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derangedhyena-delphinidae · 4 years ago

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numerous issues with “The Aftermath of Seaworld”

When I get time to do so (aka when I’m done with the documentary), I’m likely going to make a video version of this going into the details.

But for right now, I’ve made this. Both as a guideline for me and so everyone can begin to get an idea of the severity of issues involved.

Researching things is time-consuming and can be very difficult - believe me, I know. But I’m of the mind that if you’re making content with the intent of educating people, you have a responsibility to perform a certain level of due diligence. It IS okay to express uncertainty or doubt if you have it. It is NOT okay to confidently assert things that you do not know with certainty.

The video has an anticap slant, and I’m obviously not disagreeing on that front. But again: if you’re gonna go through the trouble of teaching people something. Bare minimum... please make sure it’s actually correct. *** 1) x ‘founded in 1964 and based out of Florida’ - ???? Seaworld definitively began on the west coast, in San Diego, CA. And given that the first park opened in early 1964… things came together before that. Uh? 2) x ‘four people founded Seaworld [...]’ For one… it wasn’t originally conceived as a restaurant, it was originally conceived as an underwater bar/lounge. Two… calling the four guys involved in founding the place “frat brothers” is fucking ridiculous and completely overlooks a) how each was actually involved and b) the overall significance of their contributions to the field as individuals. Hint: like it or not, they were important and did a lot!

3) x If one is going to bring up SWBGCF/rescues while talking about the literal founding of SW, it gives the impression that it’s been around for that duration. It hasn’t. It’s actually a bit unclear when SW started an organized rescue program, but the Fund itself and all that it did came about much later. The rescue information and how it’s presented is actually INCREDIBLY complex, nuanced, and has a fascinating history (from a “bad company behaving badly” perspective). Oversimplifying this, to this degree and in this misinformative way, does the facts of the situation an INCREDIBLE disservice.

4) x [assertive statement about what the name Shamu means] ….Uh actually there’s several explanations for the name Shamu, and the most likely one IMO seems to be the “she-namu” one, not the “friend of Namu” one(? What is this even based on.) 4b) It’s not quite clear if she’s saying “Namu was the first ever orca to be displayed and perform shows” or or Namu was the first to be displayed and, like Shamu, performed shows. Either way, Moby Doll was the first to truly be displayed to the public, not Namu.

5) x ‘Namu died after one year in captivity and you’d think that this might deter Seaworld from doing the same thing again…’ Seaworld truly had nothing to do with Namu. And they leased/took possession of Shamu before Namu died. ‘Again’? What?

6) x “Now, PETA paints a pretty disturbing picture…” [while showing Okura’s artwork] This video segment is, and this is putting it nicely, a pile of poorly-researched BULLSHIT. -Yes, PETA talks about Shamu’s capture, re: the harpooning of her mother. This Youtuber cannot apparently be arsed to look more than 1 Google search into this, as she proceeds to dismiss the information as potentially fabricated. There are two detailed accounts of Shamu’s capture that I’m aware of - in books - and though they have some slight conflicts, it’s absolutely NOT in doubt that the female who was very likely Shamu’s mother was 1) harpooned, 2) died from her injuries and 3) this had been done to make her easier to catch/locate because there was a fucking buoy attached to the harpoon. Which she dragged around for at least 24 hours prior dying. So maybe don’t dismiss that as PETA hysteria, maybe TRY to determine the truth of the matter, which would inform one that it is both true and completely horrifying. -In addition, Okura is an awesome individual who has worked very hard to create a variety of informative artwork for our cause. Okura is NOT associated with PETA and it’s borderline libel in my eyes to use their artwork in this dismissive manner when the primary sources of it can be easily identified online, with full explanations and everything. Do I take special offense to this because of the misuse of artwork? Absolutely. Artists get disrespected enough online. I’m tired of it. This kind of laziness IS NOT acceptable.

7) x ‘timeline is fuzzy about when Shamu died’ …………… it’s…. It’s really not … newspapers are pretty clear about it…..

8) x [complete and utter oversimplification of the lifespan issue, which is not acceptable for anything published in 2020. It just isn’t. If you’re going to bring it up like this, either do the legwork and get into the weeds or stay out.] 8b) [same for reproductive ages. sigh]

9) x if we’re going to talk about when Cornell was involved with Seaworld it’s very important to specify when Cornell was involved with Seaworld and not make it seem like it’s present tense.

10) x “both were rescued by Seaworld” - uh? no. Zero orcas have been rescued by Seaworld. Literally none. The infected-jaw orca was Sandy, whose story is complex and certainly does not involve Seaworld until much later. And many of the orcas in that time period had bullet wounds, often only identified post-mortem because they didn’t seem to hurt the animals much. Also, unflinchingly blending 70s captivity ethics with modern ones is also complete nonsense?

11) x [tilikum coming from sealand] inhales I am going to make an entire video centered on this fucking subject because it’s one of the single most profound arguments for Seaworld being garbage as assessed by US government agencies in the 90s yet everyone utterly fails to mention this. Why?!

12) x what on earth is this nonsense re: quoting a quote from Zimmerman’s article - which has already been removed from its original context, so the original context is not available - and then penalizing the quote for existing as if Zimmerman’s article were the context? That is offensively disingenuous. I honestly don’t know what the original context is, either - but it’s wildly inappropriate to act as if the Zimmerman article is.

13) x this is relatively minor but ‘Paul Sprong’? You literally have his name on the screen. And then mis-reading his age too? While asserting it from a static article published years ago? Effort? Where is it?

14) x ‘another trainer, Peter’ ….. Ken Peters….

15) [weirdly glossing over the widely-available list of orca-trainer injuries/aggressions, despite it being central to the point.] 16) x This pilot whale outrage certainly happened but it was pretty clearly Blackfish that started the cascade of woes for Seaworld. Who has ever asserted this?

17) if you’re gonna just rehash blackfish, tell people to go watch blackfish.

18) x I’ve already gone over the context issue with Seaworld calling out Howard’s statement in Blackfish here (point 23). Which is to say, IN CONTEXT in Blackfish it’s clear what Mr. Garrett is talking about but, divorced from that, it sounds incorrect. But this Youtuber AMPLIFIES the issue by doubling down on the assertion with “no record of a killer whale doing any harm to anyone in the wild.” The surfer event should always be mentioned. Yes, there’s absolutely room for doubt. But there’s also a clear demarcation between an accidental attack (eg mistaken identity, as was likely for the surfer) and intentional one (eg the incidents at marine parks.) Why do people kneecap themselves on this point 18b) please stop acting like Luna represents orcas in general.

19) x “Howard, for all of his research…” … while referring to David Duffus’ b-roll and statements. Uh. 20) x Apparently this Youtuber has single-handedly resolved the dorsal fin issue. You know, the thing that hasn’t been properly researched ever, that has been subject to a ton of debate, that isn’t 100% settled for a variety of reasons, and almost everyone talks about in terms of theories and likely possibilities. 21) x Alexis Martinez wasn’t “torn to shreds.” In a space where even moderate exaggerations are often penalized harshly by the opposition, this kind of blatant nonsense is not welcome. Plus, the reality’s bad enough… you don’t have to make anything up!

22) x *sighs. points at own webpage*

23) Talking about the shows stopping without acknowledging how that’s a bit of a farce is something else. In addition to apparently just flipping to buying what Seaworld’s selling re: its ‘improved image.’

*** Tl;dr video is so unrelentingly full of errors ranging from small to egregious it makes me seriously concerned for the veracity of the rest of this person’s content. The maker of the video provided a list of their sources in their video description, which I will have time to look through in detail later. The above is solely a response to the information they present IN THE VIDEO - which, is very important because let’s be real: a lot of people are not going to look at the list of sources. People don’t even do it when citing papers (no really, you’d be surprised, fml.) For anyone who wants to whinge that I haven’t linked or asserted any sources of my own for my claims… well, remember what I said about time-consuming and ‘I’m busy’? Yhea. Getting all of that together will be part of making a video. So if you want to shrug loudly at my list here… you can, that’s your prerogative, I’m happy to say I DGAF if that’s your takeaway.

What I hope, is that if there’s anything I’ve made clear over the While of running this blog, it’s that I don’t fuck around when it comes to sources and information and do my best to provide what information exists, all of it, not just cherrypicked bits and bobs. Anyways. Here’s step 0 at least. Please don’t share that video. Pretty please.

#seaworld #grumble

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aweecrush · 3 years ago

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As soon as she opens the glass door, the October chill immediately comes to tickle her face. She sighs in delight - feck, it's hot in that apartment. Between the room full of people dancing, the various groups scattered all around the place, the smoking and the booze, it's like a damn volcano in there.

The balcony is not actually what you could call small, but even so, she can hear the drunken advice of Orla’s roommate clearly from the other side of it. She doesn’t know the friend she’s talking to, but the sight of the both of them half shouting how great the other is while trying - and failing - not to spill all their wine is as sweet as it is funny. Ah, the outbursts of love of the shitfaced.

A smile on her face, Erin turns towards the other side of the space where, as predicted, she spots the special someone she loves, shitfaced or not.

Her heart immediately drops at the sight of him.

Leaving her glass on the first table she finds, she makes her way towards his dark figure leaning over edge as he gazes at the city. She can’t see his face yet, but his hunched shoulders are indication enough. Not that she needs any, really.

When she wraps her arms around him from behind, James straightens up to make it easier for her. She holds him as close as she can and rests her cheek against his back, breathes him in. He takes one of her hands and kisses it, then laces their fingers together and places them back on his stomach.

There’s the muffled music and the laughs coming from the inside, the shouts from the girls not far. The sounds of the city night life beneath them.

“I’ve missed you tonight,” he says after a while. They’ve barely seen each other since they arrived.

Erin holds him even tighter. “I’ve missed you too.”

But both his hands are covering hers, one of his thumbs drawing slow patterns on her skin, and he’s warm, and he smells good, so good. It’s all perfect now.

“You drunk?” She can hear the smile in his voice. She turns her head just enough to bury her nose between his shoulder blades, a giggle that betrays her current state escaping her lips.

“Yep,” and she feels his chuckle against her chest. “Clare’s much worse though. She’s currently alternating between telling our non-France going story to that French girl and burping in a very horrific and worrying way, so it’s safe to say there's a disaster looming.” James snorts. “You?”

“Not really, no. Although Nick’s waiting for me with a shot competition when I go back inside, so that should change really soon.”

Thanks to her heels, she can drop a couple of kisses on his cheek without having to raise on her tiptoes, a smirk on her lips.

“As much as I love you, and that’s quite a lot to be honest, you do know that there’s no way you’re winning said competition, right?”

He nods, faking seriousness. “Oh yeah. I mean, he’s like a magician or something.”

“Unbeatable.”

“Uh uh. He and Michelle really did find each other, didn’t they - he’s probably the only person I know who can actually drink more than her. I mean, the Halloween party...”

“Clare’s birthday.”

“That Christmas break party.”

“That was impressive.” She feels sick just remembering the amount of vodka involved.

She lets their laughs slowly die down before nuzzling him, dropping a wee kiss behind his ear, another just a bit lower.

She figures now is as good a time as any, isn’t it. “I heard you and Michelle talk in the kitchen earlier.”

The moment the words leave her mouth, she feels him tense against her. Of course he does.

She trails kisses down his neck as an apology for approaching a subject she knows he doesn’t want to. As an encouragement. She buries her face there, waits for a bit. Then, mumbles softly against his skin, “You know she didn’t mean what she said.”

“You know she did.”

Well. He’s not exactly wrong on that one - they both know it.

“She’s just angry, that’s all. You know how she gets.”

She lets one of her hands leave his, and travel on his forearm lazily. Soothingly, she hopes. “She’s just very protective of you. But she shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah, well.”

He does that, when he’s upset. Shuts down, coming up with only short answers to let you know that he’d rather not continue this conversation - short, but answers all the same, because he wouldn’t go as far as shutting you out completely. That he'd consider mean, hurtful, and James doesn’t hurt people - he never would.

That’s why it sucks even more to have to watch when people hurt him.

She wants to tell him that Michelle will come back to her senses in the morning, that she’ll regret her harsh words and apologize for them, sincerely. That she’ll hit him in the shoulder for good measure, and that it will be that, over in a second. Because well - it will, really. There’s no doubt about that.

But the thing is, he already knows all that. The thing is, Michelle’s usual lack of delicacy and moderation isn’t the problem here, far from it. She wishes that it was. Much easier to deal with, wouldn’t it.

Pressing her whole body against his, Erin brushes her lips on the back of his neck, and lets the hair at his nape tickle her nose as she lingers there a little.

“I’m sorry your mum isn’t coming to the wedding, baby.”

“It’s fine.”

An answer too fast, too rehearsed to be sincere. Not that she would have believed it had he been more convincing.

She rests her chin on his shoulder, brings her hand back over his own. “No, it’s not - not at all.”

He snorts. “Of course it is, Erin. It makes sense, really: I mean, who wouldn’t choose a vacation that may or may not happen with a guy they’ve known for five minutes over the most important day of their son’s life?”

The irony in his voice does nothing to cover the bitterness underneath it. The pain.

Feck, she hates this.

After a few seconds, he huffs. “Whatever - I don’t care.”

Ever since the day he had changed his mind about going to London all those years ago, since that moment he’d decided to stay in Derry and she’d been able to breathe properly again, James had started to see things more clearly when it came to Cathy. He’d told her so - told her what Michelle had said to convince him not to go with her, told her how it felt to finally understand how right she was. That day, and after.

In the days, the weeks that had followed, it had stayed with him, turned again and again in his head. How she’d only take care of him when there was nothing more distracting to do when he was a kid. How his stepdad Paul had been the one raising him, playing with him. Caring.

The reasons - excuses - he had made to explain her leaving him in Derry without so much as a goodbye had started to fall apart one by one, leaving what she did only for what it was: an abandonment. She’d abandoned him, plain and simple.

And it had hurt, really hurt, but yet, he hadn’t blamed her - never would. Again, he was just far too good for that. She was still his mum, and he still loved her.

So he hadn’t said anything when she called to say she wouldn’t be able to take him the Christmas, then the summer after her visit. He never complained that she actually never visited him again in Derry after that. Michelle would fume everytime he called her, hating that he was always the one doing the effort (but she never said anything to him, only to them girls - none of them would ever say anything, because none of them wanted to make him sadder than he already was).

Things never changed. Not when he finished high school, not when he finished Uni. To this day, she hadn’t really congratulated him on his first nor his second job, least of all learnt what it was. And again, James never complained, because again, he loved her, and he could never really resent her. He’d lowered his expectations more and more over the years, learnt to be disappointed each time anyway. But he never said anything.

It affected him, though. She knew, she was there to see it. They all were. Ma Mary won’t even let the name of ‘that heartless woman’ be uttered in her house, even though she always makes sure never to show or say anything in front of James.

