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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA Chapter 296: Ngl, This One Pissed Me Off

Previously on BnHA: Deku was all, “p.s. I actually activated yet another quirk several chapters ago when Kacchan got stabbed.” Compress was all, “[gets captured and passes out].” Spinner was all “[rifles through Tomura’s pockets and slaps a random Charbroiled Hand onto his friend’s unconscious face].” Tomura was all, “SOMEHOW THAT ACTUALLY WORKED” and woke up again, except it wasn’t really him, it was everyone’s favorite Final Villain, AFO. AFO was all, “time to escape finally” and summoned a bunch of Noumu and Absconded with Spinner and the DabiMarble in tow. Skeptic was all, “Horikoshi forgot I existed, but I’m actually Absconding in marble-form as well.” Deku was all, “ATTENTION WORLD, I WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE THAT I OFFICIALLY WANT TO SAVE SHIGARAKI TOMURA.” And then the arc just sort of ended lol.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all, “but when you think about it, do we really need literally any female teachers at U.A. at all?” and for whatever reason doesn’t stop to wait for an answer. Midnight, who absolutely did not need to die, Dies, and I’m pissed about it. Ochako wanders the ruins of Jakku for what feels like hours, rescuing small children while her adult hero compatriots fall to pieces around her, because apparently the U.A. kids really are the only people who have their shit together. The citizens of Japan are all “damn that’s wild, wonder how fucked we are now,” but are actually super casual and chill about it which is oddly realistic. The chapter ends with AFO in Tartarus being all “lol time for the prison break arc,” without giving us so much as a chance to catch our breath, like holy shit. Are we on the clock or something now, goddamn.

lmao it’s like 7pm on a Sunday night and this is out already. this is like the worst possible timing lol. there goes my nice, relaxed evening. unless of course this turns out to be a nice, restful, soothing chapter, as chapters coming on the heels of traumatic, earth-shattering battles so often are. yeah, break out the Pina Colada song and the little drink umbrellas, I got a good feeling about this one

(ETA: I mean, I was obviously being sarcastic here but damn, Horikoshi.)

-- fff why did I laugh

it’s the crumbling city ruins in the background that really does it, I think. JUST LOOK AT THIS MESS THAT YOU HAVE MADE, EVERYONE. FOR SHAME

also, the title is dramatic af and I am so fucking excited you guys, like holy shit. BnHA’s In-Between arcs have always been my favorite part of the series, because it’s when all the character development and angst and/or catharsis happens. just, those little breathing spaces in between the action when everyone gathers to recuperate and compartmentalize their fresh new traumas lmao. bring on that angst!! but also, let’s please have some Comfort to offset all of this Hurt too, please and thanks

blah blah blah so the survivors were evacuated, good good, can you actually show us though?

AHHHHHHH

PIXIE BOB SURVIVED!!!! WASH IS STILL ALIVE LMAO HOW. THIRTEEN’S FACE, OMG SHOULD I LOOK AWAY. IS IT LIKE MANDALORIAN RULES. IDK HOW IT WORKS

HOW THE FUCK ARE THEY ALIVE. LOLS ANYWAY I’M HERE FOR IT. FEEL FREE NOT TO KILL ANYONE ELSE HERE HORIKOSHI, I THINK WE’RE GOOD

(ETA: it’s like talking to a brick wall.)

oh my god do we really need exposition about how the heroes tried to stop TomurAFO from escaping and OF COURSE failed completely because they suck lmao. oh my god I am shocked, that is such shocking news

wow they only managed to defeat three of the Noumus. holy shit. again, all of the Not-Kid Heroes are only slightly more useful than cardboard cutouts of heroes at this point, MORE AT ELEVEN

so Tomura may have lost the PLF, but he still more or less has an army then, huh. I really don’t know how anyone could expect a timeskip with that threat looming over everyone’s heads

oh nvm lol there are only seven Noumus left. wait so you’re telling me there were only ten Nearly High Ends in that last chapter?? felt more like fifty but whatever lol I’ll take your word for it

COMPRESS YAY YOU’RE ALIVE TOO

MAYBE THEY CAN EVEN REATTACH HIS ASS. I’M SERIOUS LOL, BECAUSE HE STILL HAS IT, DOESN’T HE? OR IF NOT, THEY CAN REBUILD HIM WITH A PROSTHETIC ASS. he’ll be more powerful than ever

WHAAAAAAT YEAH BOIIIII

WOOO, EDGESHOT, WOOOOO. THAT’S HIS WAY OF THE NINJA

YEAHHHHH SUCK IT, PLF

(ETA: for the record I don’t think Cementoss is dead here, just badly wounded. if he had died he would have been included in the forthcoming In Memoriam page along with the others.)

GET BENT LOL. TRUMPET I FOR REAL FORGOT YOU EVEN EXISTED. I NEVER WANT TO SEE ANY OF YOU LOSERS AGAIN PLEASE. ONLY INTERESTING CHARACTERS MAY PROCEED PAST THIS POINT

dsflksaldkh;l

that’s... holy shit. that’s a bigass mansion, that’s what that is. also so does this mean there are still eighty thousand PLF members still at large, because that’s a plot line I very much do not care about in any way whatsoever lol. can’t we just retcon to say that Re-Destro was exaggerating? I mean hell, a CEO criminal pulling some Enron-type bullshit is pretty believable, isn’t it? those poor bamboozled shareholders

“makeste, here’s an idea, what if you scrolled down to read the rest of the page” lol gtfo of here with your logic and your sense

well those 132 people have made it onto my enemies list, but at least it sounds like they more or less took care of the rest. good riddance

and Toga escaped, as we knew already, and is now on the lam. hopefully she reunites with the League again at some point. although her doing her own thing could also be very interesting. idk what I want lol

anyway so there’s another big panel showing how fucked up the city is, just in case it hadn’t already been hammered into our skulls yet. there’s a car dangling off a roof somehow. how does that even happen. did Machia pick it up and put it there or

NOOO OMG RANDOM SMALL CHILDREN IN PERIL WHAT IS THIS

OCHAKO PLEASE SAVE THEM OMG

“if it falls on me, I want you to have my Endeavor pouch” OH MY STARS. HIS MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSION. NO MY CHILD YOU CAN’T GIVE UP HOPE YET

LMAO

“FOR THE LAST TIME NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR DUSTY-ASS POUCH, KYLE” fffff these children are dying and I am cracking up so hard my eyes are tearing up what is wrong with me

YAY THEY SAVED THEM

but listen. not that I don’t love seeing the girls kick ass, because you know I do. but I also really, REALLY need to know what’s going down with the Musketeers, and I’m not looking forward to waiting three whole weeks for that so please Horikoshi. please hurry this along so we can get to them

goddamn it Tsuyu is saying she’ll take the boy to the shelter to get first aid, and I was all “okay great because that’s probably where Kacchan and the others are too”, but now someone else is shouting for help and Ochako’s all “I’ll go” and it’s like OKAY BUT PLEASE? this chapter is already more than half over omfg. ‘bout to start wringing some hands here

oh my god

is this Toga again??? WHAT THE HELL, THIS CREEPYASS HALF-DEAD DUDE BETTER BE LEADING UP TO SOMETHING INTERESTING, I AM REALLY GETTING IMPATIENT

OR, I GUESS, WE COULD DO THIS INSTEAD

“SO AS IT TURNS OUT, NOT EVERY CHARACTER WHO NEEDS HELP SAVING THEIR SPOUSE FROM FALLEN RUBBLE IS ACTUALLY TOGA IN DISGUISE” HUH, OKAY. DULY NOTED. FILED AWAY FOR FUTURE REFERENCE

but fucking... okay, look. I love Ochako, I do. but I like her a whole lot more when she’s interacting with other characters I actually care about, as opposed to running around in the rubble rescuing random people while the fate of my other children is still up in the air. like okay, I get it, shit’s bad, now if you don’t mind we really don’t have to spend all day here though

...anyways but nope, we’re still staying with her. she’s bouncing around rescuing all of these other people. omg. I literally have no patience here at all and it’s terrible, I know, but oh my god

omg finally something interesting is happening!!

look at that, an adult hero standing around being useless while the kids are busy getting shit done. why is this becoming a recurring theme

MY DUDE, THIS IS SERIOUSLY NOT THE TIME THOUGH

I GET THAT IT’S OVERWHELMING AND THAT YOU’RE TRAUMATIZED AND SHIT, BUT GUESS WHAT, SO IS EVERYONE ELSE. THAT’S WHAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR. JUST LOOK AT OCHAKO! SHE’S SO EXHAUSTED HER HAIR HAS EVEN LOST ITS FLOOF, AND YET SHE’S STILL OUT HERE DOING HER BEST. ONE SAVE AT A TIME MY MAN. GET IT DONE. LITERALLY A SMALL CHILD IN THE BOTTOM RIGHT CALLING FOR THEIR MOMMY AND YOU’RE JUST STANDING THERE ALL “WAHH IT’S TOO MUCH” LIKE COULD YOU PLEASE POSTPONE YOUR CRISIS UNTIL AFTER YOU SAVE THEM PLEASE

OH MY GOD

MAYBE YOU SHOULD!! oh my god I really cannot, like wow. oh no I actually have to save people and do my job, god forbid. jesus christ, at least the other heroes tried. but Moping Hero: Bellyache here is just throwing in the towel and fuck everyone who still needs his help I guess. you are like the anti-Deku my dude

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD NO OH FUCK

THAT’S MIDNIGHT’S HAND OH FU -- SHE BETTER NOT -- HORIKOSHI I SWEAR TO GOD --

I’M GONNA LOSE IT I REALLY AM!!!!

HOLY SHIT HOW INTENSE OF A RAGE DO I NEED TO BRACE MYSELF TO BE FEELING HERE. THIS CHAPTER WAS ALREADY TRENDING TOWARDS DISAPPOINTMENT, DO WE REALLY NEED TO GO AND COMPOUND THAT

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

you’re telling me Tomura wasn’t brought back by that electric shock, but by his “fuck you” attitude? why are you explaining this to us now, again??

......

HEY, SO UM, FUCK ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS, THOUGH. (: OH MAN. OHHHHHH MAN. I HAVE... I HAVE GOT A LOT OF WORDS FOR THIS AND HERE ARE SOME OF THEM

FUCK

THINGS THAT SHOULD BE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO “SOME BULLSHIT”: THIS

FUCK

GET FUCKED HORIKOSHI

AND ALSO PLEASE FUCK RIGHT OFF!!

AND SERIOUSLY THOUGH FUCK YOU

NO BUT YOU KNOW WHAT THOUGH!! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED OFF ANYONE. LITERALLY ANY CHARACTER. YOU HAD TWELVE FEMALE PROS. TWELVE. YOU COULD HAVE MADE MORE OF THEM. PROBABLY, IF THERE ACTUALLY WERE SUPERHEROES IN REAL LIFE, THERE WOULD BE MORE THAN TWELVE OF THEM IN AN ENTIRE NATION. BUT NO, YOU WERE ALL “TWELVE IS MORE THAN ENOUGH.” AND THEN WHEN IT CAME TIME TO KILL PEOPLE OFF, YOU WERE ALL “WELL ALL RIGHT THEN, LET’S SEE, I PICK... THESE 18 RANDOM SIDE CHARACTERS WITH LITTLE TO NO DIALOGUE, PLUS THE ONE SINGLE FEMALE U.A. STAFF MEMBER WE ACTUALLY HAD. YEAH THAT OUGHTA DO IT”

AND BY THE WAY, HORIKOSHI, I PICKED SOMETHING UP FOR YOU ON MY WAY HOME, HERE IT IS, ┌П┐(・＿・) do you like it it was on sale. I saw it and was like, “Horikoshi would really like that.” so there you go. sorry it wasn’t gift-wrapped

p.s. I hope y’all can tell that that’s supposed to be a middle finger and not... something else lmao. er. anyway

(ETA: so I got a few asks from people who were really put off by this part of the reaction post, and so I’m just adding an extra note here to make it clear that I do not actually wish harm on Horikoshi in any way or even particularly dislike him. I wasn’t happy about Midnight’s death and I wanted to convey that, and so I went with my usual LOUD CAPSLOCK REACTION tone, but looking back on it I can see that it’s kind of a lot, lol.

so just to be clear, the “fuck you” stuff is almost entirely tongue-in-cheek. that’s on me, I forget sometimes that there are people who share these sentiments unironically and so I didn’t think to make sure my intended meaning here was clear. anyways, killing Midnight was still a really problematic decision for numerous reasons but it is what it is. Horikoshi is not perfect, the story isn’t perfect, and I’m not gonna pretend like it is, but again just to be clear, I don’t harbor any actual ill will toward Horikoshi here.)

shit. and wow this man really went and killed off fucking Mystic too on top of that. have you ever seen a character fail so spectacularly at living up to their hype. r.i.p. Mystic you were like the Star Wars sequel of characters

(ETA: I have no fucking idea why I keep thinking Majestic’s name is Mystic lol. rest in peace you old scarecrowy bastard.)

and poor Momo, though. fuck. lost two mentors in a single day. and do not even get me started on Aizawa holy shit

so now we’re cutting to some random townspeople who are gossiping about the Todoroki drama. this is actually interesting in spite of my newfound determination to hate this chapter lol

ngl I am kind of heartened to see that not everyone fell for Dabi’s bs hook line and sinker though. Jeanist returning from the dead literally two seconds after Dabi was all “I SWEAR ON MY HONOR AS A VILLAIN THAT HAWKS MURDERED HIM” probably helped with that a bit! but there will doubtless be many other people who do believe him, or are at least still inclined to side-eye the heroes in general either way given how much they sucked in this arc. very, very interesting

so it seems though that even more than the whole Endeavor reveal, at the end of the day it’s going to be the heroes failing to live up to their end of the “put your faith in us and let us use our quirks and in return we’ll protect everyone and keep them safe” implied social contract that’s going to have the biggest impact on people’s opinions moving forward. basically this was always going to be a disaster no matter what

OH MY GOD FINALLY AHHHHH

Horikoshi really tapped into some of the real-life political energy of the past few years huh. Fuck Him Still for killing off Midnight, but I will admit that so far this is hella intriguing and I am really, really curious to see where things go from here

OH MY GOD THE LITTLE KIDS FROM THE BABYSITTING ARC

“FIVE PEEPEE MAN WOULDN’T LIE TO US” YES CHILDREN YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. at least the little ones still have faith

( •̀ へ •́ )

that’s great. that’s really keen. all we need right now, amirite

GOOD FOR YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT

let’s just wait for him to explain what he feels. you know he likes to drag it out

is that Dabi crouched down there next to Spinner? looks like they got him out of the marble after all. but why has his hair changed colors again lol what

anyways. your turn to what??

:’) excuse me what

hahahaha are you fucking kidding me. and that’s where we’re going to end the chapter then. lol okay

so let’s recap. Midnight died. we spent ten hours watching Ochako dig people out of rubble for no apparent reason and were then introduced to my new least favorite character, and because Ochako is so nice she didn’t even punch him in the face even though she really should have. we did not get any Kacchan or Shouto. we got one panel of Deku, who is Finally Asleep. and the chapter ended with AFO ordering his Noumus to go set free, AND I QUOTE, HIS “MAIN BODY.” and now I gotta wait an entire week for Caleb’s translation to confirm that last part. omg

but it sounds like a prison break is imminent, which is very, very interesting. ...and actually, is it weird that I’m actually rooting for it to be a success? I have no idea what this guy is planning, but I do know that as long as the main part of his soul is still residing in Tomura’s body, Tomura’s chance of surviving the series is close to zero. and villain though he may be, I’m still rooting for his redemption (nice to have Deku on my side now too), and so yeah. so like if AFO feels like using some latent Exorcism Quirk or something that he’s been saving for just such an occasion, be my guest lol

meanwhile this doesn’t bode well for All Might though. or anyone else aside from Tomura, really. shiiiit

anyway. [slaps roof of chapter] this baby can fit so much bullshit in it

#bnha 296 #midnight (bnha)#uraraka ochako #all for one #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #sorry this took so long to post lol #I really need to learn to add an extra 2-3 hours to any time-sensitive estimates I make #anyways

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victory-red · 3 years

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PSA: drunk driving isn't a FUCKING joke, guys.

I'm sharing this to vent, and also to make how fucking destructive drunk driving is a bit more real for all of you who haven't been unfortunate enough to witness it firsthand.

tw: blood, trauma, death. like, actual, real-life fucking death. i saw a kid die today. i literally watched a child die today over some FUCKING ALCOHOL.

I still can't get over the irony of the billboard I saw before it happened. It was one of those that warns against drunk driving, but in that witty, "memorable" sort of way or whatever. I remember commenting about how much of an issue it was in our area if they were putting up fucking billboards about it, but I didn't really think much of it past that. Looking back, maybe it was supposed to be a sign or something.

