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anistarrose · 3 years

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Summary: Winters running the Mystery Shack are difficult, but two unexpected guests improve Stan’s day.

Characters: Stan Pines, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Ford Pines

Relationships: Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines

Happy Holidays, @halogalopaghost! I'm your Secret Santa, here to mash together a couple different prompts through the power of time travel (and Mabel)!

***

It doesn’t take Stan many years to learn that winter’s no good for the rural Oregon tourist business.

Granted, he can hardly blame the tourists — he has to drive on Gravity Falls roads himself, much to his disgust. Between the paved, plowed streets that always turn slick with ice where you least expect them, and the winding gravel roads that you might as well ignore when road and wilderness alike are under identical four-inch blankets of snow, he knows no gallery of fake haunted paintings or taxidermied coyote’s ass is worth the trip in these conditions.

He’s on his third winter in town, now — not counting the first, worst one he arrived at the tail end of — and if there’s a right way to run a business this time of year, he hasn’t found it yet. He always scrapes together just enough to pay his bills, thanks the occasional local who wanders over to purchase a seasonally appropriate if overpriced snow globe — but he’s lucky if he breaks even in December, and knows January through March are a lost cause before they begin. He’ll make it back within the next year, sometimes even before summer ends, but it stings to know he’s about to fail at his one goal for the next three to four months straight, and there’s nothing he can do to change it.

It might sting less if he had another way to spend these winters — if he had a good reason to formally close the Shack for a few months, like an experienced business owner making a grounded and responsible decision. But he can’t even search for Ford’s journals in this weather — he’s learned from his mistakes, his countless brushes with frostbite, throughout those cold, desperate months in the wake of the portal shutting down.

He’s useless right now, and worse, this season’s shaping up to be the bleakest yet. His usually-scammable neighbors have already lined their shelves with winter knicknacks from Mystery Shack visits past, and the bulk of Stan’s meager sales have come from shivering out-of-towners who’ve never tried to take a Pacific Northwest road trip in December before, and probably won’t be keen to try again.

What seasonal merchandise hasn’t he sold yet? Bumper stickers for miscellaneous holidays, maybe — but neither timely bumper stickers nor the usual selection of tchotchkes will convince people to visit the Shack in the first place, under these road conditions. He can’t even walk around selling merch door to door, for the same reason he can’t look for the other journals — he’d freeze to death, presuming he could make it through the snowdrifts to somewhere worth visiting in the first place. Even with snow chains on the Stanmobile’s tires and a bucket of salt in her trunk, grocery runs alone are perilous enough.

Damn it, Ford, he thinks, why couldn’t you have gone missing in Florida?

He could always do what he does best and lie, maybe — send out word that there’s free hot chocolate or something with every purchase at the Mystery Shack, and hope that people hand over their hard-earned cash before they pick up on the false advertising. He might draw in some local customers that way, and even if he loses their trust for the next few months, they always seem to forget about his cons eventually — as if he never scammed them, and they’ve never so much as heard the words caveat emptor.

He’s just about to dial the local paper’s number on the phone, hoping to flatter Toby into letting him run another ad for free, when he hears a telltale knock at the gift shop door. The bell atop that door doesn’t ring, which means that despite the hostile winds and snow they braved to get here, his visitors are still out loitering on the porch — or so Stan thinks for a moment, before it dawns on him that he doesn’t even remember unlocking the door this morning. He’d just been that pessimistic about even seeing a customer.

“Hello?” someone calls — a fairly young voice, probably approaching the tail end of puberty. “Are you there, uh…Mr. Mystery?”

“On my way!” Stan shouts, throwing on his fez and bolting for the door. His neighbors in Gravity Falls might forget and forgive a lot, but he doesn’t want to risk the wrath of a parent whose teenage kid froze to death on the local grifter’s doorstep, so he unlocks and flings open the door as fast as he can. “Welcome, travelers! Prepare to be baffled and bemused by our mind-boggling boreal mysteries, here at this last refuge at the edge of the Arctic we like to call the Cryptid Cabin!”

His visitor — no, his two visitors — both blink slowly, proving to at least be baffled, if nothing else. Both are bundled up in what Stan assumes to be several sheep worth of wool garments, lovingly knitted into sweaters, hats, and scarves.

“But you call this place the Mystery Shack,” the girl speaks up, and the boy nods.

“Yeah, and we’re nowhere near the Arctic! This is Oregon, not Alaska!”

Stan groans — the only customers he might see all week, and of course they’re teenagers. “Look, punks, business is slow these days! I’ve had a lot of time to think about a seasonal rebranding, and not a lot of chances to workshop it, alright?”

The teens’ expressions instantly soften, and the girl exclaims: “Well, you can workshop it with us!” She grabs the other kid — her brother? — by the hand, and pulls him into the gift shop.

Maybe Stan’s judged them too quickly — he’s still not thrilled to have strangers pitying him, of course, but he’ll take it over strangers mocking him any day of the week.

“Dang, you’re right,” the boy comments once inside, and face-to-face with shelves of untouched merchandise. “It really is empty in here in the winter.”

With little light coming in from the windows, and a flickering bulb overhead that will soon need replacing, the often-bustling room is now dim and eerie — aside from the junk food wrappers on the floor, which Stan hastily kicks under his desk.

“Look at all the lonely snowglobes in need of homes!” the girl pipes up, swiping a glass-encased antelabbit off the shelf and giving it a hearty shake. “Good thing I’m here to adopt this lucky little guy — how much is he?”

Stan takes a second to run the numbers — the maximum amount of money a teen would have on hand, versus what Stan needs to charge to make a profit — and replies: “Twenty-nine ninety-nine and nothing more. We don’t do sales tax here, ‘less you’re a cop.”

“Bet there’s a lot of other taxes you don’t do, either,” the boy snorts, rummaging through a shelf of hats until he unearths one with the old Murder Hut logo on it. “Aha! Now here’s a collector’s item!”

“Oh, did you come here before the rebrand and forget to grab a souvenir?” Stan asks. He doesn’t remember these two, but it’s been a couple years since he painted over the last Murder Hut sign — and they do seem pretty familiar with the building, not to mention Stan’s whole… business model.

“Oh, uh, that’s a funny story, actually! Real funny!” the boy stammers with a whole lot more trepidation than the topic should’ve warranted, and looks to his sister for help.

Sure enough, she steps in. “We lived here for a while — in Gravity Falls, I mean! Not here in the Shack, obviously — wouldn’t that be ridiculous, if we lived in your house for months without you knowing? Could you imagine —”

“That is to say, we still visit sometimes!” the boy supplies. His eyes are a whole lot more fixated on the snowglobes than with anything in Stan’s general direction. “You probably don’t remember us — we weren’t in town for very long, or anything…”

Stan sighs. They’re lying, obviously — but hey, there’s no cops in the Mystery Shack, and he doesn’t have a dog in whatever fight compelled the duo to spew this bullshit. He’ll keep an eye on the cash register, of course, but these kids are tolerable company when they’re not being suspicious as hell — so if they want to invent a bad cover story for a low-stakes tourist trap visit, more power to them.

“Well, the hat’s vintage, so that’ll be double price. Twenty bucks,” he announces matter-of-factly, and the boy groans — but there’s a smile behind it, like he’d expected this and now he’s just playing along. If there’s one thing Stan’s willing to believe, it’s that these kids have been to the Mystery Shack before.

“You’re a highway robber, old man, and I’m the coward who’s gonna let you get away with it,” the boy declares, and Stan can’t help but laugh. The kid reaches under several layers of sweaters to pull out a wallet, with a blue pine tree embroidered on, and miscellaneous charms of fantasy characters hanging off a chain on the side. Stan doesn’t recognize any of them, but they still tug at his heartstrings, because he can tell they’re the exact kind of nerdy references Ford would love.

He does take note of the pine tree design, though — it’s generic enough that slapping it on some shirts and hats wouldn’t quite be plagiarism, and in Stan’s eyes, those are always the best souvenir designs.

The kids put their money forward, hovering awkwardly as Stan rings up their items — the girl busies herself attacking a loose string on her brother’s scarf, nimble fingers tying it back in its approximate place, while the boy twiddles his thumbs and stares at the snowy, gray scene out the window. At the moment, only light flurries fill the air, but tomorrow night promises a blizzard… and Stan, grump with a soft side that he is, can’t help but hope that if these kids are really on vacation, then they aren’t planning to drive anywhere tonight.

With it being winter, and him running the business that he does, he doesn’t have much charity to give — but, if he’s going to play along with his customers’ little lie, then he should probably at least bring up the topic.

“You’re not hittin’ the road any time soon, are you?” He makes eye contact only with the green illustrated presidents in his hands, so not to come across as overly invested. “Weather forecast says tonight’s gonna be a doozy.”

“Aww, you’re worried about us?” the girl coos, because apparently both parties here are damn good at picking up on each other’s lies. “That’s so sweet — but you don’t have to be! Our great uncle’s waiting for us in town, and he’ll… well, let’s just say he’s planning to bring us back home before the blizzard hits.”

“He’s, uh — he lived here back in the seventies, so he knows what he’s doing,” the boy adds. “On the roads, that is. Mostly.”

“Well, you two take care,” Stan tells them, hastily adding on: “So you can come back when the weather isn’t terrible and buy more keychains, that is.”

“Oh, we will.” The boy grins, sharing a conspiratorial glance with his sister. “Maybe don’t count on it being next year — or the year after that, even — but you can count on it.”

“Well, uh…” Stan stops himself, resisting the impulse to divulge things he really shouldn’t. “You just shouldn’t count on me running this place forever. Be sure to get your novelty cryptid pins while they’re hot, y’know.”

He’s never really wondered what he’ll do with the Shack when he gets Ford back — and yes, he has to believe that statement deserves a when, not an if — but he figures the Shack’s fate will depend more on Ford’s own whims. If reality lands somewhere between the nightmares of Ford wanting him gone and the fantasies of finally sailing around the world, if Ford doesn’t hate him but still wants to spend more time with Important Science Experiments than with his brother, then Stan could see himself returning to a mediocre life in his moderately successful tourist trap… but with the search for the journals still coming up empty, Stan can only try not to think about the future, and accept that he’ll just cross — or burn — that bridge when he comes to it.

“Okay, Mr. Mystery,” the girl suddenly declares with a tone that frankly reminds Stan of his mother, “you look like you could use a pick-me-up!”

“What?” It’s starting to freak Stan out how well she can read him, and there’s no telling whether it’s just a sharp intuition, or something significantly more Gravity Falls-y. “If I look tired, kid, it’s because it’s December in Oregon, I haven’t seen the sun in a week, and I am tired. Only pick-me-up I need is for you to get out of my hair, and let me go back into hibernation like nature intended.”

“Okay, but counterpoint: you hear us out,” the boy insists. “We’ve got a little something up our sleeve to really light up your winter —” He winks at his sister. “Don’t we?”

“You bet we do!” She pulls a bag of marshmallows out of not her sleeve, but her backpack, and grins. “Prepare to be amazed and astounded by the natural wonders of this town, and also the miracle that is processed sugar and gelatin!”

“Are you imitating my sales pitches?” Stan asks, dumbfounded. “And do you carry those on you at all times?”

“In winter in Gravity Falls, I do!” the girl replies, already heading for the exit with her brother. “C’mon! If this doesn’t put a smile on your face, nothing will!”

“We all know you’ve got time to spare, Stan,” the boy adds, cracking open the door. “Get a move on!”

“Spare time doesn’t mean I’ve got spare limbs to lose to frostbite,” Stan grumbles, but follows them anyway. There’s something captivating about these little punks — not so much this mysterious phenomenon they’re trying to sell him on, as if they could really out-charlatan Mr. Mystery himself, but rather the way they’re not put off by his frigid facade. They see right through him, showering him in alternating kindness and acerbic wit.

Stan can’t help but wonder if their uncle’s kind of like him — tired, bitter, and pretending to be indifferent, but secretly soft on the inside, like a marshmallow that’s burnt on the surface but melted within. It would explain why they’re so good at calling him on his shit — but then again, Stan and this mystery guy can’t be too alike, because if Stan had a niece and nephew like these two, he’s sure he’d be living his life a whole lot differently.

He exits the Shack, and all his questions are immediately replaced with new ones when he sees the teens just hurling marshmallows towards the edge of the woods. The wind’s in their favor, so some of those sugary little fuckers fly far.

“Okay, so I’ve already got a couple concerns,” Stan tells them, shivering. “First off, what the hell?”

“It might take a couple minutes before one shows up,” the girl admits, as if it’s a totally reasonable stand-alone explanation for whatever the hell’s going on here. With about a third of the marshmallows now blending into the snow on Stan’s lawn, she and her brother stop with the throwing, though they still hold onto the bag. “Our grunkle theorized that they move slower in winter, to save energy — oh wait, never mind! Here comes one now!”

“Sorry, what? And where?” Stan squints out into the woods, terrified to lay his eyes upon a woodland monster these kids just lured to his doorstep — but all he sees, at first, are a few wisps of smoke dispersing in the wind above the trees. He’s not even convinced it’s smoke, really, because these aren’t the right conditions for a fire — but to his surprise, he glimpses an orange light within the woods, glowing steadily brighter until the trees and bushes around it are all casting faint shadows.

When it steps into the clearing, Stan realizes he has seen something like it before, albeit only from the overcautious distance he tries to keep from all anomalies. It’s an otherwise normal campfire perched on wooden, spiderlike legs, and it melts a path in the snow as it trots forwards, then lowers itself to the ground to absorb the first of a dozen marshmallows.

It lets out a satisfied little sound — a low, steady crackle that sounds almost like a purr — then scampers up to the next morsel of food to repeat the process.

“It’s called a Scampfire!” the girl explains, beaming. “There’s a bunch of them out in the woods, and they’ll always wander over if you leave out enough campfire food — especially sugary stuff! Isn’t that cute?”

“Our great uncle figured out this amazing trick when he used to live here, and he passed it down to us!” the boy adds, practically bouncing up and down in place. “If you leave them a trail of food, they’ll follow you around until you run out — which means they can clear your driveway, warm your hands, even save your car if you drive into a snowbank! Or help you make s’mores, of course.”

“Our grunkle says he even skipped paying his heating bill a couple winters,” the girl adds with a grin, “but I dunno if we can recommend that in good conscience.”

As the scampfire draws a closer, continuing to purr as it consumes more of the sugary trail, the boy slaps a handful of marshmallows into Stan’s palm. “Give it a try!”

Stan’s not thrilled about bringing a fire onto the wooden porch attached to his wooden house, even as cute as said fire is, so instead he tosses his ammunition at something much more disposable — the golf cart, since if this one croaks, he can always just steal another from the insufferable rich family up on the hill. His aim isn’t great — he blames his cold fingers — but exactly one marshmallow lands right in the cart’s driver seat.

The scampfire breaks course from its path towards the Shack, clearing a path through the snow before it crawls into the cart, absorbing the final morsel and curling up atop crossed legs. Nothing explodes, and in fact, a few of the icicles on the awning start to melt, dripping water into the patch of bare muddy ground surrounding the cart.

“Huh,” Stan mutters. Dozens of harebrained schemes flash before his eyes — if he could find a slingshot, or even better, some kind of cannon to mount on the cart’s front hood, then he’s sure that with practice, he could entice some scampfires to clear a path through any snowdrift…

But no matter his exact solution, it’s a way to get into town consistently. He can finally go door-to-door selling knickknacks, instead of sitting in the gift shop every day and hoping some poor soul would get bored enough to brave the roads and visit. He can actually work out a way to line his pockets even in the winter, instead of constantly waking up from nightmares about getting foreclosed on —

“See? They get food, and we don’t freeze — classic mutualistic symbiotic relationship!” the boy declares, and his sister gently socks him in the arm.

“Nerd!”

“Hey, you knew that too! We’re in the same biology class!”

It’s familiar, but the kind of familiarity that Stan doesn’t treasure anymore. It’s more like the kind that he hides in the basement or in boarded-up rooms whenever he can, and grins and bears with a heavy heart when he can’t, like every time he looks in the mirror or hears someone call him Stanford. He comes so close to asking these teens if they’re twins, because he figures the answer can’t be worse than wondering — but the question dies in his throat, and he tells himself it’s for the best.

“Is your uncle who invented this trick the same one who’s waiting in town for you?” he asks instead.

“Yep!” replies the girl. “He probably won’t get worried about us for like, ten or fifteen more minutes, though — I’m sure he’s got his nose buried deep in a book right now.”

“Do me a favor and let him know he’s a lifesaver,” Stan says. “Also tell him I’m glad he moved out, because he sounds a little too smart to fall for the fake monster wares that I peddle.”

The kids exchange a look that Stan can’t even hope to comprehend, though he’s damn sure it’s worth a thousand words to the two of them. Twins or not, he’s getting an “inseparable” kind of vibe from these two, that’s for sure.

“I’m not sure he’d like the Shack at first,” the brother muses, “but I’ve got a hunch it would grow on him.”

“He does like cryptids — sometimes even fake ones!” the sister chimes in. “Oh, shoot — we still need to grab a souvenir for him! I knew we were forgetting something!”

“Huh.” Stan throws a few more marshmallows in the direction of the woods, and the scampfire stumbles off the cart before trotting along on its merry way back to the forest. “I can get you something, no problem — I don’t call this place a gift shop for nothing, y’know. But for the love of Paul Bunyan, let’s talk about it inside.”

He’s not great at mental math, but he doesn’t have to be to know he owes a lot to these teens and the mysterious uncle he might never meet. Hell, even forgetting the business perspective — he can actually look for the journals in winter without risking frostbite, if he gets one of his fiery neighbors to tag along. Even if he finds nothing, even if he only winds up with more failures to contend with, he’d rather rule out locations than be useless to Ford for months at a time.

None of this weird family that he might never see again, these three benevolent strangers that he can only put two faces to, could possibly know how much they’ve just changed for him — and he can’t tell them, as much as his oversized heart promises he can trust these snarky kids who remind him so much of himself. But he does owe them, so when he reenters the gift shop, he goes straight for a seldom-opened and never-advertised box of knickknacks that he has no intention of charging them for. It’s got the dimensions of only about two side-by-side shoeboxes, so he lifts it onto the counter with hardly a grunt, and opens it up.

“Got lots of goodies in here — mostly stuff that I made or, ahem, acquired in bulk, so they never quite sold out by the time everyone and their mother in town had already bought their own. Take a gander.”

He knows that gander will reveal some Murder Hut-branded shirts with the words written on in marker, plastic six-sided dice with a different cryptids pictured on each side, cheap whistles purported to attract Bigfoot, cheap flashlights once advertised for attracting Mothman, exactly three cool rocks that Stan found in the woods… and the pièce de résistance, a little wooden Mystery Shack-shaped music box, which chirps out a pleasant tune when Stan flips up the roof. That last one’s a rare knickknack that Stan really put effort into personally crafting, back at the height of last winter’s monotony, through cannibalizing parts of premade music boxes and sticking them into brand-new shapes — but he couldn’t sell them for enough to be worth the cost of making more, and could never sell this last one at all.

“Oh, wow!” the girl gasps, clearly delighted. “How can I even choose between —”

“No, take it all. It’s on the house — but don’t you dare tell anyone about this, you hear me? I’ll know if you blab, ‘cause people will start asking me if they can get free crap, too, and I don’t wanna hear a word of that nonsense.”

“Free stuff at the Mystery Shack?” The boy narrows his eyes. “Are you feeling okay, old man?”

“Kid, stuff only goes in the Free Bullshit Box when I can’t sell it anyway.” Stan crosses his arms with a huff, even though he’s technically telling the truth. “The only catch is take it before I change my mind.”

A sudden spark of recognition in the brother’s eyes morphs into a grin on his face, and he nods. “Oh, we will. Don’t worry.”

“I think our grunkle will love this! Especially the dice,” the sister adds. “Hey, maybe we could give all this to him piece by piece for Hanukkah! There’s enough here for a new surprise every night!”

“Whoa, there is! Man, the look on his face the first time we bring out a Bigfoot whistle is gonna be great —” The boys eyes dart to the watch on his wrist, and he coughs into his hand. “But we should probably get a move on, huh? Don’t want to get caught in, y’know, the blizzard tonight.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Stan returns the lid and hands the box over. “You, uh, need a ride back to town? ‘Cause being a man of mystery and all, I know this neat trick to clear a whole road with just a bag full of marshmallows —”

The kids both start cackling, so hard that the box almost escapes the girl’s hands, and Stan laughs with them — not because he thought his joke was that funny, but because the kids’ laughter is absolutely priceless. The isolation’s definitely getting to his head and his heart, but he’ll take whatever reprieve he can get.

“I think we’ll manage on our own,” the boy finally wheezes out, “but thanks for the offer, Mr. Mystery. Thanks for everything, really.”

