#fierce founder

[compassionatekiller]

@kamihaki

Unohana “Kenpachi” Yachiru stood within the main hall of the 11th Division facilities, staring out one of the windows and privately contemplating the absurd duty she was forced to entertain today.  She mused to herself that when Yamamoto had managed to sway her to his cause, she hadn’t imagined that he’d ever be silly enough to ask her to watch over some gormless academy brat.  Yet, here she was.  The most decorated mass murderer in Soul Society history, babysitting one of Yamamoto’s pet projects.

It was a temporary arrangement, sure, but that was besides the point.  What was she even supposed to do with the thing?  Their peerless leader had only told her to make sure the kid lived and make sure he learned something, but what in blazes was someone like Yachiru supposed to teach a pampered post-war pubescent?  She would have bet money the child had never killed anything in his life!

But there was nothing for it.  Orders were orders, and orders from Yamamoto were absolute.  She would just have to figure something out.  Perhaps she could have her guys and gals kick the guts out of the kid, teach him how to properly handle pain like a real Shinigami?  Or maybe she could take over the the training hall for today and try to beat some swordsmanship into the tot.  Anything was fine as long as the kid learned and didn’t die, right?

Unohana was shaken from her musings when her senses were assaulted by a reiatsu she did not recognize.  It was massive; even the incidental “glance” Unohana had taken was approaching the level of a Captain, and the more Unohana focused, the more she found.  The pressure was noticeable as well; it was like a crushing weight on all sides, akin to what one felt when one dived too deeply into water.  Yet, that was not the strangest thing.  There was...something else about it, something Unohana couldn’t quite put her finger on.  It was...well, wrong was not the word she was looking for, but...alien.  It was something completely unknown, and whatever it was, whatever it meant, it caused the hairs on the back of the Kenpachi’s neck to stand on end.

She turned around to find the source, but found her line of sight to that source blocked by the burly back of her dumbass Third Seat Gotou.  He was apparently having the time of his life getting in the face of whoever was in the doorway, though all of those “Huh?!”s and “Hah”s didn’t quite make him sound like the tough guy he desperately pretended he was.  He sounded more like an orgasming chimp than anything else, to Unohana’s totally-unbiased-why-do-you-ask ears.  That idiot knew better than to get in her way on the battlefield; why couldn’t he translate that situational awareness to their day-to-day?!  The exasperated Captain didn’t think that was too much to ask.

Step after surly step brought Unohana behind Gotou as she said “Get out of my way, fool.”  She gave him exactly one half-second to realize what was coming before the back of her fist slammed directly into his ribs, sending him sailing across the room and through the innocent wall.  As Gotou crumpled into a heap beneath the pile of rubble, Yachiru scanned the person standing on the 11th Division’s doorstep.  White hair, youthful, pale...

”Are you the student that Yamamoto-soutaichou spoke of?”

#ukitake jushiro #kamihaki #unohana yachiru #compassionate killer #fierce founder #bleach #rp #bleach rp #here ya go! #hope this was alright #and i hope to have fun rping with you!

[petrichorandasphault]

Ren Delgato for @sinfulwunders' Larissa! [he/they pronouns]

Ren is the eldest of powerful spellcasters Hannah Delgato-Bailey and Natalie Bailey. Though his bloodline may be weak, he believes he is destined to be as great a spellcaster as his mothers! But a recent breakup with their high school sweetheart has left them both heartbroken and a little lost. Though he may feel down, Ren's current favorite role is playing Best Uncle Ever to his niece, Gwendolyn, whom he shares his love of the outdoors with. Gwen has this to say about her "Ukka Wen:" "BEST UKKA WEN," which Ren thinks is a pretty stellar review, if they ever saw one. Ren is a goofball, which tends to get him in trouble alongside his tendency to be a bro. But above all, they're just looking for their soulmate, and hopes they can find that in Larissa. In an effort to shake off his ex and push himself out of his comfort zone, Ren is putting himself out there to maybe meet the love of his life! More info about Ren + some silly goofy times under the cut

~I like to think he asked Quill for help in making his lil profile for Larissa~

Traits: Loves the Outdoors, Bro, Goofball, Weak Bloodline Aspiration: Soulmate (Alluring) Age: 25 Sexuality/Gender: bisexual/genderfluid I'm still on a story break (mostly bc that depression do be hittin' hard tho), but I have been playing the Postcard Legacy in my free time, and this is my Gen 4 spare, Ren! His younger brother, Quill, is living his life as my heir and writer in Forgotten Hollow, so I figured what a better way to give my 2nd favorite sim a little extra love!

Thanks, Alexis, for doing all this, and if you use him, I hope you love my weird little 80s man as much as I do!

#larissaLOL #enjoy my weird retro son #also a fun rant about his family: #his great 2x grandma was my founder #then his great grandma married Pierce Delgato #and lemme tell u #Pierce was a FIERCE girldad #4 daughters babey #and Hannah was 2nd oldest and my heir #and i wanted to play w spellcasters #so she became a spellcaster and married natalie bailey #one of thorton and octavia's like #7 children in my game lmao #and they had 2 sons #quill accidentally #? #romanced grim #and i wanted to play w grim's daughter OFC #so gwen is my lil demon baby #and quill is marrying caleb vatore #for fun and me time #duh #NOT THAT YOU ASKED ALEXIS SORRY #ts4 #bachelorette challenge

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

FORD GT40

The Ford GT40 is a legendary car born out of a grudge, fueled by ambition, and ultimately crowned with victory on the world's most prestigious racing circuits. Its story begins in the early 1960s when Henry Ford II, commonly known as "Hank the Deuce," sought to challenge the dominance of European manufacturers in endurance racing, particularly at the 24 Hours of Le Mans.

In 1963, Ford attempted to buy Ferrari, which was then the dominant force in endurance racing, having won Le Mans multiple times. However, the negotiations soured, and Enzo Ferrari, the founder of the Italian marque, walked away from the deal at the last minute, leaving Henry Ford II furious.

Determined to beat Ferrari at its own game, Ford set out to build a car that could dethrone the Italian racing giant. He tasked his engineers with creating a car that could win Le Mans, a feat no American manufacturer had accomplished at that time.

The result was the Ford GT40, a sleek and powerful racing machine designed to take on the best Europe had to offer. The GT40's name was derived from its height, standing at only 40 inches tall. It featured a lightweight chassis, advanced aerodynamics, and a powerful V8 engine.

The GT40 made its debut at the 1964 24 Hours of Le Mans, but mechanical issues plagued the team, preventing them from finishing the race. Undeterred, Ford continued to refine the car, and in 1966, their efforts paid off.

That year, Ford entered a fleet of GT40s at Le Mans, with drivers like Bruce McLaren, Ken Miles, and Chris Amon behind the wheel. The race was a fierce battle between Ford and Ferrari, with both teams pushing their cars to the limit.

In the final hours of the race, Ford emerged victorious, securing a 1-2-3 finish with the GT40 taking the top three spots. It was a historic moment for American motorsport and a symbolic triumph over Ferrari.

The GT40 went on to win Le Mans for the next three years, cementing its place in automotive history as one of the greatest racing cars of all time. Its legacy continues to inspire car enthusiasts and racing aficionados to this day, a testament to the vision and determination of Henry Ford II and his team.

#ford gt40 #ford #gt40 #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #bruce mclaren #ken miles #chris amon #le mans

[loudclan-clangen]

Loudclan Allegiances

Up To Date as of Moon 22!

Owlstar - Leader. Tom. 116 moons old. Ambitious. Mate: Siltsplash. Former Apprentices: Juneaucliff. Founder.

Siltsplash - Deputy. Nonbinary. 68 moons old. Strict. Mate: Owlstar. Apprentice: Kingpaw. Former Apprentices: Bluepaw, Bitterpelt. Founder.

Wildfirecry - Lead Healer. Tom. 135 moons old. Responsible. Mate: Fiercestripe. Kits: Dogwoodpaw, Rosehippaw. Founder.

Weed - Healer. She-cat. 133 moons old. Wise. Kits: Cavekit. Joined Moon 11.

Tundrafrost - Lead Mediator. Tom. 87 moons old. Thoughtful. Mate: Chickadeeblur. Kits: Kingpaw, Sockeyepaw, Chumpaw. Founder.

Chickadeeblur - Warrior. Tom. 78 moons old. Careful. Mate: Tundrafrost. Kits: Kingpaw, Sockeyepaw, Chumpaw. Apprentice: Sockeyepaw. Former Apprentices: Jaggedtail, Peakpatch. Founder.

Fiercestripe - Warrior. She-cat. 89 moons old. Strict. Mate: Wildfirecry. Kits: Dogwoodpaw, Rosehippaw. Apprentice: Rosehippaw. Former Apprentice: Mothtree. Founder.

Jaggedtail - Warrior. Tom. 32 moons old. Confident. Former Mentor: Chickadeeblur. Apprentice: Dogwoodpaw. Founder.

Juneaucliff - Warrior. Tom. 25 moons old. Fierce. Former Mentor: Owlstar. Joined Moon 1.

Peakpatch - Warrior. Tom. 23 moons old. Responsible. Former Mentor: Chickadeeblur. Apprentice: Chumpaw. Founder.

Kingpaw - Mediator Heir, Apprentice, Mentor: Siltsplash. Tom. 9 moons old. Strange. Parents: Tundrafrost and Chickadeeblur. Joined Moon 17.

Sockeyepaw - Apprentice, Mentor: Chickadeeblur. She-cat. 9 moons old. Bold. Parents: Tundrafrost and Chickadeeblur. Joined Moon 17.

Chumpaw - Apprentice, Mentor: Peakpatch. She-cat. 9 moons old. Charismatic. Parents: Tundrafrost and Chickadeeblur. Joined Moon 17.

Dogwoodpaw - Healer Heir, Apprentice, Mentor: Jaggedtail. She-cat. 7 moons old. Playful. Parents: Fiercestripe and Wildfirecry. Born Moon 15.

Rosehippaw - Apprentice, Mentor: Fiercestripe. She-cat. 7 moons old. Righteous. Parents: Fiercestripe and Wildfirecry. Born Moon 15.

Cavekit - Kit, Tom. 4 moons old. Noisy. Parent: Weed (Adoptive). Joined Moon 20.

??? - Kit, Tom. 0 moons old. Sweet. Parents: Eklutna and ???. Born Moon 22.

??? - Kit, Tom. 0 moons old. Quiet. Parents: Eklutna and ???. Born Moon 22.

??? - Kit, Tom. 0 moons old. Inquisitive. Parents: Eklutna and ???. Born Moon 22.

Dead Cats:

Bluepaw - Apprentice, Mentor: Siltsplash. She-cat. 9 moons old. Confident. Founder. Died: Moon 5, Infection in Broken Leg.

Bitterpelt - Warrior. Tom. 19 moons old. Childish. Former Mentor: Siltsplash. Founder. Died: Moon 18, Hit by Train.

Mothtree - Warrior. She-cat. 19 moons old. Lonesome. Former Mentor: Fiercestripe. Joined Moon 8. Died: Moon 18, Hit by Train.

Eklutna - Queen. She-cat. 100 moons old. Adventurous. Kits: ???, ???, ???. Joined Moon 13. Died: Moon 22, Bleed to Death Giving Birth.

[I'll do my best to keep this up to date as moons pass! It's very likely though that there will be mistakes made so if you spot any feel free to point them out. I got an ask requesting this so I hope this helps everyone keep up to date with all of the clan members. Especially the ones who never do anything like Jaggedtail.]

