create antidotes for common poisons.

Safe Handling Procedures: Training in the safe handling, storage, and disposal of toxic substances.

Poison Detection: Practicing spells and techniques to detect the presence of poison in food and drink.

Historical Poisons Study: Researching historical uses of poison and the evolution of toxicology.

Simulated Poison Brewing: Theoretical exercises in brewing poisons with harmless substitutes.

Ethical Debates: Discussing the moral implications of poison use and the responsibilities of a poison maker.

Magical Containment: Learning to magically contain and neutralize poisons to prevent accidents.

Field Identification: Recognizing poisonous plants and creatures in their natural habitats.

Legal Knowledge: Gaining an understanding of the legal restrictions and regulations surrounding poisons.

It’s important to note that such a class would emphasize the importance of using this knowledge for educational purposes only, with a strong focus on safety, ethics, and legal compliance.

~~~~~~~~

In a class focused on “Changes and Comparisons of Abbreviated Spells in Ancient and Modern Magic History,” students would likely explore the evolution of spellcasting techniques and the efficiency of spell abbreviations over time. Here are some exercises that could be part of this class:

Spell Evolution Timeline: Creating a timeline to visualize the changes in spellcasting from ancient to modern times.

Abbreviation Analysis: Comparing the original long-form spells with their modern abbreviated versions to understand the changes in language and technique.

Efficiency Studies: Measuring the effectiveness and speed of casting abbreviated spells versus their full-length counterparts.

Historical Context: Studying the historical events that led to the development of abbreviated spells.

Cultural Impact: Examining how different magical cultures influenced the abbreviation of spells.

Language Shifts: Exploring how changes in magical languages have affected spell abbreviations.

Spell Adaptation: Practicing the adaptation of ancient spells into modern abbreviated forms.

Magical Linguistics: Understanding the linguistic principles that govern the creation of effective spell abbreviations.

Ancient Scripts: Learning to read and interpret ancient magical scripts where original spells were recorded.

Modern Usage: Discussing the role of abbreviated spells in contemporary magical society and how they fit into everyday magical use.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The “History of Magic” class would be about exploring the origins and development of magical practices. Here’s how the class might be:

Ancient Civilizations: Studying the role of magic in ancient exctinct societies.

Magical Artifacts: Examining historical artifacts and their uses in various cultures.

Famous Magicians: Learning about prominent figures in magical history and their contributions.

Evolution of Spells: Tracing the development of spells from ancient incantations to modern-day practices.

Magical Creatures: Investigating the historical accounts of magical creatures and their interactions with humans.

Witch Trials: Analyzing the social and political factors behind witch trials and their impact on magical practices. (assuming there was witch trials at some point in their history, and a time where mages weren't common)

Renaissance Magic: Exploring the resurgence of magical interests during certain times.

Magical Literature: Reading and discussing key texts that have shaped magical theory and practice.

Modern Magic: Understanding the transition from traditional to contemporary magic in the context of technological advancements.

Field Trips: Visiting historical sites and museums to see firsthand the remnants of magical history.

~~~~~~~~~~

In “Animal Languages,” students would learn about the communication methods used by various magical and non-magical creatures. Here are some exercises that might be included:

Basic Animal Sounds: Starting with the sounds made by common creatures (like cats) and understanding their meanings.

Magical Linguistics: Studying the structure of animal languages and how they differ from human speech.

Non-Verbal Communication: Observing and interpreting body language and other non-verbal cues used by animals.

Spell-Assisted Communication: Using spells to facilitate understanding between humans and animals.

Creature Vocalization Practice: Mimicking creature sounds to communicate directly with them.

Field Studies: Conducting fieldwork to observe and interact with animals in their natural habitats.

Magical Translation: Learning spells or using magical devices that translate animal languages.

Historical Animal Speech: Researching ancient texts for references to legendary creatures and their languages.

Interspecies Diplomacy: Role-playing scenarios that require negotiation and communication with magical creatures.

