#i change the radio station to avoid her music and she's playing on three other stations at the same time!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hellonoblesky · 3 years ago

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Happy Saturday it’s past 2am here’s Harbinger Angst. Because I’m up late and I’m havinggg thoughts.

So here’s my hcs about the Harbingers reacting to/dealing with the news of Signora‘s death :)

(CW For like. Mental breakdowns and guilt and general emotional instability because no one is having a good time here. Oh also cussing, anddd some familial angst in Childe’s bit? Also I am so sorry about any misspellings n whatever it is. Very late and I already have two other posts in my drafts collecting dust that are also HCs so.)

Dottore:

So if you don’t follow my art blog or haven’t seen my Harbinger hcs (which are under the process of some change with new info being released and whatnot), you don’t know this but I HC Dot and Signora to be like sorta just evil siblings

Now because death is such a commodity in Dot’s uh… specific line of work, he doesn’t register that Signora is dead until like two days after he hears the news

He picked up the phone (rotary perhaps?) to go call up Signora‘a office to see if she has any good gossip and then stopped halfway through dialing because it hit him that she’s never going to be there to pick up the phone on the other end. Ever.

He usually listens to music when he’s working but with the absence of Signora ranting he has to take up listening to the radio on top of the music

Problem is: the radio doesn’t have the same charm and cadence to it that Signora’s rants did, because normal people are boring and it’s going to drive Dot up the walls if he has to listen to one more commercial or one more anxious ramble about how cool and great the Fatui are from some stupid radio host trying not to overstep the Tasritsa’s favor like she listens to some boring ass radio station in her spare time!!!

HE HATES IT. But is forced to make do because if he shows weakness he will be torn apart (or so he thinks)

So this leads to him locking himself away in his office even more than he already did

Because he was already intrigued by the traveller after their actions in Mond and their victory against Childe, but them beating Signora in a duel before the Shogun? Oh now that kickstarted a whole new line of study

Especially because his only coping mechanisms are Be Destructive and Dive So Far Into Work You Don’t Think so within about three days he has a comprehensive analysis of everything he can possibly get his hands on regarding the Traveler (without interacting with other people) and is about to pass out because he hasn’t slept

Oh and the funeral was absolute hell for him.

Mainly because while he was barely conscious he agreed to play violin at the service and then promptly passed out and forgot about it so he woke up and was hit with the consequences of his own actions in the form of sheet notes

He endured, obviously, he’s not going to back down from playing something at the funeral of one of the few interesting people in the organization, that’s what tools and cowards do and this might be the Fatui but if he’d survived the wrath of dead gods he would make it through this

Went right back to locking himself away after that though

He actually got bad enough that the other Harbingers took notice of his state and MADE him come out of his labs and eat (mainly at demand of the Tsaritsa because she just lost the Crimson Witch as an asset, she wants the rest of her Harbingers in good health god dammit, the Traveler is becoming a genuine threat)

Broke down at dinner a week after the funeral

Swears that if any of the other Harbingers bring it up ever ever again he will kill their bodies and keep their consciousnesses trapped in a machine that he controls forevermore

Really he’s just glad that no one immediately pounced on one of his few shows of weakness

Maybe he’ll risk it again if it means he can cry it out for another hour but he wouldn’t dare say that out loud, won’t even finish the thought

But you know what he will do?

What he does best, of course

Look at an oddity in the world (in this case the traveller) and seek to pick it apart until he can put it back together without looking and still have it work

The only way he can actually get through his grieving is by finding something to take the edge off

And it just so happens that the traveller is a perfect candidate

Childe:

By no means has he ever liked Signora, in regards to personality or method, but her death still hit him

He had to travel back to Snezhnaya for the funeral, and it did absolutely cheer him up to see his family again and get to spoil them all silly, but with a mind whirling with thoughts it was genuinely hard for him to keep a smile up

Mainly thoughts about battle, because that’s really the only way he can interpret the world at this point

Like he keeps thinking about weather the Traveler was holding back with him, or if they had gained the strength to fight off yet another Fatui plot just in the month or so since Liyue? And if they had gained strength, how had they done it so fast? If they’d been holding back against him had he not shown himself to be a fighter worthy of their strength? Had Signora even faced the Traveler‘s full strength?

Overall his head is much too full of too many things, and it wears him out to the point that he ends up sleeping in late enough for his family to actually worry because usually he’s up before dawn training and they don’t see him until the afternoon

But he’s back on track as soon as he can, because the training helps him think, and once he can resolve most of his thoughts (or repress them so they don’t bother him too often) he’s absolutely alright and fine and ready to go! Totally. Fine. It’s fine.

The thoughts were very much There during the funeral, especially as the first harbinger read a (somewhat summarized version) of Signora’s life to the assembly of Fatui

(Oh and Pierro didn’t really care weather or not Signor wanted people to know her life after she died because she was dead now what was she going to do??)

The reveal that Signora had been fighting for the Fatui because her lover had been killed by the actions of the Anemo Archon, and she desired nothing more than to see him again… it got to Childe. It got to Childe more than he’d like to admit

Because suddenly the woman who he had always known as the embodiment of frostbite and frozen barbed wire fencing had someone she had cared about, genuinely cared about, to the point where she had become the Mondstadt legend, the Crimson Witch herself

And she had lost that lover to the actions of a fool of a God

He swore silently to himself that when the Tsaritsa‘s future came to pass he would make a little monument for Signora. Nothing big, probably a plaque on a nice stone where Mondstadt would have been before the Tsaritsa’s success, but a monument nonetheless

This promise was a spur of the moment thing, and later he would be like “Man she was a jerk, lost love or not why did I promise her that?“ but he doesn’t go back on promises

Besides, actually watching Dottore break down in a grief and sleep-depravation induced haze was also something that got to him because of course the two people he happened to simply Hate The Most in the organization were close that makes perfect sense but also wow it is weird to see Dottore cry and it feels Wrong because after murdering and tormenting so many people… Signora is gone and he breaks then??? What the fuck

Avoids most of the Harbingers after that, just heads home to Morepesok to spoil his siblings silly before going back to Liyue

Oh and his siblings can tell something is up, Teucer especially because when his brilliant big brother, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, is suddenly struggling to keep a smile even though they’re at home… he notices

Childe’s other siblings are all avoiding the subject, they heard about the death of Signora and all, they just assume the organization is going through it tight now and frankly most of them are a little afraid of him weather they‘ll admit it or not

Not Teucer though, he’s confused just because he still has grasped how Snezhnaya works yet, so he goes ahead and asks anyway

Childe just says he’s sad because he has to leave again so soon! And he hasn’t even been able to take Teucer fishing this time, isn’t that sad?

Teucer can tell that he’s lying

But Teucer is also beginning to sense the danger that lies behind Childe’s eyes, so for the first time? He doesn’t push it or say that they could go fishing now if they hurry

Just a grin and a “Next time!! Promise?” Makes it all better and he doesn’t have to think about why his big brother feels unnerving to look at sometimes

Childe is oblivious to Teucer’s growing awareness

He heads back to Liyue and makes himself focus on work

Scaramouch:

Now he didn’t particularly like Signora either, and didn’t really care about her life’s story, because blah blah blah we get it lady you lost someone, we all did, cry about it or whatever

But he does feel… he feels guilty for leaving her to face the Shogun

He had the Gnosis, he had finished Signora’s mission for her without even meaning to, and he had thought it would be funny to just let her face the Shogun without knowing that

To some extent, it’s his fault she’s dead

And it’s not the fact that she died because he didn’t go get her that weighs on him, it’s that he left her to the Shogun of all things

I don’t know if puppets like Scara can feel things like people and such do, but considering how the Shogun expressed frustration and stress when Ei disabled the majority of her functions, I’m going to assume they can

And because of the meddling of ‘some eccentric scientists’ his emotions are probably toned down a tad but he can still feel guilt all the same

And leaving Signora to the Shogun makes him feel guilty because he and the Shogun are essentially kin

Disowned and disavowed kin, but you know

He may have been able to easily counter the Shogun, or even help Signora prevail in her duel, but he. Ran. Off.

He happens to think that that was very cowardly of him

It causes a spike in his aggression which everyone unfortunately has to notice every time he walks by because the sheer static electricity that snaps in the air when he’s in the room now? Haha. Ouchie

Fun fact: he has no idea how to cope with guilt

He channels ALL of it into SHEER RAGE

Ever seen a couple hundred year old man go absolutely apeshit in the Harbinger‘s shared training arena? Well now you have!! It’s not a pretty sight!!

He’s crying and can’t tell why, which fuels his anger, which fuels stress as a fun side effect which just makes more tears and now he has to snap someone in half because he needs it to stop he hates it here he hates it here he hates it here

And in the beginning the guilt wasn’t even that severe for him, it was just so immensely magnified by his lack of coping skills that he very nearly broke himself down

He tried going to Dottore to get it disabled but Dottore had his doors all locked so Scara couldn’t even get a word through to him

Oh and the funeral was fine with him he just left early because he didn’t want to deal with looking people in the eye at the time because, again, his lack of coping skills with guilt magnified the whole feeling so it was almost unbearable

It’s a lot of fighting and breaking things before he’s able to resign himself to some semblance of how he was

#Genshin impact #genshin spoilers #genshin inazuma #genshin fatui #genshin Hcs #genshin headcannons #genshin signora #Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter #crimson witch of embers #crimson witch of flames #genshin Childe #Genshin Dottore #it is very late and my brain is abuzz #I have s’more thoughts about the Harbingers and Signora hut I’m already throwing all of this at y’all so #yeah #anyway #sad about her but also where Is Dottore hand him over mhy please

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bangtann-bangdamn · 4 years ago

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Lightning: Part 2

Warnings: Unhappy relationship mentioned, but other than that you should be good to go.

Word Count: 4165

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

AN: I originally wrote Lighting in June 2019. It’s March 2021. Also, I feel like my writing style has changed slightly. If it has - whoops. My bad.

< Part 1

Master list

“Can you get me another beer?” Mark called from the living room.

“Why don’t you get off your ass and go get it yourself?” You yelled back, rolling your eyes as you plunged the plate you were washing back beneath the water. It wasn’t like he was doing anything important.

“I’m in the middle of a – die you motherfucker!”

You grit your teeth, holding back your retort. As much as you enjoyed Mark’s company, there were days where everything he did, everything he said, frustrated you. Okay, maybe not days. Lately, it has been all the time.

Sure, he was sweet and affectionate when he wanted to be, but ever since you agreed to move in with him a few weeks ago, you felt less like his partner and more like his mother.

‘For all his faults, Yoongi wouldn’t have done this,’ you found yourself thinking. Immediately, you felt guilty. Yoongi was your past. He had broken up with you. He had made that decision, and you had grown to accept it.

But he also said he missed you. And, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, a small part of you missed him too.

Over and over your encounter with Yoongi replayed in your head. It felt like fate seeing him that day. With the storm raging outside, you had stayed longer than you normally would. All those feelings you thought were gone suddenly resurfaced. You forgot all about the way he would ignore you when he worked, or how he never answered his phone. You forgot all the nights where his side of the bed remained empty. All you could think about was the time you had spent together. Never did he make you feel so small, so insignificant in his life.

The plate you were scrubbing shattered in your hand. You screamed in frustration as blood began to trickle from your palm. You sighed as you picked up the shards from the washing-up bowl, throwing them in the bin with more force than necessary before grabbing a towel from the side and putting pressure onto the cut. You were trying not to cry but tears still found its way down your cheeks.

Mark made no effort to call out and check to see if you were okay. He yelled in frustration as he continued to play whatever game he was currently obsessed with, continuing on as if nothing had happened. Most likely, he hadn’t heard your scream.

It was a sign from the universe, seeing Yoongi that day. A sign that you had made a mistake.

Mark had asked you to move in and you stupidly thought that seeing Yoongi was a sign for you to say yes. But now you knew. You knew that your heart wasn’t in it. Perhaps it never was.

Mark walked into the kitchen. “Fine, I’ll get the beer myself,” he scoffed, barely noting the red tainted towel wrapped around your hand.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You closed your eyes as you held your breath.

“Sorry, I won’t ask you to get me one in the future.” Mark walked out of the kitchen without a second glance.

You followed him. “No, you don’t get it. I’m done.”

Mark sat down on the sofa. “Okay,” he said as he picked up the controller and resumed his game.

You stared at the back of his head as he took a sip of his beer, waiting for him to ask you. But you knew it was futile. Mark would assume you were joking and would give you a few hours to calm down before he would talk to you. Then he would brush away any concern you had with a laugh and tell you you were overreacting again.

You shook your head, deciding that you didn’t want to have this fight. You didn’t want to be told that you were crazy, your feelings unjustified. You didn’t want to feel tired anymore.

You inspected the cut on your hand, quickly determining that it was not deep enough to require stitches. You grabbed the first aid kit from beneath the sink and quickly set to bandaging your hand before walking back into your bedroom. You grabbed your suitcase from under the bed and began packing your things.

Déjà vu hit you like a freight train. But, unlike with Yoongi, you found that your tears had stopped the moment you had decided to leave. It was a relief not to deal with Mark anymore, as bad as you knew that sounded. But ever since you ran into Yoongi all those weeks ago, things had changed. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t help but compare Mark to Yoongi. How Mark didn’t know you as well as Yoongi had, or how he couldn’t make you smile as easily as Yoongi had.

Seeing him again reminded you of how hard it was to leave. How much you missed him, despite everything.

And when it came to Yoongi, Mark never really stood a chance. It sounded horrible to admit, but Mark was only ever a distraction. A reason for you to stop thinking about Yoongi.

You rolled your suitcase out of the bedroom and down the hall. At the sound of the wheels rolling across the wooden floor, Mark paused his game to look at you.

“Where are you going?” he asked, looking between the suitcase and you.

For this, he paused his game, you couldn’t help but think.

“I told you, I’m done.”

By the time you sat down on the bus, you were sweating slightly. It was a little from the humidity that still clung to the early evening air that had made the walk almost impossible. But mostly it was because of the panic that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

What if you had made an impulsive decision? What if Mark was the one and you just left him?

You were leaving him on what your heart wanted: Yoongi. But now that your mind had a chance to catch up, it screamed at you. Yoongi might have moved on, or he might not have changed. Sure Mark wasn’t the easiest to get along with, but he was there. He came to bed every evening. He ate dinner with you every evening. He replied to texts an-

Your phone started ringing. Mark. You stared down at the screen for a moment, wondering what he could possibly have to say to you before you declined the call. Almost immediately, Mark called again. So you switched it off.

It took you almost an hour to get to Hwasa’s house. You could feel your nose burning with unshed tears as you knocked on her door. She answered the door on your fourth knock. She had her phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, accessing you before she spoke.

“Haven’t seen her, Mark,” she said, nodding her head at you to follow. She moved back into the house as you let yourself in, closing the door behind you. You left your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs as you kicked off your shoes and followed Hwasa into the living room. She was sprawled out on the sofa rolling her eyes at whatever Mark was saying on the other end of the phone. You took a seat on the armchair beside her.

“I’m telling you, Mark, I don’t know where she is. Now if you excuse me, my pizza is here.” She hung up, rolling her eyes. “You broke up with Mark?” She raised her brow at you as she tossed her phone down beside her.

“Yeah?” You played with your hands in your lap, avoiding Hwasa’s gaze.

“About time,” Hwasa muttered, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning the TV on.

“Wait, I thought you liked Mark?”

“I do. But anyone with eyes could see that you weren’t happy.”

You frowned. “I thought I was happy.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t say anything.” Hwasa leant forward, placing her hand on your knee. “It’s the duty of a best friend to know when to say something. And when to bite her tongue. I knew you were unhappy, but I also knew you were heartbroken. You needed to date Mark to heal, to get over Yoongi.”

“Oh.” You tucked your feet beneath you as you turned your attention to the TV. The news was playing, detailing some study a university was doing into attraction.

“Oh? Oh god, don’t tell me that you broke up with Mark to go back to Yoongi?”

“Not exactly...”

“Are you stupid? He broke you. Or did you conveniently forget the month and a half you spent locked up in here barely eating and crying your eyes out because he didn’t even call? Even Mark called.”

“Yoongi works differently, you know that. He won’t tell you how he feels, he’ll-”

“Write you a song. I remember your anniversary present.”

You smiled at the thought. For your first anniversary, Yoongi made you a CD. He wouldn’t tell you what songs he had put on there, but when you had listened you knew. He had asked a friend to sing the chorus, whilst he had rapped the verses. There was something about the way he rapped, so confident and quick in his deep voice, that had you downloading it onto your phone and listening to it whenever you could.

“I miss him,” you admitted softly.

“I know. But does he miss you? He might say he does, but…” She left her words hanging in the air.

As much as you hated to admit it, you knew she was right. Yoongi made his feelings known through music. If he wanted you, there would be a song.

And in the year since you left, there was none. It was hard to argue against the concrete facts.

So why did it feel like you had just broken up all over again?

Yoongi was nervous. Well, maybe nervous wasn’t the right word.

Terrified. He was terrified.

After writing his song, he had asked Namjoon for his opinion. Namjoon had been lost for words – literally and metaphorically. He had thought the song was perfect, yet Yoongi felt like something was missing. Only, no matter how many times he listened to the song, he couldn’t put a finger on what it was. He had managed to persuade his company to give him a few extra weeks to work on it, to make it perfect. But no matter how many times he tinkered with it; the song just didn’t seem right.

He shook his head to clear his mind. It was a little too late for that now. In the end, he had to hand it over; he had wasted enough time. Now, nearly three months after he had written it, he sat in the green room of the radio station.

“Yoongi, are you ready?” The producer beckoned him to follow.

Yoongi nodded, rising to his feet slowly.

It wasn’t his first radio interview, nor would it be his last. But it was the first time a radio station was debuting one of his songs live on air.

You might be listening to this. You might hear this song. You might hear him.

He wasn’t sure if the idea of you hearing his song made him want to jump off a cliff or jump for joy. All he knew for certain was that he was out of time.

Every day since you left, Mark had made the point of visiting you at work.

“I can’t talk to you right now.” You continued to fill the dishwasher, not bothering to look back at Mark as you spoke. “What part of ‘I’m at work’ do you not understand?”

“You won’t answer my calls.”

You placed the last cup in the dishwasher. “We broke up. I don’t need to answer your calls.” You closed the dishwasher, grabbing a cloth and began wiping down the counters. The counters didn’t need to be wiped down - Hwasa had taken care of them just before Mark had walked in. But Mark didn’t know that. And you were determined to do anything to make it look like you were busy.

“No. You decided that we had to break up and haven’t listened to a word I’ve tried to say.”

You grit your teeth as you continued to wipe down the counter. You were pretty sure you gave him several reasons why you didn’t want to be with him anymore – namely that he treated you like some glorified slave.

“You’re still here?” Hwasa raised her brow at you as she walked back behind the counter and pointedly stared at Mark. “Can you seriously not take a hint?”

“This is none of your business, Hwasa.”

“You are scaring off my customers, which makes it my business. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to be with you, so why don’t you listen to her for once and fuck off.”

Mark stared at Hwasa, eyes boring into her intensely. Then, without another word, he left. The sound of the bell ringing filled the shop, only the murmur of the radio and the few patrons who weren’t scared off by Mark left to fill the silence.

“I have changed my mind about him. He’s a dick.” Hwasa shook her head as she watched Mark storm away from the shop.

“Finally.” You rolled your eyes dramatically with a giggle.

“How can a bloke come across so nice and then be an absolute twat?”

“Maybe you should ask Mark.” You leant against the counter, watching as Hwasa walked over to the radio.

“If I ever have to talk to that child again, it will be too soon.” She played with the dial as she searched for a station. Hwasa moved through the stations quickly, only waiting long enough to hear what music was playing before skipping to the next. You turned to clean the counter, mind already tuning out the sound until-

“Now, Yoongi-” a voice crooned out before Hwasa was onto the next station.

You dropped the rag you were using and turned to Hwasa. “Wait, go back!”

Hwasa looked at you for a second, contemplating your words, before reluctantly dialling the station backwards.

“It’s an impressive feat, I must say. To write about such heartbreak with such love,” the female radio presenter was saying.

“I don’t know if I would describe it as love,” The male presenter said with a chuckle. “Isn’t the whole point of the song to tell this girl that the last time you saw her was your lightning strike, your realisation that it was over. That you weren’t in love with her?”

“Not at all. Seeing her again… It’s like we were never apart. Lightning coursed through my body and told me that I made a mistake. Truly, I did. I thought I was doing her a favour, breaking it off. I thought I was holding her back. That she was holding me back… But she made me better.”

“Wow, Yoongi. That’s quite the sentiment. What would you say if she was here, right now?” The female presenter asked.

“I… I would probably tell her how stupid I am. But none of that matters now. She’s moved on. I can’t go back to the past and change things. I just have to move on.”

Hwasa placed a hand on your arm, jolting you back to reality. You stared at her blankly as Yoongi and the two presenters continued to talk on the radio behind you. You couldn’t take in a word they were saying, only what he had said.

