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nightingiall · 4 years

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head in the clouds: part i

Rory Bhatt hates lifeguarding, hates the Shack kids, and hates Niall Horan. All she wants is to have a peaceful summer minding her own business and hopefully be able to find some much needed inspiration so she can finally start sketching things that look good again. But Niall Horan appears, with that annoying grin and a problem on his hands, and of course that plan goes out the window.

A story about tired lifeguards, a stolen cat, wild imaginations, and lots and lots of parties.

There is not a cloud in sight today.

The sky is endlessly blue, starting with a light, nearly white, color from the horizon that blends into the soft azure right over where Rory is sitting. It’s beautiful, she thinks, how one simple color can blend seamlessly into the gradients that make up that sea of vast nothingness above her. But today, she wishes that there was at least one cloud floating by.

She sighs to herself, turning her gaze to the large resort pool in front of her, also a shade of blue, but one caused by the blue tiles at the bottom and not nature itself. There are two children near the shallow end bickering with each other. They couldn’t be more than five and three years old. The oldest, a girl, shoves the youngest, a boy, causing him to wail in the direction of a woman who is presumably their mother. When she doesn’t give him the attention, the boy turns back to the little girl, and even from the distance, Rory can see the angry flash in his eyes. She places her whistle between her lips, readying herself for what he might do next.

Sure enough, he charges at the little girl, jumping on her with such force that her head gets submerged under the water. Rory’s whistle sounds off loudly, everyone’s head jerking towards her, and when they are assured her warning is not for them, they return to their poolside shenanigans. “No dunking!” Rory yells at the two children, removing her sunglasses so they can see her eyes trained on them. “This is your first warning!”

Their maybe-mother notices this exchange and quickly breaks them apart, dragging them towards the pool stairs and scolding them all the way. By the time Rory pushes her sunglasses back up her nose, they’re already walking towards a lounger where a man, presumably their father, is already watching them disapprovingly.

“No drawings today?” comes a voice from beside her, and she turns towards it only to find blue eyes that are entirely too close for comfort.

Niall Horan laughs when she flinches, and she rolls her eyes at the sound. But of course he cannot see that through her sunglasses, so he laughs even louder at her frown. He’s standing on one of the rungs of her lifeguard chair, his face level with hers, and she has half a mind to reach out to shove him off.

She doesn’t.

“Not inspired,” is what she mumbles instead, turning her attention towards her sketchbook, which stares back at her, the open page unbearably blank. She brought her nice charcoal pencils with her today after waking up feeling like sketching the clouds. But when she looks up at the sky again, the endless chasm of blue taunts her.

Niall Horan, for his part, simply grins in that wide, obnoxious way of his and hops off the rung to round the corner to the front of the lifeguard chair. He always offers a hand when she steps down and she never takes it, and the same thing happens today. She’s glaring at him now, as she always does when he does that, but she knows he can’t see it through her sunglasses. He must know it’s there though, because this exchange happens every single time, like clockwork.

Literally.

Niall has been behind her in the rotation for two whole weeks now, meaning he’s always the one nudge her out of this mind numbing job every twenty minutes when they have to move on to the next lifeguard chair.

“Well I’m sure you’ll come up with something!” he says cheerfully, just as she’s about to turn away to head over to the next chair. She chances a glance at him just in time to see him swing himself up onto the seat she just vacated, his sunnies, as he calls them, falling back onto his face. She rolls her eyes again, wondering how he manages to make everything seem so effortless yet so insufferably annoying.

She heads to her next post without another word.

***

Rory cannot stand Niall Horan.

She cannot stand him and his loud laugh and his annoying grin and his stupid jokes. She cannot stand him and the way he’s always peeking over her shoulder into her sketchbook and reaching out to trail his fingers along the pages, smearing her nice charcoal work that she’d meticulously smudge to her own liking.

Rory cannot stand him but there are still 60 days left of summer and she has no choice but to deal with him.

***

“You totally have a crush on him.”

Gigi is laughing and Rory is glaring and this is nothing new for the two of them.

Rory wonders how her roommate can be so cheery all the time. Her dark ringlets bounce with her giggles and her dark brown eyes glitter from the light hitting the tears that are starting to build up near her lashline. Leave it to Gigi to cry laughing at Rory’s expense.

“I do not,” Rory bites out. The sheer insinuation is so annoying that she can feel an angry heat spreading across her cheeks. “I don’t like him. At all.” Gigi is still cackling, hand clutching her tummy as she bows over on their tiny kitchen table. “Gigi! I don’t!”

Her roommate, after wiping her laughter induced tears from her face and taking a deep breath to calm herself, simply smiles at her, watching her knowingly. “Wow,” is what she says, shaking her head slightly as she leans back into her seat, arms crossed over her chest. “You are in such denial.”

Rory, for her part, attempts to send her as menacing a look as she can manage, because truthfully, she is absolutely fuming. Seething. Blindingly angry. All at the assertion that she could have a crush on the most annoying boy on the planet. “Gigi…” Her voice is dangerously low and measured. A warning for them to drop this subject before her anger gets out of hand. “I do not have a crush on Niall Horan.”

There’s a tense silence as they both stare each other down. And, if anything, the way Gigi is calmly smiling at her only makes her more upset. Regardless, a truce is drawn when Gigi brings her mug to her lips, sipping slowly from her coffee and shrugging her shoulders, effectively letting the topic go.

“So,” is what she says, all nonchalantly, as if they weren’t just having a heated conversation. “What are you wearing for the party this weekend?”

Rory lets out a sigh of relief, gladly accepting this change in subject and having no interest in giving Gigi any reason to return to the previous topic. So they drink their coffee together and talk about this party.

***

Rory has worked at The Hightstown Resort every summer since she was a sophomore in high school.

It’s a tradition at this point, and she feels like it’s not summer unless she’s at Hightstown. It feels like home, familiar in a way she needs to feel grounded sometimes. And for all the crap she talks about it, she always looks forward to coming back and seeing all the knowing faces that played a part in the story of her youth.

Her mom worked at Hightstown when she was younger too, so all the long-term staff knows who she and her family are. This is especially helpful after hours when she feels like having a midnight snack and the kitchen staffers will gladly let her into the pantry to choose whatever she wants.

Of course she is not the only returning seasonal employee of Hightstown. Gigi has been her roommate for the past three summers, and there are a few other high school to college-aged people who call this place their summer home too. But Rory likes to think that the rest of the staff likes her best.

Hightstown is a place that’s rife with tradition. For the seasonal kids, anyway.

One of those rituals is the summer bash up at the Shacks. Rory has always wondered which snob named the most glorious and expensive staff quarters at the resort the Shacks. Perhaps they thought they were being clever, because there is nothing grungy or shack-like about it at all. There are hot tubs and private chefs and room service and, most importantly, an endless supply of hot water.

Rory hates the Shack kids.

Not because they can afford the luxurious accommodations. She has nothing against rich people. But she does have something against rude rich people.

That fact doesn’t stop her from going to the summer bash, though.

Gigi made her change her clothes twice so Rory walks into the party sporting her signature snarl because she’s annoyed and her best friend is too preoccupied with worrying over how she’s going to impress one of the Shack boys she has a crush on to notice. “Just because you had a bad experience with one of them doesn’t mean I will,” was what she huffed at her as they walked out of their suite. “Loosen up, Rory!”

Rory hasn’t spoken to her since.

Now they’re in the Sunset Villa where the bash is always held and she’s long lost sight of her roommate. Somehow, Rory manages to find two people she can actually tolerate, standing near the makeshift bar area, and she heads straight towards them.

“There she is!” is what Harry says when she smiles at them, throwing an arm over her shoulders to pull her into his side and she gladly reciprocates by slinging an arm around his waist. “I feel like I never see you anymore!”

“Yeah, Rors, where have you been hiding?” chimes in Leslie. Her long, dark hair is pulled up into what looks like a very intricate crown braid and Rory nearly gets distracted admiring it.

She shrugs. “You know me. Not the social type.” They both frown at her because they know that a few years ago, that wouldn’t have been true at all. Rory was always the one dragging them to the parties and begging them to sneak off the grounds so they could go exploring. But she’s different now. The fact of it makes her heart twist strangely in her chest. So, she changes the subject. “Love your hair, Les! You need to teach me how to braid like that.”

They launch into a conversation about hair while Harry goes to get them all drinks. Finally things are starting to feel normal. After the rough way summer ended last year, Rory wasn’t sure she even wanted to come back to Hightstown. But Harry and Leslie, because she’s known them forever, can always be counted on to pull her out of a funk. They all started working at the resort in the same year and have stuck together ever since. Lately, though, they haven’t been able to spend as much time together because of all of their different placements: Rory’s a lifeguard, Harry’s in the kitchen, and Leslie does all the kids programming.

Harry comes back with beers and they catch up for a while. But somehow, the night transitions in such a way that they end up taking shots with some Shack kids, and then more beer, and then someone procures a joint from somewhere which they end up sharing on the back patio. By the time the night starts to wind down, Rory is pretty drunk and maybe a little high and she needs to get back to her room because she’s had enough of the socializing.

She waves goodbye to Harry and Leslie, leaving with a promise that they’d catch up again soon. Despite technically being outside the entire time, as she walks back through the villa and out the front door, she finds that she can breathe better the further she walks from the party. The breeze feels cooler on her heated skin and her head clears a bit. She briefly wonders whether she should have gone to look for Gigi but figures that she’s probably having fun making out with her new Shack boy toy somewhere so she decides against it. She also may or may not still be upset with her.

She’s halfway down the trail when she realizes that her head feels like it’s a disco ball spinning out of control, and before she knows it, she’s plopping down onto the curb rubbing her fingers against her temples as though that would help in quelling the beginnings of the headache she can feel coming. The night is quiet though, the air feeling all light and floaty around her, and she doesn’t mind relaxing here for a bit. The grass is soft against her hands as she leans back against it, her head lolling back until her eyes are trained towards the sky.

The darkness is a stark contrast to the beautiful blue she had been staring at this morning while perched atop her lifeguard chair. There are definitely no clouds in the sky now, but the beautiful thing about Hightstown is that it’s so sequestered from the city that the stars seem to glow a bit brighter here. She smiles, admiring the way they twinkle, almost wishing she could reach up and pluck one right out of the sky to keep.

“Rory?” comes a voice ahead of her, and when she rolls her head upright again to find its owner, she finds blue eyes that sort of glimmer just like the stars she was just looking at.

Then she blinks a few times and realizes it’s just Niall Horan emerging from the darkness.

Her smile falls, then she sighs. She may not like him, but she’s not a bitch, so she mumbles, “Hi, Horan,” in response.

He’s dressed all nice, like a typical Shack boy: dark wash denim jacket with the sleeves cuffed to his elbows, slim fit t-shirt, and some jeans. With his dark hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes, he reminds her of last summer. Reminds her of big brown eyes and a smile that can light up the whole resort. Reminds her of searing kisses and warm touches and giggling into a different denim jacket in some hidden away corner of the grounds

He reminds her of a different Shack boy who broke her heart.

As Niall makes himself comfortable on the curb next to her, she vows to herself that she will not allow a repeat of last summer to happen.

Just as a scowl is starting to form on her face, Niall turns to her, his own lips curling into that megawatt grin of his, and she has to stop herself from wincing because something about it makes her stomach turn. It reminds her too much of another her, in a different summer, where she might’ve been in this exact position with another boy who she didn’t know would rip her heart out of her chest and stomp all over it.

“Were you just at the party?” he asks, voice all soft and sweet and lilted in that Irish accent of his. Ugh, she thinks, internally rolling her eyes, because she’s drunk and that accent just made her heart stop for a second and she hates herself for it. Hates him for it.

She’s just about to say something snarky when she’s interrupted by a strange sound. It startles her for a moment. It sounded so nearby but her alcohol-muddled brain had been too distracted to determine what exactly it was. It happens again and Rory thinks that it sounds a lot like a cat meowing, which in itself is odd because Hightstown has a strict anti-pet policy.

She looks around to find the source when her eyes land on a rather large duffel near Niall’s feet. She hadn’t noticed it before and when she looks up at him to ask him about it, she finds that his face is flushed a bright crimson, visible despite the fact that they’re sitting in the darkness. “Horan,” she says slowly because she’s slightly suspicious now. “What’s in that bag?”

He chuckles nervously which only makes her narrow her eyes at him. “Uhh,” he gets out as he rubs his hands on his jeans, and Rory would bet her life that it’s because they’re sweating. “Nothing.”

He tries to move the duffel away discreetly but she notices. She couldn’t care less about what Niall Horan, of all people, was up to. But her interest is piqued now, so she can’t help the way she reaches over him to grab the bag. “You’re hiding something—”

“No!” He blocks her from being able to close her fingers around the strap, and when she looks at him again, there’s a bit of alarm swirling in his eyes. “I—uh...it’s nothing, I swear!”

Rory simply blinks at him. Honestly, the fact that he’s resisting only makes her more curious, so she says, “Niall Horan. What are you up to?”

She watches as he visibly gulps, chewing on his lips as he mulls it over. Finally, he takes a deep breath and says, “Okay. But if I show you then you have to promise not to say a word to anyone.”

At that, she actually laughs and rolls her eyes because that’s so dramatic. But when he doesn’t even crack a smile, doesn't even try to defend himself, she realizes that he’s totally serious. So, to placate him, she goes, “Yeah, okay whatever.”

He gives her a look and it looks a bit funny on him because she’s never seen him act in any way except obnoxiously bubbly all the time. “I mean it, Rory. Not a single soul.”

She groans, rolling her eyes again because this is ridiculous and she’s beginning to wonder whether this back and forth is even worth seeing what’s in the duffel. “Okay, I promise! Unless it’s something illegal like drugs. Then I’m snitching.” It’s telling how drunk she is because she grins at him before her next words leave her mouth. “Unless you’re sharing.”

Niall simply huffs, shaking his head. But he seems convinced enough because he reaches behind him for the bag and places it gently between them. He’s visibly nervous as he unzips it, constantly glancing up at her as if he’s afraid of how she might react. When the bag is finally open, he tosses the flap back and just looks at her. She shrugs him off, leaning over to peer inside. At first, she sees nothing interesting, but then, she catches movement and immediately recoils with a gasp.

“What is that!” She knows she’s drunk but damn it seems a bit crazy for it to be what she thinks it is.

Niall doesn’t have to reply to her because the creature is emerging from the bag. First, its head pops out, then, as if realizing it’s free from its confines, it attempts to step out before unceremoniously flopping over until it lands on the grass between them. It has muted orange fur with black stripes. Its eyes are pulled downwards, mouth—or snout?—curved in a way that resembles a frown. And it’s huge. Rory has never seen one that big and didn’t even know they were able to get to that size.

“Whoa,” is what leaves her mouth as she stares dumbly at it. She almost wants to laugh. She has to be absolutely wasted because surely her eyes are deceiving her. “That is...a big cat.” Niall is grinning stupidly at her, reaching out to nuzzle the creature’s face. It purrs at his touch but its frown seems to remain intact. Rory tilts her head at it. “Actually...is it really a cat? And not like...a baby tiger or something?”

“Nah, he’s just a regular ol’ cat. Reckon he’s just a bit big-boned or something.” The creature—Rory thinks she’ll just call it a cat—putters towards her and she leans away from it slightly which makes Niall laugh. “Go on, pet him! Isn’t he a cute little fella!” Niall is absolutely beaming now and Rory huffs. She wouldn’t call that thing little, but she reaches out regardless, cautiously rubbing a finger on its head. The cat closes its eyes and purrs at her touch. “Awww,” Niall coos, reaching out too, “he likes you!”

The shock is wearing off and her senses are finally coming back to her. “Uhhhh. Where did you even get this from? You know they’re not allowed on the grounds right?”

He shrugs, gently grabbing a hold of the cat and placing it back into the duffel. “Some lady left the poor little thing in her car out at valet. When she finally got back she got mad at him for leaping out.” Niall is looking at her all imploringly and all Rory can think about is how he really needs to stop calling that thing little. It is definitely not little. “She even raised her hand on him!” He huffs, getting all heated over it. “So,” he says matter of factly, “I saved him from her.”

Rory stares at him. “You stole a cat?”

He shakes his head at her. “No. I saved him.” He nuzzles the thing before apologizing to it softly as he closes the zipper again, leaving a small portion of it open, probably so it could breathe. “Besides, I’m sure the Dree-foos lady won’t miss him anyway.”

Now she’s gaping at him because she recognizes that name. She nearly hopes she misheard it because he’s in deep shit otherwise. “You stole Mrs. Dreyfuss’s cat?!” she asks in disbelief, eyes widened at him. All he does is shrug and she brings her hands to her mouth. “Horan!” she hisses, “don’t you know who she is?”

Niall gives her a look, reaching into the duffel to pet the stolen cat absentmindedly. “I don’t know? An animal abuser?”

Rory shakes her head, huffing exasperatedly. “No, dummy. She’s on the freakin’ board of directors!” She can see the exact moment the weight of this situation dawns on him, his eyes widening slightly. “If you get caught,” she says, because she feels like he needs to hear it verbalized too, “you’re not just getting fired. Dreyfuss will throw a fit and get the whole company in trouble.”

Silence engulfs them for a moment as Niall mulls over her words. “Damn,” is what he finally ends up saying, eyes glazed over in thought. Then, he turns to Rory, spirit all brightened now like he’s just gotten an idea. “Will you help me hide him from people?”

Rory makes an affronted sound because he is so delusional if he thinks she would ever do that. “Absolutely not! I am not getting fired over your stolen cat-tiger thing.”

He frowns at her, and she ignores the little swoop her tummy gives. “Please? You know the grounds better than anyone.”

She gets up from the curb, wobbling slightly because she’s still tipsy and this is all just ridiculous. “No,” she says firmly, turning around to face him only to realize that he’d gotten up too, the duffel now slung over his shoulder. But then, she feels bad because deep down, she knows he means no harm. Even if he’s being absolutely stupid. So she says, “I’ll walk you to the Shacks. But no more. I want nothing else to do with this.”

He grins at her, thanking her profusely as she starts to lead him through the alleyways to the Shacks. And all she can think about the entire time they’re walking is that if she were sober, this would have never happened.

***

Rory thinks Niall Horan is way in over his head.

She’s always been a dreamer, and her mom was always yelling at her to get her head out of the clouds, but no one, she thinks now, is more delusional than Niall Horan if he thinks he can just steal a gigantic cat and keep it safely in his suite at the Shacks.

But she supposes he has 56 days left of summer to deal with that.

tell me what you think! :)

#head in the clouds #writings #niall horan fanfiction #i FULLY intended this to be a oneshot #but then somehow it became over 30 pages long and i was like....maybe it's a fic #anyway wanted to write something fun and goofy and a little bit stupid #if you like it--great #if you don't pls don't tell me lmao #(unless its constructive criticism)#impulse posting tonight bc i'm bored #enjoy #k bye

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skittles1229 · 3 years

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Community Fanfiction (self insert/x reader)

"Personally I don't see the appeal" you say under your breathe as you pick at the disgusting slop in front of you. Greendale's lunch left much to be desired, but I don't think they got famous for their lunches. From what I've read Greendale has seen it all, from campus wide paintball wars to a Dean that thinks Halloween is all year round. It's no lie the Greendale's reputation has been questionable for a while but the one thing I can say is that I haven't met many stuck up assholes since I've been here, granted I try to stay clear of that side of the hall. As I pick away at my phone, that's resting on the corner of the table, someone sits in the chair in front of me and I look up with my usual nonchalant face. There was an older guy, about thirty or forty, and he was quiet unusual. He reeked of an over bearing cologne and his hair was long and black with kinky curls, thought his hair was too greasy to even begin to look puffy. He has two large stars shaved onto his cheeks that connect to his sideburns. "I noticed you from Subway's shop. I've never seen you here before. You must be the city college girl." City college girl? Do I already have a rep here, of course they said that nobody would know and OF COURSE they were lying. "Yes, I came from City college but how'd you know that?" He smiled sheepishly and looked away scratching the back of his neck, when he finally looked back his cheeks were a slighter red shade. "Sorry, got excited. I'm Alex." He holds his large hands out to me, after a moment of my continued silence he brought his hand back down and coughed nervously. I propped my hand up on my elbow that rested on the table, at this point I had abandoned picking at my food and focused on Alex. "Let me guess this is how it went. The Dean got excited and told everyone and you were all curious to meet me today because everyone expected me to be some stuck up dumb blonde right?" Alex seemed astounded which means I was right. There is no secrets kept in Greendale and frankly I was hoping I could go here with a new name, background, and maybe I could just make up some person I've always wanted to be but.. I guess since my past followed me here I might as well live with it. I look back at Alex who has been staring at me since I last spoke, I stick my hand out across the table and give him the brightest smile I can. "My name's (y/n)." I say taking his hand, they were twice the size of mine, grungy and rough.

