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chrisevansluv · 3 years

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Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!

#chris evans #cevans #Details Magazine #2012 #interview

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five-hxrgreeves · 3 years

Text

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 1,982

You can stand me up at the gates of hell But I won't back down I'm gonna stand my ground Won't be turned around And I'll keep this world from dragging me down

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Pt. 3- Monday, April 1, 2019

The morning of the first dawned with a bright blue sky and perfect spring temperatures, almost in mocking irony of the fate it would meet later on that same day. Suspecting nothing amiss, Lola began her usual morning routine of getting ready for school. After brushing her teeth, she went to her closet and decided on a pair of jeans, a white, long-sleeved v-necked shirt with black polka-dots and after brushing her hair, hesitated over a choice of hats that she owned. While there was no strict dress code at her school, she did like to make a good first impression on Mondays. The rest of the week was up for grabs.

Coming to a decision, she reached for a yellow hat with a navy-blue ribbon around the crown that was tied in a bow and placed it jauntily on her head. The brunette was somewhat known around school for her unique accessories so she’d only been indecisive over which style she’d wanted, not actually whether or not to wear a hat. She then pulled on a pair of riding-styled boots and picked up her backpack, sliding her deck of cards into the back pocket of her jeans. Lunchtime was usually a boring affair so it was often when she would practice her magic- sometimes with a crowd to entertain.

On her route to school, Lola passed the familiar Umbrella Academy house and wondered what transpired within the walls, remembering the strange man she’d met the previous week. She wondered how long it had been since all of the siblings had seen each other since from Vanya’s book, it hadn’t seemed like they’d lived under the same roof for a long, long time. A smile flickered across her face as she thought of grown-up superheroes attempting to act like real siblings and the interesting, chaotic bickering that might ensue.

(Of course, she had no idea that such arguments might result in the end of life on earth.)

After that, the day passed as it usually did, with millions and billions of people completely unaware of what the night would bring.

Once dinner was over, Lola scraped her plate clean and set it in the dishwasher before turning it on to run, blatantly unaware that this would be the last time she did such a mundane action for a long, long time. Then, she made her way into the family room where her mother, father and uncle were sitting on the couch about to watch TV. Both men had their traditional after-dinner drink of two fingers of whiskey while her mother sipped on spiked hot coffee.

“Mom?” Lola asked.

“Yes, dear?”

“I’m going to the basement now, all of the dinner dishes are cleaned up.”

Her mother’s blue eyes- the ones she’d inherited- flicked to the younger girl, “alright, but don’t stay up too late. It’s a school night, you know.”

Her uncle grinned, “yeah,” he said, breaking to take a sip from his glass, “wouldn’t want you to show up all grumpy for school tomorrow.”

Lola sighed and nodded in acceptance, “alright, I’ll do my best,” she said, knowing it was more than likely she’d lose track of time anyway.

Moving first towards her mother, then father and finally her uncle, she gave them each a goodnight hug and exchanged their daily I love yous.

(She would be grateful that these were the last words she’d ever said to her family. At least she wouldn’t have to live wondering if her family had known she’d loved them.)

Then, she went to the basement.

Not even a mile away, the beginnings of an altercation were occurring at the house the size of a single block where the seventh, disregarded member of the family of superheroes was receiving a hostile welcome at the introduction of her new boyfriend, Leonard Peabody.

Lola liked her basement. It wasn’t terribly large but it wasn’t terribly small, either. Half of it was unfinished and the other half was lived-in, creating a perfect balance. In the unfinished side, metal shelves that one might see in a hardware store stood floor-to-ceiling with various tools and stored holiday items. Paint cans, electric machinery, extension cords and other items one would normally find in a shed were scattered haphazardly along the shelves.

In the other half, a carpeted floor of some green color stretched from the back wall to right before Lola’s writing desk. On top of it sat an old, brown-leather couch, a black wooden coffee table from IKEA and a TV hung mounted on the wall. After the carpet ended, removable foam-padded tiles formed the floor. This was the area where Lola’s desk sat which was a large, white table. The desktop itself was almost empty except for her half-filled notebook, three different-sized candles, a pencil sharpener and a pencil holder. Her papers- both for school and other things- were stored in a hand-me-down brown file cabinet that stood to the left of her workspace.

Before sitting down to write, the brunette carried out her ritual warm-up: lighting the candles, flipping to the next available page, sharpening her pencil and placing her reference books on her desk- The Book Thief, of course, and her new book from Vanya Hargreeves. Then, she pulled her deck of cards from her back pocket and placed the rectangular box carefully on the lower-left corner of her desk, making sure to match up the corners of the box with the outlined shape created by the corner. She wasn’t sure why she did this, it just was something she absolutely had to do before she finally sat down.

Once finished, Lola made sure to flip the electric lights off and returned to her seat which was a rolly-chair with one broken wheel. She began to write surrounded by her small pool of glowing, flickering light.

Today’s memory is from when I was six. (Note to self: find a better opening.) It was my first time at the store for hours on end. Usually, a babysitter would come by and pick me up but I suppose she cancelled. (NtS: get more details. Just kidding, nobody cares about that.) Anyway, I was super bored and since I was little, I didn’t have any schoolwork to do. I wandered around the store for a bit, probably causing mischief. Anyway (you already said that, dummy) the funny part is that I sat down at a group of mannequins because there weren’t any other seats and I must’ve sat so still that everyone thought I was one because when I finally stood up, a woman screamed. I didn’t know why at the time but it happened again when I was older. Then I started doing it for my own amusement. It was funny to see people think that I was a fake, plastic doll only to realize I was actually real. Sometimes, I even went to the back and dressed in clothes that would soon be modeled by the mannequins- although I think the effect was ruined because I didn’t fit them.

