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bearstarseraphffxi · 3 years

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Subtext and Connotations

“Stupid kid…” Piccolo said to himself. He looked at the small human — no not human, not completely anyway — who had fallen asleep and casually collapsed onto him without a care in the world.

A world that had just gotten immeasurably bigger ten months ago.

Piccolo did not know how to react at first. This kid was a first for many things. He stayed still hoping he’d fall off.

But no… The son of his greatest enemy had just leaned forward and was now draped over one of his legs.

Piccolo sighed. He looked up at the moonless night sky. He absentmindedly wondered which pinprick of light was the fault of what he was about to do. What he had been stewing over for four months now, making him seriously analyze his birth and what could have gone wrong with the transfer. He was Demon King Piccolo, damn it…

Piccolo looked over to the west and sneered. He could practically hear Kami snickering in his head.

Piccolo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He put his large hand on the boy’s head. “Sebnek yemtaw himefinnew.”

Gohan moaned and twitched.

Piccolo jerked his hand away, but Gohan simply moved his arm and somehow ended up even more over his leg before he went still again.

Piccolo sighed in relief.

~~***~~

“Hey, Mr. Piccolo?” Gohan asked, adjusting his pants from the morning bush and small ki-blasted hole visit.

“What?” he said annoyed.

Piccolo stood as he always did, his back to him, but Gohan did not mind. That was just Mr. Piccolo.

When his mother was mad at his father, she would turn her back and talk in that tone when he would win the argument, then reword what he had said to make it look like she got exactly what she wanted all along. He did not know what he was “winning”, but Mr. Piccolo was being a lot nicer to him recently when he wasn’t beating him into a pulp.

“What does Seb nek yem taw—”

Piccolo partially spun around. “What?! You were awake?!”

Gohan stuttered, “I… you always randomly attack me. But you were gentle, so I went back to sleep.”

Piccolo regained his composure, crossed his arms, and towered over the boy. Any other child would be terrified, but this one just smiled back at him.

Piccolo sighed in annoyed defeat. There was no scaring this one. “I called you a silly boy last night in my language, that was all.”

“What part of it means silly?”

“Himefinnew. It is a single word that means a silly child.”

“You can call me Himefinnew any time you want, Mr. Piccolo,” Gohan said grinning, with what few teeth were left.”

Piccolo reached his hand out and grabbed Gohan’s head, then gently spun him around. “Let’s just keep it Finnew for short, got it?”

“Yes, sir! Mr. Piccolo,” Gohan said happily.

Piccolo suddenly punted the screaming boy high into the air. “Never turn your back on the enemy!” Piccolo shouted, jumping after him to start the day’s training.

~~***~~

Three months later…

“Hey guys!” Bulma shouted, holding her phone in one hand and waving with the other, “Dad says he’ll be here in about twenty minutes with the two cargo planes to take us to my place!”

“Does it really take this long to traverse your own planet?!” Vegeta snapped. “This planet is puny judging by its gravity!”

Bulma put her hands on her hips. “Oh, stop complaining, homeboy. It hasn’t even been an hour yet.”

“An hour?!”

Everyone glanced at the arguing couple before returning to their own conversations.

Piccolo glared ominously as Gohan was speaking with Dende and three young adults. They were laughing at each other’s bad accents while speaking each other’s languages. “He” knew that the three couldn’t speak properly and that the laughter was not genuine. “He” knew ‘teenagers’ when he saw them, the old word suddenly sounding like he heard it for the first time, even though it was spoken with “his” own mind’s singular voice.

It had only been a few hours and these sensations were getting old fast.

“(Hey there),” a Namekian came up to him awkwardly in their native tongue. “(How are you doing, after… everything)?”

Piccolo sighed. “(I)”, he stressed, “(am fine… Lumache. Really. Go comfort the others who are taking Guru’s death badly.)”

Lumache smiled relieved, but his face quickly changed to confusion. “(Are you sure? You’re speaking with a bit of a lisp.)”

Piccolo smirked. (It’s the accent here on Earth. I doubt ‘Kami’ will be coming down from his ‘high horse’ to meet any of you. But this is how we speak here.)”

Lumache tilted his head concerned. “(Is this ‘Kami’ another aboriginal like the pet?)”

“(Gohan is no pet)”, Piccolo said, barely containing his rage. “(And ‘Kami’ is…)” he paused. “(… the name of my egglayer’s hatchmate.)”

Lumanche raise his finger, “(But… ‘Kami’ is not a Namekian name.)”

“(I know, but his name is Kami. So get used to it.)”

Lumache bent his raised finger. “(And he was also called a… ah…)” he hesitated looking for the right words.

Piccolo smirked. “No, his name was Namekian and I will be using it going forward. That was the deal.”

Lumache sighed relieved with a thankful grin across his face, “(Oh, that goodness. I was worried, dear brother.)”

Piccolo was feeling both a little bad but also waiting in great anticipation to laugh at his reaction when the conversation with the teenagers got loud. He turned his full attention back to Gohan and Dende.

Piccolo uncrossed his arms, then bent his elbow as he balled his fist.

~~***~~

Moments earlier…

The teenager in the middle of the trio was making funny noises to the laughing of his two companions and the giggling of Dende.

Gohan, however, was being encouraging. “You’re getting close. Just find a soft spot near the top of your throat to click the area just behind the tip of your tongue against it.”

The teenager threw his hands up, and spouted what Gohan knew to be curses. “(This is bleep-ing ridiculous!)” he continued.

“(Don’t feel bad,)” Gohan said. “(I still can’t get *guttural sound with a secondary high pitch right afterwards* right. ‘Mr. Piccolo’ said he knows of a few ‘human’ languages with the sounds happening at the same time and that after the fighting we could look into ‘throat singing’ together.)”

The one on the teenager’s right chuckled. “(Yeah, and I’m sure this ‘Piccolo’ has been a big help since you speak with such a bad lisp.)”

“(He doesn’t have a lisp,)” Dende corrected. “(It’s just the accent of the people here. I’m told everyone speaks that way.)”

“(Dende,)” the one to the left shook his head. “(And the elders always say you were the smart one. Here you are believing everything a piccolo says.)”

“Dende,” Gohan whispered in English, “is there a word that’s also said as piccolo and not just a person’s name?”

Dended had a look of shock on his face. “You don’t—”

“(Dende, don’t bother,)” the teenager in the middle said. “(There’s no point learning this stuff.)”

“After everything that just happened, how can you say that?!” Dende said loudly, and in English.

The entire congregation went silent and turned to look at them.

As Dende started to whimper and Gohan wrapped his arms around him, the three knew they all looked bad.

“(Since you can’t say my name right,)” Gohan offered an olive branch, “(My teacher, ‘Mr. Piccolo’, calls me something when I’m being stupid. ‘Nickname’ doesn’t have a better translation than that.)”

