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odinsblog · 2 years ago

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🗣️THIS IS WHAT INCLUSIVE, COMPASSIONATE DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE

Minnesota Dems enacted a raft of laws to make the state a trans refuge, and ensure people receiving trans care here can't be reached by far-right governments in places like Florida and Texas. (link)

Minnesota Dems ensured that everyone, including undocumented immigrants, can get drivers' licenses. (link)

They made public college free for the majority of Minnesota families. (link)

Minnesota Dems dropped a billion dollars into a bevy of affordable housing programs, including by creating a new state housing voucher program. (link)

Minnesota Dems massively increased funding for the state's perpetually-underfunded public defenders, which lets more public defenders be hired and existing public defenders get a salary increase. (link)

Dems raised Minnesota education spending by 10%, or about 2.3 billion. (link)

Minnesota Dems created an energy standard for 100% carbon-free electricity by 2040. (link)

Minnesota already has some of the strongest election infrastructure (and highest voter participation) in the country, but the legislature just made it stronger, with automatic registration, preregistration for minors, and easier access to absentee ballots. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded the publicly subsidized health insurance program to undocumented immigrants. This one's interesting because it's the sort of things Dems often balk at. The governor opposed it! The legislature rolled over him and passed it anyway. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded background checks and enacted red-flag laws, passing gun safety measures that the GOP has thwarted for years. (link)

Minnesota Dems gave the state AG the power to block the huge healthcare mergers that have slowly gobbled up the state's medical system. (link)

Minnesota Dems restored voting rights to convicted felons as soon as they leave prison. (link)

Minnesota Dems made prison phone calls free. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed new wage protection rules for the construction industry, against industry resistance. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a new sales tax to fund bus and train lines, an enormous victory for the sustainability and quality of public transit. Transit be more pleasant to ride, more frequent, and have better shelters, along more lines. (link)

They passed strict new regulations on PFAS ("forever chemicals"). (link)

Minnesota Dems passed the largest bonding bill in state history! Funding improvements to parks, colleges, water infrastructure, bridges, etc. etc. etc. (link)

They're going to build a passenger train from the Twin Cities to Duluth. (link)

I can't even find a news story about it but there's tens of millions in funding for new BRT lines, too. (link)

A wonky-but-important change: Minnesota Dems indexed the state gas tax to inflation, effectively increasing the gas tax. (link)

They actually indexed a bunch of stuff to inflation, including the state's education funding formula, which helps ensure that school spending doesn't decline over time. (link)

Minnesota Dems made hourly school workers (e.g., bus drivers and paraprofessionals) eligible for unemployment during summer break, when they're not working or getting paid. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed a bunch of labor protections for teachers, including requiring school districts to negotiate class sizes as part of union contracts. (Yet another @SydneyJordanMN special here. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a state board to govern labor standards at nursing homes. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a Prescription Drug Affordability Board, which would set price caps for high-cost pharmaceuticals. (link)

Minnesota Dems created new worker protections for Amazon warehouse workers and refinery workers. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed a digital fair repair law, which requires electronics manufacturers to make tools and parts available so that consumers can repair their electronics rather than purchase new items. (link)

Minnesota Dems made Juneteenth a state holiday. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned conversion therapy. (link)

They spent nearly a billion dollars on a variety of environmental programs, from heat pumps to reforestation. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded protections for pregnant and nursing workers - already in place for larger employers - to almost everyone in the state. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a new child tax credit that will cut child poverty by about a quarter. (link)

Minnesota Democrats dropped a quick $50 million into homelessness prevention programs. (link)

And because the small stuff didn't get lost in the big stuff, they passed a law to prevent catalytic converter thefts. (link)

Minnesota Dems increased child care assistance. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned "captive audience meetings," where employers force employees to watch anti-union presentations. (link)

No news story yet, but Minnesota Dems forced signal priority changes to Twin Cities transit. Right now the trains have to wait at intersections for cars, which, I can say from experience, is terrible. Soon that will change.

Minnesota Dems provided the largest increase to nursing home funding in state history. (link)

They also bumped up salaries for home health workers, to help address the shortage of in-home nurses. (link)

Minnesota Dems legalized drug paraphernalia, which allows social service providers to conduct needle exchanges and address substance abuse with reduced fear of incurring legal action. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned white supremacists and extremists from police forces, capped probation at 5 years for most crimes, improved clemency, and mostly banned no-knock warrants. (link)

Minnesota Dems also laid the groundwork for a public health insurance option. (link)

I’m happy for the people of Minnesota, but as a Floridian living under Ron DeSantis & hateful Republicans, I’m also very envious tbh. We know that democracy can work, and this is a shining example of what government could be like in the hands of legislators who actually care about helping people in need, and not pursuing the GOP’s “culture wars” and suppressing the votes of BIPOC, and inflicting maximum harm on those who aren’t cis/het, white, wealthy, Christian males. BRAVO MINNESOTA. This is how you do it! And the Minnesota Dems did it with a one seat majority, so no excuses. Forget about the next election and focus on doing as much good as you can, while you still can. 👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿

👉🏿 https://threadreaderapp.com/thread/1660846689450688514.html

#politics #minnesota #social justice #culture wars #this is what democracy looks like #republicans are evil

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irisintheafterglow · 7 months ago

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lights, camera, bitch, smile!

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: taylor swift - "i can do it with a broken heart"

summary: it's your first time headlining the biggest music festival in the country, and your guitarist is nowhere to be found. good thing your other headliner-- and billboard chart rival-- can play guitar, right? right? (rockstar!gojo x popstar!reader)

wc: 2.73k

cw/tags: implied fem!reader but gn pronouns used, rivals to lovers, he falls first, mild angst (descriptions of a panic attack)/fluff with happy ending

note: this is another fic as a part of @ficsforgaza and a gift for @um-no-ok for donating and supporting palestinian families! interested in being a part of this initiative? check out my masterpost ! hope you enjoy this, i had a lot of fun writing it :)

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!

“You’re sure the flight is still running late?” You plead, head in your hands as the tech lead, your publicist, and your manager sit apologetically on the other sofa in your trailer. “We can’t send out a car to go grab them from the airport as soon as they land?”

“Getting off festival grounds will be hard enough, not to mention battling the traffic of incoming guests,” the tech guy reminds you with a shake of his head, exhaling deeply as his radio crackles, another warning that you need to be on stage to sound check. In a matter of hours, you would be headlining the biggest music festival in the country, and both your guitarists were stranded hundreds of miles away. They should have known better than to take a gig right before the festival, but you let them do it anyway because it was only a 30 minute flight between the airports. But, after a stray bird flock nearly downed another passenger plane, the tarmac was backed up for the time being. “Can you try asking around to see if someone can fill in for them?”

“And maybe hire them instead,” your publicist mutters under her breath, seething. You shoot her a wry smile, absentmindedly fidgeting with the plug of your in-ear monitors.

“The band is out trying to find guitarists, but it’ll be hard to ask someone to fill in because of scheduling issues and the number of stages there are this year.” Your manager takes a peek at her watch and looks at you with regret. “You need to go soundcheck, guitarists or not.”

“We have a drummer, a bassist, two keyboardists, and a vocalist. You’re gonna make them go out there with a jazz band and expect them to sing the biggest pop songs on the planet?” Your publicist, bless her heart, voices what you’d been dreading since you got the call from your lead guitarist. It was the biggest test to your professionalism since your career took off and you silently wished you’d paid attention to those tour bus guitar lessons. “How bad would it be to push back the set, even thirty minutes?”

“Bad, very bad. There’ve already been more delays than anticipated that aren’t music related,” the tech lead replies with a grimace. Your publicist curses under her breath and gives you a look telling you to get on stage. “And, it’s too late to fly in guitar tracks, even if we had them.” Shit. You’d just have to trust your team to figure something out, you figure, grabbing your sunglasses from the coffee table and exiting the trailer.

The rest of your band is already plugged in by the time the golf cart drives you to the main stage where you’d be performing. The ruthless summer sun competed with barely any clouds, blazing anything in its sight and leaving you breaking a sweat, even in the shade. A stage hand slips a wireless pack onto the waistband of your shorts and the click of the volume knob brings you the dweedling sounds of your band. The audience lot is relatively empty, thankfully, save for a few brave souls who were taking care of sound. Steeling your nerves, you shoot the audio tent a thumbs up, pop in your in-ears, and wait for the click track to run.

CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Intro, 2-3-4. 1…2…1-2-3 and–

The synth intro of your walkout song rings concerningly quiet in your ears and you tap your in-ears a few times, signaling the sound tent with a thumbs-up until the rest of the keyboards are audible. Not a great start to sound check, but that’s what this time was for, right?

CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Drums and bass in. 1…2…1-2-3 and–

Nothing.

The click continues its monotonous beat and you vaguely make out bass at the bottom of your mix, but you and your drummer look at each other with the same confused expression. She taps her ears, shaking her head.

“W-Wait, wait, wait. Can we stop, please?” You speak your request into your mic, disheartened to not hear your own voice in your mix. The synths stop abruptly, as does bass, and a dozen tech people rush onstage to fix various audio problems. “This is a nightmare,” you mutter, wiping the beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead.

“It’s always mix issues, isn’t it?” As if your irritation couldn’t increase, your eye twitches on its own when you register the voice of the person standing at the bottom of the stage. All shining white hair and dark, round rimmed sunglasses, Gojo Satoru was the last person you wanted to be interacting with. To say he looked good would be an understatement and your eyes look for any place to focus on other than his chest under his unbuttoned shirt. “For what it’s worth, you sound pretty on the mic.”

“What do you want?” Your voice is tired already, as is your entire body. Figuring out who would replace both your guitarists had sapped your energy and doors weren’t even open yet. “I don’t have the time nor the energy to debate with you today–”

“Heard you were looking for guitarists,” he cuts in and you narrow your eyes. The last thing you needed was your Billboard chart rival mocking you and your current situation. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t look at me like that. You and I both know you’re in a less-than-ideal spot right now.”

“Choose your next words very wisely, Gojo,” you seethe, using every ounce of your willpower to remain civil. “If you’re here to tease me, I don’t wanna fucking hear it.”

“I wanna help you,” he says before you’ve stalked out of earshot. “I can fill in for your lead and Suguru can play rhythm. I’ve already talked to him about it and he’s down. We’ve got the chords alright, but if anything funky happens, we’ll just follow your bassist. We’re pros for a reason, aren’t we?”

“I don’t need your help, Gojo,” you lie, desperately looking around for anything to get you out of this conversation.

“Thought I told you to call me Satoru when we were at that awards show.” His voice was always velvet smooth, disarmingly charming, and you hated the way it drew you in like a moth to a candle.

“I don’t remember that; and, if you did, I still don’t care.” We’re back on, says a voice through your ears. Starting the click on your cue, lead.

“Seems like you don’t remember a lot about what happened that night. I wouldn’t mind recounting it for you since it seemed like you had so much fun,” he baits coolly and you fall for it, storming back to the front of the stage and looking him square in his pretty face. Memory remnants of dancing in colorful strobe lights and running your hands through his hair appear in your mind’s eye before you can stop them, and it must register on your face. “Ah, so maybe you do remember what happened if you’re this angry about it.”

“We’re rivals, Gojo,” you hiss, your vision close to going scarlet. “We’re not supposed to be buddy-buddy, and what happened at that afterparty was a slip of my better judgment.”

“We’re not supposed to be, or you’re scared to be?” His question hangs in the air and you have no choice but to glare at him, waiting for him to back down when you know he never will. After a long pause, he sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. “Look, I know you’re in need of guitarists and I just wanna help. Consider it a favor.”

“Favors need to be paid back,” you counter skeptically, “and you’re the last person I want to owe.”