“See you later!” his sister adds as they leave. “Don’t let the feral gnomes bite!”

“You take care, too,” Stan replies, not nearly as loud — but he figures that the kids can read his lips. They can read so much about him, and know so much about the town, that he’s honestly a hair’s breadth away from assuming they’re two more anomalies from the woods themselves, just in more recognizable shapes than most…

Though if Stan’s honestly considering that theory, then more of Ford must’ve rubbed off on him than he likes to think about — which is to say, it’s a good a reason as any to stop thinking about it. What or whoever they were, the duo were actually pretty tolerable for teenagers, and Stan’s pretty sure they didn’t put a curse or whatever magic mumbo jumbo on him — because if they could manage that, they could definitely tell some less conspicuous lies, right?

He kinda likes the idea of one goddamn supernatural force in this town that’s actually benevolent, actually watching his back when his mood’s at its bleakest, and coming to his rescue with — no, he’s dropping that train of thought. No baseless hoping, just letting himself down easy before he gets up.

It does occur to him, several minutes after the gift shop door swings closed, that Hanukkah has already come and gone this year. Which probably just means the kids are prepared to hide that box for another twelve months… but maybe, when Stan finds the other journals, he’ll double-check for entries on helpful teenage cryptids who can’t lie. Just to be sure.

***

Mabel, Dipper, and Ford barrel into the living room so suddenly that Stan almost drops his mug of hot chocolate. They’re all covered in a ridiculous amount of snow, considering how briefly they were just outside, and Ford looks awfully delighted for someone whose glasses are someone whose glasses have just turned opaque with fog.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel shouts. The cardboard box in her arms has seen better days, but she’s cradling it like an infant. “You’ll never guess when we just were!”

Dipper points a gloved finger in the air. “You mean, when we just — oh wait, did you already —”

“Yeah, I beat you to it this time!” Mabel pumps her fist. “Anyways, Grunkle Stan — you’ll never guess who we just visited!”

#gravity falls #stanley pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #stanford pines #gravity falls secret santa 2020 #rosalia writes fic

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lastxviolet · 3 years

Text

In Neglected Fields, the Fern Grows -Ch. 2

Fred Weasley x OC

4,447 k

Ch. 2 / 10

Warnings: NSFW!! Slight Dom!Fred, touching, grinding, cursing, begging, dirty talk, slight degradation

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13829826/1/In-Neglected-Fields-the-Fern-Grows

____________________________________

Fern woke the next morning to her roommate's frantic reminders about class. She groaned, peeling herself from the warm navy sheets, and joined Daisy, getting ready for the full day of arbitrary, seemingly endless classes.

It wasn't that she was bad at school as far as grades and accomplishments went, but rather, she felt like she'd never really caught her stride. Even now, in her last year of school, there was no rhythm. She was always running around like a chicken with its head cut off, finishing papers, apologizing to professors, and begging her peers for answers. Her brand of schoolwork had paid off, seeing as she'd got a majority of Outstanding grades on her O.W.L's and felt relatively prepared for the N.E.W.T exam in a few months. But now that she was nearing the end of her time in school, she wondered if it would've been less of an effort and time commitment to just do the work as assigned in a timely fashion.

It was noon before she had time to catch her breath and think of something other than school. Lunch was a welcome sight as she walked into the Great Hall but before she could enjoy the moment, she caught sight of her younger brother sitting alone, and her frustration and curiosity from last night were reignited.

"Nev," she announced, sitting down across from him.

"Fern," he muttered in a tempered tone.

She exhaled and rolled her eyes at his mood.

"I'm not cross at you," she noted, eyeing him the best she could from over the book he was buried in.

"That's good. You've no reason to be."

She stared down at the food between them. Every year the quiet, timid kid she'd had to bribe to try and make friends at school became more and more outgoing, outspoken, bold….more of a Gryffindor.

"You're not going to tell me about last night, are you?"

"I…I already have and it's your fault if you don't believe me."

"Bloody hell," she hissed under her breath. "Fine, I believe you, are you happy now?"

He brought his book down an inch and finally made eye contact. She knew he wasn't perceptive enough to realize she was lying, and still incredibly suspicious of him and his whereabouts but decided that it would be better to actually have some evidence before she started accusing him of anything.

"You do?"

"Yes, yes," she reassured him. "I'm sorry, I was just tired and annoyed that I had to do rounds."

"Oh," he mused, dropping his book fully. "Are you sleeping alright? I could give you some Valerian root to chew on before bed it's…usually…Fern?"

His voice tapered off but she wasn't even listening. Neville's right hand, splayed out on the cover of his book, was cracked with a deep vernacular wound, still pink from a recent infliction. She stared in horror at his bloodied hand and reached across the table to seize his wrist.

"Neville," she hissed, harshly.

He tried to pull away but she was faster and stronger.

"When did this happen?"

"It's…it's nothing. Only one detention," he stuttered, eyeing the rest of the table in embarrassment. "Just got unlucky s'all."

Her angrily pounding heartbeat drowned out the rest of the noise from the lunch rush. He was lying to her, again. Her mind raced with all the things that he could be doing out and about with the twins but seriously doubted that any of them would improve his chances at staying unharmed at the hands of Umbridge.

"I'll give you one chance to tell me who you were with."

Neville opened and closed his mouth as if he was trying to think of a lie or an argument before finally pressing his lips into a reserved line.

"Fern, please, they're my friends," he pleaded. "I know you don't like them but—"

"Friends don't get friends into this kind of trouble, Nev!"

"They don't get me into anything…I'm as much a part of the trouble as they are," he insisted, shaking off her grip and standing up to leave.

"You can't expect me to just let you get hurt like this if Gran knew —"

"Don't…don't use that against me…like you always do," he whispered with a harsh glare. "I know what I'm doing."

She craned her neck to stare at him in disbelief, acutely aware of how tall he'd gotten.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt," she pleaded, taking extra care to sound less accusatory, in the hopes that he would see her as less of a threat. "I'm only trying to help."

"No, you're not," he countered as harshly as he could, even though it was still relatively tame. "You hate that I am doing something without getting your permission first. I don't need help, Fern. Just leave it alone…please."

She squinted her eyes but remained silent, letting the not so timid boy trudge off without her ripping him to shreds.

In all her years of knowing him, he'd never dismissed her like this. He was a sweet, shy boy who put his family above everything else. There was no way that he would hold some prank or hi-jinx to such high regard…without some kind of influence. She glanced down at the Gryffindor table and caught sight of Harry Potter leaning down to whisper something to one of the twins, who in turn, leaned across the table to repeat it to Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown. She rolled her eyes at their obviousness. If Padma was involved, of course, her sister would be too. And if Harry was involved, then it was certainly no good at all.

The weather for the rest of the afternoon and evening mimicked her mood. The rain of late fall was neither refreshing nor relaxing. It smelled of winter, and brought with it, frozen winds and only a taste of what was to come in the winter months.

Fern pressed her forehead to one of the tall windows in the Ravenclaw common room and contemplated how much the near-freezing droplets would hurt her bare skin. It was coming down pretty hard so there was a good chance it'd leave her burning, but no doubt, she'd catch a nasty cold. She glanced away from the moonlit grounds down below and failed at taking interest in the abandoned book in her lap. Despite trying, she hadn't been able to tear her thoughts from the interaction with Neville from earlier in the day. He'd never really been a serious boy, even when they were little, but today, he'd been uncharacteristically stern. It'd been enough to make her at least consider that the right thing to do would be to accept his wishes and leave him alone but the image of his bloodied hand was making her sick to her stomach. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was in over his head. He had a habit of being blind to the obviousness of his circumstance and acting without plan or consideration of pros and cons. Some called it bravery, and his house prided themselves on being collectively blind, but she knew what it was - stupidity. She'd never understood the appreciation that others had for the first person willing to risk their neck despite the risk.

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the glass again. It was sharp, cold, and just enough to bring her sense to life for a few seconds. The minimal chatter around her in the darkened common room disappeared beneath the roaring storm outside. She wanted to go and stake out the seventh-floor hallway. Admittedly, it was overbearing, and would probably instigate more problems between her and Neville than answers but she couldn't fight off the feeling. Before she could find her common sense, her feet were moving towards the tower exit.

The castle thundered underneath the storm and drowned out her footsteps on the moving staircase. She held her breath as she entered the seventh floor and walked swiftly against the stone wall to stay hidden. For a touch more secrecy, and perhaps a flair for the dramatics, she extinguished the fireplace, and torches with a flick of her hand and waited in the shadows.

It was nearly half an hour later when she sunk to the floor and sat on the cold, dark floor and an hour after that when she nearly gave up.

There was no sign of anyone, until, she heard the faintest sound of a door closing somewhere behind the stone pillar to her right. She held her breath and listened to the lumbering steps as they came around the corner, again, from the direction of the astronomy towner. She smirked as the thunder reminded her that Astronomy was an impossible excuse tonight.

What happened next was the convergence of three terrible things at once.

She revealed herself from the shadows and came face to face with Fred Weasley, who looked surprised by her presence for a mere second before looking decidedly more put out by something over her head.

She turned to see what was more important than her obvious gotcha moment but her excitement turned to despair as a pink figure stood at the top of the steps. Umbridge waved her hand, igniting the hallway to reveal her standing a little too close to the troublesome twin. She knew how it looked before Umbridge even opened her mouth.

"Boys and girls are to be more than eight inches apart," she giggled. "Ms. Longbottom…Mr. Weasley, I am sure that you're aware of this rule."

She frantically glanced at Fred in hopes that he would tell the truth but he took a step closer and snaked his arm around her waist.

"Eight inches, professor," he cooed, pulling her tight. "How'd you know?"

Fern's eyes went wide at his obvious attempt to anger the already unhinged woman.

"No, professor," she hissed, pushing him off of her. "It isn't like that —"

The woman clicked her tongue and held up a hand to silence her.

"Detention for the both of you," she warned, oozing with pep.

She turned her head frantically to Fred again who was looking quite content with a wicked smile on his face.

"Professor, please," she pleaded, trying to make it sound like less of a beg.

"Enough," the woman shrieked. "Detention tomorrow evening. Now, off you go."

Without another word, the woman disappeared back down the stairs. She stared at the doorway in shock before wheeling around to confront Fred.

"Godric that woman…Ah well, what's another one, right, Longbottom?"

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Another one? I've never had a detention before, you prick. Let alone, one of Umbridge's."

"Oh, well it's not so bad," he assured her, bringing a hand out of his pocket. "There's a bit of scarring but it doesn't hurt for too long."

She looked down at his hand and let the air be sucked out of her lungs. It was the same writing as Nevilles.

"I'm not upset about the pain you imbecile, I'm upset because I have to go in the first place and it's your fault!"

He leaned against the pillar next to them and stared down at her with a curious look on his face.

"My fault?"

"Yes, your fault," she hissed. "Like always." Of course, he would deny it, she thought.

Her accusatory words seemed to have the smallest effect on him as he rolled his eyes and scoffed at her.

"How?"

"Who else's fault could it possibly be, Weasley?"

"Oh, marvelous question, here's a thought, and it is just a first draft theory so do be gentle, but yourself? You were out frolicking, just like me, and therefore, bound to get caught with or without me," he explained through gritted teeth.

She shook her head and gave him a look of disbelief. They might have gotten off if he hadn't felt the urge to be such a smart ass, how could he not see that?

"I was not frolicking," she huffed. "The only reason I'm even up here is that I have to make sure that you, don't corrupt my brother. Thusly, your fault."

"I'm corrupting your brother," he repeated in disbelief.

"Yes."

"This might shock you but he is perfectly capable of getting into trouble all on his own."

"Only because he's been hanging around the likes of you for far too long!"

He squinted his eyes at her and leaned forward. She wouldn't let him use his size to intimidate her so she stayed put and furrowed her brow back.

"The likes of me? What is wrong with you?"

"You think there's something wrong with me?"

Fred scoffed and tipped his head back, closing his eyes in the process. "I think there are a whole lot of things wrong with you, love."

"Don't fucking call me that. I'm not one of your dumb fucking groupies, waiting patiently to be reduced to a pet name for your pleasure," she hissed, plunging a finger into his muscular chest. "Refer to me by my fucking name or don't refer to me at all, asshole."

"Bloody hell," he grumbled, returning the look of anger to his face. "Alright, I'm terribly sorry. Let me rephrase that. I think there are too many things wrong with you to count, let alone fix, Fern."

"That's big talk for a self-absorbed sociopath with pyromaniac tendencies and a severe maturity deficit!"

He looked caught off guard and brought his face down close to hers again. She stared back defiantly and let him search her eyes.

"Wow," he breathed after a moment of silence.

"Wow, what? Too many big words for you? Was poor little Freddie too focused on his tricks to pick up any comprehension skills at school? Do you need me to dumb it down?"

"If you insist, since dumb seems to come so easy for you," he retorted.

She let out a groan of frustration and dug her finger in deeper.

"You are maddening! At least I've got two brain cells to rub together. Your head is probably filled with fuck-all!"

Her voice bounced around the hallway as she stared at a wide-eyed Fred. She thought for a moment that'd she'd made a dent in his ego but his lips pulled up into an amused smirk. Her temper was usually a little more dependable than this but it was too late to go back now.

"My head," he repeated with a smile. "Hm…I'm more curious about your head."

"You're a bastard," she hissed, ignoring the heat radiating off of her face. He always reverted to perversion to throw her off guard, and unfortunately, it always worked.

"Normally you'd be right but this time, I dare say that you started it."

She glared at him and shook her head. He wasn't meant to be enjoying this. She'd hurled her best at him and it hadn't even hurt him in the slightest. Her brain told her to walk away but she stayed planted in place.

"Well, now I'm ending it. Yelling at you isn't worth the strain on my throat," she exclaimed.

His eyes flickered with even more amusement as the words left her tongue. She could've screamed with frustration when she realized what she'd said.

"Fern, darling," he cooed, leaning down further into her bubble. "I'd be more than happy to provide some strain on your throat. Just say the word."

"Fuck you."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he sighed, shaking his head. "A high-strung, good girl like you shouldn't have such a colorful vocabulary."

"My choice of words is no concern of yours," she blurted, internally cringing as she sounded like a child having a tantrum. It was difficult to admit to herself, but it seemed as though he had the upper hand.

"Well I didn't hear a single curse in that," he cooed, smirking devilishly. "Go on, don't be shy now, please continue your onslaught of obscenities. I'm a big boy, so I can take it, not like the posh blokes of Ravenclaw."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You don't get to talk down on anyone and you don't get to tell me what to do."

"I'm not, Fern, if you were as perceptive as you pretend to be, you'd have realized that I'm asking nicely. Can you do that for me, love?"

"Don't fucking call me that," she hissed, pressing her whole hand against his chest to keep him at a distance.

"There it is. Anything else, darling?"

"You're a prick."

He threw his head back in a laugh. "You sure I'm not a fucking prick?"

His tone made her blood boil. How had getting detention come to this? How had she let him weasel his way underneath her skin? She momentarily thought of the wand in her pocket but knew that he'd be falser than that.

"So now you're making fun of me?"

"No, I've just always found you very curious," he said, leaning into her hand. "Tell me something, Fern. Are curse words the only improper thing you do? Is everything else pressed skirts and studies? Do nasty words fill the void that a life without excitement has left you with?"

She looked at him like he'd slapped her straight across the face. This conversation was going to get her no closer to figuring out the Neville mystery, but now it didn't matter. She was going to finish her feud with the intolerable twin, showing him once and for all, she was not a woman to be reckoned with.

"For fucks sake, how do you stand yourself? The melodramatic attitude must be exhausting. A life without excitement? That's really what you want to go with?"

"I call it as I see it," he barked confidently with a smile.

She couldn't believe that he was actually lecturing her about the philosophy of life when he had next to nothing figured out.

"So, what, to lead a life worth living I'm supposed to torture my peers without a care in the world? I'd hardly call being a nuisance to everyone I come in contact with, exciting."

A flicker of anger crossed his face. She tried not to make it intimidate her but he caught her wrist and yanked her hand away, pinning it to her shoulder.

"At least it's something," he growled.

"Yeah, a thorn in everyone's side!"

His damn of self-control broke and he shook her arm violently.

"Then you're a fucking raincloud! Godric, how do you not see that you suck the life out of every room you're in? At least I break even with smiles but you? You're basically a Umbridge in training with your prim and proper attitude and delusions of order! It's fucking boring! YOU are fucking boring and I — "

Without another thought, she closed her eyes, brought her other hand back, balled in into a fist, and swung.

She felt her knuckles make contact with his ridiculously shaped nose and opened her eyes in time to see his eyes ablaze with anger.

"Fucking, shit," he bellowed. "Ow!"

"How's that for boring?" She yelled at his scrunched face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The words tipped her over the edge and she slung her fist at him again, this time catching his arm. It barely seemed enough to catch his attention so she let it all out. Every frustration, fear, anger; came out in punches, kicks, and slaps, all aimed at the very tall redhead who had his back up against the pillar.

"You're fucking mental," he roared, seizing both of her wrists and turning them around so that she had her back to the stone.

"Fuck you," she yelled.

"Stop kicking me you wretch of a woman, bloody hell!"

"You can't hurt my feelings, dumb fuck," she bellowed back, as he yanked her wrists above her head so that she couldn't break free and used his weight to stop her from moving. "There's nothing you can say to me that I haven't already said to myself a million times."

The words registered in her mind the same moment they escaped her mouth. It was the truth, but she'd never said it out loud or even acknowledged it herself. She did in fact sling evil sentiments at the abyss in her self but for some odd reason, they'd never made a dent. Fred's words, however, didn't hurt in the slightest. On the contrary really; they ignited her.

He snarled at her words and held her still. Her heart beat so fast she thought she might pass out. She met his eyes finally and watched him digest what she'd said. He looked surprised. She couldn't blame him of course, she hadn't ever meant to say it out loud, let alone to someone she hated. She expected him to drop her, and leave because of the suddenly serious, uncomfortable topic of conversation but his face did something she didn't expect. He moved closer with a look of curiosity.

"Go on, try," she whispered, daring him despite her nerves. "I know you want to. I give you detentions, I confiscate your products, I target the rest of your family too because you're all fucking annoying —"

"Fuck you," he hissed.

"Fuck you too."

He glanced down at her lips as she spoke and held her tighter.

"You're a fucking bitch," he whispered, eyeing her with wary.

She threw her head back into a sharp cackle. "Is that all you've got?"

He snarled at her flippant attitude and brought one hand down to hold her throat while the other kept her hands above her head, scraping her knuckles against the stone in glorious agony.

"Shut the fuck up you insufferable, uptight swot," he purred angrily.

Her eyes went wide and she saw a flash of regret cross his face.

"Bloody hell…I…" he stammered, easing up on her restraints.

"What else," she croaked from beneath his grip. The words, his seething presence, and the painful embrace pumped adrenaline into her veins and an inexplicable hunger into her throat. The thought of him fighting off hatred to be close to her set her chest ablaze.

His eyes snapped back to hers. She was daring him, goading him, perhaps even begging him to continue. It was dramatic but she thought that she might die if he stopped now.

"I've always thought that you were an evil bitch, you know that?"

"I know," she whispered. His chest rose and fell rapidly making his breath heating her face with every puff.

"But now," he murmured low and slow, increasing the pressure against her throat. "I think you're desperate."

Her eyes went wide and he inched closer.

"A needy, desperate, good girl…with a dirty fucking mouth."

"Yes," she moaned.

His eyes went wide again, clearly surprised by her sensual reaction but he didn't move away.

"Bloody hell," he whispered. "You like this, don't you?"

He didn't give her a chance to answer and pressed himself up against her with a force that made her spread her legs to make room for his extended knee. It brushed against her gloriously, fanning the flames that were already ablaze. She could see the same soft unexpected look in him that she felt herself. He hadn't known that he would like it either. Just as she wondered if he was feeling an ounce of what she was, she felt growth in his pants.

"You like it….so you're a fucking whore, too. Aren't you?"

She whimpered and slid down the wall a little until she could press harder against the rough material of his pants.

"Aren't you," he whispered again, bringing his thumb up from her neck, and teasing her bottom lip. "A fucking whore."

She opened her mouth in response and let him slide his finger up her tongue and back out, smearing her lips with spit.

"Yes, yes…fuck," she whispered.

"Shut the fuck up," he grunted, gripping her chin so that she had to tilt her head further back to look up at him. "I don't want to hear that word from your mouth ever again."

She swallowed hard. He looked down at her with a serious look but his eyes were on fire. She glanced down at his neck, practically panting from the sight of his veins bulging from anger.

"Good girls don't curse. Do they," he asked forcefully. "Look at me when I'm fucking talking to you."

She snapped her eyes back up to his and slowly shook her head.

"No," she sighed.

"Stop. Talking," he hissed. "Let me rephrase that since you're such a fucking now it all.