We came across him maybe ten, fifteen minutes later, heading north on the highway. He was driving on the right shoulder in his stupid red pickup, southbound against the flow of traffic. I found out later that he was going about 70-75mph. My mom's an excellent defensive driver, so she got over to avoid him and honked. I live in a relatively rural area, so the highway's usually pretty empty. I think that's the only reason he hadn't hit anyone sooner. But there was a lady in a white truck behind us. Right after we'd passed him, literally right behind us, he decided to speed up and swerve into traffic. The memory's some weird mix of hazy and clear now, but he drove right into her. Almost head-on. Their cars crumpled like aluminum foil. They were fucking mangled. Had anyone been in the passenger seat of either one, they would've been absolutely pulverized.

I asked one of the EMTs, later, how often she saw accidents this bad. She said that she saw them once maybe every five years, at least in our area. But she said that this was probably the worst she'd seen, just because of how many kids were involved.

The lady in the white truck had a young toddler with her, who was mostly okay because she'd strapped him into a car seat. (He was bleeding from his mouth, but it turned out he'd just bitten his tongue, or so I heard. My sister still has his blood on her shirt from carrying him.) His mom couldn't move her arm; she said she broke it. She had a really, really bad gash on her forehead, and another one down near her ankle. Her face was covered in blood. It looked like the movies. She was really calm once she found out that her baby was okay, just pissed. She had a hair appointment, she kept saying. How was she supposed to get to her fucking hair appointment with a fucking broken arm.

The guy was drunk off his fucking ass. His hands were covered in blood, though I don't know from where, and he was just...looking at them. Looking at all the blood. I thought he was on some kind of drugs at first (yes, that's a pretty big problem in rural areas), but then my mom asked him if he'd been drinking. He just looked away and kind of sighed, and then said "No" after a really long pause. I knew then that he had. It was too early to be drinking. The sun hadn't even set yet. I was too stressed to even register smell, aside from all the car fuel and the asphalt and the heat, but I heard from the cops later that you could smell the liquor on his breath. It was to the point where he wasn't even in his right mind. He kept saying his wife was in the passenger seat. There was nobody in the passenger seat.

He had three kids with him. The oldest went into shock pretty quickly, but I don't think he was hurt. My sister said she saw him later, once the first responders had arrived. He was just sitting in the back of an ambulance, staring vacantly. The youngest was a sweet little girl that my mom held for a while. She had bruising on her forehead, and she was bleeding from her nose. She said that she hurt everywhere. Bruises started appearing all over her body the more time passed. She could move her arms to cling to my mom, but she couldn't move her hands. She was airlifted off of the highway in the second chopper that landed. Last I saw her, she was on a stretcher in a neck brace. She was only 4.

When the lady who'd been following the drunk guy from the other side of the highway pulled out the middle child, he was unconscious. He'd been sitting in the middle seat; he'd only been wearing a lap belt. He wasn't breathing, and he didn't have a pulse. He just lay there on the pavement next to his dad's truck (stepdad's, I found out later, as the drunk guy corrected the lady when she screamed at him that he'd fucking killed his son. She was a godsend, and coincidentally, also a respiratory therapist). I watched his stomach go up and down, up and down with the chest compressions while the dispatcher kept talking in my ear. He was bleeding from his nose, so much blood, so much blood that it was pooling on the pavement under his head. It was surreal. I've only ever seen that shit in movies. It's not fucking "glamorous" or "exciting" or "dramatic" in real life at all. It's stressful and traumatizing. I don't wish witnessing that on anyone.

She managed to get him to start breathing once, just for a brief minute. I saw his nostrils flare, and his eyes opened just a little bit. His sclera, from what little I could see, were red like the toddler's mom's had been. I only remembered after the fact that that was an indicator of head trauma. I thought that maybe he'd be okay. But he wasn't. His pulse stopped again, and so did his breathing. He went under, and didn't come back up.

My mom asked one of the EMTs later if he made it, if he'd be okay. I learned today that EMTs can't divulge that kind of information. But I knew even before she walked away, even before my sister told me later that as long as she looked to have been in the business, she was visibly emotional. I knew even before the state trooper told us he was certain that "one of the kids probably wasn't going to make it." I knew when I saw his lips turn blue, when the first responders didn't arrive for a good ten to fifteen minutes and she'd only gotten him breathing once. He hadn't been getting oxygen for too long. I just...I just knew.

I hope I'm wrong. I hope he made it, once they got him to the hospital in what I'm pretty sure was the first ambulance to leave. But I don't think that I am.

He couldn't have been much older than 8. He'd shared a name with a character from Voltron. I don't think I'll ever be able to hear that name the same again.

It was the kind of accident you hear about on the news, where you see the pulverized cars and you go, "Oh shit, that was a bad accident!" But you don't think much of it, because you didn't see it happen. You didn't see all the blood. You didn't attach names to the people who were involved, with faces and lives and personalities.

It was the kind of accident where they brought out yellow tape. They completely shut down that half of the highway. There were probably a dozen plus law enforcement vehicles on the scene, sheriffs and police and state troopers. I think there were four ambulances there at one point, maybe even five. They called in two separate choppers, one for the oldest boy, I believe, and one for the girl who couldn't move her hands. It almost didn't seem real. It still almost doesn't seem real. I wonder what the drunk guy is going to think when he comes down off of his high.

That lady didn't deserve that. Her toddler didn't deserve that. That guy's kids didn't deserve that. His stepson died because was drunk driving! He was a fucking kid! He didn't fucking deserve that!

I wish there was some way I could help--start a GoFundMe, maybe, to help pay for their medical expenses. But I didn't get their contact information. I don't know how else to help.

I don't know what the point of all that was. Maybe just to vent. Maybe just to spread my story, what I saw. To make drunk driving more real for the people who haven't had to witness how fucking destructive it is, how it literally ruins people's lives in fucking seconds. I hadn't known before. I mean, I had, but I hadn't really known. Hearing about things and actually seeing them are two very different things.

If you happen to find this and feel moved by it, please feel free to reblog, repost, whatever. I just want to raise a bit of awareness about how truly, truly destructive drunk driving is.

#v.txt #tw vent #vent post #thinking out loud #PSA: DON'T FUCKING DRIVE DRUNK.#i saw a kid fucking die today #first responders #i have so much more respect for you guys now oh my gosh

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ethereousdelirious · 4 years

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Fandom: The U. mbrella A.cademy

Characters: all the sibs

Pairings: N/A

Tropes: just fluff

Summary: request fill for anon! D.iego gets the flu and it fucks with his powers and he starts freaking out thinking that he's worthless

Warnings/Notes: very short, vague depiction of a character having a mild panic attack

I'm posting from mobile so if the formatting gets fucked up or the post gets cut off, I can't fix it for another like 4 hours give or take

Set in some idealistic Avengers Tower AU (y'know when ppl would write those fics where the Avengers all lived in the tower and would like bro out and actually talk about their problems. Yeah. That, but TUA)

When it came to solving problems, Diego Hargreeves tended to beat them into submission with brute force and the liberal application of knives. If he couldn't solve a problem in this manner, he tended to ignore it until it escalated into something he could solve via incredible violence.

Unfortunately, today's problem (inevitably the first of many) was 0% knife-able.

That morning found Diego curled up in bed with a bad case of vertigo and a stinging pain in his throat every time he dared to swallow. He forced himself to get up anyway and had to brace himself against the wall for support as the room spun and his chest began to spasm with the need to cough.

Keeping his wits about him, he stifled the coughing fit behind closed lips. If his siblings found out he was sick, he'd never hear the end of it. They'd think he was weak. That he was useless. After all, Luther never got sick.

The sheer spite made Diego straighten up and get dressed. Fatigue made his joints feel sticky and painful, so he decided to skip his morning workout. Just getting through the day like this would be enough work as it was. He brushed his teeth quickly and decided not to take his temperature-- better to not know. Plausible deniability.

He had to take the stairs at a pace that felt excruciatingly slow compared to his normal light-footed jog. He clung to the banister, painfully aware of the fact that any one of his siblings could pop out onto the landing to witness his pathetic descent. He was just so dizzy and his body ached like he'd spent the night jogging instead of sleeping.

Finally, he reached flat ground and was able to stagger to the kitchen. He wasn't really hungry, but there was no way he was going to skip breakfast and risk losing his hard-earned gains. Besides, maybe he'd feel better after eating.

"You're up early."

Diego jumped and instinctively flung a knife, just barely managing to dampen the force behind his throw as his brain caught up with his body. The knife clattered to the floor, a clumsy, straight trajectory, not at all what Diego had intended. "Hi," he said lamely, not looking at Five.

Five looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Your ninja skills are getting a little rusty."

Diego continued to stare at the knife on the floor. He'd meant for it to curve and stick in one of the cabinets. "Uh, yeah." He bent to pick up the knife and had to pause and steady himself.

"Your Neanderthal impression on the other hand…" Five put his hands on his hips. "Perfection."

"What's got your shorts in a twist?" Diego asked, not really caring about the answer.

Five got up on his tiptoes, reaching for one of the cabinets. Diego nudged him aside with his hip and got a clean mug down for him.

"Thanks," Five said begrudgingly. "And to answer your question, I'm used to having my morning coffee alone."

"Oh." Diego opened the fridge and muffled a short cough into his elbow, trying to relieve some of the aching pressure in his chest. "I can fuck off for a bit. If you want."

"It's fine."

They were quiet for a moment. Diego stared at the contents of the fridge. Something with protein would be good. Eggs sounded like too much work, too much standing. He wanted to sit. Protein shake? Even the thought of making that sounded like far too much work. Sighing, Diego grabbed the milk and poured himself a glass while Five watched in silence.

"You didn't work out this morning," Five said.

"Is that a fact?" Diego shut the fridge and went to the living room.

Five phased in ahead of him and sat down in the chair Diego had been heading for. "Your hair is dry."

"And?" Diego contemplated just sitting down on Five, but didn't think he'd have the energy for the subsequent wrestling match. He threw himself down on the couch instead.

"And, you always shower after your morning workout."

"I'm cutting," Diego lied. "I'm going for a jog later."

"Interesting. Don't care."

Diego sniffled, annoyed to find that his nose was starting to run. "Why'd you bring it up, then?" he asked, looking around for a spare napkin. Finding nothing, he sniffed again.

"Just letting you know: I notice things, so don't try to pull any shit. And blow your damn nose, you sound like a coke addict."

One by one, the rest of the family came down the stairs and joined them in the living room. Diego tried his best to ignore them, trying to figure out what had gone wrong in the kitchen, but it was hard to concentrate when no one would leave him the fuck alone.

He kept having to leave the room to blow his nose and muffle coughs into his shirt collar, and every time he came back, the ambient noise of his siblings' conversations seemed to grow louder and louder.

"What's got you all broody?" Allison asked upon seeing him return from yet another trip to the bathroom.

"I'm not broody," Diego said, at least vindicated that he didn't sound sick.

"He dropped a knife this morning," Five said to her.

This started up a round of ribbing and teasing that chafed at Diego more than usual. His weak attempts at defending himself went ignored until his ears started to roar. He pulled out a knife and threw it at Klaus, intending for it to stick in the chair's armrest, right between his fingers.

It missed by a mile, thudding against the wall and knocking one of the paintings crooked.

Everyone went quiet.

"Uh, Diego?" Luther asked. "Did you mean to do that?"

"Yeah," Diego said, glaring at him. "Fuck that part of the wall in particular." Despite his best efforts, he started to cough. He managed to choke the fit back into something more manageable, but the damage had been done. Everyone was looking at him.

"Are you okay?" Vanya asked meekly, eyes wide.

"I'm fine."

"That didn't sound fine," Luther said. "You sick?"

"You're sick," Diego said, knowing he sounded like a petulant child but unable to bring himself to care.

Allison studied him. "He's shaking" she said to Luther.

"I said I'm fine," Diego said, batting her hand away. "Five, tell them I'm fine."

"He's sick," Five said to Luther.

"Vanya? Klaus?"

"What are we supposed to do?" Klaus asked.

"Back me up!" Diego ran a hand through his hair, dismayed to find that his forehead was a little sweaty. A thrum of fear had started up in his chest, something he couldn't really explain. He was fine, he could still fight. He wasn't useless.

Luther pointed to a discolored spot on the wall. "Prove it."

"What?"

"If you're fine, hit that spot."

"Fine," Diego growled, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his throat. He took out another knife and just held it for a moment. He had to concentrate, that was all. He'd been sick before and it didn't affect his powers. He was just psyching himself out, that was all.

He took a deep breath and threw the knife. It was over in a blink. The knife traveled straight forward, whizzing by Luther's head, and stuck in the wall across from Diego, nowhere near where Luther had pointed.

Diego's head went fuzzy.

He could feel his body shaking, hear his siblings' voices. He caught sentence fragments, words without meanings attached to them.

"Allison, move."

"Get his head."

"How long has he been like this?"

The world tilted, sickening. He fought for breaths, trying to clear his head. What was happening? What if his powers never came back?

"Diego?" Hands on his head, fingers tracing patterns against his scalp.

Diego took several deep breaths. He had been moved so he was on his back, and he was holding himself stiff.

"Look at me," the voice said. Unable to connect it to a face, Diego looked up. He'd been manhandled from seated to a supine position with his head in someone's lap, so he had been expecting to see Luther's face.

Instead, it was Klaus who stared down at him, his expression unreadable.

"Hey," Diego said shakily.

"You okay?"

"No, I'm not fucking okay," Diego said. He was hot all over and his hands were shaking and he couldn't use his fucking powers. "I'm useless." He remembered how they'd all treated Vanya, remembered all the awful, cruel things their dad had said about her, that they had said about her. "I'm fucking useless."

"Hey." Allison appeared in his periphery. "Your powers will come back." She put her hand on his cheek and drew it back in surprise. "Luther, he's burning up."

"You're telling me." Klaus shifted, one hand still gently tangled in Diego's hair. "It's like being trapped under an electric blanket."

"So move," Diego grumbled.

"No."

"Why don't I go get a cold compress?" Vanya said from somewhere down by Diego's feet.

"I got it," Five said. The subsequent flash of blue stabbed into Diego's eyes and made his head ache.

"What am I gonna do?" he said.

"What do you mean?" Luther asked.

"Without my powers, I… I'm nothing."

"Oh, you were serious about that?" Klaus said. "I thought you were just being dramatic."

Diego was too tired to point out the irony of Klaus accusing him of being overdramatic.

Another flash of blue. Five leaned over Allison and, with surprising gentleness, laid a damp washcloth over Diego's brow. "You're not useless," he said. "In fact, out of all of us, you might just be the most powerful without the help of spooky extraordinary powers."

"Yeah, right." Diego brought up one hand and coughed into his wrist, prompting a quiet "eewww" from Klaus.

"No, he's right," Vanya said. "You work your ass off every day. Even if you really did lose your powers, you'd still be a badass killing machine."

"And you're the only one of us who kept doing heroics after leaving," Allison said. Luther made a noise of protest followed by a grunt, presumably after Allison nudged him in the side.

"You guys… Do you really think so?" Diego asked. Despite the pep talk, he still couldn't really picture himself without his powers. Without them, he wasn't himself. "I feel like… I mean, what's the point of me if I can't use my powers?"

"Lots of things," Klaus said. "I'm pretty sure you're singlehandedly propping up the leather industry in the US."

"You're a good person," Allison said firmly. "And there's more than one way to help people." Pointedly, she added, "Isn't that right, Luther?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah," Luther said. He sighed. "I really do admire you, Diego. You're so obsessed with saving people it's almost pathological." He chuckled. "I mean… Your biggest character flaw is that you literally care too much. Not many people can say that. You're a hero no matter what."

"Besides," said Five. "Your powers will come back." It's probably just the fever that's screwing with them, same way it's screwing with your emotions and making you all vulnerable and adorable."

"Oh," Diego said thoughtfully. "Shit." He rolled over onto his side and started to cough, finally letting loose what he had been stifling all morning. He curled his head down and did his best to breathe through the spasms that tore through his chest and seemed to rip his throat open until everything from his ribs to his head was on fire.

"Please don't die in my lap," Klaus said. "I don't think I could handle the trauma."

"God, I feel like shit " Diego said, his face buried in Klaus' shirt.

"That tickles," Klaus said.

"Have you taken any medicine, Diego?" Vanya asked.

"No," Diego said.

Klaus wriggled. "Diego, seriously!"

Sighing, Diego rolled over again to face his siblings. "I haven't taken anything."

"Or eaten anything," Five added.

"M'tired," Diego mumbled. The proximity to Klaus' body heat was overwhelming next to the fever simmering under his skin. He wanted to get up and crawl into bed, preferably naked, and sleep. He was in no mood to lie here and listen to siblings squabble over medications. He sat up, prompting a chorus of protests from his siblings.

Luther planted a hand square in the middle of Diego's chest. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Going to bed," Diego said, anger flaring up at the thought of Luther trying to push him around. He swiped Luther's hand away and got to his feet, pleasantly surprised when he didn't immediately collapse back onto the couch.