A story up and a block over, the altercation had grown to a full-blown verbal assault, the main four members of the family heatedly questioning the new boyfriend’s insistence on them coming to their sister’s concert. The seventh member, feeling hurt and angry that her family wouldn’t, just once support her, felt the tension build up within her, her emotions unusually high from the lack of medication she’d consistently taken for years until this week.

The spot was also great for people-watching. While Gimbel Brothers has mostly ordinary clients, there are some cases that are more noteworthy (NtS: fix wording, sounds awkward). There are many people who bring children to the store as well. On Mondays, there is an average of twelve children, usually after school. The number varies throughout the week until Saturday where there are usually fifteen or twenty. One time, as an outlier during the holidays, there were twenty-five. I know this because I counted them. I don’t usually do it intentionally and I’m sure I miss some customers but for some reason, all the numbers stick in my head. The funny thing is, I’m terrible at math. I’m also really good at cards, though. I’ve never lost a game of War or Go Fish. My uncle says I’m a counter, which I suppose is true. I’ve also counted all the sequins on one of our formal dresses, just for fun. There were two-hundred and eighty-six.

As the sky grew dark outside, the argument in the large house had reached an all-time high with Leonard Peabody outwardly insulting his girlfriend’s largest brother, inciting his anger and riling him up purposefully, causing him to throw the first punch. The seventh member of the family desperately tried to pull her boyfriend away, to save him from an assault that he would surely not survive. She was right about that, but there was nothing she could do. There was only one person Number One listened to and it wasn’t her.

Anyway, back to people-watching. There was once a rich woman who came to our store. No one could figure out why; we’re not exactly the high-end type. She brought her daughter with her, a pretty, blonde girl with bright blue eyes. Almost like mine, I think, but they looked better on her. I heard her tell Brittany that she wanted to get her granddaughter ‘normal clothes,’ except she said it like an insult. I figure that when her granddaughter came to visit, all she provided were expensive outfits and the girl spilled on them, teaching her the lesson of buying cheaper clothes for little kids. She didn’t say all of that but I made up the story to go along with her request.

Standing over Leonard’s body, the seventh member of the Hargeeves turned on her brother, eyes shining white against her pale face. In his hand, he held a bloody, glass eyeball. Her siblings crowded together, trying to calm her, but she spent all of her life being calm and she was tired of it. Turning her gaze to the academy, the building shook under a ten-point-zero earthquake, the bricks and concrete falling down in rapid succession. Tearing her gaze away from the sight of her childhood hell, she let sound waves resonate through the street, knocking over buildings and causing them to collapse, burying her siblings in rubble. Carelessly, she walked away as anger, sadness and hatred fueled her steps to her apartment where she changed and gathered up her violin for the world’s last performance.

She was very posh too, with fur and everything. She stood still long enough that I could study her coat, which had thirty spots. I’m not sure if it was real fur (if it was, she’s a horrible person), but she certainly acted very high-class, even speaking a little nasally and tilting her head up to look down on Brittany. I think it might’ve been because of Brittany’s skin color. The woman didn’t seem to be very accepting of hard-working people that looked different from her.

At ten o’clock pm, the close of the concert, sound waves so large they felled the building and many blocks over swept through the city. A short, dark-haired woman with a glowing white light in the center of her chest rose above the destruction, sending out pulses of sound to the far-reaching corners of the world. With no one to stop her, no one to shoot a gun next to her ear, the bottled power exploded from her chest sharing with everyone the feelings of hurt and neglect that she’d been forced to endure throughout her childhood. One person alone survived in a basement not much deeper than the fictional character’s she admired, writing away and completely unaware that the world above had changed beyond recognition.

#The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x dolores #five hargreeves x oc #five hargreeves x reader #Five x oc #five x dolores #tua five #5 #human dolores #pre-tua #apocalypse #hargreeves #dolores isn't a mannequin #vanya hargreeves

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finnyboywolfhard · 4 years

Text

Song That The Music Brings (Chapter One)

Steve Harrington x Henderson! Reader

Summary: Nearly 3 months after the divide in Y/N’s friendship, she is faced with new hardships with her little brother and her surroundings in life.

warnings: cursing, angst, follows the plot of S1, little plot tinkering

catch up here

word count: 1.9k

Y/N Henderson’s junior year had already been a doozy. Trying to balance her schoolwork and her job at the station had found to be a little bit more troubling than she had first thought. But now that the circumstances of the summer had past, she now had a lot more time to spend with her Mom and Brother. Dustin was really special to her now that he was at an age where they were developing similarities, and in just a short time he was now her best friend. She had been working on a paper for her English class when he finally got back from his latest Dungeons and Dragons campaign with his friends.

“Hey Dusty! How was it?”

“It was fun, Mike did a good job with this one, but the Demogorgon got Will at the end.” Although she had no idea what any of those words had meant, she just went along with it.

“How are the Wheelers doing?”

“The same as usual, except Nancy.”

“What happened to Nancy?”

“She’s been a real bitch since she started dating that douche bag Steve Harrington.” At the mention of his name, Y/N’s heart dropped to her stomach. Although she hears about him all day at school, she never expected his name to fall from Dustin’s mouth in that context. The story of what when down was never brought up to him after Claudia told Y/N it might be too much to tell him about.

“Steve isn’t a douche bag Dusty. He’s just a stupid teenage boy who is trying too hard to impress people.”

“Why don’t you act like Steve or Nancy then? Do you not want to impress people?” He asked that sarcastically, knowing it would push her buttons.