Conservation Ethics: Discussing the importance of preserving magical creatures and their languages.

~~~~~~~~~

In “Astrology”, students would explore the celestial bodies from a scientific perspective while also delving into the mystical aspects that have influenced human culture. Here are some exercises that might be part of this class:

Stargazing Sessions: Using telescopes to observe planets, stars, and other celestial phenomena.

Celestial Navigation: Learning to navigate using the stars and understanding the historical importance of this skill.

Astrological Chart Creation: Drawing and interpreting astrological charts based on the positions of celestial bodies.

Mythology and Constellations: Studying the myths associated with constellations and their origins.

Planetary Influence: Discussing the believed influences of planets and stars on human behavior and events.

Astronomical Calculations: Performing calculations to predict celestial events like eclipses and planet transits.

Space-Time Magic: Exploring theoretical magic that could be influenced by astronomical phenomena.

Astrological Predictions: Practicing the art of making predictions based on astrological signs and movements.

Cosmic Spellwork: Investigating spells and rituals that draw power from celestial events.

Scientific Debates: Engaging in discussions about the intersection of astronomy, astrology, and magic.

~~~~~~~~~~

In “Biology” class, students would study the life processes and organisms. Here are some exercises:

Magical Microscopy: Using enchanted microscopes to observe the cellular structure of magical plants and creatures.

Potion Ingredients Study: Examining the biological properties of common potion ingredients.

Genetics: Learning about the hereditary traits of common and magical creatures.

Ecosystems: Studying the interactions between magical creatures and their environments.

Plant Cultivation: Growing and studying plants with or without magical properties in a controlled setting.

Creature Dissection: Dissecting magical or common creatures (ethically sourced) to understand their anatomy and/or magical organ functions.

Field Trips: Visiting various habitats to study magical and common creatures and plants in their natural settings.

Conservation Magic: Learning spells and techniques for the conservation and protection of species.

Disease Research: Investigating diseases that affect creatures and how to cure them.

Biological Spell Development: Creating spells that can influence biological processes in plants and animals.

~~~~~~~~~~

In “Physical Education” class, the focus would be on maintaining physical health and learning how to incorporate magic into enhancing physical abilities. Here are some exercises that might be included:

Magical Warm-Ups: Starting each class with stretches and light exercises enhanced by warming spells.

Enchanted Obstacle Courses: Navigating obstacle courses that change magically, requiring quick reflexes and agility.

Broomstick Aerobics: Engaging in flying exercises that improve balance and coordination while on a broomstick.

Strength Spells: Learning spells that temporarily increase strength for lifting or moving heavy objects.

Magical Sports: Playing magical versions of traditional sports.

Endurance Charms: Using charms to boost endurance during long-distance running or swimming.

Flexibility Enchantments: Applying enchantments that enhance flexibility and prevent injuries.

Dance Magic: Incorporating magical elements into dance routines for a fun and active workout.

Meditation and Focus: Using meditation techniques to improve concentration and mental stamina.

Magical First Aid: Learning basic first aid spells for treating minor sports injuries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In “Flying” class, students would learn the art of flying, whether it be on broomsticks, magical board, or through levitation spells. Here are some exercises that might be part of the curriculum:

Broomstick Basics: Learning how to mount, dismount, and handle a broomstick properly.

Levitation Spells: Practicing spells that allow one to float or fly without the aid of objects.

Flight Safety: Understanding the safety protocols for flying, including protective spells and charms.

Aerial Maneuvers: Mastering basic flying techniques such as turns, stops, and speed control.

Magical board Handling: If applicable, learning to control and fly on magical board.

Group Flights: Participating in synchronized flying exercises to build teamwork and coordination.

Altitude Adaptation: Acclimating to higher altitudes and learning how to adjust for air pressure changes.

Racing Techniques: Engaging in friendly races to improve agility and speed.

Emergency Landings: Practicing how to land safely in case of an emergency or spell failure.

Weather Spells: Using spells to navigate and adapt to different weather conditions while flying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In “Swimming” class, students would learn not only traditional swimming techniques but also how to incorporate magic into their aquatic activities. Here are some exercises:

Water Adaptation Spells: Casting spells that allow students to breathe underwater and withstand pressure changes.

Aquatic Mobility Charms: Learning charms to enhance swimming speed and agility in the water.

Merfolk Communication: Studying the language and customs of merfolk to interact with them during underwater excursions.

Underwater Navigation: Using magical means to navigate through murky or enchanted waters.

Magical Marine Life: Identifying and studying the behaviors of magical creatures that live in water.

Water Safety Enchantments: Applying protective enchantments to prevent drowning and other water-related accidents.

Diving Techniques: Practicing diving spells that allow for smooth entry into the water from great heights.

Temperature Control Charms: Learning to regulate body temperature to comfortably swim in cold waters.

Underwater Spellcasting: Mastering the art of casting spells while submerged and dealing with the resistance of water.

Rescue and Recovery Spells: Training in spells and procedures for rescuing others from aquatic dangers.