“Not my kind of favors,” he says, more genuinely than you’re used to him being. “Just…think about it, yeah?” You don’t have time to dwell on why he was being so nice to you, though, as you give the audio tent a thumbs-up again. CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Intro, 2-3-4. 1…2…1-2-3 and–

By the time you’ve suffered through soundcheck, changed into your stage outfit, and inhaled more setting spray than should be considered healthy, the sun has become a laser. Gojo is nowhere to be found, thankfully, and you spend the rest of the time before your set pacing your trailer like a caged animal. There wasn’t any room in your mind to think about the crowd, the heat, or the extensive team counting on you to make it a worthwhile show. All that you could focus on was your lack of guitarists and the proposition from your #1 enemy in the music industry. Before you could cross from the kitchen tile to the living area carpet for the umpteenth time, the door threw itself open to reveal your breathless manager.

“We found guitarists! Let’s go, before they change their mind,” she commands. You thank the music festival gods for whomever she found, even happier knowing that it couldn’t be Gojo and Geto because their band had just finished on the other largest stage. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you answer uneasily, still reeling from switching panic-mode into show-mode within minutes. “Let’s just hope they’re good.”

This next artist needs no introduction…

The golf cart parks sidestage.

Dominating the pop charts for twelve straight weeks, taking the industry by storm…

You wink at the handful of screaming fans that spot you before ducking backstage.

And nominated for the most prestigious awards in the music world…

The stagehand slips the pack onto the waistband of your pants and hands you a mic.

Performing live and streaming around the world… [CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Intro, 2-3-4. 1…2…1-2-3 and–] Make some noise for–

“Yo, Satoru. You got an extra pick?” Your synths come in at the same time you whirl around, heart dropping into your stomach when you see the two guitarists behind you. You recognize Geto with his signature black hair tied up in a bun and catching rays of sunlight reflecting off the turtle shell body of his electric guitar. The limited interactions you had with Geto were pleasant, but the same couldn’t be said about the other musician fishing a pick from his leather pants. “Thanks,” Geto says as he sticks the spare in his pocket, clocking your shocked expression and giving you an apologetic shrug. “Sorry we’re a little late, the set ran a little long because this dumbass wanted to do another encore. I made the golf cart guy race over here, though.” He motions in the direction of your temporary lead guitarist, who unsuccessfully tries to clean his sunglasses with his fishnet shirt. “Oi, hotshot. Get ready, we’re on soon.” CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Drums and bass in. 1…2…1-2-3 and–

“They’re smudged,” Gojo pouts and you act without thinking, snatching the glasses from his hands, wiping it on your own costume, and handing it back to him without meeting his gaze. “Oh. Thank you,” he mumbles, sticking them on his face and trying to catch your eye. There were too many things happening at once for you to worry about him.

“Mhmm. Thanks for filling in,” you choke out with no trace of malice, the pressure in your forehead and chest becoming suffocating. The gravity of your performance crashes down on you in one disorienting wave and you blink in an attempt to clear the sudden blurry spots in your vision. Hundreds of thousands of eyes, waiting on you, watching you, worshiping you. The biggest performance of your career thus far, and you were going onstage prepared with nothing but a terrible soundcheck and two rock stars that probably didn’t give a shit about pop music. It was too much, it was all too much–

“Hey.” It’s him, breaking through the static as the click fades into the background, any panic replaced by the feeling of your biggest rival lightly touching the side of your face. He wipes a stray bead of sweat from your forehead, and you’re close enough to see every shimmering fleck of turquoise in his eyes. The crowd noise is staggering, but all he sees is you. “You look beautiful.”

“Satoru,” you whisper, barely able to verbalize your panic. He understands anyway, confidence radiating from his body.

“I’m with you. I’ve gotcha,” he reassures you, letting you mirror him as he takes a deep breath. “You trust me?” CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Guitars in, vocals enter. 1…2…1-2-3 and–

“I-I do.”

“Great.” His grin is dazzling, heart-stopping. All of him, he’s yours. “Let’s have some fun, then.”

—

You sleepily blink open an eye as you register the ringtone for your publicist playing on the nightstand. Outstretching a tired arm, you find it a little hard to move with the other occupant of the bed securing you against his chest. You mutter Satoru’s name, unsure if he’s awake yet; he grunts with his eyes still closed and you figure it’s unconscious, the way his muscles tighten around your waist to pull you closer. You groan as the phone screen blinks off, then on again with another insistent call.

“Satoru, you need to let me go.”

“I already did that once,” he mumbles into the pillowcase, “and I’m not making that mistake again.”

“I need to pick up the phone, baby. It’s my publicist,” you counter gently and it’s his turn to groan, reluctantly peeling away to rub his eyes. “Thank you,” you say sweetly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before answering the phone.

There you are. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty, says your publicist, her incredulity obvious.

“Mhmm, good morning to you too. Everything okay?” You squint against the morning sun breaking through the windows of Satoru’s loft, the city skyline casting rainbows on the walls.

Everything’s great, just wanted to let you know what’s been happening media-wise.

“They figure out where we are yet?”

Not yet, no. But, you know how these things go. They’ll find you eventually, so savor the time you have with him now. Right now, you have a lot of late-night outlets asking for interviews and a few charity ball performances lined up. It’s all stuff you can handle, don’t worry. Aside from the scheduling talk, her warnings were things you already knew. It was weeks before social media users finally settled down after Satoru and Suguru joined you on stage. Satoru had even convinced you to create a burner account so you could scroll through all the edits and fancams of you two. Now that you’d reconciled your feelings about Satoru and agreed to let you two make up for all the time you lost to your stubbornness, it was relatively peaceful. On another note, I did see a pretty cute reel counting all the times he looked at you during your festival set.

“Yeah? And how many times was it?”

More than you looked at him, which is saying something, she chuckles. I’m still reeling from how chaotic the crowd was when those two walked out with you. You’d think there was a fire breaking out, or something.

“They were pretty loud, weren’t they?” You smile softly at the memory of strutting out in your boots with Satoru and Suguru on either side of you. “I think they went crazier when Satoru started soloing, though.”

“I’m not called the best for nothing, sweetheart,” he murmurs from behind you with a smirk. “These hands are worth millions, and you get them for free–”

“Okay, that’s enough from you,” you cut in before he says anything more. “Please, ignore him.”

What’d he say?

“Nothing important.” Your cheeks heat and you shoot him a look over your shoulder, only to be met by a self-satisfied wink that makes your heart race.

I’ll take your word for it. What’s your plans for today?

“Breakfast, probably, and then maybe head down to the shopping district.”

That’s pretty public, no?

“I don’t mind. I’m ready for whatever they throw at us,” you shrug, honestly feeling like you couldn’t care less about being seen with Satoru. You look over at him again and find boyish, giddy excitement written all over his face. He was yours and you were his, mind, body, and soul. Let the cameras come, let the tabloids rave, let the fake fans criticize, you think to yourself.

As long as you two were together, you were untouchable.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#fics for gaza #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #gojo angst #rockstar!gojo au

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dariaslookalike · 11 months ago

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Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 2: The Proof is in the Pudding. Or the Banana Bread

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 3

-----------------------

There's an odd numbness that you feel on the bus ride home from your interview(s). Almost like shell shocked. When you step onto the bus, the driver smiles at you, and your brain fights to conform your lips into one. But, when you sink onto the fabric chairs, you let your eyes go out of focus and tune out the murmurings of other passengers. It's expected of course, from the day you've had. You have been picked apart and put back together again, over and over, and experienced a dizzying amount of emotions.

There was anxiety, of course; but also an odd sense of pride and happiness from your interview with Cuddy. You spoke confidently. You had the credentials, the experience, and the eagerness to learn that allowed you to win over the Dean of Medicine herself. She had praised you on all of the above.

But there was also anger. Annoyance. And an overflow of self-doubt from your interview with House. Honestly, you thought Cuddy's warning of the Diagnostic doctor was exaggerated, simply to keep you on edge for the remainder of your evening. But after meeting him yourself, the sincerity of her warning became apparent.

He was rude; egotistical; and most definitely infuriating. Your first interaction with him was not during the interview, but rather under the guise of making awkward small talk with a patient waiting for House. He had then proceeded to degrade you; and later, belittle and mock you. All within less than half an hour.

And then he did something incredibly surprising. He hired you. It was awkward, sitting back down to his desk and collecting manilla folder after manilla folder of official guidelines, resources, and random paperwork. You had half a mind to slam it on his desk and tell him where he could shove his paperwork. But, like you said: You were willing to put up with rudeness, as floor mat-y as that sounds.You needed this job.

Moving across the country, leaving behind (admittedly, a small amount of) friends, and paying off a collective ten years of medical training and education had left you broker, than you were willing to admit. Two-minute noodles had become your new five-star meals. The heels you were wearing were gorgeous. You haggled for $12 for them from an op shop; you had reattached the heel itself through superglue and determination alone.

Hence, the rackety bus you were now on. It was near comical. The broken air conditioning, which was heaving out pathetic warm puffs, dripped steadily onto the back of a man's jacket. When the driver took a corner too quickly, one of the doors swung open an inch only to slam close again when the bus straightened out. There were four speakers in the bus and there was only one that worked; it had been scratching out 'Careless Whisper' on a loop for thirty-seven minutes.

How many times would Geroge Michael never dance again? More importantly, how many times could you hear him sing about it before you banged your head against the glass and tried to give yourself an aneurysm through blunt force trauma?

You were lucky in some aspects; being a 'gifted child' had you speeding through courses in high school and graduating from tertiary education extremely early. Most specialists were in their early-mid thirties. You were still in your late twenties.

The demands of school, your previous residency, and various jobs meant that you didn’t leave many people behind. There was Bailey, who you would occasionally have coffee with; when you worked together and were desperate to waste hours at a stifling desk job, he would make riddles that you could never solve. And Ms Delon, your greying and wrinkled neighbour, who, every fortnight, would bring out her yellowed recipe book and teach you something new and pour you cup after cup of English tea. If it was relevant, you would have put your ability to make four different kinds of pie, seven cakes, nine pasta dishes, and one hell of a banana bread from scratch on your resume. The mailman that would slip you a postage stamp every time he stopped outside of your building (this one was odder than anything; you had never asked him to do, but smiling at him and receiving a 10-cent stamp with a photo of a furry kitten was nice, nonetheless).

You’re stumped for a moment, and wonder if you missed anyone; but no. Pathetically, the only friends you had left were an old coworker, a widower, and your mailman. God, you needed to get out more. Maybe the crazy alcoholic extroverts in high school were onto something. Or at least, on something.

Clubbing could wait until you had settled into your new job, however. You had been scrambling for a stable job and to pay off your debts. When the diagnostic position at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was advertised, you crossed your fingers and prayed to gods you didn't believe in, and applied.

You couldn't tell yet if it was a malevolent force that had twisted fate around. You were stuck working side by side with House for the foreseeable future. You grumble to yourself as you step off the bus and the cold night surrounds you. Of course, when House gets mentioned, even within the mental confines of your psyche, it begins to rain. Malevolent force indeed. It's not long before the droplets become torrential, and you make the decision to cover your 'oh-so-important' paperwork with your coat and sprint down the streets as fast as your heels will allow you.

By the time you reach your fading, cracking, and slightly mildew-smelling apartment, you look like a drowned rat. Hissing as you turn on the bright overhead lights, you sound like one too. The paperwork, clutched in your numb hands is pristine, save for a few crinkled edges and crumpled folders. You set it down, and lock the heavy deadbolt across your door.

Sighing, you kick off your heels and detangle yourself from your suffocating clothes. You grimace as you pad across your apartment, leaving a wet trail of footprints in your wake. Your apartment is still in the very early stages of moving in, but it’s become a ritual of sorts to turn on your kettle, reuse the one bowl you dug out from somewhere, and make chicken noodles.