“Dusty. I am just far more mature than the dumbasses in my grade. Now go get ready for bed, we have school tomorrow, remember?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m going. Goodnight mini mom.”

“Goodnight Dusty.” She smiled watching her brother go off to bed. He could annoy her to no end, but she had no idea what she would do without his sarcasm, his compassion or his brotherly love in her life. The time became overly apparent to her, realizing that maybe she should listen to what she had just told Dustin.

The next morning, just as she was serving Dustin his breakfast, the phone started ringing, causing her to jump a little. Immediately, she assumed it was her mom calling from work to make sure Dustin was up since he had a campaign last night. However her assumption soon fell when she heard Joyce Byer’s voice from the other end of the phone.

“Hi Y/N, I was just wondering if Will had stayed at your house with Dustin last night?”

“No, sorry Joyce he didn’t. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m sure Will just went to school early or something. Thank you Y/N.”

“No problem Joyce, have a good one.” The phone was placed back on the receiver. Y/N’s gut started to twist thinking about how nervous Joyce had sounded, and the severity of Will not going home last night.

“Hey Dusty?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you and Will bike home together last night?”

“Yeah, we always do. Why?”

“That was Joyce, she asked if he stayed here last night. I don’t think he went home.”

The boy brushed it off the same way Joyce tried to, by saying he probably just left early for school. Something still didn’t sit quite right to her, but she let it go. Dustin told her he was going to bike to school today, so she didn’t have to worry about taking him. The girl got ready on her own time and found her way into school a little late. She had two free periods at the beginning of the day where she usually went to the station, but crime in Hawkins was the same as usual: slow. So, she found herself going in for her classes whenever she wanted. When she got to school, she immediately went to the bathroom to check her appearance, knowing she had a presentation in her first class.

“Oh, sorry Y/N.” said Nancy Wheeler as she was walking out of the bathroom.

She looked a little flustered, but Y/N thought nothing of it at first. That swiftly changed when she saw him. There he was in all his glory, tall hair and all. She stalled for a second, not really knowing what to do. She hadn’t talked to him in almost 3 months. The tension in the room was so thick; it felt like she was walking through molasses to get to the mirror.

“Hey Y/N.”

“Hi Steve.” The first words she had spoken to the boy who had previously known everything about her.

“How have you been recently?”

“I’ve been alright, been spending a lot of time with my brother or at the station. Same thing every day.” She smiled towards him.

“So you’ve been spending a lot of time with your crush then huh?” He joked towards her, it was a little relieving that he wasn’t being weird.

“Ha-Ha very funny Steve. And trust me; he’s now more like my dad than anything else. That man would kill anyone who hurts me. What about you? What have you been up to?”

“Nothing really, letting life take its course. I’ve been seeing Nancy Wheeler. I think it might work out.”

At this point, the girl felt her breath fall short, and she knew she needed to get out of this bathroom soon. So she did what she always did, found an excuse to leave.

“That’s really good to hear Steve, but I really got to head out, I have a presentation next period. Nice talking to you.” She left before she could hear what he had to say.

After school, she went to the station, just to check in before going home and the entire station was bustled up over the news of Will Byers going missing. She was called onto the search committee for him by Hopper.

She liked spending time helping her community, and she knew Hopper did too, but that didn’t mean he liked opening up to the people in the community. Mr. Clarke was a sweet man, who Y/N had met multiple times because of Dustin being in AV club with him. Which is why she felt comfortable in informing him that Hopper had lied to him about Sara.

“She died a few years back. “ Mr. Clarke jumped a bit by the sudden presence beside him.

“Who did?”

“Hopper’s kid. He doesn’t like talking about it.” She gave him a faint smile and ran ahead to catch up with Hopper.

“Hey Chief.”

“Hey kid, how are you doing with all this?”

“I’m doing alright. Will was kinda quiet, so I don’t know him that well. But I know that he was really close with my brother. They always ride home together. Dustin is holding in there. But I gotta be honest Hop, I’m really worried about Joyce.”

“You have nothing to worry about Y/N. Joyce is an incredibly strong woman, I know that she’ll make it through this no matter what. Save your worries for your brother and yourself, alright?”

“Alright.” She gave him a side hug, relishing in the moment of being wrapped in his stronger arms. It was moments spent with Hopper that she remembered what it was like to have a fatherly figure in your life. As the night progressed, Hopper had sent her home to make sure Dustin was alright.

When she got home, the only company she had was Mews. Her mom had picked up another shift at work for the night. She sat at the kitchen table, doing her homework and eating soup that she had warmed up. Worries were filling her head wondering where Dustin could be.

“Y/N! Dusty! I’m home!”

“Hi mom! In the kitchen!” Claudia walked in and gave her daughter a huge smile before leaning down and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Y/N honey, where’s Dustin?”

“Oh, he had a rough day after the news broke, so he’s over at Mike’s.” She felt horrible lying to her mother, she always did.

“Oh, alright. I was hoping I’d get to see him before I headed to bed, but I guess not. Tell him I love him, alright?” Y/N shook her head yes. “Goodnight my dearest, I love you. Trees, Leaves and Needles.” Ever since Y/N was a little girl, Claudia always said those 10 words before she would go to bed. ‘Trees, Leaves and Needles’ was her way of saying she loved her more than the amount of trees, the amount of leaves and the amount of tree needles in the world.

“Goodnight Mom, I love you. Trees, Leaves and Needles.”

The equations on the paper looked like a foreign language to her. The paper wasn’t going to do itself, but then again the stress of where Dustin actually was had begun to weigh inside her gut. The sound of the door opening snapped her attention from the homework idly sitting on the table.

“Dustin! Where the hell have you been?”

