#6000k

[gudron222]

headcanon pointed out that the angels did not have nipples at that time.🤔🤔

[modishmeliadus]

Happy New Year!

Here’s my first chapter of my BMFM fic: Bonded.

(I would have updated to ao3 but I need an invite and I'm impatient.)

After her departure from the military Marianna Davidson has returned home to reunite with her younger sister Charley after six years of being separated. But, Chicago is no longer what she remembers, let alone the sister she left behind. Can she make up for their lost time? And can she get used to Charley’s unusual friends and the fear that they strike in her? And when the chips are down will she do what she can to save their lives, or will she let them fall?

Tw: explicit language, cigarette usage, slight panic attacks from original character, slight animal cruelty, and original character briefly thinking violent thoughts.

Will include more in-depth TW and synopsis when updated to ao3. For now, this is what the chapter offers.

Marianna was sitting on the curb outside of Steinhaur’s diner, the only place in Chicago she felt like being at right now when Hall came up walking out from his pickup truck that he parked somewhere behind her. Silently, and infuriatingly watching her as she smoked down her cigarette to the filter. She had just spent thirteen hours with the man in that rusted old Ford and was still unhappy to see him.

It was the coldest day in Autumn for Chicago on record, at least in the last six years that she could recall. She could see the electronic thermometer posted underneath a bank sign which happened to be directly across from the diner, still reading a cool twenty degrees Fahrenheit since the moment she sat down.

God only knew why this hellhole was staying so frozen months before winter.

Marianna worked as an army nurse and had been doing so for the last six years, which meant as of recently, her time was up in the military. She swore on her life, hand on the Bible that she would give her country seventy-two consecutive months of her life. Mainly, to administer penicillin shots and look at deformed genitalia at the base's military hospital.

But, she gave it regardless. Now, her time was up. She could have ripped her military contract up and traveled home in that instance. Giving the military the huge middle finger on the way out for all the grief she faced for the last seventy-two months. But, she lingered, for whatever ungodly reason she didn’t know.

Maybe it was the way the higher-ups or even the way Hall had coaxed her to think differently. To stay in the military, join the reserves, finish her education, and ‘come back better than ever!’. It wasn’t what most did. It wasn’t even brought up as an option to most people. People who were not interested in the fight for their country and leaning more on the healing side were just not as valued. At least, not in her experience.

“You never know,” Hall had told her with a knowing smile, “You could get a promotion one day!”

But, she already moved up in the ranks before. Straight from second lieutenant to first after she graduated nursing school, then remaining stagnant for the rest of those six years. She didn’t think she could move any further. Perhaps, that’s why she agreed. Wanting to achieve that little twenty-one-year-old’s dream of reaching Captain, or maybe even Major. That was the odd thing about moving up in the ranks, you didn’t get much from it. Perhaps a raise in pay, and a little respect. But, you still wanted it all the same. Mari had wanted that at one point, too.

But, unlike Lieutenant Colonel James Hall. Who was one of her base’s licensed nurses, her nursing professor, and above all, her superior. Whether or not Marianna wanted what he had was still up in the air. Marianna very much identified herself as a drifter and enjoyed being moved from place to place depending on her deployment. Climbing up the ranks meant stability, and having to stay and chip away at the mountains of red tape that a higher rank demanded didn’t seem like her speed. Now, Mari had already decided that Hall could keep all that responsibility to himself. Marianna, on the other hand, enjoyed going back to her bed at a cool seven AM after a full shift wherever she was sent. And not having to stay in one place for more than a year or two.

But, she still agreed to join the reserves despite it all.

She realized, somewhere at least, that she should be happy that she could avoid deployment for the first time in six years. That she could get off of active duty. That she served her respective time. She should have been thrilled. She could stay home, sleep in her bed, wash up in her shower.

Be with her family.

Marianna cringed back into her neck at the thought, taking one of the five empty cans of soda she was collecting as ammo and hurled it at the fat, plump-bellied vermin as it tried to cross over her feet again. She had been hurling cans at the little creatures for the past fifteen minutes as they ran back and forth on the empty street, occasionally running over her boots and bringing out an uncharacteristic amount of fear in Marianna. She watched as the little rat gave a pathetic squeak as the can banked off its chunky body and ricocheted away to be carried off by the harsh autumn wind. It looked back at her with offending, rabid eyes before it scurried away.

That was the one part of Chicago she hated. Or any big city for that matter. The rats. Rodents, specifically, were one of those creatures that Marianna had no trouble hating with their small, unblinking eyes and round bodies jumping with lice and all assortments of diseases. Normally, she wouldn’t show her cruelty for another life so willingly in front of another person. But, this time Hall had caught her like the sneaky sonuvabitch he was.

“What are you doing, Mari?”

“The rats,” She answered, realizing how lame she must have sounded when all the rats now had scurried away from her warpath moments ago, all beyond the last brave one she chucked at. “They kept touching my feet.”

Hall nodded once, briefly. He was a behemoth of a man, large and beefy with a blond buzz cut right down to the scalp. His eyes were a tired, graying blue, speckled with age and deep fine lines from his many decades in the service. He was out of his fatigues now, she noticed and wore a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, which contradicted with his rough and torn denim jeans. He looked at her closely, “You shouldn’t be doing that, you know. Those things bite.”

“I was throwing shit at them so that they wouldn’t bite me.” She answered, blandly.

Hall nodded as if the topic no longer interested him.

“I can tell you’re avoiding going in.” He said, tilting his head at the entrance of the diner before returning his gaze to her.

She didn’t answer him, just mindlessly twirled an empty can of soda in her hands as she waited for more rats to appear. Until she felt a sudden sharp poke on her left shoulder, forcing her to look back at him. Hall was pushing a small box of menthols into her shoulder with an easy smile. “You can’t avoid her forever.”

“She’s not even in there.” She said, waving a hand in the direction of the near-empty parking lot. Showcasing only three motorcycles and his pickup truck in the minimal spaces. Like this would have been enough to prove her point.

“But she’s going to be. You said so yourself, best to get the drop on her in a public space than just showing up at her home.”

Marianna grunted. Understanding that she did indeed say that and still believed it was a better idea than barging in her sister’s home, metaphorical hat in hand, and on her knees in forgiveness. She knew people had to do embarrassing, and sometimes rude things to be forgiven. But, a line had to be drawn somewhere.

Coldly, she gently took the menthols from his hand and began unwrapping the protective plastic. Reaching for her lighter in her jacket pocket with a fresh cigarette fitting neatly between her lips. Marianna had already changed out of her uniform fourteen hours ago. Opting to wear her faded tight blue jeans, under an army green tee-shirt that read “Army Nurse.” Her father’s worn leather jacket wrapped snugly around her form. Letting her red hair drape down her back to produce some well-needed heat to her neck.

She wanted to look like herself for her sister. Instead of the soon-to-be-nurse dreaming of saving all the heroes six years ago. That person didn’t even exist to Mari anymore.

Initially, she had been planning to take a bus or a plane from New York to Chicago. Hall, stopping her before she could even consider buying a bus ticket, already planned on going to Chicago for his annual trip to see his son. But, she knew his real reason for insisting he take her. He knew her history, knew she would take any reason to chicken out about going home.

“Your contract is up,” He had said to her, holding her luggage in one hand before tossing it into the back of his truck. “And your new one for the reserves doesn’t start for another two months. I’ll take you. It’s on the way. It’s cheaper.”

She still had no idea why she agreed. Only choosing to do everything on a whim before she changed her mind. The need to see her sister, her family, was so immense that she didn’t even bother to let the fact that she wouldn’t want to see Mari begin to cloud her judgment.

Now, she didn’t want to move, regret gluing her boots firmly to the payment. And instead of looking back at Hall, she looked over at Steinhaur’s parking lot again. Fixing on the same spot as she had been the whole time she was here.

Only six places were put side by side at the curb of the diner, and on any given day only three of four were used when she lived here. Even in the farthest recesses of her childhood, this place was never busy. Still wasn’t even now. Today, only three places were used with three motorcycles in the limited space beyond Hall’s truck. Marianna had been watching the bikes, waiting for the owners of the bikes to come out for a long while. Mainly, to ask them questions on their models and makes. But, when they never came out she just opted for just staring at them.