Alex seemed like a pretty awesome guy and after lunch he walked with me down the hall to Mr. Chang's Spanish class. We talked on and on and yes, he is very weird. Never would have pegged him for a meth head because they are usually more aggressive and like to give out those opinions that nobody asked for but Alex? Alex was pretty great. We walk into the class room and it's only us and four other people in the class so far, then again we still had 30 minutes before class. I sat in front of Alex and met his friends Garrett, Viki, and Magnitude. We talked for a while about D&D and about all the teachers but Alex kept mentioning someone name Jeff and the Greendale seven. From the way he talks about them I'm beginning to wonder just how normal this school was. There were less seats open and the only ones left were seven seats centered towards the middle of the room. Chang had already made his big chaotic entrance and nothing he said made any sense. Greendale definitely should do better in picking their staff because putting a mentally ill Chinese man as a professor was a less then good idea. That's when the Greendale seven arrived, Alex grabbed my shoulder and pointed to the group giving me everyone's names as the waltz in. Tall dark and weirdly antisocial was Abed the movie guru. He'll draw connections to real life situations through pop culture and meta references gained after years of watching TV and movies. Short large and carrying a purse that could fit everything but the kitchen sink was Shirley, the divorced mother of two who loves to bake. Very tall, old, and wrinkled was the jackass name Pierce. Alex says that he is worse then Jeff and is relentlessly mean just because he thinks it makes him look 'rad', how old.is this guy like 90? Then the small brunette who wore a silly school girl outfit and she hugged her books close to her chest as if she was in high school, Annie or little Annie Adderall. Alex will have to give me the details behind that later. Then came the last three, Jeff, Troy, and Brita. Brita seemed to be a very big female activist, if the fliers and stickers in and on her binder said anything. Troy was taller then me and he seemed attached to the hip with Abed, he almost had the same demeanor and smile as Abed as well. Then there was the infamous Jeff, if his looks alone said anything, he was a stuck up, sweater wearing, pompous ass and from the look everyone was giving him as he walked into the class I'd say I was right.

They all sat down pierce sitting closest to us, Jeff next to him and Abed on the other side of Jeff. Britta sat in front of Jeff and Troy sat in the farthest seat to the left on that row, with Sherly sitting in front of Britta and Annie sitting in the front like the good little wanna be Senpai that she is, but once Chang began his intro duction to the class i got a feeling she would start regretting not sitting in the back or at least out of chang’s monkey finger reach. “Every once in a while,” Chang began, “A student will come up to me and ask Senior Chang why do you teach Spanish?” He chuckles while bending down holding himself up by propping his hands on the front two student desk. He continues, “Why do you teach Spanish...” Suddenly his smile fades from his face and it turns into an ugly scowl. “Why You?..” He then leans into the boy who sits in the desk on the left “Why not Math?” He asks scrunching his face up making the boy recoil in fear. Suddenly whipping his head around and removing his hand from the boy I presume is named Matt desk’s all together. Leaning even closer into Annie's face as he begins to speak again. “why not Photography?” Chang walks forward still slightly crouched so that he can remain in his students line of sight. He then puts both his hands on Sherly’s desk, The smile she gives him is kind but her eyes say she might smack him with her purse at any moment. He then speaks once more in the hushed emotionless tone as before, “Why not.. Martial Arts?” He leans up standing straight and tall, as he begins to gesture his words with his hands in the over dramatic way I’m sure I’ll come to learn as distinctly Chang. “I mean surely it must be in my nature to instruct you in something that ancient like, Oh like building a wall that you can see from outer space.” Everyone in the room begins to look at each other with quizzical looks as the monkey like man continued his odd irrelevant speech. “Well, I’ll tell you why i teach Spanish, it is none of your business. M’kay” At this point his hands are making the classic Italian hand gesture where your thumb is meeting the rest of your fingers and you shake your hands vigorously as he starts to walk backwards towards the front his voice gradually getting louder as he got further away. “Now I don't want to have ANY conversations about what a mysterious and inscrutable man I am.” He then proceeded to stroke long imaginary beard hair as he laughed light a little Irishman in a cereal commercial. As he starts to walk back towards the front he then looks to Sherly and yells “I AM A SPANISH GENIUS!” while pointing at his face with his long twig like fingers. Chang continues his rant while making odd hand gestures like he’s having some kind of a mild stroke, “In Spanish they call me El’ Tigre’ Chino!” Followed by raptor sounds and Chang as he pretend eats Sherly’s neck “Cause my knowledge will bite her face off.” He says as he backs up away from everyone still wearing the same disturbing face as before. Everyone nodded their heads scared to upset the monkey man in the middle of his rant. “so don't question senior Chang or you'll get bit.” He continues to yell ‘ya bit’ for the next few minutes.

He stood in silence for a minute with his hands clamped together as he studied the room waiting for a response from anyone. it startles everyone when he claps his hands together speaking in Spanish gesturing towards the white board behind him. “We’ll be having conversations in Spanish using the phrases we learned this week and you’ll be partnering up for this project.” He smiles at the boy who was sitting to his left earlier caressing his face with the back of his hand making the boy physically pull away almost tumbling out of his chair. “Now if you’ll look under your desk at the card i placed there, it should either have a picture or a word on it.” He picks up Britta’s and holds it up to the class showing everyone a small white house on the card. “Now anyone with the card that says casa on it will be Britta’s partner.” Alex seemed to shrink in his seat as Chang made eye contact with him. “Got it, Starburns.” i turn to look at Alex with a smile mixed with a questionable glare. He looks at me begging for mercy as if those words stung him. “Starburns huh?” I whisper over to him. He slumps his shoulders in defeat and slides deeper into his seat wearing a silly pout on his face. I lay my hand on his desk getting his attention back on me, “Don’t worry Alex I think that name is dehumanizing.” His smile crawled back onto his face and his chipper spirit seemed to return just as soon as it left. Chang claps his hands loudly to get everyone's attention, "Okay! See you Friday, find your partners, and what do we say at the end of class?" Everyone around me very dully grumbles 'Hasta la wago' at Chang while he twirls his arms around like a conductor. "Oh come on hands! Hands Gestures are Ninety percent of Spanish!" This time everyone says it again with a little more pep and they all throw there arms around copying Professor Chang's movements. He tells the class that they did excellent and they all clap as everyone shifts in their seats grabbing cards and talking amongst themselves. I grab mine from under my seat pulling it out to see a horse on my card. "Horse SOOO..?

"A/N: Hey guys hope you enjoyed this so far but this is where you guys as the fans have to help me out. I want for this character to spend some time with everyone from the show but I'm not sure who to start us off with? Who do you think we should be partners with?

#fanfiction #community #TvShowFanficiton #xreader #self insert #abed community #jeff winger #annie edison #sherly #REwrite #Starburns

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abandoned-ficlets · 3 years

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Iwaizumi, the Cat Whisperer

Summary:

Tooru slams the cat carrier down on the checkout counter followed by his cracked volleyball trophy. Ming meows loudly, annoyed, and sticks one paw out of the bars to swipe at him. The cashier, the same spiky-haired guy that helped him pick out cat food on Thursday, eyes Tooru like he’s gone insane.

“How can I help y-“ “I think my cat is defective.”

(In which Oikawa recruits Iwaizumi, a Petsmart worker, to help him with his problems.)

Aoba Johsai’s volleyball team is barely ten minutes into their evening practice when the usual whispers start.

Outside of the gym, a group of girls are huddled around in a circle, sneaking looks and cooing loudly at each other. The thudding of volleyballs hitting the floor serves as a backdrop to their excited voices.

“Oh my gosh, he’s so cute!” One girl squeals, her voice happy.

“What I wouldn’t give to have him come home with me,” Another girl says with a wink at her friends.

“Tell me about it! I don’t want to think what my dad would say about him though.”

“Adorable~ So adorable!”

The words are familiar to Tooru. He’s long since gotten used to his fan club’s praises - happy smiles and blushes that adorn their faces when he acknowledges them during practice. The girls have made it their priority to attend Seijoh’s volleyball practices, the most loyal of his fans sitting in the stands during every single one, cheering loudly whenever Tooru scores against a teammate in a practice game.

Tooru is used to their excitement as they watch him play, yes.

But what he’s not used to is their attention being directed at something other than him: namely, a grungy-looking stray cat that has been interrupting his volleyball practices for a straight week now. Currently, the thing is sitting outside the gym's main door, causing a commotion as the girls lavish it with attention.

The ugly little monster is purring loudly, loud enough that Tooru can hear it on the sidelines as he takes a swig from his water bottle. He huffs at the display, knowing he probably looks ridiculous but also aware that he can’t push away his thoughts of jealousy and betrayal.

A girl coos as the cat scratches at her leg, meowing loudly like it wants to be held. She giggles and picks the thing up, much to the other girls’ envy. They all crowd around her, holding out arms so they can hold him next. Over their shoulders, Tooru can see the cat staring straight at him. He narrows his eyes, trying to send a telepathic message of back off. This is my turf. The cat just blinks lazily at him, completely unconcerned with the warning.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Makki asks as he plops down next to Tooru, spreading himself out on the bench.

Tooru doesn’t respond, continuing to narrow his eyes at the rival cat who still hasn’t broken eye contact. If he didn’t know any better (and he doesn’t), he’d say the stray looks smug.

“Earth to Oikawa? Anyone there?” His friend waves a hand in front of Tooru’s face and finally Tooru looks away from the cat, eyes focusing in on Makki’s trademark smirk.

“I hate cats,” Tooru says, taking one last swig of water and making his way back to the court. He can practically feel the eye roll behind him.

But it’s true; Tooru has never really understood the appeal of cats. They’re rude, stink up the house with their litter boxes, and spend most of the day sitting like useless bricks, napping by the window.

Once, when he was about six, he had tried to pet his friend’s siamese cat. He had reached out with a tentative finger, merely wanting to scratch it behind the ear but the demon had lunged toward him, claws and teeth bared. The cat had only been able to reach for Tooru once before being pulled away, but Tooru had been left with a light pink scar on his cheek that didn’t fade until weeks later.

Since then, he’s sworn up and down that he’d never approach a cat again.

But the girls must not share that sentiment, because day-after-day, without fail, they go the the stray, bringing him food and blankets and water bottles to pour into fancy cat bowls. And day-after-day that cat keeps purring and offering love and affection along with those infuriating stares at Tooru.

The girls love that damn cat so much that’s it’s becoming a serious problem for Tooru. His fans have even started ignoring his volleyball practices to go hang out with the abomination, deciding that a cat is more important than him. More important than Oikawa Tooru. It’s impossible for him to wrap his mind around.

At his coach’s shout, Tooru gets back to practice but anyone can tell he isn’t fully present. His mind is busy, occupied by cats.

---

An hour later, as he bumps up a particularly perfect set to Kindaichi, Tooru realizes something. There is only one way to beat this cat, only one way to come out on top.

He has to adopt it. There is no other way.

Because if he doesn’t - if he leaves the stray to its own devices - the girls will begin to forget him. They’ll start skipping out on practices, stop giving him the attention he so rightly deserves for his volleyball skills. He’ll fade into obscurity, unable to land a volleyball scholarship because no one will be interested anymore, no one will care. He’ll end up with a boring office job and a wife he hates in a house that’s too small. Tooru will become inconsequential.

That’s not going to happen, not if Tooru has any say in it.

And thus, Tooru does what must be done - he sprints out of the gym the moment that their coach dismiss the team, waving off Makki and Mattsun’s curious glances. Less than ten minutes later, he’s walking into a brightly-lit Petsmart, grabbing a cart and passing through the automatic doors.

He looks around the store, not quite sure where to begin shopping for cat supplies. The place is completely foreign territory.

Scanning the brightly lit aisles, he sees colorful fish swimming around in crowded tanks and birds squawking at each other, arguing in loud voices. There is a dog section filled with food and toys.

Finally he lands in a section labeled, Cats, written in block letters on a huge sign. Next to the word hangs a picture of a striped yellow cat playing happily with a red ball of yarn.

“Okay,” Tooru hums, scanning the aisles. “Where to start?”

---

Ten minutes later, Tooru’s cart is filled to the brim. He hadn’t been sure what to get exactly, so he figured the safest bet would be to get one of everything.

He found a large litter-box, enclosed like a small cave (because he sure-as-hell is not going to put up with the stray stinking up his bedroom), a heavy carton of litter that had taken Tooru an embarrassingly long amount of time to pick up, as well as some other things. The food bowls are his favorite find: two turquoise metal dishes with white fish bones imprinted along the side.

The toys are nice too. He was surprised to see the sheer variety - he’d always assumed cats were too lazy to play or do anything but sleep. A long wooden stick with a feather pokes out from amongst all the others. There is only one thing stumping him: cat food.

Dozens of brands, each with their own specific “flavors” and “specialties” line up and down the food section. Tooru isn’t sure if he should go with the one for indoor cats, or the real-meat based one, or even the natural-organic branded one. Does it even matter which one he gets? It’s just cat food. The stray should be lucky it's getting any food at all.

But then again, he doesn’t want to make it sick.

In one arm he picks up a light blue bag. It has a sweet-looking striped gray cat on the front and is labeled “Indoor formula” so it seems like a safe bet. But then again, the organic one looks nice.

He’s about to just throw both into his cart and be done with it when a deep voice rings out on his left side.

“Do you need any help?”

Tooru jumps a little, surprised, before turning to look at the owner of the voice.

It is a worker - probably about Tooru’s age - wearing an employee vest in the most hideous blue color that Tooru has ever seen. Despite that, he’s nice-looking, with spiky black hair and a mouth turned down in a slight grimace.

“Yes actually,” Tooru says after a pause that is only a second too long. He puts on his sweetest voice, the one that Makki likes to roll his eyes at. “I need a second opinion.”

The guy grunts. Tooru takes it as an ‘okay.’

“Let’s say I’m adopting a scrawny stray. Would this” he holds up the blue bag in his right arm, “or that one,” he points towards the organic bag, “be better for it?”

The guy’s eyes flicker between the two before meeting Tooru’s gaze again.

“How old is the cat?”

Tooru shrugs, not entirely sure. He puts the indoor bag back on a random open spot on a shelf. The guy frowns but doesn’t say anything.

“Probably about this big,” Tooru holds his hands about a foot apart.

The guy nods, lips pursed thoughtfully. “You can probably just get the normal-“

“Wait!” Tooru says loudly, noticing but not caring about the annoyed expression that fall on the worker’s face at Tooru’s interruption. “I actually think it might be a few months old.”

He vaguely remembers seeing the cat hanging around before, back at the beginning of the school year. He never paid the creature any mind, but he is at least fifty percent sure about that at least.

“It sounds like your cat might actually be a kitten. You’ll want some of this food,” he says as he leans slightly in front of Tooru so that he can grab one to his right. Tooru takes an automatic step back to make room.

“Thank you,” Tooru says, genuinely, as the guy pulls back, setting the bag in Tooru’s cart. He takes a second glance at the guy. Raking his eyes over his toned form, appraising. Not bad.

"I'm Tooru by the way," Tooru says, injecting his voice with the syrupy sweet quality that draws people to him like flies. He expects the guy to react positively, maybe swoon or blush a little. That’s the normal response to Tooru’s flirting, and Tooru has come to expect it.

Instead the guy doesn’t react at all. He just begins walking toward the checkout counter. "I can check you out over here."

Tooru blinks, surprised. Odd. Tooru tries again, assuming the guy is just shy and needs extra attention.

"Oh, can you now?" He adds extra sweetness to his voice and even winks at the worker, just to make sure his point hits home.

"Yes. But if you keep hitting on me, I'll get my manager to help you instead."

Tooru blinks again, three times before the words finally sink in. Then he's blushing, mortified, and just nods and follows the guy to the checkout corner.

Wordlessly, the guy rings up his items. Five minutes later...

“One hundred and fifty dollars?” Tooru squeaks, voice unbelieving. “For cat supplies?”

The guy shrugs lazily, face bored and gaze directed behind Tooru’s head. “You bought a lot of stuff.”

Tooru swears under his breath, cursing the ugly cat, as he takes out his wallet and rifles through for his allowance - all of it.

The cat had better appreciate his great sacrifice.

---

The next day, Tooru springs the news on his fanclub just as they’re gathering to watch this evening’s volleyball practice.

"Hello girls~" he trills happily, “how are all of you doing today?”

There is a flurry of movement, the girls are taken off guard. Tooru usually doesn’t talk to them before practice, preferring to keep his focus on volleyball for as long as he can. They are happy for his presence though, their smiles make that clear.

The girls all start answering at once, and Tooru can only pick out a few of the responses.

“We’re good, Tooru!” “Thanks for asking!” “I’ve had a great day!”

Tooru smiles back at them and a few giggle.

“I’m glad you all are doing well. I’m feeling quite the same and I have some big news~ Can anyone guess what it is?”

The fanclub titters, none wanting to be the first to speak out.

“Have you,” one of the bolder girls, Asui, starts, “finally agreed to start modeling, Oikawa-san? We all know you got that offer a while back!”

Tooru laughs, shaking his head. “No that’s not it, dear Asui-chan.” The girl’s face lights up at her name and she steps back, nodding with a smile.

“Anyone else have an idea?”

“No, Oikawa-San,” a chorus rings out. “Please tell us!”

“I,” Tooru claps, pausing for dramatic effect. “I am going to adopt the stray that lives outside of the gym!”

There is a brief pause in which the girls absorb this new information, then chaos practically erupts. The gym fills with loud shrieks of joy, and Tooru catches his coach looking on, annoyed.

“That is so great, Oikawa-San!”

“You are the most generous person, Oikawa!”

“The cat will be so happy to live with you!”

Tooru smiles, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Thank you girls, I am excited too. There is one problem though, I don’t have a name for him.”

“Anyone have any suggestions?”

The girls fall over themselves, trying to shout out cute names for the cat. “How about Noraneko?” One asks. Tooru purses his lips, contemplating. It literally translates to “stray cat”. A little on the nose, but it’s not terrible. He writes it down on a paper list, planning to pick one of the names that his fanclub offers.

A few other names are tossed around but none seem right to Tooru. None stick.

---

Later, when Tooru, Makki and Mattsun are all scarfing down their lunch under a cherry blossom tree, Mattsun remembers the list. He leans over Makki to ask his question. Makki makes a sound of protest deep in his throat, but his mouth is so full of food that it can’t form words. His protesting just comes out as a grumble.

“Did you pick a name yet?” Matssun asks.

Tooru shakes his head, eyes focusing on the last rice grain in his bento box. It falls from his chopsticks. “No. Maybe Noraneko but,” he shrugs, looks up at Mattsun. “It’s so uninspired.”

Makki nudges Tooru with his elbow, cheeks still filled with food. “Ma Mrmhp ma nmeme,” he says, voice unintelligible and flecks of rice falling from his mouth.

Tooru jabs an elbow into Makki’s side. “Eww,” he whines, face twisting into a pout. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, or I’ll make you sit on the other side of Mattsun.”

Makki rolls his eyes and swallows a bit of the rice. His voice is only slightly more intelligible when he says, “why don’t you name him Minikui?”

Minikui? Tooru rolls the name around in his head a coupe times. It literally means ‘ugly,’ and Tooru couldn’t think of a better fit, himself. That cat is one ugly monstrosity. It’s perfect.

“You might just be a genius, Makki. Even if your grades are much lower than mine, there is hope for you yet.”

Tooru is so excited about naming the stray that he graces to ignore the flecks of rice Makki throws at his face.

---

Minikui and Tooru begin their relationship in less-than-ideal circumstances, and Tooru will take most of the blame for that, though the cat isn’t completely innocent either.

Tooru had gone after practice to collect the cat, and his fan club had followed close by his heels. After he had finally wrestled the thing into the carrier (it took about thirty minutes and what seemed like a hundred tries), Tooru had waved goodbye to his friends and fan club, optimism ringing bright in his veins. He was happy this had gone over so well, and though there may have been hiccups (who knew cats could hiss that loudly), he was sure that things would go back to normal. The monster would be locked in Tooru’s room, and the fan club would go back to adoring and supporting him no matter what. And the cat itself was the least of his worries. How hard could it be to take care of one small animal?

It was hard, as it turned out. Very, very hard and frustrating.

It had taken quite some convincing on Tooru’s part to convince his mother to let him keep Minikui. She was surprisingly against the idea, thought he had thought she would like it, but eventually she had caved, only after Tooru promised a million times over that he would take care of the cat all on his own. He would clean the litter box, buy food, and most importantly, pay for all medical bills without any help from his parents.