“Y/N, please calm down.” His voice was hushed and relaxed.

“No! I’m not gonna calm down! You’re best friend just went missing while being out at night! I was literally on a search party for him tonight! Hopper told me he told you guys to stay out of things. You’re lucky I was able to lie to mom and tell her you had a bad day, but you’re not getting off that easy from me. Where were you?”

“You’re gonna get mad.”

“I’m already mad.” Dustin sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“We went out tonight to look for Will-“

“Dustin!”

“-But, we didn’t find him. We did find something else though.” At this point, she thinks that her stomach will now permanently be in the shape of a knot, this whole situation isn’t going to get any easier.

“What did you find?”

“You have to promise not to tell.” She glared at him, and he took the message.

“We found a girl out in the woods…”

“A girl?! What do you mean a girl? Did you take her to the cops? Someone is probably looking for her.”

“There was a girl standing in the woods. We didn’t take her yet, because we don’t want to get in trouble for being out. We’re gonna get help from Mrs. Wheeler tomorrow, she’s staying in their basement tonight. Y/N, you can’t tell anyone, please.”

The party had found a random girl in the woods and decided to keep her in Mike’s basement. This didn’t make Y/N’s life any easier.

“Fine, but I am going with you the next time you go out searching or go to Mike’s about anything that has to do with Will, alright?”

“Alright mini mom, I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight, love you.”

“Night Dusty, I love you too. “

The phone rang just as Y/N cleaned up her work from the table and organized herself for the time being.

“Hello?”

“Hi Y/N, I was wondering if you would mind helping me hang up posters for Will tomorrow?” Jonathan Byers voice carried over through the phone. The two weren’t super close, but they had certainly gotten closer over the past few months. With the boys hanging out all the time, and the two being able to drive led to a lot of communication. He was a sweet guy, and it hurt her to see him constantly sitting on the sidelines. He might be the strongest person she knows.

“Absolutely, do you want to meet somewhere in the morning?”

“I was thinking for starting at Melvalds.”

“Okie dokie, I’ll meet you there at like 7:30?”

“Sounds good. Thanks Y/N. Goodnight.”

“Night Jonathan.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #stranger things x y/n #stranger things

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theautisticquillholder · 3 years

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Murderous Love Chapter II

(WARNING: This fanfiction has themes of Suicidal Ideation, Suicide itself, Self harm, Sexual Assualt, Murder, Extreme Bullying and Humiliation and a lot of Mental Illness related content and is NOT appropriate for children and the faint of heart. If you are under 18 or may be triggered by the content of this fanfiction please do not read this.)

Mitsuhide’s POV

It was the next morning and I couldn’t sleep at all last night due to the nightmares that I have had of yesterday when Da Ji did those despicable things to me.

I went to the bathroom to have a shower and as I removed my bed Kimono, I looked at the scars on my arms, I was surprised that Motochika didn’t notice them at all.

I soon remember the Instagram post, the horrible things that were said to me by Loki and Ares and grabbed a small blade and began cutting my arms again. I continued until I heard the door open, I flinched and looked up to find Motochika with tears in his eyes.

I teared up “Wh-Why didn’t you knock?” I asked.

Motochika walked to me, grabbed my blade and threw it away from me and hugged me “I was worried, and I didn’t want to give you the chance to hide what was going on… Why? Why must a beautiful man like you have to cut his beautiful skin?”

I hugged him tightly and cried harder, I felt like I wasn’t worthy of this amazing man in front of me.

I then heard Gracia walk in asking why I was crying only to find the blade and looked at us “Motochika, please explain what the hell happened in here? NOW!”

I flinched; I never knew how protective Gracia is of me until now. Motochika looked at Gracia and said,

“I was in bed when he self-harmed, I woke up when I had a bad feeling about something and came here, I didn’t knock because that would have given Mitsuhide the chance to hide what he was doing. I saw him cutting himself when I entered, I knelt down, took the blade, and threw it across the room hence why you see it where it is right now. I asked him why he must hurt himself in such a way.”

Gracia teared up as Motochika explained this and went to grab the blade

“Thank you for stopping him. I’ll give father this and explain what happened. I’ll also be booking an appointment with Hades for oniichan and request his understanding if you need to be there as well.”

I hugged Motochika tightly as the two spoke. I then heard “Mitsuhide, you and Motochika are only going to go to school to attend the appointments with your school chaplain for the next month. I have spoken to the principal, and she has said that its okay and she’ll collect your schoolwork from your teachers so that you don’t fall behind in class. Thankfully, they do not believe in attendance rewards since attending school is the bare minimum and you two do more than the bare minimum.”

We looked up to find my father standing at the doorway, Gracia looked at our father “Do I have to skip school as well? Or can I go to collect the schoolwork?”

my father looked at Gracia “You still have to go to school Gracia. But I understand why you asked.” He said to her.

Gracia smiled “well I want to go because one, Koshosho is there and two Principal Gaia collecting the work is futile if you don’t have someone bringing it here.”

We all laughed at her statement. Gracia giggled “I’m glad you find that funny.”

Gracia and my father soon left the bathroom closing the door behind them. Motochika and I stood up and we went to have a shower together. I was a bit nervous; my body was petite and feminine looking minus the developed hips and the female breasts, because of this I’m a bit self-conscious as many people prefer men who are my height to have some muscle to them.

Motochika smiled “Come on, no need to hide yourself. You don’t need to be muscular. That’s my job. You’re the uke of our relationship, with that in mind, I think you’re perfect the way you are.”

I then walked towards Motochika before stepping into the shower and hugged him. He hugged back, smiling “Very huggy mood today huh. Don’t worry I’m not being mean, I’d rather this than you self-harming.”