Two out of the three were packed into one space together. Modern and sleek in design. One was cherry red, perhaps a Suzuki series, she surmised. Made to be a sports vehicle to be admired and looked upon. The other was a dark blue motorcycle of what she believed to be a Honda Valkyrie. A true beast of a motorcycle with a monstrous amount of horsepower and purr in its engine.

The last bike, sitting alone in a single space beside its beautiful brothers, had Marianna salivating with envy. A brand new Daytona Harley-Davidson. Black, sleek, slim, and with bright shades of silver in its chrome trim.

If she remembered correctly, only 1,700 of those babies were produced. What she wouldn’t give to jump into its seat and take it for a spin.

Marianna used to work on bikes, cars, and vehicles of all sorts. Motorbikes are one of her favorites. She tinkered with them, played with them, and even blew one up in her father’s garage once when she was a teenager. She was never as proficient as her sister probably is now as an auto body mechanic, but she knew how to work a motorbike and how to make it work for her. It was the one thing she had pride in.

But, she noticed, the bikes had no logos, no insignia, no brand markings of any kind. Just smooth paint where the mark should be. And while she remarked that this wasn’t out of the ordinary. Even some of her old clients made specific remarks that they wanted old brand markings rubbed out, pulled off, and recovered with a new coat of paint. But, most wanted that status symbol. For people to see their brand new Honda or Harley-Davidson. It was an ego thing if nothing else.

Additionally, the designs were off in the small details of the bikes. As if the bikes were built lovingly by skilled hands from the ground up. Pieces were mix-matched, bending in weird shapes she didn’t recognize for particular bike parts, and above all, an odd shape was given to each of the bike's headlights.

They were shaped exactly like a mouse head. Round faces with rounded ears on each side. Or, at least as round as forging metal could provide. Which ended up giving the mouse heads a bit more of an angular shape.

A gang symbol, perhaps? She wasn’t sure, it had been so long since she had been involved with Chicago’s darker underbelly.

Marianna took a deep, final drag of her cigarette, mashed it out on the curb, and turned to look at Hall. He was leaning against the wall of the diner now, directly beside the entrance. His arms crossed, with that ensuring and relaxed look in his gaze. Waiting for her.

Grimacing, she got up, freezing, and strode over to him. Called him an asshole one more time, and opened the front door.

The first thing she noticed when she opened the door, is that she was right. Her sister was indeed not there, or at least, not yet. But, she knew the room; had known it all her life. It was rectangular, the walls a creamy white, and decorated with small black and white photographs. A counter ran the length of over half of the entire room near its center and was decorated with old-fashioned cushioned stools. On each side of the room was a table with decorated red and blue cushioning. Above her blue fluorescent lights flickered, carrying the dead and long-gone corpses of flies in their casings.

Not a single thing about this place had changed since the 50s, and that brought on a sense of comfort for Marianna.

In the back, through the kitchen window, she could see the head of Mr. Steinhaur. Still as tall and as lanky as she remembered, he lowered his head at whatever task he had at hand. She couldn’t see him, not fully from her angle, but could still see the wisps of white hair peaking out from his soda jerk hat, and that tanned patch of skin on his forehead; but she still smiled at him, at that small mental image she was exposed to. She knew he would still look like that old, jolly man that she remembered from her childhood and it had effectively cooled at what anxiety she felt.

Then she looked over at the three figures at the end of the counter closest to the kitchen window.

Good God, that is a lot of hair.

It was three men, or what she supposed were men. Each sits side by side at the far left side of the bar. They were young, maybe even Marianna’s age, but it was impossible to tell with all that hair in the way.

Two out of the three of them were ideally chatting to one another with loud and booming voices. One sitting calmly with his hand wrapped around a beer stein, the foam of it dripping off the sides and lazily onto his hand. Which was also covered in an unrealistic amount of fur.

The younger one, which Marianna decided solely based on his young, almost chubby face beneath the mounds of stark white fur. On his right side he appeared to have a metallic, chrome mask covering the entirety of his right eye and cheek. He was shirtless, beyond a pair of green bandoleers crossing over his broad chest. He was the instigator of his friend’s conversation. Waving his hands in an exaggerated motion, constantly moving, and speaking.

His companion, the Goliath of a man, had been listening quietly to his buddy’s rantings. A quiet and blissful smile on his gentle, gray features. His face was harder than the smaller ones. Filled with jagged and angular lines underneath the fat of his mousy cheeks. His face was partially taken out of view by a black eyepatch on his left eye. He was shirtless as well, beyond hard armor plates across his chest and strong shoulders.

As he listened to the younger one chat away he pawed at his right arm mindlessly with his other hand. It was bulky, sleek, robotic even. A prose hic that moved freely with unconscious movements as if it were his good arm.

Her gaze fell on the last of the trio. At the very end of the table sat the last man, sipping mindlessly at his overfilled glass and staring out into the diner. Regardless of the diner being empty beyond the five of them. His features were softer than the rest of his group, thoughtful, and pensive. His face looked soft, cushioned with shaggy, sand-colored fur that fell over his obscured eyes. Like the others, his face was shrouded in one way or the other. But both his eyes were covered by green-tinted shades that hid any color or movement he could give off. Again, he was shirtless, but he seemed to be the most covered of his comrades. Having a black vest covered over almost the entirety of his midsection and a cherry-red bandanna wrapped around his thick neck. A furry, rounded ear had perked up every once in a while when the conversation of his friends had hit a crescendo. Beyond this, he didn’t move, only looked out like he was observing the world through the eyes of Earth’s only outsider.

She eyed them, vastly aware of how her jaw hung open as if the hinges of an old door were loosened. Unable to close fully even if she tried. And how a cool sweat was starting to form across her forehead and the middle of her back.

Muscular, tall, covered head to toe in fur, round ears pierced by studs, protruding snouts, small black noses, large buck teeth, and swinging large, slender tails from behind their chairs. And shirtless. Why in the world were they shirtless?

They looked like mice. Gigantic, overgrown, rats.

She noticed then, that the blond one turned his head slightly to her. Her stomach lurched and she wondered if he was looking at Hall or her until he reached a hand up and pulled his green shades down to the bridge of his nose.

He was eying her with a curious, interested gaze. But, somehow, with eyes that she knew he wasn’t seeing her with. And she was too focused on how his eyes were a dark, ruby red. He winked and her body decided to make her hair simultaneously stand on end as well as pushing blood to her frost-bitten cheeks in a furious blush.

Then as soon as he pulled his shades down, they were back up on the bridge of his nose and hiding his eyes. Like nothing had just transpired between them.

Hall’s booming chuckle pulled her out of her stupor, along with a sharp elbow to her side. He was standing behind her, she realized, smiling with mirth at the three furred men at the bar.

“Ha! Hey look, Davidson! Halloween came early this year!” He chuckled, rounding her frozen form to walk to the bar and sit right beside the three men. “Come on, Mari. I’m starving.”

She looked at him with as much equal horror as she did with three mice just a second ago, and then felt that horror mix in with an unbridled amount of fury when she saw him walk up to the blond mouse, sit two seats away from him, and give him a generous wave.

“Howdy! You fellas sure do love the Halloween season. Love that for you! Mind if I sit? I always tell myself that sitting at the bar was meant for strangers looking for friends. I’m James, you can call me Jim.”

Mari watched Hall go on. Watched the three men smile politely at him, and chat with him idly. She watched him, feeling hot betrayal at his inability to read a room, to read her, and his insistent need to make friends with everyone he meets; then thinking one single thought over and over in her mind like a broken record.

I’m going to kill him. I’m gonna paint the ceiling with his gray matter, then do the same to myself. What the absolute fuck?!

Then another thought came rolling in as if to save her from her upcoming murder charge.

Halloween. Yes, that’s right. It’s the middle of October. She thought, letting the smallest amount of relief wash over her. That would explain the weapons, the biker boots, the armor, and even the lack of proper autumn clothes. These gentlemen must have been heading to an early Halloween party. Even the red antennae, that Marianna had just noticed was protruding out from the tops of their fluffy heads, was all a part of some elaborate alien costume.