He cared - still does, always will. How couldn’t he?

Desperate for something, anything to make him feel even a tiny bit better, Erin leaves a hundredth kiss against his skin, painfully aware that that won’t be enough.

“You do care. Hey - ” She grabs his hips to turn him in so she can face him when he snorts, and he obliges. She waits until he’s looking at her to speak again. “Of course you do.”

Anyone would be affected by something like this, but him? He’s so sweet, her English, so sensible, and he wears his heart on his sleeve, and she hates how even in the darkness of the night, she can see just how much he does care. Just how heavy his heart is right now.

It was palpable, evident ever since Kathy had called this morning to tell him, but now, as he slowly let his defenses down, sadness and defeat taking over with each second, it’s written all over his beautiful face, and it just breaks her fecking heart.

“I should have expected it, right?”

He chuckles, not an ounce of humor in it. “I mean, missing birthdays - including my 25 and 30, not showing up at graduation, not visiting our flat even once, not this one, not the one before that...That was the next logical step - nothing to be surprised about.”

He shakes his head, and as he looks away, the lights of the balcony reflect on the watery green of his eyes.

His voice is so small when he speaks again, she barely hears it. “I don’t know why I thought it’d be different this time.”

Erin runs her hands up and down his back, hating herself for not being able to do more, to take the pain away from him, just like that.

“Because it should have been," is all she finds to say.

Aye, of course it should have been - just this once, for Christ's sake.

“It’s just...How little do you have to care about your own child to do that, you know. Over and over. Even now - even for this. I told her, once - I told her what you mean to me. I guess I just thought...I guess I thought that it was something every parent wanted to see for their kid, and that for once, that would include her, too.”

He finally looks back at her at that, and suddenly, she sees the fifteen year-old sitting next to her in Sister Michael’s office the day they met again, the heartbreak clear in his eyes as he understands that his mum left him.

She fecking hates all of it.

Helpless, Erin brings their foreheads together, her arms firmly wrapped around his torso as he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She does care, James.”

“You don't have to lie.”

“I’m not - of course she does. And she loves you. She's just- "

“Selfish? Self centered? I’m running out of the polite words used by Michelle now, the others were much more colourful,” and Erin backs away slightly, smiling at him knowingly.

“In her own world, let’s say. I don’t think she realizes just how much damage she does. And I’m not going to try to make excuses for her, for this or for everything else - it is shitty, and she’s an adult and she should realize what she’s doing and do better. I’m just saying...She doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love you, because she does.”

He looks away again at that, and it’s a punch to the stomach to realize that yeah - the thought did cross his mind. It really did.

Slipping her hands from his back, she brings them to his cheeks, gently making him look at her again, hating the sadness she finds in his eyes.

She smiles. “She does love you. And it sucks so bad that she doesn’t show it to you, because she should, and she should realize just how lucky she is to have you, for feck sake, but...But please don’t forget that you do have a family who makes you their number one priority, and who always will. I mean, I think that was a smile I saw on your Aunt Deirdre’s face when we told her - an actual smile!”, and she’s proud of herself when he chuckles at that, a true smile of his own lightening his face.

“And we all know that Michelle punching you harder than usual that day was her stupid way to cover the tears I definitely saw in her eyes - even though true, there were nothing compared to the way Paul just - well, broke down, really.”

He smirks. “Even Clare didn’t weep this much.”

“Which really, is saying something. Also, my family loves you more than they love me, Ma, Anna and Orla don’t even bother to pretend otherwise at this point, and I think at least one of us should take pleasure in that.” He’s laughing now, and yeah, this - this is how she wants him to be for the rest of their lives. Laughing, his squinting eyes shining - that’s what he deserves.

Biting down her own smile, Erin draps her arms around his neck, bringing him close. “And for what it’s worth, you also have me. You’re my person, remember? My favorite one in the whole world. I’m here - I’ll always be here.”

Always.

“Also, it will still be the best party ever, because I didn’t want to say anything, but I’ve prepared a massive, massive surprise, and - ”

But then his lips are on hers, and Erin just holds him closer, fingers tangled in his brown curls, and kisses him back.

Aye - more than fifteen years she's known him, and that boy still manages to leave her light headed. It vaguely occurs to her that maybe she should be worried about that.

“Thank you,” he says when they eventually part, still so close that she feels his words on her lips. She smirks.

“For what, the surprise? Because to be honest, I haven't actually figured out what it would be just yet: I just know it will be so grand, you'll - ”

She’s not exactly surprised when James kisses her again to shut her up - she definitely doesn’t mind, either. She can feel his chuckle against her as he pecks her once, twice, then moves to her cheek, her jaw, and her heart swells in her chest.

“For everything," he smiles, looking back at her and pinching her side playfully. "For not piling up on Michelle's heartfelt opinions about my mum, tonight or ever, even though I know that you hate her too."

She frowns. "Hey, I don’t hate her.” There’s no accusation in his tone or in his eyes, but she needs him to know. “I swear, I’ve never hated her. I just hate the situation, and you being sad.” She lets her fingers run on the back of his neck, lets her eyes travel over that handsome face of his. “I mean, we have her to thank for you, haven't we? How could I hate her, silly."

He’s looking at her that way now, that way that’s far too soft, too - something, and that always makes her cheeks redden. Tonight is no exception.

She’s not exactly sure how long they stay out there, kissing like they’re teenagers at a party again. She does hears herself moan in disapproval when he eventually leans back, and he nuzzles her to make amend, amused.

“Come on, let’s go back inside - you’re going to catch a cold out here.”

To be fair, she is freezing her arse off. But -

“You sure you’re okay?”

He’s got that wee soft smile of his on his face now, and, before she can say anything else, James brings his warm hands on her neck and puts an even softer last kiss on the corner of her lips.

“Of course I’m okay - I’m marrying you.”

Truth is, she’s pretty sure she looks like an eejit, beaming and blushing like she is. Again, she can’t bring herself to mind.

Lacing their fingers together, Erin leads the way back inside. “Come on, then - let’s get shitfaced, my love.”

#erin x james #james x erin #jerin #derry girls #fanfiction

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papers4me · 3 years ago

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I bet you don't know that Fruits Basket season 3 has won the first place beating FullMetal Alchemist Brotherhood. I think it is well deserved!

wow! you're serious? well.. good for them, I guess.

I watched both Furuba & Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood (FMAB) & while Furuba's themes, content & core elements are my kind of story-telling & is way closer to my heart than FMAB, I'll never ever place furuba the anime above FMAB in terms of anime-writing & presentation.

I know FMAB differ from its manga & I know manga fans were not satisfied with some issues that really make a difference, but not once during watching the anime did I feel it was contradicting itself or its own plot, or minimizing any character or the eps are rushed in favor for silly over exaggerated drama. FullMetal Alchemist Brotherhood the anime was balanced is such satisfying way that left me in awe so much that I recommend it without needing to read the manga to properly understand the characters.

Above all, FMAB portray of women & female characters is one of the best presentation in anime! no need to glorify these women or make them robotic or strip them from their femininity or dumb them down or cut from their screen time & story in favor for the male characters! They were written the same way as the male characters with balanced doses of scene exposure (personal spotlight), intelligence, logic, endearing unique characteristics & moderate dose of silly stupid antics & dark sins that humanize them.

-Furuba se03 is the best among the 3 furuba seasons, but furuba is not balanced at all. never was since its beginning till its end. It's a show/anime centered around the angelic motherly care of an orphan girl healing a whole clan & this girl herself was rarely treated as an independent character & I say this while loving tohru deeply. She's the weakest written character due to the tiniest space she's allowed to be..well.. a character with issues like the others. Overall.... Furuba's male characters are way better written then the female... Even akito was reduced to a shallow antagonist with weird villain animation for so long, had one ep to humanize her, then quickly given 3 doses of tohru's wisdom before she atoned. ( it was 2 doses actually, but I'll include the hug).

I love furuba. it is a good anime & the core story is great which is why I'm trying to read the manga, cuz I refuse to believe someone who constructed such good story fails miserably in writing its main female character. I admit that tohru might still be behind the two boys in the manga as well in terms of depth & core issues, but I'm counting on her being 10 times better than the anime tohru. I'm looking for a tohru that is allowed time to dwell in her issues & battle her trauma internally before the climax, cuz i'm so tired of her being the fixer mother of men! Se03 has tiny scenes of tohru being an independent character starting ep 6 onward, but very tiny & with not much depth before her "growth" kicks out at ep, 9.

Also, aren't these ranking & awards created for marketing reasons & are mostly voted by fans or marketing teams? For example, Game of Thrones, se7, ep 6 ,where John snow & co. go to hunt a white & defy all logic only to set yhe plot so the white king get a dragon for aesthetics, won 3 awards as I heard!!!

I'm happy you are satisfied with furuba winning 1st place, anon. I'm really happy for you<3. kindly, dont let my criticism steal your happiness. Your opinion matters to you shouldn't be affected by ppl's opinion online. <3

#fruits basket #anime only #sleepy paper #lovely anons #asks #responding paper #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #anime awards #anime ranking

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alexandriasbox · 3 years ago

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The Case For and Against Roundabouts:

By Eliana Z.

“Every accident is a notice that something is wrong with men, methods, or material. Investigate, then act.” - Safety saying, circa early 1900s

The streets you drive on are dangerous. If you’re between the ages of 5 and 29, you’re more likely to die in a road traffic crash than anything else. Working to improve them is a slow and tedious process too! Road designs for mass transportation have countless factors that need to be considered, including fluctuating populations, traffic levels at varying times, road construction, road conditions, budgets, weather, and -- perhaps the most relevant of all -- the accidents that make streets so dangerous in the first place.

In the United States, more than half of the combined total of fatal and injurious car crashes occur at the 300,000 existing signalized intersections. This is not a surprise to engineers. When two two-lane roadways alone intersect, there are thirty-two opportunities for drivers to collide into each other, and the number increases the more complex your roads get. The effective, albeit bizarrely-designed, “diverging diamond interchange” and many other types of intersections have been considered to allow for safer and smoother flows of traffic. The prevailing form of roadway intersection, however, remains the standard signalized one, where traffic signals and painted lines ensure that streams of traffic are directed where they need to go. There is one alternative to traditional intersections already gaining popularity in Europe: the roundabout, otherwise known as the traffic circle, the rotary, or the island, depending on where you live. So why is America so hesitant to embrace it?

The primary type of roundabout is the modern roundabout, designed to accommodate vehicles of all sizes, and this is the form of roundabout that is generating the most attention from both supporters and skeptics. Drivers yield to traffic at entry, travel counterclockwise around a center island, then exit at their desired street. There are no traffic signals involved. The following image is a modern roundabout in Barcelona, Spain, and it might look familiar to you.

The implementation of these roundabouts is built on three key pillars: the maintenance of efficient and satisfactory service, the protection of travelers from potential injury, and the promotion of a prosperous economy. Critics of the modern roundabout say it increases travel time, confuses drivers, and wastes land and money. Defenders, on the other hand, assert that it moves more traffic than your standard four-way intersection, only requires a small adjustment period, and is a good investment to make. Under all this scrutiny, how does the modern roundabout actually fare?

Service:

Because cars must slow down while navigating a roundabout, it may seem like it’ll take longer for cars to get through the intersection. Contrary to this perception, statistics say roundabouts move 50% more traffic than traffic lights. Through the promotion of a continuous flow of traffic, drivers don’t have to wait for a green light to pass, and the intersection can handle more traffic in the same amount of time. Studies by Kansas State University also prove roundabouts provide less congestion for approaching roads: while measuring traffic flow at intersections before and after conversion to roundabouts, researchers found that in each case, the roundabout led to a 20% reduction in delays. Additional studies by the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety (IIHS) determined that roundabouts contributed to an 89% reduction in delays and 56% reduction in vehicle stops. Make no mistake: roundabouts promote efficiency and are a great alternative to signalized intersections. Still, they only work as well as they do when traffic is moderate to light. When traffic is heavy, problems can arise. A document outlining Los Angeles’s roundabout policy from 2007 acknowledges that heavy traffic volume brings an increase in the needed diameter of the roadway, which in turn leads to higher speeds, less safety, and reduced efficiency.

There is one other problem. Engineers must take into account the reactions of individual drivers, and many Americans are not alone in feeling anxious at the thought of driving a roundabout. A survey on drivers’ views of roundabouts conducted by the IIHS showed that only 31% of drivers were in favor of roundabouts, while 41% strongly opposed it. However, while most drivers initially panic at the thought initially, follow-up surveys done after a roundabout was installed demonstrate that after drivers use roundabouts, those who favored roundabouts increased to 63%, while those who strongly opposed them dropped to 15%. The reasoning for this was that drivers preferred traffic signals and stop signs until they realized roundabouts allowed them through the intersection safely without the irritating obstacle of having to stop. Opinions on roundabouts clearly rise after continued use.

Roundabouts can provide efficient service and are a viable replacement for many signalized intersections on that basis. Both sides of the roundabout discussion agree they work well where traffic is reasonably light and drivers are familiar with the concept.

Safety:

Although driving in a roundabout isn’t very difficult when done correctly, many drivers still experience confusion while navigating it, which poses a danger. Some may aggressively brake before entering or fail to yield to the traffic already in the intersection; others stop in the circle thinking that they should yield to those trying to enter. These are all possible collisions waiting to happen, and statistics show they happen often.

Given that vehicles must slow down while entering, though, roundabouts still help reduce the likelihood and severity of collisions. Speeds in a roundabout are typically between 15 and 20 miles per hour, meaning that the few collisions that occur are mostly minor. Furthermore, the roundabout makes all the traffic one-way: roads entering the intersection are gently curved to direct drivers counterclockwise. This all offers no possibility for ninety-degree or head-on collisions and reduces the number of conflict points between road users. According to studies by the IIHS and the Federal Highway Administration (FHA), roundabouts typically reduce overall collisions by 37%, injury collisions by 75%, and fatality collisions by 90%. It is unarguable that roundabouts are less dangerous than signal-light intersections for motorists. When properly designed with sidewalks on the perimeter, they are safer for pedestrians as well.

Roundabouts are not, however, all that safe for cyclists, which is especially relevant in a world with international pressure to bike more and drive less. A literature review conducted by Utah State University considered dozens of papers on how roundabouts affect cyclist safety, and it found that roundabouts may actually increase bicycle crashes, especially those with on-roadway bike lanes or no bicycle facilities at all. In one instance, a 2008 study of 91 roundabouts in Belgium demonstrated that roundabouts led to a 27% increase in “bicyclist injury collisions” and an increase of more than 40% in the number of fatal or serious injury cyclist crashes. Another study made in Denmark found that installations led to a 65% increase in bicycle crashes and 40% increase in injuries. Roundabouts do not always pose a danger to cyclists, though! The review adds that they can be safer for cyclists if they have low-speed traffic at a low volume, fewer lanes, larger and higher central islands, and separated bicycle facilities. This way, cyclists won’t be in danger of entering-circulating crashes, where motorists fail to keep an eye out for cyclists while entering or exiting the roundabout.

