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haptureratch · 2 years ago

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Bitch, You Need Therapy

Pairing: Johnny Knoxville x Reader (afab)

Others: Chris Pontius, Steve-O

Word count: approx. 4.5k

Synopsis: You’re part of the crew, temporarily filling in and enjoying it immensely. You are filming something overseas. Knoxville finds out you have a crush on him and decides to fuck with your stressed little self until he gets carried away in the moment.

WARNINGS/tags: NC-17, minors DNI, adult language, alcohol (technical lack of consent), soft allusions to hard drugs, oral sex, genital penetration, THE DOUBLE MEANING OF LIPS, kinks galore (praise, rough, petnames, things I don’t have a word for)

Notes from the author: Yeah idk he just seems like a playful bastard that might be hiding a kinky streak. Not tied to any specific period of Jackass filming so reader can take some creative liberties (the least I can do when I am dictating reader’s entire personality lmao). Knoxville is single in this world; it’s all fun & fantasy. This work has not been officially reviewed apart from one of my best friends giving enthusiastic approval early on. But I’ve read over it a hundred times while writing it SO DAMN SLOWLY, so hopefully it is okay. There are purposeful tense changes and I hope they hit the way I'm intending. Is the whole thing cringe? Maybe; maybe not. Pls let loose & enjoy! I am a long time reader and I’ve had ideas here and there; finally decided it was time to fuck around and find out myself. It’s been way harder than I thought and I have even more respect for my fave fic authors out there. If you know me irl, no you don’t. WITHOUT FURTHER ADIEU~~

Night has been falling earlier and earlier as weeks peel away from Autumn toward the year’s end. It is 7 o’clock in the evening but feels more like 11. Outside the darkness is interrupted by numerous streetlamps along the sidewalk. The lights glow a golden orange, reminding you of the crackling fire in the pub, and you dig your hands into your coat pockets seeking warmth.

“HEY ASSHOLE, why did we leave that cozy fucking place?!” you shout over the wind at one of your walking companions with some frustration. Only some. You’ve had a couple drinks and your speech seems to come out in demanding exclamations regardless of any real anger at that point. And you’re fairly certain any frustration stems from unmet desires directed toward this man and his stupid glinty purple-tinted sunglasses. Sunglasses, which he wore inside the intimately lit pub and which he is still wearing outside at night. What a jackass.

A different, unsunglasses’d man answered. “Because adventure calls! Sure, it’s cold out. But not cold enough to get frostbite. The call to adventure must be heeded even in the face of Ice Queen Mother Nature. Like the Russian Police, she’s stern. Stern…but fair,” he announced with omnipotence. Everyone in the group seemed dead set on committing crimes this evening. This one was guilty of venturing out in 20-some degree weather without a coat or sweater or torso cover of any kind. Just a fluffy scarf and a Santa hat. Another jackass, you thought. But that’s why you jumped at the chance to work with these people. It was an invigorating break from the mundane. And the group oozed fun; to be in the same room as any of them was to know friendship and laughter.

You smiled genuinely at him. Despite the cold and questionable decisions, he still inspired affection. “Thanks, as always, Pontius, for the exceptional pep talk but I think I was asking—”

“DUDE WHERE IS MY SKATEBOARD?!?!!” screeched a third man’s voice. He’d definitely had the most to drink out of the group so far this evening and crime was written all over him. Good ol’ Steve-O. Nothing more to be said about him.

Sunglasses finally spoke up. “I decided against anything with wheels for this and threw it in the back of the van, Steve-O. We can come back in the daytime tomorrow for skate shots. There are a lot less lights the farther in the park we go.”

“Knox, you IDIOT, I’m planning on being so fucking hungover tomorrow! I’m on my GAME now, man, you shoulda brought it!” He bent down to gather up two fists of snow, mash them together, and hurl the mass toward Johnny.

“If you want it so bad, go back an’ get it!” He grinned while dodging the poorly aimed snowball and jumped over to rap Steve-O on the ass with the back of his hand. This garnered a slow, deep, huffy giggling from Pontius. It was less of a giggle, more of a devious huh-huh-huh. It sounded like something you’d hear in the boys’ locker room but if it came from the throat of a grown man.

The little spanking sparked a quick scuffle between Steve-O and Johnny. After nearly slipping and falling, he gave up on trying to fuck with the taller man and hardened his resolve to skate in the snow. “UGH! I’ll be back…” After a beat of wily consideration he added, “Or not!” Steve-O then darted off in the direction of the pub, almost slipped again, and slowed his stumbling gait. If he was headed toward booze he was probably going to get another round. A round of…something.

Chris and Johnny shared a look and the Santa-hatted one asked, “Who’s going with him? It’s law that we use the buddy system in all foreign lands, especially when we don’t want to get arrested. More arrested than we get when the cameras are rolling. Those times are okay.”

Johnny spoke first. “I’ll stay to map out where Jeff thinks we can get the money shots. Y/N probably needs to mess with the camera settings.”

“Actually, yeah,” you uttered, reviving from a slight stupor of quiet observation and remembering your role in all of this. “This would be our first night footage of the trip and I haven’t experimented with the exposure or what type of flash I can—”

“Okay nerd on, genius, I’ll go,” Chris interrupted. He smiled and bowed himself out in the direction of Steve-O and the pub.

“Better hurry, Pontius! Something tells me the board ain’t the priority now,” Johnny called out. You watched as the smoke from his breath dissipated into the cold and the two of you continued away from what seemed like the rest of civilization.

********

The other men gone from sight, your physical awareness of Johnny dialed up. Though he was lean, he seemed to exude heat through his black peacoat. Maybe you were imagining things. But you dared to draw a couple inches closer to assess. He slowed his gait and you veered right back over and even sped up a little. You thought you heard a quiet laugh come from his side of the path.

‘Dammit, Y/N, fucking stay focused,’ you thought to yourself. You can’t give them anything to get you on; it was more important to you than any legal trouble. You were here to relieve Lance after one too many trips involving vomit-on-the-camera incidents. You had a job to do, you had creative input to offer, and you didn’t have to let on that you found one of the guys so hot you couldn’t stand it. That fact could be kept firmly TO YOURSELF. The need to keep it a secret almost hyped it up to an obsession. You found yourself stealing photos during planning sessions, when you were 95% certain that no one would notice. Since you were such a dedicated crew member, the team assumed you were experimenting with angles or compiling a look-book or something.

Sure, you took candids of everyone. But the most recurring subject by far was Johnny Knoxville. There were the obvious features that caught your eye, mostly when he laughed, all white teeth and crow’s feet. After a while you noticed how he stood kind of funny, whether that was from past back injuries, weak glutes, or a touch of valgus knee deformity you weren’t sure. It didn’t at all detract from the beauty of those long legs or the defined torso they led up to. Certainly didn’t ruin his painfully (for you) deep iliac furrows smack dab in the middle of it all. And you weren’t going to get started on his arms or shoulders or jawline. He really took your love for anatomy and smacked you upside the head with it. He was art and you were insane.

Your stupid little fangirl crush even had you calling him ‘Johnny Knoxville’ in your head instead of PJ. It was like how you still called your teachers ‘Mr/Ms/Mx’ after graduating from school, even though they gave you permission to be on a first-name basis. It was hard to get comfortable with others like that. Another reason why you wanted this chance at a different work environment even if it was just temporary. You sorely needed to relax, Y/N. Unclench your jaw, take a breath, stop the shoulders from migrating upwards, and just keep walking. Sometimes the set of Jackass was not the ideal setting to work on those goals—all of those damn pranks—but…

“Lost in thought, puddin’?” you heard in your ear. You didn’t so much hear them as felt the words slap your skin from behind, the shock of wet heat in the cold air startling you. The streetlamps brightened in your peripheral vision.

You spun around and couldn’t help the nervous fake-laugh that escaped. “Oh, uh, yeah, you could say that. Just handling a lot of little things right now. Like the jet-lag, that European alcohol hitting a little stronger, the cold being colder here somehow, filming schedule, the list goes on, man." You hoped adding 'man’ would lend the illusion of you being chill, cool, totally not in fight-or-flight mode a moment ago.

It didn’t. There was an awkward silence as he stood facing you. Behind the shades you couldn’t see the mischief in his eyes as he planned out where he was going to take this. To you it just looked like staring. ‘Fucking dammit,’ you swore at yourself, ‘I don’t know if he KNOWS knows but he knows something is up. Agh, focus on work, FOCUS ON WORK.’

You cleared your throat, pulled namaste out of your ass, and shifted the power of the interaction back on your side with, “Hey, why don’t you stand over by that statue and help me with shot composition.”

“Yes, boss, on the double!” His tone was playfully condescending as he headed over to the metal figure, an unknown man outlined in snow. “Anything for you, sweetheart.” He let the last word drag out lower and slower than the rest. You had to fight your dead brain to let you breathe again. He was going to fuck with you, alright, and it was going to happen tonight. But for his own fun, no cameras in sight other than yours. There was always a chance of one of those goofy assholes hiding in a bush, but your gut told you there were none. No one else was going to be around for this, but you weren’t sure how thankful you were. You were flooded with several thoughts at once. How far would he go? How far did you want him to go? Did Jackass have HR? What was their policy on a creator/actor doing unspeakable things to a camera person with his mouth? Could the van be moved for about 90 minutes tonight without anyone knowing? Was he all dom or a switch? How easy would it be to get him to giggle during a blowjob?

Fuck. Focus.

‘FUCK,’ you thought as, for some ungodly reason, Knox put his tongue to the statue’s ear. The side of your neck began to tingle where his breath had been several minutes ago; memory is a powerful thing. You shook your head to regroup.

“Better pray you don’t end up like that kid in A Christmas Story,” you deadpanned.

He looked away and called out toward the woods at the edge of the park, “Nah, I’m too wet for that. That…that’s the secret.” You saw his back shuddering slightly, probably with laughter, and tried to see deeper into the trees. Not a soul was detected.

“You’ll be wetter when that statue comes to life and throws you in the river.”

He turned back toward you. “Naw, I think he likes it,” he grinned as wedged his body even closer to the metal and began to run a hand slowly down its torso. For the first time he made eye contact with you over his glasses and you dared not break it while his hand migrated further and further south. “And I think he’s not the only one, darlin’,” he drawled, his tone growing deeper and darker by the second. Two fingers began to lazily graze between the statue’s legs. And, as if that wasn’t enough, his hips ground into what had to be extremely cold and extremely hard metal. He let out a low sigh into the winter air.

This probably lasted just a moment but it felt like an eternity as you stood watching him, unable to do anything else, not quite believing what you were seeing. Your eyes were glued to where you thought his dick was, where you thought you saw an outline begin to show. He kept at it, grinding and sighing and caressing against that fucking statue, only averting his gaze to let his eyes roll back into his head and flutter shut. Which he made sure you could see with the shades slid all the way down the bridge of his nose. The whole thing was insane but you could not stop the cascade of heat and desire from building inside you. It’s like the more it shouldn’t be happening, the more you were into it. You wanted to look around and check for the crew for the umpteenth time but couldn’t tear your eyes from him. Johnny Knoxville was getting freaky on a statue to tease you and you were simmering in your own juices.

Like.

What the actual fuck?

Okay, case closed, he definitely knew.

Uhh… Just try to own it now?

“You know what, you whore?! It’s gonna be really fucking awkward when my underwear freezes out here!”

He finally broke, fell away from the statue, and dissolved into laughter on the ground. You hoped your boldness would recuperate a bit of your cred and he’d back off. (You hoped he wouldn’t back off.)

“The working conditions, here, honestly…” you said as your hands came to your hips.

His maniacal glee, normally adorable when it wasn’t tied up in such a stressful and sexy situation, died out and he regained upright footing. He didn’t bother to brush the snow off his coat or shake out what had peppered his hair. He took off his sunglasses and folded them into the inner pocket of his coat. He smiled down at you and you felt him gently grab your shoulders. “You’re so wound up, Y/N,” he remarked with genuine care in his voice.

The touch and proximity made you stiffen; your arms dropped to your sides. His breath smelled like booze and you wanted to drown in it.

His fingers laced together behind your shoulders and slid down to rest at the small of your back; you instinctively grabbed at his forearms. “Gotta learn how to relax, baby.” He jerked your lower half into him and you could feel that you had not, in fact, been imagining that dick. With that, you felt the last of your good sense rocket away, leaving a long-imprisoned whine in its wake.

He dipped his head down to your ear and growled, “How loud does that kitty purr?”

No words.

No thoughts.

Your head threatened to crack off of your spine but he caught the back of it with one hand, the other snaked firmly around the rest of you, as his lips made contact with your neck. Soft kisses were syncopated with nibbles, the heat of his mouth searing your skin in contrast to the chilly air. His tongue was so wet and so warm against your flesh. You all but dripped for him.

“Van,” you demand.

He takes your hand, grins, and leads you out of the park toward the town.

The two of you make it to the van and he takes space in the driver’s seat. The engine comes to life relatively quietly—thank god for hybrids—and he maneuvers it onto a darkened side street several blocks down. You seem to be surrounded by a bunch of businesses closed down for the night but you also don’t have a single fuck to give now. You slide a hand over the rod in his pants and his lips part with a groan.

Hunger takes hold and you lunge over the console to catch his mouth in a voracious kiss. Tongue and teeth everywhere. Even the smallest hints of pleasure out of this man are going to drive you wild tonight. But you want—you NEED—to savor the experience. The movements of your jaw slow and the space between your lips closes as you center yourself. His lips come together but his breath continues hard and deep through his nose. His eyes are shut tight as if he's exercising control as well. You pepper kisses across his cheek, down his neck, and back up to his ear where you sigh your contentment.

“Mmm, sweetheart, I’m gonna need to hear more of that,” he says low in your ear. Your belly flutters up into your chest and you think you might fall in love, like an idiot.

He kisses you deeply and pulls you with him into the back of the van. The heat of the exchange melts off both your coats. A sleeping bag is found, unzipped, and laid down. Not that the two of you notice the cold all that much, it just seems like the right thing to do in a van that carts around the Jackass crew. He is a bit more discerning than some of his co-stars.

He unzips your pants and slides them down your legs. You sit up to help kick them off along with your shoes. He takes off your shirt, leaving you just in your bra, socks, and panties. You love how exposed you must look and how vulnerable you feel. He looks you in the eye, smirks, looks down at your hips, licks his lips. Your thighs squeeze together with anticipation and your moan spells out your need.

He lowers himself down, still clothed, onto your nearly naked body and lays his lips all over your skin. He slides across you lazily and you can’t stand how good his clothes feel against you. You can’t wait for that dick to be out and in your mouth. It’s how you want to show him how good he’s making you feel. The way he takes the fabric of your panties in his fingertips tells you he has his own priorities.

“May I?”

“May you what?”

He smiles and toys with the bows stitched to the elastic around your hips. He takes the band in his teeth and looks you in the eye as he lets it snap against you.

“Eat out that pretty pussy of yours, doll. It’s all wrapped up for me like a present under the tree.”

You’re not able to make a joke about stealing Chris’s Santa hat. You can only reach down and start to wiggle the remaining cotton off, with which Knox happily helps. The bra and socks follow suit and a cheeky kiss to your foot garners a giggle.

Things get very serious again when he positions his face in front of your heat. He hugs your hips to him and rests his large hands down on you. You can’t help but buck up into the contact when his lips meet yours. His soft, wet tongue feels so fucking good. Your hands find his hair and you rake your nails through it. Every time you look down he’s either got his eyes closed, lids fluttering in the prettiest way, or he’s looking right back at you. Each moan from your mouth elicits self-assured hums from his and it drives you to desperately need more.

“Need you in me, Knox,” you demand.

He looks up at you again with those deep brown eyes and doesn’t say a word.

“Want you in my mouth first. I want to taste that dick.”

He pulls himself up and you all but tear the black and white KNOXVILLE belt through the loops of his Dickies. He frees his hard cock and you pause to take it in with your eyes first.

“It may not be the biggest but right now you got me harder than—aaughh..” The whole rest of him stiffens up and he bites into his knuckles as you take in the tip. He relaxes with a deep sigh as you try to swallow the shaft down and gag when your lips meet his hilt.

‘That’ll do just fine,’ you think to yourself.

You keep it slow to draw it out, slow but deliberate with licking and sucking. You work his cock with your mouth until you lose yourself in the act. You love every single sound this man is making and commit them to memory. And his taste, how the pre-cum doesn’t stop oozing. The way his head is thrown back with his mouth wide open, gasping. How he can’t touch you enough right now. Every few moments you turn your attention to his balls and thighs and that delicious V leading down to it all. The feel and scent of his skin is intoxicating and you’re biting light marks into his flesh. You get so far gone you stop murmuring his name and start to call him Daddy. His cock twitches every time.

He takes a deep, clarifying breath before taking your chin in his hand and speaking, “I’m so ready to slide right in, baby. Will you let Daddy fill you up?”

“Fuck me.”

The van space is tight but you lie down and he holds himself over you, cock at your entrance. You’re practically vibrating with anticipation.

Finally.

He drives the head of his cock slowly into your pussy and the feeling is so warm and sweet and intimate. Birth control be damned; you’ll get emergency contraception in the morning. Your arms and legs wrap around him possessively as he works into a rhythm. You rock your hips with his to catch his cock at the right angle. He finds your mouth in the dark and moans into you as he thrusts. He’s downright fucking you into the floor of the van and strangely you haven’t felt this whole and alive in a long time. Your orgasm is building and building but you want even more of him before you come.

“I wanna ride you, Johnny,” you gasp.

“Thought you’d never ask. Be my guest, doll,” he answers as he pulls out of you and arranges the sleeping bag across the van’s bench. He takes a seat and slaps his thighs with a grin, erection bobbing around invitingly.

You climb on top of him, legs quivering with eagerness, and take just a moment to pause before sinking slowly down onto his cock.

His answering groan draws you against his chest, sighing into him, as you get to work riding. It’s your turn to fuck him into the van.

You both wrap your arms around each other, but no one can get close enough. Thrusting, humping, clawing, kissing, biting, sucking, moaning—the two of you going at each other like animals. (His glutes are NOT, in fact, weak.) Your legs are tiring but you push yourself to keep going. Closer and closer your end nears. He knows it because his teeth are clenching as your pussy is tightening around him. He’s fighting to not cum before you.

“Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop. Keep on riding me. Keep grinding that sweet little thing on my cock.”

You pick up speed.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

He squeezes your ass tighter.

“Good girl, I can feel it. Come for Daddy…”

That’s it. Your cunt squeezes up inside of you and smashes down around his dick in a primal, undulating frenzy. There’s an explosion of stars behind your eyelids. He’s yelling out your name and digging his fingers deeper into your hips as his orgasm spills hot inside you.

********

After unmeasured moments, breaths began to slow and a contented stillness fell over the van like snow upon the ground. The two of you wrapped each other up in an embrace and held on tight without a word. It wasn’t much longer until your brain woke back up and began to wander. You knew you were going to think back on this night many, many times when you were back home alone. You’d feel the ghost of his breath and his lips on your skin. You’d ache to hear him moan your name again. AND, FUCK, THE PLAN B--

Gentle laughter broke out, as if he could read your mind. He couldn’t, of course. But it was so very easy to tell when you were uneasy. And Knox was an excellent people reader.

“Just don’t think about anything right now, sweetheart,” he assured you.

“Johnny, I…” You began and trailed off, unsure of what to voice first.

“Call me PJ,” he smiled and placed a kiss on your head. “And don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll stop by a pharmacy soon as they open. The guys are gonna need some Tylenol, too, I bet. I’ll get us all sorted.” And he sealed his promise shut with a squeeze of your shoulders. Not a mind reader, but definitely thoughtful and at times very practical. Always aware of what’s going on around him.

You trusted him. Probably more than you should, but you did. And you gave whatever energy you had left over to the effort of not thinking. You had no idea how long it had been since you checked the time, when the sun was coming up, or what the two of you would do next. What this would mean for the rest of the shoot. But, if you’re gonna be dumb….