Or, something for a Star Trek convention in town.

She mashed down what was left of her horror and made her way to him, wordlessly moving her legs to make contact with the seat to his left; a good and healthy barrier between her and the personifications of her murophobia. She relaxed, until she suddenly felt Hall’s strong hand on her arm, giving an exaggerated pull and then throwing towards his opposite side before she could sit down. She felt herself tumble and fall gracelessly into a seat. Unaware of where she had landed because her vision was currently lighting up with the short burst of pain in her chest. She had fallen ribs first into the surface of the bar.

She groaned. Blinking the pain away and simultaneously straightening herself in her seat to sit more comfortably. When her vision steadied, she was already looking up at him. His face softened to an apologetic smirk, but still one filled with jovial good humor.

“Sorry Davidson, didn’t meet to chorale you into the table like that.” He said, then turning his apologetic grin to the person behind her. “She’s so bad at talking to people. You’d think she wouldn’t be, being a nurse and all—that’s what we are, by the way. But, she’s terrible at talking to anyone that she doesn’t have an IV in!”

He was still babbling when she turned around to look at who he was talking to. Knowing she didn’t have to look. She knew who he chose to sit close to.

All three of them were staring fixedly at her when she turned. Sometimes switching their gazes to look up at Hall as he spoke to them and gave polite nods of understanding. Specifically, more from the gray and blond ones; but more often than not, choosing to look back at her with their feral red eyes. Their rounded ears twitched, and large slender tails moved around their backs as freely as wild snakes. Looking at her as if she was the strange one.

Could I blame them? Hall did toss me into this seat like a professional wrestler.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Hall shouted suddenly, placing a gentle hand on Mari’s shoulder and fanatically waving his hand in her direction, almost as if he was presenting a new car on the lot to welcome buyers. “This is Marianna Davidson, First Lieutenant of the United States Military. My subordinate.”

Mari scowled, shrugging off his touch. The last thing she needed was to be formally introduced to the objects of her irrational fear. Let alone be introduced as someone’s subordinate.

As far back as Mari could remember, she was afraid of rats, mice, and all rodents of any kind. There was something about their twitching pink noses, black marble eyes, and the way they would scurry across her feet in her bedroom at night.

She particularly hated the way they would squeal. Their tiny little bodies getting trapped in the nooks and crannies of piling garbage or too-narrow walls, and squealing their little lungs out with every death-fearing twitch they had in them.

She would keep her fear relatively bottled up. Usually, preferring to throw things at them from a distance, or keeping out glue traps and rat poison until the problem sorted itself out. It was easy to deal with, and easy to ignore. How often did a person who constantly had to travel and had a compulsion to keep everything neat have to deal with rodents?

Very slim to fuckin’ none, until I came here.

More and more she was realizing that coming back to Chicago was a mistake. First, she was dealing with her childhood phobia in the form of muscular nerds dressed as—

—Biker—alien—mice?

She breathed trying to cool the anxiety that was seeming to rise and fall in weird intervals in her. Knowing that her mind and her body were in a weird fight between logic and illogical fear. Creating a swirl of punching, fighting, clawing chaos that begged and screamed for her to run. But, also, kept her firmly seated on her cushioned chair. Her pride wouldn’t let her run from perfectly nice strangers. Even if their costumes were a little too realistic.

“Say hi, Mari.” Hall had said behind her.

Mari blinked, realizing that she was still looking up at the furred-nerd-mice-men. She hadn’t moved, perhaps hadn’t even had the opportunity to blink. She was simply looking up at their gigantic forms without even a sound leaving her mouth.

Then realizing she had spent a lot longer than a normal amount of time to summon the courage to speak, she choked out a shallow: “Hi. I’m Mari, like he said. Nice to—meet you.”

She paused, then looked over her shoulder to meet Hall’s gaze again for his assistance. “Misters?” She drawled out.

The white one chuckled first, his voice sounding light, and playful, “Misters? We’re the baddest mamajamas on this side of the universe, sweetheart.”

Oh, this is a bit. This is definitely a bit. “And that means—what?”

The gray one rolled his singular red eye and looked down at his smaller friend, exasperated. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you not to tease a lady?” Before that eye fell on her, and he smiled with the full of his crooked teeth.

“I’m Modo,” he said pointing a thumb at himself, then at his friend. “That’s Vinnie, don’t mind him Mari-ma’am.”

He said that last part soothingly. Stringing the words of her name and ‘ma’am’ like the words belonged together. If his face and blood-red eye weren’t so jarring, she would have found his low voice, and sweet tone endearing.

Then Modo waved a hand in the direction of the silent blond mouse, who was still looking at her. His face was stoic and still as stone, but holding a smile that was gentle and polite. “This is Throttle.”

Throttle nodded slightly in acknowledgment. The free hand not holding his half-drank stein was out in front of her. Furry fingers straight, palm open, waiting.

Mari swallowed thickly, mashing down her nerves and forcing a slight smile to pull at the corners of her mouth. It’s just a costume. It’s just a guy in a costume. A nice, weird, guy in a muscle man costume.

She reached out, and grabbed his hand, giving a firm but polite shake. Just like the military had taught her. Ignoring the way her skin immediately tingled from the contact, and how the contrast of his soft hair and the leather of his fingerless gloves made chills shoot down her spine in a rush of electricity.

“Nice to meet you, too.” He said. His voice carrying a calming, deep lithe to it.

Her stomach lurched, and she was almost ninety percent certain it was still a mixture of disgust and fear still holding a choke-hold on her body. But the other ten percent wasn’t sure, because a smile still pulled at her cheeks without her forcing it to stay.

They stayed like that for a long singular beat of a moment. Before he released his hand from hers and retrieved it to lay limply at his thigh. She only had a second to realize the contact was gone before she looked up and realized that his red antenna bounced slightly without the help or movement of his head.

Without helping it, she raised herself to sit taller and peak at the moving, bobbing protrusions.

I might as well ask them about the process of—whatever this is.

“How are you doing that?”

“Huh?”

“That thing you're doing with those antennae on your head.”

Through his specs, just barely, she saw his eyes dart from her to his friends. Who had now fully stopped their conversation to meet his gaze.

“I move it.” He said, chucking, and giving a slight wiggle to each protruding red thing.

“Well, no, I can see that. I mean, how are you making it move? Is it robotics? Are ya just bobbing your head?” She went on, leaning her elbow against the table to give a curious eye to the odd projections of his mascot head. When he made no motion to move away, but instead leaning in for her, she decided to give an experimental poke to one.

She realized then that it didn’t look as flimsy as she initially thought it did. Specifically when the little thing didn’t move or simply fell off his head from the slight weight of her finger.

Alarmed, but satisfied, she pulled her hand back, trying to graze over the fact that she touched that thing on him.

“I mean, I appreciate you committing to whatever it is you’re doing. It’s a very intricate bit to your costume.”

“Costume?” She heard them echo in mumbling tones. Even catching the attention of Hall as he also leaned forward to look at them past Mari’s shoulder.

“What are you dressed as, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking. It’s been a long time since I was involved in the sci-fi nerd scene. Haven’t done that since the 80’s. I get the mice part, I can see that, but the biker part is losing me. Are you biker—aliens, maybe?”

“Hey!” Vinnie suddenly gasped, pushing up from his seat to reveal that he had a good few inches on her. She pushed back the urge to fearfully jump, and waited, “I don’t know if you heard me the first time, or who you think we are, but nerds are far from it. We are, again, the baddest mamajamas on this side of the galaxy, sweetheart!”

She studied him at that moment, letting him glower at her playfully with those feral little red eyes. Then choosing to turn her smile up at him, trying to come across as cool and straight as Hall had been ever since he sat down. She fluttered her eyes and cooed up at him in mock appreciation, “Okay, I can play for you. I’m sure you are the most skilled and bodacious biker this side of the Milky Way.”

The young mouse-men’s eyes changed then. Carrying an air of teasing confidence, then swiftly transitioning to a surprised bashfulness.

She wondered briefly if his overconfident facade was his normal behavior. And if anyone ever agreed with his outrageous claims of grandeur.