#loudclan #allegiances #ocs #warrior cats

[odessastone]

NEW LIFEWEAVER AND SYMMETRA LORE BITS FROM "REBUILDING RUINS"

So I got my copy of Heroes Ascendant today and THERE WERE SO MANY GOOD LITTLE MOMENTS IN THIS STORY I MUST gush I MUST

So here are some new bits of Symmetra and Lifeweaver lore that we got! I bolded my personal favorite ones. 😚

(spoilers!)

Satya and Niran "grew up together" as friends, so they were friends in childhood too, not just at a teen or university age.

Apparently when Satya would get overstimulated and need recovery time, Niran would keep people away from their room and tell them she was sick so she didn't have to face anyone 😭

He also used to hang out and watch her practice her dancing for hours on end, without ever getting tired of it.

Satya considered (possibly still considers) Niran her closest friend.

Niran is late to everything (CALLED this one). He's even late for their meeting LOL

"He looked good. Satya almost wished he didn't." Bits like this are going to feed my Symweaver ass for YEARS

Satya is (still) extremely hurt by Niran leaving all those years ago, and perceives it as him having left her, not just Vishkar. She still misses him dearly, even though they've been apart for eleven years.

Speaking of which, being apart for eleven years means Niran was twenty when he left the Academy. For all you fellow fic authors out there 😊

Satya's autism is stated, full-out, no dancing around it or talking about being on "the spectrum". They flat out say "her autism" in a sentence. Cool!

One of Niran's first questions upon reconnecting with Satya is if Vishkar is mistreating her, if she needs help. Of course she denies this, but...

Niran can read Satya's emotions without her saying them, and even while thinking she's hiding them 😭 Several times throughout the story she's surprised because he cuts right through her stoic bullshit and gets right to how she feels about something.

The Architech Academy was really overwhelming for Satya, and it sounds like they made no effort to accommodate her needs. Unsurprising, considering they didn't accommodate Niran's, either.

Vishkar fiercely discouraged her from stimming, instilling in her a fear of looking "immature, or distracted, or rude, or strange".

She gave a speech at graduation, then had to spend a full week in bed afterward to recover from all the stress. And there was no Niran to guard her by then ☹

Even now, she finds many things about Vishkar overstimulating and uncomfortable, such as her uniform's fabric, and her living quarters.

Satya called Niran "Bua" way back when, possibly the first person to use the nickname for him. Partway through the story the narration (from Satya's POV) actually switches to calling him that, which is cute.

The Arcology seems to have uh, basically no real protection against attacks... Null Sector just shows up on a train and starts blasting lol. This is something I address in my fic The Light You Deserve, so it was kinda funny to see that I was right in predicting that.

She feels comfortable enough around Niran by the end to stim around him without realizing it (apparently she taps her fingers together and twirls her hands in circles, I guess kind of like flapping). She immediately stops and is embarrassed when he points it out, but Niran encourages her instead. She then uncertainly stims in front of him, growing more relaxed and confident as she lets herself do so (this had to be my favorite part of the story).

Toward the end they double down on Satya's belief that she can change Vishkar from the inside (girl....) but then at the VERY end, Niran suggests she look more into the founder of Vishkar and his ideals, and then says that "The Arcology will be delighted to have you". SHE MIGHT DEFECT TO THE ARCOLOGY IN CANON AND BE WITH NIRAN HHHHH AAAA sorry this was supposed to be an unbiased list I'm cool I'm cool

AAAAAA I'M NOT COOL I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

THIS WAS EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE WANTED IN A STORY BETWEEN THEM okay minus the random Null Sector attack tbh that was weird

Anyway the very last line says that Satya now has "whenever she needed it, a friend to return to". So they're definitely gonna interact more going forward!!

#overwatch #lifeweaver #niran pruksamanee #symmetra #satya vaswani #overwatch heroes ascendant #overwatch spoilers

[guinevere-if]

Demo: TBA

Guinevere is a text-based interactive fiction that draws inspiration from the rich tapestry of Arthurian Legends.

You will play as Guinevere and witness the journey toward gaining power and the struggles to keep your reign secure in a kingdom filled with political intrigue and external threats.

In the future, I plan to make Guinevere gender-selectable, and also make Arthur the opposite gender of the MC. However, for the time being, I would like to keep the story as it is until I can better determine the direction in which the narrative is heading.

For many years, people believed that dragons were untamable creatures until one man proved them all wrong. Armed with a mighty sword and a formidable dragon by his side, Arthur set out with his army to conquer all of Britain and bring it under his rule. Unfortunately, your kingdom has found itself standing in the way of Arthur's quest for a united Britain.

Choose Guinevere's gender (Soon!)

Customize your MC’s physical appearance.

Make tough and important decisions that affect you and everyone around you.

Four romances that the story heavily focuses on.

Have a dragon by your side and fight Arthur in the skies!

Form a family.

The fate of the realm rests on a knife's edge - it can either flourish under your leadership or crumble to its ultimate demise.

"To achieve the greater good, one must first attain the power to make it a reality."

Arthur Pendragon: King of Camelot and the founder of the Round Table Order.

He is a man of few words, with a cold and aloof demeanor that can make him seem unapproachable. He prefers to keep to himself and often retreats into his own world. Despite his reserved nature, he is a strong leader who inspires loyalty and devotion in those around him.

His golden blonde hair and piercing grey eyes add to his air of regal authority and make him a striking figure. Though he may seem distant at times, he has a deep sense of honor and duty, and will stop at nothing to protect his people and his kingdom.

Will you be able to crack his armor and discover what hides beneath?

"Your ignorance is truly awe-inspiring. I can only hope to one day reach your level of blissful unawareness."

Morgana Le Fay: She is a mysterious and intriguing woman, known for her use of sarcasm to keep others at bay. Her sharp wit and biting comments often serve as a shield, protecting her from anyone getting too close.

Despite her sarcastic demeanor, Morgana is an intelligent and perceptive individual. She has a keen sense of observation and is quick to pick up on the nuances of the people around her. Her green eyes are piercing and seem to see right through anyone who tries to deceive her.

Morgana's inky black hair is often styled in loose waves that frame her pale skin. She has an ethereal beauty that can be both captivating and intimidating. Her presence commands attention, and it's clear that she is not someone to be trifled with.

She's been hurt in the past and is hesitant to let anyone get too close to her. But for those who are willing to take the time to get to know her, Morgana can be a true and loyal friend or even something more.

"When the going gets tough, the tough get going. I don't know what that means, but I, Sir Lancelot du Lac, never back down from a challenge."

Sir Lancelot du Lac: A knight is known for his charm, boldness, and impulsive nature. He has a reputation for being a ladies' man, with many admirers who swoon at his feet. Standing tall with a strong build and chiseled jaw, he is a man who commands attention wherever he goes. His dark brown hair and deep blue eyes add to his allure, making him a true heartthrob among the ladies.

Sir Lancelot is a skilled and dedicated knight who takes his duties seriously. He is fiercely loyal to his king and the Round Table and will stop at nothing to protect the people he cares about. His impulsive nature can sometimes get him into trouble, but his quick thinking and bravery always manage to save the day. His bravery and courage have earned him respect among many.

Before meeting you, he never found duty to be burdensome. Now he feels it weight more pressing every day.

"I hate you with every fiber of my being, but I can't seem to shake the strange pull you have on me."

Hey, just so you know, you could totally have a poly thing with both her and Arthur. Just throwing it out there. 🙈

Argante: Merlin's daughter and Arthur's childhood friend.

Argante is a complex and intriguing woman, born of the union between a fae and a half-human, she possesses unique abilities that she often uses to aid Arthur on his various journeys and battles. Her loyalty to Arthur is unwavering, and she is always ready to lend her formidable powers to his cause.

Despite her fierce loyalty, Argante can be possessive and quick to anger. Her emotions often run high, and she is not one to back down from a challenge. The complete opposite of her father, Merlin.

Argante's appearance is just as striking as her personality. Her snowy white hair and purple eyes create an otherworldly picture, the very air shimmering around her presence adding to the mirage. It's no wonder that many are drawn to her, be it out of fear or admiration.

Argante despises you with a fiery passion that burns deep through her every time she catches a glimpse of your face. In her eyes, you are the thief who stole the man of her dreams - the one she had loved for years.

And yet… there is another side to her that sometimes emerges whenever she catches glimpses of you. This side of her seems to yearn for your attention and affection, creating a peculiar dichotomy that is difficult to comprehend.

If you could somehow break through the wall of anger and resentment that Argante has built, and show her that you are not the enemy, there might be a chance to win her over. You might even be able to establish a relationship with both her and Arthur.

#guinevere #interactive fiction #interactive novel #choice of games #choicescript #dashingdon #hosted games #if: intro #if game #cyoa #masterpost #hg #cog

[jedivoodoochile]

Iris Chacón: The inspiration behind Starfire from the Teen Titans.

In the captivating realm of female iconography, showgirls have left an indelible mark as embodiments of an idealized woman, their allure manifested through an extravagant display of eroticism, and glamour has enraptured artists historically. From sculptors to poets, musicians to designers, showgirls have always served as muses. Even the world of comic art has found inspiration in them, and the idea that Iris Chacón might have influenced the creation of Starfire is a subject of longstanding discussion.

George Perez, Starfire's creator, was undeniably shaped by his Puerto Rican heritage, and Iris Chacón stood as a prominent boricua figure in America. Her influential presence, starting in 1972 with the Iris Chacón Show, coincides in time with George's formative years.

In 1980, Starfire made her memorable debut, captivating readers with her fierce image that bore a striking resemblance to Iris Chacón. While other inspirations like Red Sonja, an older superheroine, and adult film star Rosemary Lorenz were mentioned by Perez, the parallels between the two were undeniable.

As the 80s unfolded, Starfire's appearance gradually mirrored Chacón's, Simultaneously, the showgirl gained considerable notoriety in the US, gracing prominent media outlets, from David Letterman to the front page of the Wall Street Journal.

Throughout the years, speculation regarding Starfire's inspiration persisted, with no concrete evidence to validate the theory. It was not until 2019, during the Amazing Las Vegas Comic Con, that Vu Nguyen, Perez's biographer and superfan (founder of thegeorgeperez.com), had the opportunity to ask him about the origins of Starfire. During this candid exchange, Perez finally acknowledged that Iris Chacon had indeed served as a significant influence in crafting the character. Why wouldn't he have admitted it earlier? Sadly George Perez died a couple of years later, due to complications from pancreatic cancer.

In conclusion: Iris Chacon is indeed the inspiration behind Starfire, reaffirming once again the value of Latina showgirls in the history of female representation and iconography.

#iris chacon #starfire #george perez

[racefortheironthrone]

OK, I'll bite - what's the deal with the United Farm Workers? What were their strengths and weaknesses compared to other labor unions?

It is not an easy thing to talk about the UFW, in part because it wasn't just a union. At the height of its influence in the 1960s and 1970s, it was also a civil rights movement that was directly inspired by the SCLC campaigns of Martin Luther King and owed its success as much to mass marches, hunger strikes, media attention, and the mass mobilization of the public in support of boycotts that stretched across the United States and as far as Europe as it did to traditional strikes and picket lines.

It was also a social movement that blended powerful strains of Catholic faith traditions with Chicano/Latino nationalism inspired by the black power movement, that reshaped the identity of millions away from asimilation into white society and towards a fierce identification with indigeneity, and challenged the racist social hierarchy of rural California.

It was also a political movement that transformed Latino voting behavior, established political coalitions with the Kennedys, Jerry Brown, and the state legislature, that pushed through legislation and ran statewide initiative campaigns, and that would eventually launch the careers of generations of Latino politicians who would rise to the very top of California politics.