The protection that roundabouts provide for streets is not a large debate: everybody agrees that when people know how to navigate it, roundabouts are safer for motorists and pedestrians, but are more dangerous for cyclists in general. Critics contend that even with the safety they bring to motorists, the circular intersections represent the world’s overreliance on cars. Towns that reject the roundabout do not do so out of ignorance over the benefits the design brings to commuters-- the safety they bring to motorists should not be downplayed but the topic of discussion is turning to how the government may change commuting for the sake of the environment.

Economically:

According to the Washington State Department of Transportation, building a roundabout and building a traffic-signal intersection both cost around the same. When long-term costs are considered, roundabouts do not have the hardware, maintenance, and electrical costs that traffic signals require, which means that roundabouts can save cities between $5,000 and $10,000 per year. They can also work during power outages and do not require police to direct traffic. In terms of real estate, while a roundabout needs more property for the actual intersection, due to its efficiency with traffic, the streets approaching it usually require fewer lanes and thus less space.

When it comes to replacing pre-existing junctions, though, altering even a single four-way intersection into a roundabout has unique economical challenges. Because the actual roundabout requires more real estate, obtaining the physical space may prove to be difficult. If creating this area requires altering the landscape, then things like demolition, elevation, and resurfacing increase the cost of installation. Converting a traditional interchange also means moving the entire existing structure and rebuilding everything, which takes time… which in turn, presents the problem of traffic control; if you close down a major intersection, you need to provide drivers with an alternate way to their destination! With an unsatisfactory detour, people will, of course, find a different route, which will lead to cars commuting in areas that were not meant to support a high volume. At the end of it all, this one road closure can create a cascading effect on other traffic spots. Furthermore, there are industrial considerations to the road closures that will result from altering an intersection-- close a road for too long, and people will avoid driving there. Nearby businesses like restaurants and gas stations will take a severe hit.

In the end, the economic consequences of installing a roundabout depends on the unique circumstances of each junction. It can both be cheaper and more expensive than using a signalized intersection, so it must be considered on a case-by-case basis.

Given all the stated benefits, just why is America so hesitant to embrace the roundabout?

It is true that many American towns are beginning to utilize these circular intersections, but the prevailing type of junction is, and will most likely continue to be, the traditional signalized one. The facts are that roundabouts are only effective in areas with a moderate amount of traffic, are safer for motorists and pedestrians but more dangerous for cyclists, and are expensive to use as a replacement for pre-existing four-way intersections. But although roundabouts may not be used everywhere, you should expect to see more of these intriguing pathways on the roads you drive on in the near future, so if you ever happen to be in control of a vehicle, I hope you navigate it safely.

Citations:

https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/road-traffic-injuries

https://dpw.lacounty.gov/ldd/lib/fp/Road/Roundabout%20Policy%20and%20Design%20Practices.pdf

https://wsdot.wa.gov/Safety/roundabouts/benefits.htm

http://www.nytimes.com/2020/08/20/business/roundabouts-traffic-circles.html

https://cyclingtips.com/2021/03/roundabouts-suck-for-cyclists-heres-why/

#engineering #infrastructure #roundabouts #road safety #helyxeb

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taintedbloom · 3 years ago

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Say Amen // Archie & Amelia

Perhaps, it weren’t the brightest of ideas to enter his father’s office without his permission, in spite of the fact the office space was rarely used to start with, but the Devereaux patriarch’s untimely demise dampened the likeliness he would receive punishment for the trespassing. It is not as if Archie cared for the man, he discovered the acceptance he couldn’t feel anything for anyone, much less an absent father who took advantage of the wealth tacked onto his last name. His mother seized control of all financial aspects long before her husband expired, she evidently wore the pants in their relationship, and it was an unspoken truth in the household.

In the seventeen years of his life, he and his eldest brother Grayson were entrapped by Amelia’s torrential competitiveness engulfing the brothers and while their bond suffered from such meddling, his relationship with every member of his family would not have improved regardless for the unfortunate parental methods. There was his brother, throwing about snarky side comments and refusing to stand up to their mother, their mother as a whole who mildly terrorized her children in a way that she played oblivious to, and dear old dad became the male socialite on steroids. Archie reminded himself of this as he lingered about the moderate length of the room, his fingers gliding along the smooth mahogany surface of the ornate desk.

“You should not be in here, Archibald.” The teenager’s gaze slowly lifted to meet his mother’s, whose form hovered in the doorway with her hands properly folded behind her back. That was the word to describe the woman, proper. Proper clothes, proper hair, proper posture, everything about her screamed frustratingly perfect and unkempt. It was a miracle how she fell in love with a husband farthest from flawlessness. “I needed a moment. Dad’s too dead to care.” His father’s funeral wake shoved Archie to his emotional limits. The shaking of hands and condolences, every lie spilling from the lips of those who pretended as if they painted a doting image of his father, disgusting. One more reeking pile of a bullshit story and he would have set the mansion ablaze. “Where’s Grayson?”

“Downstairs entertaining our guests where you are meant to be.” Amelia tensely replied, taking a few steps into the room, frowning at the work that will need to be done packing the rest of her husband’s belongings for storage. Or simply tossing everything in the trash saved her the trouble. “You needed a moment, right? Is that why I found a packed suitcase under your bed?” Her eyebrow lifted as her son’s briefly dropped and even if Archie experienced no shame hiding the evidence of his immediate escape not a single day that his father’s corpse had been in the ground, he was slightly guilty at himself for not concealing his post-funeral plans smarter. “As soon as the meaningless charade of a wake is over, I’m leaving.” Archie nonchalantly dropped the knowledge as his fingers wrapped around the carbon copy of the family portrait that was currently hanging above the living room’s fire place on the first level. All smiles, nothing screamed imperfect, though, the ten year old version of him could hide the almost dead look in his eyes. Something...unnerving.

“Excuse me?” The woman’s eyes narrowed into small slits, turning her nose up at the mere prospect of her son believing he possessed the nerve to leave home, “You’re not of age yet, Archibald, what would you possibly know of supporting yourself after the reliance this family has given you?” She spoiled her children, or more so their wealth spoiled them for her, but she prepared the boys for this cruel harsh world. Archie the most selfish, the most pampered of them all. “You are not leaving and shirking your responsibilities.”

“Yes, I am.” Archie placed aside the frame he was holding, feeling the same flare of rage tickling the surface of his subconscious. “School is finished, Father’s no longer stealing from my savings, and now there’s nothing left for me here.” Not to mention, his newfound career path Archie chose for himself. All it took were the right people to fall in step with, the right contacts providing the resources mandatory for blossoming the seed of a thought planted by those who uncovered extraordinary potential. He never picked up a gun before this, but now the weight it carried in his hand and tucked in the back of his suit pant waistband felt eerily natural. “Tragically heartbreaking as it is to confess, Mother, the thought of taking over your business would’ve certainly colored me envious for Father’s fate.”

Amelia pressed a hand to her chest at the young male’s statements, appalled by his ever careless nature and unsurprised at the brutal honesty. Speaking ill-will of the dead? She taught him better. “As willing as you are to erase the existence of your own family, my boy, you still live under my roof. The food you eat down to every last expensive article of clothing gracing your entire person is from the generosity of the high class I have dropped in your ungrateful hands. As this is my rules, my house, I am within my right to speak freely when I say,” Her chin slightly tilted, “You are not going anywhere, Archibald. Your attitude lately, for one, has been without a doubt the most unacceptable.” The woman scoffed, “You’ve been distant, distracted, you must take me for the fool when you believe I have not noticed when you sneak away at all ungodly hours of the night. It ends tonight, Archie. And quite frankly-”

“And you choose now of all days to share your complete truthful opinion.” The young male cut his mother’s statement short with a flourish of his hand, “When you have spent almost two decades of my entire life throwing me no more than manipulative lies and scrutiny.” Archie wouldn’t normally allow his temperament to graze the surface for the entertainment of the Devereaux matriarch, much less shatter the self-contained gentlemanly bearing, but Amelia knew what to speak, how to portray her attitude, to rile her child. “If you have something, anything to say, now is the time, Mother, because I guarantee you will not receive another chance as soon as the sun rises when I am gone tomorrow.”

“You want honesty? No matter how harsh?” Amelia pressed a finger to her lip, mulling through the dozens of thoughts once remained unspoken. Her son’s curt nod forced the woman to continue, “I knew from the moment you were born, there was always something wrong with you, Archibald. You were too quiet as a child, too calm, too everything that should not have been possible of someone your age. You were cold to others, a difficulty empathizing, and while the latter trait I thought was an inheritance from your family lineage, you lack a filter and an unwillingness to make friends. And even with such a cutthroat heartless state, you were and are still a disappointment.” It might’ve been cruel and unjust, but he asked for honesty and honesty he shall bare, “I tried, for years, I tried preparing you and your brother for the lifetime that has been handed to you, but you’ve failed every expectation. You are selfish, conniving, arrogant, it is no wonder you have no stable relationships, no girlfriend or what have you. It’s not how a Devereaux acts. I detest saying this so openly, darling,” She paused, the regret she might experience later not bothering her the slightest, “I’m almost ashamed to call you my son.”

Archibald made the assumption she would back down from sharing a scrap of integrity and brush the conversational topic aside before leaving him to his devices, yet, she spilled seventeen years’ worth of what has remained bottled away for appearance’s sake. It all made perfect sense, the competitiveness, the silent dinners, the snide insults veiled by criticism, she hated him. Amelia did not need to express such, which was pointless attempting to spare his emotions when she shared the knowledge he couldn’t feel, but she one hundred percent hated his guts with every fiber of her being by the opinion he clutched closely. He heard nothing but the shrill ringing in his ears, saw nothing but flashes of his childhood memories pass his gaze as if someone pressed the fast forward button. Archie suddenly felt his hand reaching around, could feel his fingers encapsulate the cool metal of the gun hidden in his waistband, and only realized the gravity of his actions the second he heard the click of the gun’s hammer. The barrel...pointing straight at the woman who bore him into this world. “I was never enough for you.” His hand shook faintly even though he tried steadying it.

Amelia watched as her youngest son’s expression warped before her very eyes. She anticipated dismissal or even a slather of sarcasm to conceal how greatly her opinion mattered whether or not Archie faked his disinterest. Just as he preferred dismissing the can of worms he tore at the seams, the woman flickered her attention to fixing the watch clasped to her wrist. She noted the late hour and the awaiting guests missing the grieving widow’s presence before a small clicking sound caused Amelia to raise her head slowly, heart instantly pounding the moment she collided face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. “You wouldn’t pull the trigger, Archibald.” Her voice wavered and the man seemed to take satisfied joy in that, “Doesn’t change the truth and you know it.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Archie dropped his index finger to the trigger, hammering in his point, “I mean, you have granted me the perfect ammunition, Mother. It’s what we call a motive.” He tightened the grip on the weapon’s handle and barked a dark sound from the back of his throat that was closely reminiscent of a laugh, “What parent pits her children against each other, hm? You have done nothing but confirm time and time again the real culprit why I’ve consistently felt even crazier than I thought I already was. I have never once apologized for who I am or how I am, but since you are so determined to cast me as a monster, here I stand.”

“A monster.” Amelia mocked the use of the term. “This earth is crawling with competition, my dear, anyone believing playing fair achieves their dreams are inadequate buffoons.” She slid her foot backwards in the door’s direction and, in spite of how miniscule the movement was created, Archie’s teachings displayed the tools to spot when a target came close seizing an escape opportunity. Her confidence never diminished, “Blood alone will not establish my safety, but one fact certainly does.”

Archie breathed a chuckle devoid of all humor and care in the world, “Then give me a single good solid reason why I shouldn’t extinguish the one person who has slashed at every part of who I’ve become and carelessly laugh while I bled.” The woman was a walking terror at times and while he couldn’t recall her revealing any gesture of motherly kindness, she never deserved the privilege of children. If kids would ever enter his story in the near future, as any god lurking out there is his witness, they will never endure what he has suffered with either a hellbent competitive parent nor an absentee father. “A bullet solves everything. A bullet saves my life, my freedom. You think I’m the selfish one, Mother, it is no wonder where I learned it from. Finally, you have taught me something useful. So, I ask again,” He hissed, “Give me a fucking good reason.”

The tip of Amelia’s mouth quirked, “You are weak, Archie. Weak like your father.” Her piercing stare hovered from the gun her son was holding and landed on Archie’s expression, adrenaline kicking in almost instantly. She was frightened, oh yes, her facial features revealed nothing damning that could be used as an advantageous upper hand, but facing death was troublesome, “Why do you believe he slept with every living creature in this city, pet, has that crossed your mind? I haven’t the faintest clue what deep trench of an underworld you have dug yourself in, Archibald, but you’ve sealed a fate that’s promised your worst fear. Loneliness.” Amelia paused for melodramatic effect, “Despite what you feel about me or your brother, butchering your own family means you’ll truly be alone in this cesspool. No one will love you. So, go right ahead,” She stepped forward cautiously, “Do it. Solve your problems at my expense.”

Archibald could feel his confidence slipping quickly, willing his physical state not to follow suit, forcing the memories of the wisdom imparted on him by others who introduced the young male to a dream career engaging in his darkest fancies. Kill her, kill her, kill her, a voice from somewhere screamed blaringly. Squeeze the trigger and the pain disappears, as if it were that simple. Killing his mother had not crossed his mind before, though, its presence and the formulating euphoric rush couldn’t surprise or scare him. He realized a split second too late the hands wrapped around the gun were wobbling uncontrollably as his head rationalized between two battling arguments. Pull the trigger, don’t pull the trigger, the racing thoughts produced a maddening result. No one loved him, did he want love? How can he when he could not feel it? Couldn’t feel anything? One night stands came and went, meaningless dalliances, but nothing lasted. Not that the youngest Devereaux allowed the progression.

In the end...Archie shakily lowered the firearm.

“See?” Amelia cracked the silence emanating in the middle of mother and child. Placing one foot in front of the other, the desk was the only object within that office standing between them. “Your pride and vanity will be your greatest weakness, Archibald. While the one faithful enough to count on the most is yourself, paranoia is a downfall capable of destroying all chances to pass on our family name.” Archie turned away from her, watching his mother pick him apart from the corner of his eye, “Choosing what you think is right will be a path you travel alone. You and I both know how this story ends, boy,” The woman carelessly waved her hand to the side and spun on her heel as she sauntered towards the door, “You dead and no one here to pick up the pieces. Nor I or your brother will.”