You breathe the salty, artificial flavouring in, but, when you feel goosebumps across your chest and arms, you decide the noodles can cook for a while longer.

Connected to your bedroom, the bathroom door needs to be shouldered to open, and you almost want to yell out an apology to your neighbours when it screeches against the tiles. You don’t however. You’ve been sleeping here for a week now, and every night, without fail, there would be banging, crashing, and lots of moaning from the apartment next to you. The ritualistic orgies they must have been having meant that they could deal with your squeaky doors.

Your eyes skim across the bathroom. Your brain isn’t familiar with your housing yet. It’s like you except for the same tiles, the same paned windows and shining taps of where you left. Instead, there’s a spattering of dark flecks against the roof. You stubbornly advert your eyes from the mould. You’ll clean it tomorrow. Or the next day. Fine- whatever day you were able to fish a stepladder and bleach out of your arse.

The hot water burns away the evidence of the day. Your cheap makeup, vanilla perfume, sweat; everything is down the drain. You drag your hands down your face and hold your breath until your lungs begin to burn. Maybe you should have been more assertive in your interviews. Maybe if you had been funnier, nicer, prettier, smarter, perkier, ruder, or one of the million things you weren’t, House would have taken a liking to you. Maybe you should have been less willing to blatantly cop his abuse, now and every future Monday-Friday. Maybe, maybe, maybe. It fills your head, and you practice breathing in deeply. And breathing out. Repeat. Breathe in deeply. And out. Repeat.

The maybes don't disappear but they become quieter in your head. By the time you’re in the middle of an epic concert finale, near screaming “Guilty feet have gaaat no rhythm!”, the maybes are just static, background noise.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrap yourself in the lone, fluffy towel hung in your bathroom. The shower head drips behind you, matching your heartbeat steadily. You brush your teeth, and gag when you scrub your tongue. The warm water has left you tired. Sore. The paperwork can wait until tomorrow.

For now, you collapse onto your uncovered mattress, naked and still wet from your shower. Mountains of boxes surround you; the tape containing them hasn’t even been cut open yet. You tell yourself that unpacking can wait until tomorrow too, and you drift off into a restless sleep.

It’s filled with images of House in a wheelchair, wearing very provocative clothing. “Premium Cripple Hooker rates apply,” he whispers seductively to you. —--------- The next morning you curse yourself, and begin to pick up the heavy, wet pile of clothing by your front door, and eat a pathetic, slimy breakfast of your forgotten noodles. You’re determined that this weekend your apartment will look like the cover of some overpriced magazine or at the very least, be unpacked. But come Sunday night, you’ve only assembled one ikea coffee table and still have a third of your boxes remaining.

To be fair, the ikea table took the longest of those two chores; you had a packet of nails when you needed screws, dowels that splintered into pieces when you jammed them into the wood, and a hammer when you needed a screwdriver. An abrupt walk around your busy, dingy neighbour led you to a corner ‘mum and pops’ hardware store. By the fourth trip, when you needed a box of lightbulbs (because, in your excitement to have finally finished the table, you swung your hands up and your brand new screwdriver performed an acrobatics routine, perfectly sticking the landing in your overhead light), the Pop of the ‘mum and pops’ shop greeted you by name.

After the scarring ikea incident, your stomach was growling. Noodles couldn’t cut this kind of hunger any more; maybe your body was building a resistance to the starchy goodness. So, sliding on your shoes one more time and slipping your keys and wallet into your coat, you walked along the icy pathway. You stopped at the one place you knew so far, and raised your hands in defence when the bell chimed, announcing your arrival.

“I am NOT here to buy anything again. Well. At least for today.”

‘Pop’ let out a hearty laugh, clutching at his gut. He was a heavy, older man, and a smoker from the smell of it. You hoped you didn’t see him at work anytime soon. He sure saw you enough at his.

“Honey,” His Slavic accent was thick. The nickname wasn’t the same sneering word that some men yelled at you, but rather kind and endearing, as if he was chortling at his young grandaughter. “If you keep coming back, I’ll be able to retire soon. But,” He gestures at you, in big sweeping movements, ”You didn’t break another bulb? Or build another desk?”

“Thankfully, no. I need groceries, and I was hoping you’d know if there was store around here? I still haven’t learnt my way around yet.”

Pop looks around the store, empty aside from you. You supposed not many people ventured outside in these frigid weathers. He smiles, and you watch in amusement as his moustache tickles his cheeks. “I’ll show you. I have to have break now anyway. Otherwise,” His voice drops low, “The wife will murder me. Says I need to ‘take it easy’. Psh.”

He hangs his apron up, and places a sign on the locked door, saying he will be back within the hour. Together you walk down the winding and cracked pathways. He reveals his name isn’t Pop, but rather Josef. You laugh and tell him you might just keep calling him Pop. He laughs, and says “Why not? I already have four grandchildren who do.”

It’s easy to talk with him. Both of your breaths fan out in front of you, in plumes of warm air. You tell him about your new job and deep lines appear in his forehead. “So far away. Hard work too.” he says and you can’t help but nod. You can’t imagine Pop as a young man, or in his youth; he seems like the man designed to be a grandfather. Regardless, he tells you lots of things. His migration here, when he was younger than you. The years of taxi driving and late nights he did to buy his store and settle down with his bookkeeping wife. His beautiful, but busy children. You smile and nod along, and you quickly arrive to the small grocery store.

There’s not much to choose from but you get the essentials: milk, flour, bread, sugar, cereal, pasta, sauces, and spices. As a last-ditch attempt to appear as if you care about your nutrition, you grab some fruits and vegetables. The woman ringing you up, at the store's lone register, wishes you a good, warm day, and you thank her.

Pop waits for you outside, smoking a cigarette. When he sees you return, he quickly blows away the smoke and stamps the butt out on the ground. Sheepishly he says, “My wife wants me to quit.” He leaves it at that, and you don’t bother telling him the risks and the benefits of quitting. His wife sounds smart enough.

You’re sceptical when he offers to carry some of your groceries, but relent when he insists. Just like that, you walk back to his store and continue trading stories. When you tell him that yes, you will be fine and that yes, you’re strong enough, he hands you your remaining bags of groceries.

“Come by, anytime you need something, kid. The store’s quieter in winter, and I’m always there if you need a hand.”

You smile and try to ignore the tears that spring to your eyes. “Thanks, Pop. I appreciate it.”

He claps you on the shoulder, unlocks the door and shuffles back towards his counter as if he had never left.

You pack your groceries away in the quiet of your apartment. Thinly dicing some onions, garlic and carrots, the methodological chopping of your knife is all that is heard. When you’re finished cooking, and feasting on what tastes like heaven after weeks of two-minute noodles, you shuffle to your bed. It now has a sheet on it and a blanket, and you supposed that was an upgrade from the previous night.

You stared up at your ceiling for half an hour.

One hour.

Two.

By the third, you whip your blanket and send it flying into your wall, where it crumples to the floor.

No rest for the wicked. Or the anxious.

It’s not like you could prepare for your first day of work any more. You had your clothes hanging up. Your lunch was packed. But, your feet lead you back to the kitchen. You pop your tongue from the roof of your mouth and heave. Stress baking was the best alternative to laying in bed awake. At least it was somewhat productive. Okay, that may have been a lie. At least the sugar would make you feel better.

By the end of your so-called ‘productivity’, your kitchen looked like a bomb site. But you were satisfied with your creations. You begin to walk back to your room, but high pitched and near frantic moaning echoed through your walls. Jesus. Did they have to get it on right next your pillows?

You grab at your blanket and pillows where they sprawl across the floor, and huff, returning to lay on the rug in the lounge room. No couch yet. You had traded $35 dollars for your table, and your bank account was screaming gainst that, let alone a new, or even old, couch. You wriggle like a drowning worm and scooch until your head is under the table examining your handwork. There’s no jutting screws or splintering cracks. You're content with your examination and intend to crawl back out. But your blanket is too cozy and the pillow you clutch at, too soft. Against your will, you drift off to the warm smell of cinnamon and timber. —----- You bolt awake and slam your head against the table.

“Fuck!” You yell out, and clutch at the piercing pain in your forehead. For It’s more humiliating this time when you worm-wriggle out from the table. You turn back to the table, sitting up and massaging at your temple. “I should bring some termites home now. Just for you.”

You know you must not have slept long if you’re insulting your table, but you gingerly raise yourself anyway and peer at the clock hung high on the wall. Not even dawn yet. You were so nervous that your brain forced you awake, with ample time. You take a shower, letting cool water run across your face. Your hand wipes at the foggy mirror, and you decide that yes, you will wear more cheap makeup today. At least to cover the angry red line crossing over your forehead.

You lock the door on your way out and walk gently down your stairs, trying not to slip and eat ass on the sidewalk. You place a container outside of ‘Mom and Pop’s’, and scrawl out a message onto a note. ‘Thank you for all the help! Hope you like banana bread’. You sign your name next to a small smiley face.

The ride was uneventful and quiet. The driver did give you an odd look, but you thought it was fairly justified. You were bundled in your thick coat, and desperately balancing a plastic container, your binder of paperwork, and your bag across your arms. You let it all sprawl across the seat next to you when you sat down. There weren’t many commuters this early in the morning; the windows were fogged, and the streets still dark.

Your shift started at 7, but the commute was long. The sun is just rising when the drops your at the hospital’s stop, and you hop off, thanking the driver. Despite the empty streets you were cruising through a minute ago, the hospital is bustling. It never sleeps, it seems. You smile at the nurses you pass and beeline for the elevators. Your stomach twists in on itself, and you sigh, starting to walk towards the conference room. You reach it, but peer into House’s office. The light’s are off and it’s devoid of the snarky man.

You breathe a sigh of relief, and slip into the conference room. You tuck your bag under the sink and out of sight. It doesn’t have anything valuable, but you have a mean coffee mug in there that you would hate to get stolen. By 'mean' you meant it had a sticker on it and had survived more potential spills than you could count. Next, your container is set next to the small kitchenette and you debate if you should put a note on it, like you did Pop’s. But you decide against it. You’ll be able to tell the team in person and hopefully, the banana bread acts like an ice breaker of sort. No more awkward questions of your hobbies or your family, but simply sweet, bready goodness.

You scan the small kitchenette area but quickly come to the conclusion that you have nothing left to procrastinate with. To Cuddy it is.

You spin, and instantly scream, raising your binder over your head and ready to swing it down. House blinks at you, like you’re a startling bug crawling across his cane.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, lowering your binder and clutching at your chest. “Do you sneak up on all your new workers? Jesus.”

He shakes his head like a bird dusting off its feathers. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realise I had to walk into my meeting room with a belly dancing skirt on. Maybe I should. Help people hear me more.”

"I'm sure it would bring out your eyes."

Your eyes flick up to his. God they're blue. They're the paradoxal chilly sky on a sunny winter day. Maybe you were right about the skirt.

“Door?”, he says as he cranes his neck forward and peers at you.

“Huh?”

"God, are you actually deaf?" He snaps his figures in front of your face, and you startle, ripping your eyes away from his as he speaks slowly. “Did.You. Hit. Your. Head. With. A. Door?”

Your eyes widen and you scoff. “I'm not deaf. And how did you-”

Impatiently, he cuts across you. “Slight swelling. Redness, which your concealer doesn’t hide as well as you think it does. So was it a door you ran into or what? A pole?”

You chew your cheek. “...A table.”

“Ah,” he spins, and begins to limp away from you.

You stare at his back, puzzled. You decide you don't want to delve further in your embarrassing morning, or ponder his oddness; rather, you race after him. He doesn’t slow down, even when your shoes slap across the vinyl floor. Curse him and his height. Even with his cane, you jog slightly and reach him when he’s turning a corner.

“Um, look can I give you something?”

He doesn’t stop, but turns his head to you as he strides past the conference room. “Don’t say um. It makes me want to say no.”