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

Several hours post-coupling in the van, after the sun came out for vengeance, you found yourself hanging with Pontius at a near-by café. You felt calmest around him out of all the crew and were happy to listen to his stories for distraction. Distraction from your anxiety and the various aches in your body. What you had really wanted was a diner that served greasy food and heinously strong coffee, but they didn’t have those here. Chris must share the need. He was still sporting the Santa hat and some serious bags under his eyes. There was what appeared to be lipstick smeared down his neck, but it was…stippled? From…the only idea that came to mind was another man’s stubble. But he never asked about the way you weren’t walking right, so you paid the favor forward.

His words drifted away from big cats and other wildlife, and he shifted conversation topics. “Crazy night last night, huh,” he said.

“Lord. You bet,” you answered. Oh, here we go.

“What time did you turn in last night? Or this morning?” He batted his lashes and played with the cotton puff at the end of his hat before flipping it to the other side. It invoked the atmosphere of girlies at a sleepover sharing the latest gossip.

“Oh, you know…” Your face reddened a little and you looked down into your steaming coffee mug.

He brought his up to his mouth for a sip and stared you down over it. “Do you happen to know where—"

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket and you pulled it out automatically.

“Hey, doll, where did you run off to?” Your heartbeat quickened and you smirked despite yourself. You didn’t need to look up at the sender to know who it was from.

“Know where what,” you offered with no doubt a dazed look in your eyes.

You were definitely going to need a therapist after this job was through.

#johnny knoxville x reader #afab reader #jackass fanfic #jackass smut #johnny knoxville fanfic #dude tumblr WILL NOT let me use the formatting that i want wtf

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halforc-mercenary · 1 year ago

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MUSE’S SKILLS!

bold what your muse can do. italicize for something they can do to some extent; (repost, do not reblog!)

bake a cake from scratch / ride a horse / drive a submarine / speak a second language / write in a second language / dance / catch a fish / play an instrument / throw a punch / ice skate / unclog a drain / program a computer / change a flat tire or broken cart wheel / fire a gun / sew / embroider / knit / crochet / juggle / play poker / paint / fly a kite / sculpt / write poetry / change a diaper / sing / shoot a bow and arrow / ride a bike / swim / sail a boat / do a back flip / play chess / give cpr / pitch a tent / flirt / stitch a wound / read palms* / use chopsticks / write in cursive / use an electric drill / braid hair / make a campfire / make a mixed drink / do sudoku puzzles / do crossword puzzles / wrap a gift / give a good massage / jump-start a car / roll their tongue / do magic tricks / do yoga / tie a tie or cravat / skip a rock / shuffle a deck of cards / read morse code / pick a lock / fly a plane / train a dog, cat / fix a car / apologize / write a business letter / say the alphabet backwards / read music / cook complex meals / change oil / paint nails / draw / socialize / march / take apart a gun / drive a rig / operate a tank / climb a tree / rock climb / tie a cherry stem / basic first-aid / draw blood / put out a fire / drive stick shift / cultivate a garden / do pottery

Read Palms: Mar is not able to read palms, but she very much is able to throw and read the runes for another person to make assumptions about their character and eventually make prophecys for them. Naturally the part about making assumptions about a persons personality and past through runes is nothing but guessing and watching the other persons reaction to it or just beeing so vague in the things said that the other person interprets those words as fitting for them. For Mar throwing Runes is a tool for makign decisions, she knows what she wants to do but throwing runes and interpreting the result in the favour of her decision is helping her be more secure in her decisions. Obviously for someone who so easily gets anxiety ridden, this methode helps her going through her life securely.

Tagged By: The Void ! Tagging: @elkenbulwark @deepseawarlock @sparklymanacakes @wildname @thaneirstaer @lighthouseborn @bruinescence @illithidtouched ...and you!

#halforc-mercenary #halforc-mercenary: headcanon

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theeglitch · 2 years ago

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girlsngossip:

tiff took the keys back, already making a mental note to call up the big man on campus as soon as she got home to file a proper complaint. this is the problem with people like vanellope, they have no respect for the pecking order, no regard for those who are on top, they don’t respect anyone besides themselves and completely disregard the WORK they put in to get there. just because vanellope couldn’t race anymore, that didn’t make it tiffany’s problem. she was a SAFETY violation. she put every racer on the road at risk. tiffany kept her cool on the outside, but her eyes illuminated like she had just zeroed in on her next kill, her tongue sharp. ❛ i’m not doing anything, vanellope. everything that happens to you is a direct result of your own shitty decision making.❜ fire flashed before tiffany’s eyes, still haunted by the accident vanellope had gotten in (surely an accident that still haunted the other too, not that tiff cared about that ), fully convinced that maybe - just for a second - it could have been her own fault… when in actuality, vanellope could have KILLED someone. she could have killed HER. tiffany turned to face the door, she was going to leave before she exploded, but she couldn’t help herself- words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them. ❛ you really want to know WHY vanellope ?? because you never should have been racing in the first place and you KNOW that. you knowingly put lives at risk every time you got behind that wheel.❜ she turned again, her face hot with anger, not caring who was listening; ❛ you even put your own life at risk. this is just a bunch of repeated consequences that all stem from you NOT listening and thinking you know better than everyone else. you not understanding that is why it continues to piss me off.❜

tiffany’s outburst was not lost on deaf ears. vanellope took every single word she said and absorbed it, processed it. she didn’t have an excuse or some witty comeback to make herself sound more in the right because there were point that vanellope did agree with because, well....she hadn’t even thought of that. when it came to her glitch she saw it as either a crutch or a pure ass curse. despite that, she never would have raced if she thought it was getting out of hand. she never wanted to endanger anyone, and she knew she was putting herself at risk, but she hadn’t even thought about the others. she had been so determined to prove to them she was legit, that racing was as much of a part of her as it was to them. the only issue she still had was that while yes, she should have thought of everyone else, she also couldn’t do anything about it now. she couldn’t race, she couldn’t drive anywhere, so why did tiff still have to be so hard on her for something that already happened? “i don’t...I don’t disagree with you...” she said softly, trying to suppress that oh-so-familiar feeling that came before a glitch. she dug her fingernails into her palms, hands balled into fists, so that she didn’t do that and just make tiffany angrier. “b-b-but....” her voice started to sound pixelated and she tried to take her time speaking. “I-i...w-why....a-are you....g-going out o-f your way now?” a small spark and she was in front of the counter now. nothing was worse than glitching in front of tiffany. “i can’t h-h-hurt anyone n-n-now....so w-w-hy do you insist on still h-h-hurting me when you k-k-know i’m still h-h-hurting?”

#🍬 vroom vroom; bitches know they can’t catch me || interactions.#tiffany.#owie

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littlemisspascal · 3 years ago

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Fast Cars and Lightning Bolts

Pairing: Din x Female Reader

Word Count: 3,000+

Summary: You guess it’s true what they say: you can take the driver out of the race, but you can’t take the race out of the driver.

Warnings: Racing AU heavily inspired by Ford v Ferrari, Canon divergence, Din and Reader are exes, Pining, Non-fatal car crash, Reader takes heart medication (I’m not a doctor, all medical details are purely fictional), No physical descriptions of Reader, No beta all mistakes are my own

Author Note: Hope someone out there enjoys it 😊 Every like, reblog, and comment appreciated

PART 2

Your dreams of the Boonta Eve Classic always unfold the same way: roaring motor, late in the night, squinting through gravel-chipped goggles, fingers clenched around the steering wheel, the announcer’s voice screaming in your head you’re in the lead.

Waking up to reality always hurts the same way: heaving for breath, chest burning, scrambling for freedom from the bedsheets, wiping sweat from your brow, choking down your heart medication and pressing a cold glass of water against your cheek.

You guess it’s true what they say: you can take the driver out of the race, but you can’t take the race out of the driver.

Five years have passed since you won the BEC, since you earned a spot in racing history as the first female driver in the galaxy to do so, since your doctor told you that much adrenaline would kill you if you ever raced again. Without racing, you’d felt unmoored, on the cusp of an identity crisis. Pushed out of a fish bowl straight into a giant and tumultuous sea.

The decision to start your own car manufacturing company had been made out of fear, if you’re being honest with yourself. Fear of what dark hole you might have spiraled into and never recovered from without some form of connection to the racing community, however small. You imagine yourself balancing on a very thin and delicate line between a life of racing and a life without it. Too much to either side will be the death of you—your heart can’t withstand the excitement, your mind can’t handle the monotony of civilian life.

You look out your office window down at the sales floor where Peli’s showing off a sports car you designed—yellow and sleek, named Canary after the little bird from your homeplanet—to a young and wealthy couple. There’s not a doubt in your mind they’ll buy it. Your chief engineer’s salesmanship skills were practically legendary; she could convince a Loth cat to shave itself if she set her mind to it.

Watching them, you ignore the itch in your fingers stemming from the desire to show the couple just how fast your Canary can go, and you tell yourself this is a good life. A happy life.

There’s twenty racers competing at Galma Raceway, including Din Djarin.

You watch him from across the paddock. He’s wearing dark gray coveralls and his signature beskar helmet, sunlight reflecting off the metal, burning your eyes, and you imagine the concentrated purse of his lips, the creased lines on his forehead as he examines each component of his engine, oblivious to everything beyond the confines of his car’s hood. You’re not sure how you’d react if he looked up and saw you. If it would make your heart flutter or crumple in on itself.

Five years since your breakup and you don’t know what bothers you more: that the pain remains achingly fresh, a thorn you can’t reach beneath your ribs, or that the love remains a fiercely burning flame despite the lack of kindling.

The last time you saw him was weeks ago on Nevarro when you’d sought to make a trade in the marketplace with the Jawas residing there. He’d been making repairs on Greef Karga’s Walkhar Wampa, a boxy two-door muscle car with one of the biggest and loudest engines currently in production, and silently ignored your entire existence while you politely chatted with the leader of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Lightning Bolt,” Greef said with a smile.

You’d resisted the urge to grimace at the title bestowed upon you by the press after you compared winning the BEC to being struck by lightning. Mind-blowing and exhilarating and terrifying all at once. High on an adrenaline rush and the excitement of winning, more than half of your answers to journalists had been utter nonsense, tongue spitting out words faster than your brain could string them together into intelligent responses.

“If I remember correctly,” Greef said after a few minutes of small talk about the Guild’s newly added members, two of which were promising young drivers, glancing over at Din, “you and Djarin used to be quite close. Tell me, Lightning, do you have any words of advice on how to convince his stubborn ass to join the Guild’s race team?”

Din said nothing, but you knew he was listening. There was a subtle shift in his stance, head tilting, fingers tightening around his wrench. “Don’t waste your breath,” you’d replied, tone light despite the blunt truth. “Din’s a privateer, not a team player. He does things his own way.”

You had empathized with Greef’s frustration. As a Mandalorian foundling, Din was raised and taught by his clan to understand and bond with vehicles like they were living, breathing beasts. Every creak and groan he knew how to recognize and soothe. You’d never met another driver with his skill and talent which made it all the harder to wrap your head around the fact Din refused to quit being a mechanic and become a professional racer.

He’d confessed to you once late one night when neither of you could sleep that he never wanted to become a cog in a corporate machine, being told how to race and what to say and who to be. Instead of relying on a manufacturer for support, he built his own car from the ground up and raced for the sheer enjoyment of it.

Today’s event at Galma Raceway has drawn in a decent-sized crowd of a thousand eager motorsport fans. Your eyes drift from Din along the long line of drivers making final preparations.Two are representing Orlean, three for Azure Motorworks, giving them a legal, but nevertheless annoying advantage. At the far end you glimpse Rendili Vehicle Corporation from Corellia and GandleMotors, Shelba, Minas-Lergo…

Din sticks out like a sore thumb, different from the rest in every manner from his gear to his deliberate isolation to his custom made vehicle. But if there’s one thing Din Djarin is not, it's shy. Not that you reckon he’d ever truly need to be considering his broad, towering frame and impressive racing stats.

“Hey, LB,” Peli’s shout has you turning with a jolt, finding the shorter woman approaching with two sharply dressed, blue-skinned Twi’leks. “I’ve got some fellas I want you to meet. This is Kao Diro and Rosha Razzani. They operate GandleMotors in Kolatill.”

You slap a smile on your face, slipping into an alternate version of yourself, a confident businesswoman and motorsport darling, the definition of cool, calm and collected. “Yes, of course, I’ve heard a lot about you both and your company across the HoloNet,” you say, shaking their hands. “That Kathol Triton of yours is very impressive.”

Kao’s returning smile is pleasant, if not also a bit fake around the edges. “Thank you. I’ve heard your Canary is a beautiful little speedster.”

“Wonderful. That’s what I was going for when I designed it,” you tell him. It’s the truth, too. You’d wanted something small, lightweight, and pretty to look at—but most importantly, you’d wanted it to be fast. It had taken some tinkering and a lot of unsolicited advice from Peli, but in the end your Canary was capable of going from zero to sixty miles per hour in under ten seconds. One of the fastest sports cars in the whole galaxy.

“Have you brought it here to race?” Rosha does a quick scan of the drivers, obviously looking for your car, only for his brow to wrinkle when he fails to spot it.

You shake your head, grin still in place. “No, I’m just here to watch.”

“I see.” Two words, short and simple, yet they grate on your nerves. There’s an undercurrent of judgment, but you don’t understand why it’s there. Rosha looks at the drivers again, this time letting his gaze settle for several seconds on each one. “Has anyone caught your eye in particular?”

“No, I–”

“LB’s a longtime fan of Din Djarin. They go way back,” Peli cuts you off, gesturing towards the man so there’s no mistaking who she’s talking about. Your smile slips, teeth grinding, but you probably should have expected her candidness. Secrets don’t stay secrets long when Peli knows about them.

Or, in this case, the past doesn’t stay in the past.

“Djarin, really?” Kao asks, dark eyes round with genuine surprise. Then his expression turns critical, bordering on condescension, and your spine is already tensing up before he speaks. “He barely competes in three races a season. What’s so special about him?”

Anger flares up in your chest, defensive on Din’s behalf, and so maybe that’s why when you catch a glimpse of red out of the corner of your eye, a disqualification sticker being slammed against Din’s car, you’re already halfway across the paddock before you’re aware that you even moved.

“What is going on here?” you ask the droid official, ignoring the sensation of Din’s stare digging into your backside.

“Paragraph 70 section 9A of the GRCS standard dictates all GS cars must have a minimum trunk space of 20 inches by 12 inches by 6 inches. This vehicle’s trunk doesn’t close ergo this vehicle fails standard and ergo this vehicle is disqualified from competing.” The droid’s methodical and emotionless answer does little to extinguish the frustration coursing through your veins.

“There must be a way to sort this out,” you argue. The droid offers no response except for the quiet whirring of its internal gears. Your jaw twitches.

Behind you, Din says your name. It’s as inflectionless as the droid’s voice, and that hurts something fierce, it really does.

Din’s toolbox sits on the ground near the back tire. Fortunately, you discover the organization of its contents hasn’t changed in the five years since you last rummaged through it.

Grabbing the turbohammer, you wrench open the trunk.

“Wait, what are you–”

Bang.

Din’s question is cut off by the deafening clang of the turbohammer striking against the interior of the trunk’s lid.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

You grunt in-between each hit, teeth rattling painfully, muscles straining against the heavy weight of the tool.

There is silence beyond the battering, drivers and spectators dumbstruck by the spectacle, and yet you keep going. Driven by anger at the unfairness of the situation, and, maybe, deep down if you’re being completely transparent, a bond of loyalty to Din you’ve never been able to sever.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Winding your arm back, you pant for air, summoning up every last bit of strength you possess, and then you let the turbohammer fly.

BANG.

The trunk shuts firmly beneath the force of your hand. You nod your head, satisfied with your efforts, and turn to look at the droid official.

“The trunk closes,” you say, one hand braced on your hip, the other still holding the turbohammer in a tight grip, “ergo the car meets GRCS standards and ergo he can race.”

Your gaze stays stubbornly locked onto the droid, knowing one look at Din would be your unraveling. Still, you’ll always know the weight of his stare and right now it’s heavier than ever with a thousand questions you don’t want to answer. Some you can’t answer, not for a lack of a response but because you have no clue what the questions even are.

Five years ago you could read every inch of Din like your favorite book, even when hidden behind the beskar helmet. Now the words are a jumbled mess, as if you’re trying to read them through someone else’s glasses. Maybe you are, in a sense. After all, you and Din are no longer the same people you once were.

“Your solution, although crude, is an acceptable one,” the droid says at last, removing the red sticker in one fluid motion. “Din Djarin, consider yourself qualified for Galma Raceway once more.”

You return the turbohammer back to its proper place and leave without another word. Din’s eyes follow you until you’re out of sight, slipping into the crowd for cover.

Peli finds you again when the race is seconds away from starting, cars steadily approaching the starting line after the completion of a warm-up lap.

“So,” Peli starts, “someone’s still not over their ex yet.”

You keep your gaze facing forward. “That droid wasn’t being fair. I would’ve done the same for anybody.”

“Please don’t make it a habit. I can handle GandleMotors not wanting anything to do with us anymore, but if you start getting a reputation for swinging turbohammers I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” you ask, arching a teasing eyebrow at her when she fails to finish. She makes a face, arms crossing her chest with a disgruntled noise because you both know there’s nothing you could do to make her leave you behind.

Your loyalty to Din is a complicated mess, but with Peli it’s a plain and simple fact of life. The sun rises everyday, the ocean’s blue, Peli Motto is and always will be in your corner.

The race begins with a waving green flag and a roar of applause. 40 laps around a two mile paved road with nine turns each more challenging than the last. Winner takes home a large credit prize and a gold medal, but for every driver out there, with the exception of Din, this race is but a stepping stone bringing them closer to competing in the BEC. Unlike Galma where anybody can enter by paying the entrance fee, the Boonta Eve Classic only invites those with the most medals to participate. Those who would have the best chance at completing the difficult course unscathed.

“What did they say exactly?” The question tumbles from your lips ten laps in, eyes flicking from your stopwatch to Din’s car in the middle of the pack. “Kao and Rosha?”

Peli waves a dismissive hand. “Nothing worth repeating.”

“That bad, huh?”

There is a beat of hesitation. Something sharp twists in your stomach at the same time one of Shelba’s cars spins off the track, tires screeching an ear-splitting note. The crowd erupts with equally shrill exclamations. You flinch, biting back a yelp, and your lungs seize up and choke on nonexistent smoke.

You hate that your body reacts traumatically to a crash you’re nowhere close to, that coming back to awareness requires Peli’s reassuring hand gripping your shoulder, that you have to fish your bottle of medication out of your pocket to settle down your frantic heartbeat . You used to be fearless. You used to be so much more.

Dry swallowing the pills, you turn to face Peli. “What did they say, Peli?”

She stays quiet for a moment, reluctance written in every line of her face. Finally, she admits, “They said they realized the rumors are true about you. That you quit racing because you can’t handle the pressure anymore.”

It’s the final lap and Din’s in second place behind Artim Twen from GandleMotors.

You can’t tear your eyes away, stomach twisting in anxious knots. The last turn on the course is coming up, wheels eagerly devouring the pavement, adrenaline pumping through the drivers’ veins.

Within your mind, you can imagine yourself right there in the passenger seat next to Din with such achingly vivid clarity: the straining grip of his leather gloves on the steering wheel, the stench of gasoline and oil and sweat, the rumbling drone of the engine vibrating through your bones. You think of distant summertime drives with Din, the wind in your hair, his hand on your thigh. Life has never been sweeter than those days.

Din approaches the turn right on Twen’s tail, bumpers nearly kissing as Peli would say. He’s searching for an opportunity to pass and you can imagine him grinding his teeth as Twen continues to block all attempts, remaining in first.