He publicly admitted he was - had - dated someone. Live on air. Either he had just admitted something he shouldn’t have and thus would be in massive trouble with the company or...

She’s moved on.

Your heart squeezed in your chest.

“Hey.” Hwasa tapped your arm, mouth open as if to continue her sentence but quickly closed when the radio presenter suddenly announced over the opening chords-

“And now, the song that we know will be at the top of the charts in no time, Lightning by Min Yoongi.”

The opening chords were slow; sweetly interlocked together on the piano. Yoongi’s deep sultry voice began to lazily rap. Slowly it built until a loud clap of thunder and silence filled the room for a beat, Yoongi’s breath consuming the airwaves. Then the music kicked back in; faster and more urgent than before and Yoongi’s rapping about you.

You.

His panic over watching you leave.

His pain at not calling you, not telling you he didn’t want you to leave.

And his love.

For you.

By the time the song ends, and the presenters were speaking and thanking Yoongi for his time, you had tears in your eyes.

Hwasa pulled you into a hug, murmuring, ‘I know’ as she rubbed your back.

Because there it was, clear as day. Yoongi had wanted you; he just couldn’t find the words. But now he was prepared to let you go, let a better man have you.

Except there was no better man.

You only wanted Yoongi.

Yoongi all but collapsed as he sat down in the car. He didn’t know how to feel anymore. He just felt empty.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he had dreamt of you calling him after the song played. Of seeing your face flash once more on his phone screen; hearing your voice as you told him what you loved about the song.

But his phone remained quiet in his pocket.

Namjoon had warned him of this. Of letting himself hope.

After he played the song for Namjoon, after the initial excitement had waned, Namjoon had turned to Yoongi with a sombre expression.

“Yoongi hyung,” Namjoon said softly as he placed a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re really ready to let her go?”

“Of course.”

Namjoon frowned. “Are you sure about that?”

“Namjoon, what are you trying to say? Just say it already.”

“I don’t think you’re as ready to let her go as you think you are.” He leant back in his seat. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Yoongi had promised him that he expected nothing from you, but clearly, he had been lying.

By the time the car returned him to the dorm, Yoongi had schooled his features to remain stoic. He knew he needed to hide his disappointment from the rest of his group, especially as he had overheard Jimin’s plans to surprise him upon his return. He didn’t feel like celebrating, but he also didn’t want to explain why he had a sudden desire to retreat to his bed and not come out for a few days.

He opened the door slowly, expecting Taehyung or Jungkook to blast him with confetti the moment he stepped through the door.

He was met with silence.

“Hello?” Yoongi called out as he took off his shoes. He was shrugging off his jacket when you appeared from the door.

“Hi.”

Yoongi froze, one arm still in his jacket. “What are you doing here?” He continued taking his jacket off, more to avoid your gaze than anything else.

“I heard you on the radio.” You tentatively stepped towards him. “It was beautiful, Yoongi.”

He heard the crack in your voice as you said his name. He wanted to tell you he didn’t mean it; he still loved you. Always had, always would. But, just like that god awful night, the words wouldn’t come to him. He stood in the entry of the dorm, unable to look at you; unable to say a word and it hit him. He was doing it again.

You laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know why I came. I just wanted to tell you that.” You made to grab your shoes, but Yoongi stepped in front of you.

“What did Mark think?”

“Mark?”

“Yeah.”

“I... don’t know…” you admitted softly. Yoongi stepped to the side, allowing you to grab your shoes.

He still refused to look at you, so you took the moment to observe his profile, noting the sharp, tense line of his jaw.

“You probably shouldn’t come here again.” Yoongi finally looked at you, searching your face for something. Anything that could help him finally get over you. “I doubt Mark would appreciate you turning up at your ex’s.” Yoongi stepped further into the dorm, all but telling you that he was done with the conversation.

It wasn’t what he wanted to say. It was a reminder to himself that you were taken. That he couldn’t just lean down and capture your lips like he so desperately wanted. So he needed to remove himself from your presence.

“We broke up.”

Yoongi stopped walking, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“Mark and I… I left him.” You took a shaky breath to settle your nerves. You hadn’t planned on him. Then again, you had never planned to leave him in the first place. You closed your eyes and turned towards the door. “I’m sorry for bothering you.” You opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Yoongi was frozen as his mind raced to comprehend your words.

We broke up… I left him…

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Turning up after hearing his song, after hearing him tell the world he was still in love with you. And that he was ready to move on.

The click of the door closing brought him back to the present. He hurried to follow you.

You were halfway down the hall.

“I didn’t mean it.” He called after you. “I’m not ready to move on. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.” He slowly made his way towards you. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said we should go on a break in the first place. I was just feeling… inadequate. Like you didn’t need me around.” He stopped a little bit behind you and swallowed down his fear. You needed to hear this. “When I told you the agency wouldn’t let you come on tour with us and you didn’t react, I felt like I didn’t matter to you as much as you mean to me. Because I fought for you to come on tour for… I don’t even know how long. Then I come home to break the news to you and… nothing. I thought you were going to leave me so I thought taking a break would help but…” Yoongi took a deep breath. “I have never regretted something as much as that night.”

You blinked away the tears that were forming. “Do you want to know why I didn’t react, Yoongi?” You turned to face him. “Because I was used to it. Used to coming home to an empty apartment, waking up to an empty bed. Spending weeks alone because you had some project going on that you had to work on. It was going to be hard, but I was used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Yoongi shook his head. “Shit, I hadn’t…”

“Considered that?” You nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I thought about calling you every single day.”

“Why didn’t you?” You stepped forward once more. “Why didn’t you call me, Yoongi?” A tear slipped down your cheek.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted softly.

“I didn’t need to hear you say anything, Yoongi. I just needed to know you cared.” Your phone chimed in your pocket. You stepped away from Yoongi. “I should go.”

You turned, but Yoongi caught your hand. “I can’t watch you walk away from me again.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “I love you. Always have, always will. If you don’t feel the same way… If after everything that’s happened is too much or… or you don’t…” He closed his eyes. “Then I’ll learn to love you less. It’ll take time, but I’d try.”

“You could have said that.”

“What?”

You smiled, lacing your fingers with him. “That you love me. That would have been enough.” You leant up and placed a kiss on his lips. He relaxed in your embrace, leaning his forehead against yours when you pulled away.

“Then let me say it loud and clear.” He pulled away from you slightly and kissed your forehead. “I.” Then your cheek. “Love.” Then the other. “you.” Finally, he kissed you with some force pulling your body up against his as he deepened the embrace. You wove your fingers through his hair as you lost yourself in him, in the familiarity of it all.

Despite the time you had lost, the time you had spent apart, the feeling that flooded your body was like coming home. It was sharp and sparked through your body like lightning lighting up the night sky and you knew, in that moment, there was truly no other man in the world who could make you feel like this.

#bts #min yoongi #suga #yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #suga x reader #suga x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts reaction #bts imagines #bts requests

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joezworld · 4 years ago

Text

Bismuth

Bismuth - a harmless metal when consumed by humans, is known to have significant hallucinatory effects when introduced to a mechanobiological system such as a locomotive.

Due to its non-fuel state, non-intentional bismuth contamination is rare, but has been known to occur, especially in instances when impurities from lead refining, which include bismuth, are introduced to locomotive fuel sources such as open coal bins or wood piles.

Introduction to diesel locomotives is more complicated, and typically involves being within close proximity to steam locomotive that is burning bismuth-contaminated fuels, at which point the aerosolized mineral can enter their air intake systems. In some cases, fuel contamination can occur, however most known instances of fuel contamination have involved intentional dosing of fuel stocks with either bismuth or bismuth-derived pharmaceuticals (BDP).

The stomach-settling use of bismuth in humans has meant that most locomotive contaminations occur after a well meaning relative or friend introduces a BDP such as Pepto-Bismol into the locomotive’s fuel or water system.

Of course, intentional/recreational ingestion is a known activity, however all reputable sources (J. Small Berries et al) indicate that the hallucinatory events are notable in their inconsistency. The resulting "bad trips" often deter repeat usage.

- An excerpt from: The ABCs of Locomotive Health Care (10th ed., 1984) - J. Bigbooté, J. Whorfin; Yoyodyne Publishing Laboratories, Grover’s Mill, New Jersey.

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

April, 2000

Nobody’s quite sure how the bismuth got into Sodor - presumably it arrived in the shipment of coal from the mainland. The railway bought coal from a broker in London, and their usual shipment of high-quality coal had been lost - quite literally, as nobody could find it - and therefore the broker had scrambled to find more. A Polish metal refinery was found to have some surplus coal, and it was sent on without informing anyone on Sodor of the change.

It arrived at Tidmouth docks on a cargo ship and was promptly sent out to the big stations across the network - Wellsworth, Knapford, Tidmouth, Barrow, and Crovan’s Gate.

The coal trains ran late at night so as to not be in the way, and it meant that most engines would take on the new coal around midday, as the last of the old stocks in the coaling stages was used up.

It took about an hour or so for the last of the old coal in the engine’s tenders to be used up if they were working hard.

This meant that, as the engines rested in the yards after their noon trains, a lot of things started happening...

Tidmouth

Mid-sentence, Gordon’s eyes began to roll into the back of his smokebox. He was still speaking, but he slowly began to stop producing any intelligible sounds. His words turned into a mushy babel of slurred syllables and stuttering clicks as the men began frantically wondering if a locomotive could have a stroke.

Nearby, Thomas giggled dreamily. The pretty pink unicorns that had suddenly appeared on his bufferbeam were prancing about in a most amusing fashion.

---------

Crovan’s Gate

Percy had been undergoing a pressure test when his smoke started turning yellow.

The men had dropped his fire and immediately began an inspection, but not before Wendell was totally enveloped in the thick yellow cloud.

Percy felt like his boiler was inflating and inflating, as though the pressure test would never stop. The men eventually stopped what they were doing as he began ranting and raving about being turned into a zeppelin.

On the other side of the workshop, Wendell was speaking in hushed, manic tones to no-one. Whoever this “Lion” was seemed to be quite concerned for his wellbeing, even if he thought that they were overreacting.

--------

Arlesburgh

The evil diesels were after him, he was sure of it. Look! There was one there! And another! And another!

Well not today! Try and catch this example of Great Western Metal!

The men slowly backed away as Oliver ranted and raved at absolutely nothing. Duck and the Scottish twins watched from a safe distance, and decided not to get involved.

-------

Barrow Sheds

James was past being concerned about the yellow smoke - the little pixies fluttering around his smokebox said that he didn’t have anything to worry about at all.

Delta, sitting next to him in the cloud of yellow smoke, was much more concerned, but not about the smoke itself.

"Jamie, something's wrong."

"What makes you say that?

"I can hear Jefferson Airplane.”

"What's Jefferson Airplane?"

"I don’t know."

-------

Barrow Yards

“Why are you not fixing this?! Don’t just stand there! DO SOMETHING YOU MEATBAGS!” Bear roared at the workmen from within the yellow cloud. He’d woken up deeply congested, and didn’t understand why they were saying he needed to be out of the cloud of yellow smoke - it wasn’t like he could breathe much to begin with, and Henry was in trouble and he clearly needed help and these men wouldn’t do anything!

“Holy shit Bear I can swim” Henry said from whatever la-la-land state he was in.

“That’s nice dear, NOW ONE OF YOU FIX HIM OR I’LL KILL ALL YOU STARTING WITH THE WEAK ONES!”

On the other side of the yard, the men stared at the Hymek, which was bellowing and screaming at a staffing agency billboard on the side of the tracks while Henry belched yellow smoke over the both of them.

-------

Wellsworth

The rails had turned to jelly some time ago. The crossties had begun speaking in the language of the beast. The sky was a deep blood-gray, and the clouds wept for their lost raindrops. The engine watched as his smoke curled away into letters of an unknown alphabet. He was concerned as to how the menaces had managed this, but he wasn’t going to let them win by acknowledging that anything was wrong.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could just make out the signal aspects behind a curtain of iridescent sounds. That was a little bit too dangerous in his opinion, and he resolved to inform the twins that their pranks should not involve signals.

Across the yard, Bill, Ben, and BoCo watched in horror as Edward puffed out of the yard. His pupils were two different sizes, his tongue lolled out of his mouth, he was mumbling and chittering in an indescribable fashion, and his smoke was thick and turning a worrying shade of yellow.

But he was still pulling his train as though nothing was wrong.

-------

Farquhar

The apocalyptic wasteland spread out on all sides. The sun burned and burned until the land was scorched to a godforsaken ash. The river Els was filled with blood. Roving gangs of madmen patrolled the ruins - their war machines littered with the bones of their victims.

Mad Tobias the Brown, last of the North Shed, protector of the Anopha Stone, keeper of the soul of Saint Pedroc, guardian of the survivors, rattled through the wastes with his precious cargo of human lives.

A cry rose up from his faithful warrior bride Henrietta as she sighted a roving gang approach from the south. Their war wagon was the converted husk of an old railcar that he once called a friend, but that was long ago. Now she was merely a convenient vessel for the beasts.

The war music sounded in the distance, and he set off - a confrontation was inadvisable with his charges aboard. His smoke scudded off to one side in the stiff wind as he charged - he would have to pass them at the old loop if he wished to be avoid being trapped in the Stone Mountain, and speed was key to avoid their wicked bone hand-and-a-halves.

As he approached, he bellowed a warning cry to intimate his foe. The corpse of the railcar stared back at him in a rictus grin, but its crew recoiled - as one should when facing off against him.

Daisy and her crew watched in amazement as Toby and Henrietta, wreathed in sickly yellow smoke, roared towards them with the midday workmen's train. They screamed through the passing loop and disappeared into the distance, incomprehensible epithets trailing in their wake.

Inside his cab, Toby's driver had long since given up trying to stop his engine, and was now trying to reign him in so that he didn’t come off the tracks before the fireman could finish dumping the fire.

Inside Henrietta, the guard pulled back on the handbrake so hard that the lever came off in his hand. It didn't work.

Terrified workmen bashed at the radio with their lunch pails, trying to make the Norwegian Death Metal stop playing, but it was no use. The radio kept bellowing out tunes even after its faceplate was smashed in, and began to get even louder.

Toby was eventually brought to a stop near the Kyndley family's home, but Mad Tobias the Brown didn't stop yelling until the last of the coal ash was cleared from his smoke box three hours later.

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

It took most of the day for the bismuth to work itself out of everyone's systems. Nobody at the railroad was quite sure what was wrong, but considering the dull yellow smoke, it was easy to guess that the coal was bad.

The broker was summoned to the island, and when he admitted that the coal was from a random colliery in Poland instead of the high quality American anthracite that the railroad had paid for, he was quickly sent packing - along with the coal!

A new coal merchant was found, and an emergency supply was bought locally to cover the gap, bringing the saga to an end.

Nobody likes to talk about it - except Daisy, who has no trouble mentioning the tale of Mad Tobias the Brown whenever she wants to bring Toby down a peg!

#drugs #drugs drugs drugs #ttte bear #ttte thomas #ttte gordon #ttte henry #ttte edward #ttte james #ttte percy #ttte wendell #ttte oliver #ttte bill and ben #OC: Delta #Comedy #Have a nice trip!#ttte toby #ttte henrietta #fic

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Text

Teenage Dream

CW: Pet whump/dehumanization/whump of a minor in 2nd section, some brief noncon references in 2nd and 3rd sections, gratuitous Katy Perry in every section because Chris wouldn’t fucking shut up until I wrote this.

---

“Come on, Aki, please? Please?” Tristan’s pleading is married to his big green eyes and his coppery hair shifting across his forehead. The perfect sincerity of his request would crack any facade of ironic detachment. And Akio is trying to look detached.

“Tris, nobody likes that fucking song.”

“That’s, that’s not true, ev-everyone does, it’s on on on the radio all the, the, the, um, the time,” Tristan counters easily, and Akio can’t exactly argue that. And he can’t say well nobody cool likes it, because of course Tristan wouldn’t know he was joking and not being mean. He can’t always tell what’s a joke and what isn’t, and Akio heaves the most dramatic sigh he can manage and allows the younger boy to pull him onto his feet, making a big show of dramatic reluctance as he goes stumbling forwards onto the practice mat.

“Just because it’s on the radio doesn’t make it good, Tris.”

“But, but, but I like it, and-... and I had some, um… some ideas. Please, Akio?”

There’s the big green eyes again.

Akio sighs, rakes a hand back through his hair only to have it flop back over his forehead, and smiles. “Yeah, fine. Okay, Tris, show me.”

“Yes! Awesome. Thank-... thank, thank you, Aki.” Tris pulls him in for a hug, crushing tight like nearly all of Tristan Higgs’ hugs are, and Akio tries to look aloof and above it all. Someone nearby wolf-whistles and Akio throws a middle finger in no particular direction in response.

“Get a fucking room, Nakamura,” Lisa Huang calls out, stretching her legs off to the side. Akio changes the direction of his middle finger to aim directly at her.

“Yeah, but then you’d miss the show, Huang, and what would you do then?”

“Oh, oh, oh my God,” Tris mutters, his face bright red, but he’s bouncing on his toes and his fingers are tapping on Akio, so he knows it’s okay. “This, this, it’s not-”

“Hey, she’s just being a shit because she’s jealous I get the Tris hugs. Aren’t you, Huang?”

“Literally, I am going to melt into the floor from envy any minute now,” Lisa replies, sitting back on her hands. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to hug the Tristan Higgs and Akio Nakamura, huh? And yet-” She throws her hand over her forehead dramatically. “Neither of you ever notice me.”

“Sorry, Huang, my heart belongs to Tris.”

“What?” Tristan’s eyes are wider than ever, not following the joke, it’s all so sincere to Tristan unless he’s mad, and then he seems to get sarcasm well enough.

Akio just grins. “Kidding, Tris. Come on, show me the idea you had. I want to see, even if it means… listening to… that.”

“No, you’ll like it, Aki, I-I-I promise. Can, can, can you hit, um, um… play, Lisa?” Tris yells over the sound of the others talking, working out, practicing on the bars or the beams, the low-level noise the gym is always filled with. Akio and Tristan are officially not practicing today, but they’d both wanted to come here and Akio’s mom had been okay with driving them on her way to take Akio’s little sister to kiddie soccer, and Tris’s mom is going to pick them up later to take them home.

So here they are.

And here Tris is, convinced Akio should help him build a routine to Katy fucking Perry.

“Okay, Tris,” Akio says, and sits himself down at the edge of the mat next to Lisa Huang, legs crossed, elbows on his knees. “Here we go.”

“You know which song it’s gonna be, right?” Lisa says under her breath, finger hovering over the button on the ancient CD player that their coach lugs around. “You know it’s gonna be-”

“Yeah,” Akio breathes. “I know. Just hit the fucking button.”

Lisa laughs, presses play, and they watch Tris take a breath, shake out his shoulders as guitar starts up first. He flashes a smile at Akio over his shoulder.

You think I’m pretty, without any makeup on…

Akio manages to suppress a groan and watches Tris dance, the dancing is always effortless to him, natural rhythm running through him.

“God, I wish men did music with their routines,” Lisa mutters. “He’d nail every single one.”

“He nails it anyway.”

“Yeah, but with a soundtrack.”

He takes position, runs, hits his mark, and flips three times, spins, and lands right as the voice sings, you make me feel like I’m living a teenage dream, slowly turning, dropping into splits and back up again. Akio feels his own legs tighten in sympathy.

I can’t sleep, let’s run away and don’t ever look back

“I hate this fucking song so much,” Akio says, and watches Tris line up for his next run.

“Yeah, but you like him,” Lisa points out.

Akio rolls his eyes. “Everyone likes Tris. He’s my best friend.”

Don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back-

Tris misses the landing this time and goes down hard, rolling across the mat. Akio’s on his feet before a second has passed, and by the time he makes it to Tris, the other boy is already laughing, shaking it off, ready to start again.

Akio helps him up to his feet, and fuck it, he’ll listen to the song again if he has to. He sits down next to Lisa again, but he can already see how it would work - he’ll move around Tris fluidly, they’ll match movements here and here and here, and then they can run past each other at just the right time…

Lisa looks at him sidelong. “Now, see, you’re getting into it.”

“He is.” Akio shrugs. “I just like seeing him all excited.”

“What would you do without Tristan Higgs, huh?”

Akio watches, carefully, as Tris nails the spin this time, watches him drop into the splits and back up, rock his hips. “I don’t know,” He says, finally. “Probably waste the fuck away, Huang.”

“Damn straight. Five bucks says you guys end up with one of those ‘if we’re not married by 30, we’ll marry each other and get eleven cats’ deals.”

Akio snorts. “I’m allergic to cats.”

There’s a silence. “What, is that your only problem with that plan?”

“I don’t see any downsides to the rest of it. Do you?”

---

Nancy clears off the breakfast table. Mr. Branch is long gone, up to his office for a meeting with a few state senators on a piece of legislation, something about changing a holiday over to another holiday or something. She isn’t all that interested, really, but Mr. Branch likes to talk through things with her or the little pet before he gives interviews or has meetings. Likes a sounding board.