However, it was also a movement that ultimately failed in its mission to remake the brutal lives of California farmworkers, which currently has only 7,000 members when it once had more than 80,000, and which today often merely trades on the memory of its celebrated founders Dolores Huerta and Cesar Chavez rather than doing any organizing work.

To explain the strengths and weaknesses of the UFW, we have to start with some organizational history, because the UFW was the result of the merger of several organizations each with their own strengths and weaknesses.

The Origins of the UFW:

To explain the strengths and weaknesses of the UFW, we have to start with some organizational history, because the UFW was the result of the merger of several organizations each with their own strengths and weaknesses.

In the 1950s, both Dolores Huerta and Cesar Chavez were community organizers working for a group called the Community Service Organization (an affiliate of Saul Alinsky's Industrial Areas Foundation) that sought to aid farmworkers living in poverty. Huerta and Chavez were trained in a novel strategy of grassroots, door-to-door organizing aimed not at getting workers to sign union cards, but to agree to host a house meeting where co-workers could gather privately to discuss their problems at work free from the surveillance of their bosses. This would prove to be very useful in organizing the fields, because unlike the traditional union model where organizers relied on the NRLB's rulings to directly access the factory floors, Central California farms were remote places where white farm owners and their white overseers would fire shotguns at brown "trespassers" (union-friendly workers, organizers, picketers).

In 1962, Chavez and Huerta quit CSO to found the National Farm Workers Association, which was really more of a worker center offering support services (chiefly, health care) to independent groups of largely Mexican farmworkers. In 1965, they received a request to provide support to workers dealing with a strike against grape growers in Delano, California.

In Delano, Chavez and Huerta met Larry Itliong of the Agricultural Workers Organizing Committee (AWOC), which was a more traditional labor union of migrant Filipino farmworkers who had begun the strike over sub-minimum wages. Itliong wanted Chavez and Huerta to organize Mexican farmworkers who had been brought in as potential strikebreakers and get them to honor the picket line.

The result of their collaboration was the formation of the United Farm Workers as a union of the AFL-CIO. The UFW would very much be marked by a combination of (and sometimes conflict between) AWOC's traditional union tactics - strikes, pickets, card drives, employer-based campaigns, and collective bargaining for union contracts - and NFWA's social movement strategy of marches, boycotts, hunger strikes, media campaigns, mobilization of liberal politicians, and legislative campaigns.

1965 to 1970: the Rise of the UFW:

While the strike starts with 2,000 Filipino workers and 1,200 Mexican families targeting Delano area growers, it quickly expanded to target more growers and bring more workers to the picket lines, eventually culminating in 10,000 workers striking against the whole of the table grape growers of California across the length and breadth of California.

Throughout 1966, the UFW faced extensive violence from the growers, from shotguns used as "warning shots" to hand-to-hand violence, to driving cars into pickets, to turning pesticide-spraying machines onto picketers. Local police responded to the violence by effectively siding with the growers, and would arrest UFW picketers for the crime of calling the police.

Chavez strongly emphasized a non-violent response to the growers' tactics - to the point of engaging in a Gandhian hunger strike against his own strikers in 1968 to quell discussions about retaliatory violence - but also began to employ a series of civil rights tactics that sought to break what had effectively become a stalemate on the picket line by side-stepping the picket lines altogether and attacking the growers on new fronts.

First, he sought the assistance of outside groups and individuals who would be sympathetic to the plight of the farmworker and could help bring media attention to the strike - UAW President Walter Reuther and Senator Robert Kennedy both visited Delano to express their solidarity, with Kennedy in particular holding hearings that shined a light on the issue of violence and police violations of the civil rights of UFW picketers.

Second, Chavez hit on the tactic of using boycotts as a way of exerting economic pressure on particular growers and leveraging the solidarity of other unions and consumers - the boycotts began when Chavez enlisted Dolores Huerta to follow a shipment of grapes from Schenley Industries (the first grower to be boycotted) to the Port of Oakland. There, Huerta reached out to the International Longshoremen's and Warehousemen's Union and persuaded them to honor the boycott and refuse to handle non-union grapes. Schenley's grapes started to rot on the docks, cutting them off from the market, and between the effects of union solidarity and growing consumer participation in the UFW's boycotts, the growers started to come under real economic pressure as their revenue dropped despite a record harvest.

Throughout the rest of the Delano grape strike, Dolores Huerta would be the main organizer of the national and internal boycotts, travelling across the country (and eventually all the way to the UK) to mobilize unions and faith groups to form boycott committees and boycott houses in major cities that in turn could educate and mobilize ordinary consumers through a campaign of leafleting and picketing at grocery stores.

Third, the UFW organized the first of its marches, a 300-mile trek from Delano to the state capital of Sacramento aimed at drawing national attention to the grape strike and attempting to enlist the state government to pass labor legislation that would give farmworkers the right to organize. Carefully organized by Cesar Chavez to draw on Mexican faith traditions, the march would be labelled a "pilgrimage," and would be timed to begin during Lent and culminate during Easter. In addition to American flags and the UFW banner, the march would be led by "pilgrims" carrying a banner of Our Lady of Guadelupe.

While this strategy was ultimately effective in its goal of influencing the broader Latino community in California to see the UFW as not just a union but a vehicle for the broader aspirations of the whole Latino community for equality and social justice, what became known in Chicano circles as La Causa, the emphasis on Mexican symbolism and Chicano identity contributed to a growing tension with the Filipino half of the UFW, who felt that they were being sidelined in a strike they had started.

Nevertheless, by the time that the UFW's pilgrimage arrived at Sacramento, news broke that they had won their first breakthrough in the strike as Schenley Industries (which had been suffering through a four-month national boycott of its products) agreed to sign the first UFW union contract, delivering a much-needed victory.

As the strike dragged on, growers were not passively standing by - in addition to doubling down on the violence by hiring strikebreakers to assault pro-UFW farmworkers, growers turned to the Teamsters Union as a way of pre-empting the UFW, either by pre-emptively signing contracts with the Teamsters or effectively backing the Teamsters in union elections.

Part of the darker legacy of the Teamsters is that, going all the back to the 1930s, they have a nasty habit of raiding other unions, and especially during their mobbed-up days would work with the bosses to sign sweetheart deals that allowed the Teamsters to siphon dues money from workers (who had not consented to be represented by the Teamsters, remember) while providing nothing in the way of wage increases or improved working conditions, usually in exchange for bribes and/or protection money from the employers. Moreover, the Teamsters had no compunction about using violence to intimidate rank-and-file workers and rival unions in order to defend their "paper locals" or win a union election. This would become even more of an issue later on, but it started up as early as 1966.

Moreover, the growers attempted to adapt to the UFW's boycott tactics by sharing labels, such that a boycotted company would sell their products under the guise of being from a different, non-boycotted company. This forced the UFW to change its boycott tactics in turn, so that instead of targeting individual growers for boycott, they now asked unions and consumers alike to boycott all table grapes from the state of California.

By 1970, however, the growing strength of the national grape boycott forced no fewer than 26 Delano grape growers to the bargaining table to sign the UFW's contracts. Practically overnight, the UFW grew from a membership of 10,000 strikers (none of whom had contracts, remember) to nearly 70,000 union members covered by collective bargaining agreements.

1970 to 1978: The UFW Confronts Internal and External Crises

Up until now, I've been telling the kind of simple narrative of gradual but inevitable social progress that U.S history textbooks like, the Hollywood story of an oppressed minority that wins a David and Goliath struggle against a violent, racist oligarchy through the kind of non-violent methods that make white allies feel comfortable and uplifted. (It's not an accident that the bulk of the 2014 film Cesar Chavez starring Michael Peña covers the Delano Grape Strike.)

It's also the period in which the UFW's strengths as an organization that came out of the community organizing/civil rights movement were most on display. In the eight years that followed, however, the union would start to experience a series of crises that would demonstrate some of the weaknesses of that same institutional legacy. As Matt Garcia describes in From the Jaws of Victory, in the wake of his historic victory in 1970, Cesar Chavez began to inflict a series of self-inflicted injuries on the UFW that crippled the functioning of the union, divided leadership and rank-and-file alike, and ultimately distracted from the union's external crises at a time when the UFW could not afford to be distracted.

That's not to say that this period was one of unbroken decline - as we'll discuss, the UFW would win many victories in this period - but the union's forward momentum was halted and it would spend much of the 1970s trying to get back to where it was at the very start of the decade.

To begin with, we should discuss the internal contradictions of the UFW: one of the major features of the UFW's new contracts was that they replaced the shape-up with the hiring hall. This gave the union an enormous amount of power in terms of hiring, firing and management of employees, but the quid-pro-quo of this system is that it puts a significant administrative burden on the union. Not only do you have to have to set up policies that fairly decide who gets work and when, but you then have to even-handedly enforce those policies on a day-to-day basis in often fraught circumstances - and all of this is skilled white-collar labor.

This ran into a major bone of contention within the movement. When the locus of the grape strike had shifted from the fields to the urban boycotts, this had made a new constituency within the union - white college-educated hippies who could do statistical research, operate boycott houses, and handle media campaigns. These hippies had done yeoman's work for the union and wanted to keep on doing that work, but they also needed to earn enough money to pay the rent and look after their growing families, and in general shift from being temporary volunteers to being professional union staffers.

This ran head-long into a buzzsaw of racial and cultural tension. Similar to the conflicts over the role of white volunteers in CORE/SNCC during the Civil Rights Movement, there were a lot of UFW leaders and members who had come out of the grassroots efforts in the field who felt that the white college kids were making a play for control over the UFW. This was especially driven by Cesar Chavez' religiously-inflected ideas of Catholic sacrifice and self-denial, embodied politically as the idea that a salary of $5 a week (roughly $30 a week in today's money) was a sign of the purity of one's "missionary work." This worked itself out in a series of internicene purges whereby vital college-educated staff were fired for various crimes of ideological disunity.

This all would have been survivable if Chavez had shown any interest in actually making the union and its hiring halls work. However, almost from the moment of victory in 1970, Chavez showed almost no interest in running the union as a union - instead, he thought that the most important thing was relocating the UFW's headquarters to a commune in La Paz, or creating the Poor People's Union as a way to organize poor whites in the San Joaquin Valley, or leaving the union altogether to become a Catholic priest, or joining up with the Synanon cult to run criticism sessions in La Paz. In the mean-time, a lot of the UFW's victories were withering on the vine as workers in the fields got fed up with hiring halls that couldn't do their basic job of making sure they got sufficient work at the right wages.

Externally, all of this was happening during the second major round of labor conflicts out in the fields. As before, the UFW faced serious conflicts with the Teamsters, first in the so-called "Salad Bowl Strike" that lasted from 1970-1971 and was at the time the largest and most violent agricultural strike in U.S history - only then to be eclipsed in 1973 with the second grape strike. Just as with the Salinas strike, the grape growers in 1973 shifted to a strategy of signing sweetheart deals with the Teamsters - and using Teamster muscle to fight off the UFW's new grape strike and boycott. UFW pickets were shot at and killed in drive-byes by Teamster trucks, who then escalated into firebombing pickets and UFW buildings alike.

After a year of violence, reduced support from the rank-and-file, and declining resources, Chavez and the UFW felt that their backs were up against a wall - and had to adjust their tactics accordingly. With the election of Jerry Brown as governor in 1974, the UFW pivoted to a strategy of pressuring the state government to enact a California Agricultural Labor Relations Act that would give agricultural workers the right to organize, and with that all the labor protections normally enjoyed by industrial workers under the Federal National Labor Relations Act - at the cost of giving up the freedom to boycott and conduct secondary strikes which they had had as outsiders to the system.