“Wait,” you say, a quiet murmur unheard over the cheering spectators. That’s okay though. You’re not speaking to them anyways.

Within seconds, the curve smoothes out into the final straightaway and the finish line draws closer and closer. You’re clenching your stopwatch hard enough it digs into your hand, but the pain anchors you in the moment.

“Wait,” you say again, knowing the course by heart. Knowing there’s a dirt runoff approaching on the side. Knowing that’s Din’s best chance to take the lead.

There is another moment—the briefest and tensest of seconds—where you picture yourself there in the car with Din. Through the windshield, the runoff is right there, ready and waiting, if only Twen’s car swerves just a little to the left. C’mon, c’mon…

“Now.” The word shoots off your tongue in the same breath Din shifts gears. His car veers off the paved road, dust dirtying the air and gravel flying. Your toes curl in your shoes, tempted to stomp the ground and pump the air with an elated shout. Twen has no hopes of blocking him anymore, undoubtedly letting out a curse or two when Din returns to the course now side by side with him.

Peli lets out a low whistle, impressed. “He’s got nice moves, that’s for sure.”

Din’s car increases speed, pedal to the metal, and if it were anybody else’s vehicle it would have protested the abrupt change in velocity, internal parts grinding against each other and spitting out smoke, but nobody knows cars like Din.

He wins by mere seconds, but in the world of racing, those precious seconds make or break drivers. They decide who gets a medal and who goes home with nothing.

The crowd erupts in thunderous applause. You can’t see Din’s face beneath the helmet, but regardless you know he’s smiling that dimpled grin of his. Soft and rare.

You can see Rosha and Kao, though, sour-faced and dismayed by their driver’s loss but also good enough sportsmen to clap. When Kao meets your eyes, he dips his head as if to say, I understand now.

What’s so special about Din Djarin? Everything.

And like a fool, you’d let him go.

When Din’s car starts slowing down, heading back for the paddock, you nudge Peli with your arm. “C’mon,” you say, watching his car become swamped with fans eager to get his autograph and reporters hoping for a statement to publish. “Let’s go home.”

“What? Don’tcha wanna talk to him?” Peli asks, looking back and forth between Din and you. “The only reason he got to compete is because of you. That tinhead owes you a thank you at least.”

“Nah,” you shake your head, eyes still on Din amongst the sea of people. So close and yet so far at the same time. “He doesn’t owe me anything.”

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #my fic #my writing #pedrostories #the mandalorian fanfiction

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catintheruemorgue · 4 years ago

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annoying things they do

summary: small things these guys do that just grinds your gears a bit.

characters: oda, dazai, kunikida, twain, akutagawa, atsushi, mori, poe, ranpo, fittzgerald, steinbeck, chuuya, yosano, gin, kouyou, higuchi, alcott and lucy

these are all based off things i do or have inconvenienced my life lmfao i’ll probs do a part two with everyone i missed this just got wayyy to long lol next im posting being friends with double black

Oda:

If you're wearing shorts and have bruises he will poke them when you're resting your legs on him. He’s silent about it too and if you yell at him he pretends to act like he doesn't know what you're talking about.

Will smack your sunburn but this one is actually an accident. He just wanted to pat you on the back because you're amazing.

Will space out when you talk too long, sometimes certain objects are just so… mesmerizing

Dazai:

Loves to jumpscare you the only exception is if it was a trigger. In that case he will just call your name and whip something at you for you to catch at random.

When you're driving he likes to reach over and honk your horn. It's almost caused so many roadside fistfights.

If he sees a dog in public he will bark and growl at it.

Kunikida:

Won’t let you on the bed without socks on. You could be sick as a dog and he’ll still enforce this rule.

Cleaning is hard because he has a hard time throwing things away. You'll spend extra time as he holds two identical pens, trying to decide which one he wants to keep. He’s learned to plan certain days in his schedule for cleaning now.

Won't let you turn up the music in the car and will keep it at a level that's so low it's annoying.

Twain:

Walks around the house shirtless but then complains about how cold it is.

Blasts his music so loud when he wakes up in the morning and it's always early 2000’s hits. It's not rare for you to have Pocketful of Sunshine by Natasha Bedingfield stuck in your head by 9 am.

Always has to climb something, this stems from his adventurous side. It's not really that annoying but when you’re in a crowded area and he runs off to go climb the tall statue, screaming at you to take a photo… Yes it is. Especially when children try and follow him and you're stuck receiving glares from the parents.

Akutagawa:

Will not let you throw any food products out. He tells you it's a perfectly good meal (even if it's not) and that he will eat it tomorrow. It’s sad because you know this stems from childhood but it’s still annoying.

Reuses the same gross, musty ziplock baggies. You keep buying new ones but he doesn't get it lol.

Will tell you if your breath smells, hair is messy, outfit is ugly. He does not see an issue with this and it's nice knowing someone has your back but he doesn't have to be so rude about it..

Atsushi:

If he drinks he's one of those drinkers who will not let you take it from him. Keeps an iron grip on the cup. He finishes it no matter how drunk and always throws up. Thankfully he rarely drinks.

He stops to help everyone, literally even if they just look like they need help. You've been late to so many things.

Will eat anything. Once you made steak and somehow forgot about it. It was hard as a brick yet he still almost broke his teeth eating it. You think you saw some tears as he told you it was delicious.

Mori:

Listens to people's conversations in public and isn't afraid to comment, loudly, about it. You know it's loud because they either stop talking or try and confront you guys.

Comes up to stops fast and brakes so hard you feel like he does it on purpose.

Sometimes if he and Elise get into a “disagreement” he’ll try and rope you in to take his side and you always do, knowing it would probably give him more satisfaction if you chose to side with her.

Poe:

Asks for constructive criticism but will then argue with you about why you're wrong.

Always humming a song he heard Twain singing and then it gets stuck in your head too.

Will deny stupid things like why your favorite mug is in the trash or why he just let out rather loud scream in the bathroom. You know he's lying because he looks away and makes sure his bangs are covering his eyes.

Ranpo:

Will call you out on any lie even if you don't mean to lie you just forgot about some of the details.

Don't take him grocery shopping if you have a set amount you want to spend. He won't even sneak, he will just say he wants something and throw it in the cart.

Such a backseat driver even though he can't drive.

Fitzgerald:

Likes to act like he's still in his twenties and will somehow get the two of you invited to college parties where he will attempt to do a kegger in front of everyone. You end up being the one to hold him up and he always ends with a, “LETS FUCKING GO!”

Likes to ask for the senior discount even though he's not that old, he just likes to hear the women validate that he's not old.

It’s scary how he used to buy without looking and now will scream if the price on a price tag is too high.

Steinbeck:

Always looking at the grass for wheat to chew on. It's so cheesy when you walk into the city and he's got it sticking out of his mouth.

He gets weirdly intimate with nature and you feel like you're third wheeling.

Has the mentality that he has to provide for you because he is the man. He gets so shocked when he finds out you still want to work.

Chuuya:

Has a hard time making decisions you could ask him what he wants for dinner and his mind will just break.

Gets way too pissed at movies and will actually get up and walk away. Once you were kicked out of the theater because he wouldn't stop yelling at the screen. Another time he walked out you waited a whole ten minutes before you realized he wasn't coming back.

Sometimes activates his ability at night and it's so scary waking up to him floating halfway across the room.

WOMAN TIME!!!!!!!!!!

Yosano:

Will glare at you so intensely if you say something she disagrees with.

Always tries to rope you into drinking with her even if you’ve said no the past ten nights.

Will describe wounds or injuries in such detail and just won’t stop, almost like she’s trying to fuck with you, but she’s not.

Gin:

Claims to be nothing like her big brother but then will go on to make the same facial expressions and do some of the same mannerisms as him.

Will spend hours trying things on just to put it all back, leave the store and change her mind when you’re almost home. Then she’ll have you run back with her to buy it all.

Is used to sneaking around so scares you a lot. Also on the topic of being silent sometimes she just won’t respond, thinking you can just read her vibes / mind.

Kouyou:

Will judge what you eat, especially fast food but will try and steal a fry in private when you're not looking.

Will say things like, “Well that's just the way the world works.” If someone tries to share their baggage with her. You understand she’s had a pretty rough life but it's caused you to almost spit out your drink multiple times.

At functions forgets about you for about an hour while she mingles with everyone else, you could tap on her shoulder and she'll dismiss you like you're a subordinate. Until you clear your throat again you'll see the slight blush as she apologizes.

Higuchi:

She has no sense of privacy. If she hears a crash or loud noise she will bust down the door. It’s sweet but not when the noises are usually from you knocking all the shampoo bottles down again.

Horrible road rage actually puts you on edge to be in the car with her. She doesn't even have to be driving.

Likes to act like she's a professional at everything and people usually believe it because of her suit. It's so nerve wracking when she giggles when they walk away with false information.

Alcott:

Will agree to everything you suggest but you can only tell when she doesn’t want to do it when you’re currently doing it.

Yet she’s not afraid to grumble about how annoying it is when someone bumps into you and doesn’t apologize. It’s sweet but you’re left dealing with the situation if the person is aggressive enough to say something.

Always corrects your spelling or if you say something like “I could care less.”

Lucy:

Will fish for compliments in a very obvious way like, “Wow. Wish someone would call me pretty..” and then just stare right at you.

Kicks you so violently in her sleep but won't let go of you so you cant get away.

Constantly stealing from restaurants. You're banned from a couple restaurants because she got caught trying to steal a cup or salt shaker.

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theflyingkipper · 3 years ago

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D10 lore 2, electric boogaloo

====

D10 lore 1 (just art)

My headcanon for Diesel 10's origins, there's some funny human au content at the bottom

getting @revenge-of-three-au 's attention because I know they like D10 >:)

note: so turns out I have never had an original idea and D10 being Cockade is apparently a very common headcanon . I promise I came up with this independently 😭 also there's more to him being D810 as well so if you're already familiar with this headcanon you are allowed to skip ahead XD

- Class 42s were planned to have further modifications during modernization, but due to their smaller body shapes could not accommodate for extra equipment. With the mechanical issues and newer classes being introduced, the 42s were gradually withdrawn.

- Diesel 10 spent his early life in a BR green livery, and like most of his siblings was named after a royal navy warship. His name was Cockade (or cockhead, when he got snippy).

- yes this means hes british in this headcanon I can not find a reason he would sound like he does in tatmr (I hate this implication though XD)

- D810 and some of his siblings were offered by BR to the Diesel Traction Group, after a Class 22 that was promised to them was accidentally scrapped. D821 (Greyhound) was the only one chosen out of the five siblings offered, as he was in the best mechanical condition out of them.

- Although Diesel 10 and his siblings were notoriously dickish to one another during their working life, they were desperate to see this last pocket of their class be preserved. Especially D818, who was rather beloved to the staff of Swindon Works and his siblings.

- D832 (Onslaught) was then sent to the Railway Technical Centre, and was restored using cannibalized parts of D818, to the horror of both him and his siblings, who shunned D832 despite him having no control over the decision.

- In early September, 1973, D810 was purchased for a nominal amount of money by a shady buyer. He was taken from the scrapyard while his siblings were asleep. His siblings were cut up believing that D810 suffered the same fate as them.

(In reality, D810 was cut up September 26th, 1973 at Swindon.)

- at this point, D810 was in horrific mechanical condition, but no better or worse than his siblings. His buyer, P.T. Boomer, was told to "knock himself out" when he said he wanted to restore D810.

- D10 was heavily modified, and it took nearly 11 years to finish his build. (He was one of a few different projects, among them being two modified class 08s that he befriended) He was converted from diesel-hydraulic to diesel-electric after his body shell was refitted, making him slightly bigger and boxier than his siblings. Much of his inner workings were rearranged, and D10 has some trouble backing up because of this. Hes great at accelerating, though.

- A large space was carved out for the addition of a claw, which D10 was VERY excited about. He was not worried in the slightest about the legal implications, he was too focused on the idea of being able to grab things.

- The claw and D10s wheels are powered by two separate electric motors, this makes Pinchy almost a separate being from D10, but he retains some control due to them deriving power from the same diesel engine.

- Pinchy makes D10 significantly heavier than his siblings, and crossing bridges (or crumbling viaducts) runs the risk of the structure collapsing

- D10's claw can be hidden inside his body. (His original model plans had this) Putting moving parts on the back of locomotives is illegal, and visibly having a giant claw would not make him eligible for work anywhere. He was loaned to the NWR for track clearing maintenance (without knowledge of the claw) and no one was the wiser.

- D10s hatred of steam engines stems from a much deeper qualm with replacement and preservation. He and his siblings were treated like a footnote for their time and effort, while all that was needed to be preserved as a steam engine was to be one, and maybe have a pretty name. (He did now take the news of Evening Star's preservation very well.) He has a particular distaste for "special" steam engines, and everyone on the Island of Sodor is on that list.

- D10's hatred goes beyond steam engines, too. He hates the newer classes of diesel engines that replaced his siblings, as well. On some level, he'd be able to sympathize with steam engines suffering a similar fate, but he refuses to equate himself to them.

(In Human AU)

- the locomotive's story is pretty much the same, though instead of being purchased by P.T. Boomer, D810 is stolen from the scrapyard by human D10.

- I have decided on a whim that human D10 is on the run from the American police and fled to the UK to continue his crimes under the pseudonym "Pete Swindon".

[Images of class 42s, D810 included]

[where I got most of the information on Class 42s]

#froggi come get your juice #i tried to write some alt text for the images too :) i hope it works #ttte #thomas the tank engine #art #ttte headcanon #thomas and friends #thomas and the magic railroad #tatmr #ttte d10 #ttte pt boomer #br class 42 #real life railway #kips art

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iamnotdame · 2 years ago

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Letting Go Of 16-Year Old Fears, Being Happy & Running From Music

I’m currently sitting in my car, parked in my garage at home, with my knee propped on the steering wheel, like I’m not 6’2, 250 lbs, thinking about all that I have and everything I’ve gone through, the good, the bad and even the great.

It’s 11:01 pm, and I just came back from my office down the street. I ran in my office to grab a piece of music equipment so I can work on stuff tonight and all day tomorrow, since I plan on staying home all day.

I’ve been sad a lot lately though, and reflecting on life, what my future holds, and feeling guilty about a lot of things from my past for whatever reason.

I’ve done so many amazing things. So many. I’ve made so many sacrifices and never complained about anything since I’ve been on this journey, and I’m proud of that.

I’ve fought most of my battles alone, internalizing my feelings and thoughts and focusing on the positive big picture, all of the time, every day.

I only see the positive in everything and everyone, and ironically, if I ever do have a negative thought or feeling, it’s towards myself. It’s like I process positive in everything, then transfer the negatives back to myself, and I hate that shit.

With that being said, I’m proud of myself. I deserve to celebrate my accomplishments. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to be acknowledged by others for my consistent hard work and dedication. I want that. I hope for that every day. I can honestly say that my motivation for doing right is to one day have it acknowledged by others.

The main reflection lately has been, “Wow, I am where I am today because of music. All of this came from music. Everything. Shit is crazy.”

I slept in my car 6 times, for music.

I pay my bills now from music. I’ve traveled to and explored New York, gone to a Yankee game, been to Atlanta, Florida, flew a plane, and so much more, because of music…

I sacrificed family, friendships, relationships, love, the chance of being a husband and a father, for music… I’ve compromised my health and probably took a few years off of my life, for music.

I started an entire music school. I’ve helped thousands of people in music. All of my relationships have come from music. All of my closest friends are in music, or are a part of the professional dream chase to some capacity, but all relative to my connection to music.

Back in 2014, I made a decision to leave my family, to find myself, to learn how to become a man, because I realized that my family was like an anchor chained to my leg, and I wanted to cut off that weight to be more than I ever imagined, without hoping and praying for love and support from a group of people I deeply loved, but realized that love and support from them was going to continue being only hopes and prayers.

I’ve been running from music…

Why have I been running from music though? I feel that I have the answer, but it’s very deep. It stems from my childhood, being around music my entire life. I know why I’ve been running from music, now that I’m thinking about it. One day, I wish someone would ask me that in an interview, and I would love to explain why and have my reason shared for others to hear, understand and respect.

In a nutshell, I’ve always felt like I was supposed to be doing more… so all of this time, I’ve been chasing more, reaching more and doing more, only to still be here at music, and confused as to what I’m supposed to be doing with/in music. So weird.

Look, me writing me this, is me working through my thoughts, with the intention of cutting off what’s been holding me back from what I’m supposed to be doing in life, whatever that is, in music… the realization is that music is going to be a part of my future.

If that is the case, I need to overcome the fears and doubts in my heart. They’ve been there since Vic died. That was 16 years ago. I’m ready to let go of them, because I appreciate life more than ever and the blessing of still being able to be in and around music on the highest level.

I’m basically exposing myself. Outletting everything in hopes of shedding off the weight, so I can move forward, if that is what God wants for me.

I think, in order to really overcome what’s holding me back, I need to be able to clearly answer these questions:

• What makes me happy?

• What do I want to do for ME?

• How do you truly feel about music?

• If you had a choice to be a part of music in any way possible, what does that look like for you?

… and I honestly have no answers to these questions right now, so I think this is where I start.

I need to really sit down and learn how to do things for myself, and be happy and proud that I can do that.

I don’t have to kill myself for others anymore. I don’t need anyone’s validation anymore. I have so much power and can influence so many by learning how to be okay with just being myself! I just need to figure out… no, you just need to be YOU! You are you, just be that and stop thinking you need to be more than what you currently are!

Okay. That is true.

I’m glad I wrote this much.

Just keep expressing and taking the time to write out your thoughts… this is a good first step.

Just write when you think, and we’ll figure out the rest later.

It’s now 11:48. I’m going inside the house now.

If you read this, I truly appreciate you. I hope you can take something from this for yourself.

- Dame

#damemonster #life quotes #message of the day #daily quotes #life advice #life lessons #quote of the day #love quotes #5 life lessons #musician #sad thoughts #music is everything #music is therapy

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kareofbears · 3 years ago

Text

plainly in truth, chapter 4/5

“Without you around, it’s sorta like stuff is just kinda…bleh.”

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut

Niijima Makoto doesn’t know what she’s doing.

It’s rare, but it happens. Sometimes she doesn’t understand the material in university. Sometimes the trains close down before she can catch the last one. Sometimes she has a breakdown because what does it mean that the system that got her father killed is the same one that she’s working so hard to get into.

But there’s always a way to find a solution—ask the professor after lecture. Call Sae and, as humiliating as it was, ask for a ride home. Convince herself that maybe she’s what the system needed in order to get real change. (She’s not quite there yet.)

She doesn’t know what she’s doing with Ryuji, and the internal tug-of-war is almost getting too much for her.

Makoto can help him; how many students has she worked with to help get them back on their feet? But each of those students she had tutored wanted help—she didn’t need to convince them to focus on school. How do you convince someone to get academic help? Duct tape them to a chair and show them a PowerPoint about how their life can fall apart if they don’t take this seriously? Then she’d be blatantly ignoring his mental struggle, and be no better than the adults who want to push kids through a meat grinder that’s the education system and turn them into mindless workers, existing solely to earn them profit.

Then she can leave him alone. That’s what he wants, anyway, and it’s by far the simplest option.

However, if she leaves him alone, would that mean that she’s still the same person who let Shujin students sell themselves to Kaneshiro? Convinced that they can handle it on their own, but only letting their debts pile higher and higher on themselves until they get crushed?

Sudden laughter and shouting from behind pulls Makoto back to reality. They were all in a heated game of Tycoon, and it sounds like Akira’s been on a winning streak for the past half hour.

She grips the steering wheel tighter, forcing herself to focus on the road and not the whirlwind of thoughts. The highway is nearly empty, despite the sun being high in the sky, not a single cloud blocking its rays. They’re on their way to Okinawa, and it’s her turn to drive.

Makoto may not know what she’s doing, but she can at least do this.

—

Okumura Haru has always had a bit of a guilt complex.