After all was said and done, she had smiled, patted the purring cat’s head - it was currently exploring Tooru’s room and trying to fit into every small space it could find - and left the two to their own devices.

Tooru had bounced on the bed excitedly the moment the door closed and whipped out his phone.

“Smile Minikui~” he trilled as he snapped a few pictures of the cat, adding them to his instagram with a soft pink filter.

In one, she is peeking out from behind his desk, her tail curled up around the leg and her collar a nice pop of blue against the otherwise neutral background. Another find her looking out the window - very artsy and thoughtful. He adds a few sparkles to that one. And in the last, she is on his bed, Tooru holding the camera near his face to take a selfie with the cat in the background. Under that picture, he titles the post: *Found a new best friend. Sorry, not sorry Makki!*

Within minutes, the likes and comments come flooding in. His fans are obviously overjoyed, and the comments are filled to the brim with hearts and cat emojis and a lot of exclamation points. Somewhere hidden amongst the flood of positive comments is Makki’s own: I hope the cat disfigures you in your sleep. But Tooru pays it no mind, spending the next fifteen minutes liking his fans thoughtful messages.

But after the high from positive attention wears off, Tooru isn’t quite sure what to do next.

He stares at the cat, who is curled up a few feet away, its eyes closed and seemingly sleeping peacefully. It doesn’t look that scary all curled up like that. With a tentative hand, he pats the cat on its head, lightly, just once.

Minikui does nothing, just continues sleeping as though Tooru hadn’t touched her at all. Emboldened by her lack of reaction, Tooru decides to push his luck a little farther. He puts his hand under the cat’s belly, lifts it up and sets it lightly down in his lap. The cat does nothing more than open one eye, checking Tooru out before going back to sleep.

Hmm, he thinks. Maybe this isn't such a bad deal. The cat doesn’t hate him, at least not as much as they though. Maybe this can work, Maybe—

In a flash, Mininkui’s eyes pop open and she chomps down on Tooru’s hand as he yelps. He doesn’t even have the time to blink, let alone snatch his hand away in time.

“Fine, leave,” Tooru holds his hands up above the cat’s head so the thing can get up and walk away. “No one is keeping you hostage.”

In response, Minikui jumps upward, hooking his claws into Tooru’s hand, pulling it down so he can bite into it once again. Tooru pushes the cat off his lap and he falls with a hard thud on the ground, complaining loudly. Tooru looks at his hand; it’s marked with tiny grooves from Minikui’s teeth, curved over his hand in a small arc. He holds the hand in front of its face, shakes it at the cat's uninterested stare.

“Look what you did! Now I’ll have to set with imperfect hands!”

In response, Minikui just eyes Tooru’s hands - looking as though he would like nothing more than to sink his teeth in one more time.

You have no idea what you’ve started, Minikui, Tooru thinks as he snatches his hand away, nursing the injured body part against his chest. This means war.

---

Meow ~ meow ~ meow. The string of cat noises wakes Tooru up like an alarm clock. He lifts his head from the pillow to stare at Minikui. The cat is on his chest, sitting on its haunches and staring intently down at Tooru.

“Hi, ugly,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “Are you hungry?"

Minikui dips his head in what Tooru supposes is a nod, meowing once more.

"Okay, okay," Tooru yawns, "Give me five more minutes and I’ll get your food.” He closes his eyes again, wanting just a few more minutes of sleep.

He feels Minikui move on his chest, walking closer to his head. The cat swipes a couple times at Tooru's hair. Claws get tangled in his bedhead.

“/Minikui/,” Tooru whines, batting at him halfheartedly with one hand. The cat meows again and bats back at him in response. “Five more minutes.”

Tooru turns on his side, bringing the blanket up to his chin and snuggling down further into the bed. Minikui jumps off him and lands with a dull thud on his wood floor. He can hear the cat rummaging around in his room but pays him no mind. Just five more minutes, he thinks somewhat deliriously.

Then, he hears Minikui’s voice from a few feet above him, to the right. “Meow,” and the sound holds the taunting edge that he’s come to fear.

Immediately, Tooru's eyes shoot open an he sits up straight in bed, looking for the reason for that dangerous meow. Sure enough, the demon is on his bookcase, one paw held up behind a volleyball trophy (the participation award he received at the end of elementary school.) Minikui looks disinterestedly at him, grooming a paw while still holding the other up behind the trophy.

“Minikui,” he warns, but it’s too late.

The trophy comes crashing to the floor, and Tooru can hear it splinter. From downstairs comes his mother’s muffled, “Are you okay, Tooru?”

“I’m fine, mom!”

But he's not fine, not at all.

He narrows his eyes at the cat. That’s it. This needs to end. Now.

---

Making a beeline towards the Petsmart checkout counter, Tooru is a man on a mission. Minikui tries every few moments to break free from his restraint, knocking his head against the bars of his carrier but Tooru ignores the cat's struggle.

He slams the cat carrier down on the checkout counter followed by his cracked volleyball trophy. Ming meows loudly, annoyed, and sticks one paw out of the bars to swipe at him. The cashier - the same spiky-haired guy that helped him pick out cat food on Thursday - eyes Tooru like he’s gone insane.

“Can I help y-“

“I think my cat is defective.”

---

Tooru picks the cat up, straining to do so. The stray has almost doubled in size since he first brought him home.

“Look at it.”

“Oi,” Iwaizumi starts, frowning at the cat. “How much are you feeding him?”

“How.. much?”

“Yeah, like a cup a day, a cup and a half? How much does the side of the bag say to give?”

Tooru picks up the cat food bag and sure enough, there is a chart on the side, outlining how much to feed according to their weight.

“You’re,” Tooru pauses, eyes the chart. “You’re not just supposed to feed it whenever it meows?”

Iwaizumi groans and places a finger at his temple, like he’s warding off an impending headache. “We have a lot of work to do, don’t we?”

Tooru shrugs. “Probably,” he says, setting the fat cat down onto the wood paneling.

The cat meows in protest and swats at Tooru’s leg like he’s done something wrong before disappearing under the bed. Tooru looks to Iwaizumi, gesturing toward the cat and back at himself, eyes clearly saying, ‘do you see what I have to deal with here?

Iwaizumi ignores him and takes a few steps forward until he’s in front of the bed. Slowly, he gets down on his knees and lowers his head so that he can see into the shadows.

Tooru probably should warn him about Minikui’s tendency to scratch at anyone’s face if they get too close, but Iwaizumi has been a bit awful to him. Maybe it’s best for him to learn the hard way: through experience, aka getting swiped at by feral claws.

“Minikui,” Iwaizumi calls out in a low voice.

As Iwaizumi busies himself trying to get the cat out from under the bed, Tooru bounces on top it, rolling his eyes. Turning onto his stomach, he lays half off the bed, dangling only inches away from Iwaizumi’s annoyed expression. “It won’t come out, it doesn’t matter how much you call for it. Believe me, I’d know.”

Iwaizumi lifts his head to glare at Tooru but the intimidating effect that he is going for is somewhat ruined by the way his hair is all in his eyes.

“Maybe if you’d talk to him like a living thing, you prick, and not constantly call him ‘it’, Minikui would listen to you,” Iwaizumi pops his head back under the bed so that Tooru’s view is blocked. The man starts making weird clucking noises and calling out Minikui’s name in that same low voice.

The words bubble out of Tooru’s chest as his lips curl up in amusement. “Are you a chicken, Iwa-chan? What is that noise even supposed to do?”

Tooru thinks he hears a growl from under the bed but it’s impossible to know if it comes from Iwaizumi or the cat.

Eventually, Iwaizumi reemerges with the cat in his arms. The monster is purring loudly and cuddling into Iwaizumi’s toned chest like it’s the most comfortable place in the world. Tooru tries not to feel disappointed that there’s not a single scratch marring up Iwaizumi’s handsome face.

“How’d you do that?” Tooru asks accusingly.

Iwaizumi smiles down at the cat. “You just have to be patient,” he scratches behind Minikui’s ears and the purring seems to get even louder. “Cats don’t like being told what to do. You can’t force anything with them.”

“Hmm,” Tooru hums as he watches Iwaizumi sit down beside him on the bed, still scratching behind the cat’s ears. The two look so content, and the way that the sun is shining through Tooru’s bedroom window frames the scene like it’s some sort of painting. He blames the weird flutters in his chest at the strangeness of it all.

“Stop hogging the cat, Iwa-chan. Let me try.”

With a nod, Iwaizumi holds out his arms slowly towards Tooru. The cat stays purring, eyes still closed as it is undisturbed by the movement. But the second Tooru lays a hand on top of its fur, Minikui’s eyes pop open and the cat is jumping out of Iwaizumi’s arms and meowing angrily. ‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ the cat’s eyes seem to say and its tail is puffed up angrily like it’s expecting a fight.

“Right,” Iwaizumi says after a brief pause in which both boys just stare down at the angry cat. It isn’t hissing, but the look in its eyes says that one wrong move and there will be nothing but that ugly sound. “I guess we’ll work on the trust issues first.”

---

“No, you’re petting him all wrong. Do it like this,” Iwaizumi demonstrates. He strokes his hand down the cat’s back, and Minikui purrs happily. But when Tooru tries the same thing, all he gets is an angry lunge towards his hand. Luckily, the claws don’t draw blood.

“No, idiot,” Iwaizumi sighs and shakes his head. “Still wrong.”

Tooru can’t help the way he’s growing frustrated. It’s been almost an hour and there has been little to no progress; the cat still hates Tooru and he hates the thing right back.

“Well then, Iwa-chan,“ Tooru says through clenched teeth. “Why don’t you actually tell me what I’m doing wrong instead of parroting the same word over and over again.”

Iwaizumi ignores his tone and takes Tooru hand with a roll of his eyes, placing it gently on Minikui’s soft fur. “Here,” he says, “I’ll show you.”

Tooru’s eyes widen at the skin contact and the strange feeling of Iwaizumi’s rough skin against his own is enough to melt the agitation away.

With careful movements, Iwaizumi guides Tooru’s hands so that he is petting the cat. At first, Minikui stiffens up and growls threateningly but as Tooru continues petting her, she relaxes ever so slightly.

“There,” Iwaizumi says. “Don’t rub her so roughly and you’re fine.” Then he takes his hand away and by some miracle, the cat stays relaxed. After a minute, he even starts purring. It’s surprisingly adorable.

The three sit in silence until Minikui curls in Tooru’s lap - actually, willingly gets into his lap- and falls asleep. Once that happens, Iwaizumi stands up, brushing off some of the cat hair that had settled on his jeans.

“You two look comfortable. I’ll head out.”

“Wait!” Tooru says loudly and Minikui pops an eye open, growling at him before falling back asleep. “Wait,” he says again in a hushed voice. “Can I get your help again?”

Iwaizumi pauses halfway through slipping on his coat. “I guess,” he says but he doesn’t seem very committed.

“I can bring you something in return. What would you want?”

“Money,” Iwaizumi says rather bluntly, but his face cracks into a small smile at whatever expression Tooru makes at that. The expression disappears as soon as it comes. “It’s fine, you don’t need to pay me.”

Tooru makes a pained face. “Yes I do or I’ll feel guilty.” He taps at his cheek in thought. “How about food or something.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.”

“You’re being purposefully difficult.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, completely unconcerned. “That’s me,” he taps at his phone for a second and then looks back up to Tooru to wave goodbye. “Come by Petsmart next time you need help. I work Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Then Iwaizumi walks out and Tooru is left with an odd sense of loneliness.

---

The two end up spending much more time than Tooru had thought Iwaizumi would tolerate.

Every day Iwaizumi works, Tooru makes it a priority to keep him company, even on the days where Iwaizumi can’t help him with Minikui. He meets the manager of the Petsmart, an older woman who takes a liking to Tooru immediately. She lets him hang around whenever and even baked him cookies once for his ‘wonderful company’. “Crappy, ass-kissing personality,” Iwaizumi had taken to mumbling under his breath, but Tooru pays it no mind.

Tooru learns that Iwaizumi has endless patience for animals but next to nothing when it comes to Tooru. He sees it when Minikui hisses at Iwaizumi and the boy does nothing but smile patiently and back off to give the cat some space. Or that one time that Tooru was a couple minutes early to Petstmart and he saw Iwaizumi in his natural habitat - on one knee next to a happy dog, laughing as it smeared its nasty drool all over his face.

But the moment Tooru says something a little too flirty or makes an innocent joke at Iwa-chan’s expense, the boy is all anger issues.

“Shut up, Assikawa!” Or, “do you want me to whip this volleyball at your face, Trashykawa?” Or that one special time that Tooru had called him attractive and Iwaizumi’s face changed colors to match the red of a traffic light and he’d pushed a giggling Tooru off his own couch.

Tooru thinks that Iwaizumi is a lot like an animal himself - namely, a hedgehog: prickly on the outside but ultimately harmless.

To be truthful, he doesn’t know much about Iwaizumi, but he wants to know more. That feeling is alien to Tooru and it surprises him. Because, sure, Iwaizumi is hot, but Tooru finds himself wanting to see past that handsome face and learn what’s underneath.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” he asks one day as he sits on a stack of huge dogs food bags, ones that Iwaizumi needs to stack on the shelves. Tooru may or may not have spent the last fifteen minutes ogling Iwaizumi’s arms as he lifts each one on a shoulder. Who can blame him though, those arms are gorgeous.

“Mhmmpf,” Iwaizumi grunts. It’s his primitive way of saying ‘yes.’ Sort of like a caveman or a gorilla.

“Do you have any pets?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything for a few moments and Tooru is about to retract when he finally answers. “I had a dog but she passed a few months back.”

“Oh,” Tooru blinks. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Iwaizumi shrugs off Tooru’s apology. He moves to lift another bag. “She died this summer but it feels like ages ago now.”

“Hmm,” Tooru hums, staring at Iwaizumi as he heaves the bag over his shoulder. The other boy doesn’t /seem/ like he was affected by Tooru’s question, but there is this small crinkle between his brows and he hasn’t looked Tooru in the eyes yet.

“What was her name?”

“Molly.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Tooru comments.

“Yes. My younger sister named her.”

“What kind of dog was she?”

“Golden retriever.”

“What-“ Tooru pauses, worries his lip between his teeth. He doesn’t know if it’s okay to ask but the words come out anyway. “What happened to her?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t pause in his movements. He tosses the bag onto the shelf. The metal shelves vibrate under the additional weight, and then still. Iwaizumi’s back is turned when he answers.

“Hit by a car,” he says matter-of-factly. “It sucks but that’s just what happens sometimes.”

If Tooru didn’t know any better, he’d think that Iwaizumi was unaffected. But because he has been watching the other boy so closely these last few weeks, he can spot the difference from his normal demeanor. Iwaizumi’s shoulders are just the slightest bit higher, muscles pulled taught with tension. His head is slightly down turned, his expression is likely taut, though Tooru can only guess that much because Iwaizumi still has not turned to face him. He’s /sad/, Tooru realizes. Immediately, a rush of guilt washes over him. He shouldn’t have asked the other boy so many questions.

“I’m sorry,” Tooru says, his words soft and gentle. They float between the two, and Tooru hopes that Iwaizumi takes them instead of brushing them off.

For a long moment, Iwaizumi’s shoulders inch minutely higher. The tension builds, and Tooru hopes fervently that he hasn’t made Iwaizumi so upset that he will cry. The seconds pass. Above them, the speakers is playing some sort of happy pop song. Tooru wishes a few things - that the stupid music would stop playing first of all, but he mostly just wishes Iwaizumi would turn around so Tooru would see his face.

Then, with a loud sigh, all the tension rushes out Iwaizumi’s body. His shoulders lower and he turns around to meet Tooru’s eyes. Though Tooru thought he expected it, he is still a bit surprised to see the sadness there.

“Move over,” Iwaizumi commands as he moves to sit next to Tooru on the bags of dog food. Tooru complies readily, scooting over a few inches. The plastic crinkles underneath them, the sound emphasizing their movements.

The new position is close, but not uncomfortably so. Tooru can feel the heat of Iwaizumi’s body, only a few inches away, and he feels a strong urge to move his leg out just enough that he can feel that warmth up close.

“Do you want to see a picture of her?” Iwaizumi asks, pulling out his phone from his back pocket.

Tooru nods. He waits patiently for Iwaizumi to search through his photos until he finds a suitable one of Molly.

He catches brief glimpses of Iwaizumi’s life through the scrolling photos. He sees one of Iwaizumi with his sister, their faces close and happy - a setting sun behind them. There is one of Iwaizumi’s...

#i am overly attached to this one and its so embarrasing #lol its not great #but whatever #haikyuu!!#maybe continuing #but probably abandoned

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ginnranger · 4 years

Text

Character Information

Clearly I have put more thought into some of these characters than others, but I will add to this as I write more and develop them more.

General Information -

Name: Ginn Ranger

Gender: Female

Nickname(s): Little G, Sweets (By Martin only), Lady Ranger (Martin), Little Ember (Past - hated),

Date of Birth: 1st January, 2002

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Capricorn

Ethnicity: English, Irish

Nationality: British

Species: Human

Sexuality: Panromantic, Asexual

Family:

The Ranger family is an Irish descended family, residing in Liverpool City, then London. They are a poor family, but they get by well enough with what they have. Patrick and Mary had Ginn accidentally when they were 18. They got married when Ginn was 5 years old, when they were 23. They follow an ancient and rare tribal culture, known as Star Chasers, who believe the stars are the souls of their ancestors, and prioritise a person’s ability to fight.

Father: Patrick Ranger is a Northern Irish descended man who moved to Liverpool with his father when he was 10 years old, after the mysterious death of his mother. He was arrested and thrown in Juvenile Detention when he was 15 for assault and assist in an attempted murder, where he stayed until he turned 16. Once he was released, he was put on parole and pursued an apprenticeship and career in carpentry. He met Mary in the carpentry workshop, as she worked as the clerk in the shop. He is extremely creative, and blessed with artistic skills, like drawing, carving, and pyrography. He also enjoys music, and played guitar, until he had to sell it to scrounge enough money for bills when he was 25. His mother died mysteriously when he was 10, making his father even more neurotic than before, and forcing them to run to England and live with his uncle and cousin. He was disowned by his father at 17, when he started dating Mary. He has rusty ginger hair, styled messily, cut 4 inches at the sides and back, and 5 inches in top, having it fall over his right eye. The sides are tucked behind his ears. He has forest green eyes and light pale skin. He has a slim build, with broad shoulders and strong arms.

Mother: Mary Pendle (Later Ranger) is a Southern Irish descended woman whose family moved to Liverpool two generations before Mary was born. She completed A-Levels in Maths, Physics, and a B-TEC in Business, then moved on to do a degree in Mathematics and Finance in the university of Liverpool. She met Patrick at age 16, when she went to work as the saleswoman in the carpentry shop Patrick worked in. She worked so she could make her own money and run away from her abusive mother. However, she was disowned by her mother when she started dating Patrick. Her mother and her sister attempted to murder her after disowning her, but luckily, she managed to get into public eye before passing out to be taken to the hospital. Mary became pregnant aged 18 with Patrick’s child, so struggled a lot more with university than originally thought. She was diagnosed with Autism when she was 20, after one of her professors recognised some of the general characteristics in her. She has curly, messy, brown hair, that she usually keeps down, with a fringe swooping to the right, and cut to the middle of her shoulder blades. She has pale skin, with light freckles over the bridge of her nose, and bright, electric blue eyes. She has a skinny, curvy build.

Other family (s): Liyo Anand (Friend of Mary and Patrick, husband of Scot), Scot Lander (friend of Patrick and Mary, husband of Liyo), Amanda Lander (the mother of Scot, who took in Mary and Patrick when they were disowned, and helped them with Ginn when she was a baby), Gillian Pendle (Mary’s mother, never met), Finnley Ranger (Patrick’s father, never met).

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s): When she is older, she helps Martin’s charity.

Occupation(s): Illustrator, activist

Appearance -

Height: 5’3”

Weight: 6st 5lb

Eyes: Heterochromia; right eye is electric blue, left eye is amber-brown

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): pale, with light freckles on bridge of nose, and often had bags under her eyes. She had two large scars on her back, stretching from her right shoulder, down diagonally to the middle of her back, under her shoulder blades. There is a straight, thick scar on her left side, a slimmer scar on her right forearm, and a few self harm scars on her thighs.

Hair Colour/ Style: Rusty ginger. Cut short to the top of her ears, but often left to grow to jaw length, in a choppy and messed up style. She has a fringe swept to the left, covering her brown eye. It is mainly cut at home by her mother, but she will cut it on her own when she is going through a crisis. She had longer hair when she was younger, but she went through some traumatic experiences that made her cut it short to feel more in control.