She decided to push just a little further. Just to play. Just to tease. Just to make this whole situation less weird. “Did I mention smarts, too? I saw those bikes out there. I assume at least one of those is your handiwork.”

“Yeah, well, I—”

“Not to mention charm.”

“Ah, you—”

“And your sheer attractiveness. Has anyone ever told you how dreamy you are?”

“Sweet—”

“And that voice! Ugh, I’d pay you to read the phone book to me.”

His face was red then, painting the stark white fur of his mascot mask in a brilliant crimson. What a neat trick. She thought.

She noticed he was trying to stutter out. Perhaps a shy request for her to stop or maybe another snappy comeback for her sudden onslaught of casual flirting. She looked back at his friends. Cheeky grins took over their faces over the whole embarrassing display

“So, what are you, again?”

Her mind, admittedly, ran through the possibilities. Mostly sci-if dorks committing their entire being to small-time characters in some show that couldn’t even begin to understand.

What else could it be?

Throttle just shrugged his shoulders. “We’re mice, ma’am. Mice.” He annunciated the last word like this claim had made all the sense in the world, and explaining any further would have been a waste of his time.

“You were expecting turtles, maybe?” Modo added, chucking.

“Okay—” Mari paused, narrowing her eyes at them. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“This part is always so hard to get through to people. I swear.” Vinnie said, evidently recovered from Mari’s display of affection.

Mari looked back at Hall, an expression of ‘what joke am I not getting here?’ falling on her face. Instead of an explanation, he patted Mari’s shoulder and shrugged good-heartedly at them. “Alright, keep your secrets.”

“Anyway, Mari,” Hall said, pulling her attention back to him. “I was about to ask our new friends here if they saw your sister in today. They’re regulars.”

“Oh.” She said, simply. Then looking back at them to eye them carefully. “Are you from here? Where did you go to school?”

Their faces suddenly fell one by one, making, something akin to a deep sadness shadowing their chubby faces.

“I—” She began, her skin prickling with that same anxiety that had gripped her when she first walked in and saw them. Immediately she had said the wrong thing. Even without knowing fully what she said to upset them.

I just asked them where they went to school.

“We’re—not from here.” Throttle said, “Chi-town is more of our home away from home.”

“Oh. I see.” She said, then added as if it was to recover from whatever rudeness she had forced to change the air between them. “So, my sister?”

“What’s your sister look like?”

She paused, thinking, then made a vague gesture with her hand as she imagined her sister as close as she could get. “Looks a little like me. But, her eyes are green, and her hair is more brunette-red. Tall, slim, takes no shit. She’s a mechanic here in town, she must have worked on your bikes at least once. You would know if you met her.”

Vinnie blinked, then looked over at his friends before he chose to look back at her. a look of deep concentration crossing over his face. “What did you say your last name was?”

“Davidson. Why? You think you know her?”

Vinnie and Modo didn’t move, not looking at her. But she saw Throttle give the briefest of nods. “Would her name be—?”

“Charley!” Marianna heard a voice say from the kitchen. She turned. Seeing Mr. Steinhaur’s top half of his body peek out from the kitchen window. Perhaps, leaning on his toes to fully get his head out. “I thought that was you I heard. I’m almost done with the boys—”

He stopped, his eyes finally focusing on her. She heard him swallow from here, “Marianna?”

She smiled, giving a small shy wave from across the bar. “Hi. Mr. Steinerhaur.”

“I—hold on a minute. Stay right there!” He shouted, his head dipping back out of the window.

Suddenly, she could hear the rattle of plates and silverware as they knocked together. The next thing she heard was the kick of a rubber shoe hitting against the kitchen door, Sending it flapping open wildly, and Mr. Steinhaur to come running out of it. Two trays of food were in his hands.

She barely noticed that he had placed the plates of chili hotdogs, and fries in front of her new, alien-looking friends before he was leaning against the bar and yanking her shoulders into a tight hug. She yelped, feeling the sharpness of his chin, and his top ribs, digging into her painfully.

“Sorry, sorry!” He said, loosening his grip. But, not letting go. “I just got so excited! You haven’t been to Chicago in six years!”

“Yeah.” She said, apologetically. Then giving him a gentle pat on his back before peeling herself away only slightly to look at him, and to breathe air fully back into her lungs. “Deployment will do that.”

She saw him give a glance to the three mice beside her, then back to Hall on her left. He nodded, pulling out a small notebook from his back pocket, and then producing a small pen. Still smiling, he clicked the pen several times.

“I see you’ve already met my best customers. I hope you’re getting acquainted well. Besides Charley, these three keep me in business. What can I get for you and your friend? I assume you wanted to eat before Charley got here?”

Hall nodded for her, briefly. Giving a polite smile while taking a small glance at the menu, just below the kitchen window.

While he ordered, she took a curious glance over to her new animorphic nerd friends. But they weren’t looking at her, or at the food that was placed in front of their waiting hands. Instead, they stared, they’re faced serious and hard. Not as saddened as they were when she asked them if they were from here. But in deep thought.

She lifted an eyebrow, “Are you guys okay?”

They looked up at her, surprised, but still didn’t answer.

Suddenly, she heard Mr. Steinhaur give a surprised joyful laugh. “Well, isn’t this just perfect? Speak of the devil, here she comes now. ”

The front door opened, and the front doorbell chimed loudly in the dead silent room. Marianna turned. Tears already pricking her eyes before she could fully set her eyes on her, but as soon as she did, a singular tear fell and dribbled down her cheek.

Charley stood there. Her hand on the bar of the door, holding it open and letting the cool autumn air rush in. Long hair flowing down her shoulders of her blue button-up. She was still wearing their father’s utility belt wrapped around her tight-fitting black jeans. She had looked the same as the day she had left.

And, to Marianna’s surprise, Charley’s green eyes also filled with tears, threatening to burst.

“Mari?” Charley uttered, her voice soft and breaking.

A million things went through her mind. Mostly every apology she wanted to give her for the past six years. The other things were the memories that she had. Raising Charley in that tiny garage beside her father; being there for her when their father died; leaving her behind for the military; and the fight that ensued afterwards. All the mean words she said to her, and the ones she said right back to Mari.

It was all right in front of her. Ready for her to grab and say to her. But all she could choke out was a small, weak:

“Hi, Charley.”

[freeonlineworkouts]

Protein and Supplements for Weight Loss

[manofthepipis]

Howdy Mo! :3

Kind of a silly question, but I am really curious to know more about Sponsor!! Are there any head cannons/facts you could say about them without having to spoil anything? Tysm!!

sure! :D they get more attention in the upcoming chapter, but i'll do the best i can being spoiler-free rn

so i hc they've been quiet since spamton's downfall, and have kept a solid neutral stance on it when it was going on/the aftermath. Sponsor also decided to abandon Spamton in the first place with everyone else, but when things got emotional, they shut themself off similar to Clicks but without all the pent up hostility. At first, Clicks and Banner thought Spamton got what was coming to him right after (therefore trying to forget about him immediately) and Survey trying to at least look for him in the mansion to make sure he was okay, Sponsor took a different approach. Eventually, Survey would stop looking, being persuaded by Banner to do so. The feelings about spamton's downfall were a lot for all four of them, and even if they look out for each other, no one's really been keeping tabs on sponsor since they seemed to get over it easier than the rest. They liked to hang around Clicks during this, as Clicks was doing the same thing in the shutting-down department.

Sponsor wasn't as resigned to forgetting spamton's existence as the other three were. Yet he'd never communicate this at all and let the rest of the addisons cope the way that helped them out without getting involved.

Sponsor knows a lot more than he lets on, and is the most observant out of the addisons (his style of advertising after all is providing lightners sponsored items based on previous searches/purchases from other sites), but sometimes emotions can cloud his judgment of the right thing to do in a situation, similar to the other addisons and their collective impulsiveness. He has his moments, like when bringing up Mike, but overall is pretty good at not acting out of pure emotion. He has an electric personality, but a lot of it is show.

still, they're a staple in the group to keep spirits up and persuade the others to do the right thing, when they know something is the right thing. I remember you bringing up in an ask (forever ago lol) about sponsor being a persuader and that is true, but when they're torn between something, they'll generally keep to themself and withhold information that could benefit everyone else knowing in the long run, preferring to rip the bandaid off when conflict comes around. That's frustrating for everyone else including them, but it's how they get through things since conflict has the tendency to take everything from 0 to 100.