It started with refusing to give her hand to an abusive man for her also abusive father’s business, and it had only escalated even further once she realized that it’s technically her fault that her father had been killed; that one in particular had been crippling. Not only because he died due to her poor decision making, but it was another reason why the Thieves had fallen for Shido’s trap last year.

She respects herself enough now to understand that most of it is misplaced, but it doesn’t erase any of the guilt she still carries today. Far from it—that guilt has only grown to be bigger, looming over her as if it were ready to consume every inch of her body and spit out a bag of bones.

This situation, though, she can’t help but feel that her guilt isn’t quite as misplaced as she likes to convince herself it is.

They were all having lunch at the ferry’s restaurant; it’s small, given how little people want to go all the way out to Okinawa, but it’s still selling ludicrously overpriced coffee and pastries. Nobody seems to mind, though. All of them were sharing one cheese omelette, each with a plastic fork in hand, tapping them against each other to get the best piece and assert dominance like animals at a watering hole.

A way to soothe guilt is to somehow find a way to remedy the situation. Employees of Big Bang Burger have been unionized, her father is now remembered for the man he was rather than the man he became, Sugimura has long since been a problem (how he stopped being a problem, she legally cannot speak about), and Shido isn’t even in the public’s conscious anymore.

But for Ryuji, there is no way to soothe that guilt. Not in a way that matters.

It’s not just because Haru had essentially been the reason why too many people know his secret, but because the secret should have never happened in the first place. She’s his senpai, she was supposed to be the one looking out for him. Ryuji was struggling, mentally and academically, and she hadn’t realized it until it was far too late. He had been there for her, ready to knock Sugimura’s teeth into his throat, but she couldn’t have done the same for him when it truly mattered.

How do you soothe that guilt? Buy out the entire school? Forge his grades? More cram books? That’s ridiculous.

There’s no way to soothe that guilt, she realizes, because the only real way to do that was to turn back time.

—

Kitagawa Yusuke understands pride better than most people.

Without a cent to his name for most of his life, pride was all he had. Pride of being the pupil of someone great, pride of turning money away in the name of art. Being able to withstand enormous pressure and stick to his guns has always been one of his strongest abilities.

They’re in the Okinawa jail, tearing through Shadows and screaming Sophia’s name, over and over again until all of their throats are torn raw. He calls for Goemon, and ice crawls over the narrow corridors of the facility like ants covering every inch of a buffet. They’re all strong, because they have to be, but the Shadows here are cunning; fast and magic-infused, drunk on the strange, thick air that’s bled into every inch of cement in this building.

But pride can be an unforgiving catalyst that can change you from the inside out, like a parasite hijacking your brain stem and compels you to bow down to it. He had refused to see the truth, turned a blind eye to the evils of his sensei, and it made him into a lesser version of himself. It had made him weaker.

A crack of lightning strikes, emanating light so bright that he instinctively raises a hand to block it out. When it dims, any smell of the cold, dry air is gone—in its place is the distinct scent of ozone wafting around him, and a light buzz that settles atop his skin like a second layer. The hair on his nape stands, but Yusuke’s positive it didn’t come from the electricity still buzzing from the ashes of the Shadows.

Ryuji had obliterated all of their foes with one, clean strike.

—

Takamaki Ann can tell that something’s off.

Her toes are buried deep in hot sand, taking refuge under their big umbrella. The sun is just about setting over the horizon, casting an orange glow on her skin, and she idly hopes that she had put on enough sunscreen. They’ve tired themselves out for the most part; some were taking naps on beach towels, some had retired back to the RV where air conditioning awaits them.

Only Akira and Ryuji were left, standing where the sand meets the tide, water lapping at their ankles. She couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but she recognized the look on Akira’s face—with his glasses hanging from his button up, his eyes sparkled brighter than the ocean does, not quite smiling but his lips are curled up as if unable to completely restrain itself. It’s the look he reserves for Ryuji.

She digs her feet deeper into the sand, enjoying the way it tickles her calves. Ann’s been thinking about this whole thing in her head ever since she found out the truth, and something just isn’t adding up.

As absolutely insane as it all is, if she closes one eye, tilts her head, and slams her head against a wall, she can sort of, kind of, maybe understand where he’s coming from. She’s known him too long not to. The whole actively lying to his friends thing is still unforgivable, but the need to hide it? Understandable. She barely scraped by second-year herself with a prayer and English-speaking parents, and even then her grades are nothing to write home about.

Ann could barely believe that Ryuji really thought that Akira would leave him over something as stupid as flunking school, but even that she can understand, too. Everyday, she wants to be a better person for Shiho, and everyday, she goes to bed thinking that she didn’t try hard enough. Ann gets it. Love screws with your brain, swirls it up until you can barely stand up straight, and definitely messes with your perception of yourself. Ridiculous, crazy, but still somewhat coherent.

There’s still one piece in this whole puzzle that hasn’t clicked yet, and it’s been bugging her ever since that night in the cafe.

As perceptive as he is, as smart and observant and unstoppable as he is, as kind and knowledgeable as he is, as much as he adores Ryuji to the moon and back—

Why hasn’t Akira said anything yet?

—

Sakura Futaba knows that something’s off.

As the navigator, she sees everything she needs to make sure her team makes it out of every battle alive and victorious. Necronomicon can see stuff that no one else can, can predict two, three, four moves before it can happen. She eats stats for breakfast and spits out results by second breakfast. She knows her team’s moveset like the back of her hand and then some. Futaba takes this seriously, because if she doesn’t, someone’s not walking out alive.

The best part is that she’s good at this. So good that the eternal worrywart, Joker himself, can still walk out of the Metaverse with a head of thick, black hair.

But something’s been off. She felt it in her bones and that feeling only gets more prominent with every passing Jail—no, not even Jail. With every battle, that feeling only gets stronger in her gut.

When it started is still a mystery to her, but she started picking up on it in Sapporo. Sapporo. Her mom told her never to pray, but by god she’s hoping that it started in Sapporo, because this—this thing, is too big to have missed.

Futaba isn’t sure what it is yet, but she has no idea what’s happening with Ryuji.

To be more specific, she has no idea what’s happening with Captain Kidd, but that’s basically the same thing; Personas are the extension of the user, I am thou, et cetera. The weirdest part is, she knows something’s off, but she doesn’t know if it’s necessarily a problem.

It’s as if Ryuji’s been hitting the gym while they weren’t looking, or giving Kidd a stern talking to. His attacks, which used to be around the same baseline as the rest of the team, is nearly outputting double the amount of damage than the rest of them. His hits are buffed to the wazoo on a level she’s never seen before in any other Persona user, even Akira.

She’s considered bringing it up with him dozens of times. The two of them have to be honest with each other, not because they love and respect each other or any of that bullcrap—it’s because it’s the only way anything can ever function in the team. Between the navigator and the leader, if they ever hide anything from the other, no matter how small, things would never run smoothly. Or worse: it’ll crash and burn.

And then Ryuji comes along and makes them all take a blood oath to never, ever tell Akira a really big secret.

Technically, she doesn’t see an issue with it. It’s more of an unspoken rule than any kind of signed contract, and it’s mostly about Metaverse stuff instead of real world problems. She’s not eagerly telling Akira about her private Pixiv account or anything. But it’s not impossible to think that Ryuji being strong enough to be wearing ten Gilded Vests stacked on top of each other is somehow connected to his very real, very heart-affecting situation. If she really thought it was a problem, she’d tell Akira right away. It’s better to have Ryuji hate her than to have him dead.

But when she sees Akira’s face flash with relief in Akane’s Jail when Ryuji all but annihilates a mega-super-high level Shadow, one that Akira’s been stressing about the entire time since they’ve been here despite him trying his best to act cool about it because he has to be, it’s kinda hard to consider this to be a problem at all.

—

Between Konoe’s attacks and relentless bolts of ions getting shot up every few seconds, the static is so thick in the air that their hairs are all frayed and heading skywards.

The blast from Konoe’s mech, once a symbol of their triumph and had pulled no small amount of whoops and cheers from their throats, is only the first stage of their fated battle. They hadn’t planned for an extra phase, and the only reason they were able to escape was that steam from the busted metal and machinery had given them a few seconds of cover.

All of them are huddled behind a wall, outlined with neon blue that only served to blend them in with the futuristic technicholar that is the Osaka Jail.

“We’re clear,” Makoto announces, voice low as she returns from peeking around the corner. “No chance he knows our location.”

“Thank you Queen,” Akira says, mask pushed far up his head, clear eyes rapidly checking over each of his teammates, nodding. “Good work out there with the mech, now let’s figure this one out. What do we know?”

“Not a lot,” Futaba’s goggles reflect data as her fingers dance over the screen. “If we assumed that his weaknesses would be the same as his mech, then it would be lightning and nuclear.”

“Only if we assume that his physical form reflects his robotic form,” Yusuke points out. “What are the odds that that’s the case?”

Morgana taps his paw on the ground, deep in thought. “High, I’d say. Remember, he didn’t even think anyone could actually get into his Jail. He was worried enough to give himself two forms, but I doubt he’d go much deeper than that in terms of protection.”

“Look, my math might be a little off,” Ryuji starts. “But it’s literally a ten-on-one, right? I vote we kick his ass from the get go.”

Akira grips his arm. “Don’t. It might be a ten-on-one, but I don’t want to be walking out of here with only nine or less. We take this slow, like we always do.”

“...Fine.”

“What I’m worried about is that big sword of his,” Ann says grimly. “It looks like one hit from that thing I can kiss my entire torso goodbye.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Eyes flickering to Futaba, Akira asks, “Possible defenses?”

“I’m not seeing anything special from it other than it’s huge and sharp and could kill us if he really wanted to, which, he does. So it looks like it’s physical, unless he has something up his sleeve.”

“Which he probably does, because that’s just how things usually go for us,” Ann sighs.

“We’ll go with what we know.” Akira gets on his feet, taking another peek, black coattails swishing around his ankles. With blood-red hands he pulls his mask back down, and they all straighten up. His voice is barely above a mutter, but they all catch every word he says. “Panther, how’s your energy?”

“Nearly full,” she answers.

“Use Concentrate on Queen and Skull on their call, double their magical attack whenever you can. I know it takes awhile to reuse when you’re using it for anyone but yourself, but try your best. Ryuji, how you holding up?”

“Like everything’s zero gravity, leader.”

“Then I want you to do the same with Charge for Fox, Noir, and yourself. Don’t overdo it though—only do it on my call.”

“Got it.”

“Sophie, Morgana: healing duty. Especially for those of you who drain your health like an open tap. Noir, try to get a vantage point and use Milady’s arsenal. Catching Konoe off guard can be what we need. Oracle, watch our backs. Everyone else, on standby. Are we all clear?”

With a nod, Akira takes a deep breath. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

He takes the first step, knowing full well that ten more are right behind him.

The minute Konoe spots where they were hiding, he takes a slow pace towards them, confident in his own abilities. He swings his lightsaber around him with ease, footsteps heavy and sure.

They take his lethargy to their advantage. “Split!” Akira calls, and immediately they head to where they need to be. “Let’s take this nice and—”

In a split second, the unhurried pace that Konoe was taking dissipates and he dashes forward, a blur to their eyes, heading straight for Ann, who just barely dodges out of the way.

“What the hell?!”

“He’s fucking fast now!”

“This guy’s speed just cranked up!” Futaba yells. “If he could do that without me even realizing it, then who knows—”

“Stay sharp, we know what we’re doing.”

“How on earth are you still so calm, Joker?!”

“Because I believe in all of you.” Dashing left, he brushes his mask. “Neko Shogun, help me out.” A black cat with eyes bigger than his hand materializes from the monochrome mask, and they all suddenly feel lighter on their feet, ready to dodge anything that comes their way. “Queen, Skull.”

“Roger that!”

Makoto scales one of the neon walls, grip strength insurmountable, and runs across the wires that are tied from each platform, boots barely touching the cord, before jumping down. “Johanna!”

An explosion, or something more akin to a nuclear bomb getting set off mere meters in front of them, occurs where Makoto lands, hitting Konoe head-on.

He staggers back, obviously shaken but he recovers quickly. Lightsaber buzzing red, he’s about to strike at her when she hops on the back of Johanna, engine revving. “Lucky us, he’s weak to nuclear.”

Ryuji hops on his feet, hyping himself up. “Not all of us have cars for a quick getaway,” he snarks, before he’s gone, sprinting so fast that he’s nearly a blur to anyone looking his way. Racing behind a wall, he gets the jump on Konoe. “Come on out, Captain!”

A storm brews even without a single cloud over them as ozone reeks and lightning strikes, the deafening sound of thunder makes their ears ring.

“Holy crap,” Futaba breathes.

“Is he weak?” he asks.

“Uh,” Ann says. Konoe uses his lightsaber as a makeshift cane to get himself on his feet, shaking his head aggressively. “Yeah, I’d say he’s weak to it.”

“Comms are set,” Futaba announces. “Noir, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Oracle,” a bright voice chirps in their ears. “Joker, it’s an easy shot.”

“Take it.”

“With your help, Milady.”

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot rings out, and their heads swivel to see if it hit, but there’s no one there.

“What the...?” Ann wildly spins around, eyes widening. “Sophie—!”

Without turning her head back, Sophia instinctively ducks sideways, bits of red locks falling to the ground as Konoe’s lightsaber slices through the edges of her hair, and again when it grazes past her head, and another when it slices through the metal flooring like it was butter.

Panic grips her. “Pithos!” Sophia shrieks, voice high with fear. Blinding light shines from her hands, but Konoe walks into it like it was nothing.

Yusuke grips his katana, and silent as a gust of wind on a winter’s night, cuts through the air in front of him to deliver a myriad of slashes over Konoe. It does little to him, but it’s jarring enough that Sophia can escape where she was cornered.

“He’s very speedy,” Sophia says shakily. “Thank you, Fox.”

He nods, touching his mask in preparation. “That speed is nothing to jest about.”

“And we can’t do anything about it by just standing here! Makoto, back me up here.” Ann throws her mask in the air. “Carmen!”

“Find me an opening, and I’ll handle the rest,” Haru’s voice crackles.

“She’s right.” Akira touches his mask as it burns bright with the strength of dozens, maybe even hundreds of Personas. “She needs cover, and we need the element of surprise. Fox, Morgana.”

“Not a word more.”

“You got it!”

Ann takes a leaf from Makoto’s book, using her whip to grapple herself onto a ledge, running to take the high point behind Konoe, grazing Haru’s shoulder on the way there.

Konoe turns, but before he can take a counter measure, Akira calls out: “King Frost.”

At the same time, Yusuke says, voice loud and clear: “Goemon!”

Together, pillars of ice, meters and meters high surround Konoe, high enough that he can’t see anything past a few feet. But that height comes with a price; they can only make it so thick, and the lightsaber didn’t hesitate to crush it into bits.

“Panther, we don’t have too much time.” Already, sweat begins to pool and roll down Akira’s skin, using up his magic rapidly. “Are you in position?”

“Just—” she hops, heels clicking rapidly against the floor. “—About! Ten seconds!”

“We can hold it. Sophia, stay close on standby.”

“Understood!”

Motorcycle wheels screech next to Ryuji, and he doesn’t hesitate to hop on the back before they’re off again, leaving tire marks where they skirted off. “I swear to god, you play the racing games in the arcade. How the hell else would you get so good at this?”

“Would you shut up?” Makoto snaps.

“Roger that.”

“I’m in position!” Ann announces. She’s almost directly on top of the ice pillar. “On your signal.”

Gritting his teeth, Akira wipes the sweat away. “Hold.”

Yusuke swivels his head to him, knees shaking. “I can hold for as long as you need me to, but I might not be as much use afterwards.”

“It’s fine.” His eyes narrow at Konoe, still tearing through their ice blockade as the pile of shards only gets higher and higher. “Just a little bit longer. Sophia, use the biggest, most pinpoint bless move you have on my word.”

“Yes,” she responds, before hesitating. “He’s immune to it, I’m afraid.”

“I know.” Even Akira sounds breathless, his footing becoming unsteady.

“Joker, you don’t have much left,” Futaba warns. “You better hope this ends things, or we’re gonna have a real big problem on our hands.”

Once the shards of ice have piled high enough that it would surpass Konoe’s height twice over, and despite his hands beginning to turn blue, Akira's grin is wide. “Three—”

Yusuke’s vision begins to blur, but he refuses to relinquish Goemon.

“Two—”

Haru rearranges her finger on the trigger, palms drenched in sweat but they don’t shake. Not anymore.

“One—”

Ann takes a few steps back, sucking in a breath before sprinting forward, jumping straight over the open-chasm of ice and death beneath her.

“Now!”

Carmen releases a blaze of flame intense enough to encompass an entire neighborhood and then some, taking the shards and bits of ice that was piled high on top of each other and turning it into a cloud of fog and hot mist, shooting straight up and turning the visibility of the whole area to zero.

Yusuke crumbles to his knees as Ann tucks and rolls onto the floor, hissing as she feels her ankle twist into something nasty. “Shit!”

Akira staggers back, gripping his head like it hurts for him to stand, but that doesn’t stop him from yelling out: “Sophia!”

“Makougan!”

Like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm, there shines a beam of light so bright, so concentrated into one area, that they all know exactly where to aim their fire.

It all comes tumbling down, a perfectly set-up domino trap; Haru pulls trigger after trigger, bullet shells flying, ignoring the way her shoulder is inching further and further from where it’s supposed to be by taking the brunt of the recoil. Ryuji hops off the bike, crossing his arms in front of him calling two, three, four bolts as Makoto calls another nuclear blast.

From inside the whirlpool of thick clouds, where the fog is most dense, a figure sways, coughing and lurching forwards and back, trying desperately to escape.

“Oh no you don’t! Zorro!”

Wind, so thick you can almost see it, swirls around most of the mist, locking it in and dragging everyone else’s attacks right in the center.

Futaba’s clacking can be heard even now. “He’s losing health fast! Eighty percent, seventy percent, sixty—”

The ground trembles ominously.

“What in the world…?” Yusuke pants from the ground, elbows barely able to keep his torso up.

It happens again, stronger this time.

“Fifty, forty—” she continues, voice small and desperate. “Thirty! Twenty!”

Akira presses his palm against the ground, eyes closed before snapping open. Despite his exhaustion, he compels himself to stand, arms outstretched defensively. “Guard!”

They do so, and a streak of pure light flickers from the inside, before rapidly getting larger and larger until it turns into a scintillating sphere that grew and pulsed, eating up everything in its wake and blowing away the captivating fog. Try as they might, there’s nothing they can do to stand up against a Megidolaon.

Bruised and battered, Konoe stands tall as the Phantom Thieves can do nothing but look up from the ground, energy and options all but dried up until neither was left.

—

“Stop, I can walk, let me up—”

“Panther, stop struggling, your ankle is already too injured to—”

“Fuck! Oracle, does he know where we are?”

“Not yet; looks like that vanish ball Joker threw out gave us some cover but it’ll last for a way shorter time considering he blew through our plan in less than—”

“Whoa, Fox, you’re not looking good.”

“I’m afraid I can’t keep going, everyone. Goemon has reached his limit, but I don’t necessarily need him to keep fighting. Judging by my vision, however, my accuracy might be much lower than usual.”

“Man, shut up and stay down.”

“Sophia? Can you hear us?”

“Yes, but—ow!”

“Okay, stop moving, you’re only going to make it worse.”

“Joker, we still have plenty of items that we’ve accumulated from previous Jails. We don’t have much time before he can find us again, but if we put our heads together—”

“Are you talking about the scraps of grilled corn and the three life stones we have left? It would be suicide. We have to go in, guns blazing. It’s the only way it can work.”

“You’re talking about suicide, Mona, and the ‘guns blazing’ strategy you’re talking about would be literally lead to us serving our heads on a silver platter.”

“So what’s your plan, Queen? I’m all ears, I’m serious.”

