what's your fav lift? and what will you be cooking? food and weights are v central to my interests
bench press bench press bench presssssss :D :D :D floor presses and dumbbell presses are also acceptable, but barbell bench press is my absolute favourite. soon i will be able to bench all my co-workers, instead of just the one. what about you?
today’s cooking shenanigans include steak and chips (for tomorrow probably), chicken curry (to freeze), and grilled halloumi and cauliflower (for immediate devouring). should be good!
Babe for the kisses I want hackle and 15 but not established relationship pls and ty love u!!!!
I’m sorry this took so long babe but i reckon the fact that this is 1800 words long oughtta tell you why lmfao (this got seriously out of control)
have some gay panic hecate and some ‘it took you long enough’ ada
They’re in the conservatory when the rain starts. It’s not entirely unexpected, but Hecate had thought it might hold off another half-hour or so, at the least.
She glances up through the glass ceiling and grunts her discontent, only to receive Ada’s quiet hum of a laugh in response. “Something wrong, Hecate?”
Hecate stiffens at the question; Ada has been with her the whole time, but it still somehow catches her off-guard. “I was… looking forward to the walk back,” Hecate says slowly, haltingly, pointedly examining the plant in front of her rather than looking at Ada. She manages to adopt something closer to her usual cadence, simultaneously lilting and clipped, when she speaks again. “It is nice to stretch one’s legs outside of the castle, from time to time.” This isn’t untrue, but she fears that looking at the other witch will reveal the sentiment behind it. It is nice to stretch her legs outside of the castle, certainly, but she treasures her walks along the castle grounds at Ada’s side more than she cares to admit.
The truth is, Hecate wants to devour every possible moment with Ada Cackle. Ada, who had given her a posting at one of the finest witching schools there is, made Hecate her right hand, who trains up young witches with softness and light, but who had proven just last year that she wasn’t all fluff. A terrible two-year-long attempt at cooperation with Agatha as co-headmistress had ended rather abruptly with a short-lived duel. Agatha’s attack had been unannounced, a flagrant breach of the Code, but Ada had handled herself well; Agatha’s transformation into a snail, had not only been entirely warranted, but executed with what appeared to be incredible ease.
“She underestimates anyone who lacks aggression,” Ada had explained softly, giving Hecate’s arm a squeeze. “One must never underestimate kindness. Had she been wise, she might have invoked Section Seven; I rather think she wasn’t planning that far ahead.”
Hecate doesn’t like the thought of witnessing a well-planned Section Seven duel between the two witches, keeps it from her mind as much as possible.
“Who’s to say we can’t still walk back, Miss Hardbroom?” Ada asks, coming up alongside her.
Hecate’s nostrils flare with her surprise at the statement. She turns to meet Ada’s gaze, but Ada too is steadfastly examining a plant, giving Hecate a view of nothing but the shorter woman’s silver-streaked hair, grown down to her shoulders again and frizzed up to half-again its volume by the humidity. Hecate loves Ada’s hair, the heavy curls, the way it silvers as she ages…
She does not love the idea of walking back to the castle in the rain.
“You’re joking,” she says flatly.
“What makes you say that?”
“You don’t honestly expect—”
“Oh, Hecate, we have drying spells for a reason,” Ada says amicably, finally turning to face Hecate. Her eyes glimmer with challenge.
Hecate’s heart thunders in her ears at that look, but she refuses to bite. “No.”
Ada arches an eyebrow, frowns slightly, and then shrugs, reaches to pat Hecate gently on the arm. “Suit yourself,” she says in the same soft, amiable tone.
She withdraws, moves for the door. Hecate watches, waiting for the penny to drop.
Ada steps into the rain.
“Really, Ada,” Hecate calls, following her to the door.
Ada turns, smiles back, rain pattering against her head and shoulders. “I’ll see you inside,” she says, easy as you please. “My office for tea?”
If Ada thinks turning around and continuing her casual stroll through the rain is going to convince Hecate to follow her, she is absolutely wrong. Hecate is more than aware enough of these silly tactics, though she can sometimes be goaded by them, if only, only by Ada, because she can be as persuasive as she is soft.
She finds herself wondering, after transferring away from the greenhouse, if Ada turned around, found herself disappointed that Hecate did not follow.
But when Ada arrives at the doors of the school, Hecate is waiting with a warm, dry cardigan outstretched in her hands. A drying spell may be effective indeed at removing water from clothes and body, but it can’t quite negate the damp chill that seems to settle into bones after exposure, so she waits patiently, an eyebrow quirked as Ada approaches the already-opened door, raising a hand to block the pattering rain from obscuring her gaze. She’s soaked through: magenta cardigan hanging heavily against her body, hair plastered against her cheeks. Hecate can’t decide if the sight is ridiculous or pitiful.
Or captivating. (Absurd, she tells herself, but her rational mind does not own her emotions, cannot quell the attraction she feels to this wise and bright and carefree and bone-soaked, outrageous woman.)
But Ada glances up the steps and into Hecate’s face, smiles broadly, fondly, and Hecate feels her heart stutter.
They stand there for a span, Ada evidently unperturbed by the pattering rain, Hecate poised in the doorway. It takes a long moment for Hecate to find her voice. “Well come inside, then,” she says, swallowing heavily against the lump she suddenly finds in her throat.
Ada gives her one of those looks, brows raised over the rim of her spectacles, and lifts the hem of her skirt to traverse the few steps up to the doorway. She pauses at the entry, blinking back at Hecate’s carefully-schooled, disapproving expression. “Oh, come, Hecate. It’s not so bad.”