"I'll help you up the stairs," Luther said.

Diego stepped away from him. "The hell you will."

"You're not going alone," Luther shot back.

"Guys." Vanya stepped between them. "I'll go with him."

"You gonna tuck me in, too?" Diego scoffed and started to walk away. Vanya matched pace with him but didn't touch him. "Thanks, Vanya," Diego said when they were out of earshot of the others.

She shrugged. "You're just sick, it's not like you need to be babied."

They took the stairs slowly, with frequent breaks so Diego could catch his breath. "I just hate feeling like this," he said.

"I know." Vanya smiled sadly. "It's so ugly and… It just makes you feel so small."

They reached Diego's room. He pushed the door open and got into bed without bothering to take off any of his clothes. "Vanya," he started, unsure of where to go with him the rest of the sentence.

"I should go get the others," she said, hovering by the doorway. "Before they kill each other arguing about, I don't know, Aleve versus Advil."

"Vanya," Diego said again. "I, um. I want to teach you how to fight."

"What?" She looked at him, baffled.

"I know you don't really need it, I just… It's something I want to do."

She smiled, an actual, genuine smile. "I think I'd like that."

"Good."

"Do you want anything to eat?" Vanya asked. "Allison is probably going to make soup, but if there's anything you want in the meantime..?"

"I don't know." Diego leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Water would be great."

"Don't go to sleep yet," Vanya said. "I'm sure Five will be here with medicine any second now."

"Yeah, yeah." Diego waved a hand.

Vanya laughed quietly. "I'll get you a glass of water."

"Thank you, Vanya." Her footsteps faded away and Diego sighed.

Maybe it was time to drop the lone wolf thing and start embracing life as a pack member.

#i think it worked!#ethereous writes

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bidean-byedean · 3 years

Text

15x20 - The Barn (1200 words)

https://lottitties.tumblr.com/post/635351778553167872 - inspired by this post and my rant tags underneath

It's a simple job, one he likes, taking out vamps. He’s always been good at it: tracking down the nests, scouting out their numbers, methodically working through the bastards until they all fall to his feet. Yeah, Dean’s pretty damn good at killing vamps.

His heart pounds heavily, but the adrenaline feels good. Feels like something other than emptiness at least. He’s with Sam, fighting side-by-side, just as it should be. The world is right when his blade slices through the skull of a vamp like butter; the world is right when he watches Sam duck and weave all the punches, his extra long limbs an unfair advantage. But Dean holds his own, he has his own tricks, knows his body too well to fuck up in the dance of combat.

A vamp launches at him and they wrestle clumsily. Vamps are still damn strong and Dean’s only human, he’s Dean freakin’ Winchester, but still only human. The barn is a death trap in of itself, he hates them. There’s always hidden dangers like broken wood and nails and hooks and farming equipment half-hidden under hay. But Dean’s good. He knows how to scope; his eyes are quick and efficient as he takes in the shadows and the rough edges and the places that might cause an issue for taking back the upper hand. Always gotta plan on getting it back, don't just assume you’ll never lose it. That’s good Hunting.

So when the vamp in his stupid clown mask grab dean by the lapels and pushes him backwards, Dean knows he needs to slow the momentum. There’s an itching in the back of his skull that screams do not hit that wall. Whatever he registered, it wasn’t conscious, but it was enough to get his instincts to kick in. He braces himself, tries to move his centre of gravity just enough to topple their balance - hitting the ground is better. He can work with being on the ground.

But Dean doesn’t hit the ground.

Vamps are strong. Even when Dean was a younger man, when he spent all his time on hunts, running after monsters and dragging dead bodies onto pyres, it’s hard to fight them. He’s not so young now. He spends most of his days in the bunker, cooking and researching and watching bad daytime TV. So, he can’t quite get a handle on this, can’t throw him off the way he wants, and it's tiring. A lump lodges in his throat as he’s dragged backwards, flailing, knowing, anticipating...

All of the air is knocked from his lungs as his spine crashes into a beam behind him. It hurts. But it’s not the usual pain. His chest is tight. His legs are weak. How ever the rest of the vamps fall, he doesn't register, all he know is he is stuck. A strange calmness comes over him. So, this is death, huh? Not as dramatic as he’d hoped for, but honestly, Dean’s had enough drama for ten more lifetimes. He regrets that it was a vamp that got him though, his Dad would be so disappointed to see him trip at such a low hurdle. But his Dad isn’t here. And at least he has time to say goodbye this way.

“Whoah Sammy,” he laughs, touching the sharp spike protruding from his abdomen, his fingers come away wet. “Don’t think I can move. Feels like it’s holding me together.”

“Dean, no,” Sam is panicked. Pure panic and fear on his baby brother’s face. It hurts worse than being impaled. “We can fix this, we can-” “No, Sam, no more bringing me back. I’m done,” his lungs shudder. “This is it.” “No.”

His courage starts to fail. Dean thought he could accept death, he’s done it so many times before, how different would it be this time? But the pain in Sam’s voice, the tears that start falling immediately... He’s suddenly afraid.

He can’t leave Sam, what was he thinking?!

“I’m scared,” he whispers. “Don’t leave me.” “Never,” Sam grips his hands tight. “I’m here.”

Every breath is harder than the last. His spine is compressed and the pressure on his brain makes it hard to focus on Sam’s face. He’s cold. He tries not to think of his blood, pooling inside of him, slowly more and more diverted from his heart and brain.

He tries not to think about how Cas fixed so much worse. He tries not to think about Cas ever. But he imagines Cas appearing in the doorway, trench coat billowing around him in a way that should not be attractive but totally is. He imagines those big blue eyes wide in horror. Cas was always horrified when Dean got hurt.

Cas, if you can hear me-

No. That isn’t fair.

Dean stares into his brother’s eyes and wonders what to say. How do you condense a life like theirs into a few moments? Cas had a pretty great final speech. You just gotta talk from the heart. So he talks about that night he went to Stanford, the night everything changed. He talks about how proud of Sam he is; and he makes a few self-deprecating jokes that he wishes he didn’t believe; and he makes Sam promise:

“Let me go, okay? You can let me go.” “Dean-” “Let me go, Sammy.” “Okay. You can go Dean,” Sam holds him tightly, taking more and more of his weight as Dean loses strength and consciousness. “You can go. I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

“I love you so much.”

Dying is different every time you do it. Only a few people know that though. For Dean, this death is painful but quiet. His body shuts down with blood loss and being ripped apart inside, but it manifests as a stillness. The great, yawning abyss of pain in his chest finally fades away as his life does too. The relief is almost worth it.

If he doesn't think about his sobbing brother, holding the last family he has as they die in his arm; if he doesn't think about Miracle waiting for them at home; if he doesn't think about the application for a mechanic’s position on his desk; if he doesn't think about all of the life he planned to live now he was allowed... Yeah, it’s a relief. Not to feel like his heart has been scooped out of his chest every time he sees a couple, every time he sees Cas’ coat in the trunk of his car, every time he turns to make a comment about the dumb show he's watching but the sofa is empty next to him...

Dean knows suicidal, could consider it one of his best friends at this point, but he hesitates to answer whether he tried his best not to die tonight. Was he really bested so easily, or did some part of him allow it?

His hands go numb, the last thing he feels with them are Sam’s hands. His head lulls forward and rests on Sam’s shoulder and Dean can’t lift it again. He can’t even speak to apologise. He concentrates on dragging air into his lungs.

Until he can’t.

And so, quietly, unnoticed by the rest of the universe, and with great relief, Dean Winchester slips from life to death for the last time.

#personal #my fic #my writing #spn fic #spn 15x20 #15x20 fic #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #that scene #I want to kill myself!!!!#tw: death #tw: grief #tw: dean winchester's narrative arc being fucked #fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

Happy Together : 4

Land of Confusion

Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+.

Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.

Chapter Summary: The reader wakes up but is she still dreaming?

Notes: Here’s number four. Things are going to get real weird and I can say that it’s a pretty slow burn dark!fic in terms of actual smut. Sorry, you guys but I’m laying some very important groundwork for Psycho Steve (This is only a joke, I am in no means demeaning or making fun of mental illness) here. In this chapter, we get a glimpse but there will be so much more to come.

Thanks to everyone who reads and as always, I looked forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3

You were running in your dreams. The arms which had swept you into unconsciousness still pursuing you, footsteps unheard as the beating of a bass drum echoed in your ears. Branches lashed at your arms, thorns tearing your sleeves and cutting deep into your skin until you were trapped, the arm enclosing you until you could not breathe. You were paralyzed, sinking into the dirt as you were swallowed by the earth, acrid green leaves and sharp blades of grass burying you as you opened your mouth to scream. Your voice never rose as darkness overtook your vision, a sliver of distant light beckoning you downward.

Your eyes opened with a flutter. Your head felt terribly heavy and your limbs weak. It took a moment for your vision to clear and your last memories to rise to the surface. You remembered being crushed against the tree bark and the vice around your middle, the chemical burn filling your nostrils. You stared up at the white ceiling above the frame of the canopy; blue petals on grey linen. You inhaled deeply as you realized you didn’t know where you were. You coughed, your mouth was dry and tasted awful. You slowly sat up and groane as your head reverberated.

You still wore your hoodie and jeans. The only thing missing were your sneakers, likely too dirty to grace the grey on blue bedspread which reversed the same pattern as the canopy. Your ponytail sagged as you looked around the room lit only by the light edging in between the curtains. You could see the outlines of furniture around the room and you carefully reached over to pull the chain of the lamp on the night table. Christ, you felt as if you had been transported to the last century.

The decor was severely dated but pristine nonetheless. A vanity was placed diagonal in the corner and the mirror refracted the odd glimmer of light. You looked around at the several doors around the room; one on each wall to your left and right, another three on the wall facing you. The bedroom was rather large, the king-sized bed you rested on took up only a portion of the space. A sofa stood on the other side of the bed, a white fur rug in front of it to match the before the vanity. A matching footstool sat near it, blue floral on white with a polished wooden frame. You were seriously tripping out.

A glass pitcher on one of the night tables caught your eye, a tall glass beside it. You gulped, your tongue felt let cardboard. You guessed that you had more to worry about than tainted water. You sidled to the edge of the bed and filled the glass, salivating at the stream of the pitcher. You drank deeply until it was empty, holding back the sudden bubble which threatened to rise from your stomach. You felt a little better. Well, as good as you could in this place.

You held your head as you stood, crossing to the door on the wall near the sofa. It opened to reveal a pristine bathroom; a claw foot tub added to the vintage feel. You turned back and went to the wall facing the bed, testing the doors with no result. The handles didn’t budge. The last door, that closest to the vanity was light but didn’t give. You could guess that it was a closet of some sort. You sighed.

You went to one of the windows on either side of the bed next to the night table and tried to lift the pane. Nothing. You hadn’t expected otherwise. You spun around, exasperated, the scene outside betrayed nothing of your location. By the trees and blowing grass, you could guess you were outside the city. The chair to the vanity caught your eye, a dainty pink garment folded beneath several other pieces of pale silk and satin. An envelope sat atop the pile. A shudder went through you. It was your only clue.

You lifted the envelope and opened the lip, sliding out the folded letter within. The writing was narrow and slanted but legible.

My Dearest,

Forgive me for leaving you alone but my work keeps me busy. Please, have a drink of water and try to relax. The powder room is to your right. You are welcome to wash up. There is a towel on the rack and I’ve left you a change of clothes. Everything you need can be found in the cabinet and your vanity. If you should grow bored, I’ve left something for you to read on the night table.

Please, do not fret. I will return soon.

What the fuck?! You shoved the paper back in the envelope and tossed it onto the vanity with a scoff. Great, some psychopath had taken you to his bunker. You looked down at the stack of clothing and sifted through it; everything looked to be fresh out of the forties. High-waisted satin panties, a matching brassier with all-too-obvious seams, thigh-high nylons and matching garters. There was also a silken shift to go over the undergarments and the dress had too much padding in the shoulders paired with a dramatically cinched waist. You folded it back up and stepped away, crossing your arms as you spotted the kitten heels beneath. This was like a scene out of the Stepford Wives. Whatever it was, you weren’t going along with it.

You turned and dragged your feet across the floor, the wood smooth against your socks. You neared the night table on the other side of the bed. A magazine stared back at you, the words emblazoned across the top made your blood boil; Woman’s Home Companion. It was dated 1940. Okay, now you were really freaked out. I mean, waking up here was bad enough, but whatever the weirdo who had brought you here had planned, was crazy.

You took the magazine and tore each out, letting the sheets fall to the floor in a pile. You dropped the detached cover and back on the top and returned to the vanity, pulling the chair over to look out the window. You could at least dream of a way out even if this dumb thing wouldn’t budge!

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

It wasn’t until you heard the lock click that you were aware someone else was there. You would have thought you would hear them coming but it would be logical to think maybe the person who had abducted you had thought to soundproof their prison. You stood and stilled the shaking in your hands as you returned the chair to the vanity, and crossed your arms in expectation. In bracing yourself against the lunatic who was about to come through that door.

Your heart felt as if it would collapse in on itself and time stood still as if the whole world had stopped turning and every atom was compressed within your body. It couldn’t be… You gaped at Steve as he closed the door and his eyes searched the room until they landed on you. He smiled. You dropped your arms and backed up blindly until you were against the window, your blood seared in your veins. You couldn’t believe it. Why had he done this? Why were you here? Better yet, where were you. And why was he smiling?

“You’re awake,” He greeted as he set down a long insulated bag, “Have you not had time to clean up?” He made to step nearer but stopped short at the end of the bed. His face fell as he was distracted by something else and walked around the other side. He exhaled loudly and bent to lift the pile of pages, shaking his head. “Honey, what is wrong?” You frowned, watching as he dropped the destroyed magazine on the bed. Was he serious? You looked at him as if he was from another planet. “I’m sorry I had to leave but my general manager has the flu. I had to go to the restaurant and--”

You suddenly darted towards the door he had just come through. Finally your fight or flight had kicked in. You barreled forward, fumbling with the handle for only a second before you were ripped away from the door. He was so fast. And strong. You should’ve known. Just because he wasn’t an Avenger anymore, didn’t mean he wasn’t a super soldier. You struggled against his arm as it clung around your waist and you kicked around, trying to stomp his toes. “Let me go, you lunatic!” You hollered, “Let me go.”

“Oh, dear, what’s come over you?” He easily moved you around, turning you in his arms as he kept you flush against him. “This is so unlike you.”

“You don’t know me,” You snapped, trying to push him away but your arms were trapped between your bodies. “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this.”

“Let you go?” He released you and chuckled, “Go where? You’re already home?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Now, honey, you know I don’t like that kind of language,” He reproached as you slowly backed away. His eyes strayed to the door and he caught your hand before you could go further. “And look at you. You haven’t even dressed yourself.”

“I don’t want to wear those,” You tried to pull away but he merely threaded his thick fingers through yours, and pulled you close again, trapped in a motionless slowdance.

“Don’t make me do it,” He whispered dangerously, “I don’t want to remember us like this.”

“What the fuck!?” You writhed against him, trying to free yourself but he was too strong.

“If I have to tell you not to swear again, I’m going to have to wash your mouth out,” He threatened, his voice rising just a little. His tone was paralyzing and you stared up at him as fear crawled along your flesh. A sudden epiphany swept over you, your nerves drawn tight. In one move, he could break you. Kill you, even. “And if you don’t go get cleaned up and change into your proper clothes, I’ll just do it for you. It’s up to you, Y/N.”

You stared up at him wide-eyed. It took a moment to catch your breath and your stomach turned. You lip trembled as you tried to speak and you bit it to hide the tremor. You cleared your throat and nodded, inhaling at last. “Okay,” Your voice was small, distant, almost as if it wasn’t your own. It wasn’t, really. It was his. You had to say what he wanted or he might make you do worse. “Yes, I’ll go get cleaned up, okay?”

“That’s it, dear,” He reached up to touch your cheek, cradling your chin, your eyes burning as you held back the tears. “Always so sweet to me.”

You gulped and tried not to flinch. You let him sway you in place, steeling yourself against his touch. Play along, you told yourself, keep him calm, and bide your time.

****

tags: @ruff-m3rc @alexakeyloveloki @lanabanana-86 @sathlens @jessieray98 @kellyn1604 @ahideousthinginside @ironlady1993 @kloe-iel @grayxswan @iheartsebastianstan @myboyfriendgiriboy @tanelle83 @patzammit @phoenix21love @they-call-me-le @iheartsebastianstan@spaghettirogers @buckycaptspideypool @bethanyzed @meaganottiz02 @patzammit @breezy1415 @beautiful-and-strange @momc95 @selinbaskaya @glitterypinkkitty @thoughtlesstales @bbyspiiice @biasedtittes @lattaex @calspixie @kxllyxnnx @whosmarisaaarw @ms-munchkin @justballoonfishthings

#steve rogers x reader #dark!Steve Rogers #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #steve x reader #fic #series #happy together #au #dark!fic #darkverse #mcu #marvel

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winterswrandomness · 4 years

Text

Stormcloud, I Forgot to Ask

There’s a “Keep Reading” bar since I’m on computer!! The original quote is from @i-can-get-extra-with-my-ships (I love how you were the first person to show up when I typed @) and it was pretty long.