My good girl doesn't curse. Does she…Fern?"

All she could do was whimper and shake her head as he slowly released her chin. It was incredible. The words seemed to pour out of him as if he'd been planning them and scratched each itch that she'd ever had.

"Good answer," he moaned, reaching over to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "She's mine. So I get to tell her what to do with her pretty little mouth…pretty little throat…and pretty little cunt."

Ferns eyes blew wide open at the last bit of the sentence and she realized that she'd been grinding against him with helpless desperation. The realization felt like a shot to the head and the fantasy was broken.

The hallway appeared behind him; they were still very much in public. Fred came into view as himself again, and not a domineering figure to fuck all of her troubles away. She bristled, acutely aware of his forceful grip. She pulled away from his grip with all her might, causing him to stumble backward. His eyebrows shot up at the movement and he released her not a second later, backing away equally as shocked that they were still in the school.

She leaned against the stone trying to catch her breath, and find her footing again as they stared at each other. Fred Weasley had called her many things in the past, and she guessed that maybe they'd always stoked the fire in her chest but this was…something else. She could tell that if she didn't leave now, it'd become an incurable hunger, which she could not afford, especially with him.

"Fuck…Fern….I'm sorry I —"

"Stop," she whispered, talking a step around him, towards the moving staircase. "Just…stop."

"Fern," he said, matching her stride, trying to catch up. "I'm sorry —I didn't mean —I thought that —"

"Just stop," she bellowed, halting him with her voice. "I…I have to go."

He looked at her, stunned, and disheveled but didn't move another inch as she made it to the door and took one last look at him before sprinting down the stairs.

#fred weasley x oc #fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley smut #fredweasley #weasley twins #weasley fanfiction

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champion-leon-imagines · 3 years

Text

Chronicles of Galar - Prologue 1: Taiko Hirebayashi

Some Info beforehand. This is going a pretty long fic with several chapters. But the chapters are somewhat different than normal fanfictions. Because they are just in chronological order but some of them are not actually connected to each other and some may have a greater timeskip than others. Imagine it like a readable diary of your adventures with just the mention worthy adventures added. But be careful, because this story is like a HELL OF A TOOTHROTTING-FLUFF fic. The main pairing is of course You x Leon. A side Pairing is Taiko(OC) x Raihan and a mentioned Pairing is Leiko(OC) x Piers Although, you won’t have to deal much with Leiko. But Taiko will get a bigger role since she becomes your best friend. Oh and if you wanna look for the Fic and it’s parts, make sure to follow the tag: Chronicles of Galar. Now enough Chatting, here is the introduction of the first character: My lovely tsun Taiko! And don’t forget: This is NOT proof read. English is NOT my first language. So please be gentle with mistakes.

[Prologue: Taiko Hirebayashi]

[9 years before the timeline in sword / shield]

“Taiko, honey. Don't run too far away from the camp. The wild area is teeming with Pokemon. ”, a woman, around her late 20s to early 30s with purple hair that was tied in a pigtail, spoke in a warning tone. She wore glasses and petted a Flareon, her loyal partner Pokemon. "Yes, mommy.", a 9-year old girl with fiery red hair replied cheekily. "And stop using this word, please. Did you learn that here in Galar? Please just call me mother. ”, she corrected her daughter. Ever since the holiday in Galar began, the child seemed to have increasingly adopted the linguistic peculiarities of the inhabitants of this region. "Okay, mother.", Taiko muttered and rolled her eyes in slight annoyance. She didn't thought it was that bad, because she loved everything in Galar. Much more than at her home in Ecruteak City, in Johto. Her mother was one of the dancing geishas at Ho-Oh's temple, which was why Taiko was promised an Eevee for her 10th birthday as a starter Pokemon. Like all geishas, she should learn the art of meditation dance one day, in order to command the awe of the holy phoenix pokemon. But now they were here, in Galar, enjoying a few days of vacation.

Taiko quickly got bored, however. In her tent, she started to felt shut in. Her toys were only entertaining for a short period of time. She wanted to explore the wild area and see Pokemon! No matter how much her mother told her not to.

The young redhead sneaked out of the tent, while her parents were talking to an employee of the Pokemon Rangers, because a wild Dynamax Pokemon attacked the Lake of outrage nearby. Therefore, a warning was issued to all traveling coaches and tourists to stay away from this lake in any case.

If that didn't sound like an adventure ..

Without even thinking about it, the girl simply ran through the wild area. Lake of outrage was relatively in the middle of the area and her parents' camp was quite far to the south, at a popular campground for out-of-towners. Because there were only weak Pokemon running around, which did not pose any danger to hikers.

So Taiko just had to walk south, right? ... But she didn't knew where the south was.

The extroverted redhead remembered her days in the scouts camp, which had taken place near Cianwood City. She remembered that moss grows on the northern side of trees because they are often in the shade due to the rays of the sun on the other side and the moss can spread there. So Taiko examined the surrounding trees and based on the position of the moss, she quickly knew where north was. She nodded proudly and then strutted north, full of energy.

Meanwhile in another part of the wild area.

“Pokeball, go!” an 11 year old boy with dark skin, casual clothes and a red headband that hid most of his hair, shouted. The pokeball hit a small, white spherical pokemon, which was vaguely reminiscent of a slug. The dragon pokemon Goomy. The ball wobbled three times before stopping and trapping the Pokemon. "YES!" the boy smirked and put himself in a victory pose, which, of course, nobody could see because he was alone. Shortly afterwards, he took his Rotom smartphone out of his pocket and took a picture of himself and his latest catch. Then he opened a social media page that was similar to Facebook.

'Look, I caught a Goomy! The dragon tamer Raihan has struck again! : D Soon nobody can stop me, so take a good look @Leon! I will be champion before you!'

With a grin, Raihan tapped 'Publish' and waited for the many likes from his friends and “fans”, as he liked to call his followers. It took less than 5 minutes before his best friend and rival had already made a like and comment.

'Wow, congratulations @Raihan! This Pokemon is totally rare! Unfortunately I haven't seen one yet. But don't be too early! Who will be champion first is still to be decided! '

Raihan grinned and replied, in his cheeky way. 'You have to find the stadium for our decisive fight first! XD I have enough time to train my Pokemon. '

The young man put his smartphone back in his pocket, he knew that Leon never accepted his provocations and therefore it was a waste of time to wait for an answer. “Come on, Vibrava. Let's see if we can find more cool Pokemon! ”He said to his partner Pokemon. The green, dragonfly-like Pokemon nodded eagerly and flew over the area, while Raihan grinned and followed his companion. He just loved looking for Pokemon in the wild area.

Back to Taiko. The young redhead was already regretting her spontaneous ideas and had to admit: she was lost.

This part of the wild area was so heavily overgrown by dense forest that hardly any sunlight penetrated through the thicket and consequently the moss grew on all sides of the trees. So it was impossible for her to determine in which direction she had to go.

"...MUM? DAD? DO YOU HEAR ME? ”And then she gave up and called desperately for her parents. Why the hell was she always so .. stubborn and had to give in to her curiosity?

The girl fell on her knees and began to cry. She was just too spontaneous and didn't think about the consequences. Now she was here in an unknown area, far away from her parents and who knows what else was lurking in the dark thicket?

A bush near her began to jiggle and that frightened the little girl. She stopped her emotional outburst and looked frightened at the bush. She crawled a few feet back from her almost sitting position and shivered as the rustling increased. Taiko swallowed lightly, trying not to make a sound to attract the attention of this unknown creature in the bush.

Suddenly a small, white rabbit pokemon rolled out with some somersaults. It had a kind of red fur in the shape of a plaster on its nose and its long ears wiggled and twitched as it straightened up and looked around. Taiko looked at the little Pokemon, which noticed her now too. It looked back. Neither of them moved for a few moments until Taiko blinked several times.

"How cute ..", she beamed and crawled forward on all fours. The little Pokemon stopped and tilted its head slightly as it watched the humans movements. "Scor? Scorbunny!" the little creature said. Taiko knew that Pokemon could only say their name, so now she knew the species. So that was a Scorbunny! She had never seen it before. Was it a regional Pokemon from Galar?

"Mmm, I think I have some candy somewhere …" the redhead mumbled. At least the situation calmed her down enough to forget about her outbreak minutes before ... She searched her pockets and actually found some fruit gums made from red haban berries. A very sweet type of berry that was perfect for sweets. Taiko smiled and offered the Pokemon some fruit gums. "Little one? You're are hungry, aren't you? ”She asked.

Scorbunny bounced closer and sniffed the girl's hand. Probably a first approach as to whether it could trust the person. As it took a fruit gum on its paws, it sniffed the gelatine again and stuffed it into its mouth. Taiko giggled as the Scorbunny gleefully chewed the fruit gum and then happily hopped up. "Scor! Scor Scor Bun?"

Taiko didn't knew what the Pokemon was trying to tell her, but from it's hopping around and staring at the fruit gums, it was obvious. It wanted more candy. The redhead smiled and gave Scorbunny a few more fruit gums. This time the Pokemon was braver and patted Taiko's hand with its paws before pounding on the fruit gums. Taiko had to laugh gently when Scorbunny let 5 fruit gums disappear into it's mouth at once and chewed contentedly. "You remind me of me." Taiko giggled.

Scorbunny finished snacking and as a token of gratitude, leaned it with its head on her arm and cuddled up to her. Taiko blinked slightly in surprise. Who could have guessed that wild Pokémon would approach humans so quickly? So obviously love goes through the stomach. Taiko smiled again and ruffled Scorbunnys fur behind it's ears. The Pokemon let out a satisfied purr and closed its eyes.

After a while, the Pokemon hopped onto her lap. This action surprised Taiko and she put both hands around the Pokemon. "It's so trusting .. it definitely belongs to someone ..", the redhead sighed, disappointed. She would have liked to keep the Scorbunny to herself. The two lingered like this for a few minutes until Taiko noticed that she was still in a quandary. She still didn't know how to get back to her parents. And the Pokemon was certainly not a sign back.

Slowly, the girl got up and let Scorbunny on the floor. “Go, your trainer is probably already worried about you.“ Taiko smiled and gave it a few last fruit gums before she continued on her way.

For the next 10 minutes she already missed Scorbunny .. She sighed softly to herself and stopped to lean against a tree. "Scorbunny ..." Taiko's eyes widened when she heard the Pokemon's call and turned around. Scorbunny was a few meters away from her. Taiko didn't even think for a second that it might be another Pokemon. It MUST be the same ..

When the Pokemon saw the girl kneel down, it ran into her arms and snuggled against the redhead's chest. Taiko straightened up and hugged the Pokemon. "You probably missed me too ..?", She asked and as if Scorbunny wanted to answer, it's nose nudged her fist when she raised her hand in front of it. Taiko smiled. "Then let's find a way back together." Scorbunny nodded and climbed onto her shoulder, where it made itself comfortable.

Taiko went on for a while, she didn't know how long, but it was already getting dark. Her parents were probably worried ... Then suddenly a huge lake was before her. Scorbunny sniffed the new surroundings and then tensed up with a menacing growl. The redhead swallowed at this cautious behavior. "The Lake of Outrage ...", she realized then. She wanted to run in the other direction when suddenly a giant Pangoro blocked her way. Apparently she had invaded it's territory because it looked angry. And aggressive.

The redhead stepped back, startled, and tripped over a thick branch. She fell on her bum and held her aching foot after she fell on it with her weight and cried out in pain. Pangoro seemed angry at the noise and stepped closer. It's dangerous threatening gesture made the girl's blood run cold. Scorbunny growled loudly and jumped in front of the girl as if it wanted to fight Pangoro.

"No..! This is an evolved Pokemon ...! It's too strong .. ” Taiko warned, but Scorbunny tried to attack with a double kick and jumped on the evolved Panda Pokemon. Pangoro held up Scorbunnys leg with one paw and tossed it back so that it landed in the mud next to the girl. "Scorbunny!" Taiko shouted distraught and took Scorbunny in her arms when Pangoro came closer and raised his paw for a blow. The redhead closed her eyes tightly and tears ran down her cheeks. "I don't want to die yet ..."

"Vibrava, dragon rush!", a boy's voice penetrated her ears and Taiko looked up when something enveloped in a blue aura slammed into the menacing Panda Pokemon from above in full speed. Pangoro was staggered by the recoil and Raihan jumped in front of Taiko, ordering his Vibrava to make further attacks. "Super power, now!"Raihan ordered, causing Vibrava to launch a wave of attacks on the Pangoro. The fighting Pokemon appeared to be extremely robust and put up with all attacks. "Damn it, well then we have no other choice. Vibrava, use sandstorm! "Raihan shouted. Then he turned to the girl behind him. "Cover your mouth and nose!"

Taiko nodded and pushed the scarf, that her mother had given her over, half over her face. Vibrava created a dense sandstorm that made the entire area so opaque that you couldn't see anything. It was only when Taiko felt someone put a hand on her shoulder that she recognized the outlines of the boy, who helped her. "Let's get out of here before the storm subsides," he said. Taiko tried to get up, but a strong pain in her leg made her fall back to the ground.

"Ouch .."

"Hey, are you okay?" Raihan asked, holding her to keep her from falling again.

"I must have broken my leg when I tripped earlier .. I can't step .." the redhead sighed in frustration. Raihan blinked for a moment and saw his Vibrava land on his shoulder. He knew the sandstorm wouldn't hold up the enemy Pokemon much longer. An idea occurred to him without further ado and he turned his back on the girl while he knelt down. “Climb on my back. I'll carry you. ", He said.

"T-I can't ask that of you ..", Taiko mumbled and shook her head vigorously.

“Come on, my tent is not far from here and the storm won't hold back Pangogo for long. We have to get out of here. ”, the young trainer explained and Taiko probably had no other choice. She sighed and climbed onto his back, the Scorbunny clinging on her shirt and holding onto her as the boy carried her away from the lake.

It really didn't take long, a maximum of 10 minutes, until the boy reached his tent and gently laid the young girl on his sleeping bag.

"Here we are. Uhm. What's your name anyway? ”The boy then asked with a smile.

"T-Taiko and what's your name?"

"Raihan. Are you a Gym Challenger too? " Raihan asked and saw how the Scorbunny had snuggled up with her and was sleeping. The redhead shook her head. “I'm not from here and I'm only 9 .. My parents and I are only here for vacation. I live in Johto. “, She then explained.

“Then why were you alone at Lake of outrage? It's not an approved campsite at all. On the contrary, it is strictly forbidden for travelers to enter here.“

"Uhm .. well .. I was curious because I was bored in the tent and .. then I somehow got lost ..", the redhead explained, embarrassed, and tugged on a strand of red hair. Raihan just looked at her before he laughed. This reaction offended Taiko now that she thought he was making fun of her situation.

"Hey, that's not funny, I was really scared!" She said with a pout and turned away with slightly flushed cheeks. Raihan wiped a tear of laughter from his face and grinned slightly before winking at her. "Sorry, I didn't laugh at you. Just .. I've done so much nonsense too. When I was 5, my father was camping here with me too and I saw a Trapinch and followed it to Lake of outrage too. My father had to save me from a wild Gyarados in the water. And I was just thinking that I was having a deja vu when I saved you, ”he admitted with a laugh.

Taiko blinked slightly.

"Uhm ..", she just wasn't quite sure what to say to that. "Thank you for the rescue ..", she said quietly, but still slightly offended, and turned her head away from him.

"You are welcome. But let's take care of your leg first. ", Raihan said and got a first aid kit from the corner of his stuff. Taiko lingered as quiet as a mouse, a rarity with her otherwise extroverted personality, when Raihan exposed the leg by lifting her pants up the affected leg and pulling down her socks to inspect the damage. “That looks bad. No wonder you can't walk. ", He said and took a rag that he moistened with a kind of disinfectant spray. "That could burn a bit now," he warned her.

The redhead bit her lip and squeaked softly as he placed the rag on the wound on her leg. Raihan smiled and praised her for how bravely she got through this action. She even had to laugh a little when he confessed that he had screamed like crazy when he was injured and his father wanted to treat him with the stuff too. She didn't know why, but somehow Taiko didn't feel so helpless anymore.

She watched spellbound as he expertly cleaned the wound and treated it with a bandage. "You don't seem to be doing this for the first time," she said then. Raihan blinked and then looked up at her as he kneeled in front of her to put his foot on his lap.

"Yeah. I have a clumsy best friend. His injury rate is pretty high when he's got lost. I don't even know how often I've been bandaged his falls and grazes. ", Raihan said thoughtfully and Taiko giggled. “Sounds like me. I am also at risk of injury. A miracle it was only the leg. ", She sighed. Raihan smiled and put her leg down again.

“You would certainly get along well. He exudes the same positive energy as you. ", Raihan said, whereupon Taiko went a little red in the face. However, she didn't know why. "I exude positive energy?" She asked.

"Sure, of course. You can see that just by how Scorbunny has taken you to its heart! I thought to myself that it wasn't yours when you said you were only 9 and not from here. So it's a wild Pokemon, but it behaves like you've been training it for years. ", The boy remarked, whereupon the girl's cheeks turned even darker. "Uhm .. I'll take that as a compliment .." she whispered, slightly embarrassed. "It was one." Raihan winked and was amused by the shy behavior of the girl. At the lake she had behaved differently. Then there was a short silence between the two of them until Raihan reached for his smartphone. For once, he wasn't interested in his social media activities. “Which campsite are you at? In the east or in the south? ”He asked.

"Uhm .. south?"

"All right." Raihan smiled and started dialing a number.

"Who are you calling?"

“Mr. Pascal. He is practically the lessor of the campsite. Your parents surely miss you. So I'll give him our coordinates so that someone can come and pick you up. Because I can't carry you the way to the campsite. ”At this comment the redhead blushed again and turned away slightly. “Your last name would still be helpful to find your parents more easily. "..Hirabayashi."

Raihan called and talked to Pascal for a few minutes until he had passed on all the informations. About the aggressiveness of the Pokemon at Lake of outrage, about the injured girl and also their whereabouts. Then he thanked him and hung up. “They can't send a rescue team out until tomorrow morning because they'd have problems finding us and transporting you. I told them that you can spend the night with me in the tent and that you are safe. ", Raihan said. "Uhm .. but you only have one sleeping bag." Taiko spoke. "But that doesn't matter .. I can sleep on the floor."

Raihan sighed.

“There is no way of letting a girl sleep on the floor. You sleep in my sleeping bag, I sleep on the floor. " He said.

"Never."

"Well, then we'll both sleep on the floor if you don't give in." Raihan shrugged his shoulders, whereupon Taiko rolled his eyes. "Then give in.", She said and shrugged her shoulders. Raihan grinned slightly and folded his arms behind his neck.

"Only if you sleep in my sleeping bag." Was the devious answer. "To what extent is that giving in for YOU?" Taiko asked now and crossed her arms in front of her chest. The two just looked at each other for a few moments before Raihan sighed in defeat. "Well, let's make a compromise.", He said, which made Taiko sit up and take notice. “It gets darn cold here at night anyway. If we cuddle up a little ... together, we can both sleep in the sleeping bag and the body heat prevents us from half-freezing to death. "

His suggestion made Taiko look shocked. He wasn't really serious, was it? She didn't know this boy at all. But now that he said it, it was actually quite fresh. "..."

"You can of course also become a living Vanillite if you prefer that.", Raihan said and spread out the sleeping bag. "Okay, okay. It's only for one night. ", She gave in, whereupon Raihan had to laugh again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next morning, Taiko's parents and some of the wild area staff members went to the location of forest that Raihan had described for them. It wasn't long before they found the tent, which was guarded by a Duraludon. “This is Raihan’s tent. It has to be. " Pascal remaked, before Taikos parents ran to the tent. "Taiko ?!"

Taiko blinked, she was still half asleep when she yawned and snuggled into something warm. This warmth moved slightly, from which the redhead woke up. She wiped away the sleep on her eyes and then saw how she was snuggled up against Raihan, her legs tangled and his arms pressed her to his chest.

The girl quickly broke away from him and Raihan woke up too. "Woah?"

The redhead ignored him and let her mother hug her tightly.

"What kind of things are you doing?" Her mother scolded her. "I'm sorry .. really .." the girl apologized and was then pulled into a hug by her father. "Never do that again," he said then. "You're hurt, aren't you? I'll carry you back. ", He said then and wanted to pick her up. "Wait, dad ..!" Taiko stopped him and then turned to Raihan. She made a beckoning hand gesture that signaled him to come closer. "Thanks again for everything, Raihan. I hope to see you again. ", She smiled and hugged him goodbye. Raihan smiled and hugged back. “Well, if you ever want to visit Galar again, you are always welcome. Until then, I'm champion and you can visit me in my palace. ”He laughed. "The champion lives in a palace?" Taiko asked and her eyes widened greatly.