This led to the semi-miraculous Modesto March, itself a repeat of the Delano-to-Sacramento march from the 1960s. Starting as just a couple hundred marchers in San Francisco, the March swelled to as many as 15,000-strong by the time that it reached its objective at Modesto. This caused a sudden sea-change in the grape strike, bringing the growers and the Teamsters back to the table, and getting Jerry Brown and the state legislature to back passage of California Agricultural Labor Relations Act.

This proved to be the high-water mark for the UFW, which swelled to a peak of 80,000 members. The problem was that the old problems within the UFW did not go away - victory in 1975 didn't stop Chavez and his Chicano constituency feuding with more distinctively Mexican groups within the movement over undocumented immigration, nor feuding with Filipino constituencies over a meeting with Ferdinand Marcos, and nor escalating these internal conflicts into a series of leadership purges.

Conclusion: Decline and Fall

At the same time, the new alliance with the Agricultural Labor Relations Board proved to be a difficult one for the UFW. While establishment of the agency proved to be a major boon for the UFW, which won most of the free elections under CALRA (all the while continuing to neglect the critical hiring hall issue), the state legislature badly underfunded ALRB, forcing the agency to temporarily shut down. The UFW responded by sponsoring Prop 14 in the 1976 elections to try to empower ALRB, and then got very badly beaten in that election cycle - and then, when Republican George Deukmejian was elected in 1983, the ALRB was largely defunded and unable to achieve its original elective goals.

In the wake of Deukmejian, the UFW went into terminal decline. Most of its best organizers had left or been purged in internal struggles, their contracts failed to succeed over the long run due to the hiring hall problem, and the union basically stopped organizing new members after 1986.

#history #u.s history #labor history #ufw #united farm workers #cesar chavez #dolores huerta #trade unions #social history #social movements #unions

[coochiequeens]

As your bones lose density, the only way you will protect them is by keeping your muscle mass; building strength in middle age is part of what will define the shape and tempo of your old age. “

When 50-year-old Anna Jenkins, the founder of We Are Fit Attitude (Wafa), a woman-only health and fitness club, looked online for images of older women exercising, she was irritated by the pitiful size of the weights: the stock image is of a woman with grey hair lifting a 1kg weight, as if doing so were some kind of milestone. My personal bugbears are the photos in which there is a personal trainer with an expression of infinite patience next to the older woman, as if the latter is weak and half witted.

Stock photos are the internet’s idea of what the world should look like, sets of generic images intended to illustrate articles and advertising, often revealing more worldview than they probably set out to. There are famously a lot of photos of white women laughing near salad, meant for healthy eating content, but also reinforcing inane cheer and self-denial as cornerstones of femininity. If fitness imagery of the young is all about aspiration – six packs, muscle definition and impossible body fat percentages – fitness imagery of older people is almost anti-aspirational. Its message is: “You probably can’t do anything at all, but look over here, there’s a lady managing this tiny thing.”

Jenkins runs the Wafa classes remotely and in person for women ranging from their late 30s to their mid-70s. One Saturday, at a class in Merton, south London, they decided to create a new set of photos, repopulate the ecosystem of stock photographs, so that when you search for “older women exercising”, you will be able to see what that really looks like. “These are proper weights,” says Annette Hinds, 60. “We’re not pussyfooting about.”

Jenkins went into group work and coaching from personal training because she had noticed that, in the gym: “Women would go straight to the cardio machine because they knew how it worked. It’s a frightening environment when you think you don’t belong, when you’re unhappy in your body shape. But they didn’t need more cardio – at 45-plus your body needs strength work. Especially during the menopause. It’s just a fact.”

As your bones lose density, the only way you will protect them is by keeping your muscle mass; building strength in middle age is part of what will define the shape and tempo of your old age. But as Glenda Cooper, 51, who usually does this class remotely five times a week, says, there is more to it than that. “Women at this time of life have parents we’re caring for. I’ve got two kids. You don’t want to take up too much space, you feel invisible anyway, you don’t make time for yourself. It’s so important to have a sense of your own strength, which I think is absent from the rest of our lives.”

The atmosphere is fierce: as Lorraine Turner, 59, says: “I never used to think I was competitive, but later in life, I’ve realised that I am. I get a lot out of it if I push myself more.” Karen Silvestri, 60, remarks archly: “My husband’s a chef so I eat a lot and drink a lot. I still manage to retain this normal shape.”

Palmer’s daughter paid her a compliment on her butt the other day: “She said it wasn’t flat like a lot of women my age.” Downward comparison is very motivating, and it is also fun to watch when people are so unabashed about it.

“We’re a funny bunch, women, aren’t we?” Teresa Klasener, 61, says. She was very active until she got rheumatoid arthritis, then it all hit the skids until she started with Wafa two years ago. “We have all these mental blocks, we don’t prioritise ourselves, but once we’re in a group, we’ll fly.”

Jenkins says: “When I first became a personal trainer, I’d see a lot of women who were yo-yo dieters, and it was often because they were trying to be skinnier than their bodies were meant to be. I think exercise makes you confident in your shape as it is.” That might be the ultimate break with the visual norms of the fitness industry, that these are images of strength and exertion for their own sake, not for how they’ll make you look in spaghetti straps.

“I never knew what people were talking about with the endorphin thing,” Redford says. “And now, I do feel a sense of joy and self-congratulation, knowing that I just fucking went for it.”

#We Are Fit Attitude (WAFA) #Stock images or women #Women and fitness #Women and strength training #Women and aging

[blughxreader]

could any of your ocs become platonic yanderes?

Ooh there's an interesting thought.

I'm not going to say a hard yes or no to your question, because if you want to imagine them as platonic then by all means.

Here's some HCs if they were platonic yanderes!

You probably wouldn't know if Andre was a platonic yandere. Ever.

Man is the definition of a social recluse, so even if he was absolutely obsessed with you, he'd feel more comfortable watching from surveillance cameras. Kidnapping is unlikely unless you were completely self-destructive, and even then he wouldn't show his face so you could leave someday.

Unlike his spouse, where he would be fiercely jealous and possessive of their company, Andre is much more liberal with their platonic Darling's time. He's content with just watching.

Expect your applications to schools and scholarships to be approved. To score jobs after the first interview. For friends that were bad influences to disappear suddenly. For lots of police to patrol the area you live in.

You think you're the luckiest person alive, not knowing it's actually the dude you see every month or so at your favorite cafe.

Just don't give him a reason to intervene.

Sunny has great platonic yandere potential!

He'd be heavily involved in your life. From youth summer camp director to college campus support group leader to local association of young working professionals founder. Sunny is there.

Getting his followers to befriend you would be super easy. Everyone likes friends, especially when they're so happy and earnest. Meeting Sunny is a natural thing that opens up a lot of doors for you, so you'd be stupid not to go to his dinner parties.

I doubt he'd kidnap you. There's literally no need. Even if you two aren't best friends or mentor/mentee, he's still at all your friends hangouts. Still at your work. Still everywhere.

He'd offer you a place in his "group." Depending on your stance on religion or how perceptive you are, it would be framed as a business, religion, or support group. Regardless, he could use your help, and all your friends agree.

Sunny is a good platonic yandere. He'd make sure none of the burden of his obsession falls on your shoulders. You won't even know you can't leave.

For more of Sunny and Andre, visit my Original Yanderes masterlist!

#platonic yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere imagine #yandere headcanons #blughxreader andre #blughxreader sunny

[probablyasocialecologist]

The claim that Zionism is merely Jewish self-determination also conflates the Jewish people with Zionism, an ideology finding its origins in Europe in the late 1800s. At the time, the Jewish people were largely uninterested in Zionism. As a matter of fact many Jewish groups were fiercely anti-Zionist. The attempt to conflate the two is an attempt to give legitimacy to self-professed settlers from Europe, and portray any criticism of the Zionist project as inherently antisemitic. Yet in the early days, the Zionist movement was astonishingly honest about its existence as a form of colonialism. For example, Herzl, one of the founders of political Zionism wrote in 1902 to infamous colonizer Cecil Rhodes, arguing that Britain recognized the importance of “colonial expansion”: “You are being invited to help make history,” he wrote, “It doesn’t involve Africa, but a piece of Asia Minor ; not Englishmen, but Jews . How, then, do I happen to turn to you since this is an out-of-the-way matter for you? How indeed? Because it is something colonial.” Nordau, Herzl’s right hand man, even rightfully called Zionist settlements in Palestine “colonies”: “Zionism rejects on principle all colonization on a small scale, and the idea of “sneaking” into Palestine. The Zionists have therefore devoted themselves preeminently to a zealous and tireless advocacy of the uniting of the already existing Jewish colonies in Palestine with those who until now have given them their aid and who of late have inclined towards the withdrawal of their support from them.” Menachem Usishkin, chairman of the Jewish National Fund, was known for his calls to rid Palestine of its natives: “What we can demand today is that all Transjordan be included in the Land of Israel. . . on condition that Transjordan would be either be made available for Jewish colonization or for the resettlement of those [Palestinian] Arabs, whose lands [in Palestine] we would purchase. Against this, the most conscientious person could not argue . . . For the [Palestinian] Arabs of the Galilee, Transjordan is a province . . . this will be for the resettlement of Palestine’s Arabs. This the land problem. . . . Now the [Palestinian] Arabs do not want us because we want to be the rulers. I will fight for this. I will make sure that we will be the landlords of this land . . . . because this country belongs to us not to them . . . “ Revisionist Zionist Vladimir Jabotinsky, in an essay titled The Iron Law (1925) wrote that: “A voluntary reconciliation with the Arabs is out of the question either now or in the future. If you wish to colonize a land in which people are already living, you must provide a garrison for the land, or find some rich man or benefactor who will provide a garrison on your behalf. Or else-or else, give up your colonization, for without an armed force which will render physically impossible any attempt to destroy or prevent this colonization, colonization is impossible, not difficult, not dangerous, but IMPOSSIBLE!… Zionism is a colonization adventure and therefore it stands or falls by the question of armed force. It is important… to speak Hebrew, but, unfortunately, it is even more important to be able to shoot – or else I am through with playing at colonizing.”

#israel #palestine #zionism #settler colonialism

[fatehbaz]

For the third year in a row, she’s the MVP — Mom, Very Proud — of Mount Rainier’s wolverine population. Joni the wolverine made headlines in 2020 after rearing two male kits, making her the first wolverine mom at the park in more than 100 years. [...] She had another two kits in 2021 — a boy and a girl — starting a streak of successful parenting. And this summer, researchers snapped photos of Joni bounding across the snow with yet another new pair of little ones. [...] It’s not very common for wolverines to rear kits three years in a row, said Dr. Jocelyn Akins, researcher and founder of the Cascades Carnivore Project. [...] The resident male of Mt. Rainier, Van cruises a huge territory that reaches almost up to Snoqualmie pass [...]. Wolverines are fierce scavengers and hunters that claim vast territories [...]. They once roamed as far south as California, but due largely to human activity, wolverines had disappeared from Washington by the early to mid-20th century. Their recovery since then has been slow. Wolverines in Washington have for decades been mostly confined to the North Cascades, north of Highway 90. [...] 

---

Headline, images, captions, and text above published by: Alex Bruell. “Joni the wolverine does it again.” Enumclaw Courier-Herald. 21 December 2022. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

Older press release headlines from US NPS:

The distribution range of wolverine in North America [map by Environment Canada]:

And the region:

[cheesus-doodles]

A Friend In Me: Chapter 3

Yandere Platonic Toman

‎‎

<< Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Masterlist

‎‎‎

Been a hot minute since this got a new chapter, I sold my soul to get this out. but nil it feels great

An insistent tug on your arm. “Come on!”