I smiled “There is a difference to being mean and having a small giggle because of a strange habit.”

We then washed each other while I heard My parents and Motochika’s parents talking about us. As we were finished and got out of the shower to dry ourselves off, I then heard some noise coming from the basement which sounded a lot like construction work.

We got dressed and walked out of the bathroom, I saw my mother smiling saying, “I am proud to welcome my son in law into our household.”

I blinked before Motochika’s mother added “Motochika, because you’re needed here more than ever, myself and Mitsuhide’s mother have decided that it would be best if you live here until you and Mitsuhide can get a place of your own.”

Motochika teared up and hugged his mother saying “Thank you so much Okasan! I promise I’ll treat Mitsuhide like the prince he is!”

I realised what has happened and teared up, but this time these were happy tears. I was extremely happy, the man I love is living with me. I then heard my mother say,

“This arrangement cannot be carried out as of right now as we’re currently turning our basement into a studio apartment for the two of you so that you two can be a couple without us interfering, the only thing that will be required of you would be to sit with us during dinner, since you two already do that it’s not that big of an issue.”

We then walked to my room. Motochika laid on my bed happier than ever “Looks like we can be together more often.”

I smiled and hugged Motochika

“Yes. I think the spirits of the women from our past lives would be happy about this. No interference from any of our families.” I replied.

We then turned on the TV and my PlayStation 4 and flicked to YouTube, I saw an update from one of my favourite history YouTube channels ‘Elizavata Heridervary’ (Play on words, Heritage and Elizaveta’s last name Hedervary) posting about the tragic lives of Ayano, and Izumi I clicked on it smiling

“I want to watch this!” I said and we began watching the video.

*Video*

“Hello everyone and welcome back to my channel, today I’ll be telling you about the Lady Samurai Ayano and her lesbian lover Izumi.

Akechi Sakura Ayano was born January thirty first, fifteen twenty-six to farmers Akechi Akane and Kanesada Zetsumei. She had an older brother named Takumi. Ayano’s childhood until she reached the age of sixteen wasn’t an eventful one. Her mother Akane spent time tending to the farm and going to the marketplace to sell her produce while her Father Zetsumei stayed home and took care of the children. Ayano wasn’t content with staying inside the house for long, so at the age of nine she started to help her mother on the farm even though in families who live on farms and have a strong farmhand, the average age children joining their mother’s on the farm was fourteen. She was a hard-working farmhand, and her mother was pleased. Ayano spent her free time from farming meditating, journaling, and training in the art of the sword. When Ayano reached the age of fifteen, she grew tired of farming and when she went out to the marketplace to collect some new clothes for her father and brother, she saw a cloth that was nailed onto the board where the missing persons posters, job vacancies, and other community related things would normally be. She took a closer look when she discovered that it was a request for students to attend the Lady Samurai Academy. She took the cloth down and placed it in her pocket, got the items her father has requested and walked back home. When she was home, she told her parents about the enrolment request from the Lady Samurai Academy and that she was interested in going. Zetsumei was supportive of his daughter’s decision, but Akane wasn’t as keen. She remembered being forced onto the battlefield and the horrible things she has seen, when Akane told the family her views Zetsumei had enough of Akane setting so many expectations on Ayano while Takumi was allowed to do what interests him and gave Akane an ultimatum, Let Ayano go to the Academy, or he files for divorce. Akane not wanting to cause any trouble for her baby boy relented and allowed Ayano to attend the academy. Ayano attended the academy until she reached the age of twenty-one and went to join the army of Saito Naomi. At first Naomi wasn’t interested in recruiting new retainers so Ayano went back to the Academy and spent one year teaching meditation and the benefits of journaling. In the year fifteen forty-eight when she reached the age of twenty-two, she tried again to join Naomi’s retainers, this time Naomi agreed on one condition however, her right-hand maiden, Takenaka Tsubasa, who is known to be a fierce warrior, is allowed to test whether or not Ayano was worthy of joining.

Chosokabe Izumi was born on the sixteenth of February fifteen thirty, just four years after Akechi was born, to hunters Chosokabe Yuzuki and Miyoshi Morinari. Her childhood was also an uneventful one, however whenever she went out to play with the other children, she was bullied, which caused her to stay home and read and teach herself medicine. Not much is known about the events of the rest of her childhood, until she reached the age of eighteen, when her grandmother Kinen sent her to the palace of Saito Naomi to train as a maid. Naomi was so impressed by Izumi’s knowledge of medicine that she allowed Izumi to work in the infirmary as well as her normal maid duties.

As Izumi walked to Naomi to acquire a new task for her to complete, she walked into the room where Akechi Ayano and Takenaka Tsubasa were duelling. Ayano was able to disarm Tsubasa, but the halberd flew towards Izumi, Ayano saw this, ran to Izumi, and pushed her out of the way, causing the halberd to pierce the ground instead. Ayano’s quick thinking saved Izumi’s life and shocked everyone in the room. Tsubasa commended Ayano for her deed and the two started another duel, while Naomi requested that Izumi stayed in the room to watch the duel. The duel ended this time Ayano was the victor. Tsubasa congratulated her and informed Naomi that Ayano is worthy to join.

During her employment as one of Saito’s Retainers Ayano and Izumi spent a considerable amount of time together. Yuzuki was impressed that her daughter was able to find someone with whom she can relate to and allowed the relationship to continue. Akane on the other hand wasn’t impressed that Ayano had expressed interest in the maiden and swiftly went to work securing a worthy male suitor for her daughter.