"I dunno, but definitely!", Raihan laughed then, whereupon Taiko had to laugh too. "Well, see you at some point, hopefully. And take care of yourself, you risk-of-injury. ", He said teasingly.

Taiko was then carried back to the campsite and was even allowed to keep Scorbunny.

And what should she say?

5 years later, she set foot in Galar again after her divorced mother wanted to start a new life over there and Taiko seized the opportunity and followed her to see the cute boy from back then again.

#Chronicles of Galar #Leon #leon pokemon #pokemon leon #pkmn leon #champion leon #raihan #pokemon raihan #gym leader raihan #raihan pokemon #Leon x Reader #Pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon shsw

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babycracker · 3 years

Text

Fire Meet Gasoline: Chapter 1

chapter rating: teen & up story rating: explicit pairing: morgan/m!oc (tanner drake) & farah/f!oc (sadie kennedy) word count: ~3k chapter warnings: none story warnings: eventual smut, canon-typical violence, au - canon divergent

read it on ao3 here

Tanner's eyes narrow at the town sprawled before him. What was it called again? He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking the text message he'd received a few days ago. Wayhaven.

It's small. Smaller than he'd expected. Tiny compared to New York, where he'd been living for the past six months. How much trouble could a goblin get up to in such a small town? More importantly, how hard could he be to find?

He rubs his hands together, shoulders rolling slightly as he retracts his wings before reaching into his backpack to pull his shirt back on. He's still buttoning it when he steps out of the woods surrounding the town, eyes scanning the street from the tree line.

Should be quick, he tells himself. Get in, find Helk - or whatever he's calling himself while in hiding - and get out. Three days, tops.

He pulls a cigarette from the pack in his bag and lights up as he steps out of the cover of the trees before shouldering the backpack again and heading down the street. Pulling his phone from his pocket again, he brings up the last known location of Helk - in an alley behind some place named Haley’s Bakery in the centre of town.

The fingers of his free hand flex before he curls them into a fist at his side as he walks along the street, ignoring the curious looks he’s getting from passers by. Small towns, he hates them. The kind where everyone knows each other and he sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s always harder than necessary for him to get information out of people in these places.

His fingers feel strange without his rings, fidgeting as his hand swings beside his hip while he walks, and as much as he wants to just get on with it and find the damn goblin that had stolen them, he knows that it’s probably wise to try and be friendly and hope that someone’s seen something strange. That would make his job infinitely easier.

It would seem he's had a stroke of luck as he stomps out his cigarette and pushes the door to the bakery open and a short, fair and friendly looking woman smiles over at him. Being good looking definitely has its advantages.

“Hey there, handsome. Take a seat and I’ll be right with you," she exclaims cheerily, and he glances around the homey room, obviously decorated to be more welcoming than functional. He feels as though he’s in this woman’s living room. He disregards her offer and instead walks over to lean against the counter, watching her carefully as she goes about what she’s doing. She startles a little when she turns and finds him standing there, and he shoots her a charming grin in an attempt to put her at ease.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asks, the tiniest hint of suspicion in her eyes as she looks him over. He lets out a light chuckle and shakes his head.

“That obvious, is it?”

She doesn’t answer, just leans against the counter opposite him and gives him a small smile, his easy going attitude towards her obviously convincing her that he’s harmless.

“What brings you to Wayhaven?” she asks conversationally, standing up straight again to wipe her hands off on the front of the apron she’s wearing.

“Just looking for a friend. I heard he might be in the area. Say, you might be able to help me. You haven’t seen any other obvious out of towners around in the last couple of days have you?”

She shakes her head and gives him a sympathetic smile. “No, sorry hun. You could head on to the police station and ask around there though. The detective and the team he works with seem to always know the ins and outs of what’s going on around here before anyone else.”

Tanner tenses, his fingers twitching as he tries to avoid letting them ball into fists again. So the rumours are true. He’d heard there was a group of agents working with a detective human liaison in some tiny nothing of a town. Not ideal, to have to avoid trained agents while he’s running his own unapproved mission. He can work around them, though. They don’t even know he’s here, after all.

“Where can I find the station, gorgeous?”

She almost giggles and he struggles for a moment to keep from laughing at how easily he managed to get her on side. Hopefully the law enforcement in this town are just as easy and he won’t ever have to risk encountering the agents in the town. She draws him a small map, unnecessary considering once he examines it he finds that the station is only a couple of blocks away. He rolls his eyes once he’s out of the bakery, screwing the map up into a ball and dumping it in a trash can as he heads for the station.

The man - or rather, boy - manning the front desk of the police station is so engrossed in the game he’s playing on his phone that he doesn’t even hear Tanner enter, and he leans against the counter watching him in amusement for a moment before clearing his throat loudly, making the boy jump. He hastily brushes long blonde hair out of his face and sits up straight, the phone landing loudly on the desk in front of him as he drops it.

“Uh, hello. How can I help you?”

He’s trying to appear professional, Tanner can tell. But the illusion has been shattered the second he’d stepped into the police station and he just smirks at him.

“I need to speak with the detective," he tries. Which detective, he doesn’t know. The boy nods and pushes himself away from the desk on his chair, leaning back to yell out across the station.

“Detective Langford!”

Tanner arches an eyebrow at the kid as he rolls himself back towards his desk and remains sitting up straight, the phone remaining untouched. Apparently this town is small enough for there to only be one detective, how tragic. Still, this detective must be a real hardass judging by the way the boy at the desk is pretending to be a real cop. Fantastic.

The man that steps out from an office in the back and comes to a stop behind the desk is not what Tanner had been expecting. Close to his own 6’3 height but scrawny - he doesn’t look as though he’d be much use in a fight. That might work to Tanner’s advantage before he finds what he came for and can take off, though.

“I’m Detective Langford, how can I help you?” He has a soft voice, and Tanner can’t imagine it sounding in any way authoritative and he wonders if that’s the reason one of the Agency’s units has also been assigned to Wayhaven. If there’s even infrequent supernatural activity in this tiny town he doesn’t imagine that this man would be equipped to handle it.

“I’m not sure, I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

The detective raises an eyebrow, instantly untrusting of the obvious stranger in front of him. “Your friend got a name?”

“I know him as Helk, but he may be going by something different while he’s in town.”

“Is he on the run from something?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“Me.” Tanner gives a small grin which the detective does not return. Langford studies him carefully for a moment as though trying to figure out how to proceed before shaking his head.

“Even with a name I don’t think I can help you. You’re the first newcomer I’ve seen here in months.”

“You lay eyes on every occasional visitor to your town, do you?”

“Yes. I do.”

Tanner nods and pushes off of the counter, straightening himself up. The boy at the desk looks between the two of them nervously, making him think that perhaps there’s more to this detective than meets the eye. Maybe he needs to tread a little more carefully for the remainder of his time in Wayhaven. Especially if he has an Agency unit to back him up.

“Right, well thanks anyway.” He turns to walk out of the station but Detective Langford calls out to him before he can step through the door.

“What’s your name? I’ll be sure to let any Helks that I come across know who’s looking for them.” He’s testing him, Tanner can tell. He realises that Helk doesn’t sound like a real name - definitely not a name that anyone in a town like this would consider normal anyway - and he’s probably trying to get a more honest answer out of him.

“Tanner Drake," he calls over his shoulder with a grin before stepping out of the street, the smile instantly fading and his eyes narrowing as he scans the street. This is going to be harder than he’d thought.

“Where the hell are you, you little shit?” he murmurs under his breath as he starts walking, realising that he’s going to have to find a place to stay. He didn’t want to stay in this town any longer than necessary, but it’s become obvious that it’s going to take longer than today to track Helk down, especially if he doesn’t have the assistance of the locals.

Morgan shoulders her way through the door of the common room, a lit cigarette already hanging between her lips as she assumes her usual position leaning against one of the side tables in there as they wait for Lucas.

She’s not terribly fond of the man, and she despises these weekly meetings they get dragged into with him. Especially when there’s nothing happening and they usually just consist of Lucas and Nate flirting.

She’s about to lose her patience and leave, forgoing the meeting altogether when finally the detective makes his appearance, and she pulls a face at the way Nate jumps to his feet like a love sick puppy and pulls him into a hug. As though they don’t see each other everyday.

“Can we get started? Some of us have better things to do," she snaps, crushing her cigarette in the ashtray sitting on the table she’s leaning on. Lucas rolls his eyes and reluctantly steps away from Nate. After going through all the usual rigmarole, revealing that there’s nothing interesting to report, as Morgan had expected, she’s pulling another cigarette from her pack and getting ready to head outside when Lucas calls everyone back. She rolls her eyes with a groan and crosses her arms across her chest, her unlit cigarette still hanging from between her lips.

“I met someone strange this morning.”

Not unusual. The town is full of strange as far as Morgan is concerned. It’s unusual that Lucas didn’t know this one though, she’d thought he knew just about everyone.

“Strange in what way?” Adam asks and Lucas shrugs slightly.

“I didn’t recognise him, he came into the station and said he was here looking for someone called Helk. He didn’t mention why.”

“Did you get a name?”

“Tanner Drake.”

Adam tenses instantly and obviously and Morgan frowns over at him. “You know him?”

Adam doesn’t answer, his focus on Lucas.

“Can you find out where he’s staying while he’s here and report back?”

Lucas nods with uncertainty, and Adam turns to face the rest of them, his brow furrowed even deeper than usual.

“Who is he, Adam?” Farah asks from where she’s sprawled on the couch, but Nate answers before Adam can say anything.

“Bounty hunter.”

“We need to find him and figure out what he’s doing here. If he has an assignment in Wayhaven then we should have been notified. The fact that we weren’t suggests that he’s here for personal reasons," Adam cuts in before Nate can say anymore, and Farah nods slowly, casting a worried glance in Morgan’s direction. Morgan just shrugs and pushes herself off of the table when it becomes apparent that the meeting is over, at least until Lucas can find out where Tanner is staying.

Adam storms through the door after Lucas, and Morgan jogs to catch up to him, plucking the cigarette from her mouth and twirling it between her fingers.

“This guy dangerous or something?” she asks, trying to make sense of Adam’s reaction to his name.

“Not unless you’re being hunted by him.”

“So why the unease?” She gestures to him as she asks, and he glances down at her with a heavy expression.

“He is infuriating. I hoped not to have to deal with him again.”

Morgan grins. Now it’s making sense, and she figures that anyone who can get on Adam’s nerves to such an extent has got to be an absolute riot. She finds herself mildly hopeful that she’ll get to meet him and at least have some real fun for once.

Adam stares at the door inside the hotel in obvious disdain, reluctant to knock. Nate stands patiently beside him, trying to keep the amusement from his face as he waits for Adam to do something. He knows that Adam and Tanner hadn’t gotten along the last time they’d crossed paths; Nate had had a front row seat to it. Tanner is antagonising and cocky and easily as arrogant and self assured as Adam and it had led to a number of less than friendly confrontations between the two of them. He knows that Adam is hoping that he’s on a personal mission and he’ll be able to send him packing rather than needing to work with him again.

Finally Adam knocks on the door, a grimace on his face, and then lets out a heavy sigh as he waits for an answer. They hear the chain being unhooked on the other side of the door before it pulls open, Tanner’s eyes widening in surprise before a grin slowly crosses his face.

“Adam!” he exclaims, pulling the door further open and stepping aside to let the two Agents inside.

“Commanding Agent du Mortain.” Adam corrects in nothing short of a grumble as they walk inside and Tanner closes the door behind him.

“Never thought I’d see you again.”

“The feeling was mutual, trust me.” Adam replies, throwing an already exhausted glance in Nate’s direction before clasping his hands behind his back. Tanner’s eyes dart towards Nate and a scowl crosses his face for a brief moment.

When they’d first met, Tanner had taken an instant dislike towards Nate and he still isn’t sure why, but he suspects that maybe they are simply too different.

“Why are you here, Drake?” Adam asks before they can veer too far off topic but Tanner just grins at him.

“I should’ve known it was you four working with the detective. What with how much this one loves humans.” He nods towards Nate though his gaze remains fixed on Adam, who shifts just barely under the attention.

“Why are you here?” Adam repeats his question and Tanner sighs and tuts with a shake of his head.

“I’m sure your detective friend told you that already.”

“You are hunting for someone you call Helk.”

“Right.”

“Who is Helk and why are you looking for them?”

“A goblin, and he stole from me. I want my things back.”

“So it is not an Agency assignment? If you are not on assignment you need to return to the nearest facility. You should-” Adam’s interrupted by his phone ringing, and he lets out an irritated sigh before moving to the other side of the room to answer it.

“What did he steal from you?” Nate asks, trying to fill the awkward silence that falls between them once Adam steps away. Tanner looks over at him, a bored expression on his face as though he’s already tired of interacting with him, and then raises his hands in front of him.

“My rings.”

“Are they important?”

“Does it matter? They’re mine.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to go to if they can be easily replaced.”

“No one steals from me.” Tanner answers simply before looking away, indicating that their conversation is over and Nate knows better than to push it. He seems unassuming, even as tall and well built as he is. Tanner has a charming smile, a cheeky and playful personality for the most part, and it’s hard to imagine him taking anything or anyone seriously.

But Nate and Adam were both witness to what he is actually capable of when they worked with him years ago. He assisted them in finding a supernatural who refused to even meet with the agency to discuss signing any kind of treaty and by the time Adam had finally pulled Tanner off of him the supernatural had needed treatment in the agency’s medical facilities before he was in a position to discuss anything. Even Adam is subtly wary of the nephilim and Nate knows it.

He is not sure what would happen should Tanner ever have an opportunity to meet Morgan and Farah. He suspects that he would get along with Farah fairly well - they have a similar sense of humour and Farah would have no desire to push his buttons and rile him up. Morgan, though. Morgan and Tanner are too similar, and Nate doesn’t imagine that she would be willing to back down just because he warns her too.

He doesn’t suspect that Tanner would be willing to hurt someone technically on his side for no good reason… but he can’t be entirely sure that he’d bother to try and hold himself back either.

Adam appears beyond displeased when he comes back over to them, tucking his phone into the pocket of his coat and letting out a heavy sigh. He turns to Nate, disappointment written all over his face.

“That was Agent Langford. She has a job for him.”

“I’m right here, you know. You could just tell me directly.” Tanner pipes up, back to his usual cocky self now that Adam is there to buffer between him and Nate. Adam turns to him and speaks reluctantly.

“You are to come with us.”

“Back to the Warehouse?” Nate asks incredulously, to which Adam simply gives a short nod.

“To Morgan and Farah?”

“Yes.”

“I get to meet the girls this time, excellent.”

Tanner either doesn’t notice the tension in the air at the idea of him accompanying them to the Warehouse and meeting Farah and Morgan, or he simply doesn’t care about it. Knowing what Nate knows of the Nephilim, it’s probably the latter.

“It would seem so.” Adam answers reluctantly, then nods to the backpack sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Pack. We’ll wait for you outside.”

Tanner grins and grabs his backpack, hoisting it over one shoulder and gestures to the door. “I never unpacked, lead the way.”

Adam groans, not even bothering to hide his unhappiness with the situation before walking out of the hotel, followed closely by Tanner as Nate musters as much positivity as he can to follow behind the both of them.

Well. This will certainly be interesting.

Tags: @admdmrtn @masonsfangs @oxjenayxo @mmerengue @agentnolastname @freckles-spangledvampire Thanks for reading! Please let me know if you’d like to added to/remove from the tag list.

#twc writing #the wayhaven chronicles #unit bravo #a du mortain #n sewell #f hauville #twc morgan #tanner drake #sadie kennedy #fire meet gasoline #new fic #n*fw #kat writes

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galacticidiots · 4 years

Note

Friends to lovers AU

one

Every Saturday, the city of Coruscant hosts a Farmer’s Market that is very popular with locals and out-of-towners alike. It offers a wide variety of fresh produce and handcrafted products, from organic, freshly baked bread to artisanal soaps and gourmet chocolates.

Rey has been selling her flowers there for coming on two years and she loves the market not just for the amount of business it brings her, but also for the people and the camaraderie. Mrs Kenata, for example, has been her stall neighbor since Rey’s very first market day. That’s why it takes her by surprise, when on the first Saturday of May, she gets to her stall to set up shop for the day and instead of Mrs Kenata’s homade bath & beauty products, she sees rows and rows of neatly stacked fruits and vegetables, artfully arranged and beautifully displayed. She frowns when her eyes land on the sign above the stall.

Who the fuck is Skywalker Family Farm?

She gets her answer not a minute later, when an older man wearing a t-shirt that says ‘Friend a Farmer - Eat Locally’ comes by carrying a crate of bright, plump strawberries. He smiles at her.

“Hi there! I’m Luke Skywalker. Are you our neighbor?”

She nods. “Hi, yes, I’m Rey. Here for all your floral needs,” she points to her bouquets of lillies.

“Oh, those are my sister’s favorite. Here, let me introduce you to my nephew.” He turns, calling out to somebody on the other side of the divider. “Ben!”

Ben is 6-foot-too-tall, dark-haired and broad-chested, clad in an impresssive amount of flannel. Rey’s mouth goes dry because she sure would like a taste of those heirloom tomatoes.

That’s what he’s carrying when he walks up to Rey and his uncle. Obviously.

two

She takes to calling him Hot Farmer Ben in her head, because he’s a farmer and he’s hot and his name is Ben. Sometimes simplicity is best.

He’s actually very nice and always volunteers to help Rey carry the heavier crates of blossoms back to her car at the end of the day. When the crowds disperse, Rey usually goes over to his stall and they hang out and laugh about the yoga moms who always ask if the cucumbers are locally grown and pesticide-free or gossip about the other vendors - it’s a tight-knit community and everything has the potential for scandal.

At the end of each day, Ben gives her a basket full of a wide variety of fruits and vegetables. At first, Rey is reluctant to accept, but he insists, saying that it’s all surplus, and it would go bad anyway.

“Besides, you need to try the rhubarb,” he says on their very first Saturday as stall neighbors. “I’ve been told it’s pretty life-changing.”

Rey can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a joke, because his face gives nothing away and his tone is always deadpan, so she snorts and thanks him for the freebies.

When she gets home, she makes rhubarb pie. And fuck if it isn’t life-changing.

three

There’s a sign next to the apricots. Don’t press the fruit. It doesn’t bite, but the farmer will. Rey laughs when she sees it, wondering if it’s an empty threat or a promise, and whether she can get Hot Farmer Ben to make good on it.

It’s the first Saturday of July and Rey has had to endure exactly eight days of Ben walking past her in a tank top and low-hanging jeans. She lets out a long-suffering sigh.

Oh, to be a stack of hay, being carried around on his shoulder.

four

Rey makes it her mission to pester Ben with the worst fruit and veg puns Google has to offer; partly because she loves a good pun and it’s fun, but mostly because she enjoys getting a reaction from him. Every time one of her awful jokes manages to elicit a snort, a huff - or better yet, an unimpressed ‘really, Rey?’ - from him, Rey does a mental high-five.

“Hey Ben, what did the baby corn ask the mama corn?” - a pause for effect - “Where’s popcorn?”

And

“Did you hear about the two flowers who went on a date?” - a sigh from Ben - “It’s a budding romance!”

He looks over at her and Rey swears he’s trying not to laugh.

“Really, Rey?”

It’s their thing.

four

She never expect him to reciprocate, though.

“Hey Rey, why are flowers so good at kissing?”

She blinks.

“Because they have tulips.”

It surprises a laugh out of her and if it’s louder than the - admittedly awful - joke merits, Rey blames it on the fact that Hot Farmer Ben just winked at her.

five

On the first saturday of November, the last of the season, just as Rey is done cutting the stems of her hyacinths and wondering whether she can sneak a few into her new arrangement, Ben comes up to her booth and presents her with an artfully arranged bouquet of vegetables, tied together with a bow made of burlap.

“I thought it would be a little redundant to give flowers to the florist, so…” He lets it hang, and his blush spreads all the way to the tips of his ears.

Rey giggles, and Ben’s smile, when it comes, is sheepish and boyish and so endearing, she wants nothing more than to jump into his arms and kiss him silly.

So she does.

(It’s blooming brilliant.)

#ask #reylo #au meme #I know this isn't *exactly* friends to lovers but...#hopefully it counts?#txt

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themangoyogurt · 4 years

Text

Clementine: Chapter 2

You cursed yourself as a ridiculous love ballad blared from Poe’s overpriced stereo system. All you had wanted was a night of relaxation. The marble tub in the master ensuite was already filled with hot water and a bath bomb that was so overpriced it was practically criminal. Next to the tub, a chilled glass of white wine patiently waited along the latest novel you were gobbling up.

You had stupidly decided that some calming music was the final piece to your self-care puzzle. Except, you had never used something as high-tech as what Poe’s place offered. One wrong button later, and you were ninety-percent sure that only twenty-percent of your ear drum would be functional after this fiasco.