Unknown to the youths, everyone’s sight was turned to the sudden fighting stance of the person all the Namekians but Dende knew only as Nail’s new Keeper.

“(Ok, ‘Hohan’, What’s this ‘Nickname’?)”

“(Himefinnew. He shortened it Finnew.)”

You could hear a pin drop.

~~***~~

Vegeta knew something was wrong instantly as his eyes scanned the clearing. This type of shock, disbelief, and the building rage so pungent it was tasteable on his tongue, this only came with something unforgivable. Vegeta enjoyed getting his prey to react like this. The resulting stupidity was entertainment on boring missions. Killing and eating children usually did the trick. Nappa didn’t even bother with the killing part first.

Vegeta smirked.

This wait just got a lot less boring.

~~***~~

“Gohan! Gohan, don’t say something like that!” Dende grabbed his armor and shook him. “Apologize!”

“What? Is… Is it actually a curse word?” Gohan said horrified as the possibility dawned on him. “Mr. Piccolo said it meant ‘silly child’.”

“Silly child?!” Dende looked over at Piccolo. “Has the meaning changed here?! Don’t you know what it means?!”

Suddenly, an adult came over and grabbed Gohan’s arm. He tried to bite his nails into his flesh, but they bent backwards instead.

Gohan barely had time to plant his feet when the man went suddenly flying through several trees.

Piccolo retracted his arm from the long punch and stormed over. “(Next person who touches that child joins Schnecke pulling splinters out of his tonsils!)”

“(How…)” “(Can we even do that?)” “(Did he just… extend his arm?)” were among the murmurs Gohan could make out. He also spotted several Namekians put their hands over their mouths and looked away, or even bending over at the waist.

Dende tugged on Piccolo’s pants leg. “How did you do that?” he whispered in English.

“(Don’t you dare teach something that barbaric and obscene to the hatchlings! You shame your role as a holy keeper to Na, eh?)” the Namekian paused. “(What even is your name, brother?!)”

“(He’s no brother! Brothers do not harm brothers! He attacked Schnecke!)”

“Why do they keep calling Mr. Piccolo ‘brother’?” Gohan whispered to Dende. “He’s from Earth? So was his father and Kami? They don’t have siblings.”

“Sib-lin?” Dende said confused. “I don’t know that word.”

Piccolo stood proudly, “(My name is Piccolo! Piccolo ‘Daimao’ the Second!” He slowly turned his head glaring into as many eyes as possible, “Heir to my dead egg layer, King Piccolo ‘Daimao’!)”

A pin drop could be heard again as Gohan looked around. All the Namekians had looks of horror on their faces. He kicked himself for being surprised.

“Gohan, what does ‘Daimao’ mean?” Dende whispered in English.

Gohan jerked his head. “Wha? You don’t? Then wha?” he stuttered. He began glancing around anxiously.

“Gohan what’s wr—”

Suddenly a Namekian fell to his knees screaming in anguish. “(Who names a child that?!)”

Piccolo stomped over screaming something so fast all Gohan could make out was Piccolo repeating his name over and over again, but judging by the adults scrambling to cover the children’s ears, he wasn’t old enough to learn a good portion of it.

Piccolo grabbed the Namekian by his collar and pulled him up. “(And if any of you touch Hime again…)” Piccolo extended his nails into long daggers, “(I’ll slice you apart so bad you can’t regenerate.)” He then shoved the man back on the ground and retracted his claws. “Hime!” he said walking swiftly over to Gohan. Piccolo put his hand on Gohan's head, gently turning and shoving him. “We’re leaving. Come on, boy,” he said in English.

Gohan stumbled briefly but quickly walked in step with him into the trees.

~~***~~

Vegeta was disappointed that the show seemed to be over after those two had vanished into the woods, but their energy seemed to still be close by. Suddenly Dende broke the awkward silence by running after them. The others began to shout before the old one the dead Namekian had placed hands on shouted something that made the others stop before he walked after Dende.

Vegeta turned to stalk them when he looked at the Earth woman who had turned at the exact same moment.

They looked at each other surprised before the woman gave an oddly devious smile, took two steps ahead then turned and pointed at him before repeatedly bending that finger. Vegeta took the strange gesture as an invitation to follow and the two disappeared unnoticed.

~~***~~

“Mr. Piccolo, what was that about? What happened there? Why was everyone mad at me? What did—”

“Not now, Gohan. They can still hear us.”

Gohan looked behind them.

“My ears are not for show,” Piccolo answered his thoughts.

Suddenly Piccolo looked behind them as well.

Soon Gohan heard it too.

“Wait! … Gohan, wait!” was heard softly in the distance.

Then came the rapid footsteps.

Dende burst through the trees stopping in front of them. He placed his hands on his knees panting. “Wait… Wait for me…”

Piccolo sighed. “Fine… you can come too,” he said annoyed. He began walking briskly again. “Hurry.”

“Yes,” Gohan quickly got in step.

Dende jogged out of breath behind them.

~~***~~

Piccolo eventually stopped and leaned against a tree. “Ok, this is far enough,” he sighed. He sat on the ground.

“Mr. Piccolo, what happened? Why was everyone mad at me?”

Piccolo sighed. “Gohan… from what I taught you about my language, break down Himefinnew into its parts.”

“Um…” he thought, “Finnew is the third person singular to finir, which means to find something funny, so… Hime is the part that means boy. I find the boy funny, or Silly boy like you first said.”

“Dende, quiet,” Piccolo said cutting him off. He looked back at Gohan. “Now Gohan, tell me the difference between the words red and crimson.”

Gohan paused. “They are both two words that mean the same color?”

“Yes, but there is a difference. Do you know why the word red is almost always used while crimson is not?”

Gohan shook his head.

“Crimson specifically means the color of human blood. To call something crimson is to compare it to blood. Now answer that question.”

“Blood is scary?”

Piccolo smiled, “Exactly.”

“So Hime is a scary version of boy?”

“What?! No!”

“Dende quiet,” Piccolo snapped.

Dende looked down.

Piccolo sighed.

“Gohan, what I’m trying to say is that many words have a hidden meaning. Like crimson is scary. Hime is… I… it…” Piccolo’s face and ears tinged purple. He covered his face with one of his hands. “Gah… what I’m trying to say is… Gohan…

“So you named the child but never told him? Were you ever going to tell him?”

“Elder Moori!” Dende said as the old Namekian walked out of the trees.

Piccolo shot up as his color deepened. “This is a private conversation!”

Moori gave a knowing smile to the adult blushing like a child being caught being naughty. He looked at Gohan. “So tell me Himefinnew, did Piccolo place his hands on your head and say ‘Sebnek yemtaw’ when he named you, or…”

Gohan started nodding before he finished.