“G-guys, stop fighting! We’ve barely got enough time as is. Just let me scan—”

“We’re pulling back.”

All eyes turn to Akira, posture straight despite the sheen of sweat clinging to his forehead. It’s obvious how he was barely able to stand.

Ryuji takes a step forward. “Are you crazy?”

"More than half of us are running on fumes, and half of those people are injured to the point where they can barely keep going. Our plan was shattered like it was nothing, he has a super move that’s so powerful that it tears through our defenses like tissue paper. We’re retreating.”

“Like hell we are! Do you know what’s gonna happen if we leave?”

“We heal our injuries, we get more items, we prepare better this time, and we come up with a better plan.”

“And that gives that bastard—” he jerks his thumb behind him. “The exact same advantage.”

“And what advantage do we have?” Akira’s voice is calm but they all feel the edge to it. “Who can even fight?”

“I can,” Morgana answers quietly. “He takes wind like concrete, though.”

“So can I. However, I can’t do as much as I normally can.” Haru rolls her shoulder, wincing. “I may have dislocated my shoulder earlier.”

“And me, obviously,” Ryuji finishes. “That’s nearly an entire team. We even have support and a distance shooter, and Futaba’s still in this too, so—”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no,” he says, hard. “Don’t be stubborn about this. You know damn well why we can’t.”

Akira turns on his heel, only the slightest wobble in his movements. “Let’s move out. We only have thirty seconds left before the vanish ball wears off.”

“We’re not leaving.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Is it because you’re not on the team?”

A hush falls on them, and for a second, everyone forgets that they were even in the middle of a battle.

Akira glances back, hair covering his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Ryuji takes another step forward, chin tilted up. “That you don’t think that we can handle this without you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it really? When was that last time you weren’t on the A team, Joker? Does anyone remember?” He glances at the rest of them. “Anyone? No? Yeah, I figured.”

He stares at him. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?”

“I just don’t like that you’re implying that I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Ryuji…” Ann tries quietly.

“Yourself?” He faces him, expression blank. “I thought this was about the team.”

“And I’m part of the team, ain’t I?”

“You’re not dragging the rest of them into your petty, nonsensical argument, Skull,” Akira goes toe-to-toe with him, neither one blinking. “That’s final.”

“You know it would be dumb as shit to give that guy even more time to prepare. It’s like Shido—he was the toughest guy we went up against because he gave himself a billion counter measures since he knew we were coming. Konoe barely knew jack but he handed our asses to us. We finish this now or we don’t finish this at all.”

“I’d rather lose the battle than lose my friends,” he hisses. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“You’re too fucking blind to see that this is more than just us, leader,” Ryuji spits the word. “I can do it—no, I will do it.”

Akira grabs the bandana around his neck. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” he says through gritted teeth. “But you’re not going anywhere near Konoe.”

But it’s useless, and they both know it—Akira’s far too drained and Ryuji’s far too strong for it to be much more than an empty threat.

Ryuji wraps his fingers around his wrist. “I’ll prove to you that I can fucking do this,” his grip is tight, before forcibly peeling Akira’s grasp from him. “Believe in me. I’m strong, Akira.”

“Don’t do this.” Any anger from his words dissipates, and desperation takes its place. “I’m commanding you, as the leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts—do not do this.”

With a wide grin and lightning behind his eyes, Ryuji’s gone, and Akira’s hand is grasping thin air.

“Fuck,” he clutches at his head, body shaking with exertion. “Fuck.”

“Oh my god,” Makoto breathes. “He’s going to fight Konoe alone.”

“Over my dead body,” Akira touches his mask. “Come out, Yoshits—” Before he can finish, a gutteral sound from deep in his throat cuts him off, and he crashes ungracefully on the ground. “God dammit.”

Makoto shakes herself out of her stupor, taking a deep breath. “Alright, we can’t leave Skull. We’ll work with what we have.” Instinctively, she looks to Akira for advice, but his eyes are glazed over. Whether or not it’s from exhaustion or shock from what happened, she doesn’t know. “Noir, range attack. Shoot down the broken limbs from the mech, pray it still has nuclear running through its pipes. Mona, you’ll be on the support. Noir is already down in health, and Lord knows Skull’s going to need it. I’m down energy wise, but I have a good visual from above.” Eyes sliding sideways. “Oracle?”

“Comms are set up, I’m scanning for weaknesses, and Skull’s almost there,” she replies instantly. “If you’re going to join him, it’s now or never.”

“Alright.” Makoto swallows. “Everyone else, stay back. You two—go.” Morgana and Noir dart out.

“Thank you,” Akira says quietly. “I was just…out of it.”

“You don’t have to explain. That was…” she trails off when he looks up at her. His gaze in the Metaverse is sharp, always sharp, but now they’re dull. From knives to pebbles.

“Why did he do this?” he whispers. “What did I do wrong?”

The floor begins to rumble again, and they all lean over the edge to watch the battle playout.

“Everyone’s in position,” Yusuke narrates with a frown. “I don’t doubt Skull’s skill, but even at our full power, Konoe couldn’t be beaten.”

“He’s there,” Makoto says, and Akira watches, perfectly still. “He’s about to hit first.”

Ann leans forward, as they all did, at how Ryuji calls Kidd, voice ringing so loud they can hear it from where they sat on top of a wall. “Can he really do it?”

“Well,” Futaba heaves a deep sigh. “He’s right that this is probably our best shot, considering that we already got Konoe down to twenty percent of his health.”

Captain Kidd materializes, and his cannon is leaning back, glowing with power, and Konoe takes a step sideways, about to dodge.

“But Ryuji isn’t the same fighter that he was before.”

Instead of shooting forward, the cannon is swiftly raised skyward and thunder cracks before lightning strikes Konoe, followed by Ryuji lifting his pipe and slamming it straight into his skull and dodging just as another Megidolaon grows where he stood.

All of them stare, wide-eyed, at the spectacle before them like it was a sporting match; a back and forth happens, where Konoe would use his immense speed and power to try and get the leg up on Ryuji, but he would only hit thin air as he dodges and parries, shifting and ducking with a finesse they’ve never seen before, calling up Kidd and using electricity so potent that they feel can its static. Konoe grips his saber and swings and swings, triple-attack rolled into one but everytime he tries he only gets cut off when Ryuji slams his hand into the ground and calls dozens of wildly waving purple hands, each of them clawing at Konoe mercilessly.

“I knew he was stronger than he was before,” Makoto’s eyes are wide with wonder. “But it's like I don’t even recognize him.”

Ions and plasma strike as lightning meets saber, causing a violent cascade of sparks to fly frantically around the two of them. Bullets ring out whenever Konoe takes a step back, only to send him flying as a mini nuclear blast explodes behind him; Haru’s aim is impeccable.

This dance plays out for a long time, with Ryuji calling earth-shaking attacks and dancing around Megidolaons while Haru finds weak spots.

“Has he grown even faster?” Yusuke wonders aloud.

Futaba is struggling to watch all the data, attention straying to watch the fight. “He’s shaved off another ten percent off his health!”

“He’s incredible,” Ann says, awe-struck. “Isn’t he, Joker? He’s totally kicking his ass, pretty much by himself.”

“There’s something wrong.”

She peels her eyes away from below to stare at him, perplexed. “Things couldn’t be any better.”

Akira’s eyes are trained on Ryuji, on the way he’s limboing, countering every single attack rather than guarding. “I’ve seen his style since the very first day he got his Persona, and I’ve never seen him dodge so fluently. So desperately,” he says, eyes narrowed. “Something changed. And I didn’t notice.”

“Guys, am I crazy,” Morgana’s voice crackles in their ear. “Or is he really, really good at dodging attacks? I’ve only healed Noir this entire time, and she’s not even down there.”

“I just think he’s being cautious,” Haru replies, cocking her gun before continuing her assault. “Oracle? Report, please.”

“Five percent left,” they all hear the grin in her voice. “He’s actually going to do it.”

“Panther.” Ann blinks at Akira. “Help me up.”

She does, pushing his shoulders up until he’s sitting straight. “Needed a better view of him being a badass?” she teases.

Instead of answering, his gaze focuses, irises turning into a bright shade of blue.

Third eye, she registers with surprise. “We already know his stats.”

“I don’t care about Konoe’s,” his brow furrows slightly. “I care about his.”

“Two percent!” Futaba calls gleefully.

Suddenly, air catches in Akira’s throat. “What?” Ann startles.

“His endurance,” his voice shakes so intensely that she almost can’t understand what he’s saying. “His endurance.”

“What? What does that mean? Joker?” He tries pushing himself on his feet, crumbling and spewing obscenities when he can’t. “What are you doing? There’s nothing you can do, and Mona’s already got the healing taken care of.”

“One percent!”

The look in Akira’s eye is wild, and he’s paler than she’s ever seen him—whiter than when he came back from the interrogation room, and it’s enough to make her stomach drop all the way to the ground. “By the time they heal him, it’ll be too late.”

Everyone cheers and they both turn their attention back to the battle below them, where Ryuji summons one last bolt at Konoe, and finally, it’s enough to take him down.

Ryuji turns his back to Konoe, arms raised in triumph and drenched in sweat, immense pride clear on his expression.

It all happens in slow motion.

Akira jumps down, ignoring the protests from above, limping and scrambling towards Ryuji. Behind him, Konoe tries for one last, desperate attempt to win by swinging his saber weakly at Ryuji’s ankles, grazing his flesh ever so slightly.

“No!” Akira cries out.

Despite the cut being as shallow as a paper cut and as wide as a bee’s sting, Ryuji crumples to the ground, all life seeped out of him like he was struck through the heart.

#p5 #p5s #mine #fic tag #plainly in truth #persona 5 #persona 5 strikers #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #akiryu #pegoryu #chapter four...how the time flies

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wylanvnneck · 4 years ago

Text

This 2 part fic was written for the Secret Snusband Gift Giveaway hosted by @jurdannet and @jurdannetrevels for my lovely Knife Wife @lilacs-with-lavender.

Rating: T for Tyrannosaurus

Summary: Inspired by an episode of my favourite Cop TV show, ‘Castle’, in which a bet takes place with pretty high stakes, although the plotline has been tweaked to fit this fandom. My Knife Wife said she loved the Enemies to Lovers trope so that’s what I’ve (tried to) write here and I hope you enjoy the story of Homicide Detectives Jude Duarte and Cardan Greenbriar and their mutual enmity.

Warnings: Not so graphic descriptions of murder and mention of drugs. (Really not sure what I need to tag, so please let me know if I’ve missed something.)

Posted as a Gift on AO3 | Part 1 | Masterlist

Part 2

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“Lil, It’s 7.15 and I still need to decide on a dress, help!”

The ever helpful Liliver is currently perched on her bed, legs crossed and unruffled in stark contrast to Jude’s frantic rummaging of her sparse closet. She comes across a sparkly orange sequin dress that she holds up for her friend’s inspection.

“Honey. You’d look like a broken disco ball.”

“The girl at Saks said sequins were in.”

“She lied.”

Ugh. Damn Greenbriar for his stupid bets and his stupid dinners and his stupid brain which occasionally stumbled upon solutions. Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow.

She’s contemplating over whether to excuse herself for the night by pretending to have an infectious disease which requires keeping all other humans at a distance of five feet, when the doorbell to her apartment rings.

“Lil, would you mind answering the door for me please?” she asks, conscious of the fact that she was dressed in only her underwear.

“Sure, but when I come back you’d better not be wearing that ghastly hot pink dress I saw in there,” her friend calls as she unravels herself from the cozy mattress and leaves the room.

Foiled again. Jude’s just about out of options and the only thing that she can fathom being worse than having to be Cardan’s fake girlfriend for a night, was having to do so while being completely underdressed and out of place in a roomful of his father’s closest business associates.

“There was a package delivered to your doorstep,” Lil says as she re-enters the room, carrying a white parcel in her hands.

“A package? But I haven’t ordered anything.”

“Open it, maybe there’s a note,” she hands it over. The detective inside of Jude is wary, but she’s too curious to not open it so she gently rips open the package’s wrapping to reveal a large square box tied with a silver ribbon and tag attached to it. ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’ are the only words written on it. She knows immediately who it’s from and she feels an answering surge of anger along with an emotion that isn’t easy to decipher.

“I knew he was arrogant, but this-” She roughly unties the ribbon and tears open the lid and inside is the softest folded up material that she’s ever seen. Gently, she takes it out and it unfolds, turning into a simple but gorgeous black cocktail dress with an A-line skirt and off the shoulder sleeves, the picture of elegance.

Lil’s silver eyes are wide when she lets out a low whistle, “Damn.”

Jude is speechless.

“Wow.” Cardan’s voice sounds slightly higher pitched than usual before he clears his throat, standing just outside Jude’s doorway. “You clean up nice, detective.”

With a little help from Lil, she had accessorised the dress with a silver choker necklace that had belonged to her mother and a small velvet clutch. Her hair was carefully put up with dozens of little bobby pins and she feels sexy and ready to conquer whatever the Greenbriar family had in store for her.

Cardan himself is dressed in a coal coloured suit, a silky scrap of fabric tucked into his jacket pocket, shiny enough to match his eyes. There’s the faintest shimmer of gold on his defined cheekbones and his curly locks are just untidy enough to look stylish and it’s unfair how handsome he is.

“So do you.”

He steps back and holds out his arm for her in the way that gentlemen did in those historical dramas that Lil was always forcing her to watch and it shouldn’t have made her blush as she clutches the soft fabric covering his arm, but it did. She blames it on the corridor’s harsh fluorescent lighting.

Together they glide to the elevator and wordlessy head to the garage where Cardan’s sleek grey Maserati stands out amidst the other rundown cars belonging to the other apartment tenants, her neighbours, yet another reminder of all the differences between the two of them.

“Your carriage awaits you, my lady,” he opens the door for her, something that most of her few disastrous dates had neglected to do in the past and she’s so used to thinking of him as an indecorous scoundrel that him being so courteous was almost unwelcome. She’s not used to spending time with him outside of work and she’s strangely out of her element.

Cardan goes round and gets in on the other side and Jude secures her seatbelt as he starts up the car and swivels his head around to watch the back of the car before reversing.

They’re cruising along in his car and the only noise is the smooth purr of the Maserati and it smells of the pine air freshener that he’s pinned up to the rearview mirror. She leans back in her smooth leather seat and watches as they pass by buildings and skyscrapers and shops, the city buzzing with nightlife.

“So, what exactly is it that I’ve gotten myself into?”

Cardan takes his eyes off of the road to shoot her a swift glance before focusing back ahead of him, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear stick.

“Well, it’s a dinner party with some of my father’s closest friends, all of them snobs and all of them with their own agendas. I suppose I should also mention that this party is to celebrate the win of his company’s recent lawsuit.”

“Sounds like it’ll be wonderful.” Her words are dry with sarcasm. She has no desire to spend the night making polite conversation with aristocratic stiff necks who would look down upon her, but a bet was a bet and she had to admit that so far Cardan wasn’t making her regret her decision to agree to his challenge.

He surprises her by letting out a low and husky laugh, “You have no idea.”

There’s an awkward silence.

“Thanks for the dress, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

For the short remainder of the ride the only sound that can be heard are the songs being played on the radio.

The party is in high swing by the time they get there, champagne glasses clink, waiters in their smart uniforms walk around carrying trays of hors d'œuvre and the low rumble of conversation and piano music fills the air. The private outdoor venue is large and there are fairy lights strung on the bordering walls and tea candles on each table, creating an overwhelming effect.

There’s a slightly raised ramp at the other end of the entrance where a podium had been set up, complete with a banner displaying a fancy script that reads ‘Elfhame Enterprises’, which was the name of Cardan’s father, Eldred Greenbriar’s company.

Cardan has been holding her hand since he opened the car door once again for her and now, standing at the entrance of the party and waiting for his invitation to be accepted by the guard stationed at the gate, he squeezes her hand tightly in his and the act seems unconscious. There’s a tension clearly written on his face.

For once she doesn’t need to raise her head to speak to him, thanks to her three inch heels and she leans over to discreetly whisper in his ear, “You ok?”

This time the gentle squeeze that he gives her is definitely on purpose.

“I’m fine.” There’s the smallest of curves to his lips.

A diminutive lady with pale skin and Cardan’s sharp cheekbones and raven hair bustles up to them, a long stemmed wine glass filled to the brim held loosely in her hand. Jewels glistened on her long and low-cut gown, adding to the air of opulence that she exuded.

“Cardan, you’ve finally arrived. Oh and you’ve brought someone with you!”

“Hello, mother.” There’s a tightness in his smile. “Yes I did, allow me to introduce you to Jude Duarte.”

Stepping forward she firmly holds out her hand to Cardan’s mother and is graced with the barest of shakes in return, “You may call me Ma’am.”

Ma’am?

“Of course, thank you...Ma’am.”

Mrs. Greenbriar gives Jude a long and thorough onceover, dissecting her with cold eyes as if she were a mere insect and the feeling is extremely disconcerting. She looks to Cardan for support, but he looks just as out of depth offering her a look of sympathy with the features that so resembled his mother’s.

“So, Judie, what exactly is it that you do?”

She stands taller and staunchly replies, “I’m a Homicide Detective for the 12th precinct.”

“Ah. I see.” The words reverberate with barely hidden disappointment and distaste and just like that she no longer pays Jude any attention, turning to her son and reaching out to possessively clutch his arm and whisper something in his ear which makes him tighten his jaw further before bouncing off, wine spilling over from her glass.

“That was my mother.” Cardan says, unnecessarily.

“Right.” Jude couldn’t help what but wonder about what sort of a childhood he would have had to endure. Perhaps his mother hadn’t always been so disparaging. It seemed that there was a whole different side to Cardan’s life that she’d never known about.

“She's - hard to explain. I apologise for her behaviour though, she shouldn’t have treated you that way.” He’s sincere, but there’s also an underlying note of sadness. The type of sorrow that you would feel if you were let down yet again by someone that you always gave second chances to. Her heart gives a pang on his behalf. Before she can reassure him he continues, as if desperate to push the subject behind them. “Anyways, let me go get you a drink, what’ll you have?”

To the side of the grounds is a long table covered with a white cloth with various bottles of alcohol lined upon it, their colourful glasses glinting under the fairy lights. Behind the bar there’s a bartender in uniform, smoothly mixing drinks to order as rich elites look on.

“Um, maybe a Martini?” She names the first drink that comes to mind.

“A Martini, huh? Dirty, perhaps?” His trademark flirty smirk makes a reappearance and Jude knows exactly how to handle it.

“Yup.” She pops the ‘p’ in what she hopes is a seductive manner. “Just the way I like it.”

His pupils seem to darken just the tiniest bit and his mouth makes a slight ‘O’ shape before he promptly turns on his heel in the direction of the bar muttering, “I’ll be right back.”

After a few moments of standing near the entrance, moving only to accept a smoked salmon canape from a passing waiter, Jude pulls out her phone from her purse to find multiple texts from Lil.

So? How’s it going?

If you need me to call and be your ‘family emergency’ so you can escape, I can totally do that, just say the word.

Jude

Judeee

You alive?

Biting back a grin she reassures her dramatic friend that she was definitely still alive. She’s just pressed send when she senses someone’s stare on her and something about it makes her skin crawl. She looks up and is met by the sight of a tall girl in a jade green V-cut and backless dress with vibrant blue hair. Nicasia.

“Why, Judie, fancy seeing you here!” Jude inwardly grimaces. Nicasia’s voice hadn’t gotten any less painful to hear since their last encounter. Standing in front of her now, she can’t help but think that she looked slightly ridiculous in all her fripperies, opaque pearls dangled from her ears and around her neck, gemstones glistening on her hair and cerulean eyeshadow that completely overshadowed the rest of her face. Strange to think that the last time they’d met, Jude had been plagued with envy, not even really knowing why.

She plasters a carefully manufactured, artificial smile on her face. “Nicky! What a delight to see you again!”