[soadoya]

my bf got to wear lewis' helmet that was in the amg shop in Montréal and when i tell you that was the hottest thing it would be an understatement

[insightcracker]

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[jayzledlightsph]

[pookalicious-hq]

gold rush... isagi yoichi x reader

| pt. 4... | prev | next | masterlist |

synopsis: isagi yoichi can't help but see the girl at his bus stop as a good omen tags/tws: meet-cute , swearing, realistic isagi (this guy doesn't pull any girls tbh), mc eye colour is mentioned but it's part of the plot guys word count: 6000k

Yoichi’s heart raced as he caught sight of her, the girl from the bus. Her appearance hit him like a truck. After their brief encounter, he had no expectations of seeing the girl with the golden eyes again—especially not here, on the same field, ready for a scrimmage.

She looked different. Her hair was styled into neat braids that framed her face, accentuating the sharpness of her features. But it wasn’t just her appearance that struck him; it was the energy radiating from her. She exuded confidence, a stark contrast to the soft-spoken girl he had met just days ago. The way she moved, the way she interacted with her teammates—there was a fire in her demeanour that set her apart.

Yoichi shook his head, trying to dispel the momentary distraction as the coaches began their talk. This was not the time for daydreams. Focus. He reminded himself, but a part of him was already captivated, intrigued by the transformation he was witnessing.

Once the coaches dispersed, the atmosphere shifted, and he could sense the buzz of anticipation surrounding the two teams. She joined her group of friends, laughter spilling from her lips like music. The sight of her, surrounded by her teammates, only deepened his bewilderment.

“Why does your face look like that?” Bachira teased, his voice a playful lilt that cut through the noise of the field, catching the attention of a few nearby teammates. The mix of surprise and a hint of a smile tugging at Yoichi’s lips made him an easy target.

“Look like what? Shut up,” Yoichi shot back, irritation lacing his tone, but it was softened by the embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. He tried to redirect his focus to the field, where the energy crackled like static in the air, but his gaze was helplessly drawn back to her. She was now animatedly discussing with her teammates, her gestures lively and filled with enthusiasm, the sun catching the glint of her braided hair as it danced around her.

Bachira leaned closer, his curiosity palpable, a teasing pout forming on his lips. “Aw, cheating on the bus girl already?” The playful accusation hung in the air, mingling with the scent of freshly cut grass and sweat that wafted through the warm afternoon sun.

Yoichi’s stomach dropped, an uncomfortable flutter racing through him. “What? No!” The denial slipped out before he could think, though it wasn’t like they were even together, so it wouldn’t technically be cheating. He chose to leave that explanation out; he just wanted to end the uncomfortable conversation. “whatever... that is her.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and the realization washed over him like a tidal wave. He was talking about the girl he had encountered on the bus, the one who had unknowingly sparked something within him. The one who now stood across the field, her vibrant energy and determination palpable as she prepared to prove herself.

Bachira’s eyes widened with delight, a mischievous glimmer dancing in them. “Oh my god! Miyakazi (Y/n)?” His voice rang out, too loud for the buzzing atmosphere of the field, drawing curious glances from nearby players. Yoichi could feel the heat of embarrassment flood his cheeks, a warm blush creeping up to his ears as the moment felt all too exposed.

“Shut up!” He groaned, exasperation colouring his tone, but the warmth spreading across his neck gave him away. It felt as if a spotlight were shining down on him, illuminating thoughts he had kept buried. How had he not recognized this feeling before? The undeniable pull he felt toward her, that vibrant energy she exuded, was suddenly clearer, sharper, igniting a flurry of excitement that sent his heart racing all over again.

Bachira’s voice bubbled into a teasing melody, “Yoichan likes Miyakazi (Y/n)~” He leaned closer, clearly enjoying the moment and revelling in Yoichi's discomfort, his grin wide enough to threaten to split his face.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Yoichi shot back, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite his attempts to maintain a facade of annoyance. The teasing felt oddly exhilarating, and he couldn’t shake the thrill that coursed through him at the thought of (Y/n)’s confident demeanour and bright eyes.

As the sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the grass, Yoichi’s focus wavered between the excitement of the impending scrimmage and the unexpected thrill of her presence. She was fierce, confident, and unlike anyone he had encountered before, igniting a spark of determination within him that mirrored her own.

This would be an interesting match.  

“Oh, come on, bullshit! I barely touched him!” 

Akio's voice rang across the field, sharp and indignant, cutting through the still afternoon air. The unmistakable thud of bodies colliding had echoed moments earlier, a sharp reminder of the physical intensity of the game as she crashed into Shidou Ryussei, both players staggering from the impact. Shidou’s dark eyes glinted with amusement as he steadied himself, brushing the dirt from his jersey with a casual smirk, but the tension in the air remained palpable. From the sidelines, Coach Watanabe raised her hand high, the bright yellow card gleaming between her fingers like a beacon. The girls paused, eyes flicking to the card, the vibrant colour searing against the field’s backdrop, a warning sign to temper their aggression. But the energy buzzing beneath their skin told a different story—they were just getting started.

As much as (Y/n) relished seeing Akio release her pent-up aggression on Shidou, she knew it was only the beginning of the match. They couldn’t afford to lose control so early on, especially not against the boys, who were likely just waiting for a reason to dismiss their abilities.

She jogged over to Akio, her cleats digging into the soft grass as the tension between the teams thickened like an approaching storm. She placed a firm hand on Akio’s shoulder, feeling the muscle tense beneath her fingers.

“Aki, you’re good,” she murmured, her voice low but steady. “It’s not worth it.”

Akio’s breath was still ragged, her chest heaving as she glared at Shidou, who had the nerve to offer a playful wink in return. The heat of frustration was practically radiating off her, but (Y/n) gave her a gentle shake, pulling her focus back.

“You wanna win, right?” her golden eyes locked onto Akio’s. “Then save it for when it counts.”

Akio huffed, her lips twitching with a mix of defiance and restraint. Finally, she nodded, tension releasing from her shoulders. (Y/n) could see her calming down, though the fire in her eyes still flickered beneath the surface.

“Yeah, fine,” Akio muttered, rolling her eyes. “But if he tries that again, I swear—”

“He won’t,” (Y/n) cut in with a knowing grin, casting a side glance at Shidou, whose smugness hadn’t faded. “He should know better after that.”

The boys set up for the free kick, their formation shifting with practiced precision, and she found herself marking up Mikage Reo, the opposing team’s midfielder. She knew his reputation—sharp, cunning, and dangerous with the ball at his feet. His calculated play style made him a serious threat, and she could see it in his eyes—the hunger to capitalize on this free kick.

Shidou had the ball set up, his posture calm and composed as he prepared to take the kick. (Y/n)’s muscles tensed, her cleats digging into the turf, anticipating the moment he’d strike.

What the boys didn’t realize was that her team thrived in moments like these. Free kicks were nothing new. Their opponents would rely too heavily on brute force or individual talent, but her team had perfected this part of their game, turning it into an art form. They'd studied and drilled this down to instinct, almost as if fouls were an invitation to prove how organized they were under pressure.

Out of the corner of her eye, (Y/n) could see Mikage sizing her up, his gaze scanning for any weakness in her stance, any chance to slip past unnoticed. She wasn’t going to give him that opening. Her heart thumped against her ribcage, but her mind remained calm, calculating every angle, every step ahead.

The whistle blew, sharp and piercing.

Shidou moved first, his leg arcing back in a clean, fluid motion as his foot connected with the ball. It soared into the air with precision, heading straight toward the crowded box. But she was ready, her eyes tracking the ball’s path, her body instinctively shadowing Reo’s movements as he darted forward.

She stayed close, every move mirroring Reo's as they raced toward the ball, her breath quickening but her focus unwavering. The energy around her buzzed with anticipation, a tangible current that crackled in the air, wrapping both teams in its electric embrace. (Y/n) could feel her teammates’ movements as well, Akio fighting for defensive positioning just a few steps away, her tenacity a familiar comfort. But her mind was already steps ahead, the blueprint of her plan unfurling like a well-worn map.