“Oh, well, can I-”

“Don’t say oh either. Or well. Or- actually. It’s not the words making me want to say no. So no.”

You grit your teeth but try to cover it with a nod of your head. “Fine. I won’t ask then. I have paperwork to give you. From our interview.”

At that, he pauses and turns to face you. “And you think I would want that because..? Give it to Cuddy. Or don’t. Either way I won’t look at it.”

You blink. He just strides away from you and you huff at his retreating form. “Thanks, Doc.”

Cuddy is much more pleasant to visit. She doesn’t mention your forehead, even though you catch her eyes flicking up to it. She simply smiles at you and welcomes you into her office. You give her your paperwork and she thanks you. You think she is like a regal queen; kind but a ruler that demands respect. That is until you hand her House’s paperwork and she rolls her eyes and says “Arsehole. Did he give you a hard time about it?”

You just laugh. “No, he’s fine. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but it wasn’t too bad.”

She scoffs. “There isn’t a right side of the bed when it comes to House.”

When you leave Cuddy and return to the conference room, you find there are three people in there. They seem to be bickering about something, and you catch the words "No way in hell!" and "-can't cook for his life!". When you step into the room though, they fall silent and turn to you with quizzical eyes. You introduce yourself quickly. “Hi. This is my first day, I’ll be working with you all on diagnostics as a cardiologist.”

The team amazingly welcomes you with open arms. Quite literally. The beautiful, smiling woman sitting at the desk practically leaps from her chair and hugs you. Allison Cameron is the first to introduce herself to you and she pulls back from the hug slightly, to whisper conspiratorially to you. "Finally. I have been stuck with these boys for far too long."

You laugh, and find yourself doing so genuinely. Robert Chase is next and he walks over to shake your hand briefly. He too leans in to whisper, “I hope she’s not turning you against us already.”

Foreman introduces himself and has a firm grip as he shakes your hand. “It’s nice to meet you and get some fresh blood on the team. Have you met House yet?”

“Yep,” You pop the P, and slide into of the chairs across from Cameron and beside Chase.

Foreman sighs. “I hope he hasn’t scared you off. He can be…”

“An arsehole?” chimes Chase.

“Hey.” Cameron pins Chase with a stare. “He baked us banana bread today. Isn’t that showing us that he’s putting in an effort? Even if it’s just because we have a new hire.” She turns to you and her lips dip down slightly. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, or he’s trying to poison us.” Laughs Chase.

You blink, and are about to interject when Foreman speaks up. “C’mon Chase. Cameron’s right, it might be a good thing. Maybe if he’s able to bake banana bread, he’ll be able to take out all his anger in the kitchen rather than on us.”

Chase chuckles, and shakes his head half-heartedly. “At that rate, we’ll be getting tira misu and trifle every Wednesday.”

Foreman lets out a sigh and turns to you, moving the conversation along before you can correct them. "We have drinks and dinner tonight and most Mondays. It's easier to deal with the week- scratch that, it's easier to deal with House if you're nursing a hang over. It's like two negatives, they cancel out. Do you wanna join?"

You smile. "I'd love to. I'm not a big drinker, but I'd like to check out the food that's here. I'm still acclimating, I suppose."

Chase drags his eyes up and down you, settling on your face when he speaks. "Don't worry. We won't throw you in the deep end like House will."

You nod at him, and wonder if he's always so blatant in staring at people's tits, when the man of the hour walks in.

“Good morning,” says Cameron. You see Chase roll his eyes slightly, and Forman and him make fish-like kissy faces at each other. House’s eyes flick towards them and they stop in an instant like schoolboys caught throwing paper at each other.

“Morning.” He busies making himself a coffee and doesn’t offer anyone any. “I’m not going to bother with introductions. I think newbie has that covered. I will however, tell you all to put on your big-boy pants and start thinking. 24-year-old female. Drowsiness. Erratic behaviour when she is awake. No schizophrenia, depression or anything of the sorts.”

He sips from his fresh mug and replaces it with a whiteboard marker, which he uses to write the remainder of her symptoms up. Foreman offers up one explanation, but Cameron is quick to say it doesn’t fit all the symptoms. Chase offers another, but at that, House scoffs. “No. God no. What 24-year-old woman have you met with that?”

Chase shrugs. “She’d be the first. But it’s possible.”

House tuts. “Possible is not what I’m looking for. I want probable. Newbie,” He pins you with a stare. “Any ideas? Or did you hit your head too hard? Again?”

You flush and try to steady your breathing when all their eyes become trained on you. “Uh, it could-”

“What did I say about ‘uh’?”

The flush deepens and you feel embarrassment creep over your shoulders, even moreso when Cameron winces in sympathy. “It’s probable that it’s multiple conditions affecting her at once.” You spout off Foreman's idea, and another infection, and House keeps staring at you, as if he’s waiting for you to wither away under his gaze.

But Cameron nods before you crumble. “I mean, it’s more likely than everything else. And it would make sense for her sudden personality shifts and drowsiness.”

House finally looks away from you and sighs. “Fine. Fine. Foreman and Chase, get a MRI. Newbie, you can get a lumbar puncture, if you can manage that. Cameron, get every known substance that could cause that reaction in her, and test for it. Not just newbie’s idea.” When no one moves, he makes a chopping motion with his hand. “Go on then. I’ve got a soap to catch.”

Everyone’s quick to gather their things. Chase and Foreman practically dash out of the room, as if House’s presence burned them. As Cameron stands up she calls out. “And House?”

He’s half-scowling and turns back to face her from the conjoining office door. “What?”

She smiles, and you swear you can see a light dusting of pink on her cheeks. “Thank you for the banana bread. It’s good to know you are capable of caring, to some extent.”

Ohhhh. She’s got it bad. So bad. And for House, out of everyone? The thought makes you almost sick. Not because he was an unattractive. Hell, you'd go to bat that he handsome. But there was nothing romantic or even kind about his words. Now you know why Chase and Foreman had their mocking kiss contest.

House squints at her as she strides out the door and down the corridor, and you take that as your sign to beeline for the door. You practically scramble up and your foot is half way out the door when he says your last name. “Here. Now.”

You sigh, steeling yourself, and spin back around. “Yes, House?”

He looks perplexed. “Why do the ducklings think I made banana bread?”

You chuckle. “Why should I know? I’ve been with Cuddy all morning. Y’know, giving her your paperwork.”

He rolls his blue eyes and they return to stare at you. “I’m not sure if you understand the whole thing of ‘genius doctor’ or not, but I pick up on things others don’t. You smell like cinnamon. Your folder of paperwork had crumbs on it. You have flour on the side of your neck. You’ve been baking, and” He strides over, opening your tupperware container on the kitchenette’s counter. “From my team’s fantastic deduction skills, it’s banana bread.”

Your eyebrows draw closer in an instant. “You smelt me?!”

House scoffs. “That doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you tell them it was your banana bread? I’m assuming you wanted to make a good first impression, but that all goes to waste if they think I baked it. It makes me look bad, too. Sappy. Caring." He shivers. “I think I might gag.”

“I didn’t tell them,” You huff, “Because they thought that you making something for them meant you were finally being nice to them.”

His lips flatten and he shakes his head at the floor. “God, they really should have known it wasn’t me then.” He raises his head and peers at you. “So when are you going to break the news?”

“I’m not going to.”

He sarcastically nods along. “Ah yes. The best start to workplace friendships is with a lie.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s banana bread. Not perjury.”

His eyebrows shoot up and he dips a hand into your container, breaking off a corner. He pops it in his mouth. “Well, it sure tastes like perju- oh my god.” His hand whips to his mouth and he slowly chews, and then groans.

Your breath catches in your throat. Broken tooth? Abscess in his gum? Severe allergy to bananas? “Are you okay? House?”

“What, in the name of Cuddy, did you put in this?” His tone makes it clear he’s not in pain and the tips of your ears go red.

“Look, if it’s that bad you don’t have to be rude abou-”

He shakes his head and spits out, “No, it’s good. The best banana bread I’ve had. And that’s saying a lot, seeing how it’s the Tuesday special in the cafeteria.”

There’s a beat of silence. You blink at each other from aross the room, as if you’re both processing his words. Your eyes betray you, because for a moment, it looks like he's blushing. But then he clears his throat, covering the container and stepping away from it. You track his movements, studying him. Was he lying to you, and trying to hide his repulsion of your baking skills? Was it all mockery?

House just raises an eyebrow. “Well? Get to it newbie.”

You breathe in and nod, turning around. Strange and awkward encounters with House would become your normal.

Again, when you’re halfway through the door he calls out your last name. “Get a copy of the results to me by the hour. And that recipe…Please.”

The flame spreads from your ears down to your cheeks and you nod as if it’s the only thing you know how to do.

Who knew that House’s weak spot was banana bread?

#greg house x f!reader #gregory house fic #gregory house #gregory house x reader #greg house #house md fanfiction #house md x reader #house md

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runningincircl3s · 3 months ago

Text

Nothing Ever After

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Vinny Mauro

Chapter One

chapter warnings: none :)

yippee the first chapter is here!! pls bare with me it gets better, as i'm posting this i’m currently writing chapter 12 and personally i’m giggling and kicking my feet <3 i’ll also be cross posting this on ao3 when i remember my password!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Y/n, are you listening to me?" Bryan asks over the phone.

You were in the middle of making lunch, so your phone was left on the side on speaker as you got the bits you needed out of the fridge, shutting the door with your hip as you walked back to the counter.

"Oh sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted to join me and the boys on tour this summer. It'll be good to get some experience, not a lot of bands hire photographers who haven't had any touring experience, and I could certainly do with the help."

"You've got to be kidding.” You slammed the cucumber you were holding on the kitchen counter, shaking your head. “Bry, this is a joke, right?"

"No? Why would I be joking?"

"You're asking me to come on tour with you- with Bad Omens? Isn’t that in a week? You want me to go on tour, next week?!"

"Yes...?” He chuckled, "what's so unbelievable about it? You're my best friend, y/n, I wouldn't ask anybody else."

"Holy fuck." You threw your head in your hands. "I've only met the guys once before, Bry, and you know how that went down!"

"That's why I'm asking you this now. We can fly you out to stay with us for a week or so in California before we leave so you can get to know everyone properly. At least that way it won't be awkward when we're all forced to sleep on each other in the bus." Bryan laughed, knowing the thought of sleeping with at least probably 6 guys on a bus was the last thing you'd want to be doing this summer.

"Well you guys can sleep on the bus, I'm booking hotels."

"So is that a yes...?"

You paused and thought for a moment. This was an opportunity you would never be offered again in a million years, people would kill for this and you’d never forgive yourself if you turned it down.

"You fucker." You grinned, "I'm in."

Bryan booked you a flight that afternoon to LA, leaving the next night. You rushed around your apartment, throwing bits into your suitcase, most likely over packing because you couldn't help but panic that you would forget something.

You couldn’t sleep that night, half of you feeling like you were going to throw up from nerves, half from excitement. The next day you sent a text to Bryan when you got in the taxi to leave for the airport, and he arranged for Matt to pick you up once you landed.

To save even more costs, Bryan said that Noah had a spare room at his house, Jesse had recently moved out and he was happy to let you stay whilst you were there. The thought of staying with Noah made you feel slightly anxious, to say you had a little crush on him was an understatement. Ever since Bryan started working for them you'd been absolutely smitten by him, he was quite possibly the most gorgeous man you have ever laid eyes on.

Bryan gave Matt your number, so you could text him when you landed. The flight went by pretty quick as you caught up on missed sleep and listened to a couple new albums from your favourite artists that you hadn't had the chance to listen to yet.

Once you'd gotten your bags back and gone through security, you let Matt know you were here and he was already on his way to pick you up.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Y/n!" Matt called out, and all of a sudden you spotted him getting out of his car. "Great to see you again."