Nicasia’s face twists for a mere second before her cheerful and friendly facade is back in place. “Quite. Although, I can’t imagine how you’ve come to be here.”

Her words are clearly a question, one that Jude answers beamingly, “Oh, I’m here with Cardan. As his date.”

She watches as the blue-haired girl’s eyebrows fly up her forehead, unable to contain her surprise. Jude knows a moment of smug victory and Cardan chooses this moment to walk up behind her carrying two cocktail glasses in his hands. He stops right next to her, handing her a glass with clear liquid and an orange twist inside it before slipping an arm around her waist, sending a zing up her spine. What the hell did he think he was doing? She briefly considers shaking him off, before realizing that he was holding her this way for Nicasia’s benefit. After all, she was his pretend girlfriend for the night.

“Nicasia! How lovely to bump into you!” His smile is just as fake as Jude’s had been and that fact shouldn’t give her a moment of satisfaction but it did.

“Why hello there Car! Yes your mother invited me, wasn’t that sweet of her? And I was just talking to Judie over here, it’s been lovely seeing her again.” She brings a hand up to her neck and starts twirling a pearl necklace. “I didn’t realise you two were an item?”

Cardan holds her even tighter against him. “Well, what can I say, she swept me off my feet.”

He turns his face to her and gives her a subtle wink before molding his expression into an excruciatingly sappy look of affection, the kind that only existed in extremely cheesy early 2000s Disney movies. Suppressing a smile she returns the look to the best of her abilities.

“Aww, Honey Bunch, you are too adorable!”

Go big or go home, right?

Cardan has difficulty not breaking into laughter but he manages to hide the hysteric sound that leaves his mouth as a deep cough and if this charade went on for much longer she didn’t think she could resist cracking up either.

“Only for you, Kitten.” That almost undoes her.

Nicasia makes a low sound of disgust at their little act and barely bothers to make up an excuse for herself before stalking off, her stilettos clicking against the paved pathway.

“Oh thank God she’s gone, I was afraid that we’d be regaled with ‘Nicasia’s Trials During Sea Travels, A Saga; Part II.’” He’s referring to her last conversation with Nicasia when she had dropped by the precinct to drop something off for him and had ended up spending almost half an hour recounting her issues with sea-sickness. By the end of that half hour Jude had felt like clawing her eyeballs out.

She can’t help but laugh at both his comment and the recollection of their ridiculous masquerade and he rewards her with a look of astonishment, before a slow smile spreads over his face, eyes unbearably soft. “There’s that laugh.”

He’s referring to their conversation at Fair Folk Inks when he’d accused her of being uptight. The recollection should prompt Jude to make a snappy retort, but instead she simply swallows against the sudden lump growing in her throat and her heart is beating quick enough for her to hear. What on Earth was going on? This entire night had felt strangely like being stuck in limbo, her and Cardan shedding their competitive workplace relationship for one that was a lot more informal, a lot more together.

She takes a sip of the forgotten Martini in her hand, trying to push her errant thoughts away. Before she can think of a way to defuse the situation, the tinkling sound of metal being struck against a glass rings out through the night air.

Unnoticed by her, an elderly gentleman in a midnight blue suit that contrasted heavily with his bright blonde hair and owlish bronze eyes had stepped up to the podium. In his ring clad hands he held a wine glass and a fork, explaining the sound that she had heard earlier. Standing a little behind him but at his side is Mrs. Greenbriar, gripping a re-filled glass of wine. There also appears to be someone else standing next to her on the ramp, but the crowd around it is so thick that Jude can’t quite make him out.

“And there’s good ole’ Dad.” Her date for the night doesn’t sound at all enthusiastic about the appearance of his sire at the podium. “Looks like he’s about to grace us with an Eldred speech.”

And indeed, the old man waits until everyone is paying attention to him before he sets down the fork and raises his full glass in the air as he speaks. “Ladies and Gentlemen, as I’m sure you all know; since otherwise all you blighters wouldn’t be here,” there’s a slight smattering of obligatory laughter, “Elfhame Enterprises has recently undergone a lawsuit, which we came out of with a resounding victory against the Seelie Corporation, as everyone knew we would. Nevertheless, let us raise our glasses in celebration and as a toast to many more years of victories and resounding successes!”

United, his entire audience dutifully raises their glasses in a toast and downs the contents, Jude herself takes the smallest of sips from her Martini out of respect, although the alcohol tastes more bitter than before. She had never been a huge fan of these big businesses that bribed and blackmailed and pocketed money for themselves at the cost of so many others and she’d been a detective for long enough to cement that dislike. Then, she makes the startling discovery that Cardan himself had not raised his glass, nor taken a sip, instead, the hand that clutched his drink was doing so so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Before she has the time to question his surprising behaviour Eldred continues speaking.

“In regards to the many years to come for Elfhame Enterprises, well, as you all know I’m not as young as I once was, although I can definitely still party the way I used to,” more polite laughter,

“and it is very likely that I shall be retiring for good in a few years. Until that bittersweet moment arrives however, I am glad to announce that working right along beside me and learning the ropes will be my heir and the man to whom the running of my wonderful company will fall to...my beloved elder son, Dain Greenbriar!”

If a meteor had just flown across the sky and landed two feet away from her, Jude couldn’t have been more shocked than she was at that moment. Cardan had a brother.

She watches in slow motion as the previously hidden figure beside the now jubilant Mrs. Greenbriar steps forward to stand by his father. Unlike Cardan, Dain was the picture of his father, except 30 years younger. His blonde hair was light and shiny and his face was harsh and unforgiving, the angles seeming as sharp as a blade. His handsome but smug smile rubs Jude the wrong way, making her instantly dislike him. Next to her, Cardan wears a shield of uncaring resignation, but whilst she watches him watching his family, there’s an underlying sadness seeping from his countenance and she knows him well enough to detect it.

Jude had always taken Cardan at surface level, he was rich, came from a wealthy family with high connections and lots of influence and he was also a playboy. To her, that meant he had been given an easy life, one where he never had to work hard for anything and got a free pass into doing whatever he liked, so very different from the life that she had lived with her struggling single mother after her father had passed away during an accident at his forge. And now it looked like her disdain for his background had been unfounded. His mother seemed to only care about money and positions, his father was no better and from the self-satisfied grin on Dain’s face she could surmise that he was the golden child of the family, coveted by all and ‘overshadower’ of his younger brother.

The same younger brother whose existence his entire family and their friends seemed to have forgotten about.

Enough was enough.

She deposits her Martini onto a passing tray and does the same with Cardan’s untouched one which she wrestles from his tight grip, before reaching out to take his hand in hers. He tilts his head and considers her for a moment before surrendering with a slight shrug, his usual debonair sucked out of him.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” She drags him out through the entrance, not stopping to consider if any of the guests was watching them in the turmoil of congratulating Dain and his father.

The moment they’re out of the gates she stumbles into a nearby deserted alleyway, towing a bemused Cardan along with her. They come to a sudden stop right next to a streetlight, and unhesitatingly Jude plonks herself down onto the relatively clean looking sidewalk, with no regard for her new dress.

“Sit.” She pats on an empty spot next to her.

Cardan raises an eyebrow at her, before giving in and seating himself in the place she’d indicated. Her heel clad legs stretch out next to his feet encased by fancy leather Oxford’s.

“Talk.” She silently encourages him with her eyes.

“I-” He starts, then stops. Struggling to meet her steady gaze he finally bows his head and forces himself to speak. “I suppose you could say that my family has never been the most loving,” understatement she thinks, “and ever since the day I was born I was nothing like my big brother, he talked; I watched, he walked; I crawled and it was always like that. He would excel at school, I used to run riot with my friends. I always knew that they loved him more.

“When it was time for me to find a job, I knew that I didn’t want anything to do with the corporate world, I’d seen what it did to my parents and my brother and I wanted nothing to do with it. So I decided I’d do the exact opposite. I’d try my hardest to fight for justice and go against everything that my family stood for, corruption, money and power. That’s why I became a cop, why I enrolled at the academy, why I used my father’s blood money to pay the fees, so I could give back to the community in even some small way. Needless to say, my parents weren’t very happy with that decision.”

His words hit Jude like a volley of arrows. She’d been so very, very wrong about the man sitting next to her. This man who fought so hard to escape his family’s legacy. Regret rushes through her and reaches out for his hand and squeezes it gently, the way he’d done to her earlier.

“Cardan, listen to me, what your family thinks about you doesn’t matter. I wish that you’d grown up with parents and a brother who loved and treasured you the way you deserved, but you know what?

“I think you should be proud of who you are. Because everything that you’ve been through has made you who you are today; Cardan Greenbriar, a pretty smart cop - despite what I said earlier, it wasn’t true and I’m extremely sorry for it - and a partner who always keeps up with me and someone whom I wouldn’t hesitate to entrust my life to and the man who manages to charm everyone in the precinct with his magnetism.”

He’s squeezing her hand right back and his eyes are glistening suspiciously as they burn into hers. A shaky smile manifests at her last few words after which he looks down once again and mutters, “not everyone.”

“Huh?”

“Not everyone.” His voice is stronger now when he raises his head again, more combustible. “You said that I’ve charmed everyone at the precinct, but there’s one woman who appears to be immune, despite being the one woman that I’ve had feelings for for quite a while now…it’s you, Jude.”

She can hear the blood rushing in her ears as her heart thumps. He thought she was immune to him? So had she, she’d thought she hated him, but now she’s wondering if what she felt for him was so much more than hate. Yes, he had her hackles rising faster than anyone else did and his occasional arrogance was a never ending source of annoyance to her, but he was also the man who understood her when she was working overtime on a tough case, always bringing her coffee whenever she pulled an all-nighter, always making sure to inquire after her mother’s health, always making sure she had a safe way of getting home. So many times he’d helped her out in little little ways, disguising his kindness as him merely trying to get under her skin and now her oblivious self was finally starting to realize it.

He smells like pine and Cardan in the aftermath of his confession, and he’d called her Jude, not ‘Duarte’ and he had feelings for her and what she’s about to do next was something that she never dreamed that she would do before, and yet, it was somehow inevitable. She leans over and kisses him.

His lips are so very soft, like a feather, and the moment they meet hers she bursts into flames. This kiss was unlike any that she had ever had before, It was a forge-fire hot conflagration and she didn’t care if it burned her. The flame that had always been there between them is stronger than ever and it felt as though all this time the ‘hate’ burning through them had been hiding a much more powerful passion beneath it.

He brings his hands up to her neck and gently tugs at the bobby pins holding up her hairdo. She barely notices as they skitter to the pavement, leaving her brown locks down for him to pull at. She does the same to him, carding her fingers through his thick curls, curls that felt as sleek as a puppy’s fur against her questing hands.

Panting, he pulls away first and she has to force herself not to follow his lips with hers. Slowly she opens her closed eyes and looks at him, so close now that she can see the slightest flecks of colour in his dark eyes as his breath stirs her loose hair.

“Wow. That...wow,” he babbles, “I - we should date, that was, I mean-”

“Cardan?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He does exactly that and later, when he asks her out, she has no answer for him but ‘yes’.

The End.

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

Liles, this fic was for you and I hope you enjoyed it. It’s been really fun getting to know more about you through our anon asks and answers and feel free to PM me anytime💕

Once again, I’m tagging: @cupcakesandkittens and @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

Please let me know (via ask or PM) if you’d like to be added to or taken off of my taglist!

#tfota #dd writes #the folk of the air #the folk of the air fanfiction #tfota fic #secretsnusband #jurdannet #jurdannet revels #header edited by me

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ressyfaerie · 4 years ago

Note

Fanfic request: Kai/Tysons first kiss and how you think it would go down! (English Dub names please!) :)

This is sooo hard because I have at least 3856859 different AUs of their first kiss aaahhh. I can't decide if I want this one to be angsty, fluffy, or everything in between aaahh! Regardless, I’m going to write something good! Okay I’m done, it ended up being much longer than expected AND i really self-indulged in this one we've got flowers, cars- just I know you’ll like it.

I’m popping this into a read more after the intro because it's a bit long for the dashboard lol.

“Is there a note?”

Ray eyed the flowers suspiciously.

Tyson held the wooden planter box in his arms, “uh- I don’t think so?”

“Who would send a planter box instead of just cut flowers?” Hilary thought it was the worst kind of romantic gesture.

“Look!” Max dug his hands into the flowers.

“What kind of flowers are these Tyson?” Ray asked, eyeing the blue petals with awe.

“They’re Himalayan blue poppies… They’re not easy to grow.”

Max pulled out a small slip of paper hidden in the stems.

“How do you know so much about gardening?” Hilary had no idea when he found the time to pick up a hobby that was so- unlike Tyson.

“I found my mother's old gardening books! I’ve been taking care of the dojo gardens on the weekends since grandpa’s back is so bad- what does the note say?”

Max read it out loud, “A unique flower, for a unique person.”

“Do we recognize the handwriting?” Kenny fixed his glasses, analyzing the situation.

“It’s been typed.” Max pointed out while flipping the note around for everyone to see.

Tyson inspected the flowers. He had never seen blue poppies before, they were one of his mother’s favourites.

“Whoever sent it, they know me well.” Tyson smiled.

“How come?” Ray asked.

“I don’t like cut flowers. I feel bad when they die. I like getting flowers that are alive.”

The room went quiet as everyone racked their brains trying to think of the possibilities.

“Who would know these things about you? Even we didn’t know you liked flowers!” Hilary pointed the fact out, some of the team members nodded, she had a good point.

“A lot of people know that I garden… But very few know that my mother really liked these flowers… She wrote about them a lot in her gardening books. To my knowledge, no one’s ever seen them but me, Grandpa, my dad, and maybe Hiro.”

Ray stroked his chin deep in thought, “It could have been a friendly gift? Not romantic at all?”

Tyson nodded, it could have been, but it felt- romantic. No one he knew would do something like this, it didn’t make sense.

“I’ll put them outside, for now, maybe we will think about it later.” Tyson left the room to place them in his corner garden outside.

The gravel crunched under his feet as he made his way to his small greenspace. He placed the planter with the rest of his stuff. He wondered who would have sent them, but he had no time to think; they had a party to attend at the BBA in less than two hours, and he still hadn’t even started to get ready.

As expected, the dojo was now in chaos. Like most teenagers, they left everything to the last minute. None of them had experience with formal attire.

“Does anyone here know how to tie a tie?!” Ray frantically displayed handfuls of ties.

“I do!” Kenny grasped one of the ties and tried to tie it on himself, before transferring it over to Ray.

Kenny was much too nervous to tie a proper knot, Ray found himself cringing as their time crunch got shorter and shorter.

Max had locked himself in the bathroom, probably doing his hair.

Hilary was god-knows-where, Tyson still wore regular clothes.

“Where’s Kai? Isn’t he the formal clothes expert?” Tyson fiddled with dragoon while sitting cross-legged in the middle of the dojo.

“That’s a good idea!” Kenny stopped trying to fiddle with Ray’s tie, “where is he?”

“Wait, wasn’t he driving some of us?” Mr. D said another driver will come to pick us up…”

“No, I’m certain we're all going in a limo.”

Tyson started to panic, stuck between trusting Kenny or Ray, now that was a difficult decision.

Hilary bellowed as she slammed the door open to the dojo. “Tyson! WHY aren’t you changed yet?”

“I!”

He started a lame excuse but she raised her voice again, “stop fiddling with that hunk of metal and go upstairs and put on your clothes right now!”

“Who died and made you boss of BBA formal parties?”

“I’m literally the party planner.” She rolled her eyes.

“Fine!” Tyson got up and dusted off his pants, “but I’m going to complain the whole time, and I’m taking a shower!”

“You don’t have time for a shower!” she slapped a hand to her forehead in exasperation.

“Too bad.” Tyson stuck his tongue out at her.

Upstairs, he took his time getting into the shower, it was fine if they were late for the party anyway, they didn’t have to be there on time.

He washed his body, got out, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and blow-dried it. He even put on some make-up so he could feel extra fancy. He tied his hair up, admiring himself in the mirror, he looked so grown up now. His hair was long, and he loved tying it up traditionally. He ran a hand through his blue hair. He winked at himself, knowing he looked hot.

He opened the door with just a towel wrapped around his waist, he left clothes on his bed he was going to wear. Beside his clothes, sitting on his bed was his silver-haired best friend and rival, dressed in a well-fitted Italian cut suit.

Kai looked him up and down, “you should have been ready by now.”

Tyson’s cheeks blushed, “why are you alone in my room?”

Kai patted the dress shirt he left on his bed, “apparently Tyson Granger can’t dress himself- is this what you picked out?”

“Yeah? What’s wrong with it?”

Kai grinned, “Are you sure?”

Tyson made sure to show he was offended, “it’s the nicest thing I own…”

“I figured you’d say that.” Kai rose from the bed towards a hook on the door. He reached for a black garment bag that wasn’t there before.

Tyson wondered where it came from, and when- did Kai just bring it? For him?

He placed it on the bed, undoing the zipper on the fancy black bag, “change into this.”

“If it doesn’t look hot- I’m boycotting you.”

Kai chuckled, “how do you boycott a whole person?”

“It better look good on me, or you’ll find out.”

Kai stood still, Tyson mumbled, “can you- can you turn around so I can change?”

“Oh, right- Yeah.”

Kai walked towards the window and directed his attention outside, trying to ignore the fact Tyson was a towel away from being completely naked behind him.

He heard the rustling of clothes behind him, and Tyson’s voice, “is everyone ready downstairs?”

“They’ve already left in the limo Tyson.”

“Limo!? You mean I could be in a limo right now?!”

“You weren’t ready in time, so now you have to go with me, you’re lucky I stayed behind.”

“Not like you aren’t usually fashionably late Kai. You can turn around now.”

Kai flung his body around, hopefully, he didn’t seem too eager to see Tyson in a suit.

Tyson was awkwardly fiddling with his cuffs, he had no tie on, and his buttons weren’t done right.

Kai sighed, “Here.” He grabbed one of Tyson’s arms and started to straighten his cuffs, “Can you do your tie?”

Tyson felt his face flush in embarrassment. Kai fixing his clothes was, in his eyes, the opposite of manly.

“I uh,” Tyson didn’t want to admit it, “don’t know how to do it.” He said in a hushed voice.

“What was that?” Kai finished with his other arm and moved on to his buttons.

“I don’t know how to tie a tie okay!?” Tyson avoided eye contact.

Tyson had realized catching Kai's smile was becoming more common.

Kai gave him one of those grins now, “it’s okay, I’ll do it for you.”

“Can you teach me? I want to do it myself…”

“No time, I can show you later though.” Kai reached into the black bag and pulled out a dark blue tie, it was soft with elegant subtle swirls on it.

Tyson’s eyes widened in awe, he had never seen anything so fancy, and he was expected to wear it?!

“Where did you get this suit from?” Tyson asked as Kai adjusted his collar on his shirt.

“Mr. Dickenson asked me to get you some nice clothes. I picked it out, I thought it would look good on you.”

Tyson felt an electric shock as Kai reached around his neck placing the tie on either side of him.

“It was expensive.” Kai’s eyes met his, Tyson tried to keep his mouth closed, “don’t get food on it.” Kai threatened him.

“I won’t!” Tyson’s voice squeaked.

Kai worked on the tie while biting the insides of his cheeks, he had to refrain from touching Tyson’s chest, he compromised by running his knuckle along his pec while pulling the tie tighter.

The delicate touch was not missed by Tyson, who felt a burning sensation flow up his spine.

“There.” Kai stepped away when he was done with the tie.

Tyson turned to a full length mirror he had on another side of the room. His eyes glowed when he got a look at himself, “Woah! Kai!”

He did a twirl for the mirror, “Kai you made a good choice, this does look good on me!”

Kai placed a hand in his pocket, “I told you.”