Sometimes, (Y/n) found herself overselling other players, her mind racing a few beats ahead, piecing together the game while others were still figuring out the rules. She often forgot that not everyone could see the intricate highways laid out in her mind, the angles and paths crisscrossing like a perfectly choreographed dance. The scent of freshly cut grass filled the air, mingling with the faint musk of sweat and determination as she caught a glimpse of Sakae sprinting down the flank, her jersey flapping against the wind, ready to ward off any attempts. Nearby, Akio’s fierce determination was palpable; her muscles tensed as she jockeyed for space against the boys’ defenders, a battle of wills underscored by the thumping heartbeat of the game.

Mikage might have the advantage in size, but that didn't concern her. The game wasn't just about brute strength; it was about control, timing, and understanding the invisible currents guiding the ball and the players alike. The way the sun cast sharp shadows across the field made every movement seem more pronounced, highlighting the fleeting moments of tension as players adjusted to the rhythm of the match. It was about recognizing those currents before anyone else even sensed their presence.

Her gaze remained fixed on him, darting left to right, up and down, her eyes always moving, absorbing everything. The ball glistened under the afternoon sun, a vivid sphere of opportunity. Her teammates danced like shadows around her, and her opponents loomed close enough to sense the heat radiating off their bodies. Nothing escaped her notice. The pathways before her glowed bright like neon signs only she could see, illuminated by instinct rather than analysis. She didn’t need fancy technology to decipher the game; it was second nature, as easy as breathing. The passing lanes were there, wide open, and Mikage was set to be their next target.

But there was no need to reveal her intentions too soon. She maintained a relaxed posture, her eyes trained on the ball, playing the part of the unsuspecting defender. Let them think she was simply trailing behind, unaware of the purple-haired midfielder sprinting toward the play. In truth, she knew exactly where he was headed—she would’ve executed the same move ten seconds ago.

The trap was already laid. All she needed to do now was wait for the pass to come, and she knew it would be imminent. The sounds of shouting and footfalls echoed around her, blending into a symphony of athleticism. As Nagi Seishirou maneuvered to ward off Hinata’s defensive pressure, (Y/n) smiled to herself. The anticipation built a palpable thrill thrumming in her veins, knowing that this was just the beginning of the game.

She could tell the white-haired boy was having trouble, which normally occurred after at least fifteen seconds against Hinata’s defence. What a good teammate Mikage was; his positioning had been phenomenal. Just as Nagi went to launch the ball to his co-dependent half, (Y/n) sprang into action, her heart pounding in rhythm with her quickened breaths.

The ball had stopped two feet away from the intended target, connecting with the inside of her cleat with a satisfying thud. In a flurry, she pivoted on her heel, muscles coiling with energy, ready for a turnaround. Her voice boomed across the field, cutting through the tension, “Push up!”

The echo of her command hung in the air, the counterattack now underway.

Almost instinctively, a switch flipped in every one of her teammates, their minds moving at top speed. It was probably risky, but (Y/n) felt herself come alive as she dribbled the ball right through the middle of the field, the adrenaline buzzing in her veins. The ball felt like an extension of her foot, every touch precise and intentional.

She scanned the field, her vision sharp and calculating. Up ahead, her strikers—Nanami and Yua—were already sprinting into position, cutting through the defence like knives. Their eyes locked with hers for a brief second, the silent communication clear: they were ready. On the flanks, Fumiko and Chi darted up the wings, searching for gaps, their feet barely touching the ground as they readied themselves to strike.

The entire team moved in sync, each player weaving their role into the counterattack-like threads in a tapestry. It was beautiful chaos—every cut, every sprint, every shift in the defensive line unfolding like a well-practiced symphony.

She could see the opposition's defence clicking into place before her eyes, but that wouldn’t be a problem. She thrived in these moments, where the challenge lay ahead like an obstacle course meant to be conquered. The rhythm of her breathing matched the steady pounding of her feet on the grass, the pulse of the game thrumming through her chest.

Behind her, the unmistakable sound of Mikage’s footsteps pounding into the turf reached her ears. Good. She grinned to herself, her confidence only growing. She knew her speed would be unmatched—not by him, not by anyone. With each step she took, the gap between them widened, her legs eating up the distance, her movements effortless.

The game was hers to control.

Her vision field was blocked by Karasu Tabito, his tall frame bracing for her arrival. He stood there, solid and composed, ready to cut her off, but to (Y/n), he might as well have been an open gate.

To most, Karasu’s stance would look unbreakable, but she could already see it—the tiny shifts in his weight, the subtle gaps between his feet, the angles she could exploit with minimal effort. Paths glimmered in her mind, clear as day, each one offering a way to beat him one-on-one. The moment stretched before her like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

(Y/n)’s lips curled into a confident grin. She knew exactly where to go. All she had to do was pick her route.

She didn’t slow her pace, her sprint unbroken as she closed in on her first defender. Yes, she could see the passing lanes opening up, her teammates in position—but she had something to prove. They trusted her with the ball, trusted her judgment. They knew whatever decision she made would be best for the play.

Karasu stepped up to meet her, cutting into her sprint with practiced precision.

Amusement flickered through her, followed by a flash of annoyance as he immediately went in for a slide tackle. 

She could see his approach as if it were in slow motion, every angle he was trying to take to snatch the ball. Did he really think it would be that easy? With a quick flick of her ankle, she lofted the ball into the air, the leather spinning just above her and the fallen defender. But their defence wasn’t entirely clueless. Aryu Jubei was already moving, adjusting his position to fill Karasu’s spot, marking his course with tactical precision. 

Amusement still lingered as she faced him. His size was imposing, sure, but to (Y/n), it just meant more space to exploit. He was relying on his reach to close her down, but footwork—quick, precise movements—always trumped brute force.

She took a small touch with the inside of her right foot, a calculated move that drew Aryu to lean in, shifting his weight. Then, with a light flick using her instep, she shifted the ball to her left, just outside of his reach.

Aryu, trying to adjust, angled his body to block her, but she was always two steps ahead. She made him think she was going left with a quick step-over, her foot gracefully sweeping over the ball without touching it, as if daring him to commit. He did, lunging to cover the left side.

That’s when she struck. With a quick drag of the ball using the sole of her right foot, she pulled it back to the right, slipping it neatly between his legs. A perfect nutmeg.

It wasn't just about embarrassing him—it was about efficiency (but maybe a bit of both). The nutmeg got her past Aryu with minimal effort, and she was already looking ahead to her next move.

But Aryu, stubborn as ever, didn’t give up. He recovered quickly, trying to sprint ahead to cut her off. (Y/n) didn’t waste time; she knew when to dribble and when to pass. With her head up, she saw Fumiko making a run down the wing, and in one beautiful arc, she slotted the ball to her teammate.

The exchange was seamless, but she kept moving, already tracking the next play, knowing that Aryu might still try to recover and block her passing lane. She was always ready for the next move, the game always unfolding in her mind seconds ahead of everyone else.

It seemed as if their team finally shifted back into their defensive positions, her team’s constant speed had thrown a wrench into their plans.

She wasn’t done yet. As Fumiko received the ball on the wing, (Y/n) darted toward her, ready for a quick pass exchange. The defender closing in on Fumiko was fast, but (Y/n) was faster.

“Follow up,” she called out, her voice sharp and commanding, eyes locked onto Fumiko's. The ball came back to her feet with a quick pass, and she immediately tapped it back, orchestrating the play like a conductor leading an orchestra.

“You can beat him, Fumi!” she shouted, and Fumiko obeyed without hesitation, sprinting past her defender as the ball zipped back to her feet. The little triangle of passes they exchanged was smooth, perfect—textbook stuff.

The defence wasn’t completely fooled. Fumiko suddenly found herself boxed in by two defenders, her path blocked like walls closing in. Her sharp eyes swept across the field, her mind racing to solve the puzzle before her. Pressure hung in the air, thick as smoke, but (Y/n) thrived in these moments—her team counted on her to break through.