“Mikey, slow down! I can only walk so fast,” you laughed out as you allowed the eager boy to all but drag you down the street, your feet at times seemingly lifting off the ground when even your quickened strides couldn’t keep up. The rest of your Toman friends were content with following behind at a more leisurely pace, savoring the rare breeze that broke up the fierce afternoon heat while chatting and laughing among themselves, though this light temperament was far from the norm that you experienced in the past week. Not that you were complaining - you were going to enjoy this peace for as long as it lasted. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

Yet the Toman President made no effort to hide his impatience or slow his speed, instead letting out what sounded to you like a cross between a grunt and a whine as he attempted to get you to speed up by any means besides outright dragging you. “Walk faster,” Mikey insisted again, completely ignoring your second statement as his other hand reached up, this time to tug at the hem of your school uniform’s shirt, as if his words were a magic potion that could hurry you along. But alas, it was not to be, with you remaining the sole obstacle that stood between the trailing boys and Mikey’s full sprint ahead; it was clear that the delinquent was not against simply sweeping you up into his arms and making a break for it. You knew you barely weighed anything to the blond-haired delinquent, and you wouldn’t be against it either, but you knew who would be: the five very unhappy founders chasing after him cursing up a storm.

A light chuckle slipped your lips at Mikey’s pout, your hand lifting to gently ruffle the neatly tied hair that you had helped painstakingly wrangle into submission earlier this morning. Goodness only knows how Draken manages to do it so effortlessly; you must have taken at least twenty minutes, compared to his usual five. “We’ll get there eventually, wherever this is,” you assured the grumpy gang president. “Just takes a little longer, alright?”

‎

As if on cue, Draken’s irate voice rang out. “Oi Mikey! Slow down you idiot!”

The otherwise quiet street that you were strolling down was one of many amidst this small suburb that bordered the edge of the greater city of Tokyo, still sleepy at this time of the day; the few souls that you spotted occasionally wandering across traffic-less roads in the distance skewed heavily towards the elderly. The afternoon sun that loafed about in the sky above was seemingly a siren’s call for students to anywhere but this exact avenue, though one glance at the boys around you and you could confidently make a few accurate guesses. Despite the relaxed postures and lazy smiles that pulled at their faces, you knew deep down that all it would take would be a single provocation and a blink for everything to change.

After all, it had just been a week prior when Mikey and the others had found out about your new friend, and the tantrums you had to deal with were explosive to put it mildly. No doubt that Baji had seen that cheeky - and impromptu, you were sure - kiss that had been given to you that night, yet even after knowing them for as long as you had, you couldn’t recall a time when you had seen pure anger raging behind those empty eyes of Mikey’s, or when Kazutora had last clutched you tight enough to bruise his handprint into your skin. You had pondered this for a long while, taking the time to think in the dark of the night when whichever lucky soul who’s turn it was to snuggle right up against you had long fallen asleep. Was this also the reason why the Toman founders had all been on edge the past seven days, reluctant to let you out of their sight for but a second? Had they always been this way?

Or was it because the ‘enemy’ was a boy like them?

You couldn’t say for sure as always, given that last you checked you hadn’t developed any mind-reading abilities, but it did seem to you that the six of them had only stepped up their protectiveness of you further, something you hadn’t thought possible. Perhaps you were imagining things, despite the slightest bit of unease that had settled at the bottom of your gut. But as naive as you might be, you weren’t completely oblivious to the ongoings around you. Your sweet boys had always been a tad overbearing with their care for you, scaring off anyone who didn’t have the strongest of hearts. But it didn’t feel like you had any time left to spend alone, with one or the other always close by, if not for directly hanging off from you. Maybe you could grab a minute or so in the bathroom, if you didn’t count the light taps or the sniffling you could hear through the door. They even seemed more…clingy, if you had to put a word to it - almost like they were trying to scent their territory; insisting on making you wear their jackets while stubbornly squeezing into yours, rolling all over your sheets. Almost like cats.

A chuckle, and you pushed that thought to the back of your head. Okay no, you were definitely just imagining things now.

‎‎

“Hey Mikey,” A loud clap as Baji slammed one hand into a vice clamp around Mikey’s shoulder, and you let out a yelp as you were dragged backwards together with the blond-haired delinquent still insistently attached to your arm. It seemed that the moment you had taken for some well-intentioned self-reflection was just taken as another opportunity for more squabbling.

The Toman President seemed barely bothered despite the veins popping on Baji’s hand with the effort and strength he was putting into his grip, simply annoyed at being disturbed. “Huh? What do you want?”

“Draken said to slow down.” The black-haired Captain emphasized, his single sharp tooth bared as he gestured vaguely at you. “You blind or something? Can’t you see you’re walking too fast?”

Those were definitely fighting words, you knew as much. And then when Baji helped himself to your other arm, with only the cheeriest and cutest smile for you as he snuggled into your side and no angry words or looks in sight, Mikey puffed up in indignation, one hand shooting out in an attempt to pry his new rival off. “Hey! I didn’t say you can hold on too!”

“Huh? I don’t see your name anywhere here!” Baji dodged the attempted grab at his hair with a quick swish of his head, and you oofed as the mob smacked straight into your face. “Oh- uh, sorry,” he mumbled, before launching straight back into retaliation.

Regardless of what the boys thought or felt, for once, you had made up your mind. And come hell or high water, you would be damned if you didn’t see this new friendship through. As much as you loved your friends, this was your life after all, and you simply had to prove to yourself that you could. “You know, Baji, Mikey, you still haven’t told me where we are going,” you gently reminded, throwing one arm over Baji’s and Mikey’s necks in a playful gesture. “Can’t pull me out of class and not tell me.”

It was enough of a distraction for the duo to stop and look at you, and it was clear that the revelation finally hit home. “We’re going to Shinichiro’s shop!” Mikey announced proudly, those abyss eyes turned at you as if expecting something. Praise? Revere?

All he got unfortunately was confusion, and you cocked your head at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Shinichiro?” You repeated.

“Mikey’s older brother,’ Baji filled in helpfully, his smack to the back of said boy’s head finally landing.

“Ye, he owns a bike shop around here,” Mikey continued at your persistent bewildered look. “Sells bikes and does repairs and stuff.”

Your mind instantly jumped back to the week before Mikey’s birthday, and your lips quirked as the dots began to connect. You had thought the little grandma running the small stand at the previous corner had looked awfully familiar. And something was telling you that you had been down this road previously: was it that day that you had skipped class to pick up the custom fuel tank cover? Though you said nothing, biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying more. You supposed you were going to find out soon if you already knew this Shinichiro. Yet before your little smile could drop, a single telltale sniffle was all you had as a warning, and you were tackled unceremoniously from the back by one very distraught Kazutora.

‎

‎‎‎

But despite the squeals and laughter that filled the otherwise quiet, humming heat, not all was well, Draken and Mitsuya mutely throwing looks at each other in an unspoken conversation behind your back. You certainly weren’t privy to the many undercurrents swirling just below the surface, brewing like a storm biding its time in its cracking glass bottle; and unknown to you, your little adventures out with that wretched buddy of yours weren’t missed by any of the six Toman founders. No, they were more than keenly aware of all the times you had tried to steal away to join him, that bastard of a black-haired boy: why were you so keen to share your affection with a total stranger? To pamper and hand feed him the lunch you had made him to begin with, with this piece of trash not lifting a finger to help you?

You knew that they didn’t approve, by the way you were so very careful with when you leave to join him, always looking around to try and see if you had any tails and picking more secluded spots you didn’t hang out at when you were with them. You knew that your Toman friends would be angered at you risking your life so frivolously, so why? Was this how little you valued yourself? All to date a member of a rival gang behind their backs and against their explicit orders?

Yet you persisted. And for what? Someone who would never care for you like they did? Someone who would toss you to the side at the first hint of trouble?

It was clear that nothing they did or said seemed to get through your thick skull. So it was time to step it up. If you refused to listen to them, then as the Tokyo Manji Gang, the six founders would simply have to make you listen. It was tough even to think about it; the last thing they wanted was to scare you more than they already did, to lose your smile and laughter, the love you clearly had for your dear friends. But your safety came first, and if you couldn’t be trusted to behave yourself in the few moments that you had to yourself, then more drastic measures were needed, whether you liked it or not. Confining you to your house was an option they had considered: it was a familiar environment where you could be comfortable, and it didn’t seem like there was anyone else home at any point in time.

Though it was clearly a question for another time, with Pah shouting a warning right before you nearly tripped over a misplaced foot from Baji. The vein that had already been throbbing on Draken’s forehead almost popped, the Vice-President marching forward with an angered shout.

‎‎

‎‎

A stone’s throw away and hidden within the four walls of one of many shops that line the street, a simple clock hung on the far wall merrily ticking away. A school day it was supposed to be, yet neither of the two school-aged boys present had any intention of returning to their dull classes, instead choosing to spend their time in this unassuming motorcycle shop at the edge of this quiet Tokyo suburb.

Inupi couldn’t help but note how odd a pair the two in front of him made, standing side by side in the small shop; Koko clad in a pristine uniform, still as clean and tidy as when he had left for school earlier, and Shinichiro in a questionably clean t-shirt and a half-stripped overall, sleeves lazily tied around his deceptively thin waist. The otherwise quiet showfloor was almost as if a picture that one could pick out from a driving magazine: the afternoon sun pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling glass storefront and onto rows of less glamorous motorcycles up for sale, the well-scrubbed yet worn tiles of the shop floor, and in the middle of all the clutter and action, the surrounded lit centerpiece that drew one’s eyes naturally. And it was easy to understand the fascination Shinichiro had: the top of the line cruiser 2003 Honda Valkyrie that was now front and center in the shop was an eye-catching beast of the road. The polished black metal gleamed under the strong spotlights that flooded down from the ceiling, the long, low-strung frames that took inspiration from retro styles of a time long past, a shiny, silver flat-six engine that purred effortlessly down the road just half an hour earlier, and decked out in double studded leather seats and chrome finishing that added the air of sophistication that screamed Koko. Nothing short of a masterpiece.

Shinichiro took a long drag from his smoldering cigarette, abyss eyes never once leaving the bike that stood propped in front of him. “A 2003 Valkyrie?” The man asked, looking over the cruiser motorcycle with an appreciative eye - it was rare for something of this make, let alone one with such a high price tag, to pass through his shop, and the enthusiast was certainly taking the opportunity to appreciate it up close. “Brand new?”

A rhetorical question, given how little soot or dirt there was to be found on the tips of his finger even after a low swipe across the exhaust pipes; yet the younger of the two almost puffed up in pride as he answered. “Yep. Brand new,” Koko confirmed, both hands tucked into the pockets of his school uniform’s pants. But that was the only response Shinichiro received, with the black-haired boy reluctant to say anything more that could get him into unnecessary trouble; with the kind of business the rising delinquent star runs, one could never be sure who was listening. Or asking.

“Not going to ask how a kid gets a brand new bike,” Shinichiro chuckled back, no doubt having picked up on the hesitation that lingered in the air - a former ruffian himself, there were always things that were better left unsaid and unknown. Bending over to squint closer at the horizontally configured six-cylinder engine, a low appreciative whistle slipped the older man’s lips. “I’ve never seen one of these in Japan before, it’s huge.”

“First of its kind here, straight from the factory in America.” A fond chuckle, Koko seemingly inclined to open up a bit more about his purchase after the promise of secrecy. “1800cc engine. It’s not the most orthodox ride, I’ll give you that.”

“Twin seats huh?” This ignited a curiosity in Shinichiro, who leaned ever so slightly towards the other, as if discussing a conspiracy or a national secret. “Taking a little birdie for a ride?” Those wiggling eyebrows and cheeky grin were gold coming from Shinichiro of all people.