“I see…” He looked at Piccolo, “I don’t know how significant it is with our kin on Earth, but for Namekians the naming ceremony is an important step in a child’s life. We do not name at hatching but let the child grow until it becomes apparent what his name is, like Dende here,” he looked at him, “Dende literally means ‘He writes in stone’. We named him that because he can memorize and repeat anything he hears perfectly.”

“And Nail means humility,” Dende said looking up at Piccolo.

Moori snickered, “Nail was not happy when he was named that by Guru. You don’t know this Dende, but Nail was actually very arrogant as a youth. He was sent to live Guru not because he was virtuous, but because he was a delinquent.”

Dende’s jaw dropped.

Moori looked at Piccolo, “Nail never lost that fire despite him learning to outwardly behave. I was greatly worried for you, but after everything that just happened…” he walked over and put his hand on piccolo’s shoulder. “I know you two will make a fine man once everything settles down in a few hours. Only a man with the pride in his name like that could embrace him fully and not be ashamed of his lesser instincts,” then he smiled knowingly, “Isn’t that right ‘Daimao’?”

“You know what that means, elder?” Dende asked.

Moori took his hand off Piccolo’s shoulder and looked down at him, “Yes I do. It’s a word that means the unpleasant part of all of us, like arrogance,” he glanced at Piccolo, “Or anger.” He looked back down, “While ‘Kami’ is the nice things about us, like friendship and loyalty.”

“But they are both words like crimson, right?” Dende asked.

He nodded. “Yes, they both have a special connotation that makes them very rare. Even the adults don’t know those words.” Moori looked down at his hands. “Even I… did not know those words until a little while ago.”

Dende nodded understanding.

Moori extended his hand. “Come with me, Dende. Let the ‘titim’ and ‘hime’ talk alone.” Then he turned in a random direction. “That goes for you two as well!”

“What?! How did you know we were here?!”

“You stupid bitch! Don’t you know how to keep your stupid mouth shut!”

“I am not a stupid bitch, you—”

Piccolo grumbled putting his hand over his face again.

Moori smiled, “I’m sure you’ll be able to relearn your awareness. Nail was always too easy to sneak up on.” He took a step then stopped, “It may not be my place to say, Daimao, but maybe losing some of your suspiciousness would be a good thing. It can be lonely as a piccolo no matter where your home is.”

He took Dende’s hand and left.

Piccolo sighed as the volume of the argument coming from the trees rose up several notches.

“So… we’ll be talking later, right?” Gohan asked, looking in the direction of the screaming.

Piccolo chuckled, “Yeah… … Actually, Gohan,” he knelt and whispered in his ear.

~~***~~

10 minutes later at the clearing, a large box-shaped plane touched down.

Dr. Brief hopped out.

“Daddy!” Bulma ran over.

“There’s my baby girl!” They hugged. “Phew. Oh boy, I’ll call your mother and make sure you have a nice bubble bath waiting with lavender candles.”

“Thanks Dad.”

“Hey! I thought you said two transports! That’s only one!” Vegeta shouted pointing.

Dr. Brief pulled out what looked like a grenade from his pocket and threw it a good distance away. Suddenly an identical craft appeared in a puff of smoke.

Vegeta gritted his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping.

Bulma threw open the passenger side door, “Come on, Homeboy! Come ride in the cockpit with me!”

Vegeta stiffened and clinched his fists. “As if I’d spend another second listening to your prattle!”

Then sit in the back with the friends of the people you killed for three hours, you jerk!”

“I’ll ride with the old man!” he looked at Dr. Brief to see him already talking with Dende.

“Sorry, sonny! The kid’s beat you to it!”

Vegeta bristled. “Fine!” he stormed over and shoved her out of the way. He climbed in and slammed the door.

“Jerk,” she said, wiping the grass off her. Bulma turned to the group as her father dropped the cargo ramp on his plane. “Ok everyone! Load up so we can finally get out of the bugs!”

Piccolo helped everyone find a seat, the elders and children bucketed on the benches while the teenagers and adults sat on the floor. Gohan did the same for the other plane.

Gohan came around to Bulma’s window.

She rolled it down.

“Everyone’s in over here. I'm going to ride with Mr. Piccolo in the other plane.”

“Ok, Gohan.” Bulma rolled up the window.

On the other side, Piccolo was talking to Dr. Brief.

“Everyone is ready. I’ll be with Gohan in the other plane.”

“Okey Dokey. See you when we land,” Dr. Brief smiled.

The Briefs watched Gohan and Piccolo walk over and disappear behind the other plane in their side mirrors. After a brief rock that felt like someone climbing in, the two rear doors closed.

As the two planes flew away, Piccolo and Gohan floated in the air watching them, having flown up after rocking the plane to avoid being seen on the ground after takeoff.

Gohan had his hands over his mouth stifling a giggle.

Piccolo grinned. “Deceit is fun, isn’t it Gohan?”

“Yes, don’t tell Mom I said so.”

“Secret’s safe with me.”

The two dropped their arms and sighed at the same time. Then they looked at each other.

Piccolo dropped to the ground first, Gohan landing moments later.

“Ok… We’re were we…” Piccolo said slowly.

“Actually, Mr. Piccolo,” Gohan said looking up.

Piccolo looked down.

“Could you tell me what you were saying when you were screaming your name? Besides the bad words, I mean. You spoke too fast. I… got the part where you threatened to chop him up, though.”

Piccolo sat down, “This… is going to be… just about as hard to explain as Hime is actually…”

Gohan looked down, “Oh…”

“Sit down, Gohan.”

Gohan sat down mimicking Piccolo’s legs position.

He halfheartedly smiled, then sighed. “Gohan… ‘Piccolo’ has a very specific meaning, and in fact wasn’t even a name until Kami called out, ‘I banish all that is abhorrent! Piccolo!” when they cleaved. Did you know how they were born?”

“A person ripped in two and became all good and all bad. But you’re not all bad, Mr. Piccolo.”

“Gohan, the ability to care for a child is a biological function. It has nothing to do with good or bad. My father felt every one of my brother’s die by your father’s hands just as much as Guru felt Frieza rip their lives away one by one.”

Gohan gasped softly.

“You didn’t know about my brother’s, did you?”

Gohan shook his head.

“Gohan. You know how babies are made, right?”

“A mommy and daddy each take half a small piece of themselves that can’t live alone, stick them together to make a new person then the mommy either grows them in their tummy or lays an egg and they grow in there until they hatch, right?”

“That is how things work on Earth,” he nodded. “But that does not work for Namekian’s like me.” He adjusted his position. “We don’t have both mommies and daddies. There is only one kind. We take a whole piece of ourselves, already alive, and place in an egg to grow again. That is why we feel the deaths of our children, because literally a piece of us has died.”

“What does this have to do with your name?”