As Akane was searching for male suitors to arrange a marriage for Ayano, Ayano and Izumi had grown fond of each other, to the point of having a lesbian relationship. By the time Akane was able to secure a meeting with Naomi and her son Saito Naoko, Ayano’s relationship with Izumi became so intense that when Akane tried to arrange for Ayano to marry Naoko, Naomi objected the marriage, causing Akane and Ayano to have a heated argument. Historians have debated that Akane had said to Ayano “You don’t want to marry the prince because you’re in love with that lowly maid! She will never have my blessing!” and Ayano telling her mother that her mother’s views will not sway her, told her mother what she had done to her father and another man, disowning her own mother, and stormed off.

Ayano and Izumi spent more time together but were never able to marry due to Kinen’s homophobic views threatening to destroy Ayano’s Reputation. Izumi refused to marry her lover just to protect her as Izumi knew that if Kinen finds out about the marriage, she will destroy Ayano’s reputation as a respectful samurai until she dies as a disgrace and dishonourable woman. The two however were able to convince Ayano’s brother Takumi, to have intercourse with Izumi so that Ayano and Izumi were able to raise children. In the year fifteen fifty-three Izumi gave birth to a baby boy named Akechi Yao and two years later eleven days after Ayano’s twenty-ninth birthday and five days shy of Izumi’s twenty seventh birthday, Izumi gave birth to another baby boy, Akechi Kiku. Ayano and Izumi raised the two boys as best as they could as Ayano had to go away fighting on occasion. In fifteen seventy-one when their youngest son was sixteen Ayano along with her fellow retainers went to fight against Uesugi Echiko, a long-time nemesis of Saito Naomi. While Naomi was victorious in the first battle at Yamashiro, when Ayano was defending Yamashiro, she was outnumbered by Uesugi’s army and despite being able to fight most of them off, Ayano was inevitably captured. Echiko, impressed by Ayano’s skill in Military Strategy and her skill with the sword tried to convince Ayano to surrender and fight as an Uesugi Officer. Ayano refused, explaining to her that her heart and soul belongs to the Saito and that she cannot leave her lover and children behind. Echiko, a bit saddened by the rejection understood and was about to let Ayano go but the Uesugi retainers had informed Echiko that Ayano is dangerous to be left alive. As a result, Echiko had sentenced Ayano to death, Ayano pulled out a short blade, undressed until only her hakama remained, impaled herself in the stomach and sliced it open. For those who haven’t watched many of my Japanese History videos, this method of one taking their own life is named Seppuku, it is a ritual death in which Samurai perform to retain their honour. After the death of Ayano, Echiko beheaded her and sent her head along with a wooden sculpture of Ayano’s body to the Saito. The Reason Echiko didn’t send Ayano’s actual body over was because she was moved by Ayano’s sense of honour for herself, her clan and the clan in which she is a retainer of and because of that honour, Echiko felt that it was cruel to send Ayano’s body in the state that it’s in, so she only sent the head to give the Saito Clan some closure on what had happened to their beloved warrior.

When Ayano’s head and the body sculpture had arrived at the Saito, Naomi, Izumi and Ayano’s sons were beside themselves with grief. Naomi read the letter Echiko sent stating that she couldn’t bear to send the actual body as it has been battered and cut. Naomi placed Ayano’s head on the sculpture and the Saito Clan had a hero’s funeral for their departed general. Izumi after the funeral had written in a scroll that had said.

‘On the sixteenth year of our youngest son’s life, I have lost the one person who has expressed to me that I was a reason to fight and a reason to return home alive. Words could not express how much I love her, she was my strength when I felt weak, she was my sunshine in my darkest days, she made me laugh when I wanted to cry, she made me smile when I felt that smiling wasn’t possible at that moment, she called me beautiful when everyone deemed me ugly. She convinced her brother to help her give me two beautiful strong boys. Akechi Sakura Ayano wasn’t the hero I wanted, but the hero I needed.’

Izumi raised her teenage sons, her youngest, Kiku, who idolised his departed mother Ayano joined the ranks of the Saito Retainers at age twenty and had served Naomi and Naoko for sixty more years. In the year 1582 Izumi had news that her eldest son Yao had died to Jigai, another form of seppuku when he was taken hostage by the Uesugi. Izumi passed away at in the year sixteen hundred at the age of seventy.

Ayano Akechi and Izumi Chosokabe were buried in the same grave on the Akechi estate.

Ayano and Izumi’s story has lived on in a movie ‘The Proper Maiden and the Lady Samurai’ and these historical figures are featured in many video games, one notable one is ‘Oda no Musou’ which is a hack and slash game which features these figures and many others from that specific time period.”

Motochika and I had tears in our eyes as we listened to Elizaveta talk about Ayano and Izumi’s lives we then watched the end part of the video as we wiped our tears and cleared our minds of the tragic story.

*Video*

“Hello again, Elizaveta here again. Before I finish this video off, I thought I might mention some things about this story and my format of telling it. I apologize to my Japanese viewers if I have butchered your wonderful language and the names of these historical figures. I was once completing a history assignment on the Oda period and while I was having a break from the assignment, I did a bit of reading on Akechi Ayano, and I must say, it has intrigued me. So, when I got the chance, I did more research on the life of this honourable Samurai, I couldn’t find too much about her time on the battlefield as Ayano had served the Saito for a short time before being sentenced to death by Echiko. So, I thought I might do some research on what happened when Ayano wasn’t fighting and found information on Izumi, her lesbian lover. If you have any feedback, please leave a comment down below and if you want me to do a video on Akechi Kiku, Ayano’s youngest son, also leave a comment down below.”

I looked at Motochika saying “That is such a sad story.”