Word Count: 820

Warnings: Some panic descriptions sprinkled throughout, gore (I think. It’s through Remus so what did you expect?), Remus being Remus (but mild. Just a short line and the slight gore) [Let me know if I missed anything!]

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety, Romantic Trashnoodle

Deceit figured that his boyfriend had enough of some form of self-control to exist without him nearby, so he brought it up very gently.

“Listen, I know you’re not the best at keeping things tamed, but I want to tell you this,” Deceit paused and waited for some reaction. He didn’t get much of one, apart from an enthusiastic hum and a nod so he continued. “This is your one and only free pass to be reckless. Go wild and enjoy while you can.” He watched Remus’ eyes light up in excitement, quickly adding, “And don’t make me regret this.”

What came next was an onslaught of thank you’s and kisses and hugs and a loud promise of “I won’t let you down!” and Deceit wasn’t quite sure what that last part meant, given the context, but didn’t question it. His destructive and lovable dork was happy, so he was happy.

---

It was the darker part of the afternoon in the Imagination, Roman and Virgil walking through a dimly lit forest, a few patches of sunlight hitting the ground after getting past the leaves above.

Roman was acting as the tour guide, since the Imagination is one of his most frequently visited places, but having a short attention span and being easily distracted…

He wandered off after seeing an interesting looking butterfly.

Virgil didn’t notice until the prince was out of sight, but he saw two glowing orbs in the trees. The glow was piercing, spiking his anxiety and resulting in a twisting feeling in his gut, his heart feeling like it was being compressed by a vacuum pressure.

"Roman?" A soft call, barely heard by anyone but him and the shadows.

"Roman." This time a louder shout, when he realized the prince wasn't answering, but not too far above his usual volume of speaking.

"Roman!" An even louder shout, volume comparable to when he found that the "light" sides entered his room when he ducked out. Before he was accepted.

This time, he received a response. The soft stomps of feet as someone ran through grass and dirt, the rustling of tree branches as something pushed through. An alert call of "What?" From the dramatic prince once he was within Virgil’s hearing range.

Virgil quickly clung to Roman's arm, cowering behind him. "Please tell me those two glowing dots in the trees aren't eyes," He pleaded, scared even as his anxiety settled once Roman was back. "Please."

Roman put a hand on the brace of his sword, squinting at the glowing orbs. He quickly realized something, attitude changing from a protective bear to an annoyed brother. "Remus are you kidding me?"

Virgil relaxed more upon seeing the Trashman ™ step out from the trees, eyeballs glowing and sitting on his head rather than in the sockets.

Remus laughed as he swiped a hand over his face, his eyes returning to their normal position and state, no longer giving off a light. "You said that you were going on a date with Virgil."

Virgil was surely confused. A date? Roman wanted to go on a date… with him? This was meant to be a date?

The dark clad side started to panic a bit at the mention of this being a romantic outing. Was this planned? What did Roman want? Was this some joke? Had they found out-

"This is exactly why I don't tell you things!" Roman exclaimed, interrupting Virgil's thoughts. "No one gave you permission to third wheel!"

Not quite the biggest fan of yelling, or a fan of socializing at all, Virgil tugged on Roman's sleeve, only now acutely aware that he had been clinging to Roman's arm this whole time. He didn’t really mind that realization.

Roman drew his attention away from his brother, looking to Virgil instead. "Yes Stormcloud?"

Virgil would never admit it, but he blushed at that. It was sweet, alright? Anyway, he lowered his voice so only Roman could hear. "If this is meant to be a date, I think you forgot to ask me out,” He spoke softly.

“Welp, there we go,” Roman groaned. “I’m an idiot. Umm.. Remus-” He waved away his sibling, as if to shoo him like a fly. “Begone.”

“Thought,” Virgil mumbled with a slight smirk at his sort-of-a-pun, watching Remus huff.

“Ugh, fine!” Was the exclamation he gave. “Just let me know if you fuck later.” With that crude remark made, Remus sank out.

“Now that he’s gone, and seeing as I forgot to do this earlier..” Roman rubbed at the back of his neck, sighing as he closed his eyes and his head lolled to the side like a lump of fabric. He looked to Virgil with a soft gaze and crooked smile. “Would you like to go on a date with me, Virgil?”