“You’re wrong.” Archie’s voice sliced the everlasting din, his gaze dropping to the gun in his hands. Amelia grinded to an abrupt halt as the male continued, “You may have needed me, needed Grayson, to resume our lineage, but I have never needed you.” The words were venom on his tongue. He attempted playing the role of dutiful son, he spat his complaints, threw about sarcastic remarks without a care in the world, but Archibald faced a resolution and he would not stray the road ahead. He cannot turn back now, not when he has come this far for any other alternative. “I’m done.” Archie traced a circled path around the desk and gravitated towards the door.

“Archibald,” His mother’s voice caused the young male to pause in his tracks as soon as he passed her, “When this power trip of yours fails, you will come crawling home begging for my forgiveness.” The statement caused a harsh laugh to flee from the teenager’s lips the minute it reached his ears. “No, Mother,” He partially turned, “you will be begging for mine watching the disappointment you raised make a name others only dare whisper. And for once, I’ll take it one way or another.” Archie didn’t bother wasting the energy drinking in his mother’s likely appalled expression as he reached the doorway. Archie was nothing if not a dramatic little bastard, that isn’t falsified knowledge, but to stand on the precipice holding the match as every bridge he possessed torched before his eyes, well...so shall it be his reality. “Send Grayson my regards.” Directing one last comment for the only living parent he had, Archibald disappeared from the room.

#self para: say amen #ft. amelia devereaux

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pax-2735 · 5 years ago

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GoT Fanfic: What I ask of you

Summary:

Jon Snow sits on the Iron Throne. When he learns about Sansa's plan to return to Winterfell, he has a question to ask.

Notes:

As usual, I own nothing but the mistakes.

What I ask of you

Sansa keeps her features carefully schooled into a blank mask. It’s a lesson she has learned well – so, so well – during her previous stay in King’s Landing, and one that hasn’t failed her yet. Her eyes, however, are closely trained on the endless procession of lords coming in to swear fealty to the newly crowned king, taking in their stances and accessing them as possible threats.

As yet another lord – something or another, she can’t remember his name at the moment, from a minor house in the Reach – recites his solemn vows, she risks a glance towards Jon. He looks regal, his wild curls for once carefully brushed, shinning like dragonglass under the glow of the thousands of candles lighting up the Great Hall. He’s sitting very straight, his shoulders squared back, with a grey cape flowing over his garb of red and black, and Sansa fights back a smile as she remembers Old Nan scolding them all to sit as though they had swallowed a broom.

Either Jon was remembering his lessons properly or that ugly iron chair is every bit as uncomfortable as it looks.

Lord something-or-other-from-the-Reach rises slowly to his feet, his great big belly making it an accomplishment in itself, and another moves swiftly to take his place. She vaguely recognizes his colors, yellow and blue, her mind quickly placing him as hailing from the Stormlands. He kneels and begins to pledge himself to the king and Sansa notices how Jon leans slightly forward, how his hand kneads his thigh, how he discretely shuffles his feet about. He’s about as bored with the whole thing as she is, not that she’d ever admit to it, and she tears her eyes away from him lest the smile she’s still trying to fight back finds its way fully into her lips.

Instead, she lets her eyes graze across the Great Hall as she only vaguely acknowledges the words being spoken – they’ve been at this for hours, she’s sure she could recite them in her sleep.

The vast room has been painstakingly rebuilt, its walls now adorned with red and black fabrics, with the occasional grey and white for good measure, in recognition of his Stark inheritance. The Red Keep is still mostly in ruins, as most of the reconstruction efforts have been geared towards the rest of the city, but the Great Hall is the exception. Jon hadn’t cared much about it but Bran had raved – for once, almost as animated as when he was still Bran – about the importance of symbols and how the people of Westeros needed something to bind them together until Jon had finally relented.

His coronation wasn’t the wondrous affair of times gone by however. There would be no feast after this, as most of the city was still grappling with the after effects of its destruction. Once the septon had placed the golden crown on his head, Jon had climbed up the stairs to sit on the iron throne and lords from all over the seven kingdoms had begun to swear their fealty.

And once this was done, Sansa could finally go home.

She’s still paying a moderate amount of attention to the proceedings as the final lord rises from the floor and Davos raises his voice in a ‘long live the king’ which is quickly echoed by everyone in attendance. The smallfolk have been gathered outside the red walls for the better part of these ceremonies and Sansa can still hear their cries of joy. It seems as though, for once in its history, all of Westeros is in agreement about its ruler.

It’s no small wonder, of course. After Daenerys had burned King’s Landing to the ground, Jon had emerged as its hero when he’d plunged that dagger into her chest and ended her reign before it could truly begin. His heritage as the last Targaryen could have easily cost him that title – the truth having emerged for all to see after Drogon had tried to burn him alive only for him to emerge from the fire unscathed – but his readiness to kill the dragon while commanding both the northern and southern armies to give battle to what remained of the Dothraki and the Unsullied had cemented him as the rightful king in the hearts and minds of smallfolk and lords alike.

Sansa rises to her feet when Jon does, the movement followed swiftly by the rest of the lords and ladies sitting on the dais. Jon nods his head to his audience solemnly before climbing down the steps and quickly exiting the room through a door hidden behind the throne, and suddenly the room erupts into lively chatter as the assembly begins to file out. Sansa is about to follow them out when Sam magically appears in front of her.

“Apologies, my Lady.”

Sansa lifts a brow and allows the smile that’s been teasing at the corners of her lips to finally break free. “I thought I told you to call me Sansa.”

Sam blushes as he drops his eyes to the floor. “You did. I’m sorry my Lady… I mean Sansa.” He looks back up to give her a small smile of his own. “His Grace wishes to speak to you.”

“His Grace?” Her tone is heavily laced with sarcasm and she makes sure to keep her voice low enough so no one else hears her.

Sam blushes even more. “I mean Jon. Jon wants to speak to you.”

“I know who you mean Sam.” She smoothes down her skirts, taking the time to school her features back into her carefully composed mask before looking back into his face and giving him a slight nod. “Let’s not keep His Grace waiting then, shall we?”

He leads her into Jon’s private solar, an ample room with great wide windows that allow a clear view over the city, the dark waters of Blackwater bay gleaming in the distance under the slowly setting sun. The room has been carefully arranged, with tapestries hanging from the walls depicting various hunting scenes, and bookshelves filled to the brink with books that look far older than she is. To the corner there’s a massive desk, its surface covered with scrolls and plans of the city, and on the wall behind it hangs a map of the seven kingdoms.

Jon is standing next to the window, his back turned to her. He doesn’t move even as Sam closes the door, leaving them alone.

Sansa almost drops into a well-practiced curtsy. “Your Grace.”

He turns his head sharply towards her with an annoyed look. “Not you too.” His expression quickly changes to one of begrudging amusement as she chuckles.

“Tired of the curtseys already?” She makes her way slowly to him and he turns fully to look at her. “You better get used to it Jon.”

“I’ve never gotten used to it before.”

“This isn’t the north.”

He sighs, deep and heavy in his chest. “No, it isn’t.”

She sits down in one of the chairs in front of his desk, her eyes still looking him over. “Sam said you wanted to speak to me.”

He runs a hand through his curls, effectively ruining the carefully arranged look, and Sansa has half a mind to scold him but holds her tongue. It’s not her place anymore to do so, to dote on him as a sister would.

And you prefer it wild anyways, her treacherous mind whispers.

She clasps her hands together in her lap as she tries to chase away the stray thought. This is not the time, she thinks. There will be plenty for that once she returns home to Winterfell, and he stays here, far away from her and her wicked desires.

“Aye,” he says, and she’s startled to realize he has moved closer. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something.” He’s staring straight into her eyes now, and his voice is deathly serious, and suddenly she feels as though she’s trapped. He sits at the edge of his desk, keeping the space between them minimal. “I’ve heard rumors saying that you’re thinking about returning to Winterfell.”

“Those are not rumors as much as fact.” She stares straight into his eyes as she speaks the words, leaning back against the chair with a scornful look. “Or would you have me do otherwise?” She almost adds ‘Your Grace’ but refrains from it at the last moment. There’s no need to it, not when it’s clearly implied, not when there’s no mistaking the defiance in her tone.

He doesn’t flinch from it as she’d half expected. Instead, he narrows his eyes and she can clearly see the storm gathering there. “I had expected you to stay here.” With me, he doesn’t say, but she hears it nonetheless. “I had hoped—“

“For how long?” Her voice is practiced and even, an echo of times past, betraying none of the sudden urge she has to flee, to leave this wretched place behind and run as fast as she can, to go home where she can once again feel safe and not plagued by these doubts that seem to consume her mind – because leaving is not all that she wants, not when leaving this place means leaving him. “For how long would you have me stay here Jon?”

He sighs, his eyes looking down to the rich carpets adorning the stone floors before moving back to hers with a pleading look. “You know I’m no good at this—“

“You are. I’ve told you that before.”

“I don’t know how to do this.” His eyes lock with hers once again. “Not without you by my side.”

Sansa stands abruptly, watches from the corner of her eye as he straightens his back to keep her in his sights as she moves away from him. Her heart is hammering in her chest at his words, thumping against her ribs in a manner so loud she fears he might hear it, even from this distance she has managed to scrape together. She fears he might see that stupid sliver of hope that comes crashing through her blood even as she knows, knows with a certainty she’s never possessed before, that that is not what he meant.

She lets her eyes roam over the views of the city as she takes what she can only hope is a discreet deep breath to try and steady herself even as she feels Jon’s eyes on her back. The smallfolk are still celebrating all across King’s Landing, the sight of bonfires lighting up the sky a queer image on a city so recently set ablaze.

“You would have me stay here… permanently.” It’s not a question, not really, but she still holds her breath as she waits for him to answer it.

“I know that’s the last thing you want to do, and you can say no—“

“Can I?” She can’t help the bite in her words nor the way she regrets them instantly as she sees him flinch.

“Sansa,” he sighs, and the hurt in his voice is unmistakable, “of course you can. You know I’d never force something like this on you.”

“I know.” She turns to face him with a small hesitant smile. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just…” She turns back to the window, this time seeing a much different scene. A different time, with different people, cruel words and even crueler actions. She shivers. “I never thought to find myself back here, much less contemplating staying.”

There’s a rustle of something and she knows he has moved, feels the distance between them shrink even as she keeps her back to him.

“It doesn’t have to be completely permanent. The gods know how much I don’t want that. We can visit Winterfell and…” he hesitates, pushes a breath through parted lips with irritation, “I know it’s not the same but…”

She nods her head slowly, still contemplating the city below. Her heart has already made its decision but her mind wages a fierce war against it. She has learned many things in this place and certainly not the least important of all has been to stop believing in songs. She trusts Jon – more than anyone else in her life – but not as much as she trusts herself. She believes in him, but she believes in herself more.

“What would be my role here?” she asks, turning back to look him in the eye.

He frowns slightly. “Your role?”

“You’re asking me to leave the north Jon. To leave my home, my role as the Lady of Winterfell to stay here with you. And I ask you, as what? Your family? Your official advisor? Are you going to make me Hand of the King?”

“I’ve asked Davos to be Hand.”

There’s a hint of confusion marring his features and Sansa smiles ruefully before she turns back toward the window, her back to him as she stares straight ahead into the city. “Not Hand then.” She shakes her head as she tries to steel her voice. “Will I at least be granted a seat on the small council? Or is my help wanted only in a much more unofficial capacity?”

His footsteps echo across the stone floors as he comes to stand behind her. His hands are gentle as they grasp her arms and turn her around. She keeps her gaze lowered, not trusting herself to look at him right away, lest he sees the storm that’s currently raging in her mind. Instead, she keeps her eyes locked on the soft fabric of his tunic. She’s not surprised to see a hint of Stark grey peeking through the black and red.

“Sansa.” His palm feels warm against her cheek, his fingertips grazing her jaw as he tilts her chin up. “Look at me. Please.” His eyes are dark, almost black in the fading light and she sucks in a breath as she watches them fall to her lips for a moment before locking with hers. “I would have you here as my queen.”

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jon snow x sansa stark #works-by-pax #game of thrones fanfiction

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buckybarnabus · 4 years ago

Text

Three Months

Summary: Dawn reappears after going missing for a month.

Warnings: Some cursing, a little alcohol use, a little angsty.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: Part 2 of my Snapshots series involving Bucky Barnes and OFC Dawn. I can’t for the life of me write a whole multi-chaptered story, so this will be a series of one shots in no particular order that may or may not develop into something coherent over time. You can also read on AO3 if you want. Thank you!

Bucky hadn’t seen Dawn in a few weeks. He got a little worried after the first two. He had tried calling her on the third, only for each call to go straight to voicemail, and every text he sent never went through. He even reached out to Sam to see if he had heard from her at all. There was nothing. No news of her whereabouts. No one had seen her. It was driving him nuts.

Bucky didn’t want to care as much as he did. He had tried and tried not to get attached, but he failed miserably, not that he would ever admit it aloud. And suddenly he couldn’t sleep, even less so than he was used to. He had tried every avenue available, any hospital in range, any seedy little group he could track down with links to the things that hid in the dark. There was nothing.

It didn’t help that she had left without a word. Dawn knew he liked routine lately, and strangely enough, they had one when things were moderately normal for two former assassins trying to do a little good. Everything about the situation had him on edge.

It wasn’t until late at night, almost nearing a month, that he heard anything. It came in the form of a frantically jiggling door knob in the middle of the night. Bucky was awake, mindlessly staring at the television, some shitty late night movie blaring noise and blue tinted light in the dark of his apartment. The door was open before he could even find his footing, and none other than the Serval herself stood in the doorway.

“Hi,” Dawn said breathlessly, her voice too high, too stressed. She attempted a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“Donnie,” Bucky exclaimed on a breath. She pushed her way through the door she just picked the lock to. “Hi,” he echoed, inwardly cringing at himself at the greeting. He watched as she marched her way into the apartment, before he stiffly made his way to a light. She didn’t pay him much mind before she stomped into the small kitchen. She slammed his kitchen cabinets around, and Bucky didn’t do much more than stare at her as she pulled a bottle of vodka out of one. She twisted the cap off and took a long pull from the bottle before finally turning to face him again.

“Why do you even bother with alcohol if it doesn’t do anything for you?” she asked on a gasp after lowering the bottle.

“Hello, hi, it’s good to see you too, Dawn,” Bucky bit out, suddenly angry. Dawn just about slammed the bottle onto the counter, hackles up in an instant. It took Bucky just a little by surprise. They’d fought and bickered plenty in the past few months, but she was never on the defensive the way she was then.

“God dammit, Bucky, just give me a minute before you start that shit,” she snapped.