It suddenly occurred to Tyson, he had never been in Kai’s car. He knew it was nice, He knew it was a supercharged sports car, but that was about it. Kai was particular who he let look at it, and now, he was letting Tyson sit passenger. Tyson stared at the white car in awe, he didn’t know much about cars, but it was obvious it was a big deal.

Kai opened the passenger door for him, “are you getting in or are you going to stand there all night?”

Tyson shook his head, “y-yeah! What kind of car did you say this was again?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever asked, it’s an Aston Martin Superleggera.”

“Sounds fancy,” Tyson remarked while climbing into it.

Kai leaned towards him before closing the door, “it is- put on your seatbelt.”

The first thing Tyson noticed, Kai didn’t drive like someone in their late teens, he drove like an old man.

“For someone who’s incredibly late- you sure aren’t going anywhere fast.”

Kai had one hand on the steering wheel, “you want me to go faster?” he blinked in surprise.

“Well, you have a turbo-charged sports car.” Tyson grinned, “send it.”

“I didn’t know you were into fast cars?” Kai remarked.

“Hell yeah, I am.”

“Hold on.”

Luckily there weren’t many cars on this road.

Was it illegal? Don’t tell anyone.

Did Tyson realize that Kai shared the same adrenaline habits he did? Absolutely.

They drove fast, Kai made turns expertly, Tyson laughed and cheered.

Slowing down his pace, Tyson could feel his heart racing, “that was awesome.”

Kai gifted him another one of his rare smiles, the kind that was becoming more frequent.

The party venue felt a little monotone, maybe it was in comparison to the adrenaline rush they just had.

“Holy!?- Tyson?” Max rushed over to him with a glass of juice in his hand, “there’s no way that’s you in that suit?”

“Sure is,” Tyson’s face screamed happiness.

Walking into the main hall, Tyson recognized everyone from his past tournaments, his old rivals, friends, everyone was excited to see him.

Tyson became swarmed with people greeting him, Kai excused himself, to hide away in the corner.

“What’s going on?” to his right side, Ray.

“Not much, you?”

Ray handed him a glass, probably juice, he took it.

“Just finished saying hi to everyone, are you going to make the rounds?” Ray knew it was a stupid question.

“I’ll talk to whoever talks to me first.” Kai took a small sip of the glass.

“Are you dancing tonight?” another stupid question from Ray.

Kai gave him an obvious expression, “you think I would?”

He didn’t say no; Ray took the opportunity to squeeze humanity out of Kai, “out of everyone here, who would you dance with?”

Kai surveyed the room, it caught Ray by surprise, he was actually thinking about it.

“Probably Tyson-” Kai needed to think of a good excuse fast- “because I’m more familiar with him than anyone else.” He took a sip of his juice.

“So then dance with him? You know everyone probably will by the end of the night.”

Kai chuckled with his mouth in his glass, it fogged up slightly, “no, that would be weird.”

“I’ll ask him first if that makes you more comfortable.”

Kai shrugged in response. Ray patted his shoulder, placing down his empty glass on a nearby table, and he made his way towards Tyson who was already dancing in the middle of the room.

Towards the other side of the room, Kai saw Mr. Dickenson in the corner of his eye, waving for him to come over to the group he was with. Kai rolled his eyes, he saw Hiro over there too.

Reluctantly, he made his way over, he wasn't going to ignore Mr. Dickenson.

The group had formed a circle, Miriah was there, Emily, Judy, and Michael.

Kai gave everyone a friendly greeting, then they started making casual conversation, then it got down to business. Kai waved his hand in the air, “I’m not here to talk about the Hiwatari company tonight.”

Hiro gave him an angry expression, but Mr. Dickeson understood, and so did Judy, they all kept making casual conversation.

“Hey, weird question guys.” Miriah held up a pink phone with a picture on it.

Emily pointed to the screen, “Do you guys know what kind of flowers these are?”

They piled around it, Max showed up behind them to check out the picture as well. Kai and Hiro saw the screen simultaneously, in unison they responded:

“Himalayan blue poppies.”

Hiro and Kai locked eyes immediately. Instantly ready to square up.

“How do you know that?” Hiro’s voice had a hint of anger.

“I’m not allowed to know a type of flower?” Kai spat back.

Miriah squeezed herself in between them, “Calm down! Tyson got sent some- we don’t know who sent them.”

“They’re my mom's favourite flower.”

Max watched the situation, he stared at Kai, “no way…” he said under his breath.

The blond-haired boy grasped Kai’s arm, pulling him out of the group, far away from the angry brother.

“Thanks, Max.” Kai was glad he managed to sneak him away without anyone noticing.

“No problem dude.” Max smiled.

Ray appeared beside them, with a worn-out Tyson by his side.

“Kai, your turn!” He shoved Tyson into Kai.

Tyson wasn’t expecting it, stabilizing himself by holding on to Kai’s shoulders, “Ray!”

“Sorry!”

Kai unconsciously helped Tyson keep his balance… by holding him by his waist.

Tyson pulled himself away, Kai’s hands glided along his waist.

“Apparently… You wanted to dance with me?” Tyson gave Kai an expression he couldn’t read.

“I didn’t want to- I mean- if you want to?” Kai’s face turned a shade pinker.

“Sure- I mean, if you want to?” Tyson swallowed, but his throat stayed dry.

“Just go!” Ray pushed them towards the dance floor.

Max yelled to Ray, “Ray! I have to tell you something…”

In the middle of the dance floor, the duo had no idea what to do.

“Um-” Tyson awkwardly placed his arms around Kai’s neck.

“Isn’t that the female way..” Kai remarked

“Shut up!” Tyson felt awkward for some reason, even though before this, he danced with a dozen boys- and girls.

Kai placed his hands on his hips, wondering how he ever ended up here.

“Here…” Kai grasped one of his hands, keeping one hand on his waist.

Tyson’s hand that wasn’t wrapped in Kais, was placed on his shoulder, he slowly let it slide towards his neck, playing with the loose strands of hair, focused on the way it shimmered in the lights.

“How do you know how to dance?”

“Rich boy.”

“Really?” Tyson laughed, imagining a young Kai learning ballroom dance.

“I can also play some piano.”

“Wow, what else can you do rich boy?” Tyson titled his head, unconsciously teasing him.

“Some violin, calligraphy in English, Ballroom dance, paperwork…”

“I’m surprised you’re telling me this.” Tyson admired his face up close, when did he get such a cute face?

Kai held Tyson closer, his face centimeters away from his, “if you tell, no one will believe you.”

Tyson let out a hard laugh. People in the room began to stare, but they didn’t notice, they were lost in their own little world.

Kai felt sweat form in between Tyson’s palm and his, but he didn’t care. He watched his blue hair sway, and his lips curve into smiles, he blinked suddenly, becoming aware of the way he was looking at him.

Kai let go of Tyson, taking a step away from him, “sorry- I’m going to get some air.”

Kai disappeared into another room, leaving Tyson flustered on the dance floor.

Outside Kai closed the metal door behind him, he held the railing of the balcony. “What am I doing?” he whispered to nobody.

“Sending him flowers, driving him around, dancing with him- Why can’t I just-”

He heard the door open and close behind him, “Are you alright Kai? You left so fast…”

Hearing Tyson’s voice was liquid ecstasy. He closed his eyes, absorbing it, before finding the courage to turn around.

“I’m fine.” He gave Tyson a grin, but Tyson saw through it.

“You’re all in your head,” Tyson remarked and stepped closer to him.

Kai had his back to the railing, he couldn’t run away anymore.

Tyson was too close, he looked in Kai’s eyes, deep into his mind, looking for any sign that something was off.

Tyson lifted his hand, and rested it on his cheek, “what’s going on with you?”

Kai felt his whole body melt, pure happiness, absolute comfort. At the next words, he felt like he could float away-

“You know you can tell me anything right?”

Kai felt his lungs stop working, no air, his brain fired electrical impulses at lightning speed but no thoughts were being created.

“Did you send the flowers?” Tyson kept his hand on Kai’s cheek.

“Y- yeah,” Kai admitted, still not breathing.

“How did you know about them?”

“You leave your mothers journals everywhere-”

“And you read them?!”

“No- Well, yes. But I wasn’t reading her writing, I was reading your notes on the sides.”

Tyson remembered a sticky note he put on a page, mentioning where he could get seeds for his mother's favourite flowers, that he so desperately wanted.

“Why?” Tyson’s voice was serious but so calming.

Kai closed his eyes momentarily, then opened them.

“I think I like you.”

Neither one of them dared to move.

Silence, for minutes, as Tyson’s hand stayed on Kai’s face, growing colder by the minute.

“I’m sorry- it was weird, I shouldn’t have said anything.” Kai tried to turn his face away from him, trying to brush off the encounter.

“No!” Tyson used his hand to push Kai back to his original position.

Kai’s face grew red, Tyson’s did too.

“I! I think that-” Tyson blubbered trying to find the right words, Kai gripped the railing behind him.

“Ah- screw it-” Tyson’s eyes were damp, he stared at the sky before taking a deep breath.

“Ty!-”

Tyson’s lips were pressed against his. He didn’t know what to do- he had wished for it for so long- and now, all of the sudden?

“Mm!” Tyson made some noise as he kept doing it, messy, but fun.

Kai used his hands to run through Tyson’s hair from the back of his neck, grabbing the back of his head and a handful of hair, pulling him closer.

Their bodies were against each other, they could feel each other’s hearts trying to leap out of their chests.

Kai tried to pull away, to get some air- Tyson grabbed his tie and pulled him back into him, making out with him more.

Finally, Tyson let Kai go, he was still chocolate he was told not to have, and he wanted more.

“What- I, Tyson?” Kai stumbled over his words.

“It’s alright Kai.” Tyson gave him a quick kiss on his soft lips, “it’s okay.”

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stormkrigeren · 3 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 4!

Link to the Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210837/chapters/85303615

Title: Hostage - Clark

Prompt: No. 4 ‘Trust Fall’ - “Do you trust me?”, taken hostage, pushed

Trigger Warnings: threats

Word Count: 1763

Dinner-dates with Lois were always nice - good food, stimulating conversation, and excellent company were all a man could ask for, and she certainly made it interesting. Tonight they had picked out a local Italian restaurant in the university district and talked about… well, everything. How his mom was doing, what books the other was currently reading, the subway construction, Clark’s latest article, Lois’ most recent investigation - drug smugglers bringing in goods from Gotham, of all things - and whether lasagna was better with red sauce or alfredo. The discussion moved towards housing prices after Black Zero over a shared dessert of cannolis, and developed into a playful debate over whether the high taxi fare was worth it considering that it was twice as fast as the subway when they finally walked out of the restaurant.

Lois’ apartment wasn’t too far away and the weather was good, so they opted to walk hand-in-hand, simply enjoying each other’s company while they explained whatever articles they were currently working on. Clark was just beginning a short series assigned to him by Perry on recent changes made to libraries in the district and what sort of effects the changes might have on schools and poorer neighborhoods - a bit fluffy, not necessarily investigative but enough to get his wheels turning as he fit all the pieces together. Some of the Metropolis city council members were recommending closing the libraries a bit earlier in the afternoon, which Clark - bookish nerd that he was - was strongly against, and he proceeded to rattle off a list of statistics and arguments that pointed out the issue with shortening library hours while Lois bounced the ideas right back at him with a bit of journalistic review. She herself was currently in the thick of a story revolving around a smuggling ring that was gradually importing narcotics and other illegal items into Metropolis - from what she could tell, the drugs were coming from all over but a majority were ferried over from Gotham. Lois explained in a low voice as they walked that a tentative lead had pointed her towards Mal Sharpe, the owner of a few small businesses in the downtown of both cities, who seemed to have his hands in many pies… including drug trafficking. There was a low-priority warrant out for Mal’s arrest, but that warrant would soon be at the top of everyone’s list if Lois had anything to say about it.

Clark grinned at that, knowing full well that with his girlfriend on the case, it was sure to be resolved within the week. Gently steering the topic towards where they should go for dinner next week, he looped an arm around her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her cheek just as Lois turned to do the same. But instead of her arms slipping beneath his open coat to pull him close, Clark instead felt a sharp tug on his shirt collar, abruptly ending the kiss as it was followed by a kick to the back of his knees.

He hardly felt the blow, but it still caught him by surprise and Clark inwardly cursed when he realized that he had been so focused on Lois, he hadn’t noticed the two men sneaking up behind them - and when one of them pulled out a gun to press it against his head, Clark reconsidered fighting back and silently complied when he was once again shoved to his knees.

Lois’ eyes widened at the sight of the two criminals shoving her boyfriend to the ground, then narrowed dangerously when she spotted the gun in one’s hand and the knife in the other’s.

“What do you want?” she asked slowly, gaze flitting between the knife now pointed at her - a sure threat of what would happen if she screamed for help - and Clark calmly putting his hands on his head in surrender as they waited to be told to hand over their wallets. They both knew that a gun against Clark’s head wouldn’t do him a bit of harm, but their captors didn’t know that and if this was just your common-or-garden hold-up, they would simply comply and Superman or the police could get back whatever was stolen as soon as they were let go. But therein lay the issue: Lois was getting the feeling that this wasn’t just a robbery. It, unfortunately, looked an awful lot like a goddamned hostage situation, and her suspicions were only confirmed when the man holding the knife spoke up.

“Boss heard that you were sticking your nose where it isn’t wanted, writing a story about some stuff he brought over from Gotham,” he answered, “So Boss has decided to send you a very clear message: drop the story, or your boyfriend here is gonna go to bed tonight in a body bag.”

Clark winced as the gun was shoved against his skull, emphasizing his captors’ point, but Lois, instead of looking downright terrified, happened to look downright pissed.

“Alright, you’re Mal’s boys, aren’t you? I imagine that he’ll be pretty pissed when he hears that your hostage plan fell through.”

One look at her face, and Clark’s already-a-bit-dismayed spirits dropped - she was going to try something, and he wasn’t sure if it would end well. He knew for a fact that the gun currently pressed against his temple wouldn’t do him much harm, but it was still a little nerve-wracking to keep up the act of being scared while actually, genuinely scared and making sure said gun wasn’t pointed at Lois.

Clark was… well, Clark was a farmboy. He had grown up in the middle of Kansas where just about everyone’s pa owned a rifle of some sort, so it wasn’t as if he had never seen a gun before, it was just that he wasn’t used to having one pointed at him. Duck season had made him plenty familiar with what guns could do, and even though he knew it couldn’t hurt him, that did not mean that he was completely comfortable with it and to be perfectly honest, it made him just a little bit sick to his stomach.

“It ain’t gonna fall through,” one of Clark’s captors glowered suspiciously, breaking his train of thought, and Lois almost snorted in derision at the claim, hands on her hips as she snarled.

“Look, dumbass, anyone who's read the Daily Planet knows the sort of people I go after, and they also know that said people almost always end up behind bars. I’m not your cocky, everyday journalist who happened to dig up some dirt on your operation - nah, I’m ‘Mad Dog’ Lane, Pulitzer Prize investigator, queen of the front page - and if you think pointing a gun at my boyfriend’s head will get me to drop a story once I’ve got it in my teeth, than you’d better fucking think again!”

Clark felt both men stiffen behind him, clearly rethinking having messed with someone as well-known as Lois, but their fear of Boss Mal’s wrath was just the littlest bit stronger than that of a tall red-headed journalist cussing them out.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Lane,” the man with the knife said decidedly, working up the courage to take a threatening step towards her, “But if you don’t want to do this here, we could easily take both of you along and get this whole thing cleared up in front of the Bo-”

Clark should have expected her to know at least some basic self-defense moves, considering her history of going into dangerous warzones and offices only to walk right back out with the info she wanted and a few bruises on her otherwise flawless figure, but seeing her in action was admittedly a little surprising. Lois Joanne Lane was an army brat through and through, so it was honestly no trouble to knock the knife out his grip with a simple wrist chop and the same ferocious elegance she used to mix her coffee. A moment later, she had kicked the weapon out of the man’s reach, sending it skittering across the asphalt, and promptly disabled her would-be attacker with a sharp knee to the crotch.

While his friend was groaning on the ground, the man holding Clark hostage fumbled with his gun, suddenly caught off-guard and having to decide between threatening his captive and pointing the weapon at Lois before Clark made the decision for him. Remembering the few moves Darcie had managed to drill into his head during one of her failed attempts to teach him the proper way to hit someone, he shoved his elbow back to make contact with the man’s nose, careful to limit the amount of force he used so that the bone was only broken and not the entire face. It worked better than he had expected, and before he knew it, both of the attackers were lying on the ground, one squirming uncomfortably and the other trying to stem the flow of blood suddenly rushing from his nose.

Clark hardly noticed their screaming as he jumped to his feet, absently rubbing the spot where the gun had been pressed against his head as he caught Lois’ arm to ask, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” she all but laughed, her good mood not disturbed one bit by the whole situation, “Damn, this will make for an excellent follow-up piece to the article on Mal and his gang’s activities. What about you, babe - are you feeling okay?”

“Me? Yeah… I’m fine too,” he answered slowly, even though it was the farthest thing from the truth. Having a gun to his head had shaken him up more than a little, despite the fact that they both knew it couldn’t do him any harm.

It’d been frightening, knowing that both him and Lois were in danger and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, yet her ecstatic mood - over a hostage situation, he had to remind himself - was more than a little infectious, and he was already feeling a little bit better by the time she had managed to get ahold of the police to report the incident. By the time they had given their statements to the two officers that arrived to the scene and finally reached Lois’ apartment, his anxiety was finally beginning to lose its clenching hold around his lungs and a hot cup of tea diminished it further - it was only when his hands finally stopped shaking that the hilarity of the whole situation finally dawned on him. Clark couldn’t wait to see Darcie’s face when she heard.

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #taken hostage #DCEU #Clark Kent #fic #threats tw #Red Capes #Lois Lane #Superman

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bandaged-writer · 5 years ago

Text

gasoline - prologue || dazai

➤ Pairing: Mafia! Dazai x Ability User! Reader

➤ Genre: Action, fluff, angst, smut (maybe? idk yet), gore

➤ Warnings: character death, blood, language, physical abuse, maybe explicit sex but idk man

➤ Summary: What kind of father sold off their child? What kind of father was he? You only had him, after all.

➤ Word count: 1.3k

➤ Note: Starting this lovely series as a gift for reaching 100 followers! Please, let me know what you think. As this series is on-going, the warnings might get updated and will be individual for every chapter.

➤ previous || next

12 years prior..

Sceneries painted by the twilight were certainly a beautiful thing to look at. Many people would admire the sunset like a rose holding crimson petals, inhale its scent like it was the salty breeze of Yokohama’s air and bask in its beauty until it was time to go home to your beloved, family or roommate. Indeed, humans loved beautiful things, but failed to see the thorns hiding on the stem which would end up making them bleed; may it be their thumb or their heart, even. Perhaps, beauty blinded them.

It was no different for the father sitting down on the bench and watching his adorable 8-year-old daughter play with another child so carelessly like nothing could hurt the one he called his flesh and blood. It was a beautiful sight to witness. To see you bouncing up and down on the seesaw with the child whose name remained unknown to your dad. He could only describe the boy; short, brown hair a bit of a mess, twinkling brown eyes and bandages around his forearms. Worry had decorated your father’s face as the boy asked if it was okay to play with you for a while, because what had happened to the young child to be so bandaged up? He agreed nevertheless.

Maybe it was none of his business. Yes, he shouldn’t worry about the child of another person when his daughter had just come home after so many years. He breathed in the salty air, looked at his watch and noticed that it was almost time for dinner. 6 pm. Your father was about to get up and call out your name when a man approached him. The aura of the man was different than that of a parent; that much your dad could tell.

“Your daughter is quite gifted, no?” The man named Mori sat down next to your dad and watched you having fun on the seesaw with the child he had taken under his wing: Dazai. Your dad’s spine straightened, his facial features hardened. Of course, he knew of your ability which you had come back with after your time at the hospital - why? He didn’t know. “How do you know about my daughter’s ability?” The father asked, suddenly protective and not trusting Mori at all. However, Mori never answered that question. There were more important matters the black-haired doctor had to discuss and something precious to gain.