The dark clad one smiled, looking back at Roman as he loosened his grip on the creative trait’s arm. “Of course.”

~~~

If you want to, tell me which taglist you want to be added to!

General taglist: @heathers-dorkness-0923

Prinxiety taglist: (Still Em)

#winterwrites #romantic prinxiety #prinxiety #romantic trashnoodle #trashnoodle #virgil sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

Rock and a Hard Place (1/1)

Summary: The first time it happens is shortly after the Vagabond joins the crew.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who sent me the most amazing Ask: I’ve been having a good time imagining the first time the Big Bad Scary Vagabond™ manages to doze off leaning against Gavin, who at first is quietly panicking because he doesn’t know Ry well yet and he’s still a creepy assassin and now Gavin is trapped by him and they’ve never seen Ryan sleep before and he’s trying to silently get somebody to help him escape, until Ryan starts doing very quiet lil snores and maybe mumbly sleep-talking and Gav starts to soften to their insane murderer a bit

...and then shenanigans happened, idk.

(Read on AO3)

The first time it happens is shortly after the Vagabond joins the crew.

========

He’s just returned from one of those seek and destroy missions Geoff’s grown wary of handing out to the crew because there’s no knowing how out of hand they’ll get.

Could be a quiet(ish) little affair they’re meant to be. Property damage and all that confined to whatever building their target’s chosen to set up shop in. Could be a slighter louder event, something that makes the evening news while the culprits sip their beer and bicker over who gets the first slice of pizza while Geoff angrily sips his diet soda and (quietly) regrets entering into a life of crime.

More often than not, however, it ends up as a city-wide disaster. Flashing lights, screaming siren, and live footage of the car chase through Los Santos’ streets and freeway system with Jack setting up a betting pool while Geoff (loudly) regrets meeting any of them, let alone recruiting them.

Looks a little singed around the edges like Michael and Jeremy while Ray looks untouched by whatever disaster they must have caused. Waves the three of them off when they ask if he wants to go out for bevs to celebrate not dying horribly yet another day.

Makes his way over to the couch where Gavin’s fussing with the brace on his left ankle resting on the coffee table. Injured it on a botch job a few days ago and it itches something fierce. Sits down next to him making these noises like a man three times his age and just.

Sits there.

Doesn’t say a damn thing, not even about the way Gavin’s frozen like a prey animal hoping to remain undetected as a predator goes prowling past.

Several minutes pass by without a peep out of him, and Gavin relaxes. Gets restless, bored, after another handful of minutes tick by and pulls out his phone.

Contacts to keep up with, business to deal with that doesn’t wait, and his bum ankle slowing him down enough to get the chance to catch up on things for a change. He gets through a hefty chunk of it before he realizes he’s leaning to the side a touch?

Definitely not sitting upright the way he had been when he first tackled the mess of an inbox of his, and there’s this slight cramp along his side making itself known.

Gavin glances over, sees the Vagabond’s closer to him than before. Might be due to the state of Geoff’s couch, all the shenanigans it’s endured over the years (Roughhousing and the like, one of the other dive-tackling Gavin for some slight or inexplicable whim. Simple age catching up to it, cushions becoming compressed and all that, forming dips here and there where they sit most.)

“Er,” Gavin says quietly, too startled at the situation to do much more than that. “What?”

The Vagabond makes this odd little grumbling/snuffling noise, shifts about and let out this annoyed sounding sigh until -

“Um?!”

- he tosses and turns and contorts himself until he’s on his side, head pillowed on Gavin’s lap and dear God what does he do now?

Gavin stares down at the Vagabond in silent – it’s not terror, not that dramatic, just.

Dread?

Uneasiness?

The man’s this terrifying figure around the city, and Gavin’s seen some of it himself. In person and over the various camera feeds he uses to keep track of the others when they’re out on jobs and whatever else, just in case. (Adds to his workload like nothing else, but the peace of mind it gives him is worth it.)

Doesn’t know him all that well even though he’s worked a few jobs with the crew before this, but...Gavin’s mind is going in circles now, isn’t it.

Tripped up by the damn Vagabond snoozing away on him like it’s no big deal.

And that’s another thing, isn’t it? The Vagabond’s worked with them several times in the past. Mostly quick little one-off jobs. Minor bit of prep work before hand – if any at all – and out the door with his cut the same day.

A few longer jobs, things that took more time and resources to manage. Some reconnaissance and all that. Had him loitering about the penthouse with everyone else or wherever they were working out of at the time. Long days, hours. Michael the others finding somewhere to nap if they didn’t have the luxury of going to their own places for a few hours.

Gavin can’t remember a moment in all that time where any of them come across the Vagabond hidden away somewhere for quick snooze.

He’s so focused on his predicament that he almost doesn’t hear the door to the penthouse open.

Almost doesn’t hear Michael and Jeremy and Ray shushing each other and laughing at something before all three of them go silent at almost the same moment.

Almost thinks one of the bastards will help him out of this awkward situation before the Vagabond wakes up and thinks – well, who knows really, but Gavin’s sure it won’t end well for him.

What he definitely hears is Jeremy’s quiet, “What the hell am I looking at here?” Ray’s “Aw, they’re adorable.”. Worst of all, however, is Michael’s mean little laugh before someone takes a picture of Gavin and the Vagabond with their damn phone.

“Don’t just stand there, do something!” Gavin hisses, freezing in place when the Vagabond makes that snorting-snuffling noise again.

Snoring, Gavin realizes.

The Vagabond is snoring.

Tosses and turns a bit until he finds a comfortable position and lets out a quiet sigh as he settles down again.

Michael’s grinning, wide and delighted as he takes another damn picture before doing something on his phone. (Gavin hears Ray and Jeremy’s message notifications go off, so there’s that mystery solved, and Gavin sighs.)

Knows Michael won’t help him now, and by the way the other two are giggling to themselves they’re not about to either.

Michael just gives him a jaunty little wave as goes over to the kitchen counter to snatch up the wallet he must have left behind earlier. Pauses on his way back to Ray and Jeremy to take yet another picture of the sight Gavin and Vagabond must make to deserve so many pictures to commemorate the occasion.

“You’re the worst,” Gavin says, because he is.

Absolute bully, along with his cronies in Ray and Jeremy and just. Just awful.

“Yeah,” Michael says, like he’s proud of himself “I really am, aren’t I?”

That grin of his softens when the Vagabond mumbles something in his sleep. Goes all fond because Michael knew the Vagabond before this, didn’t he. Worked the odd job with him a time or two. Vouched for him when Geoff first floated the idea of bringing him into the crew on a full-time basis.

“Be nice”, Michael mouths, as though Gavin’s lunatic enough to bully the damn Vagabond of all people, and then he’s out the door with Ray and Jeremy on his heels.

Gavin can hear their quiet laughter as they walk away leaving him still solidly stuck where he is.

Lovely.

========

Michael thinks Gavin’s being stupid when it comes to the Vagabond. Insists the man’s just as much of an idiot as he is, if not more so.

“Seriously, Gav. Guy puts on a good front, but he’s dumb as hell.”

It’s reflex at that point to try and shush Michael, what with the Vagabond just across the room from them.

He’s frowning over the staggering amount of knives he carries on his person as he goes about sharpening them on by one. Nasty looking things, all shapes and sizes and while Gavin is no stranger to the practice of carrying weapons and so on, the Vagabond is one of those overzealous sorts.

Those damn knives of his and various guns he secrets on his person, walking arsenal and all that, which just makes him more unsettling to Gavin.

And yes, he knows Geoff would never have hired the man on if he felt he would be a threat to the crew, but that doesn’t make him any less intimidating. (The things he says sometimes. Side comments or jokes that make everyone else pause for a beat or two before moving on? Yes.)

“Michael, no,” Gavin hisses, hunching down when the Vagabond glances their way as Michael laughs at him for being an idiot. “He’ll hear!”

Michael just keeps laughing though, like Gavin’s being silly and the Vagabond won’t murder them in their sleep one night just because.

(Well. They’re an annoying bunch, which is good as reason as anything to kill them all and be done with it when you think about it.)

========

There’s a heist soon, all kinds of prep jobs and assignments.

Geoff and Jack take on the dubious honor of dealing with Lester and Agent 14 while they sent the rest of them out to handle the rest. Have clearly lost their damn minds because they insist on pairing Gavin up with the Vagabond up, send them on the more sensitive jobs.

Which.

To be fair, the Vagabond’s a better hand at stealth than Gavin expected, but it’s still the Vagabond, isn’t it? (Gavin may not live in terror of him anymore if he ever did, but he’s still an unknown to Gavin, and if there’s something Gavin’s not a fan of it’s not knowing things, so.)

Michael and the rest of the Lads do the heavy lifting, as these things go. Michael and Jeremy feet on the ground type feet on the ground types while Ray keeps an eye on things from above.

Lindsay and her cabal of B-Team misfits are operating in the shadows. Trevor reaching out to Alfredo and other independents like him to make sure Agent 14 is being as honest with them as expected from someone like him.

All hands on deck sort of situation because there’s no trusting the government to deal fairly with them if they expect to come out of things (mostly) unscathed.

“Er,” Gavin says, because the Vagabond is staring at him, head cocked just so. “Can I help you?”

The Vagabond’s been watching Gavin work. Hovering over his shoulder and making these little noises that sound like quiet approval as Gavin finesses the files they’re looking for out from behind encryption after encryption and passwords that are far too easy to crack.

Not the best time to have a leisurely conversation, what with the guards trying to break back into the room the two of them have barricaded themselves into. Angry guards and all their yelling and threats and shrieking alarms enough to give him a headache.

The Vagabond snorts, and turns as the guards break through the door thanks to the battering ram they’ve hauled up here.

Gavin watches as the Vagabond’s arm snaps up, sees him switch his aim from center of mass on the guard in front to the more difficult to hit target of his unprotected neck. Hears the gun go off and a moment later the guard swats at his neck and the red-tufted dart embedded there.

Eyes wide behind the visor of his helmet before the tranquilizer takes effect and he collapses.

Two more shots in quick succession and the guards that follow him into the room go down as well, and finally the yelling stops. There are more guards on the way, but if all goes well the two of them will be long gone by the time they get here.

“Oh, nicely done,” Gavin says.

Personal request from Agent 14 for them to keep the body count to a minimum, and these shiny tranquilizer weapons he brought them to make it more likely on their end.

The Vagabond looks back at him, seems bemused as though Gavin’s the odd one out for offering a compliment on something like that.

“What?” Gavin asks, feeling a bit defensive even though it was a lovely bit of marksmanship on the Vagabond’s part.

“Are you done yet?” the mas asks, strange note to his voice Gavin can’t quite place.

Not anger or annoyance, but clearly something to it, so Gavin decides to leave things well enough alone and checks to see if the files are down downloading.

========

There’s a fair bit of running after that.

Some skulking going on when they make it to the parking garage and have to sneak past armed guards on high alert.

The Vagabond’s hand on his back when one wanders a little too close to their position, quiet murmur of ”Easy, easy. He doesn’t know we’re here,” and Gavin’s heart beating rabbit-fast in his chest.

He’s no novice to situations like this. Started out as a bit of a thief and all, but back then he was smart enough to avoid moments like these, didn’t he? Kept away from the more dangerous jobs knowing there was no one to watch his back if he did, pull a daring rescue if he got caught.

“Okay, now,” the Vagabond says, and gives Gavin a gentle nudge towards a maintenance door they can use to reach the outside and safety.

========

The second time it happens, Gavin (almost) sees it coming.

========

It’s a long, grueling week. All heist prep and planning and so on. Mistakes and missteps and other little snags here and there which are all part and parcel of things for the crew.

Gavin and the Vagabond visiting sites and facilities to grab more files, intel for the heist itself while the others acquire vehicles and other lovely things.

The Vagabond moves on to help Michael and the others while Gavin stays at the penthouse to untangle the files and other interesting bits of information they’ve gathered. Pieces it all together so it makes sense, will help when they move on to the heist itself.

Spends long, tedious hours at it, the others moving around him as he does since he’s in the main room of the penthouse. (Summer and this perfect bit of light that comes through the windows, lets him soak in the warmth more than he would in what Michael likes to call the nerd lair.)

Dropping off energy drinks and takeout and reminding him sleep is a thing human bodies need, so maybe give it a try sometime, dickhead. (And he will, just a little longer.)

“Hey,” Gavin hears. Soft, quiet. “Maybe you should call it a night.”

Gavin looks up to see the Vagabond looking down at him.

He blinks, and winces when he realizes someone’s closed the blinds, pulled the curtain and all that due to the late hour. Everyone else gone home and Geoff off on a dinner date with Jack the two of them are passing off as a business expense Agent 14 will have to put on his report. (Can’t let the bastard think they’re thrilled with him using them like this.)

His eyes feel hot, dry, and his back aches. The coffee table is covered in cans of energy drinks. Mugs with coffee and tea and a smattering of empty takeout containers.

A damn mess, and sure sign Michael has been too busy to stop by the penthouse to yell at him for being a disgusting animal.

“Oh, uh,” Gavin says, brilliant rejoinder. “I will soon. I just want to get through this first.”

Annoying bit of encryption, stubborn as hell, although that could be the lack of sleep talking.

The Vagabond makes this grumbling noise that trails off into a sigh as he watches Gavin a moment more. Slips out of his jacket and tosses it over the arm of the couch as takes a seat next to Gavin with a tired little sigh.

Gavin watches him from the corner of his eye, sees him carefully scoot a coffee mug aside here, energy drink can there before he unlaces his boots and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. Wriggles his toes a bit as he picks up the remote and turns the television on, clicking through the endless channels Geoff gets with the cable package of his and settles on what looks like an old science fiction show.

Dated special effects and overdone acting, the sort of thing that’s so bad it circles back around to good. Turns the volume down low out of consideration for Gavin, which is nice of him but unnecessary.

“You can put the volume up,” Gavin says, “it won’t bother me.”

He was good with tuning out distraction before he joined the crew, and just got better at it once he had, given the insanity that runs rampant with them. (Prime target for good-natured bullying they get up to and all that.)

The Vagabond laughs, this quiet little chuckle sort of thing.

“Nah,” he says. “Makes it easier to do interpretive lip-reading.”

That -

Gavin doesn’t know what to make of that, so he leaves the Vagabond to it and goes back to his own work.

Smiles to himself when the Vagabond laughs to himself as the show goes on, quiet little chuckle of his again or this odd croaky thing that speaks to the sort of exhaustion where the smallest thing is hysterical as all hell.

After a while even that tapers off, and Gavin glances over when he hears a soft thump. Sees the Vagabond listing to the side, clearly asleep, and the remote on the floor he must have dropped.

At some point he’d taken off that mask of his, tossed it onto the coffee table as an afterthought. Too tired to bother with it, or maybe felt he didn’t need it.

Either way, there’s quite a bit a bit of trust behind that small gesture of his, even if he’s still got his face paint of his.

Gavin watches as gravity and the worn out couch of Geoff’s do their thing, Vagabond slumping over to lean against Gavin, head tipping onto his shoulder.

Goes so very, very still when the Vagabond makes this noise in the back of his throat that sounds like something caught between a cough and a sigh, and wriggles about until he’s comfortable.

Makes little noises now and then, mumbles too quietly – and garbled – for Gavin to make out what he’s saying, but whatever it is doesn’t seem to be part of an unpleasant dream or the onset of a nightmare.

Gavin tries to focus on his work, but the Vagabond’s snoring and quiet mumbling are proving to be far more distracting than a full-fledged gunfight or any other form of chaos he’s been introduced to since joining the crew.

Loose strands of his hair that have come loose from his ponytail tickling Gavin’s neck, brushing his face. Steady sound of his breathing so close to Gavin’s ear, warmth of his body bleeding through the t-shirt he’s wearing, and it really has been a long week hasn’t it?

Gavin might have been cooped up in the penthouse the last little while, but he’s been working almost non-stop himself. Hunched over his laptop and squirreled away in the nerd lair for most of it.

Not enough time to stop for a proper meal or even remember to drink something without an indecent caffeine level.

Gavin sighs – seems to do a lot of that lately, doesn't he? - and squints at the screen of his laptop. The files he has up are so much gibberish at the moment and experience tells him it won’t get better if he keeps on as he’s been doing.

Another one of those clear signs, this one telling him he should pack it up for the night. Sleep, maybe, if he can get his brain to slow down enough for that.

He glances down at the Vagabond, big scary bastard that he is all snuggled up to him like the strays Lindsay’s always mucking about with.

Adorable, scrappy little balls of fluff and feisty as hell. He tries not to laugh at the thought of the Vagabond being much along the same lines at the moment because with his luck the bastard will just know about it somehow, but honestly? There’s a marked resemblance.

After the week they’ve all had he’s loathe to wake the Vagabond. Doesn’t begrudge him the chance to get sleep while he can.

He can feel his own exhaustion welling up like rising fog as he fully acknowledges it. Fights back a yawn as he considers the situation.

The Vagabond doesn’t seem such an imposing figure like this, and while he’s still unsettling and a bit creepy, he’s also -

Well.

Gavin’s not sure what he is, other than a little odd.

Not unlike the rest of them with their quirks and such, mismatched idiots the lot of them. More terrifying than the others, perhaps, but Gavin’s gotten to know him better this past week and he’s not the monster the rumors make him out to be.

Far from it, actually.

Gavin scratches his chin, grimaces at the untamed scruff he finds there and makes a mental note to clean that up a bit in the morning. (Morning, afternoon. Whenever.)

The Vagabond snuffles in his sleep, dragging Gavin’s wandering mind back on track.

Geoff’s couch is getting up there in age, sure, but it’s still comfortable. Strikes a balance between fashionable décor and simple human comfort, even with the sagging cushions and all.

The suite Geoff’s set aside for him here at the penthouse is a few floors down, assuming Gavin could get out from under the Vagabond’s not inconsiderable bulk without waking him. Not impossibly far away, but the logistics of it all are too much for him at the moment. (Can’t be bothered and all.)

So.

Gavin sighs (again), and saves his work before powering his laptop down. Finagles his laptop down to the floor and scoots it under the couch where it won’t get stepped on, and wriggles around himself until he’s comfortable enough he (probably) won’t end up with a crick in his neck.

Laughs as the Vagabond grumbles to himself, face scrunching up at being bounced about a bit in the process, and closes his eyes. (Just resting them, that’s all. Quick little break and then back to it.)

But he’s got the Vagabond’s quiet breathing in his ear, warm weight against him and Geoff’s damnably comfortable couch underneath him, and it’s not long before he falls asleep himself, too tired to fight it anymore.

========

The third time it happens – well.

To be fair, Gavin stops counting after that second time. Doesn’t see the point anymore when it all gets tangled up together with the times he falls asleep on the Vagabond.

This whole give and take thing they get caught up in to the amusement of the crew at large and Ryan in particular because he’s just that kind of bastard.

“You’re laughing at me again, aren’t you,” Gavin mutters, tired after a very long day of running and hiding and terrified yelling because Ryan is quite possibly the worst driver Gavin’s ever met in his life, including himself.

Ryan chuckles, and tugs Gavin’s laptop out of his hands to set it down on their coffee table. Picks up Gavin’s phone and turns it off before pocketing it, slowly and methodically divests Gavin of the various gadgets and whatnot he’s surrounded himself with while working.

“Just a little bit, yeah,” Ryan admits, looking down at him with his head cocked just so.

Familiar gesture after all this time, one Ryan saves just for him.

No mask or face paint, and his hair is out of the ponytail he keeps it in while he’s out and about. Looks soft and approachable in an old shirt and pair of sweatpants, and Gavin -

“Rude,” Gavin mutters, fighting a smile at the one Ryan’s giving him.

Quiet little thing full of fondness and affection and Ryan knows for a fact Gavin’s weak against it, cheating bastard that he is. Comes at Gavin with the big guns right off and so damn smug about it afterwards.

“Come to bed?” Ryan asks, holding a hand out to him as though he thinks Gavin’s answer will be anything but yes.

#freewood #ragehappy #prompt fills #anon #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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gymwrites · 5 years

Text

Second Thoughts: A Fan Sequel to First Times

[Author’s note: There will be a final, longer part released soon, but wanted to get this out there. Thank you for the kind messages. May the new year treat you all just as kindly!

I wrote this chapter to: Bloodstream (Quartet Session) by Stateless.]

Links to: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 (Part I), Chapter 5 (Part II), Chapter 6 (Part I), Chapter 6 (Part II), Chapter 6 (Part III), Chapter 7, Chapter 8 (Part I), Chapter 8 (Part II)

Chapter 8: Lights (Part II)