“You wanna tell me where you’ve been? You know, for a month?” he retorted. “Or why you’ve been ignoring every attempt I’ve made to contact you? You can’t just disappear off the face of the planet for a month and then break into my apartment in the middle of the night and expect me not to be pissed about it.”

She glared at him for a moment. “Something came up. I had to take care of it. But I’m fine, see?” She gestured to herself dramatically, and spun around for good measure, like she was trying to prove something. “I’m perfectly fine. Crawl out of my ass,” she ground out.

“Oh, you’re fine, everything is fine. Really, Dawn? Guess what? I don’t believe you,” he said. Dawn huffed and snatched the bottle back up to take another hefty swig. Bucky yanked it out of her grip once she got a mouthful, and she made an irritated noise in protest as it spilled over her chin. They stared each other down for a tense moment. Dawn was ready to retort, Bucky could actually see her getting all puffed up and ready to start shouting, but she didn’t. All of a sudden, she deflated. She just looked absolutely exhausted. Her shoulders slumped, and she hung her head with a sigh.

“Can we not do this right now?” she asked, voice quiet. She kept her eyes on the floor as she spoke. “I just... I’m tired, Bucky. I’m tired, and hungry, and I haven’t had a proper shower in... a while. I don’t want to fight with you,” she said. And just like that, in a blink, Bucky’s anger dissolved. He looked at her- really looked at her- and saw the haunted quality in her features, the dark circles under her eyes, and he suddenly just wanted to hug her and destroy whatever it was that put that look on her face. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Bucky lifted the bottle of vodka and took a swig, setting it down with a sigh. “You can use my shower. I’ll get you some clothes and some food,” he said, soft. He gave her a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and left her to her business. He stood in the kitchen, poking at a couple grilled cheese sandwiches with a spatula, and hated that his enhanced hearing picked up on the sound of Dawn’s stifled sobbing down the short hallway.

He pretended not to notice her bloodshot eyes, or the redness in her nose and cheeks when she eventually shuffled out of the bathroom. He just passed her a plate and parked himself on his couch, leaving plenty of space for her to sit. They didn’t speak. They just sat and watched more shitty late night television. Well, Dawn might have been watching. Bucky was too preoccupied watching her surreptitiously in his peripheral vision to pay much attention to the television.

He watched as she picked at the sandwich, taking tiny little nibbles, her eyes laser focused on the screen, like if she stared hard enough at it everything would be fine. He saw her eyes grow glassy with fresh, unshed tears. He heard her breathing grow shaky, though she tried to hide it. She was trying so hard to be tough. And she was tough. Bucky knew that. They hadn’t known each other more than a few months, but she had grit, and willpower, and one hell of a big heart despite everything she’d been through.

Dawn didn’t finish the sandwich, in the end. She abandoned the plate in frustration and ran her hands over her face, releasing a shaky sigh. “I guess I wasn’t that hungry after all,” she muttered. Bucky finally turned his gaze to her properly, brows furrowed.

“Hey-“ he tried.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For barging in here like I did. And disappearing. And not answering your calls. I should have said something.” Bucky was quiet for a moment.

“What happened, Donnie?” he finally asked, quiet. She gave him a quick glance and wiped a quick finger under her eye. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed stuck in her throat.

“The Handler. My handler,” she finally choked out. “I told you about him before, remember?” Bucky nodded stiffly, his stomach twisting in anticipation. Of course he remembered. She hadn’t told him much back then, but Dawn had given him some insight into who she was, when they first met and she quit the CIA after they had her spy on him. The Handler was the man responsible for turning Dawn into the Serval, once upon a time. All Bucky needed to know was that her younger years were absolute hell because of that man and his teachings.

“He got out. I, um... I had to take care of it,” she said, barely above a whisper. She picked intently at an invisible thread on the borrowed sweatpants. Bucky’s stomach stopped twisting in favor of dropping right down into his feet. He could relate, sort of. Their situations weren’t exactly the same, he knew that. But he knew what a life’s worth of being controlled could do to someone. He dealt with it every day. It made his blood boil to realize Dawn had to meet her past head on, something he knew she wouldn’t want to do, and probably wasn’t even ready for. He briefly wondered why she didn’t come to him for help, especially after all the stupid things he dragged her into. It only seemed a fair trade. But he thought he knew why.

She didn’t like showing distress. She didn’t like needing help. Dawn was very much the type of person to put on a brave face, to put other people ahead of herself, to always be okay. She didn’t need to say it for Bucky to know it. So, for her to barge into his apartment like she did, clearly on the verge of some kind of breakdown, was a big deal. And it damn near broke his heart to see her falling apart right in front of him. He was ashamed of himself for getting irritated with her before. He should have realized something was very wrong the instant he saw her.

Bucky never touched Dawn, not for more than a tap on the shoulder or something of the sort. He never touched her, because he was afraid of breaking her, like he broke everything else he’d touched over the past several decades. But she sat on his couch looking miserable, and exhausted, and fragile, and he hated it.

Bucky reached across the couch and slid his fingers over the hand she had resting in her lap, giving it the slightest little squeeze. He could manage that much. He wouldn’t break her by squeezing her hand just once. He released her hand after a moment and ignored the tremble in her bottom lip. Instead, he got up to grab them a couple of beers to give her a private moment to compose herself.

They had fallen into silence, not that they were really talking in the first place. Just a few tired comments here and there about whatever they were watching. It was actually a pretty funny movie. It made Dawn chuckle a little, and that in itself made Bucky feel a certain type of way he wasn’t willing to acknowledge.

His thoughts drifted a little bit, but they all circled back to one particular question. Why did she show up at his apartment after everything? She could have gone home. Hell, she could have gone to Sam. She knew where to find him, regardless of where he was. She’d made that perfectly clear before she and Bucky ever even met. Those two had become fast friends, when she first sought him out on her assignment for information about Bucky. Sam was way more equipped to handle a breakdown, probably wouldn’t have started yelling at her the minute she walked in. Sam could have given her the comfort she so desperately needed. He could give her a hug and some fluffy words. Bucky could only give her beer and grilled cheese.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer as to why she came to him of all people. Dawn would probably just say something sweet, and pull him that much further into her orbit. She was good at that, whether she knew it or not.

When Bucky was finally able to pull himself out of his thoughts, he chanced a glance at the girl beside him, and he froze. Dawn was still curled up in one corner of the couch, in a tight, safe little ball, but she had slumped over onto the arm of if. Her eyes were closed, and her face was relaxed, smushed slightly into the fabric under her cheek. She looked a little goofy, but she was fast asleep, and she looked more calm than she had the entire night.

Bucky couldn’t do much more than stare at her for a good long while. She was asleep on his couch, looking goofy and soft and sweet. Even awake, he wondered how she could keep that part of her, given her upbringing. Almost from the moment she truly stepped into his life, after she sold herself out to him, after that one big fight, after everything, she’d always been... well, she’d always been Dawn. When she was spying on him, and even after, she’d been the sugar in Bucky’s bitter existence.

He really didn’t know how to feel about that, and he supposed that was why he had a tendency to lash out at her for stupid things. She was something good, something Bucky wasn’t allowed to have. But, like the greedy asshole he was, his subconscious latched onto that good thing, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. So of course he roped her into all his bullshit about amends and righting his wrongs. And then, naturally, he would pick a fight with her the minute he felt almost okay. Because it had only been three or so months since they’d known each other, and he was afraid of how attached he’d gotten in such a short amount of time, so he panicked and found a way to push her away.

But, she was as stubborn and as patient as they came. She didn’t treat him like some fragile thing, like he would snap if she said one thing wrong. When he picked a fight, she fought back. She didn’t get all wide eyed and fearful like a million other people would. Then again, most other people weren’t trained killers like the two of them. She stood her ground, let him get it out of his system. Told him he was being an asshole. The dust would settle, he would pout for a while- not that Bucky would call it pouting. Then she’d come back all smiles and tease him about ‘being all broody and manly’ and find a way to pull him out of his moody slump like the bright little light that she was.

Three months, and Bucky didn’t want to know a life without that light. Three months, and he was ready to fly out the door to hunt down and beat the absolute hell out of whoever had the audacity to try and put that light out. Three months, out of a hundred years, was all it took for Dawn to waltz into his life with her hopefulness and her smile, to leave Bucky terrified in a way he had never been before.

But, after the events of the past few hours, the look on her face, the tightness in her voice, Bucky couldn’t help but wonder just how much of it was an act. He wondered if she was always just teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something broken and sad and desperate. He knew she was a great actress when she needed to be, that part of her whole career was putting on some sort of show. He wondered just how far Dawn was willing to take it for the sake of being okay.

Bucky shook his head when he realized what he was doing. He was staring way too long, for one thing. Thinking too hard for another. He couldn’t keep doing that. Thinking would only send him down a rabbit hole of a million other things he didn’t want to have any part of. He stood up, plucked the beer bottle out of Dawn’s limp hand carefully, hoped she wouldn’t wake up. Thankfully, she didn’t.

Bucky didn’t sleep that night. He didn’t want to risk it. Instead, he retreated to his room, but not before pulling one of his blankets off the ground beside the couch and draping it over Dawn’s curled up frame. He sat on the bed he rarely used, left the door open just in case. He read a book until the sun rose and the city started coming back to life.

Dawn had slept hard into the late hours of the morning, and Bucky let her. She really needed it. She didn’t stir when he finally started a pot of coffee, just laid there, sprawled out on the couch in a dead slumber. She didn’t stir when he started making a breakfast of bacon and eggs and toast, at least not at first.

He watched her from the corner of his eye when she finally sat up, looking around a little confused, keeping most of his focus on the bacon in front of him. He listened to her joints crack as she stood up. She stretched with a sweet little groan and shuffled into the kitchen, just stood in the entrance for a moment. She wanted something, he could feel it. He just didn’t know what, but he was willing to wait her out as long as it took. He kept his focus on the food in front of him until she was able to get whatever it was she wanted out of her system.

Dawn didn’t touch Bucky, like he didn’t touch her. But for different reasons. He knew it was just because she wanted to respect his boundaries, didn’t want to make him uncomfortable or upset. He appreciated that about her. She was too good of a person, at least for him.

Bucky focused on cooking, took a sip from his mug off coffee. Set it down. He set it down, and suddenly there were arms wrapped around his middle, a body pressed into his back, a forehead resting just between his shoulder blades. He froze. Dawn was hugging him, and his brain all but short circuited. She was hugging him, and it made her more real, more solid, more scary. He was going to burn the bacon if he didn’t move, was one panicked movement away from shaking her off of him and finding some way to ruin everything. But he didn’t. In that brief moment, he sort of understood that she needed to do that. He accepted it, through sheer force of will. Instead of wriggling away, he dropped his hand and reached back, his palm landing on her hip. He gave it a couple awkward pats and a gentle squeeze in acknowledgment. And then she was gone just as quick as she came, in favor of finding a coffee mug and pretending nothing happened.

He listened to the sound of her pouring herself some coffee, the contented little sigh she let out upon taking that first blessed sip. He finally turned his head to look at her fully, her sleepy eyes watching him carefully over the rim of the mug.

“How do you like your eggs?” he asked. A tired little grin graced her lips as she lowered the mug. She was sleepy, and soft, and smiling, and Bucky’s heart may just have skipped a beat.

#Bucky Barnes #james barnes #tfatws #buckybarnabus writes #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #avengers #marvel #winter soilder

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maluminspace · 5 years ago

Text

Genre: Smut/Angst

Pairings: Calum Hood/Luke Hemmings

Word Count: 2.5k

Requested: @periwinkle5481

Slytherin Calum + Gryffindor Luke are secretly dating and they’re hiding it from Slytherin Michael and Gryffindor Ashton bc of the rivalry. Cake gets caught in the prefect bathrooms by Mike and/or Ash (I’ll leave that up to your discretion) and shit kind of blows up but the four work it out. So I guess this is angsty with a touch of smut ;) thank you for writing this

Includes: nudity, hand jobs (almost)

Trigger Warnings: strong language, moderate sexual content

A/N: Angst with a touch of smut, you say? I hope this fits the bill, my sweet!

***

Calum Hood had been working hard to become the Slytherin quidditch captain his whole school life. He’d trained hard at every given opportunity and spent almost every penny of the allowance his parents sent to him, on buying the very best knee and elbow pads. All of his blood, sweat and tears had paid off on the first night of his fifth year at Hogwarts, when the current head teacher had announced that Calum was to take over the important job of captain from Greta Hollyberry, who’d graduated the previous year.

The Slytherin’s elation at gaining this new title had been infinitely enhanced a few moments later when the headteacher had announced the name of the prefects. He wasn’t surprised when his secret boyfriend’s name had been called for taking the place of Gryffindor’s new prefect. Luke was a typical goody-goody, acing all of his classes and taking every extra-curricular activity possible to ensure he got the best recommendation when he leaves school in a couple of years. Calum couldn’t be happier about all those things, though, because it meant that for the first time ever, the two of them got to use the prefect’s bathroom, AKA the best place ever to secretly do the stuff they’d previously been forced to do in dusty, deserted corners of the castle.

It was tough on both boys sometimes, having to keep such an important relationship a secret from their friends and peers. Unfortunately, it was a necessary evil. Old prejudices that dictate that Slytherin purebloods shouldn’t date people from other houses, especially muggleborns, were still prevalent in the wizarding community and Hogwarts itself was no exception.

Due to their hectic schedules, the two boys had had to wait well over a week to finally meet there, but they were determined to make the most of it now.

“What colour water should we have?” Luke asked, surveying the multitude of golden taps lining the sunken, pool-like bathtub. His bright blue eyes were sparkling with excitement as he sat down on the side of the huge bath. “Pink could be quite romantic?”

“I don’t fucking care what colour the water is Luke…” Calum replied, hastily shuffling out of his clothes and discarding the pile of his school robes near the wall. “I just want a wet, naked Gryffindor prefect pressed against the side of this massive bath.”

Luke’s cheeks heated up under the intensity of Calum’s desperate words as he simply turned on the closest tap. The water that began filling the bath happened to be a pretty pastel purple colour. The slightly younger boy gave a delighted chuckle as he scrambled to his feet so that he could undress.

“Wait a second!” Calum insisted before slipping off his boxers, loving the way that Luke eyed him hungrily. He slipped into the tub, leaning against one side of it as he found the perfect position to watch Luke undress. “Okay, strip…”

Luke suddenly became shy, the way he always did when Calum’s attention was solely focussed on him. The lanky boy felt awkward beneath his boyfriend’s gaze as he slowly shed his Gryffindor robes, leaving them in a heap next to Calum’s Slytherin ones.

“Why did you stop?” Calum growled, indicating Luke’s tight red boxer shorts. “Show me the goods, Hemmings!”

Luke rolled his eyes fondly as he slowly pulled down his boxer shorts before kicking them to one side. He automatically curled in on himself in a weak attempt to feel less exposed, but the way Calum stared at him as though he was about to devour every inch of his pale, lanky body, made him more bashful than ever.