Dress sense: She dresses in loose, baggy clothing, as she is very uncomfortable with being perceived as feminine due to trauma. She often wears an oversized khaki green army style jacket. Her favourite colour is green, so she often wears one of her many green tshirts, with all types of sleeve length. She likes black jeans and walking trousers, and often wears boots.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): English (Dyslexia), Sciences

Best Class(es): Art

Sport(s): running, gymnastics (no team, but very good) (Enjoys free-running and parkour)

Club(s): N/A

Status: Loser, outcast, art kid. When she becomes friends with the others, she moves up the social ladder

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favorite place: top of Anglican Cathedral. likes to be outside, so is happy anywhere she can see the stars at night.

Hobbies: Drawing, animating, running, parkour.

Past events: As a child, she was never able to connect with her peers, for reasons she could not understand. This made her so lonely, she was manipulated into entering a bad crowd, but she only ended up gaining scars on her back, trauma from sexual and physical abuse, and more trust issues. She says the only good thing she got from those experiences is her excellent judge in character and her ability to fight.

Medical/Psychological history: She has a rare medical condition (Hemovenenum [blood poisoning]) that requires 1-2 injections a day in order to keep her steady and alive. This makes her have heart attacks, and makes her immunity severely low. Needs at least two check-ups a year. She developed PTSD and depression from the traumatic experiences as a 12 year old. She developed social anxiety after so much rejection by her peers as a child.

General Information -

Name: Martin Williams

Gender: Male

Nickname(s): Mart, Tin (by Ginn), Master Williams (By Ginn)

Date of Birth: 25th October 2001

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Ethnicity: Spanish, Black

Nationality: British

Species: Human

Sexuality: Bisexual

Family: The Williams family is new money rich. Martin’s father, Conner, invented a new printing press machine, as well as more sustainable paper and ink, patenting it and creating his own printing company. Mr Peterson’s magazine was the first to invest in Conner’s company. This happened when Martin was 4 years old. His mother’s side is Spanish, and father’s side is black. They are all extremely close, having family gatherings a lot and doing many of their hobbies together. Their main connection is their love for music, all of them playing a different instrument and writing songs together. Martin and his two brothers love to run and venture through nature, parkouring through the wilderness.

Father: Conner Williams is a British black man, who despite his money, is very down to earth as he remembers what it is like to struggle. He is a caring CEO, and makes sure every employee has a good wage, great conditions, and an excellent experience in the workplace. He likes to help people, and is very generous. He enjoys music, and taught Martin how to play different instruments. He has dark brown eyes, thick curly black hair, and a thin, neatly shaved beard.

Mother: Elena Williams moved to England when she was 20, her family following her six years later. She is an interior designer, and works with Zack Peterson, advertising herself and putting simple designs in a section of his magazine. She is a caring, unbothered woman who does not care what people think of her, she just lives her life how she wants. She taught all her children Spanish, plays piano wither family, and taught Martin and Valeria how to cook. She had long, wavy, mahogany brown hair, reaching almost to her butt. She likes to keep it down, but if needed she will put it in a pony tail. She has large, russet brown eyes, and sun kissed skin.

Conner and Elena were the youngest couple in the group of parents, until Mary and Patrick joined them.

Other family (s): Dominic (eldest brother), Mateo (older brother) Valeria (younger sister), aunts, uncles, cousins, all four grandparents

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s): a charity he volunteered in from 14yrs old.

Occupation(s): the same charity he volunteered in

Appearance -

Height: 5’7” (age 15), 6’2” (adult)

Weight: 11st

Eyes: russet brown, sparkling, often bright and happy.

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): Dark skin, but closer to his mother’s lighter shade than his father’s

Hair Colour/ Style: Mahogany brown. Ordered messy, like he had spent several minutes gliding his fingers through his hair, methodically spiking it up, then brushing it forward, leaving bits sticking up. Every portion of his hair was cut to a similar length, apart from the front, which was slightly longer, dropping lightly in front of his right eye

Dress sense: Martin’s dress sense is often describes a grungy by his friends. He wears loose fitted tshirts, slim fit, dark coloured jeans, with bright coloured trainers. Depending on the weather, he switches between wearing button ups over his tshirts, zip up hoodies, and pull over hoodies and jumpers. His hoodies are all oversized and baggy.

He has been described by his teachers as ‘looking for trouble’, as his crooked smile makes him look like he is planning something. Really, he is thinking about something funny.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): sciences, art

Best Class(es): music, English

Sport(s): gymnastics (likes free-running and parkour)

Club(s): band, debate club

Status: disruptive one in class, but means well

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, face claim, theme song, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favourite place: mountain tops, his paternal grandparents’ living room

Hobbies: music, making videos, anything to do with social justice

Past events: a few generations before, Martin’s ancestor “Andrew Williams” and Ginn’s ancestor “Hailey Ranger” were friends in the Army. Ginn and Martin bond over this. Martin was excluded for two weeks after he punched the PE teacher for discriminating against him.

General Information -

Name: Alex Peterson

Gender: Male

Nickname(s): Domer

Date of Birth: 14th November, 2001

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Ethnicity: English

Nationality: British

Species: Human

Sexuality: Bisexual

Family:

The Peterson family is descended from people who were more than able to get themselves into The Dome after the Nuclear War. They are a rich family, living in the rich city centre of London. Zack Peterson inherited his business from his father, like his father did before him. They are a well respected family in society, so image is everything to them, however, they still remain pleasant and kind people.

Father: Zack Peterson is the owner of a massive world-wide magazine, Wonder. He inherited it from his father, like his father before him, and he is obsessed with keeping his social image pristine and perfect, so he tries his best to make good connections and do good things. He loves writing, both fact and fiction, but is useless when it comes to DIY and housework. He has a Masters Degree in English, and a Bachelors in both English and Business. He has short blond hair, and vibrant blue eyes. He tends to wear suits, even when he is not working.

Mother: Sarah Peterson is a psychologist with a particular interest in child development and how trauma affects a young person. She is supportive and maternal, but is also image driven, so hides problems. She has long blonde hair, neatly cut down to her mid-back, that she usually keeps up in a braid or bun, and light blue eyes. She has a very feminine style, never wearing trousers.

Other family (s): Grandparents, paternal uncle, maternal aunt, cousins

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s): Churchill’s Private Secondary school, Parliament (adult)

Occupation(s): Politician

Appearance -

Height: 5’9” (age 15), 6’2 (adult)

Weight: 10st

Eyes: Cornflower blue

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): pale but healthy. As an adult, he would have bags under his eyes a lot.

Hair Colour/ Style: light blond. Shaved sides and back, with a classic side parting, favouring the right

Dress sense: Alex likes to wear button up shirts with jeans, trainers or canvas shoes, with smart casual jackets.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): Biology, physics, maths

Best Class(es): ICT, History

Sport(s): Rounders

Club(s): Photography, rounders team

Status: nerdy jock

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favourite place: Gardens and parks, his bedroom, the lounge in the Peterson home

Hobbies: photography, editing, photoshop

General Information -

Name: Louise Mitchel

Gender: Female

Nickname(s): Lou,

Date of Birth: 2th April 2002

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Taurus

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: British

Species: human

Sexuality: Bisexual

Family: Louise is the eldest child of three in the Mitchel family, with twin brothers, who are 6 years younger than her. Her parents married as they are secretly gay, and they think they hide it from their children and friends, but fail terribly, as they fool no one. Still, they refuse to break up until their incredibly religious parents die.

Father: Parker Mitchel is a lawyer. He is secretly gay, and often stays out late hooking up with men. Laila honestly could not care less.

Mother: Laila Mitchel is a speech therapist. She develops strong crushes on women very quickly due to her repressed sexuality. Mary Ranger is a particular weakness for her.

Other family (s): Jacob (younger brother), Thomas (younger brother)

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s):

Occupation(s): Psychologist and counsellor

Appearance -

Height: 5’5”

Weight: 9st

Eyes: Sky blue

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): Pale and pristine

Hair Colour/ Style: Light brown. Long (mid way down back), often kept up in a loose braid.

Dress sense: Louise likes to dress very feminine, wearing short skirts and neat blouses. She is classy, yet hot.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): history, art

Best Class(es): Psychology, English

Sport(s): N/A

Club(s): N/A

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favourite place: her bedroom, libraries

Hobbies: sewing, makeup, dance

General Information -

Name: Elsie Brown

Gender: Female

Nickname(s): El, Els,

Date of Birth: 6th March 2002

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Pisces

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: British

Species: human

Sexuality: Straight

Family: her parents bonded over their similar names.

Father: Daniel Brown is a botanist specialising in fruit/veg baring plants to make them more efficient in harvest.

Mother: Danielle ‘Dani’ Brown is a marine biologist professor at the University of London.

Other family (s): Jasmine (younger sister), Robert (older brother)

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s):

Occupation(s): Primary school teacher

Appearance -

Height: 5’4”

Weight: 8st 8lb

Eyes: forest green

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): pale, but slight tan. Darker than the other girls

Hair Color/ Style: strawberry blonde. Long and wavy. Barely ever kept up. Has a thick fringe swept to the left side.

Dress sense: Elsie likes to dress more conservatively than Louise, but still very feminine. She wears skirts down to the knee, with tights and simple dolly shoes.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): Art, music

Best Class(es): Maths, English

Sport(s): N/A

Club(s): N/A

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, face claim, theme song, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favourite place: anywhere she can see water

Hobbies: making cloths, dancing

General Information -

Name: George Groden

Gender: Male

Nickname(s): N/A

Date of Birth: 10th September 2001

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Virgo

Ethnicity: white

Nationality: British

Species: Human

Sexuality: Straight

Family: the richest family in the group.

Father: Grant Groden is a doctor and medical researcher in a private hospital. He is rather pretentious and class based, so has a slightly low view on the Rangers, but eventually he’ll get used to them

Mother: Molly Groden is a high class Interior Designer.

Other family (s): Diana (Older sister)

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s):

Occupation(s): Doctor and Medical researcher

Appearance –

Height: 5’11” (15), 6’0” (Adult)

Weight: 11st 5lb

Eyes: Dark forest green

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): more tanned skin than Elsie, but still not dark

Hair Colour/ Style: light honey brown hair, neatly combed and cut short, with a fringe

Dress sense: George likes to dress simple yet formal. he often wears woollen vests over button up shirts, and dress trousers.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): history, English

Best Class(es): all sciences, maths

Sport(s): N/A

Club(s): N/A

Status: stook up nerd publicly, but more relaxed with his friends

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favorite place: Library, sitting under a tree with a book, museums

Hobbies: drawing, writing, reading

#character profile #original character #my ocs #ginn ranger #alex peterson #martin williams #louise mitchel #elsie brown #george groden #nuclears

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rebellect-writes · 4 years

Text

[b]Your Name:[/b] Jess [b]Your Age:[/b] 20 [b]How'd You Find Us?:[/b] Don’t ask.

[b]Full Name:[/b] Jackson Rhodes [b]Nicknames:[/b] - Jax. - Jackie. - Roadie. [b]Date of Birth:[/b] 12th of August 1984. [b]Age:[/b] 26 [b]Gender:[/b] Male [b]Occupation:[/b] street magician. [b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Straight switch.

[b]Animal:[/b] Cougar. [b]Power Level:[/b] "Beta" Alpha. [b]Mindset:[/b] Domissive. [b]Rank:[/b] Manabozho.

[b]Animal Appearance:[/b] [IMG]http://cache2.allpostersimages.com/LRG/26/2675/C6EUD00Z.jpg[/IMG][LIST]Jackson’s big for a cougar, just a little over “average” size. Weighing in at 210lbs in cougar form, he’s almost as big as a jaguar, only a lot less muscled, and almost 6’ in length. He’s covered from head to tail tip in dark and thick honey colored fur that keeps him insulated from the cold. [/LIST][URL=http://i672.photobucket.com/albums/vv90/bloodwillout/Cowboy_Cougar_by_Skitzobits.jpg]Hybrid form[/URL][LIST]Jackson knows about his hybrid form, and even though he rarely uses it, it’s still something in his arsenal should he ever get into a fight and he needs a little more juice. Standing roughly at 6’8 tall and weighing in at 240lbs, the furred cougar-man form is build for speed and combat. He’s got retractable claws that can cut through skin like a knife like butter, and paw like hands and feet, replace human hands and opposable thumbs leaving him in a mess if he needs to open anything fiddly. When he’s in this form, he’s covered from head to toe in dusty gold fur that darkens in patches and things out across his abdomen. [/LIST][b]Human Appearance:[/b] [IMG]http://i672.photobucket.com/albums/vv90/bloodwillout/taylorkitsch.png[/IMG][LIST]Standing at an even 6 foot tall, Jackson is your average looking bloke. With shoulder length brown hair – that he hasn’t cut since he was twelve! – Which he keeps away from his face by just raking his fingers through it and an almost continuous five o’clock shadow that sometimes, Jackson forgets about and lets it get a little thicker, can almost be described as rugged, and that doesn’t take your fancy, grungy at the very least. The pale tawny skin, stunning hazel eyes, full lips, yep, Jackson knows how to use it all to his advantage and yet he doesn’t. As for his clothing style, Jackson is very laid back into what he wears, though there is a vane streak in him that he always tries to hide behind his temper. He likes to wear suits and won’t admit it, so more often or not, he will settle for clingy dark jeans, dark coloured shirts or t-shirts, often accompanied by a leather jacket for just an open shirt over a t-shirt. With a little bit of practice, he can pull off different styles though. As for jewellery and accessories? He’s not really the type to wear them all the time, but if you count a platinum thumb ring, a wallet chain, and a gold crucifix as fashion accessories, by all means count that as something Maddox will always wear.

He’s got into his fair share of scrapes over the years and that’s given him a nice but small collection of war wounds. The biggest scar that he has is a three inch scar on the inside of his thigh from a bar fight that got out of control when he was human. A couple of inches higher and the broken bottle could have nicked something important. He has a self done tattoo from when he was younger, it’s on the inside of his wrist and all it says is ‘carpe diem’ in small black letters. [/LIST][b]Face Claim:[/b] Taylor Kitsch.

[b]Strengths:[/b] [LIST]• Get's the "job" done at the end of the day. Whatever the task may be. • Listens to people, despite what people say. • Knows when to keep his mouth shut around alphas. Barely. • Fast on his feet in both forms. • Some street smarts. • Working on the fly. • He likes pain, uses it as a focus at times. • He doesn't give into his violent nature easy. • His animal instincts. • He doesn't care if he lives or dies much. [/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b] [LIST]• Always needs to feed after a shift. • His half and half form takes too much energy and can knock him on his butt for hours after. • He's got a bit of an issue with authority figures. He's working on it! • Silver…it hurts like a…well, you get the picture. • Pain, after all there is a fine line between pain and pleasure. • Attractive females. Point in case with Isabella. • Children. If one's hurt because of him, he'll kick himself. • Magic tricks. Curiousity and cats...Ya know how that goes. • He has too kind a heart at times and it's gotton him hurt. • His flair for drama at times. [/LIST][b]Likes:[/b] [LIST]• Practising lock picking. He’s yet to find one he can’t unlock. • Gambling for something better to do. • Drinking instead of talking. • Smoking. He smokes more when he's nervous. • Sex. Oh hush your face. • Tinkering with his truck. • Keeping in contact with the Catamount. • Swimming. • Climbing trees and the like as a cat. • Fish and chips. It beats cooking. • Music over silence. • Magic tricks. • Pissing off idiots to see when they'll snap. • Sleeping the day away when he can. [/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b] [LIST]• Having nothing to do. • Crowds. He panics a little and stays to the edges. • Having to keep Izzy out of cougar business. • Getting dragged into things that don't concern him. • Football. He's never been a fan of sports really. • Things over his nose and mouth. • RPIT cops! Or any kind of law really. • Uncalled for clan challenges. • Idiots that think they know it all. • Bad sex. Eh...Yeah. • Having no cash. • Morning TV. • Tea. There's just something wrong with it. • People that hurt others for the hell of it. • Sleep! Yeah, he's just a bit odd. [/LIST][b]Personality:[/b][LIST]Jackson isn’t the most trusting of people, preferring to keep his mouth shut at times and eyes open. It isn’t that he’s got nothing to say, he’s got plenty to say, he just doesn’t know how to communicate what he wants to say half the time and it annoys him. It’s a problem, but he’s slowly working through his communication issues. A little jaded and used to getting the short end of the stick, he’s become a good people watcher and likes to take a guess on what people are thinking by simply watching their body language. It doesn’t mean that he’s always right, just a little paranoid. And besides! An attractive face can be his downfall too you know...

I suppose you could say that he’s very loud in his own way. He has a bit of an anger issue sure, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be fun. Jax has a habit of putting himself in tricky situations and mouthing off at the wrong people, and more times than enough, getting his ass kicked. He’s been told that he’s anti social, ok he can roll with that. Still, most of the time Jax uses actions instead of words to get his meaning across and that suits him quite well.

He can be sarcastic, and charming and even violent at times, Rhodes has been known to lash out and think about his actions later. People have questioned his decision making skills before, and he’ll always tell people the same thing, he works on the fly. Jax would rather someone say a silent thank you to him, instead of drawing it out as displaying emotions isn’t one of his strong points and expressing what he wants to say is hard for him. He can do touchy feely well enough but that doesn’t mean anything if there is no feeling in it. To give the sarcastic, slightly flirty male his due, he does have a nasty streak running through him that demands he causes drama some times.

Some things just really annoy him, while he keeps away from people normally; he won’t stand for someone abusing those weaker then themselves, or power. That’s when his protective streak will kick in and he’ll lash out in anger against those that cause the pain and misery. When he lashes out and loses his cool, Jax won’t regret that he did anything, even if he’s punished and humiliated, he’ll take it all with a smirk. Earning his trust and respect is a hard thing to do, but once someone does earn that, there is no way in hell Jax would willingly walk away from them. He’s a survivor and does what he needs to do, he doesn't care what people think of him. There is no better way to describe him. [/LIST][b]History:[/b] [LIST]Jackson Rhodes was born to Linda and Clayton Rhodes, in the city of London, mid April in the year 1984. He was a surprise birth, as the doctors had told his parents from the start of their marriage that Linda could not bear any child in her womb, and being an old money family, they saw every doctor that specialized in that area, no matter the cost. As it was, Jackson came into the world kicking and screaming like any other normal healthy baby.

Growing up the spoilt child, he stoically bared the love of his smothering mother even though she made him want to hurt things. A desperate housewife to the extreme, that’s the easiest way to describe his mother. As for his father, well a workaholic that liked to stay late and make sure everything in the import and export company was running smoothly before coming home and smothering his son almost as much as his mother, well it was an odd childhood. Though from the age of three, Jackson had picked up a liking for magic, and as he grew from a little boy that would hide behind his father’s legs when extended family came to their small estate just outside of London, well into the country that they could have peace, but close enough to the city that they had everything they needed and would be close to work if there was an emergency.

Now many people would have gotten him out there, meeting children his own age, his parents treated him like the boy in the plastic bubble in that respect. Now that was what caused him to rebel against what he knew, he put himself out there, flatly refused to go to any posh school that only taught things that would get people nowhere in real life, instead he opted to go to a normal secondary school with normal children. Rhodes never lost his flair for magic tricks, and would practice them anytime, anywhere, whenever he could. For that alone, people thought he was an oddball (and he is, but we won't go into that here). That simply washed over the young Rhodes, his teachers encouraged him to keep up with something he obviously liked doing, and they had no reason to complain as he was a level student in class. As smart and as clever as young Rhodes was, he didn’t see the day when his father messed up royally loosing the family business to a rival company.

Well it wasn’t the end of the world so to speak, he his friends, his talents, everything would be ok. Yeah, ok Jackson looked at this like any young adult would like their parents were going to split up. He saw it as his fault. His bright innocence turned into something colder, and he accepted it as his grades plummeted and he began to drift away from his friends. For a year, as his antics became erratic, he stopped acting the fool and dropped the magic show that he’d lived in most of his life. Around year ten of secondary school Jackson began to drift around life with a new group of friends. These truant friends taught him new magic tricks, somewhere in him he knew that it was wrong to boost cars and steal from the back of open vans, but he did it anywhere, determined to help his family out of the ever expanding abyss. When he turned up at his father’s study one day with seven grand in cash from his new extracurricular activities that he’d hidden from his parents for nearly three years, his pop hit the roof demanding where Jackson had gotten the cash from.

The little boy in him cringed at the sight of his father so angry, but he didn’t back down from offering the cash even when his mother came in and decided she’d bite his head off too. After a long and boring screaming match, he walked away from them both having tossed the money up in the air and headed to his room. Within fifty minuets, he was walking away from his parents for good with a duffle bag over his shoulder holding things he’d need. The heir to the broken family fortune no longer.