~~~~~~~~~~

In “Music” class, students would explore musical arts, with and without magic. Here are some exercises that might be included:

Instrumental Enchantment: Learning to play and enchant instruments so they can be played magically without physical touch.

Magical Music Theory: Studying the theory behind music and how it interacts with magical frequencies.

Enchanted Choir: Singing in a choir where voices are magically harmonized.

Rhythmic Spellcasting: Combining spellcasting with rhythm to enhance the potency of spells.

Musical Creature Communication: Using music to communicate with creatures that respond to magical melodies.

Historical Magical Composers: Learning about famous magical composers and their contributions to the musical world.

Sound Manipulation: Practicing spells that manipulate sound waves to create music or silence.

Magical Performance: Preparing and performing in magical concerts or recitals.

Music and Emotion: Exploring how music can influence emotions and states of mind magically.

Instrument Crafting: Building magical instruments with unique properties and sounds.

~~~~~~~~~~~

In “Art” class, students would likely explore various forms of creative expression, possibly incorporating magical elements into their artwork. Here are some exercises:

Enchanted Drawing: Practicing drawing techniques with enchanted pencils that bring sketches to life.

Potion Paints: Creating paints from magical potions that change color or have other unique properties.

Sculpting with Magic: Using transfiguration spells to sculpt materials like clay or stone without physical tools.

Illusionary Art: Crafting art that moves or changes, creating illusions that trick the eye.

Magical Photography: Taking and developing photographs that capture magical auras or movements.

Wearable Art: Designing clothing or jewelry with enchantments that alter their appearance.

Art History: Studying the works of famous magical artists and their impact on magical society.

Artistic Spellwork: Learning spells that enhance artistic abilities or inspire creativity.

Magical Murals: Painting murals with spells that make them interact with the environment.

Restoration Techniques: Using magic to restore and preserve ancient artworks and artifacts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In “Mathematics” class... well students would likely explore both the theoretical and practical applications of math, but may use magic too. Here are some exercises other than the "common" ones:

Arithmancy: Studying the magical properties of numbers and their use in spell-crafting and divination.

Geometric Spell Patterns: Drawing geometric shapes that form the basis of complex spell structures.

Potion Measurements: Precisely measuring and calculating potion ingredients for perfect brews.

Magical Algebra: Solving equations that predict magical phenomena or outcomes.

Astronomical Calculations: Using mathematics to predict celestial alignments and their magical effects.

Transfiguration Geometry: Applying geometric principles to accurately transfigure objects into different shapes.

Probability and Chance: Calculating probabilities to predict the outcomes of magical experiments.

Magical Graph Theory: Mapping out the connections between magical nodes or ley lines.

Temporal Equations: Understanding the mathematical principles behind time-related spells.

Mathematical Proofs: Proving theorems that underpin magical laws and principles.

~~~~~~~~~~

In “Health” class that would be held twice a year by the nurse(s), students would likely focus on both physical and magical well-being. Here are some exercises:

Magical Nutrition: Learning about magical foods and their effects on health and magical abilities.

Body Enhancement Charms: Understanding the ethical use of charms that temporarily enhance physical abilities.

Magical Hygiene: Learning spells and practices for maintaining personal and environmental cleanliness.

Disease Awareness: Studying magical and non-magical diseases, their symptoms, and prevention methods.

First Aid Training: Gaining practical skills in magical and non-magical first aid techniques.

#disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland classes #exercices

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