“Hurry up and get in here…” Calum commanded, stepping back from the edge of the rapidly filling tub to let Luke slide in. “I’ve waited so long to get my hands on you!”

That much was true. The two boys had not been alone together since the end of the previous school term, over seven weeks ago. Of course, they’d found ways of secretly communicating throughout the summer holidays and they’d managed to steal the odd moment for a quick make-out session here and there since returning to school the previous week. This was their first chance to properly be together, though, and they weren’t about to waste any more time before relieving their sexual tensions.

As Luke slipped into the huge bath, Calum couldn’t help but admire how beautiful he looked. The Slytherin found himself raking his eyes over every inch of Luke’s pale skin as he settled into the water. The younger boy’s dark blonde hair was slightly tousled and fluffy from where he’d pulled his clothes over his head, making him look softer than ever. His blue eyes were twinkling in the dim light, too, reflecting the pastel shade of the water and the bright flecks of the multi coloured stained glass window above the tub.

The whole sight almost took Calum’s breath away. It was even harder for him to see why his fellow Slytherin’s would begrudge this relationship. Luke was the purest creature on earth, someone to be treasured and even worshipped, not looked down upon and shunned. He just wished that those narrow-minded people could see what he saw and feel how he felt when he was with Luke.

“You okay, Cal?” Luke questioned quietly when his boyfriend failed to make a move on him the second he was in the water.

Calum shook his head in an attempt to rid his mind of the ugly thoughts about his housemates and the associated feelings of anger and disappointment they brought with them. “I’m fine…” He promised, pressing himself closer to Luke until as much of his body was touching the Gryffindor’s as possible. “Just can’t get over how gorgeous you are, Lukey.”

The younger boy giggled as he wrapped his arms around Calum’s neck. “You’re the most gorgeous, Cal.” He replied. “I can’t even tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

“I think I might know exactly how you’ve been feeling…” Calum whispered before capturing the younger boy’s lips in a soft kiss. “Dreamt of your fucking mouth more than I can tell you.”

Luke whimpered into the kiss as Calum pushed one of his thighs between the Gryffindor’s applying friction to both of their deprived dicks. “Is that all you’ve missed?” He asked, rutting desperately against the quidditch captain.

Calum shook his head as they pulled apart from the increasingly intense kiss. “I missed everything about you, Luke, so fucking much…”

The Slytherin’s words were laced with so much need and lust that Luke was powerless to hold back, he moaned into his boyfriend’s mouth like it was the first time he’d ever been kissed. “Then show me…” Luke begged, sliding one hand down Calum’s arm to grip his wrist before guiding it between their bodies. “Show me how much you’ve missed me.”

“Fuck, Lukey.” The older boy groaned, backing up his hips just enough to allow him space to touch the Gryffindor where he needed it most. His fingers had barely grazed the base of Luke’s cock when the door of the bathroom burst open unexpectedly.

Calum jumped backwards, instinctively covering his dick as he turned to yell at the intruder. “The door was locked for a reason, you fucking idiot…” His rant trailed off as his gaze met a pair of all-too-familiar, startled green eyes. “Michael? What the fuck are you doing here?”

The new arrival didn't even attempt to answer. He silently glanced from Calum to Luke and back again. It was entirely obvious that his mind was processing over the scenario, the cogs of his brain working overtime as he just stared, slack-jawed at the couple in the pool.

Quickly realising that there was no lie on earth that Michael would believe right now, Calum hastily tried to work out what the best method of damage control would be. He shifted sideways slightly, using his own body to shield Luke as much as possible. “Mike, you need to let me explain…”

“You two?” Michael gasped, a note of horror clear amongst the shock. “How? Why? I just…”

“Just turn around, so that Luke and I can get dressed. Then we can talk, yeah?” Calum asked, surprised by his own logical thinking in such a stressful situation.

Much to Calum’s dismay, Michael seemed glued to the spot, unable to tear his eyes from what he clearly believed was the friendship equivalent of a car wreck. “I thought you hated Gryffindors, Calum?” He sputtered. “You’re always going on about how much you want to beat them at quidditch and you definitely fucking can’t stand prefects! Hemmings is the last person in the world I’d have expected you to hook up with.”

“I don’t hate Gryffindors.” Calum protested, hoping to side step the rest of his best friend’s argument. “Don’t project your own prejudices onto me, Mike!”

The blonde boy shook his head disbelievingly, his expression betraying a hint of anger now. “I’ve never said a single thing about hating Gryffindors! Stop trying to deflect! Why would you feel the need to keep this secret from me? I’m supposed to be your best fucking friend, Calum.”

Part of Calum felt ashamed, if there was one person he could have trusted with his secret it would have been Michael. He still felt irritated and embarrassed by the intrusion and the allegations that Michael had thrown at him. Perhaps that was the reason that his brain frantically tried to find an argument to throw back at Michael. Luckily, it wasn’t hard to find something to fuel his anger. A quick glance over Michael’s dishevelled hair and crumpled robes told Calum that his friend was clearly here to meet someone as well. “You can talk!” The younger boy shot back. “You’ve obviously been keeping secrets from me, too.”

Even in the dim light with the reflections of the colourful windows and water tinting everything and everyone in the room, it was clear how much Michael was blushing at Calum’s words. “I don’t know what you’re…”

As if on cue, the bathroom door swung open again. Michael didn’t even turn around but his eyes widened in horror. He didn’t have time to react before the new arrival stumbled into the room. “Hey baby, sorry I’m late, I had to shake off the nosy Hufflepuff prefect…”

“Ashton?!” Luke exclaimed, almost deafening Calum as all eyes moved to the Gryffindor quidditch captain.

Michael simply covered his face with his hands and let out a low groan.

The oldest boy in the group stopped in his tracks the moment he realised that Michael wasn’t alone in the bathroom. His cheeks immediately turned crimson as the reality of the situation dawned on him.

“Looks like I’m not the only one fucking a Gryffindor.” Calum huffed, turning his attention back to Michael. “What’s your excuse for keeping secrets, Clifford?”

Michael curled in on himself, looking over at Ashton for some kind of emotional support. “I… Ash, I’m sorry.”

The Gryffindor quidditch captain stepped a little closer to his apparent boyfriend, gripping Michael’s shoulder gently. “We don’t have anything to be ashamed of, Mike.” He smiled comfortingly. He glanced over at the couple in the pool, adopting an almost pleading tone and expression. “We just all need to have a talk, I think.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Calum to keep his temper. “I don’t want to fucking talk, Irwin.” He snapped. “I want you and your boyfriend to leave! Just get the fuck out, both of you!”

Michael almost looked close to tears as he mirrored Ashton’s pleading gaze. He was obviously feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed. “Calum, I’m sorry, I just thought the door was locked because it’s almost curfew…”

“Just fuck off!” Calum demanded, entirely losing patience with the whole situation. “I want to be alone with Luke, so get out!”

Ashton’s expression hardened a little as though he was about to lose his own temper and stand up to Calum, but he faltered when Michael lost his battle to keep his emotions in check and ran from the room without a backwards glance.

“You should go after him.” Luke shrugged, drawing Calum’s attention away from the older boy for the first time since he’d arrived. “We’ll come and find you in a minute.”

Ashton nodded before turning on his heel and jogging after his boyfriend.

“Can you believe those two?” Calum huffed angrily, turning to fully face his boyfriend. “Michael yelled at me for keeping you a secret and the whole time he was doing the exact same thing to me!”

Sighing, Luke reached up to cradle the Slytherin’s cheek. “I think all four of us are guilty of letting outside opinions affect our own relationships and friendships.” He explained gently. “I’m a little hurt that Ashton didn’t talk to me about Michael, too. We’ve been close friends for years, we talk about everything else… I guess we’re all just scared of those few idiots that might bully us for dating someone so different to ourselves.``

There’s no denying Luke’s words. Calum knew that that one stupid reason is the only cause of this whole mess and he hated that he ever allowed himself to get caught up in it. “You’re right.” He answered quietly, pecking a kiss to the corner of Luke’s mouth. “We shouldn’t let those pricks make us feel like we have to hide.”

Luke smiled softly. “Let’s put this romantic bath on hold and go talk to our friends, yeah?” He suggested tentatively.

Calum nodded reluctantly, knowing that he wouldn’t fully be able to enjoy the rest of his date with Luke when Michael was upset with him. He was also more than eager to find out more about how he’d ended up dating the Gryffindor quidditch captain.

After another brief kiss, the couple climbed out of the bath and headed over to where they’d hung up their towels earlier.

“I know the most important thing to do tonight is to make things right with Michael and Ashton…” Luke said as he dried himself down with his fluffy white towel. “But can we also ask them to agree a schedule to use this bathroom? Like I may never get over the embarrassment of knowing that Ashton Irwin and Michael Clifford saw me naked.”

Calum chuckled, pulling Luke into a warm embrace. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about that, Lukey… You have the prettiest little cock, in the world. They’re lucky to have even gotten a glimpse of it.”

Tag list: @clffrd @byxthexway @afuckingunicornn @painkillerash @moonchildsblack @calumbbyyy @h0tsos @loveroflrh @sexgodashton @megz1985 @myfalsedevotion @aulxna @honeyedlashton @tea4sykes @ghostofmashton @fairyintheglass @cashworthy @cashtonasfuck @opheliaaurora23 @5sosnsfw @wildmichaelflower @loverofcashton @irwinkitten @cxddlyash @wildmalumflower @cashtonasff5sos @iovehemmings @lowpowermodex @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @celticclifford @5-secondsofcolor

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flipomatic · 4 years ago

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Internship Chapter 2: Day 1 - Edric

Author Note: Here we are for chapter two. The publishing schedule is going to be on Tuesday and Friday evenings for this fic.

First Chapter

__________________________________________________________

Edric grimaced at the Bonesborough jail building, dreading the moment he would have to go inside. This was where he was assigned for his internship, so he had very reluctantly walked here. Surprisingly, he was not supposed to report to the Emperor’s Castle, but instead to the local city jail. Edric dragged his feet every step of the way there that morning.

All he wanted was an easy internship at the Illusion Coven, was that too much to ask? Apparently, the answer was yes. The universe had condemned him to an internship in law enforcement, which was literally the last place he wanted to be. Edric would’ve rather been in class than standing within a hundred feet any branch of the Emperor’s Coven.

Em should’ve been assigned to this coven instead, at least she would enjoy the challenge. For Edric, just the thought of having to chase criminals and use other magic was giving him hives.

He suggested to Em that they use magic to disguise themselves as each other, but the Illusion Coven would see through it for sure. They would last a few days at most, and risk both failing the internship when they were caught. They couldn’t come up with any other ideas, so the only option they had was to go along with their coven assignments.

That was what led to Edric standing in front of the Bonesborough jail building, heavy feet not wanting to take a single step closer. It wasn’t too late; he could still leave without being noticed. He could even use an illusion spell to make it so nobody would see him fleeing.

“Hey kid, are you lost?” A male voice asked from his left. Edric turned to look, and saw an Emperor’s Coven member just a couple feet away. His face was covered in the beak mask most coven members wore and he had one hand raised, as if he was going to tap Edric to get his attention. He wore the grey uniform and white cloak of the coven. He must’ve been confused; Edric had worn his casual clothes instead of his Hexside uniform, so he must’ve looked like he was lost.

Edric took half a step away. “Oh, sorry no.” He cleared his throat and decided to resign to his fate. “I’m the new intern from Hexside.”

“We have an intern?” The coven member sounded surprised, his hand dropping back to his side.

Edric shrugged, not sure how to respond to that. “I guess.” Did they not know he was coming? He felt a spark of hope; maybe they would just let him leave.

The coven member thought about it for a moment before speaking. “Come with me.” Was what he settled on, crushing Edric’s short lived dream as he gestured for him to follow along into the building. The coven member started walking away, leaving Edric to drag his feet from where he had planted them and follow him in.

It was strange that the coven members didn’t know he was coming, Edric thought. Even though he had only heard about this on Friday, the coven must’ve had more time to prepare. At least, that’s what he assumed.

They entered through the front door of the jail, passing by the lobby and clerk to go to an ‘Emperor’s Coven Only’ door. The coven member opened it without hesitation, leading Edric deeper into the building. They walked through a hallway with a number of office doors, all with names plates on them. Edric glanced at a few, but didn’t recognize any of the names. His parents would likely scold him if they knew; they often told him about high ranking coven members with the expectation that he would remember them.

When the pair emerged from that hallway, they reached an intersection. The coven member turned right, but was stopped before he could move any further.

“I see you found our intern.” A high pitched voice called out to them from the left branch of the intersection, one Edric had heard only a handful of times before. He looked over and saw a short witch with red skin. Blue bangs covered her right eye, giving her a slightly off-putting appearance. She was carrying a large bag dangling from one hand.

Edric had seen her before when his class toured the Emperor’s Castle, and on the news a few times since. He couldn’t remember her name, but he knew she worked directly for the Emperor.

The coven member spun on his heel, saluting her as she approached. “Kikimora, Ma’am, he was in front of the building.” Edric was impressed that he didn’t complain about not knowing an intern was coming.

“Thank you, I’ll take him from here.” Kikimora replied, dismissing the coven member. He finished his salute, then spun on the same heel as before to continue in his originally intended direction. Edric watched him go for a moment.

“Welcome to the Emperor’s Coven.” Kikimora said, drawing Edric’s attention back to her. “To be chosen for this role is the highest honor. If you work hard, you will be able to earn your place here.” That was the exact opposite of what Edric wanted to do; he would give anything to be anywhere but here.

Edric tried not to visibly grimace, forming what hoped was an inoffensive, if untrue, response. “I’ll try.” He replied.

“Hmm.” Kikimora’s one visible eye narrowed. “We’ll see, won’t we.” Edric felt a shudder down his spine at those words, wondering what exactly she had planned for him. After a momentary pause, Kikimora continued speaking. “Come along, I will show you the facility.” She turned back down the hallway she came from, gesturing for Edric to follow.

At the end of the short hallway they reached a set of two doors, with one that said Women and the other that said Men. “These are the locker rooms. You can wear your uniform in or change here in the morning.” Kikimora said as she lifted the bag in her hand to hand it to Edric. This is your uniform. Go put it on, I will wait for you here.”

Edric had to lean down to accept the bag from her, which was pretty light considering the size of it. He peeked inside as he walked into the men’s locker room, sighing at the large curved mask that took up most of the space. He looked for an empty locker, then started to unload his new clothing.

The clothes inside included black slacks and a grey shirt, which were fairly inoffensive. Edric had no problem taking off the casual clothing his mother forced him to wear and trading it for a much simpler grey and black look. As he put them on, he found the new clothes surprisingly comfortable too. The long sleeves could get warm in the sun, but there were spells to counter that.