She’s paid well enough to listen, now and then, to something she doesn’t much care about.

Still, it means she’s late getting the table cleared.

She’s got her little radio set up in the corner, playing a soft rock station, just something to fill the silence broken otherwise only by the soft clinking of spoons on bowls. Mr. Branch had had oatmeal this morning, with fresh fruit and a drizzle of syrup on top, a scattering of almonds. Watching his figure, he says, with a smile, and Nancy always smiles back.

The coffee cup is going to have a ring, she’ll have to scrub that out, won’t she? Well, that’s not so bad.

You make me feel like I’m livin’ a teenage dream, the way you turn me on, a woman’s voice blares out from the radio.

Nancy wrinkles her nose.

Teenagers, in her experience, are entirely too much trouble and don’t know a damn thing. A song glorifying that whole lack of self-control doesn’t exactly seem like a good idea to her. Teenagers are a hassle, messy and a struggle to care for, and she can’t figure out why Mr. Branch wanted to bring one into the house so badly.

Well, no.

She knows why.

She tries very hard not to think about it, but she knows.

Honestly, Baldur is probably the most well-behaved teenager she’s ever met. The poor thing doesn’t have enough memory to be ungrateful, and he’s not going to roll his eyes or talk back any time soon, is it? They train all those impulses out of them, in that WRU facility.

He wouldn’t dare.

She hears a soft scrape, the unmistakable shuffling footsteps of Baldur himself, and glances up at the door.

He’s peeking in, Mr. Branch’s skinny pet, hair hanging over his hazy green eyes, slightly narrowed in an attempt to see her in focus through the drugs he is fed each morning like clockwork, keeping him slow, docile, easy to control.

Maybe he doesn’t roll his eyes because he’d fall over if he had to do more than one thing at once, including simply standing up.

“Can I help you?” Nancy asks, adding a sharp edge to the question. Her stomach flips, as always uneasy when she’s alone with the pet.

Baldur licks at his lips, carefully nudging the doorway open just a little more, his eyes shifting away from her and down to the floor. He’s barefoot and wearing a tailored sweater and slacks, like any high-class boy. What gives him away of course is the barefeet, and the collar at his throat, soft green leather that probably doesn’t feel any different than skin to him.

After all, he never takes them off.

Is he even fully aware he has one on?

“I… I like the song,” He says, slurring his words with difficulty. He sways a little, catches himself, sways again. Leaning against the doorframe for support. His eyes are so very wide, so deeply green. His narrow face is pinched with the effort it’s taking him to pull his thoughts together enough to speak. “On th’... the radio, Miss Nancy. Like th’ song.”

Nancy turns to glance at it, as though the radio had just appeared when he spoke about it.

Let’s run away and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back

He likes the song? He isn’t supposed to like anything.

She steps over to the radio and briskly changes to a different station. A warbling country song is halfway through, something about lights and a woman who left. Every light in the house is on…

Baldur flinches back.

He looks like a sad sort of kitten, and it makes Nancy feel angry and guilty in equal measures. She leans into the anger to avoid the hint of thought inside of her that makes her think perhaps she should push the damn thing out the front door, put him on a school bus with the field trip children, and pretend she has no idea how he got there.

Make him someone else’s problem.

But then she’d have to explain how she knew he was here in the first place for this long, wouldn’t she?

“You know you’re not allowed music,” She chides him, and watches him sink back into himself. She swallows back the guilt. She’s not the one who signed up to spread his legs for Mr. Branch, now is she? No, the boy made a choice, and it’s none of her concern what led to it or that he regrets it now. “What would your Sir say if he caught you skulking around eavesdropping on hardworking employees instead of taking a nap, hm? Or doing your exercises?”

“He would… be upset,” Baldur says, softly. “I’m sorry, Miss Nancy. I didn’t…” He swallows, again and again, as though there’s something in his throat. His head drops against the doorframe and she wonders if Oliver gave him too much this morning, if the poor boy is going to collapse into unconsciousness right here. “Please… please don’t tell him, Miss Nancy.”

Well, he better not collapse, because she sure won’t be picking him up if he does. He can lay right there and wait for Oliver to handle his disobedience. “I won’t, if you’re a good boy now. Go back to bed, Baldur,” She says, a little more gently this time. “Your Sir will want you well-rested this afternoon, his schedule is cleared then.”

He looks up at her, and for a second he looks incredibly young, and terribly frightened.

Her heart twists, before she can stop it.

I didn’t make him this. He chose it.

She hardens her expression against his fear. He’s afraid of Mr. Branch, she knows it well enough. He’s afraid, and he’s bruised at the wrists and ankles most of the time. Last week there were red marks around his neck at breakfast, and Mr. Branch would only mention a game, the poor love couldn’t stand forever, I suppose.

And he’d laughed.

She turns away from the pet’s terror, rattles the plates together to make a point that he is dismissed. She won’t look at those wide green eyes again. He signed a contract, after all. What is it to her if he doesn’t like the fine print?

“Yes, Miss Nancy,” He says softly, and in a second he’s gone. She listens to the fading shuffle of his footsteps along the hallway, the sound of Oliver’s bedroom door opening and closing. He’ll be out before ten minutes has passed, she has no doubt. He’ll sleep away the morning like he sleeps away so much of his life.

She makes a note to herself to be out of the residence before Mr. Branch comes back after lunch, ignoring the needling stab of something in the back of her mind, something very like guilt.

He’s a boy.

No, she reminds herself firmly. He’s a pet. And he chose to be one.

She turns the radio back to the soft rock station and tells herself she won’t think about him again.

---

“You think I’m pretty, without any makeup on,” Chris sings along with the mp3 player in the kitchen, dancing around with a wooden spoon up to his mouth like a microphone. “You think I’m funny when I tell the punchline wrong, I know you get me, so I let my walls come down… do-oh-own…”

His voice cracks on the high note, but Jake holds back any reaction, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on the countertop that he’s beginning to think is just part of the stupid house now. When does a stain stop being a stain and become a fixture?

And here you’ll see the sign of where I spilled pasta sauce and didn’t notice until the next day and what the fuck is the countertop even made of…

Not that Nat will sell this house, she’ll probably stay here until she’s a decrepit old woman surrounded by rescues taking care of her. The house is Nat, in a way that Jake can’t define and doesn’t really try. She’ll be telling people an epic story about it being a bloodstain or something one day, all wrinkled and gray-haired.

“My heart stops when you look at me,” Chris sings, and Jake watches his hair fly around as he spins, the copper catching yellowed morning sun through the kitchen window.

Should he tell Chris that he doesn’t stammer when he sings?

The barcode on the inside of his left wrist is the black blot marring the moment, the numbers etched in ink, an instant giveaway if he stepped one foot out the door around the wrong people. Here, he’s safe to show it. Here, he’s safe.

Mostly.

As safe as Jake can make him.

Jake’s rib still aches, off and on, but his black eye is gone and he’s back at school. It’s all back to normal, now, and Chris is right here where he belongs, where people love him, where Jake would take a bullet for him.

He can’t get the image of the shivering, shaking, terrified boy in the video he was shown out of his head. The way they laughed at his fear, the way he’d already learned to put out his hands to be hit when he was caught tapping to soothe himself.

He can’t stop seeing that boy and his fear layered over Chris’s easy joy now.

“This is real, so take a chance and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back,” Chris winks at him, or tries to - really he just sort of closes one eye horribly slow - and then goes back to humming along with the music. He dances effortlessly, and Jake wonders if he danced, before he was frightened in a white t-shirt and black shorts, before he had a barcode on his wrist, before they stuck a needle in his arm and took out everything that made him whoever he’d once been.

What did Chris do, before he was Chris, before he was the pet, before whatever went wrong for him? Did he take dancing lessons? Did he get good grades in school? He kind of acts like maybe he did, doesn’t he? He seems like he wants to try so hard for anyone who believes he can do something...

He can do backflips and cartwheels and climb trees, plays basketball with Miss Ruth’s grandson and his friends while Jake watches through a window, worried that he’ll be taken the next time, but not willing to lay that fear on Chris.

He’s scared of so much. Jake doesn’t want to add more terrors to the boy’s nightmares.

“I’m-a get your heart racing in my skin tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight,” Chris sings, wearing a baggy t-shirt of Jake’s and baggier basketball shorts. Chris, who crawls into Jake’s bed more nights than not, ever since the raid, who sleeps curled up against him for warmth and safety.

Chris, who doesn’t test him anymore, but admitted that he’s scared that it will happen again. Who told Kauri, in whispers in the dark, that he’s never wanted to be with anyone, that it was always fear and pain and holding screams back behind his teeth while forcing himself to make the sounds they trained into him.

Jake’s stomach flips with nausea, guilt for something he couldn’t possibly have prevented. It’s not his fault, but it feels like it is, he feels like he should have psychically known the kid was out there and gone to find him.

He would have.

If anything ever happens to him again, Jake won’t stop until he finds him. He knows that. He understands that, with perfect certainty.

They’ll never take Chris, they could raid the house a hundred times, and Jake would make sure Chris never went back into that hell, no matter what. No, Chris gets to be safe, here, singing and dancing around the kitchen, like any teenager enjoying a moment where he wants to be a dork, and doesn’t care who sees it.

Jake smiles a little, giving up and sitting back in a chair at the table, watching Chris dance while he dries off a dish, goes up on tiptoe to put it in the cabinet, turns back, warbles, “My heart stops when you look at me…”

Did Chris have a girlfriend, or boyfriend? A partner? Just, like, a best friend even? Someone he cared about like this? Does this song tap on some buried memory or impulse towards loving someone? Jake just watches him dance, and sing, and smiles.

He doesn’t even protest when Chris starts the song over as soon as it stops.

I came back for you, he thinks. Just like I promised. Do whatever you want, I’ll be right here. I’m right here. You’re safe.

Jake hears a slight sound and turns to see Nat in the doorway watching as well, in her housecoat but with her braid done carefully up, arms crossed in front of her. Chris doesn’t pause, if he even notices her, just keeps dancing as he empties the dishwasher piece by piece with his back to the door, signing in a soft, slight, cracking voice along with the higher voice coming from the speakers.

Nat looks less shadowed, now, and her bruises have faded away.

Still.

WRU came to round up a pet, and Nat and Jake protected him, and fuck it-

If he wants to listen to music Jake hates, let him. He’s a kid. Let him be a kid.

Chris has lost enough.

Let him have joy.

---

“Do you remember this?” Akio can’t stop himself from asking, even though it’s a total crapshoot as to what Tris’s answer will be.

Not Tris. Chris.

The knowledge hurts, it’s a knife in Akio’s stomach every single time, that Tristan was lost so thoroughly that the man who showed up with his face and his blood and his bones didn’t remember his own name until he saw the video with Akio and had… some kind of breakdown or something.

But Chris is so close, and Akio uses that to remind him that it means Tris is close, that he was never fully gone. He’s still here. He just looks a little different, now, he’s quieter, but it’s all still there, bubbling up and sinking beneath the surface again, leaving imprints of memories that make it easier for Chris to grab onto them and hold tight the next time.

The way he smiles, the way he taps and rocks and sways and stammers, it’s all still there. It’s all still Tristan Higgs, in the end, and Chris Stanton and Tristan Higgs are the same fucking guy. The teenager in Akio’s memories and stored in old photos and videos on his computer and his phone is the same person as the man sitting next to him.

One just… lived through some stuff the other one hadn’t yet, and has the scars - inside and out - to show it.

“I, I, I don’t know,” Chis says, leaning forward, looking at the video Akio’s pulled up on his laptop. They’re at an outdoor café, with the sun shining warm on their backs. Chris’s hair is starting to grow back in, the occasional blue tip fading back to new-penny copper, and the bandages are off of his face and neck. His forehead’s going to have a wicked fucking scar, though.

Chris says he doesn’t care, that it shows that he could change himself, when he needs to. That he isn’t just here to be changed by other people. His shoulder brushes Akio’s as he cocks his head. “Sorry, stuff… um, comes and, and, and goes.”

“That’s okay. Here, I’ll press play. We had this one finished, more or less, but we never recorded the full bit.” Chris nods, holding his coffee up to his mouth to sip at it.

Akio hits play, and the guitar starts up.

Chris laughs, and it’s Tristan’s laugh - bright and unselfconscious, loud enough to get a glance from someone nearby reading a book, before they look back down again. “I love, I, I, I love this this this song!”

“Oh, Christ.” Akio laughs, too, he can’t stop himself. “Of course you’d still like that song. Of all the things you lost, you kept Katy Perry?”

You think I’m pretty, without any makeup on…

The routine starts with Tris and Akio together in the middle of the mat, watching each other, hands linked. As she starts to sing, they shift apart, and Chris watches, enraptured, so close to the screen that Akio almost can’t see it anymore himself, not that he’s watching the screen.

He’s watching Chris, instead.

Chris’s foot taps to the beat and he starts to rock a little, forward and back, biting down on his lower lip with his teeth as the Akio and Tristan on the screen separate enough to hit their separate corners. Tris runs forward - then Akio does, a half-beat later.

You make me feel like I’m livin’ a teenage dream

They match flips and spins. Tristan lands and then Akio does, spinning to look at each other, laughing as Tris drops into a split and then up again and Akio… definitely doesn’t do that. Akio can do a lot of things, but he is not risking that particular move, not the way Tristan does it-

Or… did it.

Let’s go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love…

“I, I, I remember doing this,” Chris whispers. “I, I made my mom pretend to to to, to, to, to-to be you in the backyard when I made, made it up. She was a really, really bad dancer.” He winces, rubbing at the side of his head.

Akio nods, slowly, leaning in, looking at Chris as he watches himself dance on the screen. He’s squinting against the ache, but still watching. “Yeah, but she would do anything you wanted her to. I can see her trying to keep up.” He pauses, lets the tinny music play from his laptop speakers along with the noise of the gym around them as Akio and Tristan do another run. Akio doesn’t quite hit his landing on that one, but they don’t stop, dancing towards and around each other with easy, effortless understanding of each other’s space.

“You, you, you hated Katy Perry,” Chris says, softly. His fingers twitch, holding tightly to his coffee cup. “But, but-”

“But you fucking loved that shit,” Akio says, with a grin.

“I, I, I still do. Laken hates it, too.”

“See, I knew I liked them for a reason. You and my sister used to sing ‘Firework’ at me until I thought I was going to lose my fucking mind.”

“I, I, I still sing it to Laken. They, they throw pillows at me.” Chris hits the space button, pausing the video, and turns to look at Akio. His eyes are still so wide, in his narrow face, and so earnest and uncertain. Akio swallows. It feels like stepping sideways through time, every time Tristan’s eyes look at him in Chris Stanton’s face. “Were you, you, you good… without me? Did you, um, do okay?”

Akio’s smile softens into something sadder. “After a while. I got back on track, but for a year or so… I guess I just wasted away without you. You want to hear something stupid?”

“Al, always.”

Akio huffs out laughter, and digs his phone out of his pocket. He taps a few times and then lays it on the table between them. “Look at this.”

Chris looks down, fingertips just grazing the phone case, and his lips press together into a line as his eyes glimmer, shimmering with tears that don’t quite fall. “Wh-what-”

“It’s all the music you like that I hated,” Akio says, voice hoarse and rough. “I made this playlist a month after your aunt said-... you know.”

“It’s, it’s, it’s called ‘I Miss Tris’,” Chris says, softly. His voice sounds awed. Like he’s looking at something sacred and not Akio’s stupid ‘having a bad night’ playlist. “And the, the, the first song-”

“Fucking Teenage Dream.” Akio watches Chris scroll down the list, pretends he doesn’t see the droplet of saltwater that lands there, that Chris quickly wipes away with his sleeve, rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand. “It’s been, what, six or seven years since, you know, your parents, and… god, I’ve gotten a new phone every couple years and I still have this fucking playlist. Still listen to it, too. Whenever I want to mope around being sad about you.”

“In… in there… they, they, they tell us no one misses us.” Chris’s voice is low. He doesn’t look up. “That, that, that our lives were so so so-so bad that this was better. That no one… no, no, no one missed us being gone, no one wants us, that we-we-we weren’t… worth loving. I believed it. And my-... um.” Chris flushes, just a little. “He told me I, I, I, I wasn’t something you could-could love.” Chris’s eyes go distant, and he seems to sink back into himself a little, hunching his shoulders. “P-pretty, but, but, but not… worth being more than I was.”

Akio’s jaw works, fighting a mix of grief and rage that threatens to knock him to the floor, drown him in the intensity of it. He’s been hearing bits and pieces, whenever Chris feels safe enough to let one more bit of the horror that made up his past few years slip out.

Akio wonders what it’s going to do to his career if he goes public as a lib activist, and if he even gives a fuck about that anymore.

If Vincent Shield can do it, he can too, right?

Then again, Vincent Shield wasn’t about to be publicly not straight for the first time and also a pet lib activist. Akio’s mom and dad are going to be so pissed when he tells them his idea-

He doesn’t care.

His parents aren’t going anywhere. Neither is Ben, whatever he and Ben are, neither is Tristan Higgs.

Not this time.

Nobody else should have to listen to someone they loved come back from the dead and hear them say they told me no one loved me, they told me no one missed me, they told me no one cared.

So... maybe Akio can go up on the fucking pedestal, medal around his neck, and tell WRU to go fuck themselves. Maybe he can tell Chris’s Aunt Jo to go fuck herself specifically.

You told us he was dead, and you gave him to people who made him believe he was nothing, and you thought we’d never find him. And we didn’t.

God, he had to find us.

His career’s going to go down in flames if he does what he’s planning, and Akio Nakamura is rapidly discovering he no longer cares.

“Loved. You were-... loved.” His voice is tight and strained, cracking on the edges of his words. His hand curls into a fist on his thigh where it’s resting, digging his nails into his palms. “And missed. We would have-... we would have wanted you, Chris. My mom and I, my little sister won’t admit it, hell my dad… we missed you. Those assholes just wanted you to lose hope. And I’m glad the fucker who hurt you is dead.”

“They, they, they take everything. Aki,” Chris pushes Akio’s phone back to him, and looks back at the laptop screen, an image of himself, years ago, flashing a brilliant smile, with Akio rolling his eyes in return as they pressed their hands palm-to-palm, frozen mid-move. “But, but, but it’s not really gone. I remember how, how, how much you hate this song. And, and, and I remember that you still danced it with me. So, so, so that’s a start, right?”

“It’s a start.” Akio presses the button to start the video again. “And we’ve got plenty of time.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript, @itallcomesdowntopain

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futurewriter2000 · 4 years ago

Text

Heartless - pt. 12

A/N: Oh, man.... I love this. I was literally swinging left and right as I was writing the last part, listening to the song.

James and Sirius were both laughing as they ran to the house, one racing the other. They were like two children, filled with life as they both like the wind.

“PADS!” James shouted, laughing and running to him. “WE’RE APPARATING!”

“WHAT?!”

“WE’RE APPARATING!”

“WE DON’T KNOW HOW TO APPARTE!”

“WE’RE DOING IT NOW!” James jumped on Sirius and apparated with him, tumbling into the living room floor.

They both looked at each other, traced their hands all over their body just in case if one left their leg somewhere in Switzerland. Sirius still wasn’t of age, until November, to use magic but since James was, all he wanted to do was use it. When they saw each other apparate for the first time.

“Bloody hell, mate! You actually made us apparate!”

“ARE YOU TWO BLOODY INSANE!” Fleamont came rushing into the room with his face red as tomato.

“I did as you said dad!” James shouted, jumping around him meanwhile Fleamont grabbed James’ shoulder firmly and forced him to stop.

“YOUR ROOM! BOTH OF YOU!” his voice boomed through the room meanwhile James’ smile faded at the sight of his father’s anger. He wanted to argue with him but then he saw you sitting in the background, avoiding his eyes as your mother sat beside you and another man stood there.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to push his father’s hand away but Fleamont didn’t let him.

“Alastor Moody?” Sirius walked into the kitchen, smiling at the man as the man only grunted. “Blimey, sir.”

“What is it boy?!” Moody grunted, turning to Sirius. “Oh, you look just like your father. Except the hair. The hair is new.”

“And so is your missing eye.”

“I-”

“Boys.” your father said again and both of them looked up at him. “Room. Now. I will not ask again.”

“This seems like a family matter. Sirius and I are-”

“James, out.”

“But-”

“JAMES!”

“DAD! IT ISN’T FAIR-”

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER GET INTO YOUR ROOM OR I WILL LOCK YOU INSIDE! I HAVE ENOUGH THINGS ON MY MIND DON’T LET YOU BE ONE OF THEM!” by now your father resembled the colour red, almost defined it.

You had never seen your father this mad, nor did James or anybody else but your father had more problems in his mind then James’ behaviour.

“Oh, so I’m a problem now?”

“Yes, now go up to your room before I make you, son!”

“I hate you.” James growled at him and looked at Sirius, who was looking at you, who was looking back at Sirius.

He gave you a soft, comforting smile and nodded. He left with James, always looking back at you to give you the comfort nobody else could.