“Yes, I have been in the rain before,” Hecate replies with a sniff, profering the cardigan.
Ada, however, has not so much as attempted a drying spell. “And have you considered that it is one of the simplest, purest ways to commune with the nature we so revere?” she asks in that tone: mellow and gentle, a sweet sing-song, impossible to mount a proper argument against because when she uses it she is most assuredly right. “Come.”
I don’t want to would be enough for Ada, Hecate knows, but when Ada wraps her fingers ever so gently around Hecate’s wrists and tilts her head back toward the open door, I don’t want to seems absurdly petty.
It doesn’t help that Hecate would go to the very ends of the earth for Ada.
Hecate manages a dramatic sigh. Rolls her eyes. Watches as Ada’s smile twitches on her lips (she knows Hecate too well). She succumbs without much hesitation, magics the cardigan away and lets Ada lead her by the wrist down the steps and into the weather.
It’s not a hard rain, really, but the drops fall heavy on her skin, sending a chill down her spine despite the otherwise mild weather. Ada hovers close, radiating far too much warmth. Hecate watches her for a moment, breathless. Closes her eyes, tries to find that communion, tries to inundate herself in the rainfall and the gusting wind and the warm summer air, but all she can think about is Ada’s soft blue eyes, the twist and curl of Ada’s lips into a knowing smile. She stands there, blows a drop of water off of the tip of her nose, hears Ada’s low chuckle in response.
Before she has even begun to think it through, she’s bent over, lips pressed firmly to Ada’s. For the briefest moment, all that exists is the cool softness of Ada’s mouth and that faintest buzz of her lips and the warm exhale through her nose when she hums in response to the touch.
And then she realises, with a surge of panic, that she is kissing Ada. Ada, Miss Cackle, the Headmistress, her superior. She pulls back as if she’s been burned, stuttering out an apology, and lifts her hands—or tries to—all but ready to transfer immediately away.
But Ada still has her fingers wrapped gently around one of Hecate’s wrists, and Hecate glances down, wild-eyed, when her grip tightens. Just slightly. Just enough. Enough to keep Hecate rooted where she stands, staring, as Ada reaches forward to soothe her fingers against Hecate’s other arm. She releases then, still touching but not holding on anymore, but any thought Hecate had of fleeing is overruled by the softness of Ada’s touch, by the warmth of her nearness.
Hecate opens her mouth to speak, swallows. Tries again.
“Hecate” Ada repeats almost sternly. Hecate finds herself silenced, searching Ada’s face as the other woman’s expression breaks into a fond smile. Hecate could swear there’s mischief behind her eyes. “It’s about time, really.”
“I—it’s—?”
Before she can finish the thought, she’s silenced by the insistent press of Ada’s mouth against her own, the heat of Ada’s palms cupping her face. She squeals in surprise, freezes for the barest moment. In the next, her hands fumble up to Ada’s neck and she bends into the kiss, into the urgent but chaste press of their lips. They move in tandem, shifting, and Hecate tastes rain on Ada’s wet skin, whimpers at the sensation of raindrops disturbed by the friction of their mouths, by the tickling trickle of water on lips.
When the kiss ends, Hecate’s breath is ragged. She parts her lips, tries counting breaths—in five, out five—eyes darting across Ada’s features, searching eyes and softly smiling mouth, her own hands at Ada’s neck. Ada’s thumbs brush her cheekbones, and she can feel everything, the burning heat of her own cheeks, the warmth of Ada’s hands, the chill of the rain. The sensations are foreign and strange, do nothing to quell the thundering of her heart.
“You’re shivering,” Ada says gently, voice just carrying over the rain and the blood pounding in Hecate’s ears. “Let’s get you inside.”
Hecate’s hands go searching, down Ada’s neck to rest atop her shoulders. She clings, nods, and they appear in Ada’s study, body and clothes dry, stood by the warm hearth. Ada guides her back and she takes a seat, eyes focused now on Ada’s lapel.
“How—how long?” she stammers roughly. How long has Ada felt for her, how long has Ada suspected that Hecate felt something? Had she, before? About time rings through Hecate’s ears like a mantra.
“Long enough.”
“I—”
But Ada bends, presses a soft kiss to the crown of Hecate’s head, and a cup of tea appears in front of her—conjured, not good for any qualities of caffeine or herbs, but sufficient enough to warm from the inside.
“Drink,” Ada urges softly, and Hecate wants to sink into her, into the softness and warmth of her presence, to disappear in her lilting voice and her blue blue blue eyes and— “Then we’ll talk.”
Serena Campbell. Definitely. Some Kathryn Janeway in there (esp the coffee addiction). And a good deal of Keiko O’Brien (plants, badass, brilliant). Every koala ever on tv. And all those together almost ALMOST amount to the awesome sunshine that is you 😘
i saw ur tags when u reblogged my post abt jasmine catfishing morven and obvs the only GAYau solution is for ric and ollie to start dating. sry i dont make the rules ur not allowed to work on that ward without being queer. it's the Gay Agenda at work, it's just what's going to have to happen.
its canon now its the only way
i mean, zosia is so obviously bi so maybe we can swap her w/ ollie to even things out a bit?? ric is just a lost cause tbh lmao (who knows maybe he had a fling with a dude once, everyone sucks a bit of dick at uni right) and ollie is just...... ok ollie could maybe be bi on the downlow and hes a big ole bottom its just #facts