“...Perhaps,” muttered Koko, his gaze now dropping away towards the tired green shop floor. The flush that brushed across his cheeks evaporated back into the cool air-conditioned breeze as quickly as it appeared, though the vanishing thought was caught by the two others in attendance; nothing more needed to be said for them to understand where his mind had wandered to in the brief moment.

Shinichiro only threw his head back in laughter, as if his own misfortune with the ladies had just crossed his mind, reassuringly patting his counterpart on the back before straightening up to his full height. “So what can I do for you on this fine day?”

From one quiet corner of the shop, a pair of blue eyes raised to glance at the two for a moment before slipping back down to the dimly lit screen. Despite having looked down at his phone for the majority of the conversation, fingers scrolling mindlessly through endless messages to an unknown rhythm, the back and forth banter taking place nor the blush was not lost on Inupi, too unusual for the stoic boy to ignore. For one, it was strange for Koko to even step foot here in a motorcycle shop of all places, let alone being able to hold his own in a conversation about machines he once dubbed as nothing more than money sinks. The already notorious financier with a Midas touch that preceded his reputation had never previously shown the slightest interest in bikes, but Inupi had little question on the reason for the change of heart.

And for two, well, there was Koko’s newfound interest in you. The reason behind the rare touch of rossiness to grace his friend’s fair skin. No doubt you were to thank for the sudden change in the black-haired boy’s heart, and Inupi found himself appreciating your existence in their lives just slightly more, whoever you might be - not that Inupi would know. Koko hasn’t introduced you to him yet.

‎

The night that the Black Dragon member learned about you wasn’t one that he could shake from the front of his mind, despite it having already been two weeks since. An already out-of-the-norm night two weeks ago, given the surprise thunderstorm that swept across the city with but a single roar that almost drenched his beloved bookshelf of manga had he not scrambled to shut his room’s windows. Yet despite his expectations of the rain being the most noteworthy event of the day, given how class just seemed to drag on forever and gang activities being at a lull, it was the pounding of the front door that brought both a welcomed break from the boredom and an excuse for his continued disregard of homework. The rain outside poured unrelentingly from the sky, pounding down onto the earth as if a sea had been turned upside down, an impassable wall of water. But against all odds, there on his doorstep stood a very drenched Koko, almond eyes blown wide in panic and panting, gasping for air.

Before Inupi could even say a word or ask his best friend what had gotten his knickers in a twist, the black-haired boy had grabbed him by both shoulders, shaking him bodily. “I-I-Inupi!” Was all Koko managed to stammer out, pale face obviously sweating despite being completely drenched in the freezing rainwater. And although his mouth continued to move as if saying words, no sound followed. The blond delinquent didn't think he had seen his friend in such a right state since his sister’s passing: the usually materialistic, calculative Koko was good at hiding his emotions behind a facade.

There was only one thing he could do in the moment to break the other from the spiral. Lifting one hand, it was the loud smack of skin meeting flesh that echoed through the sleepy household, Koko’s face being blown to one side, effectively silencing the feverish muttering. Almond-shaped eyes instantly whirled around, catching sight of Inupi’s still raised hand in the opposite direction of where he had been left facing; evidence of what had just happened. “W-wha- Inupi?”

“Is your head screwed back on proper now, Hajime Kokonoi?” Came Inupi’s stoic voice.

Said boy instantly staggered back a step as Inupi raised his hand threateningly once more, both hands flying up in defense. “I’m good! I’m alright now,” Koko hastily assured, the slight swell and reddening of his struck cheek clear even in the dim yellow foyer light.

“Good. What happened?”

But it was undeniable to icy blue eyes that Koko was in no state to answer his question at the moment, the other middle schooler shivering in his soaked t-shirt and loose long pants. “C-can I come in first at least? It’s freezing!” The black-haired boy complained, though he had no intention of waiting for a response, pausing for just a mere moment for Inupi to move aside before hurrying out from the dark night and into the light and warmth of the familiar house.

A lightning strike illuminated Koko against the backdrop of a quiet housing estate and torrential droplets of rain that poured from gloomy clouds hanging low in the night sky, with a booming clap of thunder that shook the very air quickly following. It was already uncharacteristically late for Koko to still be up, given how much he valued his beauty sleep, but there was still something that was off with this picture. Something that Inupi couldn’t quite lay his finger on, as those blue eyes scanned the unyielding dark of the pouring night again and again.

And then it hit him with the second bolt of lightning; what was missing was the noticeable lack of reflection behind his shivering friend, the hazy light of the streetlamp that had stood faithfully outside of his family home for years shining onto nothing but pavement. “Where’s your bike?”

Koko didn’t seem to hear the question, simply turning sideways to attempt to squeeze past Inupi who had yet to shift from where he had been standing in the middle of the doorway. But the blond boy persisted, his arm shooting out to stop Koko, the concern in his voice growing. “What happened to your bike? Did you walk here?” His friend had just bought that CB250T, and Inupi wasn’t going to let him go without an answer.

No fight was needed. “I sold it.” Came the black-haired boy’s absentminded response, blurted out without a second thought in much the similar manner as how a Magic 8-ball would spit out an answer.

There was a pause as Inupi stared back unblinking at Koko, digesting the answer he received. One second turned into two. His jaw hit the ground as the gears in his mind came to a grinding halt. “You sold it?” Inupi repeated in disbelief, unable to comprehend what those three words meant in the moment. He knew that the other had just bought the bike not a week ago, and even though Koko hadn’t explained the rationale behind why he had finally made the leap, the young financier wasn’t one to make such a rash decision. Such a beat-up bike couldn’t have been flipped for any profit at all. “You sold it? To who?”

And then the weight of what had just slipped from his lips hit Koko like a skillet to his face. In a blink, a panicked look had washed over his face, the black-haired boy freezing mid-step, gaping like a fish out of water. “I-I- I sold it to…to this…this person.”

“A person? A boy? A girl?”

“I sold it to… to a person, okay?!”

The blond-haired boy raised both hands in surrender as the tone in Koko’s voice hitched up into desperation with a fine touch of aggression at the constant questioning, eyes blown wide by turbulent, unspoken thoughts. “Alright, alright, you sold it to a person,” Inupi pacified, making a mental note to circle back to this touchy topic later, instead taking pity on how miserable his friend looked in the moment, drenched and shivering. “Why not you head to the kitchen first? I’ll get you a towel and a hot drink.”

It was a welcomed break for both of them; Koko taking the time to warm up after his mad journey through the midnight thunderstorm, and Inupi to gather his many thoughts. The pattering of rain against the glass of shut kitchen windows sounded a lot more peaceful when listening from inside a warm room. “So why are you here now? You need another bike?”

“I need help,” Koko admitted. Inupi startled, almost dropping the two cups of steaming chocolate he had just made. The straightforwardness was not something he had expected from his long-time best friend. “I… promised that I could help with the replacement and repairing of parts.” His voice dropped off, sounding almost…sheepish.

Ah. Everything suddenly made sense.

“But- but I don’t know how a motorcycle works! I don’t even know what engine that wreck had!” Now all but yanking at the roots of his hair, it was clear that the usually calm and collected financier had finally dug himself into a hole money couldn’t buy him out of. Inupi would have laughed at the scene if the other hadn’t been as distraught. “I’m doomed.”

Yet before the biker gang delinquent could open his mouth, Koko rushed on. “You want to revive the Black Dragons? I’ll help you. I’ll introduce you to a guy I know. Please Inupi, you gotta help me.” That shut his jaw back with a click. He was already going to say yes - after all, what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t help out with something so simple? But now with the added reward…

Inupi nodded firmly, pushing the mug of hot chocolate closer towards Koko. “I’ll help. Drink up.”

‎

“Louder rev. I like the purr but I want more roar.” A blink, and Koko’s answer brought Inupi back to reality from his musing on the past - had he missed anything? Not that he could say for sure, but his friend’s next question came loaded with more hesitancy. “Is that going to impact safety?”

Inupi shook his head, clearing his rambling thoughts from his head with the simple movement: it didn’t matter if he didn’t know who you were or what you looked like. It was clear that your presence was already making a difference to Koko, and that was enough for him. Even if his best friend had only shifted his attachment and obsession onto a new target, albeit one who was alive and capable of returning the care and attention that Koko yearned for, maybe, slowly but surely, Koko could one day move on from Akane. Forgive himself for what he couldn’t do in the past. Maybe you could help mend the hole in Koko’s heart.

And that alone was worth all those sleepless nights Inupi spent by Koko’s side, secretly helping to answer the questions you fielded through the phone to an anxious, sweating boy who didn’t know the smallest thing about motorcycles.

The cool air that sank down from the air-conditioning above was a relief from the unrelenting heat outside, though it failed to stop the seemingly never-ending waft of smoke that drifted up from the middle of the store and disappeared into the ducts. A grunt of acknowledgement as Shinichiro clenched down on his smoldering cigarette, kneeling back down and leaning to take a closer look at the Valkyrie’s exhaust pipes. “On this new a bike? Won’t be a problem. But...” The older man trailed off, lost in thought as he stared down the muffler. “Probably will have to take some measurements before recommending anything.”

Koko shrugged. “I can leave it here with you for a night or two, no problem. Just need it back by the weekend.”

“I’ll get it done by then,” Shinichiro promised, sticking out a thumbs-up, cheeky grin pulling at his lips once more. “Done in time for your little friend.”

It took everything for the younger of the two black-haired boys to stop his eyes from rolling into the back of his head, though he couldn’t deny the blush that washed over his cheeks. “Whatever,” he muttered, kicking one foot at nothing before sulking off to one dark corner of the motorcycle shop, eager to get away from potentially being teased further about his heated face as well. Ah, young love.

Biting his tongue to swallow the laugh that the older Sano could feel bubbling up, warm black eyes now turned to land on the young delinquent who had been sitting quietly in the corner. Small mobile phone in hand and dressed in full gang uniform, it was a far cry from the prim and proper school uniform that his friend had opted for; the white uniform with bold black words proclaiming him as a proud Black Dragon eye-catching against the matte blue steel racks lining the back of the shop. “So what can I do for you today, Inupi?”

The recent memory of the almost spectacular defeat of the Ninth Generation Black Dragon instantly came rocketing straight to the front of his memory once more, and despite Inupi’s best efforts, the usually stoic boy flinched. The humiliation was still fresh and jarring, and Shinichiro caught it loud and clear. The former delinquent immediately held out one empathetic hand, stopping Inupi before he could speak. “It’s okay, you know?”

Said blond boy blinked. “What?”

“To lose. I heard what happened.”

“But-”

“But nothing,” Shinichiro emphasized, even as he stood from where he had been crouched in front of the Valkyrie, picking up his tool box and stretching. “Shit happens. You win, you lose. It’s not your fault, stop taking it so personally.”

It wasn’t okay. And it was his fault. If only- maybe if he had been stronger. Maybe if he had been the President instead of Shion. “But I promised-”

“You promised Izana to look after the gang, didn’t you?” The former Black Dragon captain waved the younger delinquent over, inviting him to come closer as he turned his attention to tinkling on spare engine parts. “And you did. You tried your best.”

Inupi fell silent, processing the words that hung heavy in the air. Did he really do all that he could? Did he do enough?

A slap to his back broke him out of his thoughts to the sight of a laughing Shinichiro. “Come on, don’t look so serious! You’ll be fine. Tell me what’s going on with your life, found yourself a pretty girl yet?”