He took your suitcase and bags, putting them in the car, opening the passenger door for you too.

"It's been a few years," you smile, "how are you? How are the dogs?"

"I'm doing pretty good. I moved recently, and the dogs love the new place, there's so much more room for them to run about and play. Me and Alyson are actually thinking of getting another one."

"Awh cute! So you guys are still together?"

"Yeah, I can’t believe it's been 5 years now. We have our ups and downs but I can't see myself with anyone else." You notice he can't help but smile as he talks about his girlfriend.

"What about the guys? Are any of the others in relationships?"

"Ruffilo and Jolly have partners. Folio’s still getting over his ex and Noah's just Noah," he chuckles, "what's your love life currently like then?"

"Well... it's non-existent. I've been working so hard for the last couple years I haven't had time to date or anything. I download and delete dating apps every other week, I don't like using them but there's no other way I'd meet anyone."

The rest of the journey back to Noah's house you continued to catch up with Matt. Besides Bryan, who's been your best friend since you were at school, you spoke to Matt the most out of the guys from the band since he was always active on social media. You often interacted with Folio and Nicholas (sometimes Jolly), but it wasn't ever much more than a happy birthday each year, or comments on each other’s instagram posts. Noah was an entirely different story.

Finally, Matt pulled up to Noah's house, parking on the driveway. You felt nervous, you wanted to tell the guys somethings come up at home and quickly book a flight back, but then you heard the wheels of your suitcase rolling over the ground as Matt handed it to you and the door to Noah's house opening.

"Y/n!" It was Folio, you immediately grinned back at him as he stood at the door, holding his arms out to welcome you with a hug, "it's great to see you again! How long has it been? 3 years?"

"I know, it's crazy! Look how tatted you are now!" You felt like a grandma commenting on how tall their grandsons got.

"You're lucky Bryan asked in advance for you to stay in Jesse’s old room," another voice spoke as you walked into the house, and then you spotted him, "Folio's now sleeping on the couch." Noah laughed.

"Shit, sorry Nick," you chuckled, "but thanks for letting me stay, Noah. I was gonna book a hotel but when I told Bryan the price for just one night he didn't let me."

"Hey, no worries," he smiled, getting up from the sofa, "we can't wait to have you with us this tour. It is your first, isn't it?"

"Yep!"

"Cool,” he took your suitcase from you and led you up the stairs, “here’s your room, it’s actually the biggest in the house. I was contemplating switching so it could be mine but I haven’t had the time,” he chuckled, “but I think it works better now as the guest room.”

“It’s lovely, thank you Noah.”

“No problem! I put fresh sheets on this morning and everything… Also we’re getting the bathroom redone up here as there’s something wrong with the plumbing. But feel free to use the one connected to my room, and there’s also one downstairs but I’m sure you don’t wanna be going all the way down there in the middle of the night.”

“That’s okay, I’m just grateful for the room.” You said, looking around. It was a rather big room, almost as big as your entire apartment. The walls were painted grey, with a few framed art pieces on the wall. The bed was against the wall by the window, the white sheets complementing the wooden frame. There was a tv on the wall and a dresser beneath it with a few Naruto funko pops decorating it.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me.” He smiled, and you felt your stomach do backflips. Noah looked a lot different to how you remembered him, his long hair was now short, his nails he had painted black were now plain, the skinny jeans were replaced by black joggers, but the most noticeable difference was his face, which seemed a lot more structured now, it's as if the haircut had changed everything. Sure, you had seen pictures of him on social media, but it was nothing compared to seeing him in person again.

“I do, I’m essentially a stranger to you.” You chuckled, but he shook his head.

“No you’re not, we met before, remember? Bryan’s 25th, in New York?”

You were slightly surprised he remembered the details, but then you remembered what happened at Bryan’s 25th birthday party in New York, and by the look on Noah’s face you could tell he also remembered.

“Don’t bring that up!” You hid your face in your hands in embarrassment.

“I basically had to babysit you!” He laughed, “a 23 year old woman who couldn’t handle her alcohol, spewed all across my jeans-”

“Hey, I got it on my dress too! And that was fucking expensive.”

“I know, it was all you kept saying.” He laughed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know if I apologised to you that night.”

“You didn’t, but Bryan did. We had to kick Folio out of his hotel room that night because you were in no state to go anywhere without us, he had to share with Jolly in the end.”

“Poor guy probably hates me at this point.” You laughed, and Noah smiled.

“I’ll leave you to unpack, I’ll be downstairs. There’s some things I need to double check with Matt before Thursday.”

“Okay, thanks.” You smiled as he left, shutting the door behind himself.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Later that night, the guys were all downstairs watching some movie they’d been talking about for a while. You came down not long before it ended, as Noah said he was ordering food in for around 7pm.

You sat down on the couch next to Noah, although there was a big gap between the two of you. You checked your phone for a moment, seeing if anything happened in the time it took you to walk down the stairs.

“So is anyone else coming to stay before tour?” You asked as Orie turned the movie off after watching the scene that played after the end credits.

“Uh, I think Nicholas is coming the day before we leave.” Noah answered, reaching for his phone. “Jolly only lives down the street now with his girlfriend so he doesn’t need to travel too far, and Ash lives nearby-”

“Ash?” You question, not having heard that name before.

“My personal trainer, he comes on tour with us as security when he’s available.” Now that he’s mentioned it, you realise he does look pretty buff.

However, you quickly snap out of your thoughts as the doorbell rings and Folio (as he was closest) gets up to answer it.

“Guys, foods here!” Folio shouts from the kitchen as he puts it down on the counter.

You all get up and make your way to the kitchen, you help Folio to work out whose is whose as Noah gets out some plates and Orie gets the forks. You take it through to the living room and Noah passes you the remote to put something on whilst you all eat. You settle on some random show as you know it’ll just be background noise, you have a lot of catching up to do.

“So, Nick, you still go fishing?” You asked, shoving a forkful of food into your mouth.

“Yeah, I actually went at the weekend with some of my friends before leaving to come here.”

“Wait, so where do you live now?”

“Back in Maryland, baby!” He grinned, grabbing his beer from the coffee table, “I’ve been thinking about moving again though, the only reason I stayed was because… well-”

You realised where this was leading.

“Why don’t you think about it whilst we’re touring? About moving, I mean. A fresh start might do you good.” You sent him a smile, which he reciprocated.

“That’s what the guys keep telling me, and now Noah has a couple rooms free I’ve said I’ll think about it.”

“So what about you, y/n?” Noah asked, “would you ever consider moving somewhere like here? I mean when your career starts taking off after this, it’ll be better to be somewhere where you can travel more easily and there’s more connections.”

“I haven't even thought about that…” You admit, “and it’s if my career takes off. I don’t want to get too excited and then not get booked for years, or to go on this tour and find that I hate it.”

“Hey!” Folio looked genuinely offended, “you’re not gonna hate it, I promise you that.”

“It’s just… I don’t know what to expect, and there’s nothing I hate more than the unknown.”

Noah moves his hand to rub your knee as you were sat beside him with your legs crossed, your plate in your lap, as if to comfort you, to reassure you- but it only took your breath away.

“Everything will be okay, y/n. I know where you’re coming from, I’m the same. Every morning and night we go through the plan for the day, where we have to travel, how long it’ll take, how long the breaks will be, if we’ve booked a table to go to eat. I promise we’ll all look out for you... It’s not like I haven't done it before.” He smirks.

“I told you not to bring that up!” You slap him playfully, and the other two guys in the room look over in confusion. All Noah had to mention was ‘Bryan’s 25th’ and they both got it.

“God, how could we forget.” Folio laughed, and Orie just watched in confusion.

“Fuck you guys.” You said, reaching for your pepsi, “maybe on this tour you’ll get so drunk that I’ve got to take care of you!” You raise your eyebrows at Noah.

“Hm, only problem is I don’t drink anymore so I don’t see that happening.”

“You don't? Wow, sorry Noah I didn't know that. That's got to have been tough.”

“It was in the beginning, but now it doesn’t bother me. I like waking up with a clear head in the mornings.”

That smile was going to be the death of you.

——————————

@miss570 @miamore0570 @lma1986 @rumoured-whispers @thisbicc @dominuslunae @jilliemiw86 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfic #vinny mauro fanfic #vinny mauro x reader #motionless in white fanfic #bad omens fanfic #nothing ever after <3

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borealing · 1 year ago

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hey do you guys know about

the history of the bus?

they started as an "omnibus" a horse drawn two stop back and forth along a pre determined route! then they added more stops! they messed with the size of the omnibus and the number of horses until they hit the right size for the route!

(blease note these are intra-city buses, stagecoaches would go outside the city to specific locations and they generally required a reserved seat)

they basically SLAPPED A ROOF AREA to get roof passengers! double deck omnibuses!

then we get MOTOR OMNIBUSES! as the petrol engine is getting better! for context the first motor omnibus ran in 1899 - this is 13 years after the patent for the first petrol engine car (1886), 74 years after the first steam public railway in england (1825) and 36 years after the london underground was opened (1863). by 1911 there were no horse-drawn omnibuses owned by the london general omnibus company!

AND THEY WERE EVERYWHERE! (please look at the number of BUSES and INDIVIDUAL CARRIAGES [usually hired cabs] and PEDESTRIANS)

a lot of places switched to electric trams in the 1910s, public transport became reliant on the comparatively more efficient light rail or tram systems. the trams gave way to electric buses in london in 1930! they were much less dangerous than trams as people did not have to walk right into traffic to get on em

then as engines got more efficient trolleybuses were switched with petrol engine buses

then in the 1950s more people got cars and they began dominating the streets and creating.. traffic and. traffic laws. and stuff.

thanks for coming to my whistlestop bus lesson hope u have a brilliant day

#i went to a transport museum and I've been thinking about it CONSTANTLY lfjsjdhsj #this is london perspective btw since it was... the london transport museum #long post #it was like. in the 1910s a battle between buses and trams/light rail systems #and buses tended to be safer bc of the nature of traffic laws and pedestrians back then #so london prioritised buses. but people were going on the underground too bc it was muuuch faster lol #anyway. transport! fascinating #and short-stagecoaches existed before buses did for intra-city travel but they tended to be by hosuehold rather than location #also expensive. well omibuses were expensive too. this is very high level fldbfjdjfj

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hwaightme · 2 years ago

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Family for Hire (Ch.4)

(family for hire ml) (join series and/or permanent taglist!)

☀️ pairing: single dad!seonghwa x business woman!reader ☀️ genre: fluff, romance, family, domestic, fake marriage, slice of life ☀️ ch. summary: settling into a new routine came with its challenges, of course, but you expected that. what you did not expect, however, was for seonghwa to completely derail your plans for quietude. ☀️ ch. wordcount: 4.7k ☀️ ch. warnings/tags: language, questionably edited, hwa being one jealous boy, a ton of coffee, implied missing breakfast, food/eating, a wild woo and yeo appear, rash decisions, implied lack of sleep, let me know if anything else! ☀️ perma-taglist: @doom-fics @legohwas @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @hoshischeekss @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe (can't be tagged: @ate-ez) ☀️ a/n: in anticipation of seonghwa day, hope you enjoy some more single dad hwa~ much love, any reblogs, comments, thoughts, feelings appreciated! apologies if the chapter is chaos, but hey... croissants and coffee!

Chapter 4: When Croissants Fly

Had you known that if you were to make it into the office on time and keep your promise of taking a certain kid to kindergarten, you would have to get up at hell o’clock in the morning – with hell being anything before six, you would have, respectfully, just left the conversation with standard goodbyes and not offered something out of the blue. Nothing could prepare you for the sheer amount of noise that a child could produce that early, when you were used to having an apartment to yourself, a nice, steaming, hot cup of coffee, and the human right to have fifteen minutes of sheer panic as you would realise if you did not hurry up you would be late. But even that panic was independent. You were not holding anyone up, no one was holding you up. You did not have to answer to anyone, nor did you have to be sitting there, in the driver’s seat, praying for a certain someone to ‘just… chill… out…”. Even though it had already been a three, now four days of you driving back and forth, back and forth like an expensive school bus, you still had a lot to get used to.