“Because ‘piccolo’ means anything that is not part of us. Born from us. Is. Us. But like red and crimson, Piccolo is saved for special things, like an alien planet and the people who lived there. You are a piccolo, even if people won’t say it to your face.”

Gohan looked down, “And anything piccolo is abhorrent, right?”

Piccolo put his hand on Gohan’s head. “Not everything.”

“What…” Gohan started sniffling, “What did you say?”

“I was born on an alien world. I was raised as an alien. I am an alien. There are many other words I could have used to convey that, but using my name was just me beating it into their thick skulls without using my actual fists.”

“Being able to defeat your opponent without ever needing to touch them is just as big a part of war as actually fighting hand to hand combat.”

“Correct. If you weren’t such a goofball, there would probably be two Dende’s right now.”

Gohan gave a quick few laughs, then when quiet.

Piccolo waited silently for him to speak.

He waited a very long time.

“Mr. Piccolo…” Gohan finally started, but never finished his thought.

“Say what you are thinking Gohan,” Piccolo ordered, “Nothing you can say will ever make me mad. I have a thick skin.”

“Do… Do I… Do I have two grandfathers now…” he glanced up at his face, “that are kings?”

Piccolo smiled, showing his teeth.

Gohan gasped. Piccolo swore his eyes were sparkling.

Piccolo sighed and closed his eyes. He raised his finger. “One time. This one ti— ACK!”

Gohan flung his arms around Piccolo’s neck and knocked him flat on his back.

“Oofff,” he said, having the wind knocked out of him.

“Titim. Titim.” Gohan kept repeating, now crying in his ear.

Piccolo sighed and looked up at the clouds. He then suddenly raised his arms and gave two middle fingers to the sky.

Even thirty miles below, he could hear the laughing.

#dragon ball z #dragon ball z kai #namek saga #saiyan saga #piccolo #Gohan #son gohan #fanfiction #fanfic

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villain-to-sherlocks-fairytale · 4 years

Note

Checkmate and Consulting Romance :) have fun

Send in two (or more) names and I’ll fill all this out about the ship!

Checkmate

General:

How long will they last? - Until the end of times...I hope

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Quite quick, it was the admitting it part that took forever.

How was their first kiss? - Mormor, it was eh they were drunk and experimenting. Jim/Mori Better, rushed, perfect. Mori/Seb In the moment, unsure where it was going but perfect to him at least. Issy/Jim soft and wonderful. Issy/Seb about the same. They’re careful with her.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Jim

Who is the best man/men? - No one

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - No one

Who did the most planning? - It was done together

Who stressed the most? - Both, maybe Mori

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. (It was better than pickup but wasn’t that big.)

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Literally everyone but them and the person officiating. Or the three of them, depending on the wedding.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Jim/Seb 49/50% of the time respectively.

Who is the one to instigate things? - All of them will, depends on the day.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head (And now Jim is thinking about masks...)

How long do they normally last? - Depends on what’s going on. 5-20 minutes. Can go longer if told.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Unless there’s edging or making her have multiple. Find me a man that can have like 10 orgasms.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - What’s the upper limit? They will test it. Currently at 4 and counting.

How many children will they adopt? - Hasn’t been discussed, running out of room.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Mori/Issy. The boys will do it but make a bigger mess than they clean.

Who is the stricter parent? - Sebastian? Mori? Jim and Issy give them everything (Not that they all don’t).

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - ...They’re suppose to stop them? Mori/Issy, the boys join in.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Whoever is up of the morning. Jim or Mori.

Who is the more loved parent? - Issy and Jim, neither can say no.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? the girls or Jim.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Jim. Still can’t believe the kids even started school.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Funny you think those kids got caught.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Jim or Mori. Seb isn’t allowed.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? -Mori, boys will eat anything.

Who does the grocery shopping? - Whoever has the time. Or Jim sends someone to do it.

How often do they bake desserts? - When they get the chance. It happens on occasion.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Sebastian Meat, others, both.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Jim.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Mori for takeaway, Seb for going out.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Sebastian.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - They have people for that.

Who is really against chores? - Sebastian.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Human pets, Jim. Actual pets, Mori. Seb insists the cats are her’s and Jim’s.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Sebastian

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Probably Jim, depends on the guests though.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Mori?

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - All of them at once. Jim maybe?

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - They have cats, those don’t need walks. But Jim once took Seb out with a collar.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Go all out for Halloween and Christmas.

What are their goals for the relationship? - To not kill each other.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Sebastian

Who plays the most pranks? - Jim or Seb, mostly on each other. They’ve learned not to on the girls.

Consulting Romance

General:

How long will they last? - Either 11 minutes or forever.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Sherlock as soon as he heard Moriarty’s name. When he saw her in her lab coat and realized what she was. Jim, immediately on seeing her. He didn’t give his number to Sherlock for nothing. They’re still wondering about her.

How was their first kiss? - Sherlock and Jim’s was rough, passionate. Sherlock and Mori’s was slower, softer, the same goes for Jim and Mori’s. All were perfect.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Jim.

Who is the best man/men? - Richard/John

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Eve?

Who did the most planning? - Sherlock. He’s done it once.

Who stressed the most? - Jim or Mori.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - They each had some family not allowed.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Jim like 98% Sherlock the other 2%

Who is the one to instigate things? - Jim or Mori.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - Depends on circumstances and situations.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Depends on what the number is, they try to keep it close to even (She normally gets more).

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - A couple? Depends on how Adam feels.

How many children will they adopt? - None? Does that sound bad?

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Mori, some Jim. Keep Sherlock away.

Who is the stricter parent? - Sherlock for discipline though will let them by with doing age inappropriate things and then one of the others have to step up.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Mori, if anyone does.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Mori.

Who is the more loved parent? - Over all? Mori. Sherlock on occasion when he allows experiments.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? Mori or Jim.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Mori or Jim

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Sherlock. The other two want to teach them not to get caught.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Mori?

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Sherlock all the way.

Who does the grocery shopping? - Jim or Mori.

How often do they bake desserts? - Mrs. Hudson often does that for them.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - None of them eat. Salad?

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Jim or Mori. Sherlock might remember the anniversary.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Jim.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Sherlock.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Jim or Mori.

Who is really against chores? - Sherlock.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Sherlock, dog. Mori and Jim cats.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Jim

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Jim, Mori, depends on who it is. Sherlock is just stressed because people.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Sherlock when he’s not cleaning. Mori?

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Sherlock. Hair takes forever.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Sherlock. Dogs, loves them.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Sherlock doesn’t. The other two have been known to go all out on any holiday.

What are their goals for the relationship? - Not break up //ooc is confused by this. there’s a goal?

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - none of them sleep. If they’re asleep at noon they feel asleep at 10am.

Who plays the most pranks? - Jim.