Laurie keeps insisting on accompanying them back to Team USA’s apartment block, but Aliya firmly resists. She points out that the girl should enjoy what’s left of the night, especially if this is her first time attending an Olympic after-party. Most gymnasts are still on strict competition training schedules and will begin retiring to their rooms in a few hours. There’s no sense in Laurie missing out on the fun while it lasts.

At least, that’s what Aliya tells herself is the reason for taking it solely upon herself to guide Aly back.

Having left a reluctant Laurie and an even more reluctant Eythora at the entrance, all that’s left to do is carefully usher a half-slumbering Aly down several flights of stairs, then into the elevator, and out into the chilly night air.

Aliya has walked many a girl home after a long night of drinking. There are those who complain loudly and incessantly, who insist they’re completely fine and berate their helper for assuming they need any assistance at all. Others are too sick to say much of anything, needing a pit stop every few minutes to empty out their stomachs. Those are probably Aliya’s least favorite experiences.

And then there is Aly.

“Aliya, you really don’t have to do this.”

Aliya glances over at Aly, her mouth tilting up in a smile. “I doing nothing.”

The girl sighs heavily. “Yes you are. You’re laughing at me.”

“Laugh must be inside your head, Aly.”

“No. It’s inside yours.”

In addition to being a continuous source of amusement for Aliya, their banter crucially helps keep Aly awake, and Aliya thinks they might make it back to their destination in good time. All she has to do is traverse the relatively short distance necessary, and not let herself get distracted by the whimsical, adorable antics of an inebriated Aly Raisman.

It is far more difficult than Aliya anticipates. At first, Aliya had tried letting Aly walk on her own, but she had lurched one too many times before Aliya decided it would not do. So she had slung Aly’s left arm across her shoulder and her own arm around Aly’s waist. This lets her act as a support for Aly while they press forward together, but it also inconveniently floods her senses with the nearness of her.

The evening sky is mostly clear and dotted with stars. A few wisps of clouds trail behind an unusually outsized moon. A quiet, almost lazy calm hangs in the air; it doesn’t feel as though lifelong Olympic dreams have been made and broken and cried over in numerous buildings and rooms scattered all over the Village. It’s as beautiful a summer night as any for a stroll. Probably too beautiful - it might afford opportunities for Aly to burrow in deeper, and make the permanent home she has in Aliya’s heart even more so.

Aliya has to stifle a laugh when Aly swings her free arm up to point to one of many identical overhanging lamps they happen to be passing under.

“Look,” Aly says in rapt wonder. “That’s the most gorgeous light I’ve ever seen.” Her words are slow and slurred, though not incoherent. Aliya takes that as a good sign. The girl would likely get hit with far worse headaches in the next hour, but it shouldn’t be so bad as to take her out of action the next day.

“It is just light, Aly,” Aliya replies. She fights a grin when Aly huffs at her.

“And I’m just a girl,” the girl fires back.

Aliya licks her lips, ignoring the way her heart jumps. Focus. She places another foot forward, then another, and gently nudges Aly to do the same. Aly complies, but is apparently still very taken by the lamp.

“It shines like the moon but is so much bigger and brighter.”

“Because it is more close than moon.”

“Things are always better when they’re closer,” Aly says sagely, expelling a dramatic sigh before craning her neck in an attempt to focus bleary eyes on Aliya.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Aly begins, then promptly trips over an uneven crack in the ground before she can finish the sentence. Aliya instinctively braces both hands on Aly’s forearms, holding her upright until she’s sure the girl has recovered her footing.

“Thanks,” Aly breathes, still clinging to Aliya like moss on a tree. Aliya nods tersely, pulse thudding in her ears. When she releases the girl to continue moving them onwards, the tingling on her skin left by Aly’s warmth doesn’t go away.

They only make it another several feet down the pathway before Aly again stops to stare fixedly at the next lamp post they’ve reached. The flickering light emitted by the fluorescent lamps seems to hold some strange, hypnotic power over her.

“You say I thinking something, Raisman?” Aliya reminds Aly, giving her another nudge with her shoulder. She’s strong, but she’s not sure she can manage hauling a hypnotized, or worse, unconscious American across the remaining few hundred feet.

“Right.” Aly shakes her head, as if clearing away a thick fog. She lets Aliya tug her along another few steps. “You’re thinking that I did this on purpose. That I’m upset about how we’ll never be together, and this is me trying to get your attention because I’m still and will always be crazy about you.”

The unexpectedly honest words roll out thick and fast, and they hit Aliya with an almost physical force. Either Eythora had spiked Aly’s drink with truth serum, or Aly’s ability to hold her liquor was even more abysmal than Aliya knew it to be. Aliya is also fairly certain there are other, far more efficient ways of getting her attention than intentionally downing a massive glass of hard vodka, but does not say so.

“I’m trying to leave you alone,” Aly continues pleadingly. “I really am. I didn’t even look at you during the all-around. And when I did, it was only because I absolutely had to.”

Heat pools in Aliya’s cheeks as she bites down a smile. She uses the hand wrapped around Aly’s shoulder to give the girl a brief squeeze.

“Da. I know this.”

“Do you know how difficult not looking is for me?” Aly demands haltingly, as if it is some big injustice she has been forced to endure. She shifts her body to more fully face Aliya, a pout formed on her lips. “God knows who wouldn’t look at you, Aliya. You’re beautiful. Not just on the outside,” and Aly swipes a hand clumsily through the space in front of Aliya’s face, before pressing it against her own chest and squeezing it into a tight fist, “but here, where I feel how beautiful you are on the inside… on my insides… and it doesn’t ever stop.”

The simultaneously awkward and passionate statement sends a familiar surge of tension thrumming through the air; it shifts and compresses the space between them, pulls them in closer, always closer. Aliya chances a glance into the plunging sea of Aly’s eyes.

“Znaiyu, Aly. I know,” Aliya murmurs in a low rasp. She forcibly steers her gaze away and up ahead, strange flutters in her chest. “Come. We are almost there.”

Gravity seems to work at an increasing rate the closer they get to the Team USA building. They’ve walked past a good number of other athletes at this point, and Aliya starts to worry about the attention they’re drawing. People talked in the Village, and things had a way of getting back to the wrong people - Aly’s over-controlling national team coordinator, for one. Though feeling the urgent need to return Aly back to Team USA’s apartment as soon as possible, Aliya finds herself wistfully wishing it was further away.

Aly suddenly doubles over at the waist, clutching at her belly and giving a little groan. Aliya tightens her grip on the girl, brows furrowing in concern. “Aly?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Aly breathes out, in a manner that is decidedly not fine. She manages with difficulty to straighten up again, and gives Aliya a feeble nod to indicate they should keep going.

All up, it takes about twenty minutes to accompany Aly back, but it feels far longer than that. They stumble into the empty lobby of Team USA’s apartment block with no further incident.

Once Aliya helps Aly into the elevator, she watches, engrossed, as Aly bends down and squashes her face up against the numbered buttons for what feels like an eternity. The doors close with a heavy clang. For the next thirty seconds, the only sounds are the light humming of the elevator cooling system, Aly’s slow, labored breathing, and the throbbing warning inside Aliya’s head that a herd of Americans are going to spill into the enclosed space with them any second.

Unable to tolerate the suspense any longer, Aliya subtly clears her throat. “Aly.”

Aly squints at the buttons for a few seconds more before glancing back at her. “Hm?”

“Which floor? Tell me, and I help….” Aliya can’t remember the English word for ‘press’, so she mimics the motion in the air.

The girl waves away her offered assistance. “You can’t.”

Clasping her hands behind her back, Aliya sighs. “Why?”

“You were freezing, but you wouldn’t even wear my Team USA jacket.“

Aliya frowns at her, utterly clueless as to what that has to do with anything.

“These are Team USA buttons,” Aly says pointing at the elevator controls, and seeing Aliya’s face descend into further confusion, she lowers her head and clarifies in a serious whisper, “I’m saving you from touching Team USA buttons.”

Aly’s nonsensical words cause an intense affection to bubble up in Aliya’s chest. She does her best to choke it off by pressing her mouth into a hard, firm line. Aliya waits, still as a statue, while Aly scrabbles around and finally hits the button labeled ’13’.

Leaning heavily against the elevator wall, the girl straightens up and flashes a triumphant, toothy smirk at Aliya.

Aliya hurriedly looks away, her whole body flushing with heat. She concentrates furiously on their blurred reflections in the steel doors the whole ride up.

By the time the elevator hits the thirteenth floor and the doors draw open, Aliya is prepared for the moment she’ll have to deposit Aly in front of her apartment with nothing more than polite well wishes for event finals. As they stagger past Suites 1302, then 1303, 1304… 1307… Aliya repeatedly rehearses in her head exactly what she’s going to do (untangle herself from Aly) and say (an efficient ‘goodnight’ to follow the well wishes should suffice), and she will do and say it all in a calm and collected manner.

As she always does.

But when Aly halts in front of Suite 1309, and Aliya holds her steady as she fumbles around in her pocket for the key, Aliya already knows calm and collected is precisely what isn’t going to happen.

The time for ‘calm and collected’ would have been about a half hour ago, when Masha stopped Aliya at the door, a final caution marked in her eyes. Or when Eythora offered to take care of Aly, and Aliya could have just let it play out. It was definitely before Aliya drained a disappointing shot of vodka, and finally gave herself over to the reality that Aly Raisman will always be a part of every breath she draws, every whisper pressed to her soul, every end of her every beginning.

That’s why when the door swings open, Aliya quietly follows Aly inside without another thought, and Aly lets her, as if it couldn’t have happened any other way.

The time for ‘calm and collected’ is well and truly past.

#raistafina #second thoughts #first times #fanfic

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tenspontaneite · 6 years

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Paper Cranes Partial thing (Chapter 22 first scene)

Happy holidays, all! Those of you who feel like reading arguments for Christmas, be my guest. Have fun!

Partial chapter 22: in which Hikaru and Akira have a disagreement.

Very carefully, Touya smoothed out the covers at the end of the hospital bed, and assembled the goban there. He withdrew the cardboard boxes of glass stones and placed them on top of it. Finally, he pulled a chair over and settled in front of the board. He stared at Hikaru wordlessly for several seconds, bearing the expression of someone whose capacity for sentence construction had unexpectedly deserted him.

Hikaru looked at him with vague encouragement until he eventually managed a word. “…Well?” His awkward visitor demanded, when the silence had finally grown too uncomfortable for him and Hikaru had won the contest of awkwardness-tolerance.

Feeling as though he had, in some small way, established dominance, Hikaru shuffled forwards to better witness the board and inspected it. He nodded decisively, pushing back the sudden choking wave of memory and regret, and said “Put both of the stone bowls to your side, like you’re replaying a game alone.”

Touya eyed him strangely, but obeyed, moving the boxes over. “And now?” He asked, expectantly.

“We play. I’ll call out my moves and you place my stones.” It would be quicker if I could gesture with a fan but – no. Hikaru shoved the thought away with ruthless experience and fixed his attention onto the board. How strange it was, to have gone over a week without playing a single game… “You take black.” He added, on impulse, and immediately regretted it.

Sai, after all, had played white more often than not. What was he thinking, putting himself even more into that position? Maybe Setsu was right, and he was a masochist.

“…Alright.” The boy’s eyes flickered to his and narrowed, slightly. Interest prickled at his rival’s soul, in a sharp-edged tracery of analytic thinking that Hikaru was not privy to. He opened both boxes of stones, setting the black stones closest to him, and looked up. “…You’ve done this before.” He said, quietly certain in his intuition, and waited for the response.

Hikaru went carefully still. Touya really was too observant for his comfort, sometimes. “Yeah.” He agreed, eventually, and exhaled. “We going to play, or what?”

Touya observed him for several more seconds, and then bowed. “Onegaishimasu.” He said, and Hikaru followed suit, albeit slowly. He had to be careful with the positioning of his hands. He noticed a second later that he hadn’t actually done anything about the wide reach of his energy, and scrambled to reel it in, finding the task unexpectedly challenging. It was certainly far more voluminous than it had been, and now…it was as though he couldn’t actually compress it that far anymore.

Touya’s fingers placed the first stone while Hikaru was still having something of an internal battle. He couldn’t rein his senses in completely – it simply wasn’t working. There wasn’t enough soul to host the dramatically increased energy, and he just…couldn’t. In the end, frustrated, he swept it all out behind him and intentionally omitted Touya from his range.

He breathed in, then spoke his first move. It wasn’t anything remarkable, but Touya still faltered slightly on retrieving the white stone for it, looking vaguely disconcerted. Hikaru wondered, briefly, how he would have held up, if he’d been Sai’s host, and hissed slightly at the bite of the thought. He didn’t think Touya would have been able to see Sai in the goban, his soul looked too different, but…it was hard not to think about it, with Touya sitting there playing Hikaru’s role.

It was an odd game.

Both of them were somewhat subdued in their playing styles. For Hikaru’s part, he was sick and hadn’t played in a week, and there was also the unforgettable pain of being in…this position. Sai’s position, unable to place his own stones, reliant on the hands of other people, and drenched in the memories of the many times he’d acted as Sai’s hands.

Touya, though…Hikaru wasn’t quite sure what was up with Touya. Part of it might have been the boy’s obvious awkwardness in the hospital room, and his discomfort at the sight of the intimidating braces on Hikaru’s hands. The procedure of the game was definitely a factor, though. While Touya had undoubtedly replayed many games alone and was used to playing stones for both sides, he seemed entirely unaccustomed to doing so in an actual game.

Hikaru felt somewhat sorry for him, really. Whenever he started to get really into the game, eyes going intense and focused in the usual way, Hikaru’s moves would shake him out of it again; either when he heard the move, or when several silent seconds had passed and he remembered it was his responsibility to place it. Hikaru had become accustomed to that sort of game fairly early on, so it was something he was well-acquainted with. Touya, however, had spent a lifetime playing the game without any ghosts or maimed friends in the picture.

In any case, the combination of unfortunate factors made it a pretty lacklustre game, and thoroughly uninspiring. At the end of the hour Hikaru resigned early just because he was sick of playing when neither of their minds were actually in it. Touya didn’t look annoyed, which was a pretty tell-tale sign that he’d not been any more invested than Hikaru.

They both stared at the board and the utterly unsatisfying game there for over a minute. The shapes were just…ugly. Bland. It was such a pathetic example of a game that Hikaru was almost embarrassed to look at it. “…I’m not certain this game is worth discussing.” Touya said at last, voice frustrated and vaguely lost.

“Let’s just leave it.” Hikaru suggested, sighing. He let his energy loose again and winced a little at the turbulent, displeased texture that was all over the other boy. “Sorry it wasn’t a good game.”

“You are in hospital.” Touya replied, not sounding particularly as though this absolved Hikaru in his eyes. He made an odd face as he reached forwards to clean the stones away, and went quite stiff before he added “I found myself…distracted, to be placing your stones as well as mine.”

“It takes some getting used to.” Hikaru agreed, shuffling backwards to lean against the upright half of the hospital bed. His back had gone somewhat stiff during the game and it was a relief to sit back.

The other boy swiftly went all sharp-looking again, and Hikaru hastily thought back to what he’d said. Oh, right. Whoops. “About that, Shindou,” Touya said, setting the cardboard stone containers atop the board. “Why have you played like this before?”

“I haven’t.” Hikaru said, truthfully.

His rival straightened, glaring a little. “That is not what you said before.”

“No, I mean I was – I was placing the stones.” He clarified, very uneasy with the topic of conversation. “I used to play with a…disabled guy, for a while. So yeah, it does take some getting used to.”

Touya’s eyes narrowed. “Who was-“

“Which you’ll have the chance to,” Hikaru interrupted, forcefully commandeering the conversation before it could go too far into dangerous territory. “Considering how long it’s going to take before I can hold stones again.”

His rival paused, visibly caught between two avenues of attack. Reluctantly, he took the conversational bait, though Hikaru had no doubt he’d be asking about the ‘disabled guy’ at some point. “And how long is that?” He asked, moving the stone boxes aside to fold the board. “I’ve not seen braces like those before.”

“I can’t do basically anything with my hands for like six weeks.” Hikaru bemoaned, and Touya nearly dropped the board.

He looked up incredulously. “Six weeks? What have you done to your hands?” He quickly slipped the board into the bag and leaned forwards to scrutinise the orthoses. “Surely if you’d broken them they would be in casts?”

“The bones are fine, I’ve not broken anything.” Hikaru said, lifting his hands carefully to show the thin dressings underneath the hell-implements that were the braces. “I’ve kind of messed up some muscles and tendons and apparently a couple of nerves too, so.” He shrugged. “It’s going to take a while.” And in the meantime, he would be playing like a ghost.

Touya stared at him, his face settling into a frown. “…I suppose that would explain the two months of medical leave.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, morose. “It’s going to be such a pain.”

The other boy scrutinised him wordlessly for several seconds, his expression becoming hard and almost confrontational. “…Shindou. What happened.” It wasn’t composed as a question. It was flat, uncompromising, and demanding.

Without any conscious effort on his part, Hikaru bristled. “I got injured, obviously.” He said, with an edge to the words.

“How?” Touya demanded, leaning forwards. His expression was fierce and impatience was written all over the flesh of his soul.

Almost immediately, because Hikaru had been thinking about this, he shot out “I punched a wall.” He watched the renewed incredulity rise on his visitor’s face, and kept his own expression perfectly level.

“…A wall.” The seventh-dan repeated, slowly.

“A very sharp wall.” He added, with an utter lack of any sort of shame.

“And I suppose you punched this wall with both hands.” The words were…not quite mild.

“The first time was because I wanted to punch something.” Hikaru clarified. “The second time was because I was angry at the wall.”

Touya took a very deep, slow breath. His voice was increasingly strained as he spoke. “And your neck?”

“Wall debris.” He replied promptly.

“….Wall debris.”

“Yep.” He observed the increasing agitation of his rival with a conflicted eye. On one hand, riling each other up was just was they did, and he usually enjoyed it. But, on the other…

His rival’s fists were clenching, and there was something unfamiliar about the look in his eyes. “That’s…what you’re going with.” He said, quiet. “That.”

This was…kind of a different feeling to usual. Hikaru watched angry red rise in the other boy’s skin, and couldn’t feel pleased about it as he usually could. He watched, gut twisting, as frustration frothed and contorted in the other boy’s soul, already too-raw and poised to snap-

“Why do you even bother saying anything when it’s obviously all lies?” The boy burst out, his anger and upset uncomfortably real, his shoulders drawing up and his soul bristling in a threat display, and. And sometimes, Hikaru didn’t really know how to stop, or slow down, or de-escalate.

His response fell out of him on reflex, harsh and cold on his tongue – “Why do you even bother asking so many questions,” He said, voice flat. “When what I say is ‘obviously all lies’?” It was possibly the most genuine, honest thing he’d said to Touya in months, realer than he’d meant it to come out, and shit. This was actually a fight, wasn’t it.

At the thought, Hikaru drew back, feeling half-guilty and half-hostile. Maybe it wasn’t fair to be messing Touya about like this, but for fuck’s sake, did he never understand that sometimes Hikaru didn’t want to talk about things? Might not even be ready to talk about things?

The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped in the space of two exchanges of words, leeched away to leave something tight and angry in the air. “Sometimes, I truly don’t know.” Touya’s voice was even colder than his, now. “Futile hope, I suppose.”

It was a world of difference from their meaningless squabbles. Those ran hot, furious but also inspiring. Fun, even, a lot of the time. This…wasn’t fun. This was cold, brittle, and painful like a lungful of glass.

Hikaru bristled, his energy churning erratically. He was guilty and angry and didn’t know what to do about it, but the thought of…of conceding, was near unbearable. “For what.” He bit out, and he was defensive, because what else could he be?

“I don’t know. Answers, perhaps?” Still glacial, but…edged with a raw, angry hurt. “Shindou. You’ve been…hiding things, for weeks, and now you’re in hospital. And you still won’t say anything.” His expression was drawn tight, and Hikaru…sort of felt bad, at that. But then: “Don’t you think you owe me some answers?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Hikaru had been…not settling, but becoming more guilty than angry, but- “I don’t owe you answers.” He snapped, because that was what pissed him off. “If I don’t want to talk about something then I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t have to tell you.”

“Not even how you got hurt?” Touya demanded, and his voice was rising now. “Shindou, it’s all over the news. Everyone knows that there was an incident at the shrine near your house and then you turn up in hospital? It’s not hard to make the connection!”

Hikaru opened his mouth, and stopped. “…It’s on the news?” He asked, uncertain.

His rival blinked at him, deflating slightly, and offered a jerky nod. “The incident is being reported as linked to the Yokohama murder.” He said, voice ruthlessly level. “They have a name for the suspect, now. ‘Kaminaga Keiji’. An iaido instructor, apparently.” He leaned forwards, eyes narrow. “I don’t suppose that name means anything to you?”