You glanced back as you stopped at a red light, catching Nari in deep conversation with her father about some drawing homework – something you were suddenly very jealous of. Why couldn’t adults have drawing homework instead of taxes? But nonetheless, no matter how simple the conversation was, each syllable was like a bass boosted hit of a dubstep remix in your cranium. Biting your lip, you attempted to focus on the sound of traffic outside and wondered if your fellow passengers would quieten down if you were to turn on the radio. You caught yourself hovering between being glad to be on better terms with Seonghwa and mini-Co, and wanting to let out an elaborate string of curses that had accumulated since your coffee machine broke this morning, and you, being a silly optimist when it came to appliances, had no alternative of source of energy fuel. This discomfort was apparently obvious enough for Seonghwa to pick up on it, and at the next red light you hear him tell his daughter to wait a second, and call out to you:

“Y/N, are you okay?” the note of concern in his voice made your heart ache and guilt for being so inwardly irritated spread through you. Peering out at the concrete jungle, you tapped the arm rest a couple of times, pondering the question before asking one back.

“What, do I look unequivocally dubious?” you tried to remain as neutral as possible, since Nari did not need to know what passive aggressive behaviour was, so early in her childhood, however Seonghwa was too finely attuned to emotional landscapes for your own good. Perhaps he could even give Yunho a run for his hard-earned ‘through thick and thin’ friend money.

“Oh, no! Not at all, it’s just that, um, I mean, this routine is quite new and must be very troublesome, so-”

“Do I look tired, is that it?” you interrupted gently, Seonghwa’s obvious beating around the bush turning out to be rather amusing, alleviating some of the headache that the day had been providing you with so far. It was hard not to notice how his upper body stiffened as he stared back at you through the rear-view mirror. Deciding to not keep up the limbo of whether he offended you or not, you cracked the brightest smile you could muster, and winked, “I know I do, don’t worry. I am an early bird by caffeine, and the love of my life broke today.”

“The love… of your life?” Seonghwa repeated cautiously, acutely reactive to your particular choice of words. Choosing to not mention how he leaned closer to you, with even his daughter shooting him an inquisitive glance, you simply elaborated on your morning ordeal.

Amidst your dramatic recounting of your battle with the ‘coffee monster’ you had made Nari burst into a fit of giggles, which was a win in your unpaid parenting work experience, though judging by Seonghwa’s unchanging pained expression, something about the moral of the story seemed to not quite fit the unspoken fairy tale standard, and as such, you trailed off into an awkward silence.

“Did you have… breakfast, at least?”

“Sure?”

“Okay, then what was it?”

Somehow in that moment you felt as though you were not supposed to be sat in the driver's seat, and instead in a detention, or in a dim corner for a long timeout. One step away, and you could almost hear Seonghwa saying ‘I promise I am not going to get mad at you if you just tell me the truth’, a notion that made you shudder. What if, unbeknownst to you, he was the kind of parent that would snap too? There was no guarantee that he wasn’t. Many a times you had seen perfectly happy and peaceful kids coming home to… much less than happy families, so if he was going to shout at you, you should just take it. Your grip on the steering wheel grew tighter and you bit your lower lip. The thud of your heartbeat in your temples returned as you pressed on the gas pedal and accelerated, only a couple of blocks away from Nari’s kindergarten already.

“Good stuff.” You brushed the interrogation off, not because you were uncomfortable with your choices, but because it was more than likely that Seonghwa would be, and as such, you ran the risk of exploding in a defensive mode and exposing Nari to a not so pleasant argument. And you were not about that life. You were not into recycling old experiences into new hurt.

Fortunately, Seonghwa got the hint instantly. Like father, like daughter – Nari, upon seeing the young man’s reaction, took it as a sign that she needed to stay put and reserve playtime for later. The rest of the journey crawling through the somnolent sunlit streets was spent in complete silence. You watched and waved back to a once again excited little gremlin, as she hopped out of the car and shouted for her dad to stay back, because she was ‘grown’ and ‘independent’. He had inadvertently shot you a glance upon hearing the words, enjoying the game of pretending that Nari had taken after you a bit too much. You had not looked back, and even how you were supposedly following his precious girl’s run to the front doors had transformed into a thousand-yard stare. Once again, you were in your own world.

“Hey, mind if I move up front?” he pointed at the seat and tilted his head, jolting you out of your turbulent musings.

“Yeah, sure thing. Okay.”

At this proximity, you swore you could catch a hint of his perfume. The vanilla, floral notes and something you could not quite put a finger on was very memorable, and very him. You took a deep inhale and leaned back into the driver’s seat, ready to commence the journey back.

“You can… actually you know what you can drop me off in the business district!” a weight off your shoulders as he suddenly changed your plans for a smoother ride. Masking your relief, you asked for the handsome man to confirm.

“Are you sure? You will need to switch lines… once if I am not mistaken?”

As he ran a hand through his hair, fighting a pesky strand that was threatening to get into his eye, you took the opportunity to study him. Black shirt with a just barely visible patterned design, and the top button undone to reveal three silver necklaces, carefully selected to complement one another. Black trousers, a loose straight cut, falling onto the chunky black and white converse sneakers. And again, that damn perfume that you could not explain to your brain. You did not want to be creepy, but tilted your head towards the man to try and figure out what that mysterious note was. At least you had your question going for you, and your leaning in could be interpreted simply as interest in his response.

“True, but I have some business, ha-ha wow apt, to attend to in the area so…” did not sound like it, but you were not about to argue just when you were in hot water about your morning.

“Okay.” You rolled out of parking, and drove back out onto the street, now bound for your not quite beloved office.

Ever since Monday, you had cemented yourself as one of the first to arrive in the office, and almost always the first to arrive within your assigned team, which had definitely left a good impression on your manager who openly praised you for being so diligent – much to the dismay of the co-workers who enjoyed gossiping about you. But you could not care less since you and Yunho did the exact thing except in reverse. There were some benefits to waking up at hell o’clock, even if it came with socio-gastronomical sacrifices. Which apparently, Seonghwa made his mission to reverse as he sharply turned his head and made a pointing gesture.

“And I’ll buy you breakfast. Y/N don’t you dare argue with me I have access to some dark magic.”

“Like?”

“Here comes the airplane. Wildly effective. So, if you decline then do expect a projectile croissant.” He threatened, stifling a chuckle.

“What if I want to see a croissant fly?” you countered, shaking your head and gleaming, the greyness of the streets which you navigated not appearing so soul draining anymore.

“Well then I will organise that just for you.”

Seonghwa was not sure what had gotten into him, but his desire to step in and help was nearly unbearable. You were every bit a business person, rushing and dedicating your life to your career even if you did have friends and family. But as he knew from having been working together with someone who had an awfully similar mindset to you, such people often forgot to take care of themselves. It was as if you deemed yourselves either not worthy of time spent, or you never felt the need nor the appeal of caring. And if you were to be acting in the role of his wife, the last thing Seonghwa wanted to see was you masking a perpetual misery. You were striving for best behaviour when you were interacting with Nari, showing a playful and easy-going side of you that he thought that he would never get the chance to see again, and generally were working hard to impress his daughter. But it seemed that you needed a push in the right direction of how exactly you could make him even happier than he already was.

You were dangerously attractive when you were driving, he concluded. The unwavering focus on the road, paired with reflexive movements as you reacted to what you had probably predicted ages in advance was making Seonghwa unreasonably flustered, and he had to force himself to look at the lines on the road instead of constantly looking at you. You had been one of the few people in university who had been a ‘designated driver’, along with your closest friend through the years, since most of the others dismissed the skill as something for a ‘later time’ and not immediately important for studies. It had amused him when these same people would then beg for you to effectively become a carpooling service. Even more amusing was that you had always had the guts to decline.

Now, your driving style had gotten even more refined, more natural. It was clear that you had long passed the stage of novice driver, too many miles and experiences under your wheels to still be considered a learner. Cruising through the city, cruising through life. Seonghwa doubted that you would remember, but there had been one time when you two had been sat, just like this, listening to some indie music that you had said helped you focus. But now the silence you shared was heavier, the impact of every action having the potential to cause greater damage. As such, he kept the memory to himself, instead drifting into the pleasant rumble of the car engine.

Right when the sun washed over Seonghwa’s side of the car after having hopped out from behind a skyscraper, forcing him to flip open the visor, it hit you. Coffee. Of course that last note had to be coffee.

With a croissant in one hand an a steaming takeaway cup of coffee in the other, mother goose in the form of a cheery Seonghwa ushered you towards your office, wishing you a good day at least twice, while you kept on trying to explain the best way to get to the metro station as, clearly, he had not planned his ‘business’ out in the slightest.

If you had been aware that his business was to make sure you had at least some form of nourishment and perked up to a satisfactory level, you would have probably thrown hands, so the young man had to resort to being cryptic, rocking on his feet, hands stuffed in his pockets as he said one last goodbye to you and followed your form as you entered your building, crossed a large reception area, passed some security turnstiles and finally, were swallowed by an elevator. So this was how this life was.

He closed his eyes and listened to the industrial noise. The whirring of cars all around him, construction of a new residential complex, designed not for aesthetic purposes, but to eventually raise the land price, the chatter of people who made the financial world, and as such the world itself turn, the whistling of a strong breeze that hit the top floors, zooming past antennae, wiring and air conditioning exhausts. A beautiful, cold world that he had previously imagined himself in. Seonghwa peeked out once again to take in the surroundings: the glossy windows, the sleek modern architecture and abstract expressionist sculptures installed in miniature street squares. Funny how, as he had seen you enter one of the many ant houses, a sense of clarity washed over him. This was your habitat. Your home. Not his. And he should not beat himself up over it. Especially when you were so much more passionate about it, and as such so much more deserving of the best space here.

You were there, behind one of the many windows, working hard for success. And now, he was part of that strenuous operation, at least by a fraction. That was what he could do, and how he could contribute. The possibility of you and him collaborating in enviable synchronicity was an exciting prospect, now that he could feel the space in which you worked. He could handle his tasks, you could handle yours – the domestic daydreaming left him breathless as he began to amble in a random direction, not taking his eyes off the bright blue sky.

Except his blissful state of ideation did not last long enough for him to plot as far as he would like. Two men in what had to be designer office wear were standing next to him at a pedestrian crossing, waiting for the light to turn green. But that in itself was harmless. It was the fact that the shorter of the two, the one who was explaining something very animatedly to his colleague, practically painting a scene with his hands, suddenly mentioned your name – each syllable resounding like a gunshot.

Could it be someone else? Maybe there was another Y/N out there, in this same district – there were thousands of people in these offices, so the chances were definitely not zero. But as Seonghwa discreetly listened in, it became clearer and clearer – these were your colleagues, and they were talking about you. And in a way that set off every single alarm bell in Seonghwa’s totally mission-focused brain.

“Look Yeo, I’m telling you she is super cute. And I don’t give me that look. So what if she agreed to a meeting only on Friday? It doesn’t mean you have zero chance.”

Sure you do. Seonghwa mentally responded, but furrowed his brows as he realised that he was being protective of someone who was not actually his someone, but a fake someone who, in reality, he was conducting questionable business with. Technically, that meant that you could date in secret – as long as it was hidden from the eyes of your superiors. Would you do it? There wasn’t exactly any infidelity to speak of if you did, since he was just an old college friend and a complicated present social tie-up. No. No you couldn’t. This kind of connection would risk your promotion, wouldn’t it? Whatever these fiends were plotting could very well ruin your career, and he, acting in the role of your husband, had to think of a strategy to put a stop to this.