When you all heard James slam the door shut, your father let out a long breath then turned back to the three of you. He looked at Moody and gave him a stern look. “I’m not sending her away, Alastor. She’ll be safe at Hogwarts.”

“She’d be safer at Beuxbetons or Durmstrang-”

“Durmstrang! All they do is black magic! The Dark Lord could have a bunch of-”

“Hogwarts isn’t safe with her, Fleamont!”

“Dumbledore can surely-”

“Dumbledore can only do just as much!”

“How about I go to Hogwarts... It’s my last year. Everybody will know something is wrong, Alastor.” you stood up and walked up to your father. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you gave him a small, soft smile before looking back at Moody. “You can teach me-”

“Like I have the time for you, you silly girl. I have more important things to do than teach you silly old spells.”

“They’re not silly! I am not silly! I can fight and I can do so much more things. Just because I am a girl, does not mean I am useless!”

“You being a girl is not the issue. You can think as highly as you want, girl but the Dark Lord has years of experiance that you would only dream of. If he gets you in his hands again-”

“He won’t!”

“I won’t be there to save you next time!”

You shut your lips as the terrible events of that night came rushing back into your memory. You turned around, showing him your back as tears started to gather in your eyes. You swallowed them thickly.

“Then find somebody who will!” you said sharply, turning at him and glaring back. “Find a Legilimen! Find somebody who knows-”

“They would never agree to do what you ask of. You’re better off at Durmstrang. They have the best Legilimen teachers.”

“I don’t want Durmstrang! I want Hogwarts!”

“Then I can’t help you!”

“Then I’ll help myself! If you don’t want to teach me- if Dumbledore doesn’t want to teach me then I’ll just teach myself!”

“That’s impossible-”

“No, it’s not.” your mother suddenly cut in, standing up on her two feet and finally getting some colour in her face. She walked to all the three of you and glared at Moody. “I am grateful for saving my daughter-” she took a hold of your shoulders and kept her hands firm on them. “- but my uncle was a self-learned Legilimen and he was successful in anything. She is like him and I know she is better than anybody in this family. She can do this. If she wants to go to Hogwarts, we will send her to Hogwarts with her brother but the only thing I ask you Alastor to check up on her-”

“Mom!”

“Somebody needs to.” she turned to you, smiling. “I know you’re strong. You’ve always been stronger than any of us now you have to let us help you at least a bit. I almost lost you, I’m not taking that risk again.” she then turned back to Moody. “We will pay you ot teach her the Dark Arts- the proper Dark Arts. Four times a week or three times a week. It can be you or somebody you know.”

“Alright.” Moody said, making everybody silence in surprise. “It won’t be me, though. I know you Potters are stubborn but so am I. I’ll find you a good Auror.” and with that he was gone in a blink of a second.

---

You came into your room and closed your door behind you. Leaning on them, you looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath in. “God-”

“Sirius but you can call me God too-”

“BLOODY HELL!” you jumped at the sight of the dark figure in the bed, reading a book under the bed lamp. He was grinning at you, watching you hold your heart and slide down the door from horror.

“Jumpy, are we?”

“Merlin, what are you doing here?”

“James shut the door before I made it inside. Guessed he wants to be alone.”

“Oh.” you said, letting your head fall into your palms and rubbing them against your eyes, letting out an exhausted groan.

He kept looking at you, his eyes focused on the blue lines on your arms. Your sweater was too big, stretched out and worn out, making the sleeves fall down your arms, almost to your elbows. There were black lines, blue lines- like veins, like cuts- something he had never seen before.

He felt a long pit in his stomach form but he swallowed every emotion into that pit. He closed the book and slid down the bed. He leaned on it, sitting opposite of you and watching you.

“How are you?” he asked, making you look up and throw your head back.

“Great, as you can see.” you smiled, closing your eyes and wishing he would be next to you. Wishing so hard he would crawl to you and take a hold of you but when you opened your eyes, he was still there- so far away.

He kept watching you for a moment or two, just before he stood up and walked to your stereo and finding a Muggle station he loved to listen to. He never told this to anybody but James, Peter and Remus but he loved to turn on Muggle radio stations just to piss of his parents. Who knew that he would end up enjoying Muggle music?

It started on the middle of the song, making Sirius smile and how beautiful he looked when he showed his smile- especially the kind that made his eyes sparkle with mischief.

He stepped in rhythm with the song, offering you a hand. “Dance with me?”

“Sirius...”

“Come on, you grandma.” he took your hand and pulled you up, placing his hand on your hip and the other into his, swinging with you on the song.

“You don’t have to do this...” you said, smiling at him before leaning a bit forward to his chest. “But it’s really nice.”

“ I'll be there 'til the stars don't shine 'Til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme .” he started to sing with the song, making you smile and hold him close.

You put your hand on his chest, leaning your head on it as well and hearing his slow heartbeat as he held you close, singing softly in your ear.

“And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind And I'll love you, always ...” he kept going on, leaning his head on you and letting the song play on by itself. Until he pulled back and stepped back a bit, the bass guitar playing faster and louder, “ What I'd give to run my fingers through your hair To touch your lips, to hold you near When you say your prayers, try to understand I've made mistakes, I'm just a man!!!!!” he shouted loudly and dramatically , taking your hand and pulling you close, swinging with you on your feet and hearing you laugh next to him.

“I didn’t know you were such a singer, Black.” you started to tease, pulling a bit away and wrapping your arms around his neck and going from one foot to another.

“I can be a lot of things, Potter. You only say the word.” his eyes flashed a little mischief, just as his grin, just before he turned his head away, avoiding the moment and hearing the music change. His grin spread and he pushed himself away, opening his arms and singing from the depth of his lungs. “TAAAAKEEEEE MEEEEEEE!!!! TO THEE MAGICCC OF THE MOMENTTTTT!!!!!! ONN A GLOORY NIGHT! WHERE THE CHILDREN OF TOMORROWWW!!! DREAAM OFF-”

“Oh, my God Sirius.” you ran to him, placing your hand over his mouth. “It’s late.” you laughed and he looked kept humming despite your hand on top of his lips, dancing with his eyes as well as his hips.

“Can’t help the music.” he took your hand and spun you around, dancing with you more relaxed and taking a hold of you from behind you, swinging you left and right as his hands kept holding yours.

And you wished it would be like this forever... forever like a dream, your dream....

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #james potter #james potter imagines #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders imagines #marauders fanfiction #marauders era

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earlysunsetsoverambrose · 4 years ago

Text

Kodachrome (5/5)

Sinclairs x f!Reader

Warning: Cursing

It was coming up on six o’clock in Ambrose. You and Lester made it back about half an hour ago and settled in to wait for Bo and Vincent to return. They arrived around fifteen minutes after you.

Bo was now smoking out of a cracked window, insisting it was too hot to stand outside but knowing you didn’t like the smell lingering in the house. He was still in his long-sleeved uniform. You knew better than to tell him to change or roll up his sleeves at least, but you wanted him to be comfortable. There was no way he wasn’t dying from the way he was sweating through it. It was better to let him make that call on his own, however; and to not utter a single word about it in the rare case he actually did decide to change.

Vincent was sitting up on the couch sketching with Jonesy taking up the other half. He ditched his sweater, wearing an old tank instead. He also had his hair pulled up from his neck in a loose ponytail, but still wore his mask.

Lester – who had all but tossed his hat and over shirt across the room upon returning home – was helping you in the kitchen, distributing the sweet tea and lemonade. He took Vincent a glass of lemonade before settling himself on the floor with his own glass of sweet tea. You followed close behind with Bo’s sweet tea and a lemonade for yourself.

“It’s not a beer, but it’s still good.” You said as you approached Bo. He stubbed out his cigarette and took the glass from you.

“I suppose it’ll do.” Bo said, feigning a sigh of disappointment. He took a few sips and glanced at the glass and back to you, “Damn, if that isn’t good.”

“Glad you approve.” You said as you took a drink of your lemonade.

“So, you take any good pictures after I kicked you to the curb?” Bo asked

“In fact, I did. No thanks to you.” You said cheekily, glancing at your camera and photographs that you had set on the pool table “I’m going to fill an album with my cheesy, crappy pictures and you know what I’m going to do after that?”

“I gotta know.” Bo deadpanned

“I’m going to fill another.” You said eagerly “And another and so on, so forth.”

“If that’s what gets you outta bed in the mornin’.” Bo said with a shrug. Before you could fire back, a rumble from outside interrupted you. You and Bo looked outside to see storm clouds suddenly rolling in above your little town, “God damn it.”

“What? It’s just a little rain.” You said with excitement, “Might even cool things down a little.”

“I just repainted the fence in front of the apartments. I’m gonna have to fuckin’ do it all again.” Bo huffed

“Don’t worry about it right now, Bo. I’ll help you redo it, if you want.” You offered, “We’re having fun, no need to get worked up.”

“Whatever.” Bo said glaring out the window, willing the clouds away. With that, the rain started falling, tapping on the roof and walls of the home.

“It’s not so bad. I love the rain!” you said trying to lift his spirits.

“What’s there to love? The humidity? The flooding? The leaks in the roof?” Bo asked sarcastically.

“C’mon, didn’t you ever run around in the rain as a kid? Roll around in mud puddles?” You asked.

“No, ‘cuz I didn’t grow up in a pigpen.” Bo snarked, “And if I tracked mud in the house, my old man woulda killed me. He hated mess.”

You set down your glass and made your way out the door and onto the steps. All three Sinclair brothers looked after you, curious to know what you were getting up to now. You stuck your hand out into the downpour, catching the warm droplets as the nostalgia of the summer rain from your childhood struck your senses. You turned around to find the brothers gathered at the door way looking at you with confusion. The look on their faces was a harsh reminder than none them had the same childhood memories you did; they never got the chance. Well, now was as good a time as ever to change that. You dashed back into the house, the brothers parting as you darted up the stairs. You returned with the portable radio from your room. You stared back at the Bo, Vincent, and Lester.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen, I’m going to put on some music and we’re all going to run around in the rain like we’re little kids again, got it.” You practically ordered, “We’re going to have fun.”

“I’m in!” Lester chimed in ecstatically, “It’s gotta beat sittin’ ‘round sweatin’!”

“No fuckin’ way.” Bo refused flat out, “That really what you call fun growin’ up?”

“Yes, because it is fun.” You argued, “What about you, Vincent?” he looked down at the ground, twiddling his fingers, unconvinced. “Well, I can’t make you do anything, but I’m going outside and I’m going to have a blast.” You said determinately. You pushed past the brothers and stopped at the door, “C’mon, Jonesy!”

Jonesy leapt up from the couch and launched herself outside, ahead of you. You could always count on her and Lester. You fiddled with the dial of your radio, quickly tuning in to a classic rock station, Creedence Clearwater Revival lighting up the airwaves. You turned the radio all the way up and set it to the side on the stairs, still under cover from the rain. You quickly yanked Lester outside, both of you laughing as the rain met your skin. You tapped Lester on the shoulder,

“You’re it!” you declared, darting away with Jonesy, screaming as you put distance between you and Lester. After only a second to process, Lester ran full speed behind you, determined to catch up. You and your canine companion ran in big circles, to avoid getting tagged back. The bombardment of raindrops, smacked against your skin, running into your eyesight, “C’mon, Jonesy, keep running or he’ll catch us!”

“Got ya!” Lester lightly smacked the back of your neck before turning on a dime and speeding away from you, “Gotta be faster than that, Y/N!”

“I’ll show you fast!” you called wiping the rainy haze from your eyes as you sprinted after him with Jonesy barking her support. You nearly had him multiple times, but he always managed to abruptly alter his course, just out of your reach. You never knew Lester could be so elusive. Despite all the fun, your lungs already burned and you were already slowing down. As Lester got father away, you glanced down at Jonesy, “I don’t think I can go on! Avenge me, Jonesy!” you said dramatically as you patted her on the head, “You’re it, Jonesy, go get him! Get Lester!”

Jonesy barked in understanding, speeding up to catch Lester. You jogged after them as you witnessed Jonesy rear back on her hind legs and push Lester from behind, forcing him to the ground before attacking him with kisses.

“Good girl!” you praised as you caught up to them, catching your breath, “You got him!”

“She got me alright!” Lester laughed through the slobbery assault.

Vincent and Bo watched the game unfold from the staircase. Through it all, Vincent had made his way to the edge of the rainfall and put his hand out like you had done just moments ago.

“Just look at those two, laughin’ like idiots.” Bo said with a shake of his head as he crossed his arms. He glanced at his twin to see him eyeing the rain with curiosity, “Don’t tell me you’re gonna start too.”

Vincent looked back with a sheepish glance before turning around to see you helping Lester to his feet. He tilted his head as he watched you instruct his younger brother to copy the way you looked up at the sky and held out your arms, spinning around and around until you both fell on your butts. The sound of both of you laughing cut through the rain and the music. You were having so much fun together.

“Good God, they’ve finally lost it.” Bo quipped.

“I heard that, Bo!” you shouted, pushing away the hair that stuck to your face, “You know that could’ve been you that shoved Lester to the ground, but you missed out!”

“C’mon, Bo! Don’t ya wanna wrestle, for old times’ sake? Or are ya ‘fraid of losin’?” Lester taunted

“Fuck no.” Bo stated. You, Lester and Jonesy made your way to the staircase, still standing in the rain.

“How about you, Vincent? Change your mind?” you asked pleadingly. Vincent’s eye darted between you, the rain, and Bo. “Please, for me? Just for a little while?” Vincent glanced back at Bo who rolled his eyes,

“Hey, don’t let me stop you from makin’ a fool of yourself.” Bo said with a wave of his hand, “Be my guest.”

“Every party needs a pooper, Bo!” You teased as you drew Vincent into the rain party. Bo scoffed as he lit up another cigarette, continuing to watch from his sheltered spot.

As the rain fell over Vincent, he held his hands out to catch the drops, looking up at the storm clouds. There was something refreshing about standing in a rain like this. It wasn’t like getting caught in a storm and freezing from the cold winds behind it. It was warm and comforting, like the season of summer was wrapping him in its embrace.

“See, it’s not so bad, right?” your voice drew Vincent from his daze. He nodded in agreement,

“Never thought of rain like this.” He said softly

“Things like rain can always turn into fun if you’re with the right people.” You told him with a sweet smile.

As puddles began to form, Jonesy started zooming through them with Vincent jogging in tow, splashing you and Lester in their wake. You two were distracted trying to catch raindrops on your tongues, giggling every time you were successful. It was only a few moments later you saw Bo move to the edge of the rain and glance up at the clouds. You turned to face him,

“Come on, Bo!” you begged

“If ya’ll wanna make assholes of yourselves, that’s fine! I told you to leave me out of it!” Bo shouted back, digging his heels in and turning his back to all of you to finish his cigarette in peace. You grumbled to yourself.

“Hey, I got a way to get Bo to play along.” Lester whispered.

“This won’t end in either of you getting maimed or put him in a foul mood will it?” you asked cautiously.

“No promises, but Bo’s always in a bad mood, anyway.” Lester said with a mischievous grin, “I used to do this all the time when we was kids. Used to dander him up real quick. Watch this.”

“Wait, Lester!” you called in a hushed voice. He ignored you as he silently crept up behind his oldest brother as you prayed for his safety and Bo’s mercy. You bore horrified, silent witness as Lester drew closer to Bo, stopping just behind him. Without hesitation, Lester smacked Bo across the back of the head, lurching him forward, before hauling ass. Bo did a double take, not realizing what just happened until he registered Lester’s retreating figure. His face twisted in scowl as his face turned bright red, as he threw down his cigarette.

“You get the fuck back over here, you smelly bastard!” Bo shouted as he ran after his younger brother, “I’m gonna rip your arm off and smack you across the head, see how you like it! I swear to Christ I will!”

“I’m sorry! Don’t hurt me, Bo! I’m just a boy!” Lester called back through his fit of hysterical laughter. Threat of physical dismemberment or not, Lester was having a grand old time. They continued to yell back and forth through their game of chase.

“Wait! Bo! Lester!” you cried as you followed after them with Vincent, “Bo, don’t hurt your brother!” You were pretty sure Bo wasn’t as angry as he said he was. If he really wanted to kill Lester, he wouldn’t be shouting so much.

Bo finally caught up to Lester in the grass and tackled him into the mud. The two of them wrestled, trying to get the other in a headlock first, rolling all around a mudpuddle. You and Vincent caught up and watched from the sidelines. Part of you wanted to stop them so neither of them would get hurt, but the other part wanted to see how this played out. Bo eventually got the upper hand, shaking Lester back and forth by his shirt.

“Wait, wait! Bo! Stop, please!” Lester pleaded, “Just let me say somethin’!” Bo stopped his literal shakedown, narrowing his eyes skeptically.

“What?” he hissed angrily.

“I hope ya like pie.” Lester said with a deep breath in.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Mud pie!” Lester screeched as he hurled a huge wad of mud directly in Bo’s face, knocking off his hat. You and Vincent’s hands flew to your mouths. Lester used the initial shock to scurry out of Bo’s grip to just a few feet in front of him. There had never been a moment more fragile, nobody dared say anything. Silence never seemed so loud before. Bo slowly moved his hands to his eyes and scooped away the mud with a violent flick of his hands. It was so funny, but you were too scared to laugh. He looked so mad that he hadn’t seen that one coming. Bo’s blue eyes peaked out from the brown of the mud as he shifted his dangerous glare on Lester again. The youngest Sinclair practically gulped with a nervous smile, “No hard feelins?”

As Bo pounced once more, you and Vincent jumped up. Vincent tried to hold Bo back while you did what you could to release his grip on Lester’s ankle. While you two struggled to keep them at bay, Lester and Bo kept flinging handfuls of mud at one another. All of you yelling over one another the whole time. Vincent quickly lost his grip on his twin from the slick mud and rain covering both of them now. Bo swiftly swiped up another handful of mud, reeling back with reckless abandon and zero aim, thus whipping you directly in the face. The force knocked you back as you sputtered through the dirt in your mouth and eyes.

All grappling ceased with gasps from all three of brothers. Vincent slowly moved toward you with his hands out, trying to see if you needed help. You caught a glimpse of their concerned faces through the muddy haze. In reality, you were biting back a smirk as you were about to get retribution. You started violently rubbing at your eyes,

“Ow, ow, my eyes! It hurts! I can’t see!” you feigned helplessness, adding a waver to your voice for effect. They were all on their feet in an instant. Vincent came up next to you and tilted your head up to the rain to try to help flush your eyes. Lester patted your shoulder to comfort you, telling you not to panic. Bo grabbed your wrists from your face,

“Shit, Y/N!” he said, frustration masking the guilt, “Stop rubbing at ‘em, you’re gonna make it worse. Let me see.”

“No! This is your fault!” you said, screwing your eyes tighter.

“Don’t be a brat, let me take a look!” Bo ordered. With that, you opened your eyes and snapped your head forward with an evil smirk. “What the h-”

Without warning, you tackled him back into the mudpuddle, startling all three brothers. With Bo stunned for the second time that evening, you scooped up all the mud you could hold and plopped it on his face.

“Suck mud, Sinclair!” you yelled with wicked laughter. Bo sat up, knocking you over,

“You little shit!” he fumed “You play dirty!”

“I play to win, old man!” you boasted. Bo got up, ready to attack again, before Lester joined the fray once more, piling more mud onto his older brother’s hair. Bo yanked Lester from behind him and hooked an arm around his neck.

“I can take both of you, bring it on!” Bo proclaimed as he dunked Lester’s head in the mud over and over. You wrapped your arms around Bo’s broad shoulders and tried to drag him back down into the mud with you, a difficult feat as he was twice your size, “The hell are you tryin’ to do? Choke me out?”

“If it’s death by mud for one, is death by mud for all!” you shouted through your struggle. Jonesy started running around the three of you, caking all of you in splashes of mud.

Vincent didn’t know whether to be amused or distraught at the spectacle before him. At least you weren’t actually hurt. Watching you all squabble while Bo struggled between keeping Lester in a headlock and all your weight pulling him backwards was sight to be seen. He could have never predicted this was how his day would end. He tilted his head and watched, knowing better than to get involved. He got hit with a few rogue mud pies, but he wasn’t too bothered about it since he was already a mess from trying to hold back Bo. It seemed he was the only adult living with three children.

Eventually the three of you wore yourself out by the time you were pretty much caked in mud from head to toe. You, Bo, and Lester ended sitting in the mud puddle, too tired to continue the scuffle. You were leaning back on your hands, Lester was laying back completely, and Bo was sitting back on his knees. The rain, now more of a light drizzle, washed a little of the mud away, but not much. You all glanced at one another, taking in your ridiculous states and couldn’t help but laugh at yourselves. You and Lester started another fit of hysterics as Bo cracked a smiled. Vincent even chuckled under his mask.

“See, now wasn’t that fun?” you asked them as you all continued to laugh. It was a successful mud fight if ever there was one.

“Yeah, loads. I love havin’ mud and dirt in my ass crack.” Bo snorted as he stood up from the puddle, searching for his hat.