Motochika replied “I know, but Ayano and Izumi have been given another chance through us. We can do the things they couldn’t do, that’s the only way we can honour them.”

I nodded and rested my head on Motochika’s chest.

#samurai warriors #mitsuhide akechi #chosokabe motochika #warriors orochi

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midtownvaledictorian · 7 years

Text

Lets Dance Pt. 2

Now that you and Tom aren’t enemies, he has a different idea for your relationship...

(2,350 Words)

Warnings: language, smuttity-smut-smut

A/N: I PROMISED THIS SO LONG AGO BUT I’VE HAD SO MUCH SCHOOLWORK AND I PROBABLY SHOULD’VE DONE THAT INSTEAD OF WRITING THIS BUT FUCK IT

Part One

The next day, ballet was uncomfortable to say the least. Tom was always stealing glances, licking his lips and smirking at me whenever he got the chance. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only who noticed. Almost every silent interaction with him was followed by one of my friends putting an elbow in my side and giving me a ‘what the hell???’ look. I would simply shrug at them, unconvincingly telling them that I didn’t know what was going on either. Tom ruined my facade when he came up behind me after class, putting an arm around my waist and asking, “Same time tonight, love?” I could feel the heat in my cheeks rise from his hand on my waist and my friends’ eyes burning holes through me.