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roseravenkey · 6 years

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Rider Challenge #12: Reflect

@thescorpioracesfestival

It takes ages to get away from the beach after the race. People everywhere are congratulating me. Not that I don’t enjoy that, but I want to get home and clean up Sleipnir’s face. By this point, the blood has leaked all the way down his jawbone and is slowly dripping off his chin. Taking note of this, I finish up on the beach as quickly as is acceptable. I say my goodbyes to Rea, telling her we’d meet up the next day to chat about everything. I then start the walk home with Sleipnir while Sebs takes the car. It’s quite slow. Sleipnir’s blinded by the blood on one side and this makes him jumpy. He spooks at everything on his blind side. He’s a mixture of trotting in place beside me and taking slow cautious steps in the times he’s calmed down a bit. I can’t blame him. I’d freak out if I couldn’t see.

We finally reach home. It’s starting to go dark and the adrenaline from the race has worn off a little, making me feel the cold much more harshly. I see the warm light in the house, but I can’t go in yet. I have things to do. I sigh and lead Sleipnir into the barn. Dor calls out softly as I turn the lights on and Sleipnir hums back. Tying my stallion up with a headcollar outside his stall, I untack him and hose him down over his sweaty chest and flanks. I use the spray to wash the kicked up sand off his belly and legs, taking extra time on his feathers. I check his hooves for signs of wear and see none. I then get to work on his bloody face. I can’t see the extent of the wounds yet. The blood coating his face prevents it. I can’t see if that mare’s teeth got his eye or not. Sleipnir’s squinting, but wouldn’t you if blood was in it. I scratch his neck and jog to the house in search of warm water, grabbing a bucket on my way out.

“How’s he doing?” Sebs inquires as I step over the doormat.

“I’m not sure yet. Need to sponge him off a bit before I can see the damage properly.” I answer. “I’m not too worried about him though. He had plenty of energy on the way home!”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. Hey you want help holding him still while you clean him up, Champion?” I’m not gonna lose that nickname anytime soon, and I don’t intend to. I quite like it. I can still hardly believe I won the race! It’s like something from a novel or film, it’s unreal! I chuckle.

“Yeah, that would be great, Brother-of-the-Champion.”

So I fill up the bucket with warm tap water and grab a clean sponge from under the sink. There’s a first aid kit already in the barn so I’ll get bandages from there if I need them. Sebs puts on his boots and follows me out to the barn.

I motion for Sebs to go in front if my capall and hold him still by the headcollar. He does and I load my sponge with the clean water and get to cleaning out my beloved stallion’s eye first. I squeeze out the sponge over him and the water runs down his face, thinning out the red and allowing me to see that his eye has no direct damage to it. He’ll be able to see perfectly clearly again once all the blood’s cleaned up. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I use the water while it’s still clear to finish rinsing the blood out of his eye. He’s standing surprisingly still while I do this. But then again, the capaill uisce spend their lives with water in their eyes. When it comes to the actual wounds that’s a different story. I’m trying to be as gentle as I can while still being efficient. The mare’s teeth punctured his skin both above and below his eye. It’s a miracle she didn’t damage anything permanently.

Sleipnir jerks away from my touch as I press the wet sponge to his cuts. Sebs does his best to hold him still as possible but with the power of the capall it’s not really a fair fight. Still, stubborn as my brother is, he never lets go of the headcollar and always brings Sleipnir’s head back in front of me when he moves away. It takes a while, but I manage to clean out the wounds, and wipe the blood off my capall’s cheek and jaw. He almost looks presentable again. He may scar a little but that’s no matter. All through this time Sebs is silent. He just quietly watches me work while holding Sleipnir as still as he can. To finalise my process I wander over to the first aid box’s place on a shelf and take it down. I open the lid and pull out a tube of antiseptic cream. I put a little on my hand and put it onto the cuts on Sleipnir’s face. I can tell it stings him, but he takes it with only minor complaints which surprises the both of us. I bandage up the deeper of the wounds as best I can without covering his eye to stop the last of the bleeding. It’s slowed down incredibly, but I don’t want anything getting in there and messing up my cleaning work. My brother and I both step back and admire my handiwork.

“There. Not bad, eh?” I say.

“Not bad at all! Hey. Did I say that Mum rang?”

“No... Why? Wait. Do I want to know?” It’s known that my parents worry about me racing. Especially Mum.

“It’s not that bad. She just wanted to know you’d survived.”

“And...?” I press, coming to stand in front of my brother. His growing smirk was not a comfort to me.

“I told her you came in first. She wanted to talk to you but I told her you were busy being a Champion and couldn’t come to the phone...”

“AND?!” It was starting to get irritating now.

“She wants us to go over for tea. To celebrate. I said you’d be delighted.”

“WHAT!?” Dinner at my family’s was always an event. Someone was always a diva and everyone always fell out in some way or another. Like last time. I see Sebs laughing.

“Wait. You didn’t did you?” I ask, uncertain.

“Of course not you melon. If you went I’d have to go too. I told her that you’d ring back.”

“Oh thank the gods!” I sigh, relieved. I lightly punch my brother in the chest and move past him to put Sleipnir away. I finish up in the barn and we wander back to the house together. As we’re taking our boots of I say, “Hey Sebs. You know that you didn’t believe in me and I was gonna die for sure in the races?”

“I didn’t say that at all but go on...”

“Pfft. Well anyway. I said I was gonna be fine and I hate to say I told you so, but... I TOLD YOU SO!” I laugh and start to run away, but my brother grabs my leg and trips me up so I land face first on the carpet. I squirm away and crawl backwards shouting in mirth, “How’s first place for ya!?” He tackles me to the ground and I squeal as he pins me down.

“Eww. You stink, Tessie.” He says, wrinkling his nose. “Go shower and then we’ll talk.” We both laugh as he lets me up and I skip upstairs, ignoring the ache starting up in my muscles. I look in the mirror and see that Sebs wasn’t wrong. I’m covered in dirt and sand. There’s Sleipnir’s blood spattered on my hands and face. Helmet hair doesn’t even begin to describe it. There’s all kinds of dirt in the windswept tangles. I can feel the grime of sand and sea spray in it. I may as well be wearing the island. There’s also a wild look in my eyes I can’t place. Is it the exhilaration of the race? Or possibly the joy of winning? I don’t know, but I like it. I run the bath and hang a big fluffy towel on the radiator to warm up while I wash. I turn the taps off once the bath is full, undress and sink into the hot water. I relax and think about the day’s events. I’d closed my eyes as we’d crossed the finish line, but apparently we’d won by just a nose. The other rider’s just behind us. It was so close. I’m proud. Proud of myself. Proud of my horse. Proud of us.

#tsrf2017 #thescorpioracesfestival

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3one3 · 7 years

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The Sequel - 831

Scuderia Ferrari

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“So Voutilainen watch, vintage Jaguar, or brand new Ferrari? Those are the choices?”