To make matters worse, there was angry knocking at the front door. The aggressive sound was so furious that it somehow cut through the music, causing you to flush in embarrassment as you ran to get the door. You were so frazzled from breaking the sound system and subsequently upsetting your neighbor that you even forgot to grab a robe on your way out.

The door flung open to reveal a man so large and imposing, you lost your breath.

He was in nothing except a single pair of boxers and fuzzy slippers. Despite his distinctly disheveled (and frankly, sloppy) look, he was handsome. Handsome, built like a refrigerator, and angry. Ogling your neighbor would do no good if he murdered you.

Except, one moment he looked furious and the next, perplexed. Normally, you’d bristle if any man so obviously gave you a once over, but the way his mouth comically hung open made you less offended.

“Clementine,” was all he uttered.

The two of you stared at each other in silence, when the start of yet another pop song interrupted the moment. You startled to attention and rushed to explain, “I am so sorry about the disturbance. I can’t figure out how to work Poe’s stupid stereo and now the thing won’t shut off!”

The stranger peered around your shoulder and a hardened gaze returned to his face. He gritted out, “And where’s Poe to help you out?”

Your brow furrowed, and you could have sworn that he almost looked bitter at the statement. Deciding not to get into it with a stranger, you politely replied, “He’s flying right now. I’m just housesitting while he’s gone.”

The man softened ever so slightly at the response and straightened up. “I think we have the same system. I could help you turn it off.”

“Oh thank goodness,” you breathed in relief, quickly stepping aside to let him in. The stranger seemed to know his way around the gigantic apartment, and you assumed that his layout was either the same or he’d been here before.

Awkwardly shuffling behind him, you timidly supplied your name in an attempt to start a conversation. He merely grunted out, “Kylo.” He didn’t even spare you a glance as he busied himself with tapping at a seriously sci-fi looking box.

After a few minutes of strained silence, the music finally cut out. The sudden quietness was so strong your ears nearly rang from the lack of sound. “Uhm, thank you! Can I make you a mug of tea or something?” you ventured, politeness outweighing the sheer awkwardness as you realized you were two half-naked strangers staring at each other.

He shuffled a bit before giving a terse nod.

Jeez, nobody’s forcing him to hang out with me, you thought in response to his frosty reaction.

Speaking of frosty, you noticed his eyes zeroing in on your rather pointed chest, causing you to turn pink at the neck. Thankfully, you had left a sweatshirt thrown over the couch. Snatching up the thick fleece garment, you tugged it over your head and led Kylo to the kitchen.

Kylo followed with heavy steps, and made himself right at home as he settled on a stool pulled up against a bar area facing the kitchen. Two mugs were pulled from a cabinet and quickly filled with steaming hot water. The liquid reminded you of the bath now gone to waste, but one look at the handsome man gazing at you made it all worth it.

A mug of chamomile was slid across the marble top and into Kylo’s hands before you joined him on the stool to his left.

“Sorry again about the music,” you muttered.

Kylo ran a hand through his hair, dark locks falling like Fall leaves. “It’s fine. It was an accident. So...you’re a house-sitter?”

You laughed, “Unofficially. I just moved to town, and I don’t have a place yet. Poe’s an old friend from college, and he just started some sort of travel show that’s gonna keep him busy for at least four months. I get to stay for free, and he doesn’t have to worry about his house going to shit.”

Kylo nodded, not surprised that the dashing pilot somehow landed himself a deal to host a travel show. He also came from money and had already made a name for himself jet-setting around the globe piloting his own private jet.

You gave him a cute little head tilt and asked, “And what about you? What’s your story?”

For the first time since he left the First Order, Kylo felt embarrassed. Deciding to fall back on vagueness he replied, “Ah, early retirement.” Women liked mysterious men, right?

He was surprised as you let out a low whistle. “Retiring in a place like this? You must’ve had one hell of a job to retire from.” You blew the steam away from your mug and took a long sip.

Kylo frowned and folded his arms across the tabletop. “And what about you? It’s a Wednesday and you’re blaring Taylor Swift near midnight.” You knew that he wasn’t being defensive, despite a slight accusatory tinge to his voice.

You turned to face Kylo, propping your head up on an elbow. There was something gravitational in your exchange, and your bodies had slowly inched closer and closer as you talked. By now, your knees were lightly touching, and you found yourself feeling electricity at the subtle touch.

He laughed as you playfully jabbed a finger in his chest. “I’ll have you know that I do, in fact, have a job! Have you ever heard of Hanna Hut?”

Something about you riled Kylo up, and he felt more alive than he had in the past month. Some teenaged boy part of his brain refused to admit that he had no idea what Hanna Hut was, hoping to impress the pretty girl sitting next to him. Instead, he rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Of course I have. And what’s it to you?”

His resolve slowly dissolved as a silent minute ticked by. He groaned as you finally broke the silence with a loud laugh. “A grouch who can see into the future. Amazing!” Kylo furrowed his brow, and bit back, “What are you talking about?”

“Hanna Hut doesn’t exist. At least not yet.”

Kylo furrowed his brow and pinked in embarrassment at being caught. You patted his thigh, ignoring how muscled it felt underneath your touch. His bare skin was warm and deliciously corded and taut. He stuttered out a non-reply, only earning a louder guffaw from you.

“Don’t worry. It will exist. Hopefully very soon! I’m opening my very own coffeeshop-slash-bookstore combo right here in town!” You couldn’t help but gush in excitement at your very new business venture.

It had taken years of careful planning and budgeting. Years of forgoing mimosas with the girls and squirreling away every dime. Literally. Years of accepting overtime, and years of enduring doubt from friends and family alike.

No more though. You had finally gathered together enough money to launch your dream business. The moment your bank account looked healthy enough, you threw up digits and peaced out of your tiny good-for-nothing town.

Finally, after years of grit and sweat, things seemed to be looking up. With free lodging for the next few months, you didn’t even have to stress about finding an apartment. Your deal with Poe worked out perfectly so that you could spend all of your time and energy looking for the perfect space to launch Hanna Hut.

Your excitement was infectious, as Kylo couldn’t help but flash a wide smile matching the one on your face. “And where can I visit this newfound ‘coffee-slash-bookstore’ venture of yours?” he asked, genuinely curious and interested in the concept.

“Well...I’m still looking for the perfect storefront. I think I might have found it, though! In fact, I’m meeting with the landlord tomorrow afternoon.” You quickly pulled out your cellphone to show him the airy space located in Greenwich Village. It was beautiful, but pricey. Still, you convinced yourself that the price tag would be worth it.

Kylo quietly listened as you continued to babble and swipe through photos.

“It’s a little expensive, but I think it’ll be worth it! The landlord said that if I signed a ten year lease, he’d cut me a deal on rent. I think that should help, especially since there are so many fees and he needs three months rent up front...”

The more you prattled, the more agitated Kylo became. A ten year lease? As cute as you were, cuteness didn’t necessarily equate to business acumen. He found your naiveté equal parts adorable and concerning. Although you were a stranger, he didn’t want to watch yet another out of towner get swindled and eaten up by the city.

He cleared his throat, and interrupted, “Ah, if you want, I could come with you to negotiate tomorrow. I hope I’m not overstepping, but I am a lawyer...”

You perked up and replied, “That would be amazing! But I don’t know if I could pay you. Judging by the fact that you live here, I don’t think I could afford your rates...”

“Ah, well I am retired so it’s not like I’ve got much going on for me. How about you buy me a coffee and we’ll call it even?”

He flinched in surprise when you practically leapt out of your seat. Clasping his hands in your own, you gushed, “Deal! Thank you so much, Kylo!” Kylo looked down at where your hands joined, marveling at how much smaller you were compared to him. Mustering up as much courage possible, he nodded and flashed you a smile.

Just like that, Kylo found himself looking forward to something for the first time in years.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren #reader insert #modern au #clementine

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wannabe-cartoonist · 4 years

Text

The Hobbit Q+A

I got tagged by @estethell to answer some questions about my long love The Hobbit, so I’m gonna subject everyone who may be following me to my answers. (Qs + As below the cut). Thanks for the tag!

Questions:

1- What is your favorite couple?

The Thorin + Bilbo really hit me hard after my first viewing. (The first couple I ever wrote like a full-fledged fic for, btw).

2- Your favorite movie scene?

The scenes with Bilbo and Bofur interacting are just...so pure??? Like in the first movie when Bilbo sneaks away and Bofur kindly understands and wishes him well. Or the deleted scene from the Extended Edition of BotFA where Bilbo sneaks away once again and Bofur thinks he’s leaving forever and wants Bilbo to so he doesn’t die in the Battle the next day. Just...Bilbo and Bofur’s relationship is just so pure and acted so beautifully...

3- Do you prefer the book or the movies?

I’m not an avid reader of like...actual books. I’ve read parts of both The Hobbit and LOTR over the years and I really love all the extra information and characterization you get in the books, but I just feel more connected to the movies, I think.

4- Which character do you prefer and why?

I mean, Bilbo’s my spirit animal. He’s just such a perfect main character, in my opinion. I love a fish-out-of-water type of character who’s the unlikely hero.

5- Which of three movies do you like best?

Desolation of Smaug. It’s the first I got to see in the movie theaters (I got into the Hobbit/LOTR after AUJ came out on DVD). I also just think it’s the most interesting in terms of action/plot. It’s got more going on than the other movies. Beorn, the Mirkwood Elves, the Ring being used/explored more, Lake-town, Smaug... (Though maybe a little too much going on, could’ve done without Gandalf’s scenes with the Necromancer...)

6- Who do you think broke their alliance first between elves and dwarves?

Oh god, ummm, they’re both wrong?? The Dwarves didn’t have to be little dicks and not give Thranduil the necklace that was supposed to be for his dead wife and the Elves could’ve definitely just not been assholes and helped the Dwarven refugees after Smaug. Like, Thranduil came with aide for the Lake-towners, but not the Dwarves (although he had ulterior movie, of course). But the first time around, the Elves didn’t have to fight Smaug (like Bilbo argued was their reason for not helping). They literally could’ve just given them medical aide, food, etc...

7- Try to give one nationality to all dwarfs.

I know they’re primarily based off of Scandinavians, but they give me big Scotsmen vibes.

8- Which character do you like least?

Legolas in The Hobbit is not the same person from LOTR you CANNOT convince me otherwise. This is a buff, angsty Legolas that I DO NOT recognize (lol). But without him we probably wouldn’t have Tauriel, so win some lose some, I guess.

9- Which race would you like to be and why?

A Hobbit. They just like to take it easy, love food, but are adventurous and courageous and smart. Literally just like, “I’ll do something amazing when I want/have to, until then, I’ll just be chill” and I vibe with that. They mind their business too, which I respect. But if I had to be a human still, I’d want to be from Rohan because they’re the best Kingdom of Men, imo.

10- In which kingdom/city /area of Middle-earth would you like to live?

The Shire, obviously, but Dale in its prime looked gorgeous. It has the look/feel of a Mediterranean city, which is a design aesthetic I’ve always liked.

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onhirel · 5 years

Text

What’s Fair at the Fair

Amanda O’Neill loved the summer. Long days and warm nights, no school, no responsibilities, just time to have fun, hang out with her friends, and get into mischief, something she took to with relish. But one of the best part of the summer were the county fairs. She always felt a bit of a kinship with the carny folk. Outcasts, at times viewed with suspicion and derision, but people who worked hard, all the same. People who strove to bring some joy and entertainment to others...and if some of that was a bit underhanded (seriously, who actually expected to really win at carnival games, y’all know they’re rigged!) so much the better.

The county fair that set up at the fairgrounds just down the road from her house was one of her favorite places in the world, and she had been working there for four years now, ever since she was thirteen and looking for an escape from her home life which...well, which was less than stellar, to say the least. The carny folk had at first viewed the pugnacious and fiery-haired girl who simply showed up one day with some concern and confusion, but rather than jeer at them, she had simply displayed a desire for acceptance for her fierce spirit, a sense of family. The carnival staff had shrugged and figured why not. She wasn’t paid with money, of course, not until she was sixteen, but for those first three years, she had helped clean up, helped behind the scenes, did whatever she could for her newfound friends and family, spending hours and hours per day at the fair. Even at that age, she had known that it wasn’t...wasn’t actually good that her family never seemed to care where she spent her days, that they should be concerned that one of their children disappeared for long stretches of time. But...they never were.

But that was okay! Her new family, rough though they were around the edges, accepted her and even started teaching her the tricks of the trade, and upon reaching sixteen, she was able to even make a little money, and did pretty good as a hawker and was even trusted to man some of the rides. She so loved the summer!

And then time continued to pass. She turned seventeen, and it was now the final summer that she had left of high school, and she wasn’t quite certain what she was going to do after her senior year. Her grades were pretty decent, but not good enough to get her into a good college. When she brought up her concerns about her future with the other fair employees, they all laughed, telling her to enjoy the summer. They also surprised her with her own booth, something that almost brought tears to her eyes. Especially since it was suited to her strengths...literally so. She had amazed the staff before after the rides were all closed down and they were all hanging around before going home in how well she could arm wrestle. She wasn’t undefeated, but she had far more wins than losses. And so her booth was just that. People paid to arm wrestle her, and if they won, they could walk away with a cut of the overall prize money.

Some people did win, of course, mostly the guys who obviously spent way too much time at the gym, but the rule was you could only arm wrestle once, so the same person couldn’t keep playing her and taking her money. But, as before, she won far more often than she lost, and she was already making more money a week and a half into the fair season than she had all of last year.

So yeah, she was feeling pretty good about herself and definitely cocky when she spied the three of them. Out of towners, her eyes immediately saw, dressed in expensive clothes that stuck out almost like a sore thumb, despite it being casual wear. The blonde with tea green highlights seemed really stuck up, and the one with the black hair didn’t seem much better, but the auburn-haired one seemed a bit more down to earth, hazel eyes glancing at the different gaming booths with ill-disguised interest, and though her clothes were obviously designer, they were much more casual than the other two, a baggy hoodie and jeans that actually kind of surprised Amanda. Sure, the sun had set, but it was still warm out. But eh, some people wore shorts in states that had real winters, it wasn’t too unusual to see someone wearing a hoodie in the summer.

Pitching her voice to carry, she began her routine. “Come one, come all, and see how your skill matches against the mighty arms of the Amazing O’Neill!” she cried, eyes still locked on the trio as they glanced her way. “Many have tried to take my prize money, and many have failed! Come, only ten dollars for a try, and a chance to walk away with half the money I’ve earned so far today!”

They seemed interested, and Amanda blinked, slightly confused as to why she was so intent on hooking one of them...well, she had to be honest with herself. She wanted to hook the auburn-haired girl. There was something about her that perked her interest and drew her attention. She had to hide her grin as the thought struck her...not very often that a pretty girl like that would literally pay her to hold her hand! “How about you, with the hoodie?” she called, and both of the auburn-haired girl’s eyebrows shot up as she grinned with amusement, and she pointed at herself. “Yes, you! You seem like a strong girl, think you can take me?” At her question, the other girl turned and spoke briefly to her friends, and the blonde pinched the bridge of her nose, an annoyed look on her face as the black-haired girl rolled her eyes. “It’s okay, it’s okay...if you’re scared of losing, it’s fine...”

That lit a competitive fire in the girl’s eyes, and without another word to her friends, she strode briskly forward, eyes roaming over Amanda’s tomboyish clothes and figure, a slight blush dusting her cheeks, and Amanda almost couldn’t believe her luck, if she read that look right. Cute as all get out and interested in girls? Well, shucks!

Then the girl was sitting in the stool across the small table from her, pushing up the sleeve of her hoodie so that it was past her elbow, and after sliding a ten dollar bill across the table, she propped her elbow on the table, and Amanda followed suite with a confident grin. “So, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, and the girl smirked back at her, the competitive fire still burning bright in her eyes.

“Beat me and maybe you’ll find out!” she replied, and Amanda stared at her, wide-eyed for a moment before she laughed.

“Ho-ho-ho, y’all got some fire to ya. I like that!” she crowed as their hands found each other, and Amanda very pointedly ignored the jolt that ran through her at the contact as she set herself. “On your call, sweetie,” she said, and the girl nodded.

“On your mark, get set...go!”

Now...it was fairly well established at this point that Amanda, for all her lean muscled appearance suggested, was actually pretty dang strong. To date, the only woman to have actually beaten her was Jasminka, and that didn’t count, given that the Russian was part of the strong woman act (as well as a member of the competitive eating team, but that was another story...). Her school friend Akko was pretty close, but if they didn’t end in a draw, then Amanda usually took it. And so it came as a complete surprise when, instead of the quick victory that she expected, she and the mystery girl were locked immediately into an epic struggle, both of them putting all their effort into besting the other, but their clasped hands didn’t budge an inch either way. Gritting her teeth even as her face grew red and sweat started to stand out on her forehead, Amanda continued to push...at least it appeared as though her mysterious opponent was struggling just as hard as she was.

The struggle went on, with the girl’s friends starting to cheer her on, and a small crowd gathered to witness the epic showdown. And damn it if Amanda really didn’t start to freakin’ like this girl as they continued to struggle against one another. Not many people could hold their own against her, so for this girl to do so...then her hand went an inch towards her side, and she almost grinned. Okay, progress, progress was good! But then the girl grunted with effort, and their hands returned to the middle of the table. Good lord, just who was this girl?!

Then the auburn-haired girl was talking, grinning at her, face flushed and eyes glittering with the joy brought by a good competition. “You know...” she said just barely loud enough for Amanda to hear, “...the only reason I said yes is because I think you’re pretty cute.”

Amanda blinked, concentration broken. “What?” she asked, completely flabbergasted...just as the back of her hand hit the padded surface of the table. She blinked again before shaking her head, confused as to what just happened, even as the assembled crowd cheered on the girl and her friends slapped her on the back in congratulations.

The girl stared into Amanda’s shocked eyes for a moment before she laughed softly. Then she was offering her hand to shake. “Hannah England, reigning champion of girl’s wrestling, Luna Nova Prep School.”

“Oh,” Amanda replied almost dumbly, hesitating before taking the girl’s hand and shaking it. Luna Nova...it took a lot of money and talent to get into the school that was in the next town over, and if this Hannah was the champion wrestler there, then it was no wonder Amanda had lost. “Uh...Amanda O’Neill. Local delinquent, carny folk extraordinaire,” she said, blushing slightly at the amused laugh Hannah gave. “So, uh, yeah. You won. Let me get you your prize money.”

To her surprise, Hannah shook her head. “No, don’t worry about that. Like I said, the only reason I really did this is because I think you’re cute. But...I do deserve a prize. How about...your phone number?”

Amanda blinked at that, before a delighted grin took to her face. “I think that’s fair,” she said before quickly digging through her bag and finding some scrap paper and a pen, and she quickly scribbled down her phone number. “Here.”

Hannah took the paper, glancing down at it with a warm smile, and Amanda’s blush deepened at the tender expression. Then Hannah was looking back up at her. “Thank you, and you will be hearing from me, Amanda. And I have to say, if you did that well against me, then I rather expect that you not lose to anyone else for the rest of the night...”

Amanda grinned at that. “I won’t. I promise.”

And Amanda was a woman of her word. She didn’t lose a single other arm wrestling match that night, she was happy to report when she got the first text from Hannah, the first of many to come...

#hamanda #amanda o'neill #hannah england #lwa #non-magical au #summer #another cute thing #hope you like this!

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enz-fan · 5 years

Photo

Special performance 7 January 1984 in Neil and Tim’s hometown.

ENZ: Te Awamutu

It’s obviously a very special occasion for Te Awamutu. A large sign in the main street proclaims the town’s centenary and the biggest lettering on it is SPLIT ENZ. (”Tickets from Guy’s Bookshop or Martin’s Refrigeration.”)

There’s an air of good-humoured expectation as the crowds trail into Albert Park, the town’s main rugby ground. Mostly it’s groups of young people but their mothers and fathers are also scattered here and there.

“Our husbands are here making hot dogs so we thought we’d come along as well,” chatters one of a group of women outside the gate. Lions Club food caravans dot the fenceline - the whole thing has very much the air of a community project.

No one’s taking any chances, it seems, and as well as the omnipresent men in white coats there’s a healthy number of police and security guards of at least three separate hues. It all seems a bit much for such a well-behaved crowd.

Herbs begin a little uncertainly, perhaps aware that the Enz are not so much the main act as an incarnation of municipal pride. They finish with warmth and good humours, however.

“You’ll be sorry afterwards,” grins Willie Hona after a well intentioned toilet roll sails over the stage during the closing song.

The wait before the main event seems inordinate and the crowd becomes a little restive. Why is it taking so long?