‎

‎

The once sprawled out squad, with you and Mikey ahead and your other five friends trailing behind, had already been abandoned just five minutes into this after-school stroll you had been cajoled into. Compressed back into a single large group, you found yourself bogged down by not just one, but three clingy boys latched on to various parts of your body and limbs, Mikey and Baji each tugging at one arm and busy bickering with each other about whether you liked taiyaki or peyoung yakisoba better, while Kazutora seemed just happy to be able to hold you by the hem of your recently untucked school shirt from the back.

“Are yall done whining?” Mitsuya drawled, his hand coming down in a chopping motion to the top of an unbothered Kazutora, said boy only taking the opportunity shuffling closer to you and resting his chin on your shoulder, all the while grumbling slightly. “You’re being a bother.”

Mikey and Baji whirled around as one, disbelief plastered across their faces. “We are not,” the duo insisted in unison, even though it had been Kazutora that took the brunt of the very light hit, their clutches on your arms tightening slightly as your two velcros attempted to snuggle even closer into you, two pairs of abyss and yellow eyes turning up to you. “Tell him!”

You didn’t want to complain and break their hearts - not with those pouty puppy eyes they had turned up to full blast at you - but the cool breeze that previously brought relief had already died down several minutes earlier, and now burdened with the full brunt of the afternoon heat, your attached walking radiators weren’t helping much. “Baji and Mikey are fine,” you simply shook your head, an indulgent smile on your face, despite you were already starting to feel a bit faint from the heat and the effort of walking with the extra weight of two. Curse your soft heart.

Before you could open your mouth to answer, the two boys were yanked up by the back of their shirts by a now completely-annoyed Draken, forcing them to release their vice grip on you lest they drag you up into the air as well. “That’s enough from the two of you,” Draken grumbled, the two shorter delinquents comically kicking and flailing while suspended, though ultimately helpless against the much taller Vice Captain. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, and earned yourself very despondent looks in return.“You alright?” Black eyes scanned your face carefully, ignoring the fuss as he effortlessly kept the problem duo in the air, patiently waiting for you to collect yourself; it was nice that your dilemma had been noticed.

“I’m fine now, thanks Ken-chin!” Beaming up at the taller boy, you gave him a reassuring nod. Saying no to people so dear certainly wasn’t a strong suit of yours, though fortunately for you, you had someone looking out for your wellbeing.

Dropping his whining charges back onto their feet, you had little doubt that both were already to jump you once more had it not been for Mitsuya’s hand shooting out to catch Kazutora by his ear, who very obviously and very painfully twisted the sensitive part as he forced your last clinger to release you. “Ow-ow-ow, Mitsuya, that hurts!”

“I asked,” the lilac-haired boy reiterated, that unquestionable tone of an older sibling demanding obedience leaking out from the usually level-headed Second Division Captain. “If you three are done.” Your giggles only turned into full blown laughter at Kazutora’s miserable look as he started to whine and complain about the unfair treatment.

Another twenty minutes was what it ultimately took for you to finally make it to your destination which turned out to be only the street after; if not for all the fuss and the dragging of feet, you were sure it would have only taken a mere five minutes. Yet every step forward only seemed to feed into the growing feeling of anticipation; you were only more and more certain that the same person Mikey was so eager to belong to was the ‘oji-san’ you had met before. No wonder he had a perfect part for your fixer-upper part lying around. No wonder those abyss eyes of his felt so familiar. Musing if your new friend had known when he recommended the shop after selling you that CB250T, you quickly left that train of thought behind; perhaps he wouldn’t have been so eager to help if he had known about your boys’ distaste of his existence.

As you turned the final corner, the white awning, stretching out lazily and throwing its shadow across the pavement, was the first thing you saw, long before you could see that tired yet warm storefront: a kingdom’s banner declaring the bike shop’s existence amidst the wider world. The road was otherwise quiet though not without activity, the occasional car speeding by and leaving nothing by the rumble of its engine behind as it raced down the street and disappeared round the next bend. Bathing in the unforgiving heat was a little easier without the additional weight, though the slight breeze that had picked up once more was a small relief to your panting skin.

The lit interior of the shop had barely come into view when your group of friends started to slow down into a leisurely stroll, and you could almost see the start of what would be rows of shiny new motorcycles formed into neat makeshift aisles lining the shop floor. Despite having only been here twice - once to detail your custom order for Mikey’s birthday bike and the other to pick it up - you were already looking forward to meeting the nice, friendly ‘ojisan’ again. There was no more doubt to be had, and you couldn’t quite hold back your laughter any longer as you turned to look at your blond-haired friend shuffling along sulkingly. “I think,” you giggled, covering your mouth with one hand. “I think I know who your older brother is, Mikey.”

That instantly got the group’s attention, most of all said Toman President, whose jaw seemed to unhinge and drop as he whirled to look at you. You didn’t think you had ever seen Mikey spin so quickly. “You do?” He demanded, and would have made a lunge for you if not for the instant double pair of evil eyes daring him to do so, courtesy of Draken and Mitsuya. Pah even took a step forward, bless his heart. Mikey backed off, just ever so slightly. “From where? How? Why?”

You did offer your hand for your needy boy to hold though, the other instantly going to alternate between patting a whimpering mob of duo-colored hair and a pouting head of long black hair. “Where did you think that custom fuel tank cover came from?”

The gears clearly turning in his head, everything clicked together in an instance, a shine coming to those usually abyss eyes. “You got it from… from here?”

Right as you were about to reply, it seemed whatever higher being that had been watching over you had had enough of your enjoyable afternoon, and all it took was a second for the world to shift. A glint of light, one that sparkled out from a previously hidden sidewalk right before Shinichiro’s shop, caught the corner of Pah’s eye, the boy turning slightly to take a closer look just as up ahead, the faded green front door of S.S Motor swung open. And out shot from the storefront a gutsinking familiar figure, wavy hair fashioned into a death hawk, golden earring catching the bright sunlight and glittering like a lighthouse beacon.

“BD?” The Third Division captain muttered confused as he took in the wild-looking yet spotless Yamaha RZ350, neatly tucked away behind an air-conditioning unit in the alley. “Black Dragon…?”

Your heart sank faster than a cement block dropped from a thirty foot crane into the open ocean. Fuck.

‎‎

‎‎

The sound of your gentle chuckle, just loud enough to echo ahead and through the glass of the shopfront was all that was needed to both set Koko’s chest alight, and sink it like the Titanic at the same time. He knew your voice - your laughter - by heart at this point; no doubt he would be able to pinpoint it even in his sleep through two inch thick steel. Because how could he not? Ever since he met you completely by chance while you had been rummaging about the dark underbelly of Tokyo City, looking for specifically a Honda CB250T with that meager amount you had scraped together, Koko had been hooked like an addict. And much like said addict craving for another hit, Koko had given you his scrappy fixer-upper for next to nothing before he realized what he had done. All just to see you again. Thoughts of you and about you haunted him day and night, no matter what he was doing or where he was looking - the rising financier star saw you in everything he did.

The usually calculative boy still couldn’t quite tally every point that had him drawn to you off the top of his head, but that was a problem for a future him. Right now, at this moment, he had bigger problems.

You were outside the shop right now (he could just see the top of your hair over the row of display motorcycles), and as much as Koko was delighted to see you again so soon, given it was rare to have any sort of extra time with you outside of pre-scheduled and pre-planned dates, he was not ready for you in the slightest. Caught off guard, as if he had his pants down, the anxiety bubbling uncontrollably up his throat. As far as he knew, your Honda CB250T was done. Finished. So what were you doing here in this part of town? Were you all by yourself? Did you know he was here?

Every…outing he ever had the pleasure to go on with you, his image had always been meticulously crafted and perfected - you probably would have never seen him in something as disgustingly simple and tasteless as a school uniform, nor did he have any of his usual gifts for you on hand. Sure you had never cared about receiving anything in return for your precious time, but Koko had heard that gifts were very useful for wooing someone. And for someone as important as you, it was a matter of basic respect. Maybe he could show you his new bike first. Maybe you’ll accept him treating you to dinner instead, if you didn’t already cook that is. Koko didn’t have enough self-restraint to resist your cooking.

And then there was the matter of Inupi's presence. Throwing a nervous glance backwards at the two still speaking in the shop - past and current delinquent discussing matters Koko couldn’t discern - the presence of an obvious rival gang delinquent might scare you off: you clearly spent a lot of time in the presence of one Tokyo Manji Gang from what he had seen. Even if he didn't have any affiliations, Inupi very certainly did. But time was ticking, and the options he had on hand were few.

It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, the black-haired boy abruptly stood, marched over to the front door, and forced himself out into the hot afternoon.

The world fell silent as Kokonoi Hajime stumbled straight into full view of not just you, but you in the company of six figures he instantly recognized as the Tokyo Manji Gang whose glares lasered in on him like hyenas to an freshly abandoned carcass. He had made a gamble, and he had been wrong; you were not alone like he had expected.

‎

‎

All you could do was stare back at those pair of black almond eyes with your own paid of quivering ones, adrenaline pumping through your veins in a vain attempt to squash the panic rising through your chest as Koko froze meters away, his darting eyes assessing the situation before finally landing on you. There was no doubt in your mind that all your friends knew who he was, judging from their intense predatory stare that they were leveling at him, for reasons that were beyond you despite being absolutely certain that only Baji had managed a glimpse of him previously during that fateful night. But no matter what played out from this moment onwards, it was only going to get clearer and clearer that you had been disobeying their explicit demands for you to keep away from a rival delinquent. It felt almost that time itself had crawled to a halt, with only your heavy breathing reassuring you that the world under your feet was still turning. But what now?

You really didn’t want to know the answer to that question, but alas, there was no such mercy granted to you.

‎‎

‎‎

Koko collected himself as he straightened to his full height, spotless school uniform shirt pulled down tight. No delinquent or rival was going to scare him away from you, not after all that he had already been through. He had lost Akane, he would not lose you as well - no, you were worth everything he was worth. Every dollar and cent, he didn’t need it if he could have you. Your name was cheerfully called out as he raised one hand in greeting, pretending as if he didn’t see your face pale to an ashen gray usually reserved only for the dead, his gaze focused solely on you amidst the crowd of other less important people. You were here with him, and that was all that mattered.

One step was all the notorious financier had the time to take. The next words out from Baji’s mouth broke the camel’s back as the boy put two and two together, his head rapidly whirling between both Koko and the Black Dragons bike: the weight of the tension crushed the temporary peace in oblivion. “Wait. You’re that bastard-”

None of the six founders needed the reminder; how could they, when he was that bastard that had dared steal you away from them. That had the balls to kiss you? They’ve already spent the better part of last week following the two of you everywhere. Stalking was such a harsh word to use, given how your friends just had your best interest at heart - your Toman boys wanted for you to be safe. Which meant staying away from scumbag like the black-haired boy that now stood opposite of them, and not running your hand through his hair like you did for them, and absolutely not letting him lick cream off your cheek. Hell, Kazutora would have killed to have an opportunity to do it for you, so why?

Why him?

As if a well-rehearsed show, the wind began to pick up, and what was once a breeze now tore ferociously down the lifeless street. Throwing unsecure windows and clothes alike, the echoing sound of wood clashing and metal rattling was but background noise for the ongoing standoff on street level, the gale whipping their clothes and hair with unrelenting force. But for all the posturing that the founder of Toman did, a last ditch attempt to keep their monstrous sides lurking under the surface and away from your gentle, innocent eyes, it all seemed to be for naught as their warnings fell on deaf ears, Koko simply opting to ignore the boys.