“I thought it was a riot, Y/N!” Lester disagreed as he stood up as well “Can’t believe we didn’t try this sooner. Most fun I’ve had in some time.”

“Did you have fun, Vincent?” you asked

“Yes. Messy, though.” He rasped, taking in the mud that had left Jonesy’s fur completely brown. He looked back at you saying, “It was nice.”

“I wanted you all to have fun for a little while. Thought you all deserved a break.” You said as Vincent and Lester hauled you up from the mud.

“Well, personally, I’m all funned out.” Bo said sarcastically as he placed his hat back on his head “And next time you actually hurt yourself, I’m not gonna do a thing about it. Make you think twice ‘bout cryin’ wolf.”

“I was just getting even with you for smacking me in the face. But I’m sorry if I worried any of you.” You said

“Fine, I suppose we’re even, in that case. Just don’t do it again.” Bo said with a wave of his hand, unconcerned with the whole ordeal, “Now, let’s go home. I need another cigarette since someone made me drop my other one.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go back.” You agreed.

As you all made your way back to the front of the house, the trickle gave way to a light mist. The comforting smell of raindrops hanging on the cedar trees enveloped your senses; bringing with it a unique kind of serenity. The radio was still going strong. Bo leaned up against the staircase and lit another cigarette from the pack he’d thankfully left behind from the mud war. Vincent sat on the top stairs with Jonesy, starting to wipe off her paws with an old rag from the porch. Lester popped inside the house to grab his sweet tea before returning outside and descending the stairs again to make idle conversation with Bo. You were sitting in silence next to Vincent and Jonesy, taking it all in.

Your attention was pulled to the radio as a different song started up. You recognized it. It was that old Paul Simon song ‘Kodachrome.’ Far too serendipitous to be ignored. You jumped up from your seat and ran back inside for your camera, none of the boys concerned with your disappearance. You came back to stand in the doorway and pointed your camera at the brothers.

“Everyone say: Cheesy, Crappy Photos!” you chirped. They all looked up at you. Bo with a half-annoyed, half-amused glance. Lester beaming with an enthusiastic wave. Vincent content and comfortable, sitting with Jonesy pulled up in his lap. With an infamous click, your camera printed out the picture and you set it face down by the others on the pool table. You returned to sit back on the porch, camera still in hand. The Paul Simon song echoed through the summer air.

Kodachrome They give us those nice bright colors They give us the greens of summers Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, oh yeah I got a Nikon camera I love to take a photograph So mama, don't take my Kodachrome away

Well, unlike Mr. Simon, you didn’t have Kodachrome film or a Nikon camera, but you did have a Polaroid and a fire under your ass. Maybe you were romanticizing this whole thing too much, maybe these photographs wouldn’t mean a thing, but you didn’t care. Moments like these deserved to be remembered in color, for all they’re worth. Bo, Vincent, and Lester deserve to have good days that they want look back on. If there was a chance just one photo could give that to them, you had to try.

So, if a picture is worth a thousand words, there were a billion things you were going to tell them.

#house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair #house of wax #slasher imagine #my writing #lester sinclair #tw: cursing #slasher x reader #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #kodachrome #female reader

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writtenonreceipts · 4 years ago

Note

can u do no 43 but they are not together yet with jily? i didn’t said the couple in the other one

thanks for the ask! hope you enjoy

Thick flakes of snow hurtled with reckless abandon just outside the Common Room window on Christmas Eve. Lily curled in the love seat just beneath the panes. She kept her knees pulled to her chest; arms wrapped around them. A thick quilt wrapped around her shoulders despite the fireplace cackling happily with fresh logs. It was peaceful.

The Holiday Break began several days ago and most students had chosen to go home. A far greater number than Lily had expected, but at least it left the castle quiet and still.

Leaning her head back against the plush pillows set up in the little alcove with her, Lily did her best to enjoy the solitude of the night. She would admit to herself and herself alone that this was not how she wanted to spend Christmas. Mary had tried to invite Lily to her house for the holiday. Alice too. Dorcas of course remained. More out of a sense of protest than anything. Still, having at least one of her friends close at hand was welcome.

She’d decided not to go down to the feast, instead having a quiet moment to herself. Had she been home, this is exactly what her family would have done. They would have gathered together in their pajamas and eat by the fire trying to guess what presents were waiting under the tree for them.

It had been wonderful.

Now her parents were having a formal dinner with the Dursley’s.

She hoped they all enjoyed their simple trifle and benign frosted cookies.

“You do know Santa doesn’t come ‘til midnight, right?”

Lily nearly tumbled out of her seat at the voice. She barely caught herself in time and managed a glare to one James Potter.

“Was that necessary?” she growled at him. She hefted herself back up on the seat and resituated her blankets around her.

“Well I didn’t want you waiting around all night,” Potter said. He glanced at his watch. “You’ve got five more hours, I just wanted to prepare you for a long night.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” she said quietly.

At the start of this year they’d come to somewhat of a truce. After the post O.W.LS fiasco they’d avoided each other for the most part. Only coming together when absolutely necessary. Then with this year, Potter had actually tried to change. She was certain it had something to do with why Severus had ended up in the hospital wing one night. Over a full-moon. And then she’d learned that Sirius Black had run away from home to live with the Potter family and—well, Potter was different.

And she did not know how to reconcile it with everything else she’d come to know about him.

“You aren’t going down to the feast?” Potter asked, giving her a skeptical look.

Shaking her head, Lily shrugged. “It’s not the same as if I were back home.”

They remained there with the fire crackling happily and the snow continuing to fall outside. It was cozy, this time of year, this lazy evening. This. And it only made Lily miss home a bit more.

A strange look passed over James’ features. He nodded once and told her to have a good nigh and then was gone. Disappearing back out the portrait hole.

Lily went back to staring out the window.

It was hours later when her body finally had had enough of lounging that Lily got up from her claimed seat. Dorcas had gone off to spend a few more hours with her girlfriend—after Lily had insisted again that she was fine. And the rest of the common room remained still. Most of the students were either already in bed—even though it was barely eleven thirty.

So, after she found her magical portable radio, Lily put up a silencing charm around the common room and started playing Christmas Carols. Many were wizard themed, but by some miracle she’d found a station that intermixed Muggle songs too.

And not caring about anything else, Lily began dancing around the Common Room.

This time when the portrait hole opened for a tall, gangly young man, Lily wasn’t startled. She knew some one was bound to show up eventually and truly didn’t care. It was almost midnight. Almost Christmas.

“Evans,” Potter said a bit uncertainly. He had a bag tucked in his arms, concerned expression on his face. “What are you doing?”

“Family tradition,” Lily announced. She stopped her dancing and came to a stop just before him, cheeks flushed and giddy smile on her face. “Christmas music and dancing.”

Shaking his head, Potter set the bag down that he held and accepted Lily’s invitation to dance. Neither knew exactly what they were doing. Their steps were messy, arms flailing, and singing off key.

And yet, Lily felt as though she were at home. Carefree and happy.

When midnight struck the voice over on the radio paused the music to announce it and wish everyone a Merry Christmas. A slower yuletide song then came up on the radio changing the mood of the room entirely.

As Lily caught her breath, she couldn’t help but continue to laugh. Potter too was grinning broadly.

He looked as though he were going to say something, but the portrait hole opened again. Peter and Sirius came in each with a bag of sweets marked to be from Honeydukes. Lily didn’t have it in her to question them on that.

Instead she waved awkwardly and went to switch off the radio.

“Prong, you are a terribly dancer,” Sirius announced. He swept into the room and cast Lily a side glance. She knew he didn’t entirely like her. Not with everything that had gone on between her and James. And Severus too. But instead of biting out a snide remark he held up his bag of sweets. “I think it’s in the holiday tradition to eat as much chocolate as we can until we vomit, right?”

Peter let out an agreeable cheer and sat himself down in front of the fire. “Couldn’t have said it better myself Padfoot.”

Sirius grinned and followed suit, leaning against the couch and stretching his legs out to the fire. The scene looked so comfortable and familiar that Lily had the impression that this was something the Marauders engaged in often, even outside of the Holidays. Late nights together talking, eating, and in general being together. The only one missing was Remus who was finishing out the full-moon with his parents.

Deciding to leave them to it, knowing she’d taken over the Common Room all night anyways, Lily went to collect her radio.

“Stay, Evans,” James said.

She glanced at him startled. “What?”

James gestured to the bag he’d brought with him when he first came back. “I know you said you hadn’t eaten anything and knowing the three of us—” he gestured between his friends and himself, “I nicked some stuff from the Kitchens.”

The three marauders stared at her. Sirius shrugging indifferently while Peter scooted over to make room for her on the rug beside the fire. James was already bringing out the covered plates of rolls, potatoes, and meat.

Lily found herself agreeing and took a seat among them.

As Lily laughed at Peter’s impersonation of James during a quidditch game and when James and Sirius had a competition of who could catch the most jelly beans in their mouths—she found that this could perhaps be an excellent replacement Christmas.

thanks for reading!

#harry potter #jily #jily fanfiction #asks #james potter #lily evans #lily potter #jily is canon #christmas asks #sirius black #peter pettigrew #marauders era #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs

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bunnyywritings · 4 years ago

Text

you weren’t supposed to hear that

tendo satori & ushijima wakatoshi x reader

𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 - 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 - 𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥

[a/n:warning: things get a little 18+ but here’s part 2 of not a love triangle, enjoy! sorry for the wait ❣️ -yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´-]

Over the past couple of weeks, it seems like the dynamic between the three of you had shifted. Ushijima had stopped hanging out with you guys more often and just seemed to spend less time with you. To say that you were hurt was a bit of an understatement. He seemed to have no problem hanging out with Tendo but if you were there or suddenly joined them, he miraculously had “something to do” and would leave.

Even the team noticed that you seemed a bit less energetic lately, that you weren’t joking around with their ace or middle blocker as usual. You had been zoned out while they played a match among themselves.

“(Y/n)! Did you see that?!” Te excitement in Goshiki’s voice snapped you out of your daze. You looked up to see his excited smile, eyes shining as he looked at you expectantly. Your heart melted.

“Of course I did! Good job Tomu!” You had a proud grin on your face as you softly ruffled his hair. “Keep it up and you’ll surpass the ace in no time!” At your words, he blushed but accepted the praise and head pats. Tendo was surprised to see how quickly and easily your facade changed, the smile on your face not quite meeting your eyes but convincing enough that no one seemed to doubt it.

Once practice was over, Tendo was waiting for Ushijima to finish gathering his stuff.

“Don’t you think (y/n)’s been acting a bit strange?”

“Hmm I haven’t noticed.” Tendo’s head tilted in confusion seeing as Ushijima tensed up when he answered.

“You know, you’ve been acting a bit strange too Wakatoshi. It’s almost like you’ve been avoiding (y/n).” At the mention of your name, you stayed by the door. You had returned from the bathroom and came to lock up, not expecting anyone to still be in there.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I avoid her?” Even if he seemed to be stoic at times, he was a terrible liar.

“No I think you are. Why would you be doing that? I thought you liked her?” Your heart started to beat erratically in your chest.

“Of course I like her, she’s our friend.” This resulted in an exasperated sigh from Tendo.

“Geez Wakatoshi, as more than a friend! I’m starting to think that you’re just pretending not knowing what I mean. I mean, I know you like her as more than a friend. Just admit it.”

There was a tense silence between the two, deciding that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, you turned to walk away but froze when Ushijima spoke up.

“Of course I don’t like her as more than a friend.” Your heart dropped. “She’s our team manager and friend. That’s all I see her as. I can’t even imagine being in a romantic relationship with her.” Tears stung your eyes as you struggled to breathe. It was the way he said it that made your heart ache in your chest hard to bear as you turned and ran to the dorms.

“A little harsh, don’t you think Wakatoshi?”

Once in your room, you slammed the door shut and slid down it. Sobs wrecking your body. He didn’t like you...you were just the team manager. Just a friend. He had also purposefully been avoiding you... it was times like these you were grateful that you didn’t have a roommate. After the tears subsided, you grabbed your phone.

To: chicken tendo

- Can we go on a drive today?

- yeah, for sure. You wanna invite Wakatoshi?

- no. just us please, and bring your stash...I’m feeling like having a smoke sesh tonight

- I was thinking the same ;) meet me in the parking lot after curfew check

You took the opportunity to take a shower and change into some spandex shorts and a nekoma team sweatshirt. You waited a good 15 minutes after the check before sneaking out and into the parking lot. Friday checks didn’t take too long cause most kids would go home and stay with their families for the weekend. Some, like you and Tendo, stayed at the dorms.

“Took you long enough~.” He smirked. He was leaning against the driver’s side of his car. He was in some grey sweats and a black t-shirt.

“I just wanted to make sure I was in the clear.” You shrugged, making your way to the opposite side of the car as the both of you stepped into the car.

“So anywhere specific you wanna go?”

“Literally anywhere. We can get food later.” You sighed as you put on your seat belt.

He nodded and we went to the usual spot. And empty parking structure a few minutes from the school. It was for a grocery store and it had no security. It was quiet as he drove, the only sound was the quiet indie music playing through the speakers and the hum of the car.

“So what’s been bothering you so much?” He asked as he put the car in park. It was unbelievable, how well he knew you. With a sigh, you opened opened the glove box and pulled out the little tin box and lighter.

“Is it really that obvious?” He rose an eyebrow at your muttering, watching as you pulled an already rolled blunt from the tin box and placing it in between your lips. You handed him the box and lit the end of it before inhaling the calming toxins, welcoming the burn in the back of your throat. He did the same before turning to you, anticipating your answer.

“I don’t like being ignored, Tendo.” His eyes widened as you leaned back into the seat, smoke slowly billowing out from in between your lips. That’s when he realized. “It makes sense though.” You took a second, longer hit. “If he doesn’t have feelings for me, it’s probably best to stay away until it goes away,” He couldn’t tell if the reddening of your eyes was from the weed or tears filling your eyes.

“You heard us?” You nodded, turning towards the open window and exhaling. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He felt guilty.

“I know I wasn’t but I did.” You shrugged almost nonchalantly, bringing the joint between your lips once more. “Maybe it’s for the best. It’s probably better if he never finds out.” The conversation left on a slightly awkward note as you reached forward and turned the nob on the radio to change the station, fiddling with it before leaving it on a station that regularly played some type of rnb music. You didn’t want to hotbox the car so the two of you sat there, doors open and music playing. The cold breeze nipped at your cheeks as you thought about something.

“You know, maybe I’ve been missing something.” Tendo’s head snapped to you at the sudden sound of your voice. “Maybe I’ve had my eyes on the wrong person...”

“What do you mean, (y/n)?”

“I mean, maybe the reason I’m having a hard time getting to Wakatoshi is because...I’m not meant to.” You were frowning.

“Maybe that’s enough of that.” He reached over and took the half-smoked blunt from your fingers and put it out, deciding to put his out too. “Don’t overthink too much, he’s just dense. You know that.” You didn’t seem too satisfied with that answer.

“Have you ever thought about it?” You whispered.

“Thought about what?”

“Me.” He was take aback at the way your pupils were blown out and they seemed...darker than usual. He opened his mouth but he was too slow. “In any other way that wasn’t platonic...” He couldn’t lie, he had thought about. “Because I have. More often than I’d like to admit.”

“I may have thought of it.” He bit his lip. He was conflicted. This definitely wasn’t a conversation he thought the both of you would be having, the tension was thick and palpable. You were his friend, his best friend. He looked over to you and could basically see what you were thinking. He’d wondered how you would feel pressed up against him, if your lips were as soft as they looked, and he also remembers how guilty he felt each time those thoughts had crossed his mind.

Before you could stop yourself, you had crawled over the middle console and onto Tendo’s lap. Millions of thought crossing both of your minds at what was happening. His hands hesitantly gripped your hips, the warmth somewhat comforting. Your arms were draped over his shoulders, hands tangling into his hair. He had showered before this so his hair was down, unlike how it usually seemed to defy gravity. The intensity of the situation hit you as his hands ran up your torso and to your waist. His thumbs were caressing your body comfortingly.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” You had started to move to get off of his lap but his hands kept you in place.

“I-I don’t mind, if it’ll help you forget...” Your eyes began to water as you buried your hands back into his hair and brought your lips to his, he tasted like mint and cannabis. The kiss was greedy, like the both of you had been starved. Your senses were overwhelmed, there was a heat in your core that seemed to ignite at the feeling of him being so close, so intimate. Your head felt fuzzy. Whether it was because the lack of oxygen or the blunt you had just smoked, you didn’t care. The both of you pulled away, chests heaving. He started to trail kisses down your cheek and jaw before nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Why don’t we head back to the dorms? I’m sure that would be more comfortable than my car.” You agreed and quickly climbed off of his lap and into your seat. The ride back seemed longer as you squeezed your thighs together in anticipation. Once he had finally parked and the two of you were out of the car, the high had finally settled in. You grabbed his hand and pulled him up to your room. The moment thee door shut, he gently pushed you against it. Lips back on your in a more playful kiss this time as you reached down and gripped the hem of his t-shirt, moving back so you could tug it off of his torso and tossing it onto the floor. You ran a hand down his impressively toned chest and stomach.

“What’s wrong (y/n)?~ Are you that flustered seeing me without a shirt?~” He teased as he led you over to your bed, the both of you kicking off your shoes before you laid against your pillows, Tendo quick to climb on top of you.

“You’re such a tease Satori, but it seems like you’re more flustered than I am.” You bit back a chuckled as you motioned to the painfully obvious bulge in his sweats.

“Well, we’ll see about that soon.” He smirked, his lips brushed against yours as one of his hands ran down your torso and slipped under the elastic of your shorts.

“Satori-”

“(Y/N)?” The knock and familiar voice behind the door made both of you freeze. “I was wondering if Tendo was with you?” He spoke softly but strong enough to hear through the door. The man in question instantly pulled away from you which caused the hem of your shorts to snap against your stomach. You smacked Tendo’s arm.

“I though he was supposed to go home this weekend?” He just shrugged. You quickly got up and approached the door. You bent down to pick up the article of clothing on the floor and throwing it at him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“His car was still in the parking lot so I assumed he came here.” You smoothed down your hair before opening your door just a bit.

“Yeah, he’s here.” You smiled and glanced back at Tendou who was sat against the headboard, fully clothed, pillow over his crotch and phone in hand. “Wanna join us?” You asked nervously as you opened the door wider and stepping aside.

“Hey Wakatoshi-kun~ We were just gonna order some take out.” You closed the door and rested your forehead against it. You were completely sober now, the shock of almost being caught was to thank for that.

What just happened?

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 (still open): @elegant-gypsophilia, @inlove-maze, @prefesro

#tendo x reader #satori tendo x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #not a love triangle

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callmeblake · 5 years ago

Photo

Frank Iero, New York, NY, June 2019 (X)

Aug 29, 2019, 09:10am

Frank Iero May Just Be His Own Puppet Master

Photo Credit: Audrey Lew

Interview below the cut

Derek Scancarelli

Contributor

Hollywood & Entertainment

I am a music journalist living in New York City.

Frank Iero is breathing deeply and fighting off nausea. This isn’t uncommon for the 37-year-old guitarist and vocalist, given his predilection for debilitating anxiety. But on this occasion, it isn’t pre-show jitters.

“Oh my god, I hate this f*cking boat,” Iero says, as the docked vessel on which he sits knocks against a pier in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Iero and his band, The Future Violents, just finished an intimate Saturday matinee show as fans sweat, sang and caught a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty.

It had been about 16 years since Iero and his now defunct band, My Chemical Romance (the band broke up in 2013), first performed on water. In July of 2002, the band released its debut album, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love. In October of 2003, the soon-to-be emo heroes performed alongside New York Hardcore legends Sick Of It All at an aquatic gig booked by New Jersey college radio station WSOU. And in June of 2004, My Chemical Romance released Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, the band’s platinum-selling breakthrough record. In a matter of two years, Iero’s life changed dramatically.

In 2019, Iero still hasn’t found his sea legs, but a lot more has changed. He’s fathered three children, released three full-length solo records (including 2019’s Barriers), and survived a near-death experience. And as he gets older, he finds truth in life’s greatest clichés.

“Time flies, it just screams by,” Iero says. “You think you’re appreciating the time, but it’s easy to take it for granted. It’s a shame.”

But Iero is trying his hardest to pay attention to the little things, especially when it comes to family. He and his wife, Jamia, have three children together: nine-year-old twin daughters, Cherry and Lily, and a seven-year-old son named Miles.

“It’s wonderful to see them evolve and come into their own,” Iero says. “But it’s funny how personalities are innate. We shape the way they experience things or teach them the ropes, but for the most part, I’ve found that we are who we are when we’re born.”

From the start, Iero has seen an even split in the twins’ personalities. Cherry, he says, most behaves like her mother, whereas Lily possesses her father’s attitude.

“Some of the sh*t I hear coming out of my daughter's mouth,” Iero says laughing. “My God! It’s stuff I think but never say — they don't know to be ashamed yet! It's amazing and honest and pure. And I know exactly where she's coming from because I feel the same way.”