When Te Awamutu’s mayor comes on stage to make a speech before the performance there’s a chorus of booing which is immediately answered by cheering and the two factions continue to bounce noise off each other throughout the brief speech. The grey-haired mayor looks a little bemused at all the racket but soldiers on.

“They’ve had success all over the world but they’ve never forgotten where they came from...”

The lights dim and a shanty pipes out of the speakers, Tim Finn singing. “I was born in London town” becomes “I was born in Te Awamutu”, there’s a brief offstage intro from Tim and they’re onstage in a burst of light.

What follows is genuinely warm and warmly genuine. The night is full of local references - Tim stirs rivalry between the town’s two main rugby clubs, St Pat’s and Old Boys. Members of a local Maori culture club perform a haka onstage during ‘Kia Kaha’ - very effective but they’re whisked off too soon.

The night belongs more to Tim than brother Neil. He strides the stage, constantly talking to the crowd, the compere of a vaudeville show.

The highlights? ‘My Mistake’, ‘One Step Ahead’, Tim’s surprisinglly good ‘Dock of the Bay’ and, of course, the singalong ‘I Got You’.

Two encores, a bow and a thank you later it’s all over. A very special Enz performance, a piece of natural showbiz that broke clear of the scriptedness and uptightness that has marred their shows in the last two or three years.

Backstage afterwards the band members mingle, talking to everyone who wants to talk to them. It’s very much a local occasion and us out-of-towners sit quietly.

Soon it’s time to head back to Auckland and, barely able to keep my eyes open, I settle down to sleep in the back of the van.

I’m sure there was a smile on my face as I drifted away.

Russell Brown

#splitenz #live/tour #1984

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whiskerfanfiction · 6 years

Text

Summary: Chris wakes up in his old S.T.A.R.S apartment with Captain Albert Wesker at his door- after already living fifteen years of his life. Is he living some weird dream or has he actually been sent back in time? (Non-Supernatural)

Pairing: Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker

AO3 | FF.Net

Endless Numbered Days

Chapter 20

The Best Monsters Are Our Anxieties Given Form

“And what may your instincts be, Christopher?” Wesker asked as his fingers began tracing invisible lines across Chris’ exposed chest.

“Keep going,” Chris insisted quietly.

The sound of a phone ringing pulled their attention before Wesker could respond. Sighing, the blond straightened atop Chris and dug into his back pocket where he pulled out his ringing cell phone. The phone was black and thick with white letters across the top that said ‘Nokia’. Seeing it gave Chris a weird sense of nostalgia.

“Captain Wesker speaking,” Wesker said, answering the phone. His fingers were still tracing lines on Chris’ chest as he listened to the other line, “Yes, of course. I will be right there.”

Wesker hung up and sighed, pocketing the phone once again. He looked down at Chris who met the gaze with a confused look.

“What’s going on?” Chris asked.

“Irons. There has been a murder in a rather well-off neighborhood on the edge of the Arklay Mountains. Would you like to accompany me and, perhaps, we can continue this later?” Wesker asked, leaning down and kissing Chris before he could respond.

“Yeah, I’ll come with. I’ll ride with you and call the rest of Alpha on the way,” Chris agreed.

“Very well,” Wesker said before lifting himself from Chris to stand. He retrieved his shirt and slipped his white undershirt on before slipping his STARS shirt over it. Chris sat up on the couch and grabbed his clothing from the floor before doing the same.

“Retrieve your gun, you may need it, Christopher,” Wesker warned.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Chris had just hung up the phone. Brad and Joseph didn’t answer their phones but Jill and Barry both answered and agreed to meet them at the house. Wesker was speeding through town; the police lights on the front of his car were wailing and flashing. They were rarely used but it still gave Chris the rush that he longed for in his youth.

“Do you have any of the details for the case?” Chris asked as he loaded his gun.

“Chief Irons was very scarce with the details, unfortunately. A perimeter was established by the police department but due to the special circumstances, STARS has been requested. The neighboring houses have been cleared of civilians and the suspect is expected to be inside the house. Any more details should be filled in at the scene,” Wesker answered.

As Wesker turned down the neighborhood street, he slowed the car. There were large crowds of people surrounding the caution tape keeping them at the edge of the street. There were several police officers with guns aimed on the outer rim of the perimeter.

Several other officers guided Wesker to the inner perimeter where a circle of officers were staying outside of the house. Jill and Barry were already there, vests on and guns drawn. Wesker quickly parked the car and both men jumped out.

“Captain Wesker,” Jill and Barry greeted from the driveway.

“Captain, glad you could make it,” a tall, heavyset brunet woman approached the four with a stiff smile.

“Captain Wood,” Jill greeted.

Nobody else knew the captain of Raccoon City SWAT by just her face but Jill’s assistance with the Raccoon City Police Department’s other faculties had her well known around the department. Barry and Chris kept their distances from the rest of the tactical groups around the department, unlike Jill who could easily name every team member on SWAT without looking.

“The suspect is still inside but the house has been quiet for some time now. We have confirmed a victim due to a nosey neighbor. He heard screaming and entered the premises with a key given by the victim. He called emergency services when he walked in on the husband, Mr. Towner on the floor of their kitchen with Mrs. Towner kneeling over him and—get this—eating his face,” Captain Wood explained while Wesker and Chris were situating their vests.

“Excuse me, eating his face? The wife was eating his face?” Jill asked in shock.

“Correct. Now, how could a fifty-two year old woman over take a forty-five year old man to even begin the face eating? Unlikely. However, the neighbor ran from the house and is currently on his way back to the station to be interviewed when you guys are ready. This case is all yours,” Captain Wood said.

“And how can we be sure they’re both inside?” Chris asked, “And what’s the name of the neighbor?”

“Jaxon Overton. We have no further information about him, currently. Mr. Overton claims to have run from the house and called from his cell once he was safe on the lawn. He claims the wife didn’t even notice him despite him claiming to have called both of their names several times upon entering the premises,” Wood said.

“Okay, team. Nobody has heard from Victor or Joseph?” Barry asked, looking around.

Chris and Wesker shook their heads as they pulled out their guns from their holsters. Jill sighed and exchanged glances with Barry.

“I shall deal with them later. The location is small with limited assailants. The four of us can handle this alone, for now. Chris, I want you in front of us. The houses in the surrounding areas have side doors. Burton and Valentine, go around and find it. Once you do, wait for my signal. Chris and I will move in first and you two will follow on my command,” Wesker stated.

“Understood, Captain,” Jill and Barry muttered in unison.

“Comms online?” Wesker asked, securing the headset in his right ear.

“Yes, sir,” the three echoed, testing the microphones hooked to each of their ears.

“Good. Go,” Wesker commanded.

Barry and Jill knelt down and began around the side of the house. Chris began towards the front door with Wesker on his heel.

The house itself had a small wooden porch that led to the front door. There were several windows on the front of the house but it was late in the afternoon and the curtains were drawn on each. The second floor of the house was small and the window on the top floor was open—the cold wind blowing the red curtains inside.

The front door was ajar, most likely from the neighbor running from the house. Chris approached the door and pressed his ear to the cracked door. The chattering of the neighbors around them and the distant sounds of sirens and police radio chatter was too loud for Chris to hear anything inside. Chris readied his weapon and Wesker kneeled behind him, at the ready.

The low sun was casting a large shadow over the house and the orange sunset lit up the sky but not the house. Chris focused his eyes to look through the crack of the door and the frame but could see nothing but darkness inside.

“We’re in position,” Jill announced into their headsets.

“Good. We’re entering now,” Wesker said, “the side door most likely leads into the kitchen. Wait until you hear our voices to enter. I don’t want to startle the assailant.”

“Copy, Captain,” Jill said.

“When you’re ready, Christopher,” Wesker said.

Chris nodded and readied himself. Taking a deep breath, the brunet nudged the door open farther with his shoulder. The house was considerably dark despite the sun just outside but the dull shining through the curtains was almost enough to see through to the dining room.

Chris and Wesker pulled their flashlights from their pockets and clicked them on before positioning the lights under their guns. From what Chris could see, the house was spotless. The couple was definitely well off and the high quality furniture throughout the house reflected the fact. Once Chris had stepped several feet through the door, he could hear the distinct sound of loud chewing, groaning, and ripping flesh.

Chris wanted to look back at Wesker but the sounds put him on high alarm so he kept his eyes forward with his gun raised.

The noises gave him troubling flashbacks of the mansion incident and he stopped for a moment to gather himself and shove down the anxiety beginning to arise in his stomach. He took a breath, kept his eyes forward, and found difficulty in fighting his own mind.

“You are fine, Christopher,” Wesker whispered.

Wesker was so close to Chris’ ear that the brunet could feel the man’s warm breath on his neck and, somehow, that soothed him.

“RCPD STARS Unit, is anyone here?” Chris called through the house and continued walking.

The eating sounds stopped almost immediately but the groaning continued.

“Kitchen,” Wesker muttered quietly to Chris who nodded and moved quickly, farther into the house.

As Chris passed by the hallway that led deeper into the house to his right, he shined the flashlight down the hall momentarily but once he saw nothing, continued deeper and through the large doorway leading into the dining room and kitchen.

Turning the corner, Chris’ flashlight landed on the blond hair of an older woman on her knees looking up at Chris and Wesker. There were white pupils in place of where color should have been and blood covered her face and hands.

“Do not enter the house,” Chris said into his headset.

“What? Why not?” Jill asked but she was ignored.

“Chris, we may need backup,” Wesker said suddenly but Chris shook his head.

“No, I’m not going to expose them to this yet. This is the T-Virus,” Chris said seriously.

“Obviously. But why is the viral outbreak appearing in a rich suburban neighborhood?” Wesker asked.

The woman was getting angry and beginning to growl and struggle to her feet.

“Let it step forward before we shoot. We have to appear like we’ve been attacked. Aim at the head and do not miss,” Chris instructed quietly.

“I quite like it when you instruct me,” Wesker chuckled.

The woman lunged forward, tripping over the body of her husband. She caught herself and screeched at Chris before lunging again—Two bullets rang out, one from each gun, and Jill and Barry barged in through the side door.

The sunlight revealed the dead husband and the, now dead, wife. Both were well dressed, bloody, and lying on the kitchen floor.

“Oh my god,” Jill gasped, “Why would you tell us not to come in?”

“I didn’t want you to startle her. She was obviously deranged. She attacked us,” Chris said, though his voice most likely did not sell the lie as well as he had wanted.

“I believe Chris wished to talk with Mrs. Towner and possibly reason with her but we both agreed that you and Mr. Burton should remain as our backup,” Wesker chimed.

The sound of Jill’s phone ringing pulled the group’s attention. She dug into her pocket and flipped the phone open before raising it to her ear.

“Brad, where have you and Joseph been?” She said after a moment. She scoffed into the phone, “Meet us at the office. Try to contact Joseph, too. Captain will deal with you guys later,” she said before hanging up. “Apparently, he has no idea where Joseph is but he was making dinner for his mom.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Vickers. All of STARS were given cars specifically for cases of this nature. You must arrive to the scene within an hour—that is the rule,” Wesker sighed and ran a hand through his stiff hair. “Go gather information from the neighbors we do not have here. Learn as much as you can about the couple. We must take caution with this case,” Wesker instructed Brad.

“Y-Yeah, of course, Captain,” he muttered and grabbed his coat before leaving the office.

Joseph still hadn’t shown and the group had continued without him. STARS wasn’t accustomed to interviewing people but Jill interviewed the neighbors with the help of some fellow detectives leaving Chris and Wesker alone in Wesker’s office.

“You need to get Umbrella to take over the case. The coroner can’t take samples of the woman’s blood. The virus needs to stay—“

“Already done, Christopher,” Wesker answered calmly, “Irons has retrieved both bodies as they were Umbrella scientists. The neighbors are currently only being approached to see how much they knew of the couple—This will not be an open case for us. Our goal is to give this case a simple ending.”

“But then how did the virus get administered to the victim?” Chris asked, sitting down and rubbing his hands over his face.

“That is quite the question. Umbrella will take care of that—“

“And what happens if this isn’t the only outbreak? None of this happened in my timeline, Wesker,” Chris growled, looking up at Wesker.

“Calm yourself. Whatever they find, STARS will be sent out to handle. We are Umbrella’s personal team to take care of their loose ends,” Wesker stated, setting a hand on Chris’ shoulder.

“They need to be busy,” Chris said, “Swear to me that Jill, Barry, and Joseph will stay safe.”

“Of course, Christopher. We can keep this just between us,” Wesker nodded.

Chris grabbed Wesker by the shirt and pulled him down into a sudden kiss. Wesker reciprocated the kiss with ease and when a tongue slipped between Chris’ lips, Chris stood and pushed Wesker against the opposite wall.

Wesker chuckled darkly and switched them around, pressing Chris’ back hard into the wall and kissing him even harder.

And then someone cleared their throat.

Wesker stopped and turned and Chris looked over his shoulder—both finding Jill standing in the doorway with her cheeks red and a file in her hand.

“Miss Valentine,” Wesker stated.

“Captain—“ she took a deep breath, “—Uh I have the file that includes all of the information that Mr. Overton knows about the Towners. It isn’t much, though,” Jill said.

“Thank you, Miss Valentine. You may go home, if you like,” Wesker said.

“Right. Night Captain. Night Chris,” She muttered before dropping the file on Wesker’s desk and rushing out the door she entered in.

“That may be an issue,” Chris muttered.

“Perhaps,” Wesker sighed but the blond was smirking.

“Why do you look so smug?” Chris asked.

“Miss Valentine will not be an issue for us so long as she remains quiet on the issue. With a bit of persuasion on your part, she may prove useful,” Wesker said simply.

“This day has been so weird,” Chris sighed and shuffled away from Wesker.

“And yet, not as strange as when you woke up over a decade in that past, correct?” Wesker asked carefully.

“Definitely not,” Chris chuckled.

“Perhaps we could have dinner tonight?” Wesker asked, “Our day has been difficult. We can end it on a pleasant note.”

Chris thought a long moment and nodded.

“Sure. Dinner sounds good. Besides, you drove me here so you have to drive me home,” Chris answered.

“Already wanting to take me home, Christopher. Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?” Wesker chuckled.

Chris just rolled his eyes.

The drive to the Mexican food restaurant that Wesker insisted on bringing Christopher to was quiet. Chris had his cheek resting in his palm and was staring out the window. Night had fallen and overtaken the town for several hours. It was nearing nine-thirty by the time they were even part of the way there.

Chris tried to keep his mind from where the night would eventually lead and, instead, kept his mind on attempting to keep his lips to himself. Having to constantly remember that the blond was working for the most powerful and evil pharmaceutical company in the world and would eventually rise up to be the cause of thousands of deaths was getting more and more difficult.

But Chris just lost himself in each kiss and touch.

The brunet sighed and suddenly felt the blonde’s eyes on him which he hadn’t meant for.

“What’s on your mind, Christopher?” Wesker asked, turning down a brightly lit street.

“What do you think?” Chris asked.

“I haven’t a clue. I’m asking you for that very reason,” Wesker answered.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Chris muttered.

“Well,” Wesker began, “we are going to a rather nice dinner where we will sit down and talk about anything besides work. After enjoying this nice meal, I will drive you home and continue our activities from earlier. How does that sound?”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Chris sighed but he was smiling.

“I know, Christopher. Calm yourself. Do not overthink the situation. Simply take it as it is—dinner with a coworker and a possible hook up,” Wesker shrugged.

“Yeah, I’m working on it,” Chris sighed again, “Thanks.”

“Of course. I’m quite well versed in psychology,” Wesker said.

“Is that the only reason why you’re always here? Is that why you always happen to be here when I have an anxiety attack? Just because you know how to deal with it?” Chris asked.

“It would matter quite little if I knew how to handle anxiety or not—what matters is whether I care enough to apply it towards you and actually assist you,” Wesker stated, “However, more often than not, I am simply at the right place during the right time.”

“So you care about me?” Chris asked.

“Of course. Why else would I have asked you on a date despite knowing I could easily have you in the back of this car?” Wesker asked, looking towards Chris who shrugged.

“No idea. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t know,” Chris said.

“Fair enough,” Wesker answered.

Chris didn’t respond and Wesker drove for another five minutes before pulling into the restaurant parking lot. The brunet slipped out of the car at the same time as Wesker and the two looked up at the large restaurant. A set of steps led up to the wooden double doors that Chris and Wesker climbed and approached before entering.

Wesker held the door open for Chris and the two entered the restaurant. They were approached by a hostess who took Wesker’s name and, despite there being several groups of people waiting around for open tables, conveniently guided the two men to their own table.

“I know the owner personally,” the blond explained once the two sat down.

“Of course you do,” Chris chuckled as he began to flip through the menu book.

“I slept with him,” Wesker stated.

“Of course you did,” Chris muttered.

“Jealous?” Wesker asked with a smirk.

“Annoyed,” Chris stated.

“Stop being so childish,” Wesker insisted.

“If you’re going to insult me, I’m leaving before we’re even brought drinks,” Chris warned.

“I apologize,” Wesker said quickly.

“Good,” Chris muttered.

A pretty waitress stepped up to their table and looked to the blond with a large smile. Her own blond hair was up in a ponytail with bangs hanging just above her sparkling blue eyes. She wore one of the worker costumes—a t-shirt and black pants.

“Albert, so nice to see you. I’m sure David will be happy to see you and your—“ her eyes moved to Chris, “—friend.”

“Date, actually, Katherine,” Wesker corrected.

“Oh dear. I’m sure David already knows you’re here. Why would you bring your date here?” she asked quietly.

“I enjoy the foo. Besides, I’m quite hopeful that you will keep him away from the table,” Wesker stated.

“He’s my boss, Albert. My. Boss. What am I supposed to do?” she hissed at him.

Wesker handed her single bill—but Chris didn’t see how much it was.

“I’ll try my best but I’m not gonna promise anything,” she sighed and turned to Chris, “I’m sorry if I seem like I’m ignoring you. Albert is always trouble for me and yet he always insists on sitting in my section.”

“Yeah, well, Albert is trouble for everyone,” Chris muttered.

Katherine laughed.

“He definitely is. What can I get you to drink, Doll?” she asked with a smile.

“Water,” Wesker answered.

“I wasn’t asking you, Albert,” she hissed towards him.

Chris laughed at the mild surprise on the blonde’s face.

“Iced Tea,” Chris said, “please.”

“Alright. I’ll return shortly,” Katherine smiled at Chris but the smile dropped when she looked towards Albert, “Remember, Albert. No promises.”

“I simply ask that you try,” the blond said.

She scoffed and walked off.

“Why the hell would you bring me to the restaurant owned by a guy who you used to sleep with?” Chris asked.

“David has a wife. She occasionally accompanies him here and tonight is one of those nights. She knows all about his affairs but he would avoid any confrontation as long as she is around,” Wesker explained.

“So why tip her?” Chris asked.

“Insurance,” Wesker answered.

“This date is definitely a nightmare,” Chris stated.

“This day has been pretty similar. Why not continue through the night?” Wesker asked.

The look Chris shot him had Wesker smirking.

#FatalYaoiFanfiction #resident evil slash #Resident Evil #Albert Wesker #Chris Redfield #ChrisxWesker #yaoi

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kingedmundsroyalmurder · 7 years

Text

So I saw the power rangers movie. And I wrote fic about the power rangers movie. Because of course I did. ~

Life settles slowly, after they send Rita flying. The mayor declares a state of emergency, in the immediate aftermath, and there's enough footage that the governor agrees to send relief in the form of money and national guardsmen. Angel Grove is not rich, and the money is as welcome as the out of towners are suspect. Trini patches up her bedroom, now barely even a blip on her parents' radar and easy enough to explain away as collateral damage, while Jason dives head first into the main relief effort, repairing Angel Grove with as much passion as he had defended it. Kim shadows him, tongue sharp as ever and eyes darting everywhere, always on high alert for any incoming threats, whether they be power-crazed aliens or angry high school girls.

It takes a full week for school to open back up, and almost a month after that for things to return to any kind of normal. Trini sits next to Kim in biology and passes notes to Jason in math. She talks with Billy about his dad and goes hiking with him and Zack to find more treasures. Once a week, the five of them meet at the mine, make a fire and look down at the city. Sometimes they spend the night, sometimes they disperse as the sun starts to sink, sometimes they go see Zordon and Alpha in the ship and get to know them as equals, rangers in their own right rather than hapless trainees. Every so often Zordon reasserts his authority, orders them into the pit for training, watches their progress with satisfaction rather than despair. Even without her armor Trini can flip a man twice her size and three times her weight, can dodge a punch and throw one, can run a mile without running out of breath or energy. She gives her brothers piggyback rides around the house and yard, smiling as they call her their megazord and swear destruction upon the enemies of Angel Grove. (She tells Billy once that they both want to be the blue ranger, and he can barely form a coherent sentence in his surprised delight. Jason laughs and tells him that now everyone knows how cool he's been all along, which just makes it worse.)