Next was the boots and gloves, which magically adjusted to fit when he put them on. After that he put on the white cape, which covered his shoulders and cascaded down his back.

Last but not least was the beak mask. This was easily his least favorite part of the uniform and the only piece he didn’t want to wear. Edric put it on slowly, and was immediately unable to see out of his peripheral vision. How could they wear these all the time? It seemed so impractical.

Edric stowed his other clothes in a locker, locking it with a spell, and then put his hood up to go look in the mirror at his new uniform. “I look like a bird.” He muttered, adjusting the mask on his face. Unfortunately, this was as good as it was going to get.

He sighed again, then left the locker room to rejoin Kikimora. As promised, she was waiting for him in the hallway. She nodded when she saw him, smiling in approval of his new look. At least one of them liked it.

They then walked back down the hallway, turning left to go down the middle branch of the intersection from before. This hallway was longer and led to another set of two doors, but these ones were not labeled.

Kikimora opened the one on the left, speaking as she walked through the door. “This is the training facility. You will spend time here honing your magic and combat skills.” Edric followed her through the door, eyes widening at the surprisingly large room on the other side. He had to turn his head a lot to see it properly.

The training room stretched for at least a hundred feet long, forming a large rectangle. There were racks of weapons along the walls, including training wands. A few coven members were scattered through the room, practicing magic or swinging a physical weapon. A couple were even sparring in one of the corners.

It was an impressive space, the first thing Edric had found interesting since he arrived. This would be a great room to conduct pranks in; the walls were just asking to be graffitied. Plus, he could isolate unsuspecting coven members here as easy targets. That was probably not what he was supposed to get out of this tour, but it was incredibly appealing.

Kikimora waited for him to stop looking around, then gestured for him to follow her back out.

“The other door is the staff lounge.” She said when they reached the hallway, then started walking back towards the intersection without offering Edric a chance to look inside. That was disappointing, since the staff lounge would likely be Edric’s favorite room in the whole jail. But no, he had to follow her away from it.

Kikimora again turned left at the intersection, this time going the same direction the coven member he met earlier went when they parted ways. The hallway here was short, ending in a single door.

“This is the dispatch center. You will report here every day to receive your assignments.” Kikimora led Edric into the room. This was a moderately sized space, with windows to let in natural light. A desk filled the center of the room, with an Emperor’s Coven member sitting at it. Edric figured that he was the dispatcher. There was paper spread across the desk and piles of binders on the ground near it.

Three other coven members were in the room as well, talking with the dispatcher. They wore hoods and the same beak masks over their faces, so Edric wasn’t sure if one of them was the member he met earlier. When they noticed Kikimora, they all turned to salute her.

“Welcome to the branch Ma’am.” The dispatcher said, likely speaking to Kikimora and not to Edric. If Edric knew the crowd better, he would’ve cut in with a joke. Unfortunately, he suspected doing that now would get him kicked out of both the internship and Hexside. “What can we do for you?”

“We have a wonderful opportunity to foster a young mind.” Kikimora gestured towards Edric, stepping aside so the coven members could see him better. “This young man will be interning with the coven.” She gestured to the coven members on the left and center as she introduced them. “Edric, this is Patrol Witch Ralph and Patrol Witch Anderson. They are our highest ranking officers at this branch and will guide you for the next month.”

“Thank you for your kind words.” The one on the left, who must’ve been Ralph, eased his posture as he replied. He had a mid range voice, a little higher than Edric’s own.

“We’re honored to train him here.” The second one, had to be Anderson but Edric really wasn’t sure, chimed in next. His voice was lower, his speaking pattern slower. How was Edric going to tell them apart when they all dressed exactly the same? Their voices did sound different, but if they didn’t talk then there was no way to know.

“I want him on the market route today. Tomorrow morning I’ll send over his long term assignment.” Kikimora looked at the dispatcher as she spoke, who quickly scribbled something down.

“Yes Ma’am.” He replied with a nod.

“I leave him in your care then.” She turned away, walking towards the door. When she opened it, she looked back at Edric before stepping through. “Best of luck to you, young witch.” Again, Edric felt a shudder.

A moment later and she was gone, leaving Edric alone with the Emperor’s Coven witches. It was also hard to tell any of their emotions since their faces were hidden by masks. He had to rely on body language and voice. There also could’ve been another witch in the corner and Edric never would’ve seen them, since he could only see straight ahead of himself, but that wasn’t very likely.

None of them had seen his face yet; he wondered if he could still escape with a well time illusion spell. That probably wouldn’t work, since he would have to take the mask off to do it right and then they would know what he looked like.

“I have the market patrol today.” The third coven member, on the right, raised his hand as he spoke. His voice sounded familiar; this was the witch who Edric met when he arrived.

“He’ll go with you then, make sure to keep him out of trouble.” Anderson said with a nod. He seemed to have more authority than the other two, though it was hard to tell.

“I was just about to head out, let’s go.” The coven member walked past Edric to the door, expecting him to follow. Edric slowly turned to trail after him, hoping that they wouldn’t have to walk the entire way there.

They left the other two behind, then exited the jail through the main entrance.

“We’ll walk, it’s not far.” The coven member said, leading the way into town. Edric followed without a word, frowning beneath his mask. “I’m Mike by the way. You’re a Hexside student, right?”

“Yup.” Edric gave a short reply as he stumbled over a rock. He was trying and failing to not to look down at his feet while he walked. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on his peripheral vision to not trip on things.

“Our main job on patrol is to keep an eye out for criminals.” Mike started to fill Edric in on what the internship actually entailed. “So if you see something suspicious, let me know.”

“Alright.” Edric replied dryly, not excited about the prospect of doing that job. He was far more likely to be running from authority, not the witch enforcing it.

They walked in silence for a minute.

“What track are you in at school?” Mike asked, still trying to make conversation while they walked.

Edric spun one finger in the air, not able to resist a chance to show off. He made a series of light clones appear around Mike, all wearing the Emperor’s Coven uniform and walking in step with him. “Illusion track.” He would’ve winked if Mike had been able to see it.

Mike looked around at the clones, then back at Edric. “Impressive. As expected, they only accept the best in the Emperor’s Coven.” If the internship hadn’t also been a lot of work, that would’ve warmed Edric to the idea of it. “What magic can you do from other tracks?” Mike asked, looking for more details.

Edric dispelled the clones before answering. “Not much.” He replied honestly. He hadn’t dabbled in other magic, illusions had always been the best track for him.

“You’ll need other types for the job. I suggest starting with plant magic, it’s really useful for catching runaways.”

Edric wasn’t going to suggest that catching criminals was the last thing he wanted to be doing. He just sighed and said he’d work on it. He could already feel the hard work hives starting to develop.

A minute later and they arrived at the market. Mike told him that they should be quiet and focus on their route, and then started to patrol around the market. Ed trailed after him, regretting every decision he made that brought him to this moment.

His feet were already sore.

He hoped Em was having a better first day.

Next Chapter

#the owl house #the owl house fanfiction #edric blight #emira blight #flip writes #im so stressed today the election is killling me

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notaburgler · 5 years ago

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Grocery Shopping

The grocery store. A place to gather the essentials, or if you were Soramitsu Tabe, a source of power. Normally, this was a solo job delegated to some subordinate. But Overhaul felt the need to go himself, the rest of his posse following behind.

They gave him a list of what to get, but Overhaul and his short fuse snapped, ‘if you all want this so bad, just come with me!’ He was regretting that outburst already.

It wasn’t that his men were unruly or loud; it was more so that Overhaul found solace in grocery shopping. It was a relaxing moment in time where he wasn’t the boss of the feared yakuza. He was just a simple civilian out getting the week’s food.

With his own reusable basket over one arm and a quick adjustment of his gloves, he was off. He did his best to ignore the ramblings of the rest, but since he was the one with the credit card, it was only reasonable that they would be bothering him with questions of whether they could get something or not.

He sighed. He did, in fact, ask for this.

Rappa, the rebellious and hot-headed man he was, just tossed what he wanted in the cart Chrono had grabbed. Why ask? He needed it, even if it was the sugar-coated cereal Overhaul hated.

But if he was trying to piss off the boss, he failed. Overhaul was actually happy he had just made the decision for himself. They were only down the first aisle and he was already getting irritated with the small group. Maybe offering to let them come along, even if it was out of anger, wasn’t the best call.

****

Arms crossed and a scowl on his face, Shigaraki grumbled, “Why do I have to be here?”

The league of villains had needs, too. It wasn’t odd to consider that their fridge needed replenishing, and even with a moderate, but small budget, Kurogiri would manage to get what was needed.

“Because Tomura Shigaraki, you are our leader and as our leader, you must make decisions for our little group.” Kurogiri stated, pushing the cart into the store.

The rest followed the two. They loved this. Dabi intended to cause a scene. Toga wanted Lucky Charms and a body pillow so she could draw a picture of Deku on it to sleep with. Spinner was still searching for the perfect lotion to help with how hard his scales had gotten. Twice was trying to stick to a diet, but the other half of him felt eating instant noodles and cookies for dinner was perfectly acceptable. Mr. Compress had a new recipe he found on Pinterest he wanted to try.

There was a fear that, since they were villains, they would be caught. But Kurogiri chose the store, and Costco couldn’t have been a better choice. It was huge and there were a lot of people swarming the isles. He insisted Shigaraki leave his hands at home and wear his hoodie. After a quick hissy fit, the hands remained behind and he tossed his hoodie up, ‘I’m not doing it because you told me to… I’m doing it because I want to.’ His stubbornness was endearing.

“Chrono,” Shigaraki perked up at the overheard name and glanced through the aisles, “make sure Tabe doesn’t eat us out of house and home.”

Overhaul. Shigaraki scowled at his voice. “Our funds are limited and we can’t use it all up here.” He continued on, Shigaraki following them as they walked down the aisle. “And make sure that Sakaki stays away from the liquor aisle,” Overhaul noted nodding.

Shigaraki’s glare was joined by Dabi. Both glaring holes through the yakuza boss. “Tomura Shigaraki,” Kurogiri gained the attention of his leader again, “we need your input.”

Shigaraki, being the adult that he is, had a new plan, “Kurogiri, you do the shopping. I have something else I have to do.” He said with a devious smirk.

****

“Boss,” Mimic rode in the child’s seat of the cart going over the budget, “here is what we can afford. If we can spend less, that would be ideal.” He held out his calculator, “don’t forget, we have to get a few things for Eri.”

Overhaul sighed, but he knew keeping the kid happy— or at least content— was important. A new doll house or a stuffed animal should suffice. Her daily food rations would come from what they gathered for all, but he did intend to get something a bit more fun for her as well. She was, after all, the reason he had gotten so far in his research. A nice gift would do the trick in maintaining her submission.

Overhaul glanced at his list, then at the prices, then back at his list. It should be doable with the budget Mimic had placed, but it would be tight. He had to remember that toilet paper and laundry detergent weren’t cheap; and with the monstrosity that was that store, and the countless opportunities to go over budget, he’d have to keep a watchful eye on what they got.

Overhaul scanned the men in front of him. “Get what you like, just don’t go too crazy.”

Chrono pushed the cart, Mimic had hopped to the floor and grabbed the lower items so Overhaul didn’t have to bend over or touch anything. The reason Overhaul preferred to go alone was silence and space. The selections he made were precise. He’d always grab the item farthest to the back so the least amount of hands had touched it. Mimic knew this. He handed it to Chrono, who plopped it in the cart.

The trip was surprisingly relaxing. Overhaul would hate to admit that his subordinates were quite well-mannered in public, even if they all didn’t look the part. They were polite and kind. A few of them would gain a passing glance and a look of horror from the other patrons, but that was expected. So long as they minded their manners and didn’t cause a scene, they would be left to do their shopping in peace.

With a half full cart, Overhaul stopped to examine their findings. Several extra bottles of wine gained Sakaki a glare. He quickly took a few out and returned them to the shelf.

An overabundance of food was crammed to the side like a rat hoarding food for the winter. “Tabe…” Mimic sighed, “I said only get what is needed. If you plan to buy all of this, get your own cart and pay with your own money.”

Again, the men scattered with their designated items as Overhaul scanned the aisles. He placed a few things in his cart and moved on. Chrono stepped away and Mimic followed his boss talking about how many extras were tossed in that weren’t on the list.

****

Dabi chuckled watching them leave, “Now’s our chance,” he smirked.

Shigaraki slipped into the aisle and pulled the cart back, Dabi pushing another into its place, “This always drives me up the wall,” he laughed as he got back to his leader.

Shigaraki went through their cart, checking it out and decaying anything he didn’t like. “Serves them right,” he huffed, placing all five fingers on a giant can of soup.

****

Rappa passed a free sample stand and stopped. He loved the store for this reason. Tabe would go nuts at these if it wasn’t for the looming threat of their boss scolding him— or worse.

“Care to try a sample, good sir?” “Come on, you loser! What are you? Scared?” The sample vendor was an odd one.

“Have I seen you before?”

“I don’t think so…” “Just try the food, you overgrown weasel!”

Rappa, as confused as he was, gripped the small cup in his massive hands. His eyes never left the strange vendor. He felt like he must have seen him before. Taking away the comically large chef’s hat and the pink apron, he looked so… familiar.

With a wondering glance, Rappa scooped the yogurt sample onto the tiny spoon and shoveled the entire thing into his mouth. “Well that’s damn good!” he said, reaching for more.

“Please, take another.” “Save some for the rest of the people, fat ass!”

Rappa left with a few more samples to share. He knew his comrades would enjoy them and there hadn’t been many other samples available that day.

“Here.” He handed one to Tengai and another to Tetsuno. “Free samples,” he said, eating yet another.

****

Overhaul walked alongside Chronostasis as they gathered more items and put them in the cart. There seemed to be a bit more than Chrono remembered before they left.

Chrono hummed to himself, “Maybe Hojo put more in. He didn’t want to come here to begin with anyway.” He shrugged moving along having a harder time with the cart than before.

It seemed that in the short time he had walked away, the back wheel to the cart had jammed up. He was using more strength to push the cart than before. And now the front wheel on the opposite side had a mind of its own too. If he did manage to get the cart moving, the front wheel would flip in the wrong direction and send the cart hurling into the aisle. He grit his teeth, bearing it with stoicism. Overhaul hated complainers.

It was a petty thing to be upset about, and his boss had no patience for the like. When they arrived, Chrono made well and sure that the cart he grabbed was perfect. He made an ordeal out of it holding the lot of them from even entering the store before he selected it. If Chrono had a major pet peeve: it was a faulty shopping cart.

His pride, and dignity, prevented him from returning to the front of the store and getting a new one. He was a leader in this group after all; and after making a big deal out of which cart to grab, he couldn't turn around and claim his selection unworthy. No, Chrono would have to bite his tongue and press on, fighting the urge to admit defeat via a shopping cart.