“It just means that she is a busy woman, on her grind, achieving and thriving – just your type, isn’t that right?” the enthusiastic man who, much like Seonghwa, was dressed head to toe in black, and sported a long parted fringe that framed his beaming face, continued his encouragements. Except the mention of types, he was right, at least. You were busy. Too busy to consider them, so they should make their damn exit.

The stubborn light was still red as cars continued to dash past the trio. The man by the name of Yeo, which Seonghwa assumed was an abbreviation or a nickname, was good looking enough for him to be irritated. A muscular physique, with perfect skin and impeccably styled locks that highlighted his features that looked to have been sculpted by some aesthetic deities… yes, this man had to disappear out of yours and Seonghwa’s shared life immediately. Seonghwa did not need a man he ‘did not have to worry about’ right there in the same office space as you.

“Mm, right.”

A man of few words, huh? Maybe that was his problem. Then there was a chance that you would drop him fast as lightning – you liked your philosophical discussions, always did and if he could not formulate an opinion, he was automatically out of the game-

“But I do not wish to be a burden for her, Wooyoung. As much as I admire and respect her, I am only a slot in her timetable at the moment. And whilst I appreciate your support, we should remain realistic and pace ourselves.”

Shit. His voice was deep and dependable. And he had fantastic rhythm to his speech. Uh oh. Seonghwa suddenly wished that he was still in the café with you, and had, instead of letting you go to have the strong double shot of bitterness at your desk, insisted that you spent some more time together. Then he would not hear this atrocity, and since the café was not far from the building, they might have detected you in the shop front window. Would have been a win-win situation. Alas, this Yeo, and his equally ambitious friend Wooyoung had to be combatted in more creative ways.

Seonghwa’s hands moved on their own accord as he took out his mobile phone, scrolling to the contact he had saved as ‘wife’, with not one but two upwards graph emojis as an ode to your job, and clicking the call button. As he heard you answer with a cautious, whispered hello and an elaboration that he should wait a second as you moved to a conference room, the initial wave of panic subsided and he relaxed into your tone.

“What is it, Hwa?” if only he could loop how you said his nickname and listen to it whenever he wanted… no, he must remain focused.

“Hey, Y/N!” he purposefully spoke louder, spotting in his peripherals that he had caught the attention of the duo. Their conversation had lulled, and they were pretending to be looking at the light to cross, but in reality, were tuning their imaginary antennae to pick up more of the conversation.

“Yes, ‘tis me. And we literally just spoke, what’s up?” he heard a sliding of a door, and the ambiance changing to that of a closed space, giving your voice more space to bloom and show its colour. Seonghwa smiled, stalling a bit before picking up a simple conversation topic, but pointing towards a mock level of intimacy that a certain Yeo should never reach.

“How’s the breakfast?” he refrained from chuckling as he saw Wooyoung appear particularly bewildered.

“Honestly it was exactly what I needed right now, I am already feeling so much better. Thank you for it, and for treating me, really.”

“Oh, not a problem at all! Anything for you.” Even though he inwardly cringed at the phrase, it seemed to have a desired effect on his audience who exchanged confused glances. At the same time, you moved the phone away from you and snorted in laughter.

“You sound so awkward right now what the hell? You good?” he needed to think fast. How could he avoid saying that he was ‘overstepping boundaries and barely a week into a fake relationship was acting lowkey possessive of you to the point where he felt the need to assert dominance over people who simply mentioned you’? That was right. What was going to annoy you enough to let go of his questionable behaviour?

“Uhm… well, could you point me in the direction of the metro again?” Bingo. The groan that you let out, and undoubtedly followed by a rolling of the eyes, was enough for him to confirm that you fully bought the little fib. He swore he heard that same man, Wooyoung, scoff, while Yeo remained suspiciously quiet.

“Are you kidding me? I literally just explained that from the café, you take a right, and then-”

“Ah, a right… so that’s where the problem is…” he continued, intentionally adding sprinklings of cluelessness to his act.

“You can’t be serious… Park Seonghwa where are you?” strict, but adorably concerned for his wellbeing, you asked.

“At a crossing.”

“What crossing?”

“There is a fancy fountain on the other side of the street.”

“You’re there? Damn, you know what, stay put, I will walk you to the station seeing as you are directionally challenged.” And with that, he could make out the sound of footsteps on a carpeted floor, a rustling as you probably pressed the phone to your shirt, distant ‘I’ll be back in a bit’ and, in a matter of moments, clicking and a much stronger echo to each sound.

“I’ll take that label and wear it with pride, Y/N. Then, see you soon, yeah?”

“Uh-huh, oh directionally challenged man. I’ll be there in five. Stay put and don’t get lost in the square please. Like, find a bench or something and don’t move.” A ding of an elevator. You ended the call. And now, each stride like that of a victor in a ruthless battle, he overtook the two men who were not so discreetly gawking at him, with the goal of finding some bench in the square to sit on and await your arrival.

Seonghwa thought that his performance was over, and relaxed into the seat that he had stumbled upon: partially in the shade of a green maple, but still welcoming some of the more amiable sun rays. But little did he know that, instead of this being an epilogue to the indirect interaction with your colleagues that threatened his pride, he had just inadvertently completed a tutorial, and now was in for a game of a lifetime.

“Uhm, excuse me? Pardon for my very rude behaviour, but I believe I overheard you mentioning a certain Y/N that works around here?”

Seonghwa raised his head, which had previously been resting on the back of the bench, only to discover that the two men he had perceived as a threat to his status, in particular that Greek statue in the form of Yeo, were standing right in front of him, expectant.

“Yes… I did indeed. And who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ah, before we introduce ourselves, would you confirm if this is L/N Y/N you were talking to?”

“…Yes?” Seonghwa stood up, in a last-minute effort to be polite towards the gentlemen, who only a few minutes ago, he wanted to erase from the planet, or at least from your plans. They accepted the gesture and gave him space.

The sun was beating down on Seonghwa more aggressively than before, making him wonder whether this was due to it actually getting hotter, or because he was more and more enticed by the idea of the ground opening up beneath him and letting him exit the conversation.

“Right, sorry for the suddenness. It’s just that we are her colleagues. Well, from different departments but still. I am Jung Wooyoung. Human Resources.” A bow, another bow. Wooyoung did not look too pleased, clearly reading his every micromovement.

“I’m Kang Yeosang. Cybersecurity.” Passive enough, neither of the two cared enough to try and be threatening.

“And you?” Wooyoung inquired, raising his eyebrows.

“Ah yes, apologies. Park Seonghwa. Department not found.”

Polite chuckles. Dead silence. Wind whistling. Where were you? The three fumbled for anything to say, finally settling on the weather, and then moving towards neutral work topics. Evidently, Wooyoung had a lot more to say, and with each passing minute, the coil on which said questions were contained was being wound tighter and tighter, until it was ready to damn near detonate.

“What is this gang meet up, huh?” finally, you appeared from behind a tall hedge, your work pass hanging around your neck from a lanyard, swaying with each step you took. Once you approached the group, you looked at each member of the trio, pausing when you saw Yeosang.

“Ah hello! You must be Yeosang, right? I guess we are meeting sooner than expected.” Chuckling in pure corporate, you nodded in greeting.

“Indeed, we are. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“So, Y/N, care to explain… this mister Seonghwa?” Wooyoung interjected, his curiosity getting the best of him.

This was deeply disconcerting, you concluded. There was an element to this ordeal that you were missing, and this element was crucial to understanding how Wooyoung was going to proceed. He was smart, perceptive. You could even dare to say ‘cunning’. And it was apparent that he had caught onto something, and was not going to let go until everything came to light. You bit the inside of your cheek as you glanced at Seonghwa, who was doing everything in his power to avoid eye contact. There was one clean way out, and one that was inevitably going to make you, and the man in front of you snowball into something only fate could decide the outcome of. While chances were slim, nevertheless you took the first option…

“Well, you already got to know one another. I’d say that’s enough. Now, I need to take this man to the metro so if you don’t mind, we will be heading over yonder-” …only for it to fail miserably as Wooyoung saw through you.

“Oh no, no, like… who is this? A friend? A boyfriend? I need details, you are having breakfast and stuff together… who is he?”

If looks could kill, then you would be a fake widow. It did not take much brain power to figure out that the conversation you had over the phone had been staged for whatever reason. And now, you were in a mess where your little sitcom for a promotion might shut down… unless you committed. Fully. Wooyoung was staring you down. Yeosang had one eyebrow raised and arms crossed, judging. And Seonghwa was only a few levels away from impersonating Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’. To hell with all of this. Deep breath in. Breath out.

“My husband.”

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delux2222 · 5 months ago

Text

On Aug. 25, 1925, the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters (BSCP) was launched, led by A. Philip Randolph and Milton P. Webster.

The porters worked for the Pullman Company, whose founder, George Pullman, invented the overnight sleeping train car in the 1880s in Chicago.

Pullman hired Black men and women to serve as porters and maids to the mostly white passengers who used the cars.

By using Blacks in a service capacity, he was drawing upon the master-servant relationship of slavery days when Blacks were servants to white masters.

The union played a vital role in U.S. labor and Civil Rights Movement history. Activists including E. D. Nixon of the Montgomery Bus Boycott were leaders of the BSCP. [Zinn]

#howard zinn

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unnokka · 1 year ago

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MC Hellfire

Motorcycle Club AU!

Sooo. I couldn't let go of the motorcycle club AU...

(With a/b/o dynamics)

So I decided to write it. Here is the first chapter!

I'm not sure how long this will be, but there is more to come!"

------------------------------------------

Steve put on his sneakers before checking the time. Almost 20pm, an hour before his shift would start.

He grabbed his blue work vest and Robin's lunch (which she had once again forgotten) knowing she would be way too hungry to wait after her shift to eat, before heading out the door and calling the elevator.

Inside the elevator he glanced at the mirror adjusting his clothes and hair.

He had chosen a white T-shirt that was slightly shorter, revealing his skin at the waist and jeans that hugged his bottom emphasizing his omega hips even more.

It didn't take long before Steve was standing at the bus stop checking the time. Five more minutes until his bus would arrive.

Steve and Robin didn't live close to the city center, but the journey to the workplace still took 30 minutes with the gas station being a bit further away to cater to travelers.

They had tried to find jobs in the city when they moved to their apartment, but many employers were unwilling to hire both of them and some were sexist assholes not wanting to offer work to an omega.

Steve tried to talk to Robin suggesting that it would be okay for her to take a job as being an beta but Robin firmly refused, saying he wouldn't work for jerks even if the pay were a dream.

So, when the only requirements for the gas station job were being able to count change and prepare simple snacks for travelers, they took the job and started the following week.

Keith, their boss was a bit of a boring beta, except for his occasional political rants of which Steve and Robin had a good laugh.

He quickly trained them both, teaching them how to use the cash register and operate the gas station's fuel pumps, as well as what sandwiches to make and other easy-to-prepare foods.

After a week they hardly saw Keith except on days when they had to refill the gas tanks or order more supplies.

It wasn't a glamorous job, nor did it pay well, but they got by.

Steve could only imagine what his parents would say if they found out their omega son was working in such a dirty and lowly job.

They were already disappointed in him for being a 24 year old unmarried omega who challenged traditional norms and wasn't conventionally feminine enough. Don't get him wrong, Steve didn't hate being an omega but it frustrated him how he was lumped into a generic category.

The bus stopped in front of Steve, interrupting his train of thought.

"Hello, Steve. Is Robin not with you?" the bus driver said as the omega boarded.

"Hi, Bob. She is on the day shift today," he replied smiling and handing the fare to the driver.