“Mhm.”

“And it can only be one?”

“Mhm.”

“If it were me, it would be between the cars, obviously. I don’t care about watches. I wear this badass one some dude gave me.”

“Mhm.”

“Aaaaand I don’t think I’m really into the Jag. Certainly not enough to say no to, like, an F12tdf. My god. It’s sooooooo sexy. It’s soooooo fast. It has variable-geometry intake trumpets from Seb’s engine. B-T-dubs, can we watch the Spanish Grand Prix after this? Oh and back to the car- It has an active rear axle. Do you even know what that means?”

“Not really, no, and I wouldn’t get the hardcore car.”

“I would. In fact, if I win a gold medal in Tokyo, I’m gonna get one. I just decided. Wait, if you win the FA Cup too, can you pick two things?”

“You tell me. Is that a worthy trophy?”

“No.”

Juan and Christina went for a stroll along the Thames in front of his building after dinner. It was just warm enough out to be a pleasant night, and they talked about how the player would reward himself for the league title. There were a couple of things he’d been telling her about for years- expensive, exclusive things that he could gift himself at any time, really, but claimed he needed to earn. Finally, a token was deserved for his season-long work. Christina concurred. The FA Cup, still up for grabs for the Blues, wasn’t significant enough to warrant a second major reward though.

“Get the Ferrari, and then when I get mine we can go to Ferrari owners’ club events together and stuff. We could go to F1 races in Ferrari gear and not feel like tools,” the rider suggested, hands in the pockets of her varsity jacket. She felt all-over better after having a shower and getting into fresh clothes. The water helped wash away the disappointment of her weekend, and the frustration of the heated discussion with her friend when she got to England. The clean outfit conditioned her for the next thing- for having a nice dinner at one of her favorite restaurants, catching up on the little things that didn’t make it into texts or calls with her best friend while they were apart for nearly a month, and hearing more stories from the title celebrations. Juan, usually so adept at reading her and knowing what she wanted and needed, was poised for an after-dinner error.

“I like that you have so much confidence in your getting this Ferrari,” he chuckled. “You only just thought of it, and now you speak like it’s definitely going to happen. You must be very sure of the gold medal, eh?”

“No, not at all, but you would lecture me about it if I said “if” too many times,” his friend shot back, flat and frank. She really just wanted everyone to leave her alone on the subject of performances, expectations, and confidence.

“How do you know I won’t “lecture” on over-confidence instead?” he teased. “It’s just as dangerous!”

“I’ll throw myself in the river just to get away from you if you do.”

“Hey...” The message was quickly received. Traditionally he understood her thoughts before she even broadcast the message, but he was just as good at absorbing them once they were out there. His face morphed from smirky to concerned, and he looked over at her instead of at the walk ahead. There was more than a hint of warning in his tone to urge her to rethink being so short, or having that snappy attitude she’d just displayed.

“I’m sick to death of talking about all the things to do with riding that aren’t riding. I’m sick to death of thinking about them. I never had to before. I just didn’t.”

“Which things?”

“My mental condition. My expectations. My failures. The schedule. The prospects. How I feel about it. How I want to feel about it. How everyone else individually thinks I should feel about it, or think about it, or plan. Just shut up, all of you. Leave me alo- In the words of Kimi Raikkonen, leave me alone. I know what I’m doing.”

The Spaniard stopped in his tracks, also with his hands in his pockets, and looked at Christina like she was recently abducted by aliens and replaced with a pod person.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked incredulously. “Did no one remember to wish you a happy Mother’s Day? Did you just hit the cranky wall because it’s getting late? What did I say? What did I do? What ever have I done to invite such a sour thing?”

“You said the word “confidence”,” the grumpy girl grumbled. I know I was obnoxious just now, and I’m sorry, but I’m so fucking sick of...just...everything.

“So? I know you dislike a lot of words that start with “C”, but since when is that one banned?” Juan still appeared massively confused, and annoyed, but a little bit sympathetic too. His eyes softened the second hers dropped to the concrete.

“So I just can’t keep hearing people try to talk to me about me, and what I do. André keeps telling me I’m unhappy because of my riding. Everyone keeps checking to make sure I’m not having a well-contained meltdown because of what happened this weekend. People keep trying to advise me how to think and feel about the Olympics. I’m not even in the fucking team yet, so can we all just cool it with that?”

“You brought it up! Chris...you’re losing it, cariña,” Juan remarked with a rueful sort of snort-laugh. “I was just trying to tease you a little about how sure you were of getting the Ferrari, which I know you were just playing around about. I know you didn’t say it because you think you’re definitely going to win. It wasn’t a serious moment. I thought we were just playing. Relax. I won’t even say that anyone who reacts this badly to hearing the word “confidence” must be so short of it that-“

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Christina warned with her pointer finger. “Don’t say “I won’t even say” and then say exactly what you’re thinking. That’s like when people say, “I’m not racist, but”, and then proceed to say the most racist shit ever. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t.” He’s going to say I am obviously lacking confidence like whoa if I can’t even stand to have someone bring it up or accuse me of having it, or not having it, or, I don’t even know. But no. Just...nuh-uh.

“Okay!” Her dinner date put his hands up and kept laughing. He was no longer taking her outburst seriously, and she wasn’t sure if she appreciated that or found it patronizing. “What are some words you rather hear? Which words are good ones?” She folded her arms at his continued teasing, but she was leaning towards appreciating his attempt to deescalate with humor instead of just shutting his mouth and letting an uncomfortable silence engulf them and keeping up the tension.

“I like “effervescent”, and “lobster”, and “I love you”, and “I’m sorry”, or something with a rolled “R”.” I can be cheeky too. I’m not all sour pickles.

“I love you, my effervescent lobster. I’m sorrrrrrrry,” the Blue in tan wool told her, his effort to trill the apology failing a little bit because his smile interfered with his physical ability to do it. It made her smile too, nonetheless, and step closer to hug him. Just like that, bad feeling gone. That was what she was referring to when she thought about how Juan erased her problems and her stress and her unhappiness with a snap of his fingers and André kind of soothed them away somehow by not necessarily doing anything remarkable but just existing and being part of their relationship that made everything better.

“You know when chefs get gross and make lobster foam? If you mixed a little lemon and ginger into a lobster foam, you’d probably have effervescent lobster.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“I know.”

“Let’s go home. Have you seen the race result already or did you manage to avoid it?”

“I haven’t been on Twitter allllll day. Did you watch it live?”

“No. I said I’d record it to watch with you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m a man of my word, cariña, even when you don’t like the word,” the Spanish footballer joked. His girl glared and pouted at him simultaneously, so he checked their immediate surroundings to make sure no one was there to see, and then graced her with a rare public kiss.