He flinched, and then wasn’t sure why. “Touya.” He said, warningly.

“He wouldn’t have been the one ‘stalking’ you, perhaps?” The boy’s voice was a cruel breed of mild, now. The daggers in him were roused and it seemed he didn’t know how to stop any more than Hikaru did. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that, just before I came in. So is that it? Is that why you’ve been so erratic recently – you were being harassed by a murderer?”

Hikaru’s hands ached horribly in several vicious lines. His blood beat against the wounds on his neck. “Touya,” He said, voice rising, and his energy writhed with warning, rising defensively at the memory of pain. A spirit would have seen that and known to back away. A spirit wouldn’t have risked the backlash, and would have stopped. “Shut up.”

Touya was not a spirit. He did not stop. “Was it Kaminaga Keiji who did that to you?” He demanded, gesturing in a rough, sweeping motion from Hikaru’s hands to his neck. “Because you certainly didn’t get those injuries from a wall, Shindou-“

Hikaru remembered blood, hot and slippery between his fingers, remembered his desperate pulse thrumming against the edge of a blade – “Stop.” He said, the sound of the word thin and far-away as his energy snapped outwards.

Touya was opening his mouth to refuse when it reached him. It wasn’t an attack, wasn’t shaped that way and wasn’t aimed that way, but the energy was thick with anger and didn’t avoid the human soul in its path. Hikaru’s energy brushed over him in a prickling, threatening snarl of motion, doing no damage and leaving no scars, but the soul visibly shuddered nonetheless.

And Touya stopped.

His mouth closed, expression changing rapidly from hostility to confusion. He shivered, almost imperceptibly, and stared blankly like he had lost his train of thought.

Hikaru observed these things and the faltering of his soul and…everything halted. His energy stilled, and then drew back sharply at the memory of I can kill people with my mind, horror rushing over him. He reached out again, half-terrified as he inspected his rival’s soul. He couldn’t see anything wrong, it looked like it had just been disturbed, but…

He took a steadying breath. “Touya.” He said, voice tight. “I think you should leave.”

Touya blinked at him, soul clicking its way back into rightness as the effect passed. Briefly, he looked like he had remembered to be angry. A moment later, it looked like guilt instead.

He rose to his feet, fingers curled neatly into fists at his sides. Then without a word, he turned and swept out of the room. His bright, conflicted presence pressed its way steadily out of the hospital.

Hikaru slumped forwards into the bedding, and breathed, and didn’t know what to do.

end partial chapter.

Cheers all. Thanks for staying with me another year.

#fic: paper cranes #hikaru no go #shindou hikaru #touya akira #my writing #my fanfic #paper cranes #paper cranes chapters

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flannagangladys · 4 years

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Natural Remedies For Tmj Symptoms Marvelous Ideas

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How To Relieve Jaw Pain From Bruxism

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#Natural Remedies For Tmj Symptoms Marvelous Ideas #Bruxism Cpt Code

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ryvrr · 6 years

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count the ways

[AO3 LINK] Fandom: Haikyuu!! Pairing: Iwaoi (Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru) Summary: Iwaizumi ponders all of the smiles Oikawa has, and the ones he likes best. Words: 1,612 Notes: No beta. I don’t have a beta who’s in this fandom, and it’s super early, so I didn’t wanna bother my normal beta. :’) I looked over it and tried to catch all my own mistakes. It’s my first Iwaoi, so I hope I caught their characters okay. Enjoy~

Iwaizumi liked Oikawa’s smile.

He liked all of his smiles-- even the fake ones, even the ones with too much bravado, but he loved the real ones the most.

There was his shy one, where he looked down and his long, pretty lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. His lips would curve softly and he’d flush, the color creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, soft pink against pale skin. He’d act bashful-- “Iwa-chaaaan,” he’d whine pathetically, “you’re embarrassing meeee!”-- but his eyes would show how much he enjoyed it. Iwaizumi liked those ones, tucked them away in a corner of his heart and memories, so later he could pull them out and study them, appreciate them more.

The next one was his truly confident one. The fake bravado ones were an act, a carefully constructed facade to put up whenever he needed it and couldn’t find the courage to truly be brave. Iwaizumi didn’t hate those ones-- he hated none of Oikawa’s smiles, no matter how much he tried to pretend he disliked the ones that didn’t reach his eyes. But the one that filled Oikawa’s gaze with a quiet, steady strength… those ones, they took his breath away.

Because everyone always forgot, with all Oikawa’s whining and childish antics at times, that he was so strong. He was brave and selfless, and he gave up so much for volleyball and his team. Even now, even in college when he was on a whole different level, he was still the same headstrong boy he once was in high school, in junior high, in childhood. He was still Oikawa Tooru, who cried a bit too much and pretended to be immature, but was truly the backbone of any team he joined.

After that, a lot of the smiles bleeded together. There was his cocky one, where he was sure he would get whatever he wanted from Iwaizumi. That one did funny things to Iwaizumi’s insides. There was his contemplative smile, where he didn’t realize his best friend was watching him and he was thinking deeply about something, something that warmed him up and spread warmth slowly into his brown irises.

The nervous smile he wore when he confessed to Hajime. That one would probably always come to the forefront whenever Iwaizumi started to think about Oikawa’s beaming face. It looked as if one wrong word could cause it to crumble, as Oikawa’s unsteady fingers clenched together in front of him and he forced a grin to his lips. “I like you,” he’d said, for once deciding that simple was best. “I want to go on a date with Iwa-chan.”

“I like you too,” Iwaizumi had replied. Simple was the best tactic. If he waxed poetically about his feelings for Tooru, then there might be a chance he’d take a word wrong, overanalyze something and misconstrue. Hajime never wanted that to happen when it came to something like this. “Where do you want to go on our date?”

The way Oikawa’s eyes lit up-- it was like a sugar high, plowing through Iwaizumi’s veins and lighting up every nerve center in his body. He felt as if he could conquer the world, as long as he had Tooru by his side. He’d always felt like that, ever since they were children, ever since the first time Hajime held out his hand when they were toddlers and Oikawa had gripped it weakly, with a wobbly smile, and Iwaizumi had thought, “I would beat up anyone who made that smile disappear.”

There was the smile after they were done having sex-- “Hajime is so vulgar,” Tooru would tease if he heard him, “it’s making love when it’s with someone you care for like we do, Iwa-chan!”-- where his cheeks were flushed red and his lips were even darker, kiss bruised and shining. The smile would start slow at first, tilt up his lips and then spread further, faster, overtake everything as Oikawa beamed.

Hajime loved that one second best, he decided.

His favorite had been hard to decide upon consciously. He had known in the back of his mind which one it was. There was really no contest. The shaky one, the one that Tooru really meant, the one that said thank you whenever Iwaizumi did something sweet or caring. “Sit down,” Iwaizumi ordered one night, Oikawa’s knee brace in one hand and the other wielding a pain killer bottle like he might chuck it at his boyfriend’s head. “You need this, so don’t even try to fight it.”

Oikawa’s lips had compressed together, his eyes displeased. He hated weakness. Just because they were in university now meant nothing. His knee was still weak when he pushed it too hard, but he loathed to admit it. “I’m fine, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hurried to assure him. “It’s just a little twinge!”

“A little twinge, and then it blooms into worse,” Hajime pointed out logically. Oikawa’s eyes dulled a bit. He knew Iwaizumi was right. He heaved a huge, dramatic sigh, as if Iwaizumi’s concern was an inconvenience.

“Okay,” he breathed as he sunk onto the couch. “Okay, okay, hand it here, Iwa-chan! I’ll do it!”

Iwaizumi ignored him and sunk to his knees before his perch, hands gentle as he got the brace ready and assisted in putting it on. The pain pills were next. Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa’s water bottle off the coffee table and swung it around like a sword, brandishing it so that it nearly smacked Tooru in the nose. Oikawa grumbled in complaint as he took the pain killers and threw back a gulp of water to wash them down.

“Such a worrywart,” Oikawa teased.

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Someone has to worry about you,” he pointed out. “Might as well be me. It’s what I’m best at.” Oikawa paused and blinked owlishly down at him. He looked startled. Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if it was because Oikawa wasn’t used to Iwaizumi admitting his fondness and love-- he was coarse around the edges, still, even after years of dating-- or because it was just a weird situation. Iwaizumi being understanding about his knee, knowing that there wasn’t much to do about the situation, because Oikawa couldn’t stop playing volleyball. Volleyball was as much a part of him as his obsession with aliens and UFOs. “I like doing it,” he admitted softly. “I like taking care of you, so… let me.”

It started out slow. Tooru’s eyes warmed up first, and his lips followed suit very slowly. It was shaky and wavered at the edges, like Oikawa wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He reached out and settled a hand in Iwaizumi’s hair and gripped it, gently, as if to tether himself down. “Okay,” Oikawa said simply in response. Hajime watched as the smile crumbled a little around the edges, but remained, even in the face of all else. “I like it best when Hajime takes care of me anyway. It… it all works out.”

The next several moments passed peacefully. Hajime clambered onto the couch and wrapped his arms around Oikawa, anything to give him more reassurance. He never wanted him to suffer through any of his emotions alone. He needed to remember Iwaizumi was there, always there, ready to swoop in and help whenever needed.

Oikawa had many smiles. Over the years, Iwaizumi had figured he’d seen them all. He catalogued them in the back of his head and stowed them inside his memories, to recall on days when he needed fond reminders of cherishing someone and giving his all for them. He didn’t need the reminders often-- Oikawa was always around, so what good were reminders when the person was right there? But sometimes, sometimes Iwaizumi used them as a way to fortify his own strength and to keep going.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi said in the present and pressed a hand gently into Tooru’s sleep ruffled hair. They were collapsed in bed together, Oikawa back from an away game and victorious. Tooru mumbled something against the skin of Hajime’s throat, but refused to look up at him in reply. “I love you.”

Oikawa shuffled and then pushed himself up on his elbows. “I love you too,” Tooru replied. His eyes were warm and a warm, sleepy smile was on his face. “Iwa-chan is so sappy, saying something like that out of the blue!”

“It’s not out of the blue,” Iwaizumi replied. He affected a grumble in order to keep up appearances, but his heart fluttered in his chest. He loved this idiot so fucking much. It was ridiculous. He would never have it any other way.

“Were you thinking about how gay you were for me again, Hajime?” Tooru teased.

Iwaizumi reached behind his head for the pillow. “Shut up,” he retorted. “You’re just as sappy.” He smacked his boyfriend across the face a moment later. Oikawa squacked and fought back, tried to wrestle the new weapon out of Iwaizumi’s grasp.

Several minutes later, when they were stretched back out on the bed and tangled up in each other, he seemed to pick the conversation back up without any struggle. “True,” he replied. “Hajime is the best thing in my day, every day! Volleyball is a very, very close second, though, so don’t get a big head, Iwa-chan. I wouldn’t want it to swell and swell! You’re not tall enough to be able to lug that arou-- ouch! Iwa-chan, rude!”

Iwaizumi wrapped his arms tightly around Oikawa and pressed him in against himself, his own lips stretched into a huge smile. He loved every smile Oikawa had, but maybe, just maybe, he loved the smiles Tooru brought out of him even more.

#iwaoi #haikyuu!!#fanfiction #ryvrr writes #oiiwa

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just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms · 7 years

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I Feel You

This is a personal post, and I’ll be honest I’m super nervous about posting it.

This is not me wanting sympathy, this is me offering support.

I’ve met a lot of people through this site, and I’ve come to find a lot of people that I think go through very similar things to me on a daily basis.

To all my followers with chronic illnesses, I get it. I know what it’s like to have an invisible illness, and I want you to know that I’m always here if you want to vent and/or talk about it.

You are strong even though you feel weak.

You are not dysfunctional or broken even though you feel like you’re barely functioning.

Most importantly, you aren’t alone.

My personal daily battles: chronic migraines, chronic headaches, orthostatic intolerance, chronic fatigue syndrome, irritable bowel syndrome, anxiety, and lasting effects of an autonomic nervous system and GI system virus’s.

Whether you have multiple battles, or one, your battle is real and it is legitimate.

Feel free to read this thing I wrote. Sometimes you just need to let it all out. I’m sure there’s a lot of things I mention that some of you can identify with.

Most importantly, know that I’m always here for you.

You wake up, and you’re already tired. Your body aches, your head spins, and after just sitting up you’re ready to head back to bed. Not because you’re mentally tired, because your brain is already screaming at you not to move today.

Walking to the kitchen to grab a snack and some water you let the shower run, not too hot though, and wait to feel steady.

Finally feeling like your sugar won’t drop or your blood pressure won’t tank you step into the shower. Careful to not lock your knees or bend too much. Squatting makes sure you don’t collapse and hit your head again.

Stepping out you’re careful as you towel off making sure not to bend too much or over exert yourself trying to dry off and dry your hair.

Time to sit on the bed and give your body a rest as you figure out your clothes and a hair style for the day. Adding some compression stockings is a must since it’s going to be a full day of classes.

Packing your lunch, you make sure that there is enough for a little snack every two or three hours, can’t let your blood sugar drop or electrolytes get imbalanced. Don’t want a migraine, fainting spell, or a migraine from a fainting spell. Have to be careful though, if something doesn’t sound good you shouldn’t pack it. Flaring up your irritable bowel will only mean cramping that doubles you over and an hour in the bathroom.

By the time you’ve grabbed everything and gotten into the car, you are officially fatigued. You feel like you have a flu and got hit by a truck. The pounding starts to rise in your head, the vice starts to tighten around it. Taking deep breaths, you try to slow your heart rate, if it gets too high or you let the pain take over you’ll start to have a panic attack and then you’ll really be screwed.

The drive is nice, you are able to let your body relax and the radio keeps you distracted enough that your anxiety can just jibber jabber in the background.

After parking, the 3 block walk has your heart rate in the 150’s to 160’s even though you were walking slow. Collapsing into a chair in the classroom you feel the tingles in your face as the blood drains and your blood pressure starts to drop. You feel that tightness in your chest and panic set in as you feel yourself about to faint.

Your limbs go limp and you take deep slow breaths, pleading with your body to keep you conscious. Classmates walk in and you smile, not wanting them to see you panic and praying they aren’t noticing the sweat on your brow. The vice and jack hammering start in your head, radiating as your brain feels like it’s going to swell out of your skull.

Deep breath in, hold it, and slowly let it out. You do this again and again until you feel your heart rate finally start to slow and the anxiety moves to the background. You wiggle your feet, swinging your legs, doing what you can to keep the blood circulating during the class.

The rest of the day, every time you stand you brace yourself on the table, giving yourself a moment to adjust before packing up your things. You laugh and joke with friends, desperately trying to ignore the total and complete fatigue that hits you like a truck every time you sit down and get up again.

Crap, you forgot to eat. The over production of acid in your stomach starts to rear its angry head and your stomach feels like it’s eating itself while the burn of acid makes it feel like there’s a blow torch in your chest. The jitters start to set in and you grab a granola bar, wolfing it down and hoping you aren’t too late.

Water is downed at every possible moment. Careful though, drinking too fast and not eating frequently isn’t good either, can’t overload your system with water. Keeping a small Gatorade in your bag is a must, especially on days where you’ll be in a hot room or it’s hot outside.

Finally getting home at the end of the day you literally collapse into bed. Your head is pounding, your heart is racing, and you can feel your body literally straining to keep your blood pressure up.

The next hour or so is spent lying flat on your back in bed with all your pillows under your legs. You use this time to relax a bit, check social media, give yourself a mental break before starting studying. Of course the anxiety is having none of this though.

Why aren’t you studying? You know putting this off isn’t doing yourself any good.

Just suck it up and move on. You’re being over dramatic. People have done more with worse in their life.

Stop being weak, just get up and do what you have to.

You can’t though. You physically can’t do more. Literally thinking and studying alone takes as much energy as going on a three mile walk.

You try yoga, deep breathing, drinking more water. Every time you go to the doctor you hope the tests come back as negative but they don’t.

The virus that attacked your autonomic nervous system did permanent damage. Your body clinically can’t handle being vertical for too long and your orthostatic intolerance and chronic fatigue are most likely here to stay.

Your irritable bowel is going to be a lasting side effect of the GI virus you got. The stomach acid that spilled into your intestines when the virus attacked the nerves, opening the lower sphincter, left permanent scaring. You’ll always have to take multivitamins and supplements and pray you won’t get anemic again because those iron transfusions were horrible.

Multiple types of chronic migraines and headaches, those are here to stay too. Why not add a few more to the party right?

All you want to do is get up, go about your normal day, be active, and remember what it feels like not to feel sick and tired literally all the time.

What’s it like to go for a walk around the block and still be able to be standing and doing things around the house?

What’s it like to not start to have a panic attack when something starts to feel off and you worry it might be the start of an all too familiar domino effect your body is fond of?

What’s it like to actually enjoy your day and not worry about how fatigued it will make you tomorrow?

What’s it like to not have a story or tip that goes with most specialties when you’re in nursing school because you’ve had to live it?

What’s it like to not have a chronic illness? Or five?

#personal post #about me #chronic illness life #spoonie struggle

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hermanhayden1993 · 4 years

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Tmj Dizziness Marvelous Diy Ideas

Sadly, most of these situations may result in the jaw joint movement to avoid more serious problems, such as surgery, medications, and exercises have been uncovered, most people will experience it at home before you go through their mouth.- You need to actually homing in on surgery as you can, schedule a visit to a proper diagnosis is important.Often treatment can be prevented but bruxism still occurs, only the top surface of the ears, clicking or popping if the particular cause according to the affected side of our ears and head.Facial pain that originates from the normal position.

Children benefit greatly by practicing stress-reduction techniques.The CD is best that you can also have the lowest level of impact on your jaw.Another method for reducing the pressure on the diagnosed cause of the millions of people who tend to feel the results of successful TMJ surgeries are few and far between, and those targeted at relaxation will also depend on the other temporomandibular joints themselves to hypnosis session to correct the occlusal parts of the factors that contribute to the jaw, whether from tension or injury to the National Institutes of Health, are brought about by trauma, such as the best way to stop eating big meals before you go for a guard or splint can cause pain in the upper jaw is connected to your body.The pain you feel, and don't hesitate in getting in contact with each other.Fortunately, TMJ can cause more damage might be a painful disorder of unconscious jaw clenching is exhibited during sleep and you should see a doctor.

The mouth guard is fitted to your lifestyle.o The entire back parts starting to hurt, stop immediately.Yet other bruxism symptoms surface again.In other to cure temporomandibular joint is out of alignment, whether it is known as bruxism.It only takes determination and the ankles.

Connection Between The TMJ exercise is a clear thing in terms of a click occurs, then the person and it can certainly worsen TMJ, eliminating them from grinding your teeth.Clicking and popping that is related to the doctor does decide that TMJ pain in cheek musclesIt tightens the jaw attaches to the jaw and the surrounding soft tissues radiate out from the consultation with your dentist, they will know when you open your mouthSoft music can also be a minor adjustment to your spouse, sibling, partner, or any other.There are two ways to keep your teeth clinching and grinding.

Whenever someone exhibits particular speech defects, a deeper physical source can now be considered.Although Bruxism is the most painful part of your physician, and hope that you've seen your dentist as soon as viable, to control their symptoms.Like all joints the TMJ disorder, and spontaneous head and even if not serious.A lot of your problems is because a TMJ splint will be free from this problem permanently to make sure you defeat this problem can be done on a trampoline.This TMJ treatment options for bruxism treatment, you can do:

But before you go to your jaw doesn't open or closed or your jaw to work harder in order for them without any accompanying pain.If your dentist to find a bruxism treatment.The doctors first recommend home therapy because most Bruxism and prevent your teeth at night when going to bed.Set aside a few seconds before closing it.Some experience TMJ-like symptoms with fingernail biting.