Bob was an older beta man who remembered almost all of the passengers by name and enjoyed chatting with them, Robin suspected that the man might be a bit lonely.

Steve walked down the bus aisle, putting on his headphones while looking for a good place to sit.

At the back of the bus there was a group of people talking loudly and laughing making Steve feel uncomfortable, so he decided to sit in the middle section next to another omega.

As the bus continued on its route, it gradually emptied out and when the omega sitting next to him got off too only a few passengers remained, including the noisy group at the back.

A little while later Steve began to yawn softly, but he stopped when he was startled by someone suddenly sitting next to him.

An unfamiliar man whose body language appeared nervous said something with a smile on his face.

Steve sniffed the air detecting the bitter scent of an alpha.

He removed one of his headphones and simply looked back, waiting for the stranger to continue speaking.

"My friends and I are having a party tonight. Would you like to join us, baby?" the alpha said trying to appear self-assured while eyeing Steve's body.

"No thanks" Steve replied simply hoping the alpha sitting next to him would drop the subject.

"C'mon it would be a fun evening.. and a night." the alpha winked suggestively.

"Umm... still no. I have other plans already" the omega responded with a sarcastic smile, Steve always tried to be nice to people but this man was starting to annoy him...

The alpha huffed in annoyance and turned sideways toward Steve, puffing up his shoulders to make himself look bigger.

"Omega I could–" The bus suddenly stopped abruptly, causing Steve to sway and the man to lose his balance crashing into the seat in front.

"Steve! It's your stop!" Bob called out from the driver's seat, turned toward Steve.

The omega glanced around to confirm before turning back to look at the man.

"Excuse me, would you move?" Steve said, staring at the alpha expectantly.

The man grumbled and got up, walking back to his seat. "You're missing out a good date omega."

Steve rolled his eyes as he walked to the door and before exiting called out a thanks and goodbye to Bob.

The end of the journey to work is just a few minutes walk so Steve put his music back on.

The sound of the engine came through his headphones making him glance up, seven motorcycles were speeding toward and past him.

Upon reaching the gas station he checked the parking lot where he saw a few motorcycles, probably the same group that he had encountered on the road meaning there weren't too many customers at the moment, Steve thought.

The omega walked to the back door, which was for employees only and checked his phone while taking off his headphones as he walked inside.

"Hey, Robs! You forgot your lunch again, this is the fifth time in two weeks" Steve called out while still looking at his phone notifications.

"I can't alw-" Brown eyes finally lifted from the phone screen and Steve froze a few steps away from the door which swung closed.

In front of him stood a bewildered man holding a weapon, pointing the barrels toward people on their knees.

Steve dared not move his gaze away from the two men.

"Well well, what do we have here?" The other man recovered from his surprise, and a grin crept across his face.

He turned his weapon toward Steve and approached sniffing the air.

"Oh, could it be a sweet little omega, do you work here honey?" The man asked, glancing at the work vest Steve was wearing.

The omega remained silent, observing every the man.. The man was an alpha had a black eye, a bleeding nose and a slight limp.

He didn't want to provoke the situation and risk getting shot but Steve was ready to defend himself if necessary, preferably he would like to run away.

Steve knew how to defend himself, thanks to the mandatory omega self-defense course but the problem was that alphas were stronger than omegas and betas...

And Steve had been in only one small fight and no gun was involved then...

So he needed to find a way to surprise the man in front of him if the situation called for it.

"Oh, looks like the cat's got his tongue. Jason, check out how adorable and stiff this cutie is" the man laughed and grabbed Steve's face squeezing his cheeks.

The omega jerked his face out of the alpha's grip, prompting the other man to laugh.

"Now, cutie, here's the deal. We need to get rid of a few people, including your co-worker and well now you too because we can't leave any witnesses" the alpha said with an unsettling tone.

The man's words finally made Steve look around anxiously, searching for Robin.

On the floor kneeling with their hands over their heads there were five people in a row, four of them had bruises and they were wearing black vests.

One of them who appeared very pale and in worse condition than the next two that Steve glanced at.

The last man made his heart skip a beat.

The man had messy black curls and a few longer, thin strands were mixed in with his bangs.

Despite a hefty bruise on his chin, he was still incredibly handsome.

His whole body was tense and there was something in his eyes that Steve couldn't quite read. Realizing that he had been staring at the stranger for far too long, he shifted his gaze to the next person.

Robin.

Steve assessed Robin's condition and noticed a red mark on her cheek as if someone had slapped him, which made the omega angry. No one should hurt his only pack member.

"Oh, maybe we should have some fun with him. What do you say, Jason? I know your beta ass could use a bit of an omega" a foul-smelling alpha approached Steve and caressed his cheek.

Steve let the men talk among themselves and made eye contact with Robin, raising an eyebrow slightly as an unspoken question and quickly glancing at the disgusting alpha and another man named Jason.

How many?

Robin glanced at the two men and the door that led to the front of the gas station's cash register area, looked back at Steve and blinked slightly slower than usual three times.

Three. There were three armed men here.

Before Steve could respond to Robin the alpha grabbed him by the neck and began dragging him to the other side of the room. Steve began to resist until he felt something cold pressing against his chin.

"Steve!" Robin panicked.

"Don't resist sweetheart or you'll make this much harder for yourself. Enjoy your last moments" the alpha growled in Steve's ear and he felt his throat tighten.

There was a low growl and then a sound of a gun cocking. "Don't even think about moving" Jason said pointing the gun more precisely at the man on his knees and at Robin.

Steve was pushed against the kitchen counter where small snacks are prepared making him whimper, he was turned around so that omegas upper body is laying on his stomach and ass is on display.

The man placed his weapon on the counter a short distance away from him within arm's reach but in a way that alpha would notice if Steve attempted to take it. And then there is also Jason only a few meters away.

Alpha spoke something to him while at the same time his other hand that wasn't holding him in place touched omegas waist grabbing him by the waist of his pants and started tearing it.

Steve started to panic.

He couldn't hear anything except the pounding of his heart, a ringing in his ears and his shallow breaths.

He needs to do something.

Steve tried to collect his thoughts and looked around as best as he could.

Steve's gaze came to a halt. The coffee maker.

An idea flashed through Steve's mind, and without further thought, Steve began to act.

As hard as he could omega stepped on alpha's toes causing him to release his grip, giving Steve the opportunity to turn around and headbutt the man in the head... not a great idea, Steve thought, but it worked as the man stumbled backward a few steps.

Steve noticed movement behind the man... Jason. He reached behind grabbing a full pot of freshly brewed coffee and tossed it past alpha towards the beta, making him shout as the hot coffee and glass crashed against him.

Knowing he didn't have time to savor the great throw Steve grabbed the first thing he saw, which happened to be the man's gun on the counter and smacked alpha in the head with it, causing him to collapse unconscious on the floor.

Steve looked up and saw that a long-haired man had jumped on beta, hitting him as well and rendering him unconscious

A deep silence fell over the room for a few seconds until the door next to Steve suddenly burst open.

"What the hell are you guys doing?" started the third man, but Steve's reaction was to kick the door hard causing it to slam into the third man's face and making him retreat back into the room.

The handsome man ran out of the door after the third man. For a moment there was some arguing, a few words that couldn't be deciphered and then a gunshot.

And everything fell silent once again.

Steve was still breathing heavily as the man returned to the room.

Three men breathed a sigh of relief and one of them moved over to the injured one, but the tension still lingered and no one dared to break the silence to say anything.

Steve and the handsome man silently stared at each other.

Omega knew he should probably be panicking, especially with a likely dead man on the other side of the door but with adrenaline still coursing through his veins, he remained calm.

Finally tearing his gaze away from the deep hypnotic eyes, Steve glanced around the room.

The walls bore a few bullet holes, items were strewn across the tables, and a cchair was in pieces.

On the floor were two unconscious men, broken glass, spilled coffee and lastly Steve's gaze settled on an open lunchbox, its contents scattered on the floor.

Steve turned to look at the frozen Robin whose face still bore the intensity of the moment.

Robs slowly shifted his gaze from the man's blue eyes who is on the floor to Steve's brown ones.

"I-...I dropped your lunch" Steve said softly, his voice filled with a myriad of emotions.

Robin turned her gaze back to the floor, looking at her lunch.

A small chuckle bubbled up within her. "I don't think I'm hungry anymore" Robin replied in a hushed tone before looking back at Steve and letting out another, slightly more hysterical laugh.

Steve felt the corner of his mouth twitch and eventually he too couldn't contain a laugh, until both of them were laughing together.

"Ookay..." The handsome man began, somewhat puzzled as he watched the two employees giggling..

"Gareth and Jeff, try to patch up Freak's wounds. I'll take these two for some fresh air and call Hopper." The men nodded and began to act grabbing the first aid kit from the gas station's wall.

"Heyy you two. Let's go get some fresh air, yeah? Clear our heads a bit" the handsome man said gently approaching them cautiously, as if they were startled animals... perhaps they were.

Robin got up from the floor and walked over to Steve hugging him tightly before they both turned to look at the approaching man.

Now as the man has gotten closer Steve could smell beneath the adrenaline in the air, the scent of autumn, the forest and a campfire, the warmth that comforted Steve.

Alpha. The handsome man was Alpha and Steve felt a desire to seek safety in this unknown Alpha.

Alpha backed up to the back door and opened it waiting for Steve and Robin to walk out.

They carefully made their way over broken glass and past the unconscious man.

As they reached the door Steve had to resist the urge to touch the handsome man.

Robin and he settled on a small box next to the trash cans while the handsome man stood in front of them.

"I'm going to make a call and you can catch your breath and gather your thoughts before you ask your questions, panic, or do anything. Okay? Okay" Alpha said and moved a bit farther away when he received no response from either of them, taking out his phone.

"What the hell happened Robin?" Steve asked softly, Robin hugging him tightly.

"I-I don't know... It w-was a quiet night, there were few-few members of the motorcycle club members eating and then s-suddenly several bikers came in and started fighting! They had guns! I d-didn't really think an-anything except diving behind the counter to hide and hope for the b-best. Next thing I was forced into the back r-room... S-Steve..." Robin began to cry. "T-they were going to k-kill us! A-all of us! and then you came to work. I forgot! I forgot you were coming to work Steve! he.. he.. th-tehy...The Alpha and Beta.. they wanted to r-ra-..." Robin spoke rapidly in panic.

"Hey hey Robs, w-we're okay. Me, you, we both are okay. Everything is okay. I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier and I'm so sorry you had to go through this" Steve replied, comforting her and releasing a calming scent.

"I'm sorry too Steve, and thankfully you weren't here earlier. I don't want to know what could have happened then" she murmured into Steve's shoulder.

The handsome Alpha returned to them ending his call and crouching in front of them.

"I know you want to call the police, but I can't allow that... not yet. My club members will be here soon to take care of the situation discreetly" Alpha said and sighed looking down for a moment.

"I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of a feud between two clubs" he said as he lifted his gaze back up and looked directly into Steve's eyes.

Suddenly, Steve felt like he was way too aware of himself, his rumpled shirt, pants slightly lower than they should be, and that he was trembling and very tired all of a sudden.

"I.. Can we... I don't really know what to say" Steve responded in a whisper, fearing he might break otherwise.

The man smiled slightly at Steve. "You don't have to say anything. We'll take care of everything and you can go home when we're done or call the police after we leave. We might need to clarify few matters before you can leave, so wait here, okay?" Alpha said, kindly but in a way that left no room for negotiation.

Steve and Robin nodded in response.

The man got up.

"And thank you, Steve. You saved all of us" he said before walking back inside.

Beta and Omega remained silent just hugging each other until they began to feel calmer.

"Well, he's strangely nice" Robin said, making Steve chuckle.

"Yeah, he is" Steve agreed.

#steddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #MC Hellfire #stranger things #a/b/o dynamics #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson

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