He flat to rent in lower east London, and any idea that walking away from his family had been a rash decision flew the coop as he embraced a seedier nature that his high school friends had began to cultivate, though surprisingly he began to take up magic tricks again, unknowingly needing it as a safety blanket. By the age of twenty one, he was stealing, drinking, smoking, whoring, and oddly enough performing children’s parties, saving what cash he could in various accounts and selling on anything he stole before the cops could poke their noses into any “business” dealings.

That was when he met her, she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, or rather a cougar in a black velvet mini dress on the hunt for dinner. A sucker for a pretty face, and long legs, the cold Rhodes flirted ignoring his friends as they heckled from somewhere behind the two. Chemistry between them was as clear as day, and both took off back for Jax’ place. The sex was great! He did have doubts when she said she was allergic to latex, but one thing led to another and safe sex was drop kicked out of the window. He didn’t even mind the fact she clawed his back up when he found her and the loose change in his wallet gone the next morning.

His fate was sealed and though he didn’t know it at the time, so life went on. When the next month rolled around sluggishly, he began to feel odd, like something inside him wanted to get out. Putting it down to a bug he’d caught, Rhodes cancelled the three shows he had the following week and locked himself away in his flat, even calling his friends and telling them not to show up unless he called. The night of the full moon rolled around, Jackson went to never, never dream again land, as his body changed into that of a cougar. It’s safe to say he put it down to his body needing to heal and kick out whatever was invading his system, which he had simply slept the time away.

When it happened again, and again, he began, he ignored it, until one day, he passed out in front of a camcorder. He’d been practising a new trick, and had always used some kind of recorder so he could watch himself over again. When he saw a cougar in his place the morning after, he hit the bottle and shrugged it off figuring it was a bad dream…

A bad dream that he’s lived through for just over four years, it forced him to move out of London, and being no good with choosing things, he put a pin in a map, and Bobs your uncle, Fanny’s your aunt, that pin landed on Jackford. He has a few secrets of his own, and he can tell the residents have their own troubles. Though one little leopard has won his attention and he can count on her. [/LIST]

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shirogane-is-shirogone · 6 years

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Title: Walk Away Pairing: Shallura Summary: I’m feeling lots of pain after season 5, and in the absence of good shallura content I decided to come up with my own explanation on why things are changing between them. “Shiro” is acting funny and Allura wants to force herself to move on from what once was. In other words: shallurangst. This entire fic is shallurangst. Rating: G

It was one of those usual night cycles when Allura lay awake, staring towards the constellations of crystals upon the ceiling above her bed.

These used to be common, but they increasingly evaded her as her work on team Voltron progressed. Piloting the blue lion and saving colonies from the tyranny of the Galran empire didn’t leave much energy left for her by the end of the quintant.

This night cycle was different, however.

There was a strange atmosphere in the Castle, and she didn’t care for it. It ate at her nerves and kept her awake, like the monsters that stalked the corner of her room when she was a tiny tot. Monsters that had ugly scars, purple claws, yellow eyes, and white hair.

Those monsters were not real, but this storm of anxiety she felt in her veins was. It was very real. She knew something was indeed wrong.

She felt it ever since Shiro returned to the team, but no matter how hard she fought to ignore it, the feeling wouldn’t leave.

It began when they pulled him onto the bridge of the Castle from the dark and unexplored corners of the universe. He was some unfathomable blend of exhaustion and hysteria, but to some extent, that was to be expected. After all, he was hanging onto the last slivers of his life, barely surviving travel in a grungy escape pod with minimal fuel and no food or water. It was only natural that he would be unconcerned with trivial sentimentalities.

But still, this was supposed to be Shiro. On the battlefield he was a powerful force of leadership and might, but under the dim lights of the bridge he could be soft and mild. This was supposed to be the man who she had spent so many tender evenings with. The man who so earnestly exchanged a part of his heart for one of hers. The man who offered late night kisses and warm embraces when all was quiet and the rest of the team was away.

This was supposed to be the man who she loved before being torn away from his grasp.

But when he returned, he didn’t care to so much as look at her. He rushed out of the escape pod, sucked in the breath he so desperately needed, ceaselessly consumed the first meal given to him, and then made a line straight for his chamber. His eyes were shut and his mind was quiet before he even had a thought to spare a word to her.

At the very least, she had hoped for some soft eye contact, a gentle smile, a slight muttering of her name, or something. Something to tell her he wasn’t just glad to be here, but also glad to be here.

She waited for many quintants, but it never came.

That was how she knew something was different now. Something between them, or something within him. Whatever it was, it was different.

The whispers, the soft touches, the laughs and smiles, the kisses, the cooperation- they never returned. He did, but those affections were still lost somewhere out there in the universe.

But that shouldn’t have mattered. Her role in the rescue of the universe was to act as a leader, a diplomat, and an beacon of hope. Her focus was to be on the lives that depended on her, not the turmoil of her heart.

This was why, although her bond with the Black Paladin was far from ideal, she refrained from drawing any attention towards it. Neither needed the distraction. Perhaps this was for the best, after all. He could focus on leading the team, and Allura could focus on leading the coalition.

But just as the anxiety ate at her this very night cycle, the unrest of her heartache kept her soul away from peace.

She had tried keeping it out of mind for as long as she could, but maybe it was time for a new approach. Maybe it was time to seek closure through means of confronting the problem.

The air of her chamber was chill when she abandoned the warmth of her sheets. To regain it, she slipped her favorite silk robe over her nightgown and tucked her feet inside a soft pair of pink mouse slippers. Properly dressed, she finally made leave out of her chambers, then proceeded down the corridors of the Castle. The paladins rested on the opposite wing, so she had a long distance to cross before finally reaching the room of the Black Paladin.

A shaky breath slipped in and out past her quivering lips, and when it passed she finally raised the courage to knock upon his door and summon him.

She couldn’t understand why this frightened her so. She had done it many times before.

But this time felt different, and he looked different when he opened the door. There was no color upon his cheeks, no sparkle in his dark eyes, and no shy smile upon his lips.

His eyes were hard and crisp, torn straight from slumber, and he gripped onto the door with a fierce grasp.

“Princess Allura? What do you want?” he demanded to know in a whisper. “It’s too late to be up like this.”

It was evident that he was far from pleased to have his rest disturbed. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea, but the damage was already done. It was too late to turn around now.

“Well I- uh...” Allura looked down at the slippers upon her feet, and she could feel the embarrassed warmth rising over her face. The shame in disturbing her dear paladin was close to driving her to tears, but she fought it back with hard determination. She came here with a purpose, and she would see it through.

“I cannot sleep, so I was hoping you and I could pass the time together.”

Shiro remained behind the threshold of his chamber, staring down at her, and he lowered a curious brow. The grip on his door never left. “Pass the time together?” he asked. “Doing what?”

Allura was dumbfounded at his question, spoken as though the experience was all foreign to him. From their experience it shouldn’t have been, but he genuinely seemed at a loss to what she could possibly want from his company.

“Well...” she twirled a lock of her sliver hair between her fingers, only feeling more and more discouraged from this prospect. “We could try more of those bizarre Arusian chocolates given to us. The last time we sampled them, you got some kind of awful blue grass stuck in your teeth. It took vargas for you to finally wash it all out.” She smiled and almost giggled at the fond memory, keeping to herself the details about sharing other chocolates between their lips.

But his face remained flat, clearly not sharing her delight, and it brought her to ask the difficult question, “Do you remember that night, Shiro?”

She counted ticks in her head while his empty stare endured, and finally he shook his head with a slow and absent pace. With it, he spoke one word: “No.”

The word struck her hard in her chest, and suddenly the air around her was immeasurably more cold. She couldn’t tell if this response was expected or not, and that only further augmented the ache in her heart.

“I see,” she muttered low while returning her gaze to the icy metal foor. “Then forgive me for disturbing you, Shiro. I’ll let you sleep more.” With that said, she turned her shoulder and proceeded down the hall, away from Shiro’s chamber.

“Where are you going?” he asked, noticeably over a sense of curiosity rather than concern.

Her voice now lost its timid whisper, and she answered in a fake confidence. “I think I’ll speak to Lotor instead. He might still be up.”

Perhaps changing her focus was petty and spiteful, but he was far from caring. She knew when she watched him shrug from her peripheral, then close the door behind himself without even watching her walk away.

Things have changed, and now something in Allura’s universe was different. Something between them, or something within him. Whatever it was, it was indeed very different.

#vld #shiro #allura #shallura #kuron #vld5 #my writing #voltron

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lemonadeandrice · 7 years

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What’s Going On: Part II: Limbic Resonance

Derry, Maine

The floor was damp, beginning to slick over with a thin layer of ice. She lay in a crumpled pile like a broken marionette doll, her strings having all been cut. Blood dripped unceremoniously onto the dirt-covered concrete, a small pool gathered there.

His feet crunched over broken glass and soggy wooden boards, his hands out in front of him. His heart pounded amongst his ribs. He could almost touch her, his hand coming to nearly cup her cheek, her empty brown eyes staring at the stars through a hole in the ceiling. It was as he crouched next to her, knees popping slightly, that her eyes snapped forward, catching his and he gasped and -

Bill Denbrough jumped awake.

He lay curled up in his bed, a quick sweat drawing on his brow. He was at home, in Derry. It was only a nightmare. A bitter breeze flowed in through the window, bringing his skin to gooseflesh and he shivered, pulling himself out of bed. His head was pounding, a strict pulsing in his temples. This headache had been raging on for days and no amount of medicine could seem to get rid of it. He shifted the window down, cutting off the smell of snow from the outside. Turning to the room, his eyes fell on Audra, sleeping peacefully next to where his blankets lay messed. Home, they were home.

But the dream, it lingered. Everything about it seemed so familiar, the sound of wind pulling through the hollow cavern, the smell of mildew growing on walls, the broken slippery concrete and…her. The woman. He had never seen her before, he was sure of that. But it felt as though he had known her all his life. As if they were old friends. But friends wasn’t the right word, the word he wanted to use was…mother.

In the street there was the sudden roaring of engines and tires, the thick foggy sound of exhaust and burning diesel. The sound ripped through his skull, throbbing against the bone. He rubbed his eyes hard, trying to draw the pain away. It didn’t work.

He turned to the window, squinting out through the frost beginning to grow there. It sounded as though the engines were right below the house, but he couldn’t see anything. He slipped on a robe, tying the belt around his waist loosely, sliding on Audra’s slippers.

The screaming rumbling grew steadily louder as he moved downstairs, covering one of his ears with his hand. Cold had seeped into the floorboards and shook his bones as he went to the door, the blaring engines also mixed with the sound of angry metal music, shaking the door as he wrapped his hand around its handle.

He swung the door open, fuming and -

The street was empty. The sounds of engines and music were gone and all that remained was empty asphalt and the resonating pulse of his migraine.

Dortmund, Germany

The smoke of hot exhaust on the freezing city street filled the air, a thick fog resting at the shins. There were cars lined up the sides of the narrow path behind two Lamborghinis - a black one and a red one. Accept swelled in the square, blasting out of rolled down windows.

Richie Tozier gripped the steering wheel of the black car, his heart racing. He could barely feel the persisting migraine that had taken hold of him the last few days over the bass in his chest. He looked to his left out past the middle of the street, staring down his glasses at the driver opposite him. The man had a sleek shaved head and dark eyes, glaring him down with an excited anger, a smirk taking to his lips.

“Alles klar?” He shouted over the booming music and Richie nodded. He turned to the road again and squeezed his fingers down around the wheel, knuckles white.

A long narrow road lay out before them, barely enough space for the two cars. About 800 meters out there was a strict left turn which dragged up on the sidewalk and out past open fields, this sleepy town just on the outskirts of Dortmund.

His opponent revved the engine of his car, a teasing sound. Richie shifted in his seat, breathing in hard through his nose to steady himself. One of his hands rested on the gear shift, ready to pull. He shook his head to try and dissipate the pain. He needed to focus. Peter had 850 Euros on this race.

A woman in a fur jacket and leather pants stood in between the two cars, her face pinched around a cigarette. She held a pair of lacy white panties in her hand and she winked at him. He pursed his lips at her in a kiss and ran his tongue over his top lip. She shook her head, taking a drag off of her cigarette and held the panties aloft.

He stared straight ahead now, watching her hand from the corner of his eye. She was shouting something - counting no doubt, and he quickly jammed the gear into first, foot holding the clutch.

When she dropped the white flag - he ripped his foot from the clutch and pumped the car, hitting sixty-five kilometers per hour within a matter of seconds. He could see the red Lambo in his peripheral, nose to nose as he jumped into second, quickly drawing the car up even faster. Wind was pouring into the car, cold and whipping his black hair as he drove, his speed climbing to 100, 115, 130 kilometers per hour, the red streak pulling up on him until they were practically on top of one another, metal scraping on metal. Richie didn’t care - the car was stolen.

The curve was nearly upon them, he was in third now, but he needed to switch down into second, just until the turn was behind them. As they came to it, the other driver cursing inaudibly at him, he threw down into second, feet on clutch and smashing the gas pedal into the floor, he turned the wheel sharply and kicked the clutch. The car skidded smoothly across the stonetop road, pulling to the right and facing the car left, where he pushed forward, the red Lamborghini getting caught up behind him.

Ahead the road was flat dirt, a straight grey line under a waxing moon. Richie turned in his seat as he maintained speed, looking to see the other driver falling fifty paces behind him. He laughed wildly, jumping in his seat and whooping before turning back to the front.

A dark haired woman stood dead center in the road, a grungy cream sundress covering her body like a film.

“Shit!” Richie cried and jerked the wheel hard to the right to miss her, and the front left tire hit a pothole, taking the car airborne.

It flipped twice in the air, Richie’s hands pressed to the ceiling as shock coursed through him, screaming obscenities and bracing himself. The jet black sports car came back to earth with a sickening crash and toppled over once, twice, three times more before sliding into a tree and coming to a stop.

Richie was upside down, and he coughed trying to clear the dirt from his mouth. Nothing felt immediately out of place, he noticed thankfully, and tried to gain his bearings. The radio had blacked out after its initial crash into the ground and he could hear yelling over the ringing in his ears. He hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt and felt stupid for not having done so regardless of the fact that he wasn’t thrown from the car.

“Richie!” He heard his name called. Peter.

He pulled himself out from behind the smashed in steering wheel, falling down onto the remnants of the windshield and jagged metal. His name was called again and he dragged himself towards the window facing the town, people running towards him.

“Rich! Richie? Richie!” Peter cried as he approached. His breath came out in puffs of smoke and he knelt beside the heap of the car, taking Richie’s hand in his and pulling. Glass grinded against his back and he winced but the pain was not immense. As Peter dragged him from the car, his competitor - Jonas, he believed - came up too.

“Jesus man, are you fucking okay?” He patted Richie on the shoulder as he brought himself to his full height, stretching. He tasted blood on his lip and couldn’t see out of the right lens of his glasses. He pulled them off and held them to the moonlight, squinting. The lens was shattered but the frame was intact. He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound rippling through his chest. Peter and Jonas looked at each other uncomfortably and shifted in their shoes, shivering.

“Rich, are you ok?” Peter asked quietly.

Richie placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and laughed hard one more time. He looked from Peter to Jonas and sighed.

“So did I win?”

McLouth, Kansas

Sunlight poured in through the kitchen window, Mike Hanlon gripping the edge of the counter and staring blankly outside. There were patches of snow blanketing the yellowed grass, a cold breeze rippling through them. April was on its way but winter had not completely left them yet. He worried that the snow would not be gone enough in time to break dirt, and they would be late on the harvest in the fall.

He jumped at the sound of his mother coming into the kitchen, heart panting wildly for a moment.

“You okay, Mikey?” She asked, stepping up next to him.

If he was being honest with himself, no. The last few nights he had been plagued with terrible nightmares, nightmares of a woman being murdered in front of him and he could do nothing to stop it. It was so real, he thought, the rigid feeling of icy concrete under his feet, the echoing tantrum of a gunshot, pomegranate red blood in a pool on the floor, hot with steam rising above it. This woman, whoever she was, was gone, definitely, but would always look at him, eyes snapping to attention and he would scream and wake up in a cold sweat, his head throbbing.

“Yea, ma,” he said, turning to her. “Just tired.”

“Still having nightmares?” She asked.

He had mentioned it to her the first night when he had awoken her in his terror in the middle of the night.

He lied and shook his head.

She looked at him sadly and rubbed his arm. “You need a day off today? Dad still thinks the ground is too frozen to start, anyway.”

He shrugged. “I can run some errands, if you need?”

She smiled sweetly at him. “No, why don’t you go just run around town. See what your friends are doing.”

He grinned and took her into a hug, taller than her by a good six inches. “Thanks mom.” He said and she squeezed his middle.

“Go on, get out of here.” She said, pushing him gently away and pointing towards the door. He chuckled and grabbed up his Carhartt from the hook, gave her a quick wave and loaded into the pickup.

The drive to town was only five or ten minutes, the gravel road jostling his tires a little. He turned left, towards the city.

His friends were on spring break he knew, only one or two of them were in town for the vacation and it was early enough in the morning still that they probably wouldn’t even be awake yet. But he’d call them around ten or something.

It was a small town, only about 800 people and it was all he had ever known. He didn’t go to college after high school, 25 now, and instead helped his parents out on the farm. He had received a scholarship from the school out in Manhattan and he’d wanted to go, maybe study agriculture or go to be a vet, but his father had got sick. The Big C. It wasn’t extreme, but it had put a dent in their savings, and he could not stand knowing the farm might suffer while his dad recovered. So he’d stayed. And now here he still was.

He pulled up the stop sign that came into town, idling there as cars puttered past down the slow strip of highway that ran through town. He was looking ahead, the sky clear but gloomy.

He was suddenly shaken by the sound of something exploding against the side of his truck and he jumped turning to look. To the left was a small gas station, and not far off the street, standing under the pump’s awning were three white boys wearing camouflage jackets. Henry Bowers, Patrick Hockstetter, and Victor Criss. They were down a few people today, usually running in a group of six or seven but always with Henry.

Dark soapy streaks of Coke ran down the window, Henry shouting something he couldn’t hear over the grumble of the exhaust. Mike assumed it was his favorite racial epithet and he looked away embarrassed. As the cars finally stopped passing, he gunned it down the road, leaving Henry and his asshole friends behind him. As he drove away, he didn’t see Henry make a gun with his fingers and follow the sight with squinted eyes after him.

London, United Kingdom

The subway platform was packed with commuters, crammed together trying to make their afternoon trains. The din echoed through the tunnel as the sound of screeching brakes came up to the stop, the wave of people moving forward as others coursed out. Ben Hanscom held tight to his shoulder bag, staring blankly off into space. He had headphones on, a guilty pleasure boy band playing in his ears.

He had missed his initial exit and now had to wait three more stops to be dropped off at a closer location, his mind whirling. He had been thinking about a bridge when the intercom had called his stop - “We are now arriving at Amersham Station,” - trying to think of the best dimensions to get a swaying action that could take on wind and rain without buckling. He had watched his stop pass by and it wasn’t until the train came to a stop at the next that he realized he missed it. He cursed himself silently and shuffled his feet, sighing heavily.

He was so exhausted as of late, sleep coming to him difficulty and in the wee hours of the morning. He couldn’t seem to get the pictures out of his head. Her face, clear as the woman standing in front of him now, swam in his head every night for the last week, quiet brown eyes and knotted hair of the same color. Her nose was small, like a buttoncap between her eyes, which were vacant. Cold. He could not stop seeing her life ripped from her, shattered in a heap on the floor. He could not stop seeing her sitting up and looking at him, arms outstretched, beckoning him forward. These dreams were like fevers to him, coming and going in hazy loops, and he would awake from them covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the gunshot still in his ears, head pounding. He felt like he was going crazy, if he was being honest with himself. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep and overworking, always pored over blueprints and diagrams, a pencil or compass in hand.

He looked to the map above the sliding doors and heard something over his music. It sounded like…ice cubes clinking into a glass. Ice cubes in a glass?

He pulled off one side of his headphones and squinted around. There was the regular sound of the subway as it slid over its tracks, but the sound was definitely there. It was almost like it was happening right inside his head…

Orleans, France

Beverly Rogan dropped another ice cube into the Glencairn, the afternoon gloom of late winter shafting slightly into the room. She poured scotch over the ice, the watery liquor filling the glass halfway.

Tom was standing in the bathroom at the mirror, shaving cream lathered across his jaw.