“Uhh, yeah, sounds great.” He gave me a wink as he grabbed his bag and walked out of the studio. “Care to explain?” Asked Jazz, giving me an eyebrow. “Okay so maybe Tom and I worked out our differences last night.” “Sounds like you worked out a lot more than that.” Her (very true) comment earned laughter from all of my friends. “Funny, look we just want to make a really great dance together. That’s the end of it.” “Right, well let us go how tonight goes… love.” I rolled my eyes at her imitating Tom’s voice and made my way to my car. By the time eight o’clock rolled around, I was strangely antsy to see Tom. I did everything I could to make the next two hours go by faster: watching dance videos, doing homework, playing with my dog, nothing worked. But finally, 9:30 rolled around so I figured I should start getting ready. I was picking out a leo when my phone started ringing. I groaned thinking it was going to be one of my friends calling to ask about Tom, but instead it was the devil himself. “Hello?” I answered, confused as why he would call me so close to our studio time. “Hello love, I’m at the studio and—” “That’s early,” I didn’t mean to say it, but I let it slip. “Yeah well, to be honest I just wanted to give you shit for being ‘late’,” he chuckled, “but it looks like someone’s doing a class in the studios until eleven.” “Shit, I knew I should’ve reserved it.” “Well I know it’s not ideal, but we could rehearse at my house? If we push the couches out of the way there would be enough room and there’s hardwood floors so…” Why was I so nervous to agree to go to his house? “Uhh, yeah that’s fine. Where do you live?” “I’ll text the address, see you soon, love.” As soon as I hung up I got a text from Tom with his address, so I grabbed my bag and made my way. My heart was pounding the entire way, but it pounded eve more when I pulled into his driveway. Tom’s house was nice. I went to text him to let him know I was here, but when I grabbed my phone I saw the front door swing open. Tom was leaning in the doorframe when I reached the front porch, clad in joggers and a tank top that was so loose I could see most of his body through the arm holes. “Glad you decided to show up,” he joked. “Oh I’m sorry I couldn’t get to your house before you did,” I retorted. Our chuckles were cut off by a loud crash coming from behind Tom. “Paddy!” Tom yelled. “Sorry!” A little boy squeaked behind him before running up to the door. “Paddy this is Y/n, her and I dance together.” “Nice to meet you, Y/n.” He held out a tiny hand for me to shake. “Well aren’t you a gentleman? Clearly you don’t take after your big brother.” I joked while shaking his hand. “Who’s at the door?” A voice called from somewhere in the house. It was clearly an older man, his father. I assumed. “Looks like you’re meeting the whole family,” Tom said before taking my hand and leading me inside and towards the kitchen. His mother and father were sitting at the kitchen counter and two boys who looked around the same age were at the table. “This is Y/n, she’s my dance partner for gallery so we’re gonna practice in the basement tonight.” Everyone introduced themselves, and Tom’s twin brothers seemed particularly excited to meet me. “They’re not used to pretty girls coming over,” Paddy explained, making me blush instantly. “Paddy!” Sam yelled at him, to which he only shrugged off. “That’s only because Tom never brings girls over,” Harry stated, earning a punch in the arm from Tom. “You look very familiar,” his mother said, trying to remember where she had seen me before. “Remember that girl who fell at gallery two years ago, that was her.” “Thomas!” His mother scolded before playfully hitting him on the shoulder, “well, you’re a very talented young woman, Y/n.” “Thank you, Mrs. Holland.” “Well we’re going to go downstairs and finish our dance.” Tom took my hand before pulling me out of the kitchen. “It was nice meeting you!” I yelled before I was dragged out of sight. “I’m sorry, they’re so embarrassing,” Tom said bashfully as we made our way downstairs. “No, they’re really sweet.” He rolled his eyes in disagreement. Tom was right, he basement was kind of perfect for rehearsing, once the couches were all pushed out of the way that is. So there we sat on his floor, stretching and talking about our days, spitballing ideas for the last few eight counts, and it all felt so natural. I couldn’t believe that just a couple of days ago he was my least favorite person on earth. Dancing with him was even better. We effortlessly went through the moves we decided on yesterday, and making new choreo was so easy. It’s like we were synced. We decided that the last pose should be somewhat spontaneous, so each time we ended in a different one—each one getting more and more provocative. Soon, all I could think about was our kiss, and how badly I wanted to relive that moment. After a couple of hours, we were happy with the dance that we had made and were only rehearsing to bring it closer to perfection. We were running through the dance one last time, and were on the final eight count. But this run-through seemed different. One, two— why was he looking at me like that? Three, four— and why was he biting his lip so much? Five, six— was he pulling me in closer than usual? Seven, eight— he unexpectedly lifted me up for the final pose. I wrapped my legs around him to hold myself up. I waited for him to let go of his grip on me so that I could slide down, but he just kept holding me. We were so close, and he wouldn’t stop looking me in the eyes. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered before he leaned in and kissed me. It was even more magical than the first time. This time I wasn’t afraid to wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. I felt him walking towards the couch before he plopped himself down on it, leaving me in his lap. The kisses were growing more and more desperate, and his hands began roaming all over my body. This wasn’t a familiar feeling, but I had watched enough chick flicks to know what it was that I wanted. I started pulling his tank top off of his body, and he broke the kiss so I could lift it over his head. God he was fit. I couldn’t help but run my hands over his body, tracing his abs with my fingertips. Tom grabbed ahold of my hips, guided them forwards and backwards on his lap. The new friction only slightly relieved the desire I had for him. Those wants quickly turned into needs when he started placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on my neck. “Tom,” I whined unexpectedly. I could feel him smile against my neck before lifting me off his lap and laying my on my back. He moved the straps of my leotard down and began sliding it down my arms. It wasn’t until it was halfway down my stomach that I realized my upper half was completely exposed. I quickly lifted my arms up to cover my chest. Tom frowned at my reaction, and began lifting my leo back up. “I’m sorry, I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.” “No!” I said quickly, “That’s not it, I promise. I want this.” I lifted my arms from my chest and used them to pull Tom into a kiss again. His hands began trailed down my stomach, reaching down my leotard. He began rubbing his fingers against my underwear, I moaned into the kiss at the new feeling. My reaction motivated him to go further, he pushed my panties to the side and rested a finger against my heat. I could tell he was waiting for my approval. I merely nodded, but that was all it took. He pushed into me and began pumping, slowly at first but quickly gaining speed. My moans grew louder as his pace increased, and each one made him go faster or kiss my neck harder. I was in such a storm of ecstasy that I didn’t even notice the bulge growing against my leg, but when I finally did I realized that his actions could be reciprocated. I was nervous at first, but started timidly palming his bulge. His moans reassured me, and I started go faster to match his speed. But I wanted more. I slipped my fingers into the waistband of his joggers and started pulling down. He broke the kiss and looked down at me, shocked. To be honest, I was shocked by my own actions, but I knew what I wanted. I bit my lip and glanced down at his pants that were only half covering his bulge at this point. He gulped at my persistence, then quickly helped my remove his joggers. Once he was merely in his boxers, I realized that it was my turn to strip. Hooking my thumbs in my tights, I slowly slid out of them, leaving myself in nothing but a thin pair of lace panties. Tom licked his lips as he looked me up and down, “holy shit,” he mumbled. I furrowed my eyebrows at his comment, and quickly reassured me with a, “you are so sexy.” I couldn’t help but smile at his comment. His lips crashed back into mine before he started palming my breast as he grinded against me. “Do-do you… have a-a condom?” I asked in between kisses. He sprung up from the kiss, a huge smile on his face. It was dorky as hell, but after all he was a teenage boy, so the idea of sex made him down right giddy. “Come with me.” With that he took my hand and led me through a door down the hallway of his basement. It was his bedroom. The walls were covered with Billy Eliot posters and pictures of him and the cast of The Impossible. I went and sat on his bed as he fumbled through his closet before pulling out a box of condoms. “Jackpot.” I pulled him back in for more kisses as he fumbled with the box. He was finally successful with the box, and pulled back to rip open the foil with his teeth. I laid back onto his bed as he crawled over me. I worked my hands into his boxers enough to pull them down. When he was finally free of them, I couldn’t help but gulp at the sight of him. I knew bigger guys were supposed to feel better, but that looked painful. He could obviously see the worry on my face because he pulled my chin up so we were looking each other in the eyes again, “I’ll be gentle, yeah?” I just smiled softly and nodded my head. He pulled at my panties and I lifted my hips to help him pull them off. He slid the condom on before lining himself up at my entrance. He pressed a heavy kiss on my lips as he slid himself in slowly. Instinctively, I dug my nails into his back at the feeling. He stopped inside of me, allowing my to adjust. “Are you okay?” He was being sincere, I could see it in his eyes. “Better than okay,” I stated. He smiled down out me and began to move. He kept his promise, he was gentle. He was definitely holding back from what he could’ve done, and probably what he wanted to do, all so that I would feel more comfortable. It didn’t take long before I was satisfied, which allowed him to focus on himself. Soon we were just laying in his bed, spooning. Every once I a while he’d place a little kiss on my cheek or shoulder. I shot up when I realized the time. “Holy shit, I have to get home. My mom’s probably freaking out.” Tom helped me gather together all of my things before he walked me out to my car. “Another magical experience you can cross off the list thanks to Tom Holland,” he joked when we reached my car. “Damn, you’re just gonna take all of my firsts aren’t you?” “That’s the goal, have you ever had a boyfriend?” “Ha!” I scoffed before rolling my eyes, “yeah right.” “Good, that’s the next one I’m after. Dinner tomorrow?” “Uhh, sure,” I barely stuttered out, completely taken aback by his statement. “Perfect.” He pressed another kiss on my lips before opening up the door for me. I slid in and before I could shut the door he said, “text me once you get home safe.” With that, he shut my car and waved me off. So much can change within a few days.

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