As part of fostering a relationship of trust and honesty, Iero has been age-appropriately transparent with his kids about the 2016 accident that almost killed him, his brother-in-law and guitarist Evan Nestor and his manager Paul Clegg.

While unloading gear from their van in Sydney, Australia, a city bus crashed into the group and their vehicle. In a 2017 interview with MTV, Iero recounted, in vivid detail, the moment he was dragged underneath the bumper of the bus, the screams of his brother-in-law, and the blood pooling from his manager.

Although Iero was able to walk into an ambulance carrying one of his friends, the scene was a spectacle overrun with emergency personnel — they even landed a rescue helicopter in nearby Hyde Park. Despite serious injuries, amazingly, there were no fatalities.

When Iero returned home from the hospital, he explained to his children that he was in a car accident, but that it was a singular freak incident.

“You don't want to lie,” he says. “They're getting older. Their friends and their parents are on the internet. They're asking questions. It does get back to them.”

Iero was as honest as possible, but avoided any gory details. He was also conscious that it wouldn’t be long before he would travel for work again — and he didn’t want to scare his kids any further.

Almost four years later, residual damage from the crash is impossible to ignore. Nestor has nerve damage in his leg that may never be corrected. Clegg’s leg and knee have undergone multiple surgeries, but are in poor shape. And Iero still has a tear in his shoulder that hurts every time he plays the guitar. Despite the pain, he’s afraid to undergo surgery.

“I was lucky enough to walk away and still play,” Iero says. “If I were to test fate again and go under the knife, if something were to go wrong… to let that be taken from me … no, I can't.”

On some days, the emotional toll of surviving such a traumatic accident weighs more heavily. Iero describes his recovery as non-linear: some days he feels collected and in control, other days the memory rushes back into his mind.

After his new band finished recording Barriers, Iero and his team went back to Australia for appointments pertaining to the accident and corresponding litigation. As soon as he exited the plane, Iero felt like he’d returned to the horrific scene. For the following week, he was barraged by an unending state of panic.

“You go through these instances of PTSD,” he says. “You never know what's going to trigger and send you all the way back to the beginning with recovery.”

Iero greatly underestimated how difficult his return to Australia would be. When navigating to a doctor’s office near where the accident occurred, he couldn’t bring himself to walk down the street. And suddenly, he felt surrounded by buses.

“I don't know if this is true,” he says. “But it felt like every other car on the street was one of these f*cking buses. They were everywhere. It was frightening. I couldn't do anything. I was shaking like a leaf.”

Despite the traumatic flashbacks, Iero continues to reflect on that day. In the promotional run for Barriers, he discussed the accident at length. And on the record itself, he addresses the complicated ripple effect it’s had on his entire sense of self.

“I don't think it needs to define me,” Iero says. “But it was something I needed to talk about on this record. It's not something I could sweep under the rug. But do I want to dwell on it every day and relive it? No. But I think about it constantly. I feel the pain constantly. It's on my mind.”

In recent interviews, Iero has tended to frame a few philosophical takeaways from his ordeal. In simple terms, the first idea is that he’s found a new lease on life — that everything happens for a reason and he’s been given an opportunity to seize the day. The second philosophy is much darker, a sort of survivor’s guilt compounded with fear and existential dread. The third and most abstract consideration is closest to Simulation Theory — where Iero has the ability to control his own artificial timeline.

Sometimes, Iero questions if actually died that day. He wonders: Is this all real?

“It’s hard. No one can tell you what to believe,” he says. “But you come to this realization, ‘Well, this is real to me, the hand I was dealt, so I have to make the best of it!’”

Through the acceptance of uncertainty, Iero surmises that he just may be his own puppet master.

“If this is a figment of my imagination,” Iero says. “If this is all in my head, then I am the master of my own destiny. If I want to do something, I can manufacture it. And if it's not the case, then at least it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe putting positive vibes out into the universe is beneficial. If we didn't make it and we're just going through this weird labyrinth in my mind, I can do anything I want.”

And lately, he’s been doing just that. Call it sorcery or the power of positive thinking, but Iero is motivated. For Barriers, he was able to assemble a dream band, The Future Violents (different lineups of his backing band have previously gone by The Cellabration and The Patience), featuring his brother-in-law Nestor on guitar, Thursday’s Tucker Rule on drums, Murder by Death’s Matt Armstrong on bass, and Kayleigh Goldsworthy on keyboard.

The theme of the album — and his own internal dialogue — mostly relates to tragedy and timing. Did the universe have a course set out for him? Or was he just some random victim?

“The crazy thing is that you didn't do anything wrong,” Iero says of the accident. “Yet, all of this stuff was taken from you and you have to make these decisions. You get angry a lot.”

He continues: “These random, abrupt, violent actions. Do they happen to us? Or for us? I wouldn't have been able to make this record if it didn't happen. And it made me realize a lot of things about myself. Am I happy it happened? No. But I'm happy where I am right now.”

Iero views Barriers as an exercise in vulnerability. If the aftermath of his accident taught him anything, it’s that success was meaningless to his character, but adversity helped him grow. For the first time, addressing childhood trauma helped Iero expose himself in a way that felt freeing.

“When you put something to song, it gives that memory weight,” Iero explains. “If you never talk about it, it's almost like it didn't happen. There's a fine line between relinquishing that power to this memory, situation or trauma, or holding that power over it and creating your own narrative from it.”

Barriers also intertwines Iero’s childhood experiences with his current perspective as a father. This go around, he felt comfortable writing about his parents’ divorce — the couple split when he was three and divorced when he was seven.

He looks back on the unpleasantness of the process and his consequential understanding of his mother’s issues with addiction, depression and mental illness. On his 2016 record, Parachutes, Iero first referenced his mother’s struggles and his own liability to inherit her traits. He’s still horrified by the idea of predeterminism.

“When you're a young kid being surrounded with it, it doesn't feel right,” Iero says. “You're not happy. You're scared. You're constantly concerned for your parent. It’s almost as if you become the caregiver.”

He continues: “Then you see yourself falling into these patterns that you were witness to and maybe in a roundabout way were taught. That addiction, that depression, runs through you. It's easy to fall off that cliff. I don't want that for my kids and I need to stop this cycle. Like this sh*t stops with me. Whether it be I get okay, or I f*cking turn my lights out.”

It’s this sort of tongue-in-cheek use of concerning language that keeps Iero’s fanbase enthralled, yet somewhat on edge. Take for example, in the comment section for his video “Young & Doomed,” some diehard fans are troubled by his repeated use of the words “hurt myself again.” While he’s surprised to hear about the response, he counters that the record is ultimately meant to feel uplifting and positive, even if addressing dark topics.

“I don't think that we should strive for perfection,” Iero says. “This idea that we should all have this perfect life and be pretty and purse our lips to post a picture on social media is bullsh*t. The things that make us unique are important.”

He continues: “Sometimes we're our own worst enemies and we hurt ourselves. Those scars, though, are important. They're beautiful. ‘Young And Doomed’ is a call to arms to celebrate the things people think are wrong with us.”

Now, Iero just hopes his story and music inspire fans to try, fail and try again.

“You don't find out who you are unless you get a scar and get hurt,” Iero says. “You should be hurt, hurt other people, and learn that it feels terrible to hurt someone else. You should feel sorry for it and make amends for it. These are important lessons to be a better person. You find out who you truly are by attacking things that scare you the most.”

Frank Iero is currently touring Europe with Laura Jane Grace & The Devouring Mothers.

#frank iero #august 2019 #forbes #audrey lew #red eagle shirt #all blue #october 2019 #bus crash #navy blue tiger windbreaker

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gh0stiegirlie · 4 years ago

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Synopsis: You have been a pro-hero for the past three years, and a damn good one too (although, you don’t think so). When you and Ground Zero are assigned on a stakeout case together to capture a member of the Dark Akumu, which is currently Musutafu's most threatening Villain League, it changes the entire course of your career-- and your life.

Length : 2.2k words

<- pt. 1 pt. 3 ->

You wake up. Go upstairs. You shower, do your morning skincare, brush your teeth. You go downstairs. Turn on the stove. Crack an egg, scramble the egg and eat the egg. The same as always.

Except today, you have something special to look forward to. Something intriguing. Something exciting. Something new!

Your research on Ground Zero last night issued expected results; Bakugou is the same imprudent idiot he’s always been. In a way, it’s comforting, because you know what to expect. But how has he reached the list of top ten heroes with his hasty mannerisms? How will he climb up on that list, let alone remain on it?

You spend the rest of your day checking out your fellow 3-A classmate’s careers. Unsurprisingly, Izuku is currently the number five hero with a heart of gold. Uraraka isn’t in the top ten, but she’s quickly rising to the top fifty. Considering she’s only twenty, that’s a feat. He and Uraraka finally admitted their feelings (you laugh at the image of how awkward it must have been for the two of them. They’ve never been the type to confront and thoroughly manage their emotions) and have been dating for two years, which is adorable. Todorki is approaching the top twenty, with Yaoyurozo, Kirishima, and Kaminari not far behind. Tsuyu is only within the top one hundred, which is discouraging; You know she holds more power than that. But being a hero at sea, she doesn’t receive much notoriety for her deeds.

At 2:30 you’re on your way to the station, your stomach craving the promised spicy food. When you arrive, the station is flooded with civilians. As to not accidentally poison someone, you throw on a hoodie over your shirt and zip up a sweatshirt over that. You squeeze a pair of sweatpants over your leggings, pull up your hood, and walk into the building.

You move with the current of the crowd, though try avoiding contact with anyone by yelling "excuse me," and "sorry!" with every move you make. It’s a relief when you finally reach the conference room at 2:55, feeling comfortable enough to shimmy out of your sweatpants and take off your sweatshirt.

“Y/n! You sure found this place easily through that crowd,” Chief Sheriff Chie notes.

“I followed the scent of this sweet, spicy wasabi.” You eagerly grab a plate of sushi and promptly dip it into a small Wasabi bowl. After taking a satisfying bite, you look back up to Chie. “I’m surprised I made it through there and survived to tell the tale. Why is it so crowded?” You ask before shoving more sushi in your mouth.

“Did you not see the news last night?” she questions, and you shake your head. “Another Dark Akumu attack followed with multiple instances of robberies and looting all over the city.” Chie runs a hand through her thinning hair. Her undereye bags darken and her wrinkles grow more defined with every day that passes. “This is why we need your help, Ether. And Ground Zero--”

Chie is cut off by a crash of the door slamming open. You turn around, and there he is.

Ground Zero. Katsuki Bakugou.

A piece of fish slips out of your gawking mouth, though you quickly pick it up and shove it back in. Ground Zero completely disregards your presence, preferring to take the seat five chairs away from you that's closest to the food. He aggressively grabs a cup of donburi and sprinkles on shichimi togarashi, his biceps subtly flexing with every movement. He leans back into his chair, throws his feet up on the table and sighs dramatically.

“Let’s get this shit over with so I can kick some supervillain ass,” he grumbles before shoving chopsticks of rice in his mouth. Both you and Chie gawk at Ground Zero before meeting eyes with a gulp. Then you take another bite of your sushi as Chie starts the presentation.

She finishes rehashing the information she discussed with both of you yesterday in about a half-hour, which is enough time for you and Ground Zero to devour your meals.

“Now, the goal is for you to capture Youkai. Don’t bother with the other criminal; The Dark Akumu is our top priority. We don’t know when the deal is going to take place, but we do know where.” She clicks her remote, and a picture of the infamously beautiful forest in your area appears; The forest where you and the rest of class 3-A experienced your second villain attack, back when you were class 1-A. “A clearing in the Beasts forest.”

“You two will stakeout until the villains arrive. When you capture Youkai, call me and I’ll immediately alert the police force. Your time starts,” the Sheriff looks at the clock. 4:45. She stares at the two of you with a wide grin that’s hungry for justice. “Now.”

Ground Zero immediately stomps out the door, leaving his mess for you to clean up. Once everything is thrown out and you’ve grabbed your sweatshirt and sweatpants, Chie pulls you to the side.

“You’re an amazing hero, Y/n. And the two will make an amazing team. Don’t doubt yourself, and don’t let emotion cloud your judgment. You can do this.”

When you catch up with Ground Zero he’s leaning against his expensive-ass car, twirling his keys around his pointer finger. Before you so much as open your mouth, he announces you’ll be taking his car. Though you don’t object, as it’s very spacious, making it more than suitable for a nightlong stakeout.

When you climb in shotgun you close the door as gently as you can, as to not piss off the walking bomb you're being forced in a car with for several hours. At the same time, Ground Zero shuts the door with a slam that rattles the entire car. He keeps the radio off but turns on the AC to create white noise. Although, the monotonous buzzing drives you insane.

“Can we turn on the radio or something?!” You moan after only ten minutes into the thirty-minute car ride. Ground Zero shakes his head. You groan and turn to face him.“Please! We have all night to silently bask in the AC, we can at least have some fun now.” He rolls his eyes and picks up his phone to start typing. 1“No texting and driving, Mr. hero.” You tease. He ignores you and passes you his phone with Spotify already open.

“Fine. But my car, my music.” You could live with those terms. “Put on Together PANGEA.”

You type in his band selection and press play before putting the phone in a cup holder. You reluctantly lean deep into your car seat, getting comfortable without letting your guard down.

You expect Ground Zero to be into headbanging, rave rockstar type shit. But surprisingly, you enjoy his indie punk selection. You smile and wiggle your shoulders a bit to the rhythm, and when the song ends, another by the same band follows. You giggle when you notice Ground Zero tapping his fingers against the car wheel to the beat.

You rest your head on the window and gaze into the sunset. Maybe if you and Ground Zero weren’t so rigid and awkward, maybe if you were normal people (or possibly a normal couple), you would enjoy a sunset like this together.

When you arrive at the forest, the car creeps between trees until it reaches a hidden area outside the clearing. At 5:15 Ground Zero brings his car to a halt and turns it off. Music, AC, and all.

The two of you sit in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. Ground Zero pushes his seat into a lying position and kicks his feet up on the dashboard, engrossed in his phone, while you stiffly remain in your seat beside him. This is the most intimate you have ever been with him. While six years ago you would’ve loved this and taken advantage of it, currently you’re fidgeting with the door handle and staring blankly at your phone. After a few more minutes of this, you decide to put your layers back on. You zip up your sweatshirt and slide on your sweatpants. Though with the AC off, you quickly grow hot. Ground Zero notices the perspiration dripping down your chiseled cheeks and looks at you for the first time in years.

“You don’t have to keep all those layers on, you know. I can handle your quirk,” he comments, flicking his attention between you and his phone.

You don’t look at him, instead choosing to focus on wrapping your sweatpants string around your finger. “I don’t want to take any risks. I’ve involuntarily hurt people before.”

“I secret nitroglycerin sweat, Y/n. I can inhale some of your gas.” he retorts before he pauses. When he realizes what this really is about, he sets down his phone. “Plus, that nerd Deku’s forgiven you by now. And long forgotten about it.”

This is when you turn to Ground Zero in shock. He… remembers that?

“You were so wrapped up in wishing death upon everyone in the class I’m surprised you even remember that.” You admit. You mean for it to come off harsh, but a faint snicker escapes your lips. Ground Zero did spend a lot of time threatening to kill Deku and several other classmates. But he was just being dramatic. (Hopefully)

He laughs menacingly, which you guess is the only way he knows how. Honestly, you’re not sure if he feels any other emotion other than passionate violence. “How could I forget? That all-powerful loser was stuck smooching with recovery girl for a week! I was mad I didn’t do that.”

You gasp, pushing yourself to the edge of the car seat to distance yourself from him. “Why would you want to do that? He was in a coma!” You clear your throat after taking a deep breath. “I put my friend in a coma.” You wrap your arms tightly around yourself to suppress a shutter from the memory. “Because I couldn’t control my quirk.”

“Oh, cut it with the emo crap,” he growls. “Your quirk is strong and he couldn’t handle it. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Because of my quirk, toxins are constantly leaking out of my body. For combat, I can concentrate the mass of the fumes into certain areas, but no matter what, they’re always oozing into the air. Everywhere.” You stare at your hands, watching them steadily emit a nearly imperceptible gas. But you know it’s there; You know its harmful. You force your hands into fists, keeping the fumes entrapped in your clutches. “I have to protect others from myself. I’m toxic. I can’t hurt another innocent person.” You look up at Ground Zeroes' blurring body. Within seconds, all you can make out is the outline of his grenade gauntlets and signature spiky hair. That’s when you realize you’re tearing up.

“Y/n--” he reaches out to you, but you slap his hand away.

“It’s Ether, Ground Zero. Ether.” You snap, blinking away the tears before they dare spill from your eyes.

All of high school, he never so much as noticed you outside calling you an “extra”. And now he finally wants to address you by your name, like you’re friends. Like he ever treated you with an ounce of damn respect.

No. He’ll call you by your hero name. So he’ll be forced him to refer to you as an equal. He’ll never call you Y/n. Not until he proves he won’t hurt you again; Which he won’t, because this is Bakugou you’re talking about.

“What’s your problem, shitty breath?” he mocks. Even though that was just the cruel nickname he gave you in highschool, you blow into your hand and sniff in the air. Your breath smells fine.

“Who are you calling shitty breath, hothead?! It’s not even clever!” You bicker. “I’m a pro-hero now. We’re not at U.A anymore; You can’t call me shitty names and get away with it.” You squint your eyes at the ‘hero’ and cross your arms. “I won’t let you.”

“Oh, you won’t?” A smirk spreads across his face, and you refuse to let him see how startled you are. Another perk of being a hero; You know when to put on a mask, and how to keep up that facade. “How do you plan on stopping me?” He places his hands behind his head and closes his eyes, maintaining relaxed, poised body language. “If I remember right, you were never able to beat me back at U.A. What makes you think you can now?” When he opens his eyes, fire dances within them. And that’s when you finally understand. Bakugou has learned to control his demeanor to appear composed and carefree. But on the inside, he’s the violently spirited fighter you’ve always known him to be.

Embers that haven’t so much as sparked in a while ignite within you. You quirk an eyebrow.

“Are you challenging me, Bakugou?” You haven’t used his name in so long, and you love the way it feels on your lips.

Bakugou's smirk morphs into a shit-eating grin, but the determination in his eyes frightens you.He’s relentless, and he’ll fight until you drop if it means he wins. And you know its his unbreakable determination that will fuel him till the end.

But you’re ambitious too. Your brain says you can’t beat him, but your heart encourages you to try.

When Ground Zero gets out of the car, you follow.

You won't let him treat you like shit without standing up for yourself.

Never again.

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steamedtangerine · 4 years ago

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From Orbit’s “100 awesome things about Detroit” article from their penultimate issue (1999).

Once upon a time, Detroit radio ruled the 90′s. Even other cities recognized what we had going here, and many acts passing through knew that getting an interview or even the slightest playtime or plug on a local station was a big shot in the arm.

Of course, I’m not talking about the mere classic/hard/commercial rock stations that carried blue-collar Detroit through the 70′s and 80′s (and went through changes that left us with WRIF, WLLZ, and WCSX and even 89X, which started off-around the same time Orbit hit the stands-amazing cool, old, punk, and underground for the first two years and quickly crumpled into only playing “alternative” music that was new and commercially appealing at the time.).

We had amazing college radio stations like WCBN (Ann Arbor-home to people like Mrrranda L. Tarrow), WORB on the campus of Oakland Community College, WHFR (with Stymie, Steve Chesney, Larry Hoffman, Emily, and Space Nate all saving Detroit’s airwaves from the campus of Henry Ford Community College in Dearborn-and still is.), CJAM (91.5 from Windsor-which used to religiously play new installments of the Hour of Slack at 6pm every Saturday evening), and 89.9 BBC Radio 2 (also from our neighbors in the Deep South we call Windsor with Patti Schmidt’s absolutely deep obscure/experimental/noise evening program “Brave New Waves”- a show so off the cuff and lacking of any explanation half the time, you were never quite sure if the static you heard was poor reception, dead air, or an actual piece being played...and also never knowing when one piece ended and a different one began).

Then there was also the Electrifying Mojo...which-though incredibly worthy of his own deserved posting-I just have no time to get into at this moment.

...but by far, the giant was WDET 101.9 FM

-broadcasting from the campus of Wayne State University.

While news and an array of NPR programs (covering politics, to folk music to automobile enthusiasm, etc.) dominated the station from 5am to about 6pm (mostly during the weekdays-because weekends did have blues and world music by day), that evening slot (and portions of the weekend daytime) was blown-up with slots by the Famous Coachman (Blues), Willy Wilson (Blues), the Amazing Ed Love (Jazz), Jon Moshier (eclectic DJ who also had his hands in three of the stations mentioned above), Ralph Valdez, Martin Bandyke, Kim Heron, KIm Sorise...but one that stood out was Liz Copeland.