“A day for celebration, yes dear. This sale will make us rich.” He dragged a razor across the skin, pulling back a strip of cream with it, which he rinsed under the faucet. Beverly absently wished his hand would slip and rush the blade across his throat. She brought him the glass, holding it lightly in her fingers. He turned to her, face still foaming and smiled. It was a grim smile. She returned it, only halfhearted, and he took the glass.

“Nothing for you?” He said, his voice coy.

She knew that if she had poured herself a glass he would have slapped it out of her hand, screaming, “It’s three in the afternoon! What are you thinking!” Maybe hit her in the face. Maybe punch her so hard in the stomach she’d be unable to walk.

She smiled. “I’ll save the celebrating for tonight.”

He nodded knowingly and turned back to the mirror. She leaned against the sink and rubbed her temple. The migraine still held a root there.

“You alright, Beverly?” Tom asked not looking away from the task at hand.

“Just a headache, love.” She replied softly.

He set down the razor for a moment and turned to her, taking her face in his palm. She flinched slightly at the touch.

“I told you to take some medicine Beverly. It’ll help. I promise.”

Oh, his promises. What were they if not idle threats, held over her like an umbrella to catch all the shit that spilled down on top of her. I promise to keep you safe, I promise to help you make this sale, I promise if you keep using that tone you’ll regret it, I promise you won’t be able to walk for a week. Not always idle threats.

Rosh Pinna, Israel

The day was slowly warming up, the early morning sun peeking up to shine on Mount Kna'an.

The house was quiet, a small modest home with wood flooring and cool stone walls. Sunlight was coming up under the blinds, falling over his face.

Stanley Uris groaned and rolled over in bed, pulling the thin grey sheet up over his head. He didn’t want to get up; it was his day off. He should probably do some readings or call his mother, but he just couldn’t tell himself he would do those things today. His head was killing him and he just wanted to sleep more. But sleep would not come. He had one of those internal clocks that as soon as the sun hit the windowpane of his bedroom, he was wide awake.

He threw the blanket off of his bare legs and padded over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of khakis and a neat beige polo shirt. Tossing it on, he folded the collar down, feeling the evenness of the fabric with his fingertips. Perhaps he would go to the HaBaron Garden and read. Maybe that would help his headache.

Picking up his soft blue kippah, he went to the mirror and placed it carefully over his curly blond hair. It sat funny and he spent a moment trying to straighten it, frustration building. When it finally sat just so, he gathered up his bag and went out the door.

The cobbled path was familiar, one he had taken many times, the so-so patting of his clean brown loafers comforting. He studied the inside of his book, pages dull and soft as he read. He knew where he was going like it was ingrained in him - take a left, then a right, another right, four blocks to the left and he was at the park. He didn’t mind the walk. It gave him time to clear his head on days when the asymmetry of the road was too much or if he couldn’t remember if he’d shut the lights off in his bedroom.

As he turned the first left something strange happened. The sounds of his shoes were quieted, as if walking on grass or carpet. It took him a moment to notice it and he looked up, panic striking him. He wasn’t in Rosh Pinna anymore - at least, it didn’t look like it. The air was bitter cold, snow rising over the hills and falling from the sky. Stan could see it all, touch it, feel the cold wind as hit his face, his breath a thick fog. But his body was warm, wrapped up in what felt like a thick winter coat with fur around the hood. His breathing came quicker as his mind struggled to make sense of this - whatever this was. Six words pounded on repeat in his head like a hammer. He was not in Rosh Pinna, he was not in Rosh Pinna, HE WAS NOT IN ROSH PIN-

Toronto, Ontario

The door to the pharmacy swung open, bringing in with it the last blizzard of the season, Eddie Kaspbrak stomping the snow off his boots. A little bell chimed overhead, and he pulled the hood of his coat down off his head. His mother had warned him not to go out in the snow, he was delicate, and if he caught a chill he could catch a cold and if he caught a cold he could get pneumonia and what about pneumonia oh don’t get Sonia Kaspbrak started on pneumonia! He walked towards the counter of the modest little clinic to pick up his regular prescriptions and maybe, Christ he hoped, something that would knock this headache out. The strongest thing they had.

He hadn’t brought the migraine up to his mother, God no. He would have been dragged kicking and screaming to the hospital to await a myriad of blood draws, CAT scans, electrodes stuck to different parts of his body connected to one central pumping machine. No, he couldn’t have that.

The man in a clean white jacket waved at him as he approached, unzipping his coat quickly to let it breathe. The man - Dr. Keene - went around the counter into a stack of shelves filled with small medicine bottles. Eddie let his forearms rest on the counter and he rubbed both sides of his head, trying to alleviate the tension. He heard Keene come to the counter, “You alright, Eddie?”

He looked up and was nearly knocked flat on his back. It wasn’t Dr. Keene’s wrinkle-driven tan face staring back at him - it was a young man, tall, thin, with undereye bags and slightly red dirt colored hair. Behind him wasn’t the pharmacy medicine cabinet but instead a spreading out bathroom, the door open to show an unmade bed in the next room.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie screamed as he toppled backwards. His eyes squeezed shut as he hit the ground and when he opened them, Dr. Keene was leaning over the counter, concerned.

“Goodness, Eddie, are you alright?” His voice wavered.

Eddie looked around frantically, patting his coat pockets for his inhaler. What the fuck was that? He found the inhaler in the breast pocket and fumbled to pull the cap off and shove it into his mouth, taking a deep breath as the medicine hit the back of his throat. What in the actual fuck was that?

He made eye contact with Keene, breath coming in pants. “Nothing, I - I…” He paused. “Nothing, just not been getting a lot of sleep, I guess.” He rubbed his eyes, as if to emphasize the point, though it was mostly to clear his vision.

“I’ll uh, I’ll get the prescriptions later,” he said hurriedly and pulled himself up off the ground, not hearing Keene’s cries as he left, not even bothering to zip his jacket up as he left, the wet snow punching him in the stomach. It felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, rapid in and out in and out in and out.

“What the fuck was that!” Eddie screamed to the howling wind.

#@shitty-water #this is part 1 of Part II #sense8 #the losers club #I love my children #it's real long but I got it to fit #all the ships #I hope you like it tho?#idk there is so much more I want/need to say #but I have BIG plans #lemme know what I can do???#also absolutely no beta #because I'm an asshole

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artlessictoan · 7 years

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I dunno if this is too mich but: 3, 26, 43, 46 and/or 49 +Sand sibs 2.0

holy fuc k okok dw i got this yallbetter go get yourselves a cuppa this is gonna take a while

Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do theydespise about their siblings?

well obvs all these kids love the hell outta each other! Theyhave a very close bond, almost on thesame level as the Sand Sibs Classic Flavour, there’s a lot of unspokencommunication between them and understanding that even their bestfriends/partners/dad don’t have with them, bc of their shared history

none of them really have a ‘favourite’ sib, they all likeeach other equally, but in very different ways; while Araya and Yodo are thetwo who hang out more often and do more stereotypically sibling stuff, that’smostly bc Shinki just isn’t interested in those sorts of things, he’s happy tojust sit and watch as he’s working on a puppet or something, generally though,Araya is the best at comforting, Shinki gives great advice and Yodo is always ready to give bullies a goodass-kicking

as for what annoys them.. well Yodo does love her pranks andcan be quite exhausting bc she’s so much more hyper than her bros, Araya is abit of a forgetful ditz, so he’ll often need to be reminded about a promiseseveral times and Shinki still has some trust issues – even with his sibs whohe trusts more than anyone else – he’ll often try to solve his problems withoutgetting them involved which can cause arguments between them. fights betweenthe three don’t usually last long though, as soon as someone apologises they’llforgive each other pretty much immediately

What does your character’s home look like? Personaltaste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

the sand fam home is mostly quite simply decorated, the sameway it was when it was first built, but the few rooms that are actuallyused tend to be a terrible clash of Every Style Under The Sun, with each personhaving a small area of the main rooms that’s basically all their shit clusteredtogether, from Gaa and Shinki’s minimalist practicality, to Araya’s cutesy nicknack’s, Kank’s Paint It Black and random puppet limbs everywhere and Yodo’s chaotic mess of video games, electronics and band posters (after so long nobody even notices how weird it looks anymore, visitorsare always very alarmed/amused though)

Shinki: don’t let his ninja outfit fool you, this boyis a Fashionista to the core, while he favours neutral colours he LOVES avantgarde shit, especially the look of mixed textures and bold, postmodern silhouettes,neo-punk is so much his thing it’sridiculous….. unfortunately he also has hypersensitive senses due to his autism,which makes certain textures and types of clothing physically uncomfortable forhim to actually wear, he’s a bit annoyed by that, but he’s into dressmaking andembroidery, so he just makes things for his sibs and lives vicariously throughthem

Araya: PASTEL PRINCE! loves anything cute, bright and feminine,he wears lots of ruffles and glittery makeup, loves over-sized jumpers and sweetpatterns (especially animals and plants!), sometimes he’ll ask his bro to do areally detailed piece of embroidery on a plain jacket, which he always wearswith so much pride! experiments with hair and makeup a lot, with help from hisuncle Kank, his ninja gear is totally different to his preferred style – so muchso that people often don’t recognise him when they first see him out of it –but that’s just bc he doesn’t wanna ruin his nice stuff during battle

Yodo: punk rock to her soul, she loves grungy,distressed, androgynous clothing and goes to great efforts to look like she’s not put in any effort at all. shelikes a lot of variety in colours, while most of her outfits are built aroundblack staples, she’ll throw all sorts of different colours on top (her favesare dark/rich shades of purple and blue though) and she loves bold,intimidating makeup, she mimics Gaara’s eye-rings bc she’s such a fuckingdad’s girl and rocks the heck outta dark lipstick

Does your character have any secrets? If so, are theyholding them back?

Shinki: he does have secrets about his past beforeending up at the orphanage, secrets that not even his siblings or dad knowabout, though they all have their suspicions, but he would rather not talkabout that time in his life and they all respect him enough not to go digging. ingeneral he’s a very open and blunt person – perhaps a little too much, but since he doesn’t talk oftenit’s not a huge issue

Araya: cannot keep a secret to save his life, if askeda question, he will almost immediately cave and tell the truth (unless it’s somethingsuper important, like.. national security level important), he’s not allowed inon pranks and surprise party organisation anymore, he’s honest person bynature, he just really doesn’t like feeling that he’s deceiving someone, or withholdingsomething from them

Yodo: has a metric shitton of secrets, of varyingimport, from exactly how all thosebiscuits went missing, to some of the more illegal things she had to resort towhen living on the streets, mostly kept bc she finds it difficult to trustothers, or bc she’s a forward-thinking person who doesn’t want to be dragged downby the past, so, outside of her family and closest friends, she doesn’t sharemany secrets. unlike her bros, she is a practiced and enthusiastic liar; thougha little clumsy at it as a child, she quickly learns how to hide them once shestarts living with Gaara and Kank (much to their dismay) though she mostly justuses the skill to get out of trouble

Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight?Posture? How do they feel about their physical body?

Shinki: average height and weight, he wouldn’t standout much in a crowd. he holds himself quite straight and formally though, in asimilar way to Gaara actually! he doesn’t have many thoughts about his body,either positive or negative, so long as it can get what he needs done done hereally doesn’t give a fuck

Araya: TALL! TOO TALL! he was always a little on the lankyside as a kid, quite skinny and with those awkward spider limbs, but he didn’tget really tall until his late teens(the day that Kank realised Araya was taller than him now, he locked himself inhis room for a whole week), he used to be very self-conscious about himself,but as he grows into his body and stops feeling so gangly he starts to quitelike it! he tends to slouch a lot though and habitually bends over slightlywhen he’s indoors (after one knocked head too many)

Yodo: an utter fuckin short arse. she was short and skinny as a kid, she was short andskinny as a teen and she’s short and skinny as an adult (though she’s stillsuper buff and toned, just built more like a sprinter than a weight-lifter), afact which she loathes, her only comfort is that she’s still taller than herdad by like.. half an inch (a fact that she lauds over him at everyopportunity). even though she wishes she weren’t so short, she still loves thefuck outta her body and will show off her muscles constantly when around hergf, she also tends to stand and walk in a way that makes herself look biggerthan she is, all wide stances and swinging arms

What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm ofspeech? Pronunciation? Accent?

Shinki: low and surprisingly soft, he doesn’t talkmuch, but has the kind of voice that draws attention when he does! his speech tendsto be quite halting and slow though, since he likes to think very carefullybefore saying anything, doesn’t outwardly emote much, has a typical Suna accent,as do all the kids (which i generally imagine as like.. Iranian-ish, orsomething??)

Araya: he has a very sweet and gentle voice, not very high,but not low either, just a relaxed mid-level tone, it’s the kind of voice youcould easily fall asleep to bc it’s just so calm and soothing! whether it’sfast or slow depends mostly on Araya’s mood, he’s very expressive, so when he’shappy/excited he talks quicker and when he’s sad it slows down, even though hepretty much never shouts, you can tell when he’s really mad when he starts giving very short, abrupt sentences

Yodo: in the words of Shikadai, ‘Yodo sounds like whatyou’d get if you gave a hamster speed, put it in a blender and then put theblender in a washing machine’ (Yodo cackled about that analogy for three hours),her voice is high, squeaky and generally pretty grating, though how much of thatis natural and how much is put on to annoy everyone around her is debatable,she does speak in a much lower, calmer way when she’s relaxed and around herfamily though. talks super fast and loud, sometimes with a song-like rhythm andif she’s feeling something, you’re gonna know about it

#ictoan answers #shinki #araya #yodo #team shinki #naruto #boruto #sand fam is best fam #MY PRECIOUS KIDSSS #thank you for asking!#Anonymous #ask meme

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reactingtosomething · 7 years

Text

Reacting to Sweet/Vicious

Part I: Remember Fondly When 4th Meals Were a Thing and Breakfast at Night Reigned Supreme

The Setup: It started, as much does, with a tweet. That tweet was followed, as many are, by regret. Fortunately, Jennifer Kaytin Robinson is a generous sort.

Robinson’s glorious but short-lived vigilante dramedy Sweet/Vicious was always on the list of candidates for an all-hands Reaction -- Miri started watching a day or two after Kris did, back in the fall, so Liz and Marchae added it to their (lengthy) to-watch lists -- but we didn’t put a timetable on it until our loyal reader @crazyhannibalthedaisiesslayer suggested it.

In this post (and its continuation, on Friday), we cover the first three episodes: “The Blueprint,” “The Writing’s on the Wall,” and “Sucker,” and many thoughts and feelings about campus sexual violence and related topics.

LIZ: First thing: I only had time to watch the first 3 episodes, although I wish I’d been able to see more!

Kris you here?

MIRI: Ok, that’s how many I rewetted!

MARCHAE: I watched 4

KRIS: GOSH DARN IT

MIRI: DAMMIT rewatched

hahahahahha insert gif here

So, Liz and Marchae, what did you think????

MARCHAE: It is oddly addicting

KRIS: Why oddly?

MARCHAE: I think because I used to work in student affairs and dealt with some of the scenarios so in that way it is weird to see a comedy/drama of this topic

LIZ: I am IN LOVE. I thought episode one was amazing and I am pretty much hooked. I am here for the message and the premise and i think every college campus needs these 2 ladies!

MARCHAE: however the characters are 100% engaging and you want them to win so hard...

I called my mom after episode one and was like should i feel bad for wanting to see the guys get beat up

LIZ: The way they show the victims of sexual assault and discuss their stories is just so real even though the show suspends our disbelief in other ways so much

MIRI: Marchae, I don’t think you should feel bad

How do you feel about how stylized it is? I love it, but I feel like it’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea

LIZ: Rapists who are getting away with it 100% and ruining their victims lives? no I would not feel bad

KRIS: When I first saw trailers for it (while my old roommates watched MTV reality shows) I was like oh, man, I don’t know, this seems like it might be trashy and exploitative

MARCHAE: I do agree Lizzie... it’s weird because my brain wants this to be a straight drama

yet i am oddly satisfied with the moments of comedic relief

LIZ: I didn’t think the stylization was OVER THE TOP

MIRI: Yeah, it’s a hard show to sell but SO GOOD

LIZ: theres a lot of comedy

MIRI: I think it all works together beautifully

LIZ: agreed

I was pretty much in love

KRIS: I was almost upset at how good it was

MIRI: For me, the cold open of ep one says it all

KRIS: I had to text Miri immediately

LIZ: and then they were singing defying gravity in the car and i was like

KRIS: THERE’S A LEVERAGE WRITER

MIRI: You were definitely upset

KRIS: THE EMOTIONAL CLIMAX IS A WICKED SINGALONG

MIRI: THERE IS???

LIZ: yeah

MIRI: WHo?

KRIS: BRANDON MYCHAL SMITH FROM YOU’RE THE WORST

M Scott Veach

MIRI: Cool!

LIZ: oh end of sentence about defying gravity.. i felt like the show understood my soul

MIRI: Moment of appreciation for Brandon Mychal Smith playing SUCH a different type of comedy equally well

LIZ: ALSO.. it takes a certain type of weird ass show for all 4 of us to be VERY on board.. and I also like that about it

KRIS: He’s one of the only men who can say the word “bitch” and not make me a little uncomfortable

MIRI: True!

hahahahaha

LIZ: Is that Harris?

MIRI: Yes!

KRIS: Yeah

LIZ: I LOVE HIM

MIRI: Yay!

KRIS: One of the reasons I really wanted us to do 3 episodes was so you could see the start of his thing with Fiona

LIZ: What do you think about that?

MIRI: Is that the sorority girl?

KRIS: I like it!

Lemon as the one of us with the most first-hand sorority expertise what’s your general sense of the Zeta dynamic?

LIZ: I identify with the sorority characters who are actually smarter and much more .. defined as human beings than most would give them credit for or that they initially come off as

KRIS: (Harris gets crystallized so instantly with the line “I’m not saying I have sexual dreams about Ruth Bader Ginsberg... but I’m also not saying I don’t”)

LIZ: I mean.. I had several (male) friends and family members say to me when I joined my very small.. one of a kind local sorority.. “oh so you’re a sorostitute?”

MIRI: SUCH A LINE

LIZ: Yes i have a note about the RBG line

MIRI: UM that’s horrible and fuck them

LIZ: right, but that kind of mentality and characterization of college aged women who are friends with other women in the form of a sorority is so widespread

MIRI: The pilot honestly does SO much to characterize Jules, Ophelia, and Harris so quickly

KRIS: I do really like how they initially lean into the less generous expectations about sororities and then flesh out I think all of those characters in great ways

Mackenzie was a sleeper favorite for me

(the anxious redhead safety chair)

LIZ: this gives them facets.. like fuck what you thought about me and also.. I don’t have to not like to do my makeup or sometimes dress up for me to be a smart or valid female.

MIRI: I feel like Kennedy takes a little longer, but not in a bad way

Liz, you are amazing and I love you

LIZ: i don’t know many shows that give girls that kind of credit.. very legally blonde of this show..except Elle Woods was the exception there

MARCHAE: They have to save Kennedy (I say this not Having seen more than 4 epi)

KRIS: You will be pleased

MIRI: Definitely

LIZ: Visually, I am impressed with the shows set designs, makeup, and wardrobe

MARCHAE: I feel like they have to hold her close because of nick and Jules

LIZ: hold who close?

oh kennedy

MARCHAE: (Also back to thumbs on the phone)

KRIS: I LOVE the world-building, especially on what I assume is a pretty small budget

MIRI: I do love her moment when Ophelia tells her she has a very calming presence and she’s just like “I know"

LIZ: yeah i am also worried about her

KRIS: Lemon talk about makeup

MIRI: Yeah!

LIZ: ITS EXPENSIVE

KRIS: (please)

LIZ: what else?

oh as far as this show is concerned

MIRI: yes, world building

LIZ: Jules and Ophelia (yes to the names btw)

have such amazing looks and their hair is bouncy like they are comic book drawings, but their makeup isn’t like that (bc that would be fucking bizarre) and I love how the fresh rosy-cheeked and bright eyed look of Jules is enhanced with her makeup and Ophelia’s brows and eye makeup are dark and defined/ grungy at times, but she is also kind of sweet because they don’t cake her up or give her a heavy lip.. idk if that makes sense to anyone else

their eyes are so expressive as actresses

and then they’re important because of the ninja outfits

MIRI: That all makes sense to me and I would never have thought of it at all

KRIS: it is right on the edge of my comprehension

MIRI: Sidebar: SUPER excited for you to see more Orphan Black and discuss that makeup

LIZ: but I am pleased with the fine line between real world and cartoonish that the MUA on this show kind of stride beautifully to give them unique looks that foil one another and bring out their strengths and sometimes their faults

KRIS: Ophelia I think I understand best in this context

MARCHAE: YESS LIZ!!!