Zack still isn't going to school, and he doesn't participate much in the rebuilding of Angel Grove, so she takes to going up to find him, Saturdays when the others are all in detention for crimes that barely anyone even remembers after all the excitement. He seems surprised to see her, the first few times, as though he half expected them to just fade back out of his life now that the danger has passed. Trini can empathize.

“What are you going to do now?” she asks, one day when they're sitting idly on a cliff's edge. Once, the drop would have terrified her, would have sent her scurrying several feet back just to be safe, but she knows from experience that she can survive the fall, so she sits with her legs swinging into the void, occasionally kicking a pebble loose to tumble down into the ravine.

He shrugs. “Don't know,” he says. “Haven't thought about it. Live in the moment, you know?”

“My parents are starting to bug me about college,” she says, tracking a distant raptor's flight with her eyes. Her vision is better now, sharper and more defined, designed to spot out enemy weaknesses before they can find hers. Zordon keeps talking about how ranger powers optimize them for combat, make them the ultimate protectors, but Trini prefers to use her newfound abilities for other purposes. She's had to start cheating at hide-and-seek because she can hear her brothers breathing from a room away, and she hasn't lost a pen in weeks.

“What, already? Don't you have at least a year left?”

“Can't start too early,” she says. “Or so they tell me. I think they've just picked something new, since they can't worry about my friends anymore.” She'd introduced Jason to her parents, a few weeks after the fight, when his growing reputation as hard-working member of the reconstruction team was starting to eclipse his reputation as troublemaker and destroyer of Angel Grove's football hopes. He'd been charming and polite, attractive and intelligent and male, everything her parents could ask for. They'd looked at him with relief so palpable Trini almost thought she could bottle it and keep it as a souvenir, and told him over and over and over that he was welcome whenever he wanted to drop by and that they were so glad she was finally making friends. She hadn't been able to look him in the eye for days afterwards, too embarrassed about the badly hidden sympathy in his expression whenever he thought about it.

Zack shakes his head, kicking a foot against the cliff side and sending a shower of pebbles of his own cascading downwards. “Tell me about it. My mom's been on my case about going to school again.”

“Why don't you?” Trini wants to know.

“Oh, you know,” he says. “Better things to do with my life than sit in a classroom listening to someone who's never had to experience life tell me stuff I'll never need to know.”

She can't really argue with that. She would have, only a few months earlier, but she knows more about Zack now, knows that he's probably had to survive on his own longer than the rest of them combined, and she can't bring herself to be sanctimonious about his choices. So she shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“What, not going to argue with me about how I'm throwing away my future?” he asks, turning to look at her. From the way he says it, the implied airquotes around 'throwing away my future' and the way his usually subtle accent fades completely into a flat, standard California drawl, she guesses that he's already had this fight, probably with Jason. Sometimes, she wonders if Jason knows just how much he sounds like his dad, and what he would do if someone pointed it out to him.

“It's your future,” she says. “I'm not going to tell you what to do with it.”

He looks at her for a minute, then shakes his head again, laughing. “You're something else, crazy girl. You know that?”

Homecoming comes and goes. Jason goes to the football game, sitting in the stands with his dad and Billy and Billy's mom. Kimberly doesn't, and Trini invites her over to play power rangers with her brothers and watch kaiju movies. Trini's mom looks at her with thinly veiled suspicion, but Kim turns on the charm and mentions her ex-boyfriend a lot and smooths things over. “Sorry about that,” Trini mutters when they finally get into her bedroom.

Kim only shrugs. “I've had practice,” she says. “Amanda Clark and I used to sneak around behind her mom's back all the time.”

Trini stares at her. “Wait, you mean...?”

“Sure. Didn't go anywhere, obviously, but it was fun while it lasted.”

“But you're not...” Trini trails off, still staring at Kim with wide eyes. She can't tell if she's relieved or disappointed when Kim shakes her head.

“Probably not, but you never know. Stuff happens, things change. All I can tell you for sure that I wasn't in love with Amanda Clark.” She shrugs philosophically. Trini keeps staring, tongue-tied, until Kim takes pity on her, pulls up Netflix, and insists that Trini be an active participant in choosing the first movie.

Kim stays late, keeping Trini's brothers up past their bedtime and offering sarcastic commentary on the poor choices of movie heroes in the face of terrifying monsters. It's somehow reassuring, watching experiences so close to their own rendered as technicolor extravaganzas. It makes it seem less real, less like something that actually happened, more like an impossible dream. Trini's got holes in her walls and a compulsive need to lock her bedroom window to prove otherwise, but sitting with her brothers and her best friend, watching what is clearly a guy in a rubber suit tearing up a model city, she can distance herself from it all, at least for a little while.

Trini's mom had offered to let her spend the night, managing somehow to cram the dual emotions of 'I'm glad my daughter has finally made a friend' and 'you can sleep in the guest room but not my daughter's bedroom' into a single sentence, but Kim gets a text from Jason around midnight and slips out the back door instead. Trini tells herself that she's not upset, and she's not, not really. Kim and Jason are probably going to go hang out in Jason's backyard and drink his dad's beer and talk about how they used to be popular and how bad the new quarterback is. It's not a conversation she has any place in, and she's more than happy to leave them to it. But it leaves her restless and awake, pacing back and forth in her bedroom with nowhere to go and no one to talk to. It's weird, how only a few weeks have been long enough to not only get used to having friends but to miss them when they're not around.

She cycles through her options. Kim and Jason are out, though she's sure that if she dropped by she'd be welcome. Billy's probably either sleeping or hanging out with the other two, and either way unavailable. (She's seen Billy Cranston drunk; they all have. She's not sure she needs to see it again – his overwhelming fondness for blowing stuff up combines badly with the lowered inhibitions of someone on their fourth drink. Jason and Zack thought it was awesome, but Trini's nerves aren't quite up to the task.)

That leaves Zack, but she hates disturbing him at night. She's never sure when he's home and when he's not, and the last thing she wants to do is rob his mom of more nights with her son. She doesn't know what, exactly, is wrong with Zack's mom – the most he ever says is that she's sick – but she can read between the lines of her friend's words and expressions and she thinks time is running out.

Before she can make up her mind to just go to sleep alone, like a grownup, or at least someone who can look after herself, her phone buzzes. Her first thought is that it's Kim, remorseful about leaving early and inviting her over. She has an answer half composed in her head before she even opens the message, an answer which dies unwritten.

You awake? It's from Zack.

Yeah.

Want to come out for a while? It's gorgeous out here right now.

It takes Trini about thirty seconds to make up her mind. As quietly as she can, she grabs her coat and puts her shoes on, stops by the kitchen to leave her parents a note telling them she's gone to Jason's, and sneaks out the back. The once imposing wood fence surrounding her backyard is now easily vaulted, and within minutes she's headed towards Zack's favorite spot, close enough to the train tracks to see all of Angel Grove but far enough into the mountains to feel like you're alone in the universe if you just look the other way.

He's waiting for her, back against a tree, fire smoldering a few feet away. His head is tilted up towards the sky, picking out stars from between the overhanging tree branches.

“Almost thought you weren't coming,” he says, without looking over at her. “How was the game?”

Trini shrugs, nudging him with a foot to get him to move far enough to give her a spot against the tree next to him. “Ask Jason. I spent the evening watching Kim convince my brothers that pink is the best color in the world. I think my mom almost had a fit at one point.”

Zack laughs. “Sounds like fun.” He lapses back into silence.

“What about you?” Trini asks. “I take it you weren't listening to the highlights on the radio.”

He shrugs, and she nudges him again. He pushes back, and she tightens her muscles, keeping her ground, foot just inside his personal space, a challenge he can't ignore. Sure enough, he twists until he's looking right at her, and very deliberately reaches over and pokes her. She bats his hand away at the last second and it's on, a battle of fingers and knees that almost inevitably turns into a proper tickle fight, each of them fighting with mock earnestness to find the other's openings and weak spots. By the time Zack's got her in a loose headlock and Trini's twisted her arms behind his back to get at the sensitive patch of skin on his side, they're laughing and breathless.

“Truce?” Trini gasps, wriggling a little to try and get free.

“Truce,” Zack agrees. He waits a beat, just long enough for her to narrow her eyes in preparation for a renewed assault, then lets go and settles back against the tree, still shaking with retreating laughter.

Trini follows suit. The stars twinkle above them, cold and unwelcoming and apparently inhabited. She thinks back to the monster movie from earlier, to the way she'd managed to pretend that the fight with Rita was just another story, and shivers a little. Her neck twinges where Rita threw her into a wall, though the injury healed weeks ago.

“Cold?” Zack asked, moving to shrug out of his jacket.

“No,” she says. He was right; it's gorgeous out, a perfect late summer night. Her jacket is more than enough. “It's just... do you think about it? Being a power ranger, saving the world, all of it?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't I? I mean, we're superheroes! Didn't you want to be a superhero as a kid?”

“Not really,” Trini admits. “My mom tried to get me to pretend to be a princess, but I mostly just wanted to be a dragon.”

This makes him laugh. “Wanted to rain fire down on your enemies, crazy girl?”

“Wanted to be left alone,” she corrects. “Dragons only get bothered when they kidnap princesses, so I figured I wouldn't bother and it would be perfect.”

“Sounds lonely,” Zack said.

She raises her eyebrows at him. “You're one to talk. When was the last time you came down from this mountain again?”

It comes out more sharply than she'd intended, and she winces a little. She winces again when he says, defensive and trying not to be, “Yesterday, actually.”

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“Yeah you did,” Zack says. “It's okay. Everyone does. I get it, okay? It's like Jason said. We're all fuck ups. You wanted to be an antisocial dragon and I can't even sleep in my own house half the time. It happens.”

Despite herself, Trini snorts a little. “Jason wishes he could be as fucked up as us,” she says.

“Only because he isn't actually,” Zack says, but he relaxes a little. “Living it's not as sexy as hearing about it, trust me on that.” He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable, and looks back up towards the stars. “And yeah, I think about it. I think about it a lot.”

It takes a second for Trini to switch gears back to the earlier subject. “I don't,” she admits. “Or at least I try not to. It's easier that way. I mean, we almost died. Everyone almost died. It's... it's a lot.”

“You don't think it's easier to remember the reason we didn't die?” he wants to know. “I'd rather remember how we kicked her ass than how helpless it felt to watch her threaten you guys and not be able to do anything about it.” He shifts again, and she thinks she can see the skin on his fingers ripple, like he's trying not to bring up his armor.

“I'd rather it didn't happen at all,” she says, and it feels like a weight off her chest, admitting it out loud. She can't talk about it with the others, not really. Jason sees leading the team as his road to redemption, his way of proving to himself that he's not the screw up he so vehemently proclaimed himself to be. Kim's the same, using the whole thing to get over whatever it was that landed her in trouble, that thing she still won't talk about, the one she says is ancient history and not relevant to who she is now. Billy, well, Billy's living his dream, from the friends to the super powers to the ancient, genius aliens living in the mountain. They wouldn't get it, and she hasn't even tried to bring it up with them. Zack doesn't get it either, but it feels easier to tell him, sitting outside in the middle of the night, like they did that first time when she and Zack bared their souls to the world and dared the world to reject them.

“I don't,” he says. “Oh, I mean, it would be nice if we hadn't almost failed spectacularly, but on the whole it turned out okay. And I found you guys. That makes up for everything right there, and then some.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I guess.”

“You still holding out for a dragon cave of solitude?” he wants to know. “Because I hate to break it to you, but I think we'll all be lining up to be princesses, if so. And I don't think Jason knows how to walk in heels.”

“What, and you do?”

His only answer is a grin and a wink, and she finds herself smiling back, just a little.

“But seriously, you've got to hang on to the good parts, you know? You can't change the past, and you can't just dwell on the bad stuff or it'll eat you alive, so you find the good and you hang on to it no matter what. We made friends, we fought evil, we got superpowers. That's what matters. That's what you hang on to.”

She considers this. Finally, she nods. “Yeah.” Above them the stars twinkle, relics of bygone eras and ancient times. Somewhere out there are the other pieces of the zeo crystal, is Zordon and Rita's home planet, is Rita herself, floating eternally through freezing blackness. Trini hears Zack breathing next to her and it doesn't seem quite so overwhelming.

As winter approaches the campouts at the old mine become less frequent. They hang out at Billy's house instead, or sometimes at Kim's, lounging in chairs and on sofas instead of on dirt and rock. Billy's mom bakes them muffins when she's home and they order pizza, watch movies and play video games. Jason's still technically under house arrest, but his dad and the cops are willing to let it slide more often now, trusting that he's displaying maturity and won't get into trouble again. It's nice, being around friends, having somewhere to go, but it's a lot to get used to all at once. At the beginning there was Rita and saving the world to occupy them, and they had to get to know each other, for the sake of being able to morph if nothing else. Now there's no threat, nothing urgent requiring them to keep bonding. Now they have to do it themselves, figure out how to spend time together and interact without the threat of imminent death hanging over them. Trini hasn't had friends in so long that sometimes, looking around at four people she once said she'd die for – and meant every word – she thinks she's forgotten how.

She and Zack still go out on weekends, or sometimes after school, when she feels so constricted by the expectations placed on her that she can barely breathe or when he can't stand to be in his house. She tells her parents that Kim's teaching her yoga and not to wait up for her, puts on warm clothes and goes to scale a sheer cliff side or dive a hundred feet into an ice-cold spring. They climb trees and play tag, leaping from branch to branch like squirrels, until they're both too tired to be anxious about anything at all.

(She asked if he wanted to meet her parents, once, since all the others had. He'd laughed long and hard and shaken his head and said, 'Crazy girl, if you want them to think you're normal I'm the last person you'd want to introduce.' She'd dropped the subject and told them that he was busy whenever they asked.)

“Why do you call me that, anyway?” she asks, sitting with her back to a rock as the wind blows smoke from their bonfire away towards Angel Grove. “It's not like you don't know my name.”

He pokes at the fire with a stick, taking his time rearranging the logs and kindling before he answers. “Do you want me to stop?”

“I don't really care,” she says, a little uncomfortably. “I was just wondering. You don't have nicknames for the others.”

“Not to their face, at least,” he says with a crooked smile. She laughs but doesn't say anything, waiting to see if he's actually going to answer. She's learned that you can wait him out, if you're patient. Zack deflects like a champion, redirects the conversation until you've forgotten what you originally want to know. He does less well with silence, so she gives it to him, looking at the fire rather than directly at him.

He knows she's figured him out, because he makes a face and settles back on his palms, eyes tracking the sparks as they rise towards the sky. “Aside from the part where you literally scaled a mountain and jumped over a ravine to avoid having to have a conversation with us, I don't know. Just a feeling, you know? Takes one to know one, and all that.”

She considers this. Then, “My parents put me in therapy, when I was twelve. Well, my dad did. My mom said there was nothing wrong with me and that I just needed to try harder, but he convinced her to try it.”

“I take it you didn't like it?”

“I didn't mind, really. It was kind of nice, having someone to talk to. But then I found out that she was telling my parents everything I said, which ruined everything.”

“How'd you find that out?”

“My mom started asking me questions about stuff I'd never told her. So I told my therapist that I wanted to run away and change my name to Matilda and join a freak show. You know, the kind of thing that would freak my parents out completely. My mom and I had a huge fight about it, and that's how I knew.”

“Smart,” he says, sounding appreciative. “On your end, I mean. Dick move on hers.”

Trini shrugs. “I'm used to it,” she says. “That's just my mom. And she wonders why I don't talk at home.” Silence falls for a bit, broken only by the soft woosh of the wind and the crackling fire. Then, “what about you?”

“Nah. Never bothered with that stuff,” he says. “Besides, even if I wanted to, it's not like we could afford it, you know? Between paying the rent and paying for my mom's medicine there's not a lot left over.”

“I'm sorry,” she says, which isn't the right thing to say, not really, but also the only thing she can think of. He waves her words away.

“Don't. Nothing to be done about it. We get by.”

“Yeah,” she says, and they lapse back into silence. Out of the corner of her eye she can see him frowning. He reaches out and pokes at the fire a little too hard, sending a shower of sparks in all directions. “Hey,” she says, drawing his attention. “Want to go test how good our night vision is? Race you to that tree over there.” She gestures towards a lone tree halfway up a mountain a good three miles away, barely distinguishable even to her augmented senses.

In answer he dumps a bucket of water over the fire, sending a huge wave of smoke billowing upward, and takes off towards the tree. Trini takes a moment to make sure all the sparks are properly extinguished then bolts after him, determined not to let his head start give him an advantage the entire way.

The first time Kim kisses Jason, Zordon yells at them for almost an hour about jeopardizing the team and putting everyone in danger and about how they can't afford to risk the cohesion of their team in the name of hormones and human sentiment. Jason yells right back, about hypocrisy and being allowed to have lives and Zordon minding his own business. Kim stands next to him, holding his hand defiantly, as though daring Zordon to do more than yell. Billy and Zack and Trini exchange glances and, when it doesn't seem to be dialing down any time soon, slip out of the ship and back outside. There they wait, the watery ceiling swirling above them, letting Kim and Jason and Zordon sort out their issues alone.

“Do you think he's right?” Billy wants to know. “Zordon, I mean. About Jason and Kim. Because it would be really terrible if the team fell apart, but on the other hand they're happy and that's got to be a good thing, right? But Zordon's got more experience, so he's probably right. Do you think he's right? Maybe we should go back and tell them that's he's right. Only maybe that would just make them mad and then the team would fall apart anyway. But...”

Zack holds out a hand, laughing a little. “Calm down there,” he says. “Breathe.”

Billy stutters to a stop and takes a deep breath.

“It'll be fine,” Zack says. “I mean, they're being dumb and Zordon's being dumb, but that's nothing new. They'll figure it out.”

“You think so?” Billy asks, still looking worried.

“Yeah,” Zack says. “Don't worry about it.”

“I'm not good at not worrying,” Billy says. “Too many variables, too much that could go wrong. What do you think Trini?”

Trini starts, having zoned out a bit. “What?”

“What Zack said. Do you think he's right?”

“Probably,” Trini says absently, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Billy shoots her an odd look but, thankfully, drops the subject. Zack also glances over at her, expression unreadable, but he too lets her be.

Eventually Kim and Jason come back out, still angry but apparently having come to some kind of understanding. They don't seem surprised to see the other three still there.

“Get it all sorted?” Zack asks.

“More or less,” Jason says. Kim rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything; Trini gets the feeling that she didn't get to yell at Zordon as much as she'd wanted to.

“We're still a team?” Billy asks anxiously. “No matter what happens?”

“Yeah Billy,” Jason assures him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. Billy accepts this for a few moments then steps away, rolling his shoulders almost unconsciously to resettle his clothes properly.

“Good,” he says. “Then I gotta get home. My mom's making lasagna tonight, and that was my dad's favorite, so I don't want to miss it. She makes it just like she used to, you know, just like her mom taught her when she was a kid. She says she'll teach me, but I don't know. I don't really like cooking, you know? The instructions aren't very specific, even when they're trying to be, and it's hard to know when it's not going to work until it's too late, and then you can't fix it. Plus it's so messy.” Still talking he launches himself up through the ceiling. The other four glance at each other, Jason and Kim laughing a little, and follow suit.

Trini slips away from the others as they head back towards Angel Grove, her thoughts still too conflicted to deal with going home. She wanders up the winding paths, barely paying attention to where she's going, confident that she won't run into anything she can't handle. It's hard to be afraid of a twisted ankle or angry raccoon when you've faced down a crazy alien and her alien monster army.

Zack finds her a little while later. For a time they don't talk, just wander together, almost in synch with each other as they go. Finally, he says, “Want to talk about it?”

She shrugs. “Not much to talk about. It's just... I don't know. It's so easy for them, you know?” She kicks a rock out of her way, sending it careening away into a nearby tree.

He glances sidelong at her, and she thinks he hasn't understood. She's about to wave the whole subject away when he says, “Kind of makes you hate them for it, doesn't it?”

“Not really,” she says. “Just... I don't know. It's complicated.”

“Tell me about it,” he says. “I mean, the worst thing that'll happen to them is being yelled at by an alien trapped in a wall of an ancient buried spaceship and his robot lackey.”

She laughs. “I mean, when you put it that way,” she says. Then a few things click in her brain and she stops dead in her tracks. “Wait. Are you...? I mean, do you...?” She can't say it, can't make herself finish the thought, not even here, in the middle of nature with only someone she trusts intimately and entirely listening.

He stops too, a few steps ahead of her. “Yeah,” he says, and she envies the way he can just... say it, like it's no big deal. “I am.”

“And your mom...”

“Used to care. Now she just wants me to be happy. You know, after.”