“Mmm-I love you,” she told him when his lips left hers. They switched the direction of their walk and took their time getting back to the towering apartment complex. He kept her talking about Formula 1, and Ferrari, and her favorite driver and hero. That was the kind of thing he was good at- knowing how to fix an unforced error, and how to help her save herself from herself, her own conscience. That was the kind of thing she sometimes didn’t notice he did. That was the soothing she didn’t pick up on and thus didn’t credit to him.

He got a new, bigger TV for his living room, so after Christina called André to say goodnight, they settled on the couch with her to-go box of rainbow cake cookies to watch that afternoon’s Spanish Grand Prix from the Circuit de Barcelona. Lewis Hamilton started from pole, and her man Sebastian passed him to take the lead in the first corner. So began a tactical battle between the Ferrari and Mercedes pitwalls. It was less about outright pace than timing their decisions. Juan fell asleep around the first wave of pitstops, and Christina fought her tiredness to stay up. The race was not a forgone conclusion at any point, so her adrenalin kept pumping. Formula 1 races were elaborate experiences for her. She couldn’t just watch and listen and wait to see what happened- not surprising, really, given her inability to be patient about virtually anything but her horses’ development. She had to use the live timing information, with the gaps and intervals, the tire data, and the sector times, to try to figure out the race the way the engineers in all the teams did. Sometimes she saw things happening or knew what was coming before the commentators did, or predicted what they would say about a decision, or a consequence, or a likely outcome. The races were an interactive thing for her. Ultimately her favorite part of watching and calculating was seeing her driver change the circumstances by exceeding expectations, either in terms of delivering raw speed or with his racecraft in making daring and difficult overtakes, and seeing him make a questionable strategy work that could only possibly happen if he was perfect behind the wheel and unyielding in his self belief. His personality shining through on the radio was a secondary highlight, and then the narrative and drama of the rest of the field third. All of the drivers and team figures were almost as familiar to her as Sebastian Vettel, and she had different types and levels of emotional investment in them. Nearly everything that happened in a race held some significance for her. A Grand Prix was one of her only true self-indulgences in life that delivered, even when the action and competition on the track was lacking. The Spanish round didn’t end the way she wanted- Lewis Hamilton got ahead during the final stint after reaping a lucky benefit of the timing of a virtual safety car period, and the Ferrari pilot came second- but it definitely helped her forget anything and everything she could do without.

Aww look at him, Christina thought when she finally looked away from the TV and the iPad on which she was able to play back the live timing of the race as if in real time. Juan was on his side with a couple of pillows and a blanket up to his face. He’s so cute. I bet he’s still tired from Friday night. Last night I had this whole fantasy about tonight. I wanted to put on that amazing song from Brody’s that I tracked down- that one I found on YouTube and I can’t even figure out if the title of the video is the song or the artist- the sexy one that sounds like a Placebo song about drugs mixed over a sexy piano-based electro beat, and- well, anyway- She pulled her legs up under her on the couch and covered herself with another blanket while her stream of consciousness wandered. Her body kept itself so pumped during the race that her temperature went up and it was too hot for the blanket until the adrenalin and stress receded. The post-race coverage was still playing, but she was more interested in watching the sleeping player.

I wanted to play that song and do something scandalous, like fill his room with white rose petals and candles- probably at least one of those to-die-for Tubereuse ones I have at home- and fluff up his pillows and the feather bed and the duvet, and just, you know, treat him right. I was going to be naked and well moisturized, and serious! I would be serious. And seductive. I’d take his clothes, one article at a time, and kiss him everywhere, and I wanted it to be intense. I was thinking about it being all dark, and intimate, and forget-the-rest-of-the-world-is-happening. I wanted passion. Like one of those rare nights where you have sex for hours and it’s actually exactly like it is in the movies. In reality you do still have awkward moments, and stuff tastes funny, and you probably don’t look nearly as good as you think you do, but you don’t notice any of that because you’re too busy being obsessed with each other. The touching. The kissing. God, the things his hands could do if he had all night. I haven’t had that in forever, with either of them! I pictured us a little sweaty even though we were moving slowly, and I wanted to be overwhelmed. I wanted my lips to be chapped in the morning from all the making out and worshipping him, and- Yeah, I know, she smiled to herself. It was completely normal to her to be telling herself a story. I know his body isn’t like boyfriend’s. It’s not as sexy when he’s just laying in bed. He’s sexier when he does things. But still. He reacts the same when you kiss everything, or you leave a hickey somewhere weird. He tenses, or mutters something, or groans even, and it’s sooooooo hot. I love that. I love making them do that. I do get more physical pleasure from putting my mouth and my tongue on some of boyfriend’s parts, like his stomach, for example, and his thighs, because he’s more...muscley, I guess- and he’s less hairy in those place, but I totally die for their reactions just the same. With Juanin it’s like...what can I do to him to make him want to squeeze me? To hold my neck, or hang onto my waist like he thinks I don’t feel pain. I got off last night, literally, planning that all out. I still want to do it. Just not tonight, I guess.

The rider crawled closer to her sleeping friend on her hands and knees and then settled near enough to be able to pet his head. He needs rest. He has a match tomorrow, and he can’t really be match fit now. He’s only played a little since coming back. I kinda wish I hadn’t just reviewed that whole fantasy though. Between that and his cruel, cruel, inexcusably unfair teasing when I was trying to get in the shower and trying to get him to get in it with me, I am now feeling deprived. But... Christina tilted her head all the way in one direction, and then back the other. She was being as delicate and careful as possible about touching the longest of his hair, at the top of his head. His eyelashes- long, voluminous, and chocolate brown- were the biggest draw for her gaze. There was a desire within her for more than just some sexual gratification. She felt deprived of more than just that. Her connection to the Spaniard was missing. That thing he talked about, that he only got with her, and only when they slept together, was real for her too, and she missed it. The one she had with André was nearly restored but it couldn’t take the place of the other. Watching Juan sleep on the back of a weekend so full of extreme emotions for them both made her want to connect. She thought absently about what happens when you connect two things that are at opposite extremes. She thought absently about the possibility that connecting with his wonderful high from winning the title might lift her from the low of her getting kicked around all weekend by bad luck.

It was hard work to keep her head up and keep trucking on, keep putting in her best, when her hard work wasn’t getting rewarded the way it normally would, or used to. Doing that work, and not succumbing, or giving in and being defeated, actually felt really good to the many times Nations Cup winner, WEG runner up, and World Cup champion. It was satisfying to beat her demons a little that weekend. But the outcome still “sucked”. Christina hated losing, and she hated it when it wasn’t her fault almost more than when it was, because at least if her failure were by her own doing then she could figure out how to improve and do it better next time. Being robbed by her teammates, by some other people being freakishly and out of character good, and by Mother Nature, was frustrating. She knew there was a time when she would have told herself that she’d just have to get so good that no one and nothing could take her down. The mental side of her game wasn’t back to that level yet, and that was disappointing too. Frustration, disappointment, tiredness, injustice- it all stacked up, and Christina just wanted to feel better. She looked at Juan like an alcoholic looks at a bottle. She knew she shouldn’t, but she needed it. She turned a little and leaned down to kiss the Chelsea man’s cheek. Her lips parted wide and stayed there on his warm skin for a moment before slowly pulling together.