I do want to ask a question

LIZ: It is more subtle with Jules, because she is made to look more fresh, but I mean everyone on any show has lots of makeup on

ok done w makeup ranting/ observing

MIRI: What’s up, Marchae?

MARCHAE: *sorry liz...go on***

LIZ: oh no thats pretty much it

are you getting things in real time marchae? (with your computer)

MARCHAE: I wanted to chime in about wardrobe because it’s super similar to the way in which makeup is handled... and you definitely know who these people are and the kind of persons that this show is trying to share

MIRI: Ooh, please do!

LIZ: oh yes, the wardrobe feels almost theater like to me.. do you agree or am i wrong

MARCHAE: ( It was touch and go for a moment but me and my thumbs are finally #winning on the computer... I couldn’t take the tiny keyboard anymore)

LIZ: bless you for trying

MIRI: I never really notice Ophelia’s wardrobe that much, but the props they have for her are iconic and say so much

MARCHAE: I think it does... the show feels VERY comicbook-esq like I mentioned it reminds me very much in aesthetics to deadly class and there is another comic that focuses on a high school that I’m blanking on

LIZ: was this ever a graphic novel or comic book?

MARCHAE: but you get a lot in terms of wardrobe via colors that they use for these characters... Ophelia is almost always in darks, Jules in pinks and pastels

I quick checked and didn’t see it

KRIS: it was original to Jenn Kaytin Robinson

I mean she did a shit ton of research, and the producers watched The Hunting Ground and stuff

LIZ: nice..and yes I agree with the colors

MARCHAE: But these choices are interesting because they are almost opposite to the characters we meet in the show

LIZ: and the fact that Jules keeps her identity even as a vigilante with her pink backpack

MARCHAE: so Jules we meet as the original vigilante and she’s the one in the brightest colors ALWAYS in the show

LIZ: and then Ophelia has that car!

MARCHAE: that backpack is definitely our hint

MIRI: Because she’s trying SO hard to still be that girl

KRIS: Oh that’s so interesting. Jules is super dark and “damaged” and Ophelia’s ultimately a sweetheart.

MARCHAE: and Ophelia is always in darks

LIZ: right!?

MARCHAE: **taps nose at kris**

MIRI: I like that even when they put Jules in the Spitters are Quitters shirt, it’s light colored

MARCHAE: so its totally the opposite of what we see

in terms of how they are portrayed in their “normal life”

any who enough of my rant

LIZ: I find Ophelia to be much more innocent.. not because of being sexually assaulted, but because she is kind of playing catch up and barfs when she kills a guy and Jules obviously took this mission upon herself to become a kick ass fighter and to start doing something

MARCHAE: liz i absolutely agree

ophelia definitely the more innocent seeming of the two

KRIS: Ophelia’s so fucking great

MIRI: Yeah, Ophelia thinks of herself as So Hardcore but is basically a sweet 19 yr old with some abandonment issues

I love her

MARCHAE: and she tells you as much in her dialogue

LIZ: I love her!

MARCHAE: some is an understatement miri

KRIS: I loved the vomiting and I don’t even know why

MARCHAE: she has ALL the abandonment issues

LIZ: i loved that it was pink

MIRI: Because it’s pink!

KRIS: I guess the unexplained pink?

MARCHAE: the vomiting is AMAZINNNGNGGGGGGGGG

LIZ: yes

MIRI: It’s absurd and so totally the show

LIZ: hahahha

KRIS: wow we are ALL on a wavelength tonight

MIRI: But it is!

LIZ: like.. I don’t need to see chunky soup barf

i get it

MIRI: The show is 100% going to show you the puking

MARCHAE: i usually don’t want to see it at all period ever

but it works for the show

MIRI: But it’s also going to make it funny and stylized

MARCHAE: and that character as kind of a she seems hard core but is not!

OH OH

KRIS: LeBong James

MIRI: YES

MARCHAE: so my question and this was a thing that kind of made me curious

LEBONGGGGG

MIRI: She’s a nerd ❤️

LIZ: There is a lot of suspension of disbelief in this show.. not bc girls can’t fight injustices, but because of how they should’ve gotten caught and how Ophelias mad hacker skills save the day alot

LEBONNNGGGGGGG

MIRI: I feel weird being the only one who hasn’t said LeBong

MARCHAE: (THEY MURDERED SOMEONE CLUMSILY AND CHICA BARFED ALL OVER THE SCENE!!!!DNA MUCH)

there it goes

LIZ: Also the male assailants aren’t even cookie cutter like on other shows or movies

MIRI: I KNOW BUT JUST GO WITH IT

KRIS: Without spoiling anything I’ll say they’re generally really good about chickens coming home to roost

Maybe not DNA specifically? But the show is serious about Consequences

MARCHAE: so question... what institution do they go to where there is an assult like every freaking second

LIZ: they are all different and some are even charming (most are) and they have different personalities and hobbies.. like Nate is acting like a really good boyfriend to Kennedy so if we didn’t know what he’s capable of, we’d forgive his jerk reaction to her missing his football thing bc of his super sweet apology

MIRI: Well, it’s Darlington University, right?

KRIS: Well A) that doesn’t actually strike me as unrealistic but B) I got the sense of a “backlog” of assaults -- they’re using that wall, which was started who knows how long ago

MIRI: So it’s at least big enough to have masters programs

KRIS: not responding to like the student weekly or something

MIRI: True

LIZ: i mean i know so many people in so many schools (large, small, medium and very small) who all have sexual assault stories

MARCHAE: thanks for the wall reminder

LIZ: i didn’t find the number to be at all shocking

KRIS: yeah

MARCHAE: I think maybe again its the dissonance of this being a drama/comedy that has me a bit jarred

LIZ: maybe the number of guys that were turned in or reported seems high, but SO FUCKING MANY are floating around in my mind right now

MARCHAE: i dealt with lots (more than i have ever wanted to) but not weekly by any stretch

that definitely doesn’t mean it wasn’t happening

MIRI: Well, just because the show aired every week doesn’t mean it’s only a week in universe

LIZ: right

thats true

MARCHAE: thanks gang

MIRI: And Kris is right--they definitely go into past exploits some

KRIS: That wall, man

MIRI: It is BRUTAL and so effective

MARCHAE: yeah the reminder of the wall definitely does it.... i literally was like

DAMN this is INSANE and darlington should be shut the hell down

KRIS: I texted Miri something like “I never do this but there’s a pure drama beat that made me 😭😭😭😭”

LIZ: I wish every college had a wall

KRIS: and it was definitely Ophelia handing Jules the Sharpie

MIRI: He did and I treasure that text

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

LIZ: oh something that I meant to google.. could be such a coincidence

MARCHAE: UGHHHH

LIZ: at my college, in the same kind of font.. the party dorm/ suites were called “Reimert Hall” and they are like “see you at Leimert” spelled the same and then they show “Leimert Hall” and it is creepily spot on

KRIS: Huh

MIRI: Whoa

LIZ: not related to the wall

separate

MARCHAE: we did have a question from one of our readers and I promised I would bring it up to react to

LIZ: lol.. it is student housing but.. idk weird to me but maybe not to anyone else

MIRI: Yes, I want to talk about that!!!

LIZ: go for it! I don’t know the question

MARCHAE: about student housing or the question from our loyal reader

i get confused sometimes

KRIS: our loyal reader

LIZ: I’m assuming she means from the reader

MIRI: The question

yes

MARCHAE: BWHA

sorry

LIZ: mine was just a point thrown out and doesn’t really leave much to comment on haha

MIRI: Share the question with us, Marchae

MARCHAE: OH MY GRIEF I am typing then stop to read...

LIZ: I know.. Kris and Miri are too fast for me

MARCHAE: ok so the reader wants to know if we read Ophelia as bi

MIRI: Sorry!

KRIS: NO STOPPING the overlapping is half of our charm

MIRI: Omg Kris

LIZ: There was one thing that made me think that

MARCHAE: GO!

MIRI: Ok, I am deeply bi-ased (hahahahahah) so I want yawl to discuss it first

LIZ: hahaha

MARCHAE: STAP!

MIRI: 😉

MARCHAE: go lizzie

@miri you are my everything LOL

LIZ: Harris said something about her being with Jule (I’m having a brain fart and can’t remember if it is jules or rule..)

MARCHAE: her being with rules?

LIZ: and I think Ophelia was like “not like that” kind of blushing

jULE*

damnit

KRIS: For all of my striving toward wokeness I am generally still slow to pick up on, I guess, Sapphic vibes -- although being a social media-engaged Supergirl fan is training me better -- but I did also note that on my rewatch

LIZ: but it was a micro second kind of moment that made me think.. oh she dates girls too.. cool

so what do you think Kris

KRIS: This is pretty convincing to me:

http://wistfulwatcher.tumblr.com/post/154191025349/harris-has-most-definitely-seen-ofeefs-kissing-a

MIRI: Kris I offer my services if you ever need a consultant on this quest

LIZ: OHHH and PERSON yes thats smart

MARCHAE: AHHHHHHHHHHH

I didn’t even pick up on it!

MIRI: Ahhhhhhhh shit I didn’t even notice the person thing

MARCHAE: SWEET

i also think there is a lot of tension with Ophelia

MIRI: Ok, Reacting to Something officially rules Ophelia to be bi

Or pan, who knows

LIZ: I kind of also thought that was just a more interesting way of putting it.. like IS THERE A LIVE HUMAN JUST RIGHT THERE IN YOUR HOUSE?

MARCHAE: the writing and ACTING are smart like that

KRIS: And on my search for gifs to add to the post later, the scene in the cemetery -- “I think you’re amazing” -- seemed to be another touchstone

MARCHAE: yes!

MIRI: So when we got this question I was like “huh, are people seeing that?

Outside of shipping her and Jules?”

MARCHAE: but we also know that Ophelia doesn’t have friends

MIRI: But upon rewatch it’s pretty solidly set up

MARCHAE: so before the question i suspected that she was just kind of enjoying her new friendship with this person

LIZ: wait whats solidly set up

MARCHAE: she’s wanted that

LIZ: her being bi?

KRIS: yes

LIZ: just confirming

MARCHAE: then after the question we received not only did I pay more attention, but I think again there is definitely some tension

MIRI: I’m honestly so jaded from shows that like to dip their toe in the idea of something happening but will never go for it that I tend to only accept stated queerness

MARCHAE: and she might have a crush on jules!

MIRI: But it does feel very genuine and deliberate here

Which is lovely!

MARCHAE: agreed miri

LIZ: good!

K: consider it canon

KRIS: I think it was a writers room with only one straight man

LIZ: Im HERE FOR THAT

MARCHAE: That’s kind of awesome!

KRIS: (the past tense here kills me)

MIRI: I love it

UGhhhhhhhh I know

LIZ: wait

is it done?

forever

KRIS: I don’t think I’ve ever been so upset about a cancellation

LIZ: LAWD

MARCHAE: yup

LIZ: I CANT

KRIS: They’re shopping it to streaming sites

MIRI: Guys, sorry we’re making you fall in love with a cancelled show

LIZ: THIS FUCKING WEEK

MARCHAE: yeah i found out today

yeah

MIRI: OMG did we not tell you???

LIZ: *BREAK FOR EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN*

MARCHAE: i was PISSED OFF

LIZ: NO

I DIDNT KNOW

MIRI: I’M SO SORRY!!!!!!!

MARCHAE: and like this is why I DON”T WATCH TV

LIZ: This is the devils week. why not this too!?

anyways

MARCHAE: LOLOL

LIZ: also.. good girls revolt was amazing (to me)

MIRI: I loved it!

MARCHAE: also can i just have my moment for the fact that this show also digs into the issue of racism

LIZ: why can’t bad bitches get a win? why

yes

MARCHAE: and handles it kind of nicely

KRIS: That scene was surprisingly upsetting

LIZ: super upsetting

KRIS: I love that it’s the cop we saw be nice to Jules

MIRI: Yes! Let’s talk about that froyo scene

It’s so well done

MARCHAE: reminded me of trayvon martin

MIRI: And the other cop recognizing that it’s wrong, but not stepping up enough to actually stop it

MARCHAE: i also love that is it harris?

LIZ: like he was being racially profiled.. but he also had the one good thing he was looking forward to smashed on the ground

MARCHAE: yup

LIZ: yeah just kind of being like “sorry, but this is kind of what we do, i won’t stop it”

MARCHAE: it is heartbreaking and realistic

KRIS: That younger cop also comes back

MIRI: I’m glad that they played it very seriously

LIZ: ooo

MARCHAE: I was glad that he didn’t want to be seen as only one kind of black when he fought back with the paper editor as well

KRIS: This show has a really deep bench of minor-ish supporting characters

MARCHAE: they better had!

KRIS: MM I think that’s episode 4

On a lighter note I also really appreciate the importance of froyo to the world-building of this college town

LIZ: yes I’m not familiar

MARCHAE: YES

MIRI: Froyo continues to matter

As does pizza

MARCHAE: and dairy queen soft serve

LIZ: In college, we would plan a whole trek to froyo (we got one a few min away my senior year)

MARCHAE: GURL

MIRI: We once drove to Waffle House at 4 am in the snow

In South Carolina

KRIS: From earlier than I remembered, too -- Ophelia running away from Barton and running into a guy carrying a cup -- “Tart?!”

MIRI: where they can’t handle snow

KRIS: YES the pizza place

MIRI: Huh? What is the cup thing?

KRIS: of froyo

LIZ: Food culture in college .. is something very important and lets think abouthtat

MIRI: OHHHH

KRIS: Ophelia has no patience for Basic things, clearly

MIRI: Also that running away scene is great

LIZ: and by think of that .. I mean.. remember fondly when 4th meals were a thing and breakfast at night reigned supreme.

MIRI: Ophelia has a lot of opinions and I have a lot of feelings about her

KRIS: (I love Jules’s “I like sunsets on Instagram”)

LIZ: ophelia is hilarious.. i love her comment “she’s literate”

KRIS: Ophelia’s ramen diet

MARCHAE: LOL

LIZ: and also that girl [Fiona] trying to be sexy and saying “there are no drapes” so seriously

MIRI: Yeah I definitely want to see that girl eat a vegetable

LIZ: and giving up and being like “IM SHAVED” ahaha

KRIS: Lemon I laughed so loud at “She’s literate?” on my rewatch

MIRI: I love that girl!

MARCHAE: there are a ton of one liners

LIZ: yeah the popcorn for breakfast made even me feel like OH HONEY NO NUTRIENTS

KRIS: So real

MARCHAE: that’s usually my breakfast on sundays after i mop

LIZ: miri what are your many opinions about ophelia

MARCHAE: and i’m old

MIRI: WAIT

LIZ: my dogs eat better than I do so I get it

MIRI: Marchae eat real meals please I worry

LIZ: and you mop before you eat

MARCHAE: yes almost every sunday

MIRI: Ok back to my many opinions: as stated I LOVE HER

LIZ: i had a banana, fake chicken, vegan pasta and granola today.. that is kind of healthy

MIRI: I also really love her need to belong

MARCHAE: i eat popcorn, drink a pepsi and catch up on my shows

LIZ: her need to belong to who or what

KRIS: just in general

LIZ: I guess I am really new

MARCHAE: YES

KRIS: to have friends, to have a cause

MIRI: She’s obsessed with the idea that she’s this cool fuckup who doesn’t need people, but she needs people so MUCH

LIZ: I get that

MARCHAE: its evident from episode one almost immediately

LIZ: we all do! even when we aren’t good at.. people!

MIRI: She jumps head first into this insane vigilante thing

LIZ: MARCHAE

MIRI: and kicks it into a higher gear

LIZ: STOP DRINKING SODA

MARCHAE: i think it makes her so relatable too and you fall in love with her

LIZ: IT WILL KILL YOU

MARCHAE: (mostly only on SUNDAY AFTER MOPPING but WITH POPCORN)

LIZ: I know, she is the perfect.. not robin.. robin

MIRI: She hurts Harris so easily but would be devastated if she actually lost him

LIZ: yeah i love her apology scene to him

MARCHAE: but he loves her no matter what

MIRI: She thinks she’s beyond needing that sort of connection because she can’t have it with her mom

LIZ: just a girl standing in front of a boy.. asking for her job back

KRIS: Yes her bad-friend-ness is great

MARCHAE: *snap snap snaps fingrs*

MIRI: But she’s wrong

KRIS: Dammit Ophelia you know I can’t resist Notting Hill

MIRI: and she needs people so badly

Also she’s just hilarious and brilliant and I love her and Harris’s friendship so much

LIZ: her mom was so rude to her on the phone it made me sad especially because Jules doesn’t have a mom.. and I know those were really briefly introduced to me, but I’m sure those are important issues

MIRI: OH YOU JUST WAIT

On the subject of friendship, there are a ton of examples of girls being very affirmational to each other that really interest me

LIZ: I also love that Harris is.. presumably straight and is not afraid to love RBG or Notting Hill

KRIS: I’m so jealous you’re experiencing this show for the first time

MIRI: Because sometimes they’re played for laughs

But not most of the time

and I love that

MARCHAE: YES!

MIRI: Like, the high girls just need to hug!

LIZ: I wanted to be in the back seat of their car screaming along to Defying Gravity

MIRI: And sometimes Kennedy is a bit ridiculous with her goddess stuff

MARCHAE: i love your love for defying gravity liz

MIRI: But for the most part it is 100% genuine

MARCHAE: Kennedy is the most

MIRI: And so what I do with my friends

LIZ: yeah kennedy suggesting that shit to ophelia was HILARIOUS

basically like “HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO GOOP.COM?”

MIRI: kennedy is indeed the most

MARCHAE: I am so CURIOUS about what happens when Jules tells her

KRIS: That shot where I assume Fiona and Gabby are on a dolly when they enter Vinylton high on shrooms is perfect

MIRI: So I love that there’s drunk girl in the bathroom type compliments and Woke Freshman type compliments AND really genuine support for each other

KRIS: sorry I was just slow there

LIZ: i think that kennedy will eventually (i mean who knows since it is cancelled) be an ally and join the cause or at least be supportive in a protective way

MIRI: OH JUST WAIT

MARCHAE: if she does I may ink myself!!!

KRIS: I repeat, I am so jealous you’re experiencing this show for the first time

MIRI: It’s a very well plotted season and that is all I will say

MARCHAE: *hugs kris*

UGHHHH i’ll probably finish it this weekend

LIZ: hahaha kris I’m feeling like that repetition is to keep yourself from spoiling

KRIS: There is Jules-Kennedy closure, for sure

Yeah, so, we went really long, even for us. Find the rest of our Reaction here.

EDITED 20 April 2019: You can and should buy Sweet/Vicious on Amazon, Google Play, or iTunes. If you’re here because you just watched Jennifer Kaytin Robinson’s Someone Great, maybe now’s a good time to renew calls for Netflix to add S/V to its library.

#sweet/vicious #juphelia #jules thomas #ophelia mayer #save sweet vicious #miri #liz #marchae #kris #tv #pilot #superheroes #miri is a mom friend #and liz is a daughter of physicians #hence the concern over marchae's diet #they're not wrong #robin's a bitch #feminism #reaction

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lpdwillwrite4coffee · 4 years

Text

BLOODY SUNRISE CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The next two days were spent fortifying their temporary home in case it needed to become more permanent. Safety measures were taken for each entrance. Downstairs windows were boarded up to prevent Geeks from smashing inside. Caitlin devised a latch and rope mechanism for both the front and back doors, so they could be barricaded quickly with just the yank of a cord. And the bodies of the Geeks they’d killed were left to add their repulsive stench to their wards.

They turned the farmhouse into a fortress.

The perfect place to get their bearings. To debate their future. To plan.

Caitlin first noticed something was wrong when Booker reached for a can on a high shelf and halted stiffly.

It was only for a second or two, and he shook it off, but she couldn’t deny the pit that formed in her stomach.

That night, when he’d playfully hauled her close, she’d instinctively grabbed his shoulders and Booker grunted in pain, flinching away from her.

“Jack?”

Then she remembered. They’d never cleaned his wound. They’d been stuck in that filthy basement for a whole day, praying the Geeks wouldn’t notice them, and had completely forgotten his cut.

“Let me see it,” she ordered, already pulling his shirt up.

“Cae, don’t—”

“Would you stop fighting me, and just take your shirt off?”

He snorted. “Wish you were sayin’ that under different circumstances.”

“Off. Now.”

Booker relented, tugging on the fabric. But as he went to lift his arms, he hissed in pain, and Caitlin helped him the rest of the way.

The gash on his shoulder was a deep, angry red, the skin around it inflamed and swollen. Just looking at it made her queasy.

“Jack, this looks infected,” she said, barely touching the skin around it and feeling how hot it was.