She nods, and takes a long, shuddering breath. She realizes almost absently that she's trembling a little. She feels naked, even more than at that first bonfire when she said for the first time ever how much she didn't fit in with her family, more than when Rita stood over her and listed out all her flaws and her failures. Zack guides her over to a nearby tree and they sit down, almost but not quite touching, and he lets her tremble, lets her work through the sudden rush of feelings in silence, lets the fact that he knows and is still here speak everything he needs to say. Finally, when she thinks she can breathe again, she nods, and he walks back home with her, making small talk about a new stunt he's been practicing lately and letting her lecture him shakily about not being completely stupid with his superpowers.

(Kim and Jason break up not even a month later, and the lingering awkwardness fades fast. He still asks her to the winter formal, after Billy turns both of them down saying that he absolutely does not do parties. Trini asks Zack, who surprises all of them by actually showing up, dressed to kill and spending the entire night laughing at everyone who doesn't recognize him. The night ends back at Billy's, everyone in their half shed formal attire, watching monster movies and eating popcorn, and Trini looks around and thinks that this is what family is supposed to feel like.)

Zack comes back to school, spring semester. Trini doesn't know the full story behind it, but she knows Jason and Billy spent most of Christmas break working on him, comparing schedules and talking about how much they missed him. He doesn't go every day, far from it, but he goes and he sits with them at lunch and tips his chair back so far he almost falls off, in open defiance of school rules. She's sure he infuriates all his teachers, but they're the ones who let him slip through the cracks in the first place, so she doesn't have much sympathy.

He's the talk of the school, the mysterious, reckless, attractive guy who might or might not be new. Kim smirks at her old clique each time they see her talking to him and shoot her jealous looks, and Billy explains to everyone who'll listen that Zack isn't new, he's just been going through some stuff and hasn't been able to make it to class for a while. Jason lets it be known that Zack is not to be messed with, spreading the message through the student body quietly but firmly. He's not the pariah he once was, is almost back to his old golden boy status, and people listen when Jason Scott talks.

(“Honestly it's to protect them from you more than you from them,” he says, when Zack informs him snappily that he can look after himself. “Plus Zordon would kill me if he thought I was letting you be reckless with your ranger powers in school, and getting into a fight with bullies totally counts.” Zack rolls his eyes, says some very unkind things about disembodied aliens who should mind their own business, but drops the subject.)

Trini, for her part, goes through her days like nothing's changed. She and Zack don't share any classes, and neither of them are the type to hang around after school's out, so the most they see of each other is during lunch and the occasional passing period. It would have been nice to be able to pass notes in class, like she can with the others, but she's just glad he's there at all. Her mom's almost stopped nagging her about her social life, not that that gives Trini any particular peace at home. Still, it's something she can use to stand up for herself, one small piece of ammunition to throw back at her parents when they push too hard.

It's February when he catches her after school, darting through the crowd like the competent martial artist he is, and asks her to come home with him. “It's my mom,” he says. “She's been asking to meet my friends.”

“Why me?” Trini asks, as they drift away from the throng of students leaving the building. Her phone buzzes in her pocket; Kim, probably, asking if she wants to hang out for a while. She lets it be.

“She can really only see one person at a time,” he says. “And, well, she doesn't really speak English. She was learning!” He sounds proud and defensive, the way he always does when he talks about her. He loves her so much it aches, that much has been obvious from the beginning, and sometimes Trini thinks she can see the contradictions of that love tearing him apart. It's not that bad right now, but she can still hear the feelings behind his words, and nods encouragingly. “She understands a lot, and she was taking night classes after work and getting me to help her with her pronunciation. I thought it was stupid, but I was just a kid, you know?” She nods again. “But then she got sick, and, well, you know the story.” Trini does, or at least the rough outlines.

Still, he didn't answer her question. “Why me?” she asks again.

“You're quiet,” he says. “I love Kim and Jason, you know I do, but I wouldn't put either of them in a sick room in a million years, and can you imagine Billy with someone he can't talk to? I wouldn't do that to him, that would be cruel.” He shifts his weight, resettling the backpack he refuses to wear with both straps. “You don't have to, if you're busy. I know you and Kim probably have plans.”

Trini considers. She thinks about the last time she was with someone she didn't know who didn't speak her language, thinks about the time her mom flew her abuela up to visit them and they spent an entire week awkwardly looking at each other, unable to really talk or connect. It was another way she'd failed at being a good daughter, sitting there in silence while her baby brothers gurgled cutely and held their arms up for abuela to bounce them on her knee. She's about to take the excuse he gave her, to apologetically back out and run away, like she always used to do. But it's Zack, and he's looking at her with that careful, blank expression she almost never sees anymore, and she can't. So she says, “I'd love to meet your mom,” and it's worth it to see that blank expression break into a genuine smile.

It takes almost an hour to hike back to Zack's house. They don't talk about his mom, or why they're going to see her, but instead trade gossip about school and the drama surrounding the Valentine's Day dance. Zack's been asked by at least a dozen girls and half as many boys, and Trini's gotten a couple offers herself, though she's pretty sure they're just guys who want to cozy up to Jason. By the time they reach the trailor park they're imagining trying to explain the concept of Valentine's Day to Zordon and laughing. The laughter fades as Zack slows to a stop in front of a nondescript trailer and pulls a key out from his bag. “This one,” he says, and pushes open the door.

Trini hangs back, trailing after him as he steps inside. It's weird to think of this as the place Zack lives; for as long as she's known him he's been outside, leaning against tree trunks or sprawled out on cliffs, one tiny part of a much bigger world. Here, in the cramped kitchen, he seems out of place, for all that it's his home. He motions for her to wait and crosses to a closed door. His mom's bedroom, she assumes. She notices that he's taken his shoes off, and she bends to take off her own, lining them up next to his by the door. As she waits she studies the kitchen, noting the dishes piled up in the sink and the dust on top of the cabinets. There's no food left out, though, and the sun comes in through the window in the door. It's not a bad place, just not one that fits with her mental image of Zack at all. Then again, from how often he spends the night outside, maybe she's not the only one who feels that way.

He pokes his head out from the room and gestures for her to come in. Slowly, she crosses the kitchen and steps into the bedroom, finding herself face to face with a small, bedbound Chinese woman. She looks old and frail, but her smile is warm and she holds her hands out to Trini.

“It is good to meet you,” she says, in heavily accented, obviously carefully memorized English. Trini closes the distance between them and gently takes her hands, more mindful than ever of her ranger strength. Zack's mom doesn't look much like him, but that might be the ravages of illness. Hesitantly, Trini smiles back. Zack's mom squeezes her hands and doesn't let go, though she looks over to her son and says something in Chinese. Zack shakes his head. She speaks again, sounding more insistent this time, a torrent of words that go over Trini's head but make Zack grimace. When she's done he nods.

“Okay mom,” he says, and offers Trini a crooked smile. “She's reading me the riot act because I didn't offer you anything to eat. I'll be right back.”

“It's fine,” Trini says hurriedly. “I ate at lunch, I'm fine.”

“It's a cultural thing,” he says. “You want guests to feel at home, and that means not letting them go hungry.” Before she can object further he's gone, presumably to the kitchen to find something to feed her.

Zack's mom too is looking at the door. After a moment she looks back at Trini, smiling again. “He is good boy,” she says, and Trini nods.

“Yeah,” she agrees.

“He talks much about you,” his mom insists. “Is...” she frowns, looking for the words. Trini waits, keeping half an eye on her and half an eye on the door. Finally, Zack's mom shakes her head, frustrated. “English no good,” she says.

“It's fine,” Trini assures her. “He talks about you too.”

Zack's mom sighs. “He is good boy,” she repeats.

Zack comes back then, expertly balancing a tray with one hand and holding a mug in the other. The mug he offers to Trini. “Tea,” he says. “Split the difference between you not being hungry and her not being a good host.”

Trini gently untangles her hands from Zack's mom and takes the mug with a murmured thanks. Zack sets the tray down on the bed and helps his mom sit up a bit, touch gentle. Trini looks away; it feels like a violation of her friend's privacy, watching something so intimate. His mom says something in Chinese, and he nods. Trini focuses on her tea, which is still steaming a little, letting their conversation happen without her trying to listen in. It's the thought that counts, since she couldn't understand it anyway, but she still makes the gesture.

Slowly, Zack starts helping his mom eat, and brings Trini into their conversation, a somewhat stilted affair since everything has to go through him. Still, Trini finds that it's not as bad as she worried it would be, and she thinks she likes Zack's mom, with her gentle handshake and surprising sense of humor. When she's done eating she asks, through Zack, if Trini plays chess. When Trini admits that she doesn't, she turns to Zack and out comes another stream of Chinese, in a tone that, even across the language barrier comes across as a firm command. Zack sighs, makes a show of being reluctant, and reaches behind him to get out a slightly battered box.

“She wants me to teach you,” he says. “Says it would do me good to win sometimes.”

Trini laughs. “Because your ego needs so much help,” she says. “Show me how this works.”

Zack looks from her to his mom and back, shaking his head even as he sets up the board and the pieces. “I just realized that I have made a terrible mistake,” he announces to no one in particular.

“Aw, you know you love us,” Trini says, and his mom nods, saying something to Zack that makes him look away, embarrassed. Trini and his mom exchange looks, both smiling, and Trini feels the last of her anxiety slip away. Zack talks about his mom with the kind of raw emotion she used to think existed only in movies, and now she sees why. She can't fix the past, or the future, not for either Zack or his mom, or even for herself, but she can sit here and let him teach her how to play chess while his mom corrects him and shares smiles with her, and it can, finally, be enough.

#achievement unlocked: completed piece of fiction #trini kwan #zack taylor #power rangers 2017 #is that the accepted tag for this?#i don't even know #but have a story about being friends #and learning how to be friends #despite not having hardly any practice at it

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fuck-customers · 7 years

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Please Don't

I’m back with another tale from the Way of Subs where I live.

Other posts I have submitted are here: Soup Day Ask, “Heathen” Story, Guy Comparing Dick to a Sandwich, and How a 17 Year Old asked Coworker to give her number to Coworker’s Husband Story.

Which by the way, read some comments on the 17 year old story. No, she didn’t know he was married cause you know assuming the ring meant nothing. Yes, it is very obvious he was much older - he is often mistaken to be in his 30s and almost had the cops called on him by a gas station employee because his wife (my coworker, also 2 years younger and a foot shorter than him) looks like she is 15. Also the teenager was the one infatuated with him.

Today I bring you another wonderful tale of “Your rules do not work in this country!”.

Now I was dressing and the Coworker that has been the tale of the stories was cashing out again today. Well, at this time. Sometimes we hop around where we are needed or play leap frog with the front line while our 3rd is busy.

Anyways, we were slow and she finished up the dishes in the back so she came up front to cash out these three out of towners. They were super obviously out of town. Like, what are you all doing in bumfuck nowhere in the south? There is no major highways and we are by no means in an area where through traffic would go through.

Besides the point! At least two were clearly from out of the country and one was a translator. So our coworker made some small talk, asked where they are from how they managed to find our little town, etc. This apparently didn’t please the male visitor. He didn’t like how some lowly worker was having a pleasant conversation with their translator and wife (Who was asking about my coworker’s necklace and such). So the male was yelling at everyone and started to make a scene - tossing the money on the counter like someone throwing feed to chickens.

If you read some of the stories before, this coworker is straight up give no fucks. Telling him that she respects their culture and way of life, as they were from India, however that is no way to treat someone who still just like them with less money. Even though she is pretty well off and is actually working instead of being a stay at home wife/mom. So she would take the money, put the change on the counter (as all of us often do when some customers do it) and pushed their subs forward. Followed by a happy “have a nice day” to them.

Sadly, the translator ended up picking up the change and sandwiches and told us that we were not the first ones to do this. That the male had been pretty rude just about everywhere while the wife was content and happy with all the services and conversations with new people.

I’m happy we helped to make her trip worthwhile. Can not say much for her husband though.

Still… the not sure why they were here or what they expected to come through this area… oh well..

TL;DR version: Just because it works in your country doesn’t mean it works in ours.

Also don’t through your money on the table like a brat.

#submissions #fuck customers #cashier problems #happy ending #embarrassing #submission

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songwithoutareason · 7 years

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but also like, is gabby's ex also someone jesse grew up with or knows? OR IS HE FROM OUT OF TOWN. fuck those out of towners man jesse will run them right back out

i think if he was an out-of-towner, gabby might have used the relationship to get herself out tbh, because as much as she wants to make things a better and safer place for everyone... well, if she was presented with the easy way out, she might just have taken. no, he would have been someone else she and jesse went to school with, maybe two or three years older than her, and idr exactly if jesse was her age or a little older, but i’m sure he’d have known him anyway.

he was the kind of guy who went into policing for the power rather than from wanting to do good. he might have run in the same circles as jesse, tbh, because he definitely has a solid dislike of eastsiders and liked to cause them problems whenever he could. when everything with jesse’s dad happened, he probably gave him a hard time for a little while but then was like, hey, you wanna go beat the shit out of eastsiders to cheer yourself up? they obviously deserve it, tearing apart your family like that...

i don’t know what gabby saw in him tbh. i think a lot of it just came from getting to know each other in the academy and on the job and coming to rely on each other in the way partners do in a job that can sometimes be so emotionally intense and dangerous. she overlooked a lot in him, for a while, probably thought she could change him and steer him onto the right path, and then she was just in too deep without even realizing how bad things had gotten between them until it boiled over.

#gabriella zhào #jesse holloway #gabby's douchey ex #rpg: tracks #stevefknrogers

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ulyssessklein · 5 years

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Fingerstylist Jordan Brodie Talks about In Good Company, His Love of the Guitar and Influences

By: Rick Landers

Images: Courtesy of J.Brodie

Jordan Brodie

Of late, Guitar International has been enjoying guitarists known for “fingerstyle” playing who work inside and outside the CAGE to find all kinds of choice sounds that can be melodic, dissonant, romantic and oftentimes otherworldly.

We happened upon Australian, Jordan Brodie, a few months ago who travels the path of some who led the path for him, including Tommy Emmanuel, Ralph Towner, Pat Metheny, Bruce Mathiske, Michael Fix, and Julian Lage.

Brodie’s 2018 release, In Good Company (MGM), offers up a fine bit of guitar mastery and showmanship, technical precision and nuance and has us anticipating his next release, even before In Good Company has made the rounds of his touring performances beyond his native shores. His debut album, First Take, made clear the young man’s guitar virtuosity and his performances proved a fine way to “wow” a growing huddle of fans.

He’d come a long way since his early fumbling with his Yamaha nylon-stringed guitar to today, with his outstanding clarity and accuracy in find the right notes, bending them intuitively and virtually telling a story through his masterful playing.

In Good Company took three years to pull together, while he was a student at the Queensland Conservatorium of Music. So, there was a bit of juggling between the books, guitar practice and songwriting.

And speaking of otherworldly, on the track, “Travels”, you’ll likely hear an instrument you’ve never heard before called a Handpan. Written during this travels in China, Brodie incorporated the instrument’s sonics broadening and deepening the songs ethereal appeal, almost keeping us on metallic rim or edge of balance and edginess.

Last year, Jordan toured Australia, Canada, Ireland and Germany and we’re looking forward to a future tour here in the States.

******

Rick Landers: Listening to your music, I enjoyed not only the technical skills you use to weave around a song, but the emotional nuances, the phrasing and your movement from a point of a note to a light touch, almost like a soft brush of a sound. What road did you take on the guitar that led you to your style?

Jordan Brodie: Thank you for the kind words! I started playing guitar like most seven year olds did – wanting to become a rock star! I have AC/DC to thank for that. I was extremely lucky to have a great teacher, Andy Redhead, who introduced me to fingerstyle guitar, and more importantly, Tommy Emmanuel and Chet Atkins from a young age.

I fell in love with the challenge and freedom of playing the bass, rhythm and melody simultaneously. I imitated them for years. But, studying jazz guitar at University was where my style really developed.

Jordan Brodie

I discovered Julian Lage. I was obsessed with him – the fact that he was an extraordinary jazz guitarist, but could play the most beautiful, delicate and simplistic melodies on acoustic guitar was eye opening.

His solo acoustic guitar album, World’s Fair, was a big turning point. It was a much-needed fresh perspective to acoustic guitar! A few other artists are Ralph Towner and Pat Metheny.

Another massive feature of my style is my thumb-pick. Over time the tip of my thumb-pick wore down to almost no tip. And that’s how I kept it.

It allowed me to use the thumb-pick to create solid bass lines, while keeping my fingers free for melodies or chords. However, I also hold the thumb-pick like a plectrum to play faster single note lines, or for certain rhythmic strumming. This is highlighted in the song “Luna”.

Rick: Your track, “Luna” brought to mind Davey Graham’s “Angie” and I wondered if you studied his style and technique?

Jordan Brodie: I actually haven’t heard of Davey Graham! I have some homework to do!

“Luna” was inspired by Julian Lage, in particular his tune “233 Butler from his album, Gladwell.

I think the main lick of “Luna” was drawn from Lage’s guitar etudes on YouTube. As I mentioned before, I was obsessed!

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Rick: I’ve found each of my guitars has its own personality, feel and something like an old L-1 bites a bit more than, say a ‘40s J-45. What are you playing and what draws you to them? And, do you prefer a particular grouping of tone woods?

Jordan Brodie: Absolutely! I play a Taylor 514ce. It’s been my main guitar for years. When I perform it handles numerous tuning changes without a hiccup. Standard tuning to BGDGAD and back, no problem.

But, what I really love about this guitar is how the open tunings, like DADGAD or BGDGAD sound through an AER Amp into a PA. It is a huge, full sound! I haven’t played anything that compares yet. So I suppose the Cedar/Mahogany combination is what I like at the moment.

Rick: You obviously excel in our world of guitar, but what other things do you do that you find inspiring enough to approach in a disciplined way?

Jordan Brodie: I enjoy teaching and sharing my ideas and knowledge with my students! Apart from music, I’m a big Liverpool soccer fan. But, really, it’s music 24/7.

Rick: Where are you at in Australia and what’s the music scene there like for instrumentalists, like yourself?

Jordan Brodie: I live in Cairns, Queensland. For a regional city, there is a lot of music, and talented musicians around, but my plan has always been to tour rather than gig in one place! It’s a great place to base yourself though.

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Rick: Did you grow up in a family environment where music surrounded you or did you have to discover it? Did you find you were obsessed with the guitar like a love affair of sorts?

Jordan Brodie: Yes I did! I was surrounded by Australian rock and Americana music like AC/DC, Credence Clearwater Revival, Chris Isaak and Johnny Cash etcetera. It’s definitely a love affair! It has never been anything else but the guitar for me. I’m 23 and my friends and family still buy me random guitar related gifts and accessories – I have too much, please stop feeding my addiction! I have other interests too!

Rick: I would tend to think that playing in smaller intimate venues with rich acoustics, that that environment would be a more inspiring place to play than, say a huge auditorium where that intimacy can get lost. What’s been your experience?

Jordan Brodie: I agree! Lately, I have been doing a lot of house concerts and my favourite aspect is the intimacy and that the audience can shout questions! I love it.

Rick: Man, I just listened to “Song for You”, a beautifully melodic piece and your phrasing is touching. I can only imagine this song is for someone special. Would you elaborate on how this song came to be and if it has a deeper meaning that a song that just arrived out of the blue? A sweet ending, as well…

Jordan Brodie: Thank you! This piece is written in BGDGAD a tuning I stumbled across and fell in love with. I wrote “Song For You” and “Until We Meet Again” around the same time – both in the same tuning. Nothing can beat a strong melody, I take a lot of influence from Celtic melodies.

At the time of writing, my father was diagnosed with cancer, so these two pieces were an emotional reaction of having to live with the news and the reality of it. I dedicated my latest album to him. He was my biggest fan.

Rick: I always like to ask performers if they been on the street busking, especially if they’ve become well known, maybe just to see if they could survive on the street. What kinds of experiences do you have like that?

Jordan Brodie: I have only ever busked as a kid down at my local shopping centre. It was great practice and not bad money for a kid. However, my dream was and still is to perform to people that sit still and quietly listen to me!

Rick: Please, tell us about your latest release and what projects you’ve got churning around at the moment that we can all look forward to.

Jordan Brodie: My new album, In Good Company, came out this year! It is a collection of songs that I wrote over three years while studying at the Queensland Conservatorium of Music.

It’s a special album to me. They are the last pieces my Dad heard before he passed away, so it’s a tribute to him.

I spent the first part of the year touring Australia, Canada and Ireland. But, for now I get to spend the rest of the year writing, practicing and taking all of the culture and sounds in Europe.

Rick: Jordan, I love the mix of music you sent, each with its own stylish personality. I look forward to talking to you again on when your next release comes into play.

Jordan: I appreciate the kinds words. Thanks for taking the time to interview me Rick! I’m always up for a chat. Until next time!

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