While some were lucky to get an hour or two of their music in (Ed Love sometimes had 3 to work with and much more if he was tirelessly pushing during the pledge fund drives---this is publicly funded radio, y’know?), Liz had five hours every night (M-F) starting at midnight. Her tastes were incredibly diverse and eclectic. Most of it was under the radar stuff, but she did not believe in limiting herself. If she overheard someone at a party gripe about how there’s too much attention recently being put on Detroit’s techno scene, the next night she’d spend three hours spotlighting local techno DJs who are breaking ground. Then the next night she’ll spend an hour or two playing music from 50′s folk artists. So, clearly, in the spirit of the 90′s, she did all she could to transcend such petty things as genres or time-periods.

Of course, local artists got priority in her book, and she had no problem doing a spotlight or interview (I believe she did a few) on an artist...be they local or some indie act from out of town. That was a thing, too-her spotlights....she would play an entire album by an artist (announced ahead of time) start to finish...find someone in radioland who does that now. So, it was not uncommon for someone to plop a blank tape in a console and record an entire album’s worth from an artist while they were painting or reading or contemplating the drifting smoke with their friends in their apartment.

In pre-high-speed internet days we avoided limiting ourselves based on style/genre (I still roll my eyes at those posture themselves as such in their bios), and we had a better developed sense of instinct for knowing what the awesome functions would be for that week. Everyone was plugged into a type of psychic network (without the aid of Sister Cleo) with only clues like fliers at the bars or on telephone posts, word of mouth (sometimes talk at a coffeehouse or record store, sometimes just last minute), and the things Liz and some of the DJs would drop on air of acts to check out after playing an accompanying tune.

It was also common to see Liz make appearances as the house DJ for the night at various parties and local hep functions (did she once do a Dally in the Alley?...I have to wonder)...doing what she always did.

Whether she played what you always liked or what you needed to hear at the time (tuning to 101.9 after leaving the bar on a Friday or Wednesday was always a wise listeners choice), Liz was there from 1995-2007....oddly enough, the same amount of time Patti Schmidt was doing Brave New Waves (which, as I said, was even more off the tracks).

WDET went through odd changes. Coachman was an eccentric who would spend much of the time talking over his own music, preaching, and even acting as therapist to the call-ins (old, broken souls collapsing down and crying in catharsis from the music and things he’d say through the course of his program), but while this only seemed mildly annoying to some out there, it was still a very important thing we cherished about Detroit....then the station axed him in 1997 for weird allegations that he was plugging his own bar and music.

This was an indication of things to come.

The early 2000′s brought in a cultural drought which took aim at anything to subversive, fringe, or woolly for it’s own good....Mad magazine, X-Files, and Simpsons went through obvious changes, while Tim Burton became a sad parody of his own stylings. Detroit radio was also targeted, and much of the programs on WDET’s daytime slots were gutted in 2004 (as one “songdogmi” said on his blog:

No Folks Like Us or Arkansas Traveler. No Thistle and Shamrock. No Car Talk. No This American Life. No Fresh Air. No Mountain Stage (or Prairie Home Companion, but that’s been “no” for a long time) No Tavis Smiley. WDET is a public radio station with no public radio programming other than All Things Considered and Morning Edition. It looks like a largely financial-based decision to drop almost all the network programs and do so much local programming.

By 2006, many of the DJs I mentioned above were being edged out for one arbitrary reason or another.

-and so, a giant fell.

For now, though, we have stations like WEMU (campus of Eastern Michigan University Ypsilanti), WRCJ (Classical and Jazz), and WHFR....and if anyone really really likes corporate Canadian college pop...what passes today for 89.9 CBC Radio2.

As for me, I still recall how great WDET was, and the core of it was Liz.

#Orbit #Detroit #electrifying mojo #WSU #Obsolete #iggy #spud #tunes #top tier #x-files #Simpsons #ypsilanti #Tim Burton #Mad

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kawaiikatanabushi · 5 years ago

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Hakuouki Roadtrip Headcanons

Kondou Isami

-He is definitely primary driver if on the road with the group.

-His boundless patience not only makes him a levelheaded driver, but also ensures no one is getting fussed at for their antics.

-Asks frequently if everyone needs a potty break. Is gently reminded they are adults and the term "potty break" is for children.

-Leaves the snack stocking, fast food order gathering and navigating to Toshi.

-Many recollections and anecdotes accompany his driving. Loves to point out landmarks and beautiful scenery.

Hijikata Toshizo

-As a man who appreciates the solitude and quiet for accomplishing work... stuffing him in a car with the group is emotionally grating and his irritation threshold is low. Snappish in the car. (Repeats that it has nothing to do with motion sickness.)

-Riding shotgun helps him retain his sanity and navigating is a much needed distraction. (And, has nothing to do with motion sickness.)

-When it is his turn to take the wheel, he strives to make as little stops as possible. His overall goal is to retain their minimal funds and make their destination without an extra night's stay.

-Will yell that they just made a stop an hour ago and you should have peed then!

-Every stop requires him getting a coffee. Man hardly eats when on the road. His destination is his focus. He runs on caffeine. (And aspirin.)

Todou Heisuke

-He knows so many car games. Looked up car games just for this trip. Just as his energy makes him the Master Host at parties, he is the Master Entertainer in the car. It's an opportunity to bond with his friends and he is so stoaked for it.

-Only person who doesn't need a power nap. When surrounded by snoozing bodies, he uses the time to talk to Kondou-san and Hijikata-san for some catching up and life advice. Looks forward to this moment just as much as the rest of the trip.

-If no one is interested in a round of Twenty Questions or what have you, he will pull out his Switch. Willing to play alone, but he'd much prefer to Smash with his buddies. Brought extra Joycons. He's also willing to lend it to anyone bored.

-His optimism is never dowsed by any circumstances that arise. If there is a flat, he's willing to get help, call for assistance, or grab a jack. If there is traffic, has ways of entertaining everyone. Willing to dart into a gas station and get snacks. Happy to share fun, food or drink.

-He is also the master of music. Whether it is changing radio stations to playing his spotify playlists for the whole car, he picks the best tunes. He has a roadtrip playlist just for the journey. He collaborated with everyone, just to make sure that no one is left out. Unfortunately, this also exposes him to be griped at after so many songs grind Hijikata-san's nerves. How was he supposed to know there was a limit to Baby Metal songs? Wonders why Souji asked for so many... or, was it the fact that everyone was singing powerballads at the top of their lungs?

Okita Souji

-Speaking of Souji, please entertain this one in the car. He may not have bubbly enthusiastic energy like Heisuke, but this one has a capacity to make serious trouble when cramped into a car and bored. Chaos energy should never be contained without distractions. Everyone knows how unfunny it is to be stuck in a car with a cranky Souji. In order to avoid hair pulling, blame games and relentless button pushing, everyone does their best to keep him conversational if nothing else can be done. Gumny worms are a last resort.

-Thankfully, Souji also has the capability to take three power naps in the car and still arrive at the destination tired. However, no lap or shoulder is safe. Someone will be used as a pillow. If he has opportunity to rest on Chizuru's lap specifically, he will do so. Without permission. Declares it is because she doesn't stink like a man and women are just softer. Grins smugly to himself for the longest while as the car goes silent.

-He will ask "are we there yet?" Several times. He can see it clearly marked on the GPS how many miles they have left. That doesn't matter to him. If he and Heisuke start singing "are we there yet?" it guarantees Hijikata-san will snap and offer him a chance to drive. It's an absolute ploy to snag some Kondou-san time. Plus, it means the Oni can take a power nap. Not that Souji would set that up because he cares or anything. Don't get the wrong idea.

-Some moments he prefers to play games on his phone or take photos of the scenery rushing by. Souji doesn't mind staring out the window and thinking. He can wall himself off for introvert time, even shoved into a car. Headphones in, people out. Neko Atsume ensures no one will ask him questions or request he share the gummy worms. Those are his gummies. Kondou-san bought them.

-Asks for a milkshake at fast food stops. Sees how far he can go until Hijikata-san caves. "I don't want food. I just want a milkshake." (Only shares with Chizuru.)

-He likes to point out funny road signs and city names. So, so many puns with the Baka Trio.

-Souji is secretly a whole lot more excited to travel than he let's on. Plus, this group is his family. He can do a little better than tolerating everyone. He has a captive audience and is content to ride as long as he is included. Given the infectious level of cheer with the Baka Trio in the car, he might even sing along with them or goof off more than usual. He might even find it in himself to be helpful with getting snacks and drinks along the way.

Saito Hajime

-This man was prepared, packed and ready to go before anyone else. He made a checklist of everything he could need and anything that could be overlooked, checked it over three times and helped to pack the car and ensure what would be needed was accessible.

-He rose early to prepare himself and help others be prepared. He helped Souji and Heisuke pack. He took his motion sickness pill and has a large thermos filled with piping hot green tea. He also made a thermos with coffee for Hijikata-san (sugary, but black.)

-Saito has his headphones in often, but the volume low in case he is addressed. He may listen to soothing music and read a book on the history of katana. Reading in the car cuts the anxiety of being stuffed in a tin can at high speed with little wiggle room. He is grateful for the moments Souji steps in to block the extroversion chaffing his introvert soul.

-He brought a neck pillow to rest, but if he naps on anyone's shoulder he will apologize profusely. There are less tasks to focus on while riding and because this man works so hard without quite enough sleep, he will doze off. Thankfully, Souji has a pretty cozy shoulder.

-He is glad to step out and stretch his legs during a pit stop. Gases up the car without being asked. He will also wash the windows and Hijikata-san has to gently stop him from washing the entire car. Requests to drive through a car wash at the earliest convenience. Cuts a glare at Souji when he says he likes the mud. If Chizuru goes in to use the restroom, he will escort her. She needs protecc.

-Happiest when there is a beautiful rainbow or a lovely sunset on the horizon to admire.

Nagakura Shinpachi

-"Hey, do we have any snacks?" The main reason they have snacks is to keep him fed.

-This is the guy who sees the museum billboards or natural formations and requests they stop and take a look. Grumbles when the Vice Commander reminds him their budget is already tight, or they would have flown. They reach a middle ground once Hijikata-san promises they can see a museum once they get there.

-Will jokingly bemoan that they can't just drink in the car. Sano will give him a light scoff.

-Definitely will play on the Switch. Loves defeating Heisuke just to aggravate him and ask him if he needs a break from his overpowering gaming skills. This only makes Heisuke all the more pumped to win.

-"Hey, do you guys remember that time when..." What better way to pass the time than to rehash the good times? Has a funny story about practically everyone. Souji and Hijikata-san both threaten him should he begin to tell the stories they expect him to. He quiets down for a bit, only to begin a political discussion. Doesn't notice when Saito and Souji put in their headphones.

-The most vocal about restaurant requests. Would rather have a hearty meal than fast food, but orders two meals if that is their only option.

-You know what is really fun? Singing AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS! Encourages Chizuru to join in. Makes a puppy face until she relents.

Harada Sanosuke

-This man is an adult. Astute. Considerate. Well-mannered. Stuff him in a car with Heisuke and Shinpachi? That erodes into fun, goofing off time. Dance in the car? Sure! Bad singing contest? Oh, yeah!

-Still, he offers a hand to Chizuru to lead her out of the car on pit stops. Makes sure she is comfortable in the car.

-He did bring headphones for a moment's peace. Politely asks Saito to borrow his neck pillow for a nap. "Shinpachi, Heisuke. I'm going to sleep now. I'm tired. I don't want to play, I want to rest. I'm warning you both, if you touch me, I won't hold back. I'll knock your head off. Souji, that includes you, too."

-If all the chaos energy becomes just a tad too much to bear, he will lean towards the front and ask for a driving shift.

-On the whole, he is present to chat, help when asked and always aware of Chizuru needing just a little more tenderness than their pack of wild wolves.

-He might also text pictures to Shiranui of city names or cool sights. Smirks a little at the replies. When Shinpachi asks who he's texting, he doesn't give specifics. "A friend."

-He tries to avoid the role of peacemaker in the car, expecting everyone to behave. However, if necessary, he will wip out that big brother attitude and quell the situation. He isn't afraid to remind any of them how they are behaving in front of Chizuru. Is it a dirty move? Maybe. Does he care? Not really.

Yukimura Chizuru

-She's in a car with seven men. She did have nerves before entering, but mainly about how she would fit in with such a tight knit group.

-Her helpful attitude is appreciated by all. She finds herself being handed candies, given a pat on the back or a thank you to her face. She blushes happily about it all.

-She helped arrange luggage so they had optimal room. She appreciated all the strong men who were willing to help pack. It gave her great encouragement when they asked her give them insight.

-She has the tiniest of all the bladders. She is going to make all the pit stops she can. She does marvel at how well they all work together, despite being such different people.

-She gets dragged into so much silliness. She tries her hand at playing some video games with Heisuke, singing along to songs, any of the car games played and laughs at a lot of the antics in the car.

-Like Saito, she will help without requested. She sometimes gets snack or food orders from everyone to make the information short and accessible to Hijikata-san.

-She did bring some headphones, a book and the notes of thoughts on her phone to entertain herself. She doesn't need it so much as she expected. She loves to window gaze, take in the sights and spend time with them all. Road trips just feel like family to her.

#hakuouki #hakuoki #hakuouki headcanons #road trip #sorry for the absence #hope you enjoy

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blog-sliverofjade · 4 years ago

Text

Of Doms & Subs 1: Can't Stop Here, This is Wolf Country

Pairing: Angus Hopper x OFC

Summary: What's a submissive female to do when she fights her nature and goes on the run as a Lone wolf to avoid being assimilated into a pack?

Word count: 6238

Master List

“Please, please, please let me get as far as Tacoma,” I begged the flagging gas gauge of my trusty old lime green Jeep. Experience told me that it was wishful thinking because traffic was bound to hit before Everett. There was undoubtedly a Seattle pack and the fewer the stops in their area, the smaller the chance of getting picked up by the local werewolves.

A schoolbus drew parallel to me in the left lane so a giant cartoon lupine mascot filled my peripheral vision. “Can’t stop here, this is wolf country,” I muttered.

If I barrelled through, gas up in Tacoma, then I could avoid the dreaded I-5 parking lot in both Seattle and Portland on the Friday of a long weekend. Even though I started out in the British Columbia Rockies my destination was the central Oregon Cascade mountains, it was faster to cut across lower British Columbia, down the I-5 corridor, and then back across the Willamette Valley.

This route also happened to avoid the territory of the famous Adam Hauptmann and his pack. Oh sure, he was the perfect gentleman in the media and his wolves were seemingly well-behaved, but you know what they say about things that are too good to be true. I was submissive and had no delusions about where I’d end up in the hierarchy. Hell, humans had taught me that long before I was Changed two weeks ago. And female werewolves were inevitably absorbed into a pack because some old grand high poobah declared that we couldn’t fly solo.

So why was I zigzagging all over the Pacific Northwest instead of rolling over like a good little bitch? Having been submissive for over thirty years, I’d long ago learned avoidance is the best way to avoid conflict. When that didn’t work, an acerbic tongue and short temper kept most people from getting too close to abuse that aspect of my personality. Too many people think that passivity is a synonym for doormat.

My luck, or rather fuel tank, ran out in the U District. Red and blue lights lit up the rearview mirror just as I squeezed through a yellow light towards a gas station. “Please don’t be for me, please don’t be for me,” I chanted as I pulled into the lot.

“Of course not, when has everything gone your way on this godsforsaken trip.” I lowered my window, plastered a meekly congenial if slightly vapid look on my face, and gripped my license and registration in a sweaty fist.

“Good evening.” The officer bent to look in the window. We both stilled the instinct we caught the other’s scent. I dropped my eyes immediately, partly to avoid staring at the scar that marred his face, and offered the documentation. Please don’t ask any questions, I prayed silently.

“Are you traveling by yourself, Ms. Jones?” Whatever deities that haven’t been listening to me can go shove it.

“Yessir. I’m headin’ back home to Oregon from visitin’ family.” Mostly the truth. I did stop in Vancouver to visit my brother. I put the Southern drawl on fairly heavy. The twang and the manners to go with often smooth the way with people in uniform, even if I hadn’t lived South of the 44th parallel in fifteen years.

“Oh, you have family here?” Must remain calm. Normal, even breaths will help control the heartrate.

“Vancouver,” I smiled. So what if it was Vancouver, Washington and not Vancouver, British Columbia?

“BC?”

“Yessir.” His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the blithe lie.

“You must be a member of the Portland pack,” he said, eyeing my ID a little too closely for comfort now.

“Yessir.”

“I’m just gonna go run these.” My dad was a cop and his face would go blank like that whenever he was gathering evidence of my brother’s or my misdeeds. This was so many flavours of not good.

The wolf watched him walk back to his car. She liked the way he smelled. Familiar and right. Like family. If she could, she would have trotted right at his heels. At that thought, the human half kicked in and started up the engine, slammed her into gear, and peeled back out towards the onramp.

“Smart. Real smart, what’re we gonna do now?” I tapped the steering wheel in a staccato rhythm with my thumbs in time to the rock blaring from the sound system. “No license, no registration, he called your plates in before saying hi, he has your address and…” I grabbed my phone and shut it off. If the conspiracy theorists were right, they could track me via the phone. Is it paranoia if they really are out to get you?

I crossed over to the 405 and stopped in Bellevue for gas, otherwise I’d be making my getaway on foot. I leaned against the Jeep, ignoring the damp that seeped from the cold metal through my clothing, and debated the merits of taking the really scenic route of 101. Or would they expect me to leave I-5 and thus making it the safer choice by hiding in plain sight? My head was starting to hurt from trying to outthink them.

The gas fumes seared my nose so I couldn’t smell the driver of the Mazda 3 that pulled up behind me until he approached the squeegee station between us. Studiously avoiding eye contact, I screwed the cap back on and nestled the nozzle back in its hook. Slowly, no sudden moves.

I slid behind the wheel and as the engine turned over a cop car blazed into the station to block me against the Mazda. It looks cool in the movies. Less so if you’re the one trapped. I shut off the engine, folded my arms, and leaned back in a huff. My license and registration slipped through the three-inch gap at the top of the window. I snatched them up and tossed them in my purse without pausing in my attempt to mentally set his car on fire. Unfortunately, lycanthropy didn’t come with pyrokinesis. In the movies fiery explosions usually follow when there are confrontations in gas stations. Too bad life wasn’t imitating art in this case.

“I take it you know the law.” The scarred officer was not referring to any statutes written by man. “You can either come and meet our Alpha or I can arrest you and then you can meet him.” There was no threat in his words. He sounded as if he were inviting me over for dinner, which might actually be the case. I resisted the urge to hit the steering wheel. It would likely crumple now that I had preternatural strength.

“Fine. So where am I following you to meet your lord and master?”

“Matt here will be your driver,” he gestured to the guy who’d blocked me in. Mazda Matt leaned against his car door with his arms folded across his chest, watching the exchange with a slight smirk. “Shane will follow in your car.” A third man I hadn’t noticed before was mirroring Matt’s pose on the other side of the car.

I sighed and glanced at my phone. Even if they let me use it, who would I call? Hi big bro, I’m being kidnapped by werewolves. Please send in the National Guard. Tanks work against werewolves, right? I kicked open the door, forcing the cop to quickly sidestep. With a snarl on my lips, I chucked the heavy mass of keys attached to a carabiner at Shane. Damned werewolf reflexes. If he’d been human they’d have struck his temple and probably dropped him like a stone.

Matt came forward as if to take my elbow and escort me. “Touch me and I break your scaphoid. They’re a bitch to heal even with regeneration,” I snapped. Just because my wolf was happy about getting taken to meet their leader didn’t mean I had to be. He drew back his hand, but he did open the door for me and waited till I buckled up before shutting the door. Why buckle up if I could survive a trip through the windshield? It’d still hurt like hell.

“So I heard you’re from Portland,” Matt said as we merged back onto 405 in an attempt to fill the silence that was thick with my seething.

“Look, I’m no doubt about to get grilled on all this anyway, so let’s skip the twenty questions, ok?” He shrugged and didn’t seem put out by my rudeness.

Eventually he turned on the radio. I fiddled with it until finally settling on 107 the End. I tried to suppress a smirk at his frown. Judging by his pre-sets he liked the music just fine. Not so much me taking control of it. If some strange wolf was driving my Jeep, Mazda Matt could suck it up. He should be glad I didn’t put it on country out of sheer spite.

Thirty minutes later, due to traffic as opposed to distance, we pulled up in front of an expansive house partially obscured by trees. I shuddered to think of the market value for the area. They seemed to be having a party due to the sheer number of vehicles parked beside the house. Shane pulled up as I trailed behind Matt to the door.

The door opened to a large mudroom with hooks for coats and cubbies for shoes. About half of them were in use. Curiously, there were two utilitarian shower stalls that would have looked right at home in a locker room. I followed Matt’s and Shane’s examples and removed my shoes, tucking them into one of the shelves.

“We’re having a barbecue on Saturday, so a bunch of us are already here to watch the game,” Shane explained from behind me as I followed Matt down the hallway. The sounds of men cheering or jeering at a TV screen echoed up from the basement. My human half was worried about being in a house with a bunch of strange men. My wolf on the other hand was curious and delighted by the mixture of scents that spoke of wolves.