“Nah, it’ll be alright.”

She glared at him. “What, are you gonna wish real hard and hope it goes away?”

“I’ve been washin’ it, keepin’ it dry…”

“I don’t think any of that matters if you were cut by a rusty nail.” She frowned as she inspected it again. “I’m getting Nicole so she can look.”

Booker grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Darlin’ don’t, she’s prob’ly asleep.”

“And you’re gonna end up with gangrene or something.” She was out the bedroom door before he could convince her otherwise.

Luckily Nicole wasn’t asleep at all, and in another moment Booker had two women concerned over him.

“That’s definitely infected,” Nicole said.

Caitlin tossed a look at Booker. “See?”

He huffed. “Fine, I’ll wipe it down with somethin’ and slap some Neosporin on there.”

Nicole frowned. “I don’t know, Booker… When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”

Leaning his forearms into his thighs, Booker shrugged. “Dunno… When I was in the service maybe?”

“How long ago was that?”

“A while.”

Nicole chewed her bottom lip as she looked over his wound again.

“Scott would know more than me…” She murmured. “But I think the best thing to do now is try to clean it with something like rubbing alcohol and put a compress on there to draw out the infection.”

Booker glanced at Caitlin. “The kit have rubbin’ alcohol?”

“I think so.” She was already on her way to getting it from downstairs. When she returned, she opened it up on the bed. “There’s alcohol wipes… Will that work?”

“It’s better than nothing,” Nicole told her. “Is there gauze and tape?”

“Yeah,” she said, holding it all up.

Nicole took it from her, ripping open a wipe. Caitlin found the small bottle of rubbing alcohol, but it was nearly gone. They used it anyway.

Booker flinched when Caitlin poured it over his cut, but he didn’t say anything. After a minute of tending to him, they covered his gash with gauze and tapped it up, careful not to push too hard on the irritated skin.

“Take a couple Tylenol before you go to bed and sleep on your other side,” Nicole told him, helping to repack their First Aid kit. “We’ll have to keep an eye on it for the next few days and change the bandages as often as possible to keep it clean.”

“Thanks, Doc,” he said with a grin, standing up.

Patting his arm, Nicole wished them both good night and shut the door behind her.

As soon as the lock clicked, Booker was reaching for Caitlin, but she swatted his hands.

“You need rest.”

“Cae—”

“Nope. I’m getting you Tylenol and water and you’re going to bed, mister.”

He rolled his eyes but there was a fondness in his smile that warmed her chest. Booker was letting her take care of him for a change. He’d let her in.

Heading for the hall bathroom, she searched the medicine cabinet and found the right bottle of extra strength pills. She paused, filling a water cup, staring at the pale green pattern around the rim.

If the world wasn’t broken, their life would look an awful lot like this.

The house from her dream, with the butter yellow curtains and big kitchen table. The ring on her finger. Dinners together in front of the TV. Getting a wine buzz at eight-thirty at night on a Tuesday. Lazy weekends spent tangled together in bed.

Work. Neighborhood cookouts. Anniversaries. Maybe even kids.

It would have been a good life.

But if the world wasn’t broken, they may have never found each other.

A trade off she didn’t have the heart to wish for.

Going back to their borrowed bedroom, she handed Booker his medicine and the water glass, and watched him swallow.

“Don’t I get a lollipop for bein’ a good patient?” He winked at her.

She grinned and motioned for him to get into bed. “When you’re healed up I’ll give you a surprise.”

“Lookin’ forward to it.”

She fell asleep with Booker’s arms wrapped around her, and dreamt of the house, the ring, the life they’d just have to do without.

***

Caitlin awoke to a room cast in grey light and a strange shuddering noise in her ear.

Blinking, she rolled her head on the pillow, trying to get her bearings.

The mattress was trembling behind her and she turned to look. “Booker?”

He had the comforter pulled all the way up to his temple, arms crossed in front of him as he shivered.

“Jack?” She turned over, facing him. “Hey, Jack…”

“Cold in here, ain’t it,” he muttered, teeth clacking together.

Panic spiked through her. The room was balmy no thanks to the summer heat and she was sweating through her tee shirt. She hadn’t felt a chill in weeks.

Pressing the back of her hand to his cheek, she gasped. “Jack, you’re burning up.”

He grunted, damp forehead wrinkling in a frown. “’M’alright.”

“No, no you’re not.” Flinging the blankets back, she clamored out of bed, running to get more Tylenol and water.

The noise of doors slamming open brought Nicole out of her room, rubbing her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Caitlin didn’t slow as she rushed back to the bedroom. “Booker’s sick.”

That woke Nicole up immediately. “Fever?”

“And chills,” Caitlin told her, kneeling on the bed. “Jack? Jack, sit up, you gotta take this.”

Barely aware, he pushed onto his forearm, but was so weak he couldn’t keep himself up. Cupping the back of his head, Caitlin angled him to open his mouth for the tablets and water.

“Do you have a thermometer?” Nicole asked, rummaging through the kit.

“No, and there isn’t one in the bathroom.”

Nicole mimicked Caitlin’s test, pressing her hand to Booker’s face.

“Jesus, he’s on fire.”

Caitlin’s throat threatened to close. “It’s the infection, right? It got worse, we didn’t catch it in time.”

Nicole grimaced. “I think so.” Looking to her friend, she said, “We gotta get his fever down.”

Ripping the blankets off him, Caitlin was already fighting to lift Booker off the bed. “Help me get him to the shower.” Looping her arm under his, she said, “Jack? Jack, I need you to stand up, okay?”

He was ghostly pale and shivering so badly he couldn’t walk a straight line. It took an incredible amount of effort, but they finally got him into the tub, propping him against the wall.

Caitlin winced as she turned the cold-water knob. “Sorry, Booker.”

He let out a surprised groan as the spray hit him and ducked his head to keep his face out of it.

“This isn’t going to be enough,” Nicole told her. “We need ice.”

“You saw the fridge downstairs, it’s been busted for weeks. We don’t have ice.”

Nicole’s concerned stare darted to Booker. “How much Tylenol do we have left?”

“Half a bottle,” she said, splashing cool water on the back of his neck and the insides of his wrists.

Caitlin’s rib cage suddenly felt too tight under her skin, organs being squeezed. She couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen…

“’M okay, songbird,” Booker mumbled, streams of water running down his brow ridge. “I’ll be alright.”

She wanted to cry. He was on the verge of blood poisoning, fever nearly frying his brain, and he was still trying to comfort her.

“Nicole, double check the bathrooms, the kitchen, anywhere you can think. Pain meds, antibiotics, look for it all, okay?”

Nicole nodded and hurried out, leaving Caitlin to tend to Booker.

“Y’getting’ bossy?” Booker asked, tilting his head to try to look at her.

She smiled, despite the fear bubbling up her esophagus. “You know you like it.”

Combing her fingers through his wet hair, she comforted him as the icy water rained down. He was drenched and shivering but never complained.

She cupped his jaw, running her thumb over his cheek.

You’re gonna be okay.

I’m here.

I love you.

Nicole returned minutes later carrying a grungy bottle of generic aspirin and a couple washcloths. “This was all I could find.”

Caitlin nodded her thanks, but dread had a firm grasp on her insides.

Booker was only going to get worse. He needed antibiotics to fight the infection, more Tylenol to bring his fever down.

They were already running out of time.

“Songbird,” he mumbled, reaching for her hand weakly. “Don’t…”

Don’t worry.

Don’t leave.

Don’t put yourself at risk for me.

Gripping his fingers, she clenched her jaw.

It was the only time she’d ever refuse to listen to him.

�� ***

Zipping her pack, Caitlin ran through the list in her head.

Enough water for a day, the revolver was loaded, and she had half a box of ammo, she was taking the hatchet from the shed, the map…

“Caitlin, I should go,” Nicole said from behind her. “You should be here with Booker.”

She shook her head. “You’re still recovering, I’m not going to make you go on a run by yourself.”

“Then let me come with you.”

“Booker’s in no condition to take care of himself, especially if another herd of Geeks comes through.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Nicole said, pitch rising with worry. “And we’re miles from any store—”

“I can make it.” She finished checking her pack and slung it over her shoulder.

“At least take the Jeep.”

Caitlin shook her head. “You need it. In case something happens, you take Booker and you get the hell out.”

“What about you?”

Her gaze was level on her friend as she said, “I’ll find you.”

Nicole blinked back angry tears. “How? How will you know where to go, how will we find you?”

“I found you once before, I’ll find you again.”

Nicole gripped the back of the kitchen chair so tight her knuckles went white. “Caitlin—” She cut herself off, taking a deep breath. “This is reckless. You shouldn’t go out there alone, without anyone to watch your back. And what if something happens to you? How will we know? What do I tell Booker if you don’t come home?”

Her resolve was already steel in her bones.

“Booker’s infection is only going to get worse,” she said. “I will not just sit here and watch my lover die knowing full well there’s something I can do to help him. I survived almost a month on my own, I can handle a day trip into town.”

Anger and worry etched deep lines in Nicole’s face. “Caitlin—”

“I know. I’m scared too.” After a moment, she jerked her chin at the paper clutched in Nicole’s other hand. “Did you write down what I need to get?”

Nodding, she handed it to her. “I wrote out the three antibiotics I remember, and the generic name in case that’s all they have.”

“Thank you.” Tucking the paper into her jeans pocket, Caitlin adjusted her pack. “If I’m not back by tomorrow—”

“Please don’t,” Nicole interrupted, tremor in her voice. “It feels like you’re jinxing it or something.”

Caitlin held her stare and said, “The Jeep is packed with emergency supplies. It’s enough to last you a week. Booker will fight you tooth and nail, but you have to promise me you’ll get him out too.”

Nicole nodded once.

“Good.” Caitlin headed for the door. Hand on the knob, she glanced over her shoulder. “Stay safe.”

She left before she could hear Nicole’s teary response.

***

She prayed to a god she wasn’t sure she believed in.

Booker believed. Maybe that was enough. Maybe God would listen on his behalf.

It was well past noon before the first viable township came into view. She could see the clusters of Geeks trudging through the streets, but nothing like the herd from days before.

She could outrun them. Fight them if she had to.

The broken Walgreens sign was her only beacon, a filthy lighthouse she couldn’t help but place all her hope in.

She managed to avoid a few Geeks by sheer speed alone. She stuck to alleys, careful not to get herself trapped in with any undead.

Clearly the place had been looted weeks before, the back door swinging open with ease. She wanted to rush in, but she knew the odds of a zombie being inside and she couldn’t risk being hasty.

Holding her breath, she listened.

Something was knocking around in an aisle, maybe a few meters away.

Adjusting her grip on the hatchet, Caitlin slipped inside, easing the door shut behind her.

Head on a swivel, Cae, Booker’s voice echoed in her head. Slow and steady. Clear a place before you start scavenging. Don’t need any surprises.

He’d been such a stickler for securing a building. Military training rearing its head each time they went out for supplies.

Aisle by aisle she searched for the thing making noise—metal on metal, clink-clinking and scuffling.

Rounding a corner, she saw movement and jerked back, pulse spiking.

Easy. Don’t get spooked. Just take it out clean, just like I showed you.

Inhaling, she tightened her grip on the hatchet and moved forward.

The possum devouring the contents of a busted can lifted its head and hissed, clearly upset at the disturbance.

Caitlin covered her mouth to stop from crying out, and then to stifle her laughter.

A possum. Of course.

Booker would have killed it anyway—good meat, he’d say—but she left the thing alone. They both needed the win.

She finished clearing the small store and beelined for the pharmacy at the back. Surprisingly most of the prescriptions had been left alone, but that was probably due to the fact they were almost all antidepressants and allergy medicine.

Pulling out the slip of paper, she reread Nicole’s writing. There had to be at least one bottle of antibiotics…

Groaning in frustration, she hopped over the counter, heading for the back. Searching the shelves frantically, Caitlin discovered bottles marked alphabetically and squatted down near the section she thought might prove fruitful.

Reading a label again, she checked the paper once more and nearly cried. It was the brand name antibiotic Nicole said would work fastest.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, grabbing the container and dumping the pills into the plastic bag she’d brought.

In her elation she spotted a small amount of Vicodin and grabbed that too, stuffing it into her pack.

Her last item—fever reducer—was easy to find closer to where the filled prescriptions were kept. She had just tucked the bottle in with the antibiotics when she heard another door swing open, heavy boots crunching on debris.

“Man, I told you—”

“Shut up, idiot, it’s in the back.”

Caitlin dropped down into a squat, hiding behind the counter. These were not Geeks, nor were they the voices she expected from a military goon squad.

Two sets of boots stomped through the store, kicking at cans and casually searching the shelves.

“Ain’t nothin’ left in here t’eat,” one man said.

“We’ll eat after we get what we came for.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. They were coming closer.

Caitlin scanned the back of the pharmacy section. No exit.

Shit.

Silently crawling behind another shelving unit, she hoped she could wait them out. The two men were making enough noise to bring down a cluster of Geeks if they weren’t careful.

“What’s Well-Bu-trin?” One sounded out.

“I dunno, I think it makes ya happy or sumthin’.”

Caitlin prayed they were there for allergy pills.

She was wrong.

“Oh, shit man, grab that Xanax.”

“Why?”

“You ever crush that shit up and snort it? Fuckin’ get ya lit, man.”

Caitlin scowled. Great, she was trapped with a couple of pill poppers.

The world might’ve ended, but people never changed.

She waited and waited but they didn’t leave. And then one of them said to go to the back ‘where the good shit was’ and she knew she was in trouble.

Just when she thought running for it might be her only option, a pair of filthy boots came into view and suddenly she was staring up at one of the guys hunting for something stronger than Claritin.

“Oh-ho!” He hollered. “What’ve we got here?”

He had her by the arm before she could blink, hauling her up.

His face was streaked with dirt and his breath smelled rotten, like he hadn’t used a toothbrush in years.

“Earl?” The other hopped the counter. “Ohhh shit.”

The one holding her arm—Earl—glared down at her. “Whatcha doin’ hiding’ back here, girl?”

Yanking out of his grasp, Caitlin backed up, putting some distance between her and the two men.

“I was just leaving.” She gripped the strap of her pack and started to walk around Earl.

The other stepped in front of her. “What you got in that bag, lil girl?”

Caitlin sneered. “Tampons. Lots and lots of them.”

Earl grimaced while his buddy laughed.

“Ain’t none of those back here,” he said, glancing around at the pharmacy collection.

“Mack, they ain’t got any Oxy,” Earl called from where he was searching the shelves.

Caitlin’s stare bounced between the two men. For a moment she thought about bribing her freedom from them with the Vicodin but decided against it. They wouldn’t get a thing from her.

Mack turned to look at her. “What you really got in that bag, huh?”

“Nothing you want.”

“Oh?” Mack took a step forward. “You sure about that?”

Earl was circling behind her while Mack moved closer. They were pinning her between them.

“Betcha she took it,” Earl said, boots scuffing on the tile.

“Betcha she’s got somethin’ good in there,” Mack added, eyeing her bag.

“I don’t have anything, you assholes.”

“Oh, she’s a live one, Earl.” Mack chuckled, glancing at his buddy. “You’re sure holdin’ onto that pack awfully tight.”

Caitlin didn’t even blink.

Show no fear.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” she said. “Like I said, I was just leaving.”

“’Cept you might be leavin’ with what we want.”

Trying not to curl her lip, she said, “I don’t have any OxyContin.”

Earl slammed his fist against the shelf, making her jump.

“Then where’d it all go?”

Idiots. Two pill popping idiots.

“Probably with one of the other hundreds of people who looted this place,” she snapped, glaring over her shoulder. “Looks like you boys were too late.” Gaze shifting to Mack, she added, “Now, I have somewhere to be. So—”

Mack lifted the tire iron he’d been carrying, pointing it at her. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til we look in that bag.”

“I’ve got a water bottle, a granola bar, and a map.” She pegged him with a hard stare. “Are you really gonna kill me over that?”

His grin was jagged and pure evil. “You think I ain’t killed for less?”

Caitlin’s blood ran cold. These were not men she could bargain with, reason with, or even appeal to their selfish natures. They would take whatever they could from her, and that wasn’t limited to narcotics.

Before she could react, Earl was shoving her forward, grabbing her pack off her shoulder. Mack caught her as she stumbled, twisting her around and holding her by the throat.

“Gotcha,” he laughed in her ear.

As she struggled against him, Earl unzipped her bag to find the Ziploc filled with pills.

“Looks like you’re a lyin’ bitch,” Mack snarled.

“It’s antibiotics,” she told them, straining with his hand around her windpipe.

Earl shook the bag and Mack tsked.

“Yeah, and I’m Santa Claus.”

If someone’s got you from behind, whaddya do? Booker’s voice echoed, the self-defense lessons he gave her rushing back. Easiest parts of a man to hit are his feet, his shins, his groin, his nose.

Mack laughed next to her head, breath just as rank as Earl’s. Caitlin forced herself to inhale deeply, steadying herself.

Strongest weapons you got are already a part of you. Heels, elbows, skull. G’head, show me.

She closed her eyes.

Show ‘em, Cae.

Caitlin brought her heel down on Mack’s toe, and the man yelled. Before he knew what was happening, she reared back, slamming the back of her head into his nose. Blood splattered onto her shoulder as he screamed. With as much force as she could gather, Caitlin jabbed her elbow into his side, and then again lower, and Mack buckled like he was made of popsicle sticks.

“Fuck you!” He rolled on the floor, arms doubled over his groin.

Earl dropped her stuff, rushing for her.

Keep your thumb over those two knuckles, don’t aim for the jaw, go for the nose.

She did just that—Fist colliding with Earl’s nose with a sickening crunch. Blood poured over her hand and down his face as he toppled.

While the men reeled from their injuries, Caitlin ran to gather up her stuff, shoving all the medicine back into her bag.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” Mack yelled, forcing himself to his knees. “I’ll kill you!”

She started to run but Earl grabbed her ankle and she tripped, sprawling on the floor. Kicking out, her heel landed against Earl’s thumb, and she heard it snap. He screamed and let go.

Scrambling, she grabbed her bag and darted for the exit.

Shocking pain lanced up the back of her head and for a split second, her vision was black. Caitlin dropped to the floor again, clutching her head.

The clatter of metal was the only clue as to what hit her. Mack had thrown his tire iron.

Her ears rang, and she curled onto her side as blood seeped through her fingers.

Booker... She had to get back to Booker.

Flipping onto her stomach, she clawed at the tile, dragging herself forward.

“I’ll kill you,” Mack was shouting but it sounded distant to her. “You think you can get away from me?”

The pain was so intense it made her queasy, but Caitlin kept moving, kept pushing onto her hands and knees. Her pack had skidded under a shelf, but she could see it through her tunneling vision.

A hand was on her leg, yanking her backwards. She screamed, flailing her arms out, trying to grab onto anything.

Her fingers circled around something heavy and solid and she twisted, trying to stop herself before she was too close to her attacker.

She registered the sound before anything else.

Like ice crunching under a steel-toed boot.

Blinking, she could finally focus. Could finally see what she’d swung, and what she’d hit.

Mack’s tire iron was bloody and clutched in her hand.

His head was split, gushing red like something out of a horror movie.

Mouth gaping, he collapsed in a heap next to her, unmoving.

If he wasn’t dead, he would be soon.

Gasping, Caitlin pushed away from his body, forcing her feet under her. She was finally upright, but she was swaying violently as she ran to grab her pack.

She heard Earl yelling behind her. He was calling out for Mack, screaming at her, saying she’d killed him.

Better him than her.

Retrieving her backpack, she yanked it onto her shoulder and stopped.

She was injured, concussed, weak. She’d just murdered a man, and his friend was close to coming after her.

Her gaze drifted towards the front of the store.

At first, she thought the shadows were spots in her vision, but when she focused, she could make out the heads and hands all bobbing and grabbing at the windows and doors.

Geeks. A horde of them.

The commotion from their fight had gotten the attention of all the undead nearby.

Before she could even take a breath, the glass shattered, and dozens of decaying bodies tumbled inside.

Earl was closer now, but the impending swarm of zombies had stopped him in his tracks.

Caitlin’s hand found the revolver in the front pocket of her bag, her gaze never straying from the wall of Geeks moving through the store. Swiftly, she yanked it free and pulled back the hammer.

Booker always said she didn’t have it in her to kill. She wasn’t cold enough, wasn’t self-serving enough.

But her hands were caked in evidence to the contrary.

And she’d promised to make it home to him.

Turning her head, she found her target, aimed for Earl’s knee, and pulled the trigger.

To Be Continued…

#Bloody Sunrise #final chapter for book one #free novels for pandemic times #free fiction #ZA romance #zombie apocalypse romance #my writing

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