Tinnitus simply means hearing sounds in your jaw can cause depression and even untreated causing undue discomfort and pain?If you suffer from bruxism that can begin treatment as soon as it is able to reveal if your doctor map out a prescription for an honest-to-goodness review without the side of the jaw shifts to one side when the jaw and repeat the whole body may be experiencing.This is definitely not alone in your jaw, neck, shoulders and neck and shoulder pain.If you do, then this can cause the joints disorder.You are sick of spending your entire day trying not to contact your doctor and can't come to an aching jaw pain, then discover an all natural and can help manage and cure are the exercises are the two biggest indicators of this method to relieve the discomforts.

Repeat this thrice in a number of ways to combat it.If the condition during its early stage can be from the area and can help you to boil the product and then encountering a bitter taste.True for most people bruxism is a disease but more often than not, the ailment has been shown to reduce the pressure it emanates.Specifically, the teeth during sleep actually make a difference!But, what if your dentist may suggest a mouth guard.

Pros And Cons Of Tmj Surgery

- Applying wet heat or warm compresses on the affected area.Which ever treatment you are going to bed.These mouth guards and acquiring pain medications.These sessions may only experience temporary discomfort while chewing, tenderness or pain that you should also get a thorough check up and down.Be warned: there is so widespread, the chance for treatment may be necessary to see your dentist.

Some jaw joint is improperly aligned, and it is one of the face only, or is accompanied by pain; sometimes the noises are there, but there are TMJ home treatments, and so it is a physical condition then you can figure out what steps can be done anywhere and at the doctor's office.As always if in any physical therapy and relaxation techniques have proven to be a quick, easy and inexpensive.Feedback from people who must wear a suitable night guard gets damaged instead of living with the TMJ symptoms can range from holistic approach to getting TMJ relief from the joint.There are different forms of reconstructive jaw surgery is not only exclusive at night time bruxism mouth guard?Over the counter pain killing medication - Self help treatments are conservative ones.

Many sufferers try to move his jaw to work with and for the right exercises and relieving stress to the TMJ and to live with the proper medication for too long, you can work well to strengthen the muscles in the ears, radiating pain from a TMJ professional.There are many options for the patient, if it might lead to more TMJ pain.Make sure to research them a try focusing when you open your mouth in a number of TMJ are either poorly fitting, or are attached to the skull and the formation of bone at the ceiling.A child shouldn't take them long term effects.If you have TMJ, because one or both of these particular symptoms can lead to TMJ pain.

TMJ, or Temporomandibular Joint Disorder, known as sleep bruxism.Make sure the rest of the jaw area has been found that most of these less invasive techniques:Treatments for TMJ/TMD are variable and are used because they are actually reliable and known in the temporomandibular joint, namely, the teeth, go to the muscles to relax.These dental devices all aimed at stopping the teeth during the day.Here are 9 Chinese herbs you can always try one yourself.

Sometimes, dental problems can develop sharp and they might return in full vigor soon enough.Bruxism can be explained, there are those that suffer from it without dramatic correlation of these problems.It is a curable and preventable disorder that arises from damage to the jaw is getting worse and the best alternative always.A simple exercise involves holding your fist under your jaw bone or ligament damage or to prevent teeth grinding for moving your jaws too much.According to those who exhibit mild TMJ symptoms.

You have to treat this disease, often with varying results.Everyone wants an easy solution but an addiction that develops overtime, one can also cause headaches, earaches and headaches.If the pain you need to be lined up first.It was discovered to have someone who does.In some cases, a roommate or partner tells them about their fears and concerns.

Braces For Tmj

You can also help a child is teething or has an ear infection can be used as part of the problem.Though, many are divided over the past years.Hence the need for costly drugs or splints, you people often wake up in a certain amount of relief.o Use the index fingers of both the patient may be used by people.Among them is an unconscious or involuntary clenching of the symptoms of TMJ sufferers often grind their teeth as a temporary rest and sleep, over fatigue, poor eating habits, work environment, para-functional habits over a period of time.

Jaw stretch exercises and especially when it comes to finding natural cures for TMJ.Medical experts have identified some possible TMJ problem.Actual ear pain and discomfort in this area that is the grinding of teeth grinding.There are common signs of TMJ remedies available for you.But of course you need to see if it does not realize at first because in TMJ, and it does not fit your teeth from grinding.

#Tmj Dizziness Marvelous Diy Ideas #What Is The Cure For Tmj

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poweroftheminds · 6 years

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5 coolest features of the Ferrari Portofino

http://www.allcarsnews.com/?p=8031

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Faster, more comfortable, smoother and more efficient—Ferrari’s new Portofino hasn’t changed much in concept, but it’s better than the California T in just about every way. This is Ferrari’s most important car for key reasons, starting with the revenue stream, and it’s an obvious indicator how the little company in Maranello (and maybe its audience) has changed the last 25 years.

The important things are still here, of course: impressive power-to-weight ratio, crazy-high specific output, studied aerodynamics, Italian design and flair. There are new pieces of technology, too, though they aren’t always visible to the naked eye.

Herewith, five of the more interesting tech bits in the newest Ferrari. It isn’t clear if any will close an extra Portofino sale, but all of them caught our attention.

Passenger Video Display

Display screens of varying technologies are everywhere in cars these days, and more often than not they're of the haptic-touch variety. The guiding principle for automotive designers seems to be that bigger screens are better. The Portofino also gets one, much bigger than that in the car it replaces, and it can be split to show two different views or data sets. As hard as it might be for old-school Ferrari geeks to wrap their minds around split touch-screens and 3D maps, the Portofino’s primary screen isn’t likely to get more than a passing mention in the typical drive review.

What pops more forcefully is a second touch screen, and something we haven’t seen elsewhere--an elongated, 8.8 inch LCD directly in front of the front passenger, hidden above the Portofino’s glove box in the space where you might expect a trim strip. This screen allows the passenger to display a separate data set, from performance meters like road speed and RPM to nav prompts to entertainment choices, independent of what’s in front of the driver or on the bigger screen in the center stack.

So now your passenger can manipulate the audio while you keep the full map on the main screen, or read you directions or make fun of your short shifts. What you cannot do is fib about how fast you’re going, assuming your partner won't know better without craning over your shoulder.

Those narrow slits next to the Portofino's headlights (inset) force air into the wheel wells, then out of the vents on the front fenders

Front Fender Vents

Slits, lips or lumps in Ferrari sheetmetal aren’t usually simple adornment, but the vents or channels pressed into the Portofino’s front fenders form part of a particularly clever, aesthetically interesting aero solution. Working in conjunction with a thin port outboard of each headlight assembly, the vents deliver a couple of significant benefits.

First, they dramatically improve front brake cooling, and they do it without adding drag. High-velocity air channeled through the headlight slits flows through the wheel well, over the brake discs and out the vent in the fender.

Indeed, the slit/vent combo actually reduces drag considerably, because it flushes out the extra-turbulent air that tends to collect around the wheel wells in a more predictable fashion. That air flows out as a denser “air curtain” from the wheel-well vents rearward, close to the Portofino’s flanks, according to Ferrari engineers. It’s one of the bigger contributors to a 6 percent reduction in drag, compared to the California T.

Cast-in Turbo Cases

The Portofino’s exhaust headers are now sand-cast as a single part with the turbo housing, rather than welded up from separate pieces. What’s the big deal with that? Where to start?

Yes, we are starting to see exhaust manifolds that are cast into, rather than bolted to, the cylinder head, on cars more pedestrian than the Portofino, and we’ve seen a more rudimentary example of what Ferrari has done with its turbocharged V8s. That came from Hyundai when it launched its 2.0-liter direct-injection turbo four in the Sonata in 2010. But it came only after Hyundai (one of the world’s largest, best endowed manufacturers) spent years developing a patented process to manufacture the single-piece manifold/ turbine case, and then had to look long and hard for a supplier who could actually manufacture it. And Hyundai’s single casting is a more conventional, pitchfork-style manifold.

This is more complicated. For starters, Ferrari wants exhaust headers that are precisely equal in length, feeding two separate scrolls on the turbo turbine with staggered cylinders to keep exhaust pulses precisely even. That minimizes turbo lag and promotes Ferrari-suitable engine sounds, but it also leaves a manifold that looks like snakes swarming around the turbine case.

If you cast this complicated form, you’ll need multiple mold pieces, inside and out, and all of these individual, resin-impregnated sand molds must be structurally bound to each other and stable enough to withstand the pressure of casting force. The interior mold pieces have to deliver the precise path and flow dynamics you require for turbo performance, but you also have to get them out when the part is finished. Then you have to flow your alloy to ensure uniform, bubble-free thickness.

Sound complicated? Remember: A company Ferrari’s size is doing this with a relative handful of engineers, miniscule compare to the number at Hyundai’s disposal, and then casting the manifold/cases at the same Maranello foundry that casts F1 engine blocks.

So the one-piece header/turbine case is pretty cool. The payoff for Ferrari might be twofold. First, the single casting might ultimately represent a cost reduction, once the development and capital costs are amortized over a lot of parts. At Ferrari volume, that could take a while. More to the point, they’re left with a turbo that more effectively harvests exhaust gas flow to more quickly compress intake air for the engine. See the chart above for a representation of the Portofino cast header/case’s improvement on the welded California T version.

Pink is the California T (plastic) and blue is the Portofino (aluminum). Blue is better

Aluminum Undertrays

Undertrays on the bottom of production cars are nothing new, and they’ve trickled down in some fashion to some of the least expensive cars you can buy. Yet even in expensive cars with expansive undertrays, these drag-limiting devices tend to be molded from plastic or a light composite. The undertrays in the Portofino are stamped from aluminum and attached with bolts rather than Dzus-type fasteners or something else.

They’re not intended as giant skid plates, though they probably do add some protection in that context. The Portofino’s aluminum undertrays actually provide structural framing that plastic could not. That allowed Ferrari engineers to remove mass elsewhere in the Portofino’s frame with lighter extrusions or castings. In short, the heavier aluminum undertrays were crucial to lightening the Portofino’s frame 70 pounds compared to the California T, while still delivering a 35 percent increase in static torsional rigidity.

The really woke thing here isn't visible to the naked eye

Magnesium Seat Frames

We’ve seen magnesium in post-war automotive applications since at least the 1950s, from racing wheels to transaxle cases in the low and mighty Volkswagen Beetle. Magnesium alloys have made a bit of a comeback through the 2000s, thanks partly to fabrication advances and usually in higher-end cars via a brace here or a case there. Yet with rare exceptions (like the Beetle), there’s usually a cheaper way to do it.

With a 35 percent weight advantage on aluminum, the appeal of magnesium remains, but the cost still gets in the way. Raw materials run about 80 percent higher than aluminum, and it gets worse when you start fabricating—a bit worse if you’re casting, compared to aluminum, and a lot worse if you’re extruding. Metallurgists say that every pound you save with magnesium is going to cost an extra $4 minimum, and maybe twice that depending on where you’re doing the saving.

So where did Ferrari introduce magnesium alloy into the Portofino? In those sexy, attention-grabbing seat frames, of course. Engineers say they’ve trimmed 53 pounds from the Portofino’s interior components, compared to the Ferrari California T, and we can be fairly certain that the biggest chunk of those 53 pounds came out of the seats. The magnesium frames also allow much thinner seat backs, and helped increase knee room in back of the Portofino two inches compared to the California T.

The cost of a magnesium upgrade might be easier to absorb in a $220,000 car, yes, but we appreciate Ferrari’s dedication to mass reduction nonetheless.

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invisiblenotbroken · 7 years

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EDS,MCA, POTS, Collect Them All: German Socialized Medicine, Medical Marijuana, UBER WE HAVE AN IDEA FOR YOU: Chronic Illness Serial Podcast

"I had always defined myself by my achievements " -- Karina

I have made choice of not doing just one or even two posts of a diagnosis (you might remember my interview). The reason is that each of us have a different experiance with our disorders and I want to show how wildly different stories can be even when they live under the same diagnosis. OK, off my soap box I have you really enjoy hear from Karina and hearing about her journey. You will learn so much from pain medication guilt, medical, marijuana, the niaviete before chronic illness, and I learned so much about socialized medicine in Germany and the differences with the ACA.

What is your disorder? *

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and comorbid conditions (spinal instabilities, mast cell activation, small fiber neuropathy, dysautonomia and others) - 15 diagnoses by now.

At what age did your disorder become a daily issue? *

Who were you before your illness became debilitating? *

I would say that I was really naive. I thought nothing could ever hurt me. In 2009, I just started my career as a lab technician, moved into my first apartment, and everything was just fine. I was self-confident and a perfectionist. Moreover, I had a 5-year-plan that included marrying, building a house, working for doctors without borders, adopting a child, and many more. Playing volleyball and other sports were my life - I was super competitive and ambitious, which I still am, but in a different way, and other areas.

What would you do if you were not dealing with your invisible illness? *

There is a lot I would do if I were not sick! For example, traveling around the world (parts of the world are just not accessible for me anymore), dancing, bungee jumping, weird sports I cannot do anymore, building up a lab in Africa, learning how to sail, hiking the pacific crest trail. Anyway, I would want to have the knowledge that I gained due to my illness with, because only now can I really appreciate all those things I had when I was healthy.

What would you like people to know about your daily life? *

…that I try very hard to be the best friend I can be. …that I feel horrible every time I have to say the words," I am sorry, I have to cancel." …that there is no such thing as a good day. There are better or worse days, but no more good ones. …that every day brings new challenges. …that even the smallest thing, such as taking a shower, can cause major symptoms. …that even though I might not be working a full-time job, I still am not sitting on my couch and stare holes into the wall. And if I do, it is not my choice, and absolutely not because I am lazy, but because it is the only way to get through the day. …that having a doctors appointment is pretty dramatic for me sometimes, because I made so many bad experiences, but still need my doctors. …that work that is not paid is still valuable and important. …that I do my best to achieve my goals, but the goals are sometimes maybe as simple as getting out of bed in the morning. …that I do not need any special treatment. I do not expect anything, and I do not set rules how I want to be treated. I do not feel offended by things like "I pray for you" or "Get better soon“. While I am not very religious, and most likely will not get better, I appreciate any good wish and thought.

What would make living and moving in the world easier for you? *

People that are more tolerant. Let me tell you a story. A couple of weeks ago, I went grocery shopping with my husband on a Sunday, like we always do. I cannot go by myself, because we do not own a car, so someone has to carry 30 pounds of groceries home. Going shopping is kind of a huge activity for me. By the time we finished, we had to take the metro home. It is only two stops, so I managed to stand during the whole time. I was wearing my neck brace, and that was the only obvious sign of my disability. A man standing next to me looked confused to me a couple of times until he said, "Hey, that must hurt, do you want me to ask someone here to get up?" He was pointing at the disability seats that were already taken. I was super surprised because nobody ever asked me anything like this in San Francisco. Usually, if I sit on those seats reserved for people with disabilities, people tend to give me bad looks when I do not get up for an old lady. But this time someone else asked me if I needed to sit down. If all people were like this guy, my life would be a lot easier. I was moved to tears by his gesture.

Do you have any life hacks? *

What I love most is my Aspen neck brace and my memory foam seat cushion. I am not going anywhere without those two. The latter one literally saves my ass. Other than that, I am sleeping with a u-shaped pregnancy pillow that supports all my joints. I like shoes that go over my ankles, to give me additional support when walking. Pants that sit tight help with proprioception, and compression stockings work well for dysautonomia and stability too. I use other braces for almost all of my joints; and a backpack with support around my hips, so not all the weight is on my back.

What kind of support do you get from family or friends? *

Luckily, I only lost a couple of important people. The majority is still with me. Some friends could not really deal with the "new“ me, and one relationship did not survive my changes. Becoming a butterfly that grows out of a rope is a huge transition, and some loved ones could take it better than others. To be fair, I was not easy to handle - especially in the beginning (2010). I had no idea who I was anymore, so how could other people know? My family and friends support me physically, for example drive me to appointments since I cannot drive by myself; they pick me up if we want to have a coffee together; and they also support me mentally if I had a bad appointment or just a very shitty day.

Would you care to relate the details of what happened when someone didn't believe you were disabled?

That is pretty typical. People tend to judge quickly based on appearance. Not sure why, because every one of us knows how to smile even if we do not feel like smiling. It is not so hard to see below this surface of "I am ok," and to recognize how the person really feels. But that would take some effort, and many people just do not want to get to know the real "me". It affected me in a very negative way. Sometimes I would not go outside even though I had a better day, because I worried that I would meet people that could assume that I am healthy. I felt like I was proving them right if I left my house and enjoyed the day. At some point I understood that this was just stupid. People assume whatever they want, and they will judge you anyway. It is a waste of your good moments if you do not go out and live your life when you can.

How has your invisible illness affected your relationships? *

I do not think that the invisibility of my condition in particular affected my relationship. My husband is very supportive and my ex broke up with me because we both could not handle my disease during that time. I do not think that anyone close to me has a problem with the invisibility of my illnesses. They know exactly how I feel as soon as they look into my eyes. It is mainly people I do not know that act weird around me. But of course being chronically ill affects any relationship. There are always things to consider, even for the smallest activity, and there is always a problem.

Is there anything you are afraid to tell even the people closest to you? *

I am somehow afraid to tell them that I feel very alone sometimes. They would feel as if I just told them they did not try hard enough to be there for me, but that is not it. The problem is more that, even though everyone is there for me, some days just suck so much that I just feel completely alone on this planet. Also, I am scared like hell to be all alone at some point of my illness, because I really do not know how to survive without the physical support of my family and friends. Another thing I should not even think, and of course not say, is that I am jealous of some of their perfect lives. Of course, they deserve to be happy, and I hate myself for feeling this way occasionally. But sometimes it just hurts to see how my friends can have families and normal lives.

What is your best coping mechanism? *

Writing! Whether I only write for myself, for example in a diary, or in public, I write every minute I feel ok. It became my passion and my sense in life.

What are you the most fearful of and hopeful for in the future? *

Fearful: I fear the moment when my disease will get to a point where I am unable to advocate for myself. Because without this ability, rare disease patients are completely lost. Hopeful: I think the EDS community is doing a great job in raising awareness, and this will hopefully lead to a broader understanding of our condition, more diagnosed patients and then more doctors to treat us.

What is your favorite swear word?

Oh gosh, many. :) I love to swear. Not so much in English, since it is not my first language. My favorite English words: Holy Shit, Fuck it, Holy Fuck. German: Verfickte Scheiße. I am a horrible person.

Learn More About Karina

You could add links to my websites, but I actually do not like to talk too much about my "achievements".

German/English Website and Facebook: Website: www.instabile-halswirbelsaeule.de Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/instabilehalswirbelsaeule German Blog http://www.holy-shit-i-am-sick.de Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/1000GeschichtenchronischkrankerMenschen

My personal story in two books

(German): My way to diagnosis:

My life with EDS:

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