“Hey!” Nanami’s voice pierced the chaos, her arm raised, but she was far out, too far in the eyes of anyone else. The defenders thought so too, shifting their bodies to block what they believed was the obvious play: (Y/n) pulling the ball back.

But she was anything but predictable. Her instincts flared, adrenaline buzzing in her veins. She had mere seconds to act.

With a flick of her foot, she sent a razor-sharp pass cutting through the narrowest of channels between the defenders. The ball zipped along the grass like a whisper, perfectly weighted. Nanami’s eyes widened, feet instinctively adjusting to meet it. The defenders, still processing what had happened, reacted too late.

“What the hell—” one of them blurted, disbelief clear on his face as Nanami took her shot.

The ball hurtled low and fast, skimming the turf toward the bottom corner. It was a perfect strike—destined for the net. But Oliver Aiku appeared like a shadow, sliding in at the last possible second. His cleat met the ball with a muted thud, deflecting it away from the goal.

The ball rebounded awkwardly, spinning and wobbling into open space, just a few yards ahead of the box.

(Y/n)’s pulse hammered in her ears, her vision narrowing to the loose ball. Every muscle in her legs burned, the fire of exhaustion licking at her calves, but she pushed it aside, her body moving on instinct. In a blink, she was sprinting—faster than anyone else on the field, faster than the defenders could react.

Her heart slammed in her chest, but all she heard was the pounding of her feet against the turf and the wind rushing past her ears. Time slowed. The defenders were caught, still turning to react, too slow to stop her.

Her foot connected with the ball, the impact reverberating up her leg. She struck it clean and true, the leather snapping off her cleat with a satisfying thud.

The shot flew past Oliver, who was still scrambling from his block, helpless as the ball soared past him and into the back of the net.

Goal.

A surge of triumph flooded (Y/n)’s chest, her breath coming out in heavy gasps as she slowed her sprint, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. The crowd—her teammates—cheered behind her, but all she could hear was the rhythmic pounding of her heartbeat.

She glanced over at Fumiko, who stood there, shaking her head with a mix of amazement and amusement.

“Show off,” Fumiko teased, a smirk tugging at her lips.

(Y/n) shrugged, still catching her breath, but a grin crept across her face. “That’s the point.”

The sound of pounding footsteps grew louder as her teammates rushed over, their laughter spilling into the air, infectious and full of pride. She barely had a moment to react before multiple arms wrapped around her, lifting her off the ground as they cheered. The warmth of their excitement was overwhelming, the adrenaline of the goal still pulsing through her veins. Fumiko was laughing in her ear, Nanami and Yua were yelling about how perfect the pass was—it was a whirlwind of voices and movement.

There was no other joy like this—no feeling that matched the pure rush of scoring and celebrating with her friends.

But even amid the excitement, (Y/n)’s ears caught something in the background. The boys’ team, stationed just a few yards away on their side of the field, had dissolved into frustrated shouts and sharp voices.

“I told you we need to be tighter on defence,” one of them—Otoya  yelled, his voice sharp with irritation.

“If we let them get through us that easily, what’s the point?” another spat, clearly frustrated.

(Y/n) glanced over, the corner of her eye, catching a brief glimpse of Mikage throwing his hands up in disbelief while Oliver stood there, hands on his hips, looking less than impressed. The boys were clearly feeling the pressure after her team’s clean execution.

But the moment passed quickly, her attention pulled back to her teammates as they set up again. They began jogging back to their positions, still riding high from the goal, and she was about to turn toward her spot when a voice, low and edged with something unpleasant, cut through the air.

“Huh,” came the drawl. “So you're not just a piece of ass after all, Miyakazi.”

(Y/n) froze. The heat from the sprint still simmered under her skin, but it wasn’t the kind that burned from exertion—it was irritation, bubbling up from the pit of her stomach. Slowly, she turned, her eyes narrowing as she locked onto Yoshida Yamamoto. He stood there, casually smug, his lips twisted into a smirk like he’d just made the most profound observation. His voice carried a lazy arrogance like he thought his words were some kind of compliment.

“What did you say?” Her voice came out sharper than intended, irritation flashing in her chest.

Yoshida shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. “What? Just calling it how I see it.” His eyes dragged over her in a way that felt dismissive, predatory, reducing her to something less than what she was. “Didn’t expect you to actually have some skill. Good to know what they say about you is true.”

The insult didn’t sting in the way she thought it would. No, it was the sheer audacity of him—standing there, so sure of himself, so smug. The fact that someone had even said something about her behind her back gnawed at her, but that wasn’t the real issue here. Her pulse quickened as her hands instinctively curled into fists.

Before she realized it, she was standing right in front of him, her chest tight with anger, her eyes boring into his. He was taller, sure, but it didn’t matter. The intensity of her gaze made up for any height difference, like a coiled storm ready to strike.

“Keep my name out of your mouth, yeah?” The words were icy, cold with the weight of the warning behind them.

Yoshida’s response was infuriating. He huffed out a laugh, looking down at her like he was amused, his eyes once again roaming over her with that degrading smirk. The tension between them was thick enough to cut, the air buzzing with unspoken conflict.

The other players on the field began to take notice. Cautious glances were exchanged, the celebration dying down as the atmosphere shifted into something far more dangerous. No one moved to intervene just yet, but the silent acknowledgment that something was about to explode hung heavy in the air.

“Nah,” he shrugged, that same lazy smirk plastered on his face. “I’d rather have you somewhere else.”

The words landed like a spark in dry grass. Red-hot anger surged through (Y/n), every muscle in her body tensing, ready to strike. The overwhelming need to hurt Yoshida was almost too much to hold back—her fists itched to knock that smirk clean off his face.

But something stopped her.

It wasn’t fear. No, it was the weight of her team’s eyes on her, the unspoken expectation that she lead by example. If she gave in now, if she let Shidou get under her skin, it would mean more than just a personal victory for him—it would mean showing weakness in front of her team. That wasn’t an option.

Her jaw clenched, the anger simmering beneath the surface, but she forced her body to relax—if only slightly. She couldn’t let him win, not like this. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a cold, steady glare. She could feel her teammates’ eyes on her, waiting to see how she would handle the situation.

“Keep dreaming, fuck-face,” she spat, voice low and controlled. “But know this—I’m not someone you can mess with.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, maybe a sliver of consideration—or maybe just surprise at her restraint. Either way, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of losing control. Slowly, deliberately, she took a step back, turning away from him and walking toward her position. Unfortunately, she had to be the bigger person in this exchange.

(Y/n) had barely any time to react as Yoshida’s hand made sharp, unwelcome contact from behind her. The sting of it, the audacity of him—it hit her like a tidal wave. For a split second, she stood frozen, disbelief washing over her, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

Then the fury took over.

Without hesitation, she spun around, her body moving faster than her thoughts. Her fist connected with his jaw in a fierce, explosive punch. The satisfying crack of knuckles against bone echoed through the air, silencing everyone on the field. His head snapped to the side, that smug smirk instantly wiped off his face as he stumbled back, eyes wide with shock.

But she wasn’t done.

Before he could recover, before the moment passed, she followed it up with a swift, brutal kick straight to his groin. Her foot slammed into him with precision, and Yoshida doubled over, gasping in pain, hands clutching at his gut as he collapsed to the ground.

The field went deadly quiet. No one moved. No one spoke. The air itself seemed to hang still, suspended in the aftermath of her fury.

(Y/n)’s heart raced in her chest, adrenaline flooding her system. She stood over Yoshida’s crumpled form, her breath coming out in sharp, heavy bursts. The fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed yet, her body still bristling with raw energy, but she didn’t care. She didn’t regret a single moment.

“You ever touch me again,” she said, voice low, every word dripping with venom, “and I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life.”

Behind her, the other players finally stirred, shock and awe written on their faces. But she didn’t care about their judgment. She didn’t need their approval. She’d just handled it her way—and she wouldn’t apologize for it.

Yoshida groaned, though, in his pained state he still managed to laugh at her anger.

“Maybe you’ll like it later, fucking bitch.”

Her vision blurred with red-hot fury at Yoshida’s sneering words. Her entire body buzzed with rage, and before she knew it, she was stepping forward, hand clenched into a fist, ready to hit him again. This time, she wouldn’t hold back.