His heart was racing, though the fear and anxiety that weighed his chest down was far from being caused by the delinquents that surrounded you, no. Peasants, louts, the lot of them: Koko couldn’t imagine wasting his time on such hooligans. No, he had his eyes on the prize, and every second he went without a word to you was another second he feared you deeming him as inadequate. Did you already think he was poorly dressed? That he was rude? Free hand going to anxiously fidget with the ends of his strands of hair, the boy ever so cautiously took another step closer. “How are you? Having a good day?”

You glanced around, nervously evaluating the unmoving boys around you - what should you do now? Was it safe for you to reply? Getting anyone else into trouble really wasn’t what you wanted to do, but you couldn’t forsee Koko simply leaving without digging himself into a larger hole either; the other boy wasn’t the kind to let things go so easily. Crossing your fingers and hoping against hope that a fight wouldn’t break out, you gathered your courage, raising one hand just enough for a small wave back, uncertain smile pulling at your lips. You wanted to tell him to run, to flee from here, but that would be too obvious. You were naive, not stupid. “Hey Koko-”

And the chaos of the storm broke free of its bottle in that instant, a flash of black that rushed past you faster than you could blink, and you heard the crash of flesh and bone against something you fervently prayed wasn’t another body before you could even turn to look.

Up till now, all your dear friends could do was watch this less than scum being all touchy feely with you, left to take their bubbling anger out on unwitting classmates and rival gangs. But no more. Now this piece of trash was in front of them, your secret relationship with him clear for the world to see. They needed no excuses to beat him into the ground.

‎

Horrified doe eyes landed on a scene of what could only be out of your worst nightmare, an enraged Baji match for match with what looked like a mob of sunflower blond hair, his leg striking again and again against a steel pipe. Koko thankfully looked none the worse for wear, having shifted back to make space for the arrival of the newest in what was a growing feud, though you couldn’t quite say the same for the suddenly seething group of Toman boys surrounding you. The air had changed, the quiet, serene suburban neighborhood having given way to an atmosphere of fire, of unbridled rage and a clear target in range that only added more fuel.

These were no longer your overly protective, clingy friends you pampered and adored, their straightened backs and stony looks looking so very foreign to your gentle gaze - no, they were the founders of the Tokyo Manji Gang, the up and coming gang destined to rule Tokyo one day.

And they had just hit their limit.

The First Division Captain went in for another swift low kick, an attempt to break through the defense of the other clad in the despicable all-white of a Black Dragon uniform, though his move was easily countered with the same annoying metal pipe talentedly wielded. An ired tsked, and Baji pulled away, sliding back to land a safe distance away and out of reach of the business end of the pipe. “Fucking Black Dragons,” were the words that barely made it out through gnashed teeth, the fierce glare in yellow eyes enough to shiver your bones despite not being directed at you. “You again.”

…Again?

It seemed your confusion had been written all over your face. “He was one of those that beat me up outside my house,” Kazutora muttered, his clutch on your arm tightening as if to stop you from pulling away, sandy brown eyes alternating between the two opponents. “Seishu Inui, I think.”

Inupi, you repeated in your head, right as you were shoved backwards when Kazutora went ripping forward as if on cue, right in unison with Baji jumping in for a second round. Inupi raised his pipe.

“Wait- don’t!”

“Shut up,” Mikey hissed, those empty eyes swinging round to meet yours in a sharp glare, and your heart stopped the same time that the rest of your body did. For the first time, the Tokyo Manji Gang President was truly mad at you, and you saw him in the same light as the poor souls that ended up as his unfortunate victims. “You stay out of this.”

You flinched.

Draken was quick to follow up, yanking you away from the front lines with little effort, the grip he had on your shoulders tight and unrelenting and black eyes narrowed at you. “You are in so much fucking trouble, you hear?” Was barked at you, the tall boy physically moving you a few more paces back as he glanced between the crestfallen expression on your face and the standoff. Shaking with the effort to keep his voice as low as he could manage and his tone even, it was still too much for you to handle.

All this time, you had assured yourself that your friends weren’t scary people, just misunderstood. You loved them back as much as they loved you, and you had never been scared of them, no matter how much your well-meaning classmates tried to warn you to stay away. You couldn’t stop the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, helplessly watching the bloodthirsty brawl, your gaze drifting to meet Koko’s distant one, separated by the length of Shinichiro’s shop.

All you had wanted was a new friend.

‎‎

The sudden ringtone that blared out felt like a miracle at just the right time, bringing a relief to the heavy tension that blanketed the area as the beefing boys immediately whirled around to look for the source of the disruption in unison. You blinked, breaking out from the momentary spiral of thoughts, one hand slipping down to lightly touch at your pocket before your doe eyes turned to look down, almost as if you couldn’t believe what you felt. That was… yours? Who could it possibly be at this time?

But with the way your afternoon was going, nothing good could possibly come out of this unexpected phone call, you knew, the sense of foreboding that weighed on your stomach only adding to the bad omen you could feel rising through your chest, instantly wiping out any sense of hope you had seconds ago. You swallowed hard. Only one way to find out if this was your salvation or your doom. Without a second glance at the small screen - you didn’t dare to test your luck any further, only praying that this call was truly the break you needed - you pressed the receiver to your ear as quickly as you answered the call. “H-hello?” You ventured, sniffling slightly as your gaze nervously glanced around the boys still in a stand off against each other, their eyes now having instead turned to rest on you.

“HEY! I’m outside the house, where the fuck are you?” A loud bark blasted from the speaker of your phone, and you eeped, the small flip phone almost slipping from your grip as you jerked the device away from your pained ear at the sudden loud sound. The gruff voice came again, now seemingly sounding even more annoyed. “OI CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

You could feel your heart sink out of your gut and hit the floor. Today truly was not a good day. Your older brother only continued to rant into the thin, uncaring air about the shitty quality of phones these days between demanding if you could hear him and cursing and swearing.

“Ah nii-san, I can hear you fine,” you hurriedly reassured, pressing the phone carefully back to your ear, your free hand lifting to quickly swipe at your eyes and nose.

“Are you fucking crying again?”

You ignored the question, though the other on the phone definitely heard what was a very obvious sniffle. “I’m out at the moment, nii-san.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. This was a very bad time, you wanted to continue, but your throat had already clamped up as a shadow fell over you. Mikey.

A pause, almost as if whoever it was on the other side could hardly believe what you had said. “OUT?!” He bellowed, and you yanked the phone away from your ear once more. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU‘RE OUT? YOU NEVER GO OUT!”’

It was clear that everyone in a fifty-mile radius from where you stood had overheard your conversation at this point, and the growing realization you could see starting on Mikey’s face and spreading to every Toman founder present was not a good sign. Did they know your brother too?

“Shion Madarame?” “Black Dragons?” A look of surprise had washed over Inupi’s stoic look, his metal pipe hitting the ground with a clink as the sunflower blond boy cocked his head, icy-blue gaze scanning you up and down.

Uh oh.

The silence seemed to stretch forever, with every second that the delinquents around you stared at you mutely feeling like an entire eternity had already passed by. Even your usually loud, foul-mouth brother had fallen quiet, with only the sound of his harsh breathing crackling through the small phone microphone. You had no idea what the standoff was now about, given the sudden inclusion of your older brother, but this did not look good.

“Why the fuck are you with those fucking Tokyo Manji Gang fuckheads?” Your brother’s voice was calm. Level headed even, his tone not any louder than a regular person’s. But Shion was never quiet: your older brother had only one setting, which was loud and crude. Which only meant one thing - he was pissed to hell and back, and you were screwed.

You jinxed it. You knew you jinxed yourself. Heck, you must have jinxed your whole afternoon.

How did your brother of all people know Mikey and the rest?

“You’re related to the disgrac- the Ninth-Generation Black Dragon President?” Koko blurted out, and you turned your bewildered look on him.

And then in a single heartbeat, all hell broke loose.

#tokyo revengers #yandere tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #mikey x reader #baji x reader #mitsuya x reader #kazutora x reader #pah chin x reader #mitsuya takashi #draken x reader #kazutora #sano manjiro #keisuke baji #draken #kokonoi hajime #kokonoi x reader #shinichiro #inupi seishu #shion madarame #yandere platonic mikey #cheesus drabbles

[poppyclangen]

Redrawing the founders!! MarshFleck is so near and dear to my heart, so he's first!

MarshFleck is PoppyClan's respected deputy, who fiercely protects FallenStar and sticks up for her at every turn. Though they had a rocky few moons at first, MarshFleck has been by FallenStar's side since kithood in their old clan. When FallenStar had her first litter of kits, he stepped up and raised them as his own, continuing to be a huge part of FallenStars new few litter's lives, as if tradition. Many cats in PoppyClan treat him the way one might treat their grandfather, with a deep respect for his wisdom, and comfort in his presence.

After BogBud, his adoptive daughter's, death, MarshFleck gained a deep hatred for rouges and will chase them out without mercy. He is quick to jump into fights with local predators and trespassers, and refuses to take on another apprentice, as DarkFoot and BogBud are now gone (he feel's like he wouldn't survive losing another trainee). He is getting up there in moons, his body aging. He has spent more and more time with FallenStar, discussing who his successor as deputy should bE.

[[Which founder should be next?]]

#clangen #clangen challenge #clangen: poppyclan #warriors #wc #clan gen oc #clan generator #clangen oc #warrior cats #my art!

[loudclan-clangen]

I have to confess I keep reading Eklutna as Elktuna #dyslexia moment

I want to shoot my eye beams at her. hate her vibes.

Are silt and fierce still gonna be buddies :( I have a feeling that Owl IS in fact going to cheat on Silt with Eklutna given the profile warnings </3

Hi anon, "Elktuna" is simultaneously very funny and a totally valid warrior name for Loudclan. I really enjoyed the image it put into my head so here, have some fanart of your horrible creation:

Anyway, I try at least a little bit to name rogues after places in Alaska if they have an unconventional name so that they stand out a bit from the other clangen blogs. I picked Eklutna because it is the name of a lake on the way to Anchorage.

I am loving the differing opinions that people have on her. As for Silt and Fierce, I think that they'll stay friends pretty much no matter what happens. Silt is the youngest of the founders by far, and Fierce feels somewhat responsible for them, like a big sister.

#loudclanasks

[greycloudsinwinter]

Yandere Salazar Slytherin headcanon.

YANDERE SALAZAR SLYTHERIN X READER

🐍Salazar was different compared to the other founders at hogwarts . He created secret passages and rooms that no one new about .

🐍he also wanted only pure bloods to go to hogwarts thinking that others were not worthy of such a luxury as going to hogwarts.

🐍many feared him but most envied him because of him be so smart and ambitious.

🐍meets you at some point during his time at hogwarts.

🐍see so much potential in your fierce spirit.

🐍if you are a pure blood he is marrying you straight away if you are not he is considering his options.

🐍he wants to marry you but he has certain expectations to up hold that he has created for himself. You may become his mistress or second wife if you are not pure blood.

🐍if you are pure blood he marries you and never marries anyone else.

🐍would like a few sons to carry on his family line but isn’t too bothered.

🐍rivals he takes care of himself using the torturing curse and make your rivals lose there mind . He won’t necessarily kill them unless he is feeling generous.

🐍you can’t escape him not unless you had the other founders on your side but it’s hard to get them on your side since Salazar has them rapped round his finger.

🐍he doesn’t love you like other yanderes will instead he is super toxic and wants to control you.

🐍however if you can manage to manipulate him into doing what you want he will do it.

🐍manipulative and power driven yandere

🐍one of the worst to have because he will punish you in ways that no one new existed.

Thank you for the request ❤️❤️

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #x reader #obsessed #obssesive #obssessed #yandere family #yandere harry potter #dark harry potter characters x reader #harry potter #yandere fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts #salazar slytherin