How to play this? Be a general pain in the ass and risk the consequences? Or be a good little submissive female and not only risk being assimilated, but also subordinate to everyone else. I always believed in playing to one’s strengths, which meant plan A was go. Besides, I’d never been accused of having the sense God gave a squirrel.

Matt stopped by an open doorway and gestured for me to enter. The man standing behind the desk was certainly not what I was expecting of an Alpha. For starters, he didn’t look like an arrogant asshole. Secondly, he was maybe an inch taller than me, and I was considered fairly short. Underneath his wine, or perhaps blood-red dress shirt he was thin. The only hint to his status was the intelligence lurking behind his dark eyes, which I merely glimpsed before lowering my own.

“Welcome, Eleanor,” he came around to shake my hand. I didn’t know if it was proper protocol or if he somehow knew that I was recently Changed and was sticking to familiar, human customs. His grip was firm, not crushing like some men, and not too gentle as if he was afraid of breaking me. It was a bit startling to actually be able to shake his hand properly instead of my hand simply being engulfed by his as was the case with most men.

“I am Angus Hopper, Alpha of the Emerald City Pack. You’ve made good time considering you left Revelstoke early this morning.” Oh that was neatly done, putting me in my place by hinting that he knew more than I suspected, but not exactly how much. “Have a seat,” he leaned his backside against the desk and gestured to one of the comfortable looking chairs. It was an order, not an invitation. And why was I reminded of being called to the principal’s office as written in a Penthouse letter? Shoving aside x-rated thoughts involving school uniforms and corporal punishment, I tried to look as non-threatening as possible.

“Been sittin’ in a car so long I’d rather stand if’s all the same.” Eyes down, properly polite, and heavy on the Southern accent to hide any attitude.

“I imagine,” he said with a small smile. “So tell me how you came to be living in Portland, a city currently without a pack.” Crap on a cracker, there’s no lying my way out of this one. How does a city that size not have a werewolf pack?

“I was Changed two-weeks ago,” I sighed and sat in the other chair in defeat, the one he had not indicated, forcing him to shift slightly to face me. If he didn’t want small acts of defiance, then he shouldn’t have multiple options available. “I was solo hikin’ in Glacier National Park an’ doin’ a little boulderin’. One slip an’ I ended up with a broken spinal column at the bottom of a ravine. By the time John found me, it was Change or die. Chose what I thought was the lesser o’ two evils. Stayed with him through the full moon an’ then headed home.”

“Does John have a last name?” Angus asked with a frown. My wolf worried that he was displeased with us. I worried what that might mean for us if he was.

“He said he’s old an’ the old ones don’t like to give their last names.” I had to consciously square my shoulders, which had subconsciously rounded under his frown. He nodded as if the answer wasn’t a surprise to him.

“And he was willing to let you go so soon?” he asked with an arch of an eyebrow. It really should be illegal for such a simple gesture to lend an irresistible quality when he was already handsome. Or that could have just been my imagination because it was hard to read expressions from peripheral vision.

“Not as such no,” I admitted reluctantly. “I waited till he went out huntin’ then I booked it back down the mountain.”

“Why did you feel the need to run?” he asked softly. Even if I was brave enough to look him in the face I doubted that it would give any clue as to what that tone was in his voice. I wasn’t necessarily a coward, but I was never comfortable discussing my personal life, let alone with strangers. Focusing on the rug, or the bookcase, was easier than looking at him.

“I got a job to get back to an’ I really wasn’t fond o’ the idea o’ bein’ stuck in the backwoods with a crazy old mountain man who’s also a werewolf.” He was silent, obviously waiting for me to continue. “I got the feelin’ that even if I was fully in control he wouldn’t let me leave.”

Angus folded his arms in thought. “Do you know where John lives?”

“There’s a map in my glove box. I could show ya the route to the cabin we stayed at. There’re no roads, an’ it’s a bit of a hike in.” Despite my best intentions to the contrary, I was cooperating. I blamed my wolf, who was eager for his approval. The Alpha obviously did not like what he was hearing, but it was rapidly becoming apparent that I was not his quarry so I was more than happy to keep him on that trail. He caught the attention of either Shane or Matt behind me, and a moment later a door shut. “But I did get the feelin’ that he moves around a lot.”

“Eleanor,” he began.

“Ellie, please.” Angus did frown at the interruption, but hearing my horrible legal name, which the cop must have told him, was like having my fur rubbed the wrong way.

“Ellie, you’re not in any trouble,” he said soothingly, as if I were a startled horse that might bolt. Perhaps that analogy wasn’t too far off the mark considering I was practically vibrating with the need to run for the Jeep. “The manner of your Change was highly unusual, bordering even on breaking our laws.”

“The law says that no one may be Changed without their explicit permission. I was coherent enough to give it.” Ha, that caught him off guard. That’s right, the newbie knows the rules of the game. I might not remember anything else around the accident, but things like a weird, hairy mountain man offering to save your life by turning you into a monster tends to stick in a person’s memory.

“That is true, yes. However, the second law is that before someone is Changed they must undergo rigorous counseling and testing to determine whether they can become stable wolves,” the Alpha explained. I forgot for a moment and stared into his dark eyes in shock that someone would make the choice deliberately rather than out of desperation. I quickly looked away once the surprise faded.

“A newly Changed wolf lacks control for their first few full moons and requires supervision for the first year,” he continued as if there was no breach of protocol. “A pack is necessary to guide new wolves.” He sounded like he had given this speech many times before. Luckily, he didn’t succumb to dry monotones.

“Which’s why I was goin’ to pack up an’ move somewhere rural enough I could run off a little steam,” I countered. “Nurses are always needed everywhere.”

“This is not just a ‘little steam,’ pup.” I suppressed a flinch at his growl, as well as a snarl of my own at being called ‘pup.’ He took a deep breath, whether to calm himself or to continue his lecture I didn’t know because the sound of the door opening interrupted. Shane handed Angus the familiar map, folded in my own fashion that in no way resembled its original creases. Those things are impossible to refold properly, anyway. After carefully moving a few items, he unfolded the map over his desk and handed me a pencil.

“Here’s the trail head.” I pointed to the circle already marking the spot on Highway 1. “He follows the main trail through this valley.” I pointed at the trail, which was already marked from my planning before the trip from hell. The accent softened as I talked and forgot to maintain it. “At about here he branches off at different angles each time so that his trail, not being well worn, is hard to pick up until you’re further out and know what you’re looking for.” I marked an X where I’d gotten lost and decided to just keep following the river down until I found either a trail, humans, or the highway. “Follow the river up and at the very edge of the park he’s got a cabin right about here.” I drew a paw print on the spot. “With the climb in elevation, it would’ve taken me about two days before… before. Downhill with a light pack, I made it in around eight hours.”

“Does that say ‘Dogtooth Range’?” Shane asked with a hint of a wry smile.

“Could’ve been worse. He could’ve gone for the really obvious with either Grey Fang or Fang Rock,” I smirked and pointed out the so named peaks on the other side of the park. He snorted a chuckle.

“You didn’t go to the authorities.” It was a statement, not a question.

“And end up in a secret government facility?” I scoffed. “No thank you.”

“Where did you stop to rest?” asked Angus.

“I didn’t.”

“Fatigue can be as dangerous as alcohol,” he frowned.

“Have caffeine, will travel,” I quipped.

“Even though your endurance has improved, you still need rest. Exhaustion erodes control.” And back into lecture mode.

“Like I said, I’m a nurse. Pulling doubles, even triples, isn’t unusual,” I countered.

“You passed through the territories of four different packs.” Someone had probably pulled my credit card history to follow my route in retrospect. That was fast work, and most definitely illegal. “How did you avoid detection?”

“Didn’t stop more’n absolutely necessary,” I shrugged. “And when I did, I tried to not get out of the car. Drive-thru, avoided pumping my own gas where I could.”

With a few taps Angus called someone on his cellphone. He had to swipe his fingerprint to unlock it, first. It even had one of those heavy-duty cases, which was probably a good investment for a werewolf. “Hello, Angus.” It was still weird how much my hearing had improved, especially back in civilization.

“Hello, Bran.” Aw, son of a biscuit. I really did not want to show up on the Marrock’s radar. Angus gave a concise report of everything that had happened to me since the accident, as far as he knew, including the pathetic getaway attempt. I sat back down for the uncomfortable reprise.

“Send me the map and I’ll have Charles look into it.” I wasn’t certain how I felt about having just signed John’s death warrant. The old werewolf wasn’t too specific when he talked about the Grand High Poobah of North America, but he was clear that any time the Marrock sent someone blood was spilled. “How is she getting on with your pack?”

“She’s a touch overwhelmed so I thought it best to wait before introducing them en masse.” I glared at Angus from under lowered lashes, which is harder to do than you would think without looking coy or drunk.

“If she chooses, escort her to Eugene. Otherwise I will send someone to fetch her here until she decides where to settle,” Bran said. My scowl deepened and I opened my mouth to tell them exactly what I thought of their plans. Shane shook his head almost imperceptibly in warning, though there was more empathy than condemnation in the movement.

“Please give my greetings to Anna and Charles.”

“I will.” The call abruptly ended from the other end. Our King of the Werewolves was not one for drawn out goodbyes. Angus took a couple of pictures of the map and sent them off with thumbs flying across the screen fast enough to make a teenager jealous. Then he did the most supernatural act I’d seen out of a werewolf yet: he carefully folded the map along the original fold lines before handing it back to me.

I doubled it over and shoved it in my back pocket as I stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I would like to make it home in time for my shift tomorrow night.” Although I kept my eyes on the bookshelf, I could feel his stare boring through me till my knees threatened to turn to Jell-O. Locking one’s knees is a surefire way to eventually pass out, but is effective in the short term.

“I’m afraid that you will have to change careers. Even old wolves can have problems around so much blood and the vulnerable.” The bastard actually managed to sound regretful.

“I have neither the money nor the inclination to go back to school. Not to mention I’m a little old for that.” Must not growl at the Alpha, I mentally chanted for the benefit of my human half.

“Loans can be arranged, and I’ve known werewolves who were alive when the Magna Carta was signed and earned their doctorate two or three times over.” He sounded so cool and collected as if we weren’t discussing what was the beginning of what was theoretically to be my extremely long life. “The more immediate issue is how much control you have.”

“If I don’t get my act together by this time next year I’m put down.” Don’t know why I spared him when it would have been so much more fun to watch him squirm.

“Not only that, but you must be able to shift form and back at will.” People go through that much pain willingly? “New wolves need a pack to teach them control and to prevent unnecessary bloodshed when the wolf takes over until control is regained. We cannot afford one mistake lest we all disappear into secret government facilities at best, or hunted down and exterminated at worst.” Angus’ voice achieved a deeper timbre that coiled through the room like some living thing as he seemed to be losing patience. “You will stay the night here. In the morning Shane and Matt will escort you to Eugene to be presented to the pack there.” Ooh, presented like a gift. Who could resist such a command? Oddly enough, my wolf did not like this plan either, but not because of the authoritarianism.

“And if I don’t want to join a pack?” It’s difficult to arch an eyebrow effectively while avoiding eye contact. But not impossible.

“That is not an option,” he shook his head. “Even if you were not so new, our females are so rare they not allowed to become lone wolves.” That’s what John had said, but I hoped that it was a lie to keep me from leaving. The whole damn lot of them were so possessive it’s a wonder they even realized they were in the 21st century. And I didn’t belong to anyone. Not any more.

“Fine. But I’ve driven from here to Eugene many times so I think we can dispense with the escort.” I waved vaguely over my shoulder to where Shane still lurked by the door.

“That is non-negotiable. As a dominant male and even more so as an Alpha I have a responsibility to see a submissive female delivered safely to another pack.” Oh bloody hell. John was right. They could tell from one’s energy, no matter how much I tried to hide behind my sass. “Not all dominants that you might meet along the way would be as tolerant of your attitude as I am.”

“More arbitrary rules from on high,” I said flatly and folded my arms. “Tell me, is His Furriness one of those at the signing of the Magna Carta? No wonder ya’ll’s thinking’s so medieval.”

Angus grabbed me by the back of the neck and snarled in my face. Reflexively, I stiffened and closed my eyes to avoid looking at him. His grip was tight, but not painful. One quick twist and he could snap my neck. I was pretty sure that was one injury from which there was no recovery.

“The Marrock set down our laws for reasons you cannot yet comprehend. You don’t have to understand our ways yet, but before God you will show respect,” he snarled. There wasn’t anything I could say to that, so with an involuntary shudder I went limp in his grasp as my wolf temporarily took over. Well, there were things I could say, but self-preservation and my wolf stayed my tongue. After a minute, he released me, stepped away, and turned his back. The strength I had just experienced first hand was evident in the taut lines of his wiry shoulders.

My heart pounded in my throat while in the back of my head my wolf howled her anguish at having been chastised. As a result, my self-preservation went right out the window. “My respect is earned, not freely given. If I’d realized that my choices consisted of which pack I was going to be the lowest bitch in, I’d have told John to bugger off.” At least he’d have made sure that it was quick and clean.

The Alpha breathed deeply and was quiet for exactly ten seconds. Basic relaxation techniques to manage the beast within? And they thought they could teach me something in that area? When he was done, but not noticeably calmer, he turned around to lean against the desk again. “We have a rigorous screening process to avoid situations like this. Dominant lone wolves are the last people who should be teaching pack structure to a submissive female.”

“Please stop using that term.”

“‘Female’?”

“Used as an adjective, it refers to a person. As a noun, it denotes something less than human. An animal.” Like breeding pairs. Good thing I never wanted to procreate anyway.

“Get used to the terminology.” If he were human, he’d have developed a new frown line from this conversation alone. “In the constant struggles for dominance, females and submissives are the center of a pack since they do not rise in rank, except for when their mate does in the case of females.” If I didn’t like ‘female,’ I despised ‘mate,’ which seemed a ridiculous term for a species that couldn’t bear children. “With submissives, dominants don’t have to constantly watch their back. And the pack will unite to protect these weaker members.” Oh if he thought I was weak, he had another thing coming. “Female submissives are so valued that any pack would welcome you.” ‘Submissive’ as a noun was definitely not an improvement. “But none would tolerate your disrespect for long.”

“That’s exactly why I should just be on my merry way,” I said brightly. “I’m really more trouble than I’m worth.”

“Nice try,” he smirked. “Dinner is in thirty minutes. You’ll want to freshen up.” True to my nature I wanted to deny hunger despite not having eaten since well before the border crossing. I’d worn the same clothes for the past twenty-four hours straight, which included a frantic run down a mountain through unfamiliar woods, and my hands still smelled like gasoline.

I was still noticing just how many interesting smells I was covered in when a tall, perky blonde swept through the door. She must have practically been listening down the hallway, not that, that was necessary. Everyone in the house had probably heard me mouthing off. I’d forgotten about that. Great first impression.

“Please show Ellie to the guest suite.” Mickayla gave a sloppy salute, earning a scowl from her fearless leader, then cocked her head in silent invitation to follow her.

“You’re up on the second floor,” she said as she led me upstairs. “Hopefully you’re not afraid of heights after your accident,” she grinned.

“Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted to try free climbing, but was too scared. Now I totally want to,” I said.

“Don’t mention that to any of the guys or they’ll have kittens.” Her golden laugh bounced through the stairway.

“Now I’m picturing a bunch of them at the base of a cliff with a giant trampoline like in cartoons when there’s a fire,” I chuckled and she joined me.

“This is you,” she waved a welcoming arm through an open doorway. “Matt already brought your backpack and duffel up.” My bags were indeed sitting on a low, wide dresser against the nearest wall. The queen bed with its elegant down comforter faced the door. A door on the right led to a bathroom, although I had no idea how I was going to be able to do my business in a house full of people who could hear through walls.

“Thanks.”

“No worries. You need anything you just give a shout. Wait, you’re new. No actual shouting necessary, just a sort of ‘hey’ so we know you’re not talking to yourself,” she winked.

“Um, Mickayla?” She turned back to me. “What’s it like being in a pack?”

She stepped into the room with a small smile and shut the door behind her, for all the good that would do. “I don’t know this John, but sometimes wolves go lone because they can’t handle being in a pack.”

“Yeah, he did seem more than a little biased.” I dug out the Ziploc of toiletries and the bundle that was the last clean outfit I’d originally saved for the last day of the drive home, but didn’t dare stop long enough along the way to change.

“Think of a healthy pack more as one big family.” Mickayla flopped onto the bed with one leg tucked up under her, yet kept her voice low enough to not carry. “Complete with the usual amount of dysfunction and bickering. They’re really like a bunch of brothers, uncles, and cousins who are all trying to protect the little sister.”

As she talked, I leaned against the bathroom doorway and started to brush my teeth. They had fuzzy sweaters from the energy drinks I’d downed to stay awake. “But then again, I’m married,” she continued. “If you’re single then the unmated ones will all come sniffing around. It’s not that bad!” she laughed at my expression of dawning horror. “Even if any of them would push their luck and call down the wrath of their Alpha, the closest dom would thrash them, or if they couldn’t, tag someone in who could. Mind you, I’m only talking about the Emerald City Pack. I was Changed two years ago because my mate, Matt, was already a wolf. Before that there were no other girls for I don’t know how long.”

“They weren’t kidding when they said that women are rare,” I said around the toothbrush and foam that probably made me look rabid. She laughed again, although it was hard to tell whether it was at my surprise or the toothpaste.

“We’re more functional than not here. But there are some stories out there of Alphas who went bad. I don’t know much about the Eugene pack, but I haven’t heard any horror stories either,” she shrugged. “You know, it’s funny, women are supposed to be huge gossips, but most werewolves are men and we all gossip worse than any housewife.” I laughed and promptly choked, so I shut the bathroom door and started the shower as I finished brushing.

“You’re going to need to get over that modesty.” Mickayla’s voice was easily heard through the door and over the running water.

“Oh?” I asked archly. She couldn’t see the glare through the door as I undressed.

“It’s incredibly painful to shift while wearing clothes. So pack runs, full moons…”

“I’ve just been told I have to switch careers, move to a new city, am no longer allowed to leave town without a babysitter, and when it comes to my place in a pack my only option is which one do I want to be at the bottom of the pecking order in. Oh, and all the single guys will be eyeing me like a juicy steak. Now you’re telling me I have to become an exhibitionist? No thank you, I’m going to maintain whatever little control over my life I have left.” It took all my willpower to not punch something. If I had to move and look for work there was no way I could afford to replace anything in this bathroom, too.

“If the pack’s good, you’ll be on a pedestal, more or less, not the low man on the totem pole.”

“Great, I always wanted to be Princess Peach stuck in the castle,” I muttered sarcastically. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Ellie, I promise that it’s not as bad as it seems,” she said before leaving.

I stood lost in thought in my office for some time after she left, bathed in the complex layers of smells that confirmed her story. Mountain air, evergreens, sweat both old and nervous, gasoline, fast food, and no small amount of stress. Amidst the melange was a thread of fear. If it was any stronger, I would have called Alan, the pack’s only submissive, to come and help calm her before everyone got riled up trying to fix whatever upset her. But under the circumstances, her fear was to be expected. And he was working tonight.

Tension had been running high in the pack ever since we went public. Another submissive to ease the strain would be a boon, and a second medic would not go amiss. Her presence would stir up a rash of dominance fights among the unmated males until she starting seeing someone. That is, if she could be housebroken. Time would show whether her defiance was born of ignorance or emotional pressure. Her knowledge of our primary laws would suggest the latter, though I preferred to avoid premature conclusions.

A younger wolf, or one who wasn’t as high in the hierarchy, might find such calculations cold, especially in regards to a submissive female whose Change had been particularly traumatic. But you don’t get to be an old Alpha without assessing the strengths and weaknesses of your pack members and determining how they can best be used for the betterment of the whole.

As much as I was loath to let her leave, even if the Marrock hadn’t mandated, protocol and courtesy demanded that the Eugene pack have right of first refusal. Appropriate that Eugene was also referred to as the Emerald City, but we had claimed the name before the Portland pack had relocated there. Ordinarily I would have my second, Tom, call to arrange things with the other pack, but the unique situation and the fact that he was on duty called for a personal touch, even if my third, Shane, wasn’t preparing for the trip. Besides, their Alpha, Colin, would be pissed if I dropped this grenade, no matter how attractive or useful she was, in his lap without warning. No, not a bomb. Panicked ferret, maybe. Still not pleasant, but not as disastrous. And they could be cute, when they weren’t baring their teeth.

Stifling a sigh, I found Colin’s cell number in my phone and called him up.

Notes: This was written two years ago and was my first fan fiction and my first attempt at writing over 10 years.

Matt and Shane live in Redmond, thus why they were able to carpool so quickly. It was sheer luck that they spotted the lime green, mud-splattered Jeep as they headed down the 405 after Tom asked them to try and track her while he covered I-5 South. Of course, Ellie didn't know that, nor does she think it's lucky at all.

Ellie was hiking along the easterly side of Glacier National Park of Canada in BC, not too far from Revelstoke, which has some great hot springs, by the way.

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