The world around her faded into the background—her teammates’ gasps, the tension in the air—none of it registered. All she could see was Shidou, that disgusting smirk still playing on his face, as if he thought he could get away with everything.

But just as her fist was about to swing, a strong hand caught her arm.

“Hey,” A voice broke through the fog, firm yet controlled. “Don’t.”

(Y/n) whipped around, her breath still heavy with rage, to face the person who dared stop her. Her eyes landed on the same sapphire gems—one she recognized instantly, though she still didn’t know his name. He stood there, holding her wrist with just enough strength to stop her, but not enough to force her back. His grip was steady, his eyes sharp as he looked down at her with something that wasn’t quite judgment, but understanding.

“Let go,” she hissed, pulling her arm free from his grip, though he didn’t immediately release her.

He stood his ground, unshaken by her hostility. “I know he’s a dick,” he said quietly, his voice low so only she could hear. “But he’s not worth it. You’re better than him.”

Her body was still trembling with fury, every fibre of her being demanding that she finish what she started. Yet, his words struck a chord deep inside her. The boy wasn’t scolding her. He wasn’t patronizing her. He was giving her a choice.

She knew, somehow, that he understood. That they both knew each other if only in the way athletes recognize someone who gets it.

Yoshida let out another curse from the ground, rolling over slightly, and muttered something under his breath, but (Y/n) wasn’t listening to him anymore. Instead, her eyes stayed on the boy in front of her— a face she still was surprised to see—and for a long moment, neither of them moved.

Finally, she took a step back, unclenching her fist. Her knuckles were tinged red from the tension, the rush of adrenaline still humming beneath her skin. The cool air brushed against her, offering a brief reprieve from the heat that had surged through her body moments before. She muttered under her breath, her disgust evident in the way she glared down at Yoshida’s crumpled form, the image of him writhing in pain satisfying in a way that shouldn’t have been.

“Piece of shit,” she spat, her voice low and dripping with contempt. The sharp sting of sweat trickled down her neck as she turned her back on him, feeling her heartbeat slowly start to settle.

His hand, still warm from where he’d grabbed her arm, loosened its grip, sliding away cautiously as if testing the waters of her restraint. His dark eyes followed her, filled with quiet concern. “You good?” His voice, though steady, had an edge of uncertainty, as if he wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t go back and finish what she’d started.

She gave a single nod in response, the anger simmering in her chest gradually dissipating. The pulse in her temples, the fiery thrum of fury, ebbed as she met his gaze. Something in his presence was strangely grounding, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it. His eyes, the same ones from the bus stop, held that same quiet intensity that now felt familiar.

“What’s your name?” she asked, the words slipping from her lips, softer than she intended, curiosity mingling with the remains of her rage.

He raised an eyebrow, the change in tone catching him off guard. His hand, still hovering slightly near his side, relaxed fully now, though his eyes stayed locked on hers. He studied her for a beat, as though trying to gauge whether she was serious or if this was some kind of test.

“Yoichi,” he answered, his voice calm but cautious, like he was offering up a piece of himself he wasn’t used to sharing. “Isagi Yoichi.”

(Y/n) tasted the name in her mind, connecting it to the face of the boy who had sat on that bench across from her, the boy who had kept showing up, unannounced, like some puzzle piece she hadn’t realized she needed. “Isagi Yoichi,” she repeated quietly, her breath fogging just slightly in the cool air. Her gaze lingered over him now, really taking him in for the first time—the sharpness in his eyes, the way his presence seemed to fill the space around him without effort.

“So you’re the one I have to beat,” she added, her voice firmer, more resolved.

Isagi’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that flickered like a light struggling to stay lit, barely reaching his eyes. But there was something genuine there, something real. “Looks like it,” he replied, his posture easing just slightly. The tension that had hung in the air between them moments ago felt like it was unravelling, giving way to a strange kind of understanding. “And you?”

She blinked, realizing she hadn’t offered him her name either. “(Y/n),” she said, her tone softer now, her heartbeat finally steadying. “Miyakazi (Y/n).”

The silence that settled between them was heavy with acknowledgment, like they both knew that something had shifted but neither of them were quite ready to say it aloud. For a moment, the chaotic tension that had gripped the field disappeared, replaced by something quieter, almost curious, like the calm before the next storm.

“Miyakazi (Y/n),” Isagi repeated, his voice low, committing the name to memory. His gaze shifted toward the field, where the rest of the players were still watching with cautious glances, unsure if the peace between the two would last.

“Let’s see if you can catch up,” he said, his tone light but edged with a challenge, like there was more to his words than just friendly competition.

Her lips curved, a subtle, almost dangerous grin playing on her face. “Don’t worry,” she answered, her voice a quiet but firm promise, “I will.”

taglist: @academiq

[obetrolncocktails]

Ignition Masterlist

Pairing: Danny Wagner X f!Reader X Jake Kiszka

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex (Absolutely minors DNI)! Fluff, angst, mentions of insecurity, troubled past...I will add more as the series progresses.

Summary: Losing your best friend and the possibility for more all in the span of five minutes wasn't your idea of a fun way to spend your Friday night. But life is full of surprises, especially when Danny Wagner walked into your life just when you needed him.

Listen to the Spotify playlist: Ignition

Part 1: 3,325K

Part 2: 6,023K

Part 3: 2,091K

Part 4: 3,284K

Part 5: 9,741K

Part 6: 6000K

Part 7: 4,459K

Updated: 10/11/23

[misseyres]

“So what’s this about a poetry thing? Do you not even talk to your own family anymore? They have to find out everything on social media?” ah yes it’s been a while since i heard the good ol’ you didn’t tell us something right away so now you keep secrets and hate us routine !!! so glad to see the emotional immaturity back on display <3

adding “getting tortured by Satan and demons” to the list of things of my dad has told me are my fault

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Title: Baby, I Got Sick This Morning (Heal Me, My Darling)

My second fill for @harringroveson-bingo and second story for the Stranger Things fandom!

Square: B1 (Magical Healing Cock)

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Harringrove (Future Steddie & Future Harringroveson)

Word Count: 6000k- on going

Notes: not all of Steve's chronic issues will be healed. He will always have some disabilities because I ain't about about that 'cure all' shit. They're just saving his life here.

For the magical pregnancy bit later: it is a ways off and I'll likely break this into this and a sequel, so you'll be able to read this as a stand alone if it's a squick for you. I gotchu buddies

Summary: Steve is dying, but what hurts the most is watching how it's affecting his family, his friends, everyone around him.

Nothing seems to be helping - not his community rallying around him, not magic itself, and not the devoted attention of Eddie Munson. Eddie is a rock and a hurricane in Steve's life. Steve might also be a little bit in love with him.

Then, one day when all other options run out, Eddie introduces him to one Billy Hargrove, and Steve's already-screwed-up life might be taking a turn. But is it for the better or for the more dangerous?

Additional Tags: 

Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington's Parents, Joyce Byers, Jonathan Byers, The Party (Stranger Things), Jim "Chief" Hopper

Terminal Illnesses, Chronic Illness, Fantasy, What If Stranger Things Was More Like Buffy The Vampire Slayer?, Magic Shit, Mentioned Malpractice, Magic Practice, Magical Healing Cock, Future Magical Pregnancy? It's all complicated and Fairy Tale Rumplestiltskin bullshit, Magical Creatures, Demodogs are Hellhounds, Steve is bad sick from an injury, head injuries, Head Injury, Past Torture, Past Relationship(s), past Stancy, Tinnitus, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Chrissy lived and is living her best life somewhere, mention of cults, Steve's having a bad time but it improves, Steve Needs a Hug, he's gonna get one and more, Billy Hargrove is Bad at Feelings, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve with long hair, I'm running out of ideas for tags so I'll add more later, please suggest tags if you like, slow updates but please comment it helps so much

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I’m getting excited! 6000K! I love her confidence, I might pay billions for her, it would be so worth it! But then again, don’t want to ruin the fun for others.

-L.W

SIX MILLION!

Goodness…do we have any other brave bidders willing to go that far? Maybe I really DO need to cut this short…

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