“Allow me to make a prediction for your daughter’s and Yokohama’s future,” Mori began, his gloved pointer finger tapping his temple in feigned thought just to build the suspense running through your father’s blood. “Your daughter’s ability is unstable, because the experiment done on her was neither a full success nor an entire failure, therefore she’s actually very likely to lose control over it,” your dad swallowed the lump in his throat. This was impossible, unbelievable, a lie. It had to be.

What was this guy talking about? What experiment? You’d been at the hospital due to pneumonia, so had your mother told him.

“She has the potential to destroy the entire city if pushed to her very limits. As someone who protects this place, I cannot allow for such a thing to happen and I regret to inform you of this,” Mori pointed his finger towards a bush which was a fair distance away and your dad saw something shimmering between the thick leaves. As he squinted his eyes, cold sweat ran down his spine.

A sniper hid in the bushes, scope fixed on you and probably just waiting for Mori to give him a sign.

“Don’t!” The father’s eyes went wide, realizing how very real Mori’s threat to take your life right then and there was. So many questions whirled within your dad’s mind such as why that doctor spat such nonsense, who the hell he really was and how he could dare to shoot someone in front of his own child - if it was Mori’s own flesh and blood, at all. But your life came before his curiosity. “I’ll give you anything you want! But please, spare my daughter’s life,” your father pleaded, eyes watery and flickering in anxiety. His hands shook, a stone in his stomach and a very bad feeling dawning on the young father. Mori tilted his head in faked innocence, lips almost pursed as he weighed his options.

“Anything you say?”

“Yes! What is it that you want? Money or perhaps-”

“Then I want your daughter.”

Taken aback, your father failed to formulate any words that would make sense. He was utterly speechless and desperate. Was he really to give you away to someone as shady as this doctor?

“Hand over your daughter in exactly 12 years and she’ll live. Refuse and her life will find its end right here, right now.”

A dead end. There was no room for negotiation, no mercy in Mori’s eyes nor any signs that this was a sick joke, an incredibly bad nightmare your father could wake up from. This was reality and it was worse than anything he could ever imagine. Your father’s eyes looked at your smiling, innocent self, his heart heavy with the decision he had to make, although he already knew the answer.

“..I’ll hand her over to you in 12 years,” your dad spoke in a defeated tone, his shoulders suddenly weighing more than the world’s sins combined. What kind of father sold off their child? What kind of father was he? You only had him, after all. Mori, on the other hand, was delighted at pleasant answer. Of course, no father would want their child’s life to be taken away. He clapped his gloved hands together, a genuinely delighted smile on his face. “I see you made the right decision,” he spoke and stood up, dusting off his coat and calling for the child named Dazai. “I’ll see you in 12 years, then!”

With those words being said, Mori left the playground along with Dazai and stepped into a matte black car which had just pulled up. As if this entire scenario had been carefully calculated beforehand. Defeated and helpless, your father buried his face in his hands, wanted to rip his hair out for making such a crude decision, but it was so that you could live.

Yes, it was only for you.

Gazing out of the window, Dazai sighed against the glass and watched it fog up with a bored expression on his face. “What’s so special about that girl?” He asked, not aware of the mafioso’s plan which was carefully planned out. Up to that point, everything had played into Mori’s hands but what would happen in 12 years? That was a gamble. Dazai’s mentor only smiled in response. “This is something for you to witness, Dazai-kun.”

His attention then shifted towards the driver, an incredibly skilled executive of the mafia. “Kouyou-kun. Please, make sure to send the girl a bouquet of orange lilies for her birthday, every year. He shall not forget his promise, after all,” Mori pushed some of his hair back and pulled out his phone as he seemed to be calculating a little gift for the dad. He wasn’t a cruel man. Of course, Mori would cover the expenses for a child until it reached its 20th birthday; one could look at it as a compensation for the emotional stress he had just put your father through. “Orange lilies?” Kouyou asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Don’t you think this is a bit harsh?” However, as Kouyou only received an effortless “no” from the mafioso, she couldn’t help but sigh into the sleeve of her kimono, her other hand on the steering wheel.

What a shame to stain a little flower’s petals so early on in her life, Kouyou thought.

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd #bsd x reader #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #fic: gasoline

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takingcourage · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request Simon Montjoy x MC for telling ghost stories? And bonus if I get to see Simon as a father 🥺

Thank you so much for this request, Nonny! Writing Simon as a father was an absolute delight!

This story borrows from Roald Dahl’s The Witches: not a “ghost story,” per se, but one of my favorite scary stories to read as a child. All excerpts are in italics.

_____

They were only an hour in, and Cassidy was already on her third flute of champagne. She sipped from the top of her latest glass, grateful for the fleeting moments when she had the the fizz of bubbles to counter the booming monotone of Viscount Kirkley.

Her grandfather-in-law really did have the most tedious taste in friends.

With a glance toward the opposite end of the room, she saw that Simon was in much the same state. Even from this distance, it was easy for her to see that his eyes had started to look a bit glassy. As he caught her attention, his mouth kinked up in a trademark smirk.

Returning the look with a smile of her own, Cassidy traced a finger over the stem of her glass and tried to give the appearance of being interested in the proceedings. Aside from decorum and the show of solidarity, her real motivation for hosting the evening's festivities was the promise of dancing. It had been too long since she'd had an excuse to dance with her husband.

Behind her, there was a brush of fabric and a quiet titter that sounded very much like an apology. Cassidy turned over her shoulder to find Celeste at her side, one lip caught between her teeth as if steeling herself for something unpleasant.

“I’m sorry to bother you," she sidled close with the whispered interruption. "But if you could join me outside, Ms. Davison would like to speak with you.”

“Of course.” Cassidy followed the other woman through the ballroom and into an adjacent hallway.

Even with a fair amount of alcohol in her system, her blood chilled on reading the distress in Ms. Davison's features. It wasn't the first time the nanny’s face had matched the color of Mitsy's roses, but the florid hue was still a rather unnerving sight to behold.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but they've disappeared." In spite of her appearance, she managed to keep her tone even. With a deep, resolute breath, she resumed her explanation. "I was only gone for a moment, but I can’t find them anywhere."

“They’re quite good at that,” Simon remarked, sauntering in to round out the little gathering.

“Where were they when you left them?” Cassidy inquired, disposing of her glass on a nearby windowsill.

“The nursery.”

She shared a look with her husband. Even with the size of the estate and its extensive grounds, that could really only mean one thing.

“We’ll find them.” With a slanted brow, Simon downed the rest of his drink and set the glass beside his wife’s.

Following his cue, Cassidy continued, “Why don’t you take the rest of the evening off? We’ll take care of getting them to bed.” No matter what awaited them upstairs, it was preferable to enduring the rest of the night’s speeches. It wasn’t quite the distraction she might have hoped for, but she was hardly going to turn her nose up once it had appeared.

The relief in the nanny’s eyes was immediate. “If you’re sure, ma’am. Violet hasn’t been any trouble; she’s been sleeping since half past. I'd just gone to check on her when the other two ran off."

The news was hardly surprising. Their youngest was still too small to get herself into much trouble unless prompted by the other two. Somewhat unfortunately, the eldest Montjoy siblings were more than capable of producing enough mischief on their own.

"We'll see that the other two are tucked in soon."

She and Simon broke off from the group, finding their way to the staircase with purposeful strides. Now that the initial shock had passed, Cassidy was finding it difficult to keep a handle on the laughter that kept bubbling up in her throat. “This is all your fault," she accused, wagging a finger in the direction of her husband's nose. "You must be regretting your decision to show them those passageways last week.”

“And miss this prime opportunity to teach them a lesson? Absolutely not!” The wink he flashed her couldn’t mean anything good.

When he wheeled toward the left and away from the nursery on cresting the top of the stairs, she caught his meaning. With a quiet gasp of surprise, Cassidy followed close behind him.

“No doubt they’ve snuck in there to tell ghost stories or some such rot.”

“Like you did when you were their age?”

“I didn’t run away from my nannies in the middle of parties.”

From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the telltale tilt of his smile. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Well....” he equivocated, “circumstances were different. Mine knew about the passages and could follow after me if they wished. My disappearances may have been a nuisance, but they were never a hazard to anyone’s health. Did you see the vein in her forehead just now? I hope she goes home for a proper lie-down.”

“We really ought to give the poor woman a raise,” Cassidy considered as they passed into the Blythe Room. "Even with us, those two are quite a handful."

Simon slid an arm behind the headboard, easily locating the release for the passage door. "I wouldn't have them any other way: unspoiled by the world, free to let their imaginations wander wherever they may. They’re rather perfect."

Her heart clenched at the tenderness of his statement. Their children were curious and kind and compassionate, with a mischievous streak just wide enough to keep life full of excitement. It was little wonder their family and all the household staff were so fond of them.

"...though I shall need to have a chat with them about this particular scheme -- how they thought they'd get away with it, I'll never know."

"Do we have a plan of attack?" She joined him at the entrance in the wall, starting to feel the adrenaline thrum through her extremities.

"We sneak in and scare the dickens out of them," he shared matter of factly. “Does that meet your approval?”

“I can be pretty quiet when I need to be.”

“I know you can, darling.” The flash of heat in his dark eyes sent a thrill across her skin.

She was going to have to get him back for that later. Removing her shoes, Cassidy hooked the thin straps over her fingers and tiptoed into the tunnel after him. Her anticipation rose as the light faded behind them, leaving them in almost total darkness. As they rounded the corner, she could just make out the glow of a torch around the next bend.

“Shhh,” Simon warned needlessly.

With great effort, she managed not to elbow him in the ribs. If he thought she’d be the one to ruin a prank, he was quite mistaken.

They edged closer, Amelia’s voice growing more articulate with every step. "Don't stop! It's getting to the good part."

"How should you know? You've never read this book before."

"I can tell! My neck is tingling. Feel it!"

“Fine.” There was an indistinguishable grumble before Calvin resumed reading:

“Did you ever see that painting, Grandmamma, with the little girl in it?”

“Many times," my grandmother said. "And the peculiar thing was that little Solveg kept changing her position in the picture --”

From somewhere ahead of them, Amelia gasped at the revelation.

“One day she would actually be inside the farmhouse and you could see her face looking out of the window. Another day she would be far over to the left with a duck in her arms.”

Cassidy predicted Simon’s response even before she heard his measured intake of breath.

"Quack-wack! Quack. Wack-wack!"

The noises weren't terribly convincing, but it didn't matter: a pair of shrieks echoed before they'd even stepped into view. Two small bodies were huddled tightly against the wall, though they jerked apart as soon as their parents appeared. A flashlight rolled aimlessly before coming to stop at Simon’s feet.

"What do we have here?" he asked, retrieved the torch to spotlight each child in turn. Though the shrieking had stopped, they were still working to catch their breaths. Still clinging to the cover of the book, Calvin held his hand to his chest. "A pair of escapologists who think it's clever to scare their nanny to death?"

Amelia's brow plummeted at the accusation. "We didn't mean to frighten her."

"Yeah!" her brother joined in, dropping the book to his side with the force of conviction. "We just wanted to read! Ms. Davison said we couldn't because she thinks it's too scary --"

"--even though you and mama told us we could. It's not fa--"

Simon's level gaze ensured that his daughter’s pouting was short lived.

Heaving a sigh, Amelia dusted off the book cover and replaced the bookmark that she'd been worrying between her fingers. "We'll write a letter to apologize tomorrow morning. Is she still here? We could go and tell her sorry right now."

"We sent her home, but I think she'd be grateful for an apology tomorrow," Cassidy encouraged, wondering how it was possible to move from fear, to frustration, to regret quite so quickly. Amelia rose, coming to meet her with a hug that suggested the depth of her feelings.

"Can we get back to the book then?" their son piped up again. "We can’t stop in the middle of a chapter.”

Simon handed him the light and considered the question, carding a hand through his son’s hair in the meantime. Calvin made a show of shying away from the attention, though the attempt was halfhearted. “If you promise to pen your apologies first thing tomorrow morning.”

“We do!” the children chimed in chorus.

Simon chucked the boy’s chin and took a step toward the nursery. “Then perhaps we should finish the chapter together before we send you off to bed.”

“Really?”

Simon darted back at his daughter’s question. “You know I don’t joke about story time.”

“But the party!” Amelia objected, eyebrows slanting into a perfect facsimile of Simon’s.

“We’ll go back after you’ve gone to bed.”

Satisfied with the answer, she joined her brother in trekking back though the dim hallway.

“Don’t drag your heels now, into your jim-jams!" Simon cast an eye after them before falling back to walk with his wife. With practiced ease, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her near. “I rather like this turn of events.”

“We’re as bad as the children, running out on our own party.”

“It’s grandfather’s party.”

“That we’re hosting,” Cassidy reminded, making a mental list of all the ways their sudden disappearance must have violated conventions.

“My grandparents are more than capable of seeing to the guests. Besides, it’s not as if people aren’t used to us being a bit... unconventional now and then.”

As they made it back through the nursery passage, she considered the pronouncement. “I was never one for conventions.” His hold on her hip tightened, and she settled comfortably into his side.

“It’s one of my favorite things about you, darling. Now, let’s get these two miscreants of ours to bed. if we time it right, we’ll be back just in time for dancing.”

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #a very scandalous proposal #simon montjoy #simon montjoy x mc #choices vip #vip choices #long post

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rookisaknight · 4 years ago

Text

Raf Tanager, meet Hope County

⤘⤘⤘There’s a new Deputy in Town⬽⬽⬽

So as a side benefit of getting into this fandom again with a brand new gender and a brand new vibe: a brand new deputy. Excited to introduce you all to my boy, they were developed for a joint Deputy au with @ophiebot (who will do this for their Deputy Elijah Rook if so inclined). Not exactly reinventing any wheels here, but this time its about the indulgence.

FYI, Molly is still extant, but her story I think has been explored in my brainspace as much as it needs to be.

➷The Basics

1. Give their full name, and describe them or post a picture! (Height, build, hair, eye, and skin color, etc.)

Rafael "Raf" Tanager (birth name REDACTED). 5'4", prone to chub but hardening up with the frequent exercise, solid build. Freckles on cheeks that darken as time goes on. Short hair kept red by some truly obsessive hairdye upkeep, which is harder than you might think. Hazel eyes. Burns and shrapnel scars around the eyes and mouth.

2. How old are they?

3. Sexuality and gender?

Bisexual, transmasc genderqueer. She/they/he but a preference for they/he when he doesnt trust the person using them.

➵Pre-Game

1. How did they end up at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department? How long have they worked there?

Raf grew up closer to Missoula, but he’s still a Montana native. They’ve been at this for around 8 months, pretty much right out of graduating college. Even they honestly aren’t sure how they ended up here, just the latest in a series of adrift jobs after graduating, taken primarily to avoid any potential financial dependence on their family. Probably would have resigned soon were it not for. Everything.

2. Relationship with Pratt, Hudson, and Whitehorse?

Pratt: Used to hate his guts. The teasing felt too much like flirting for their comfort and he was honestly kind of a bully. Now its trickier. He's pathetic in a way that’s hard for them to be around, as awful as that is, because it hits too close to home.

Hudson: Had a massive crush on her for most of their early days that pretty much went out the window post Eden’s Gate. They still try a little too hard to impress her though.

Whitehorse: Intellectually, they resent his passivity since it means a lot of Eden’s Gate ended up falling in their lap and he’s STILL insistent that maybe they should have left it alone when they’ve all had months to realize why that was a bad idea in the first place. Emotionally, well, they’re maybe a little in need of a father figure or two.

Elijah Rook: The former Rookie. They were quietly a little intimidated by him prior to all this and that’s never fully gone away, but they’ve now been able to witness more of his dorky side that makes it a little harder to take him seriously. You try chaperoning this guy from one end of Hope County and considering him at all frightening.

3. Do they have an education?

They have a MASTERS and its never relevant to anything because its a humanities degree, specifically the classics. Part of the reason they’re a little adrift currently, there was no easy dismount out of college. Just a hell of a lot of debt.

4. Where are they from? Did they speak a different language there?

Missoula, or close enough to it. They picked up some Latin and Greek from their degree. The Latin comes in handy more often than you’d think, what with the cult stuff, but the reading material is a real bummer.

5. Is there anyone outside the valley that might have come looking for them?

They’ve never had many friends in college and high school that could outlast physical proximity and they basically ghosted their family since that was easier than coming out to them at a certain point. So no, no one they want to find them is looking.

6. Did they have a religious background of any kind?

His father is a preacher, and while there’s some baggage there they would still describe themselves as broadly religious. Or at the very least superstitious.

➷Inside Hope County

1. What was going through their head when the helicopter went down and during the subsequent chase?

The crash was honestly the easiest part. That was just panic. The chase was the hard part. The helicopter exploding ended up catching them in the face, leaving them with burns and scarring that would remain for the rest of their life. She's lucky she wasn’t blinded. Still, he was forced to stumble out of the woods in intense pain and bleeding out. Had it not been for Elijah they definitely would have been taken then and there.

2. Were they afraid of Joseph and Eden’s Gate? Angry?

Terrified. Not just because of what they’ve done but because Raf knows intuitively that he's susceptible to it. As early as their first encounter they have a hard time breaking the hold Joseph gets on their mind. Even though they’re conscious of HOW they’re being manipulated, its hard to resist it.

3. Did they trust Dutch?

At that point Raf would’ve happily taken literally anyone who seemed to know what they’re doing and wasn’t holding a gun to his head.

4. How did they feel about their team being taken by the cult, did they count them as lost, did they want them back, did they not care?

Absolutely the nightmare scenario: people’s lives depending on them and their ability to be decisive. Had it not been for Elijah they probably would’ve high tailed it out of there and tried to find someone higher up the authority chain to deal with this mess. Still, just abandoning them all didn’t sit right with him either, and by the time they’d liberated Fall’s End even he had to admit he was there by his own choice.

5. How did they take to the idea of being part of, if not leading, the resistance?

Again, Raf doesn’t really do well with people depending on them. Alone. they probably would have found it a lot more miserable, but Elijah significantly helped lighten that load for them in terms of having a direction. They’ve found out they’re accidentally pretty good at working with a variety of people and can even be inspiring without meaning to. Still, in their ideal world they would’ve been left alone, or at least remained a foot soldier.

6. Which companions did they recruit, and who did they travel with the most?

All guns for hire were recruited, but Sharky and Nick were their go-to’s, Sharky for personal reasons and Nick for air support. Grace was usually the adult supervision when Nick couldn’t make it but. To be frank Raf's aim isn’t great and it drives Grace a little nuts on prolonged missions. She’s tried teaching them but it never really seems to stick.

7. Did they have time to find romance amidst the chaos? How did they do it?

Sharky. That relationship was a bit of a cold opener (and don’t bother, Sharky already beat you to that joke). After getting their face fucked up during the escape they’ve had a pretty healthy aversion to fire and explosives, making his recruitment a little harrowing. Still, Sharky's sweet in his way, makes them laugh and breathe a little easier when the pressure gets to them, and operates on a pretty similar brainwave. They’ve been joined at the hip since their first few months in Holland Valley. They’re both a little on the codependent side, but really, who are they to complain.

8. Feelings about Joseph?

Joseph taps into a lot of vulnerabilities inside of Raf intuitively. The absence of a strong support system, the loneliness, the fear, the directionlessness, the relationship with their own spirituality, it all provides him a unique entryway into their psyche that he is exactly the kind of person to exploit. As a result, he tends to fixate on them over Elijah, usually to their detriment. Still, that connection can sometimes go both ways, and there are things about Joseph that Raf understands which even his brothers never fully do.

9. Feelings about the other Seeds?

John: They have a unique capacity for antagonizing him. Probably because as an oldest child themselves they know exactly how to jab at