“Everything alright?” Overhaul hummed.

Chrono forced the words out as he powered through the stubborn cart’s resistance. “Yup. No problems here,” he said, breath strained.

He kicked the wheel hoping to knock it back into place so it would work properly again, but to no avail. It was as if this cart had been struck by his quirk. And now, Chronostasis would suffer for it.

****

Shigaraki and Dabi chuckled at the sight. He hadn’t even noticed that their new cart was littered with junk food and frozen items. Dabi made sure that the frozen food was at the bottom and had been thoroughly thawed out before exchanging the carts.

“Stupid yakuza.” Shigaraki snickered, sneaking away as they turned a corner, out of the other villains’ line of sight.

The two caught up to their own small group reassembling in the frozen food aisle.

“Spinner…” Dabi pointed.

Shigaraki glanced at his reptilian ally and a wicked grin spread across his face. With a ‘borrowed’ can opener, Spinner opened some tuna.

His eyes flicked to meet Shigaraki’s and he locked up in fear. Yet upon seeing that sickening smile, he proceeded with his plan knowing his leader approved.

With a short grunt, he tossed the can over the tall row of food. Shigaraki and Dabi, now hiding behind a stack of potato chips and pretzels, watched as the can landed just behind the group. The yakuza pressed on without noticing the splattered fish a few feet away from them.

Shigaraki nodded to Spinner as he hastily opened another can and adjusted himself according to Dabi’s directions.

A step to the left, then to the right. A small shuffle back to the left and he was in place.

****

Overhaul glanced inside the freezer for his favorite meal and nodded to Mimic to grab a few. He graciously plucked the food from Mimics hand, paying close attention as to not touch him, and gently placed them in his basket.

“Boss,” Mimic scooted along the floor, “we come to Costco, the bulk capital of the food world, and you shop with a tiny basket?”

As Overhaul began to answer, a can of tuna fell from above, landing between them, and splattering across the floor.

Overhaul held back his urge to destroy everything in sight. This trip was turning into a nightmare. His men all stopped and stared, wondering what the boss would do. His arms held out in disgust and a rancid look on his face made them fearful of the outcome of this mess.

Overhaul took a deep breath in and let it out slowly with closed eyes. He had a reputation to uphold and couldn't go killing random citizens because of this. If he was going to continue his experiments, he needed to keep a low profile; and murdering people in such a public and crowded place would not help him in the grand scheme of things.

“Well!” Mimic yelled, “get something for the boss to clean himself up!”

****

Kurogiri was enjoying the silence. On occasion, one of his comrades would pop by and toss something in the cart. They would leave as quickly as they came, off to grab another useless item. He would spend a moment looking it over and deciding if it was worth the money. Most of the stuff the League of Villains would throw at him was junk food and unhealthy. He had tried so hard to get them off of this instant noodles and chips diet, but Shigaraki was a tough cookie to crack. He was so stubborn and hard to convince that a healthy diet would help his work later.

He tossed a few bags of chips back on the shelf and shook his head at the amount of soda and energy drinks piling up at the bottom of the cart.

“You can have one or the other.” He said putting back the energy drinks and changing them out for coffee instead, “this will be much better for you anyway, Tomura Shigaraki.”

Kurogiri really was the glue that held the League together. Without him, they would have already been caught by the heroes or starved. He took pride in his position, and made sure that at least once a week, a good hearty meal was on the menu.

****

Overhaul cleaned up the best he could. His pure, unadulterated rage had calmed to a gentle frustration. Clorox wipes definitely helped. He could still smell the fish on his pants, but at least he got the majority of it up. Now he didn’t care about getting what was on the list; he just wanted to go home and take a properly scalding shower.

The next aisle was his favorite though. A soft heat throbbed in his chest. His eyes sparkled with a ray of happiness. The once fuming aura of pure disgust was erased and replaced with a shimmering delight. He passed a wet floor sign and stepped around a large puddle of detergent on the floor and stopped to admire the beauty.

The soap aisle.

The bleach. The detergent. The smell of freshness. It made his heart, as black and emotionless as it was, flutter in his chest. This aisle was as dangerous to him as a liquor store was to Sakaki. If he didn’t have someone stopping him, he’d end up buying the entire aisle. Luckily, Tengai had come to his side seeing him alone.

“Boss,” he piped up, catching Overhaul off guard. “Only get what you need.”

Overhaul hated being told what to do, especially by those he deemed expendable like Tengai. But he was right, they couldn’t afford to spend so much money on cleaning supplies. With a hopeless sigh, he placed the box of gloves in his basket and moved along to the detergent.

“Got the coffee.” Rappa stated, rounding the corner.

Tetsuno followed with the tea in hand. With all of this, they wouldn’t have to get more for quite some time.

All three men suddenly stopped in their tracks as they moved along, Overhaul leaving them behind.

“Oh….” Tetsuno gripped his stomach.

“Oh man….” Rappa whined.

Tengai remained silent, standing still.

“What’s wrong with you three?” Overhaul looked back at them with raised brows.

“Bathroom… now…” All three collectively turned and rushed as one toward the restrooms.

Before they even managed to leave the aisle, they slipped on the puddle of detergent. All three tried so hard to use the others as a means to stay on both feet. They were sliding around, a moving pretzel of villains, before inevitably falling flat on their asses.

Overhaul ignored them, enjoying the sweet scent of the detergent. He took in a whiff of the fresh linen smell and smiled. Even through his mask, he could smell it; it was wonderful. But that scent was quickly destroyed by a truly awful smell. He glanced back at his men, all three of them looking ashamed and embarrassed.

Rappa growled. “This is your fault.” He held Tengai by the shirt collar.

“I don’t understand how this could possibly be my fault.” He rolled his eyes trying to hide that he too, had shit his pants.

“Who cares whose fault it is…. I need new pants now.” Tetsuno scanned the aisles until he saw the clothes.

He made a beeline for them hoping the smell wasn’t as bad as it felt.

****

Toga held back her laughter, clutching the wet floor sign to her chest in glee. All she wanted was to watch them fall. Watching the light leave their eyes as they voided their bowels was the delicious cherry on top she desperately needed. It was sweet, sweet payback for what they had done to poor Big Sis Magne.

Shigaraki had called a truce with them; but that didn’t mean messing with them was out of line with her leader’s orders.

She chuckled, pinching her nose. “Nice job Twice. Laxatives in the yogurt samples… classic.”

****

Katsukame scanned the bulk dry foods section. They needed more rice and he was selected to get it. Normally, he would grab a large bag of it from another store, but being on a tight budget made him come here.

He grimaced at the faint scent of feces and shook his head, “Damn kids.” He glared at a mother and baby.

The white rice was on sale too. This was a good thing. Any deal they could get would be a winner, and anything to get praise from the boss or Mimic was a good thing.

He would never outwardly admit it, but he loved the praise he got for a job well done. He loved being the go-to guy. Getting the job done right the first time was his life’s motto.

“Lucky me.” He said, hefting a 20-pound sack in his arms.

He walked the store in a bit of awe— this was his first time in such a large establishment. The free samples, the huge variety, the giant TVs, even furniture! What didn’t this place have?

He made note of a rice cooker he passed. The one at the hideout was getting beat up from its constant use. Once he got paid, he might come back and buy it for the group. They all had been working so hard lately and a nice treat like this would be appreciated.

****

Dabi followed Hojo around the store wondering what he would select. He’d scan a few items and pick them up to examine, but never bring them back with him. He seemed to be looking for something specific but couldn’t quite find what it was he was looking for in the vast array of gifts this store had to offer.

He hummed, holding up a bundle of leeks. “This should do us well,” he said, placing them in his grocery bag and continuing on.

He was looking for ingredients for a recipe.

Dabi kept a close eye on him and his mission, each ingredient thoughtfully selected and put into his bag.

“Now for some sugar.”

Dabi cackled lowly and slipped past him. Hojo’s attention was directed towards the commotion in the detergent aisle. He could only assume someone had told his boss he couldn’t buy it all.

He shook his head, “Fools. Just let the man get what he wants.” He dropped the sugar in his bag and moved along.

****

“I don’t get it?” Shigaraki huffed at Dabi’s seemingly stupid move.

“His meal is gonna be great. But replacing salt with sugar is gonna make it even better.”

Shigaraki grinned. This evil work was more fun than he had thought.

Tormenting the Shie Hassaikai. This was a great stress relief that even he wouldn’t think would help. The undeniable desire to get even with the man that not only belittled him and destroyed his hideout, but also killed his comrade was fulfilling.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention.”

The loudspeaker cut off his next thought. That voice was familiar. “Toga…”

“The young man in the plague mask and green coat has had a horrible day. He’s in the detergent aisle. He loves getting tightly hugged and cuddled when he’s feeling down.” Shigaraki’s smile split his face. “If you see him, please, give him a big hug and tell him how important he is. Suicide is not an option and many people will miss him.”

“Thank you!” “Tell them he loves it when you touch his dick.”

“Shut up Twi-”

The crackle of the loudspeaker screeched before turning off.

****

“Oh no…” Chrono left the cart in Nemoto and Mimic’s hands and dashed to his boss.

With how busy the store was, there was already a small crowd surrounding him. This wasn’t good. If even one of them touched him he’d break out into hives and start disassembling each one of them.

“Please, everyone.” Chrono announced making his way through the small gathering, “the boss is fine. There is no need to hug or touch him. We, his… friends, have made sure he won’t do anything drastic. Return to your shopping.”

An old lady passed, “here’s a candy young man.” Her voice broke and sweet like a grandmother.

Her wrinkled smile flashed to the young boss. He wasn’t the least bit amused by her presence. He already felt his skin start to bubble just from the people looming around him so closely.

****

“Clean up in the detergent section... and the clothing section…”

Twice snickered as he and Toga tiptoed off, seeing Sakaki stumble past them. They couldn't get caught yet.

“Hey,” he reunited with Shigaraki and Dabi, “this is fun!” “Let’s make them cry!”

Dabi rolled his eyes. “Calm down. Where’s Spinner?”

“Right here.” The lizard man’s smile made them all giddy, “just had to take care of a…. rice situation.”

****

“Boss,” Hojo waved, “I got the rice like you asked.” He held up the bag by the cloth handle.

Half empty, rice trickled out of the hole in the bottom. Overhaul watched silently as it continued to drain out onto the floor in front of Hojo, a small pile of rice forming at his feet.

Hojo kept his hand up, letting the last few grains fall before lifting his gaze to the boss. This was embarrassing. His one job, the only job he was given, was a complete and utter failure.

He fell to his knees, “I’m so sorry boss!” He begged for forgiveness, “Please, let me try again!”

Overhaul was over this trip. He was frustrated and irritated— not to mention he still smelled like tuna. The store reeked of shit and half of his gang had somehow been hit with an illness. He’d have to correct that before getting into the same automobile as them. Maybe he’d just leave them behind and make them walk. A good brisk jog should do them well.

“We are leaving,” he sighed. “Gather the rest.”

Hojo took his orders seriously and rushed to get them together. Mimic and Chrono had made way to the checkout counter and waited as Overhaul grabbed a few more things he needed.

He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes. This trip was bringing shame upon his group. A rice trail scattered along the floor showed exactly where Hojo had gone. An exceptionally large pile of rice sat in the lingerie section; what an embarrassment.

He still needed something for Eri. She hated the tea set he got last time. Refused to play with the doll house from the time before. She loathed the stuffed animals. Normally this task would be given to her caretaker, but an unfortunate ‘accident’ rendered him useless and disposed of immediately.

Overhaul lifted a giant sucker up and examined it, “this should do.” He dropped it in his basket and headed to the checkout stand.

He passed Tetsuno, Rappa, and Tengai getting escorted to the back. For a moment he panicked, but seeing the clothing section a mess and covered in layers of runny shit made him turn a corner and go the longer way. Somehow, those three managed to get sick at the same time. It was disgusting. He had settled on it, those three would walk home. Either that, or they’d be sprayed with the hose outside before getting into the same vehicle as him. The thick stench of human excrement was filling the entire store.

“What an embarrassment…” he shook his head.

Once at the checkout line, he felt the calm return. It was almost over.

Chrono and Mimic knew better than to place the groceries on the conveyor belt without him. He had a routine and a method and he wouldn’t allow anyone to mess it up.

Frozen food first, then the fresh meats, a blockade of boxed or bagged items to keep the meats from touching anything, and the fresh veggies. Last was the cleaning supplies and his own basket of items. The checkout lady knew him from past visits and prepared to separate his basket from the rest.

“Boss, I don’t think we wanted this…” Chrono held up a box of plus size tampons.

“Or this…” Mimic showed the bulk extra strength deodorant.

Chrono looked over all of it, “none of this is ours!” he stated furiously. “Someone switched our god damn cart!” He gripped the handle to hold back his anger.

Overhaul remained silent. He grabbed his basket and went to another line, “I’ll be in the car when you are done returning all of this to the proper place and getting what we need.”

****

It took forever, but with teamwork and cooperation, they all managed to get what they had come for and out of the store without any more incidents. Rappa, Tengai, and Tetsuno were given adult diapers to wear home after cleaning up in the employee locker room.

The clothing section was closed off and was still getting cleaned as they checked out and left. “Finally!” Chrono groaned.

They quickly started to pack up the SUV. All they wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible.

****

The League of Villains excitedly packed the car. Shigaraki knew he could trust Kurogiri to get what was needed. He did throw a bit of a tantrum when Kurogiri didn’t buy the chips they all asked for, but they would get over it soon enough.

“Compress,” Dabi got his attention. With a hum, Mr. Compress turned. “What exactly were you doing this entire time?”

The league rolled past Overhaul and his gang— windows down and sunglasses on. Dabi took it upon himself to blast some gangster rap to try to look cool.

They smiled, waving at their rivals. Overhaul’s eyes widened as he finally caught on to why this particular trip was such a disaster.

Mr. Compress smiled. He hung out the window as Twice slowed. With a snap of his fingers, their entire car practically exploded. Canoes, couches, TVs, bookshelves, refrigerators, all of them came bursting out of nowhere, effectively destroying the car and everything inside of it. His quirk had come in handy, dropping small marbles into their bags as they left.

Shigaraki, making eye contact with Overhaul, nodded and puckered his lips as he flashed the peace sign like the gangster he is.

Twice sped away laughing.

Shie Hassaikai would never forget: members of the League of Villains were petty and cruel.

#overhaul #8 precepts of death #leauge of villians #shigaraki tomura #dabi #bnha fanfiction #bnha #my hero academia #funny shit #revenge for magne #Shigaraki is a dick #the league gets revenge #overhaul never saw it coming #I still laugh reading this #please like this #please tell me im funny

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