“Juanin,” she whispered, still close to his face.

“I’m just resting,” he mumbled, making her smile and sit up a bit.

“The race is over. Lewis won. Seb was second. Dan third.”

“I like when you touch my hair.”

“Mhm.” Christina leaned down to smooch his cheek again, and continued to play with his hair. “Ready for bed?” I was thinking snuggly sex was better than no sex, but he seems so sleepy. I can live with just the snuggles, she decided. I can just pet him in bed while he goes back to sleep, and that’ll be nice enough.

“Come.” Juan ignored her question and opened up his fuzzy dove gray throw to invite her into his space more comprehensively. It was clear he intended to spoon with her. She chewed her lip for a second while considering the options. I wanna sit on him and kiss him though. I want him to lay on his back and let me...do stuff. I wonder if it’s okay to sit on him yet? While she considered, the Spaniard opened one eye to find out what was taking so long. “What’s wrong?” he questioned when he saw her pensive expression.

“I really wanna kiss you a lot. Like all over. But I also want you to get your beauty rest.” The wavy haired brunette touched his right cheek with her palm, her eyes blank. There was something unique about being with Juan just then. She didn’t have to think about what she did or said, or how she looked. There was no worrying about how something she said would be understood, or how any actions would be interpreted. It was so very easy to forgo all secondary considerations. She could just do or say whatever she wanted. Her natural instinct was to kind of stare blankly at him while she thought about what she wanted to do, and how she wanted to do it. It was okay to do that. There was no urge to worry that he’d think she wasn’t being truthful, or was exaggerating or something because her blank stare could be read that way. It was okay to wait and get lost in her thoughts for a minute instead of hurrying under the blanket. That wasn’t so with André. With André there was always a voice in the back of her head reminding her to fear his reaction or understanding. He could take it the wrong way if she didn’t jump to get cozy with him. He could read it incorrectly, and assume it meant something significant. Whether he would do that or not didn’t matter, because her first instinct was to worry about it. That was what mattered. Christina wasn’t 110% comfortable with him for the time being. She felt she could do or say anything with his ex-teammate in that moment and it would be fine.

“I only have one night with you. You actually think I’m going to sleep without making love to you?” he laughed sedately. “You know I’m not a morning person, cariña.”

“I like when you’re a make love to me for the entire night person,” the equestrian mumbled back, empty eyes still fixed on his. The truth was, she was incredibly tired too. The main reason she was stuck in that stare was that she was exhausted and it was easy. The secondary reason was the ongoing conversation in her head. It wasn’t about side effects or implications or body language. It was a mishmash of memories and wants.

“Have we ever done that?” Juan asked back, one eyebrow up and one down, such that Christina couldn’t actually figure out if he was being sarcastic or not. “And when did you stop hating the phrase “make love”? You used to hate it.”

“I grew out of that I guess,” she shrugged, letting go of his face to pull her legs closer to her upper body. The first question he asked was far more relevant to her. “The first time, we stayed up the whole night. I was trying to think just now if we’ve ever had morning sex. I can only remember the first time. The sun was coming up when we finally stopped.”

“Oof.” He puffed out his cheeks. “You want to beat that? That’s a big ask!” His ex shook her head and then let it fall over and back onto the cushion behind her. “Then what?”

“Guess.”

“Are you solemn looking because you’re finally going to let me fu-“

“Absolutely not,” she snorted, laughing. “No butt sex, Juanin. Not happening.”

“Then what is it? What are you wanting?”

“Just to be with you.” Her countenance stilled with seriousness again when she righted her head. “I want to be in the little bubble with you, where there is nothing but me and you and the minimum amount of air we need. Do you know what I mean? When nothing else is happening in the entire world because we’re in the bubble and all that matters in the bubble is like...kissing, and touching, and not being really sure if feeling good feels better than making each other feel good? I wanna be with you and only you, no rest of the world.” The blue-eyed Blue beckoned her back to his personal space with a wave of his hand inside the blanket. She leaned down again and got face to face with him, cradling his head. Kiss him or wait for him to kiss me, was the debate.

“You have a beautiful way of thinking about things, angel.” The footballer lifted his head from the pillows just enough to push a rather delicate kiss into the middle of her mouth, and then a second of similar aspects into the right corner of it. Christina wanted a third kiss, and readied her lips for it so that she could “catch” his, and engage them. They were needed to make words instead though. “I love you.” She took it upon herself to get them back into the kissing after his declaration. Her nose rubbed his and she closed her eyes and pulled just more than gently at his lower lip. That’s the most flattering thing he’s ever said to me, she was thinking. I go to him to find out how to think about things. He always tells me how to do it differently. That’s one of his best merits for me. He shows me the right way to think. I love that there is finally something he thinks I think about the right way- or a “beautiful” way, as he said. I love that. I’m not entirely sure he thinks the beautiful way of thinking is smart, or well reasoned, but I’ll take beautiful. Beautiful is better. If you’re talking about feeling good, beautiful is better than smart. No one truly admires another for being smart. You admire what their smarts enable them to do, like solve math problems, or speak powerfully. Beauty is art, and you envy the artist for making the beautiful thing, or you envy the person that owns the beautiful thing. He’s told me before that he envies my attitude on certain things, and how I take care of myself, or used to, I suppose, but this is different. This is the first time I know for sure he admires me for something I do, because he didn’t say it that way. It wasn’t explicit. He didn’t say it to flatter, or lift me up. He said it because it’s real. I love that. I love him.

“Love you too,” Christina whispered hoarsely when she had to give up the liplock because she needed to see the mosaic of shades of blue she trusted would be looking up at her. She needed to see Juan’s eyes explode the way they only did when he was truly very happy and content, and not just happy in a moment. They were right there, resplendent in periwinkle, azure, royal, sky, and even indigo. Some gray and silver lurked among all the blues to give the collage a touch of luster, and the whole thing was contained by what looked like thick, gleaming glass, a bit like a marble. She loved that she could make them look like that, or that they did their explosion thing just for her. The midfielder was enjoying her eyes too.

“This face you make when you actually know what you want...” he muttered, thumb on the side of her chin.

“Make the bubble with me.” That’s what I want. To be alone in the world with him, she clarified to herself as he nodded and slid his fingers around more of her face to bring her closer. That’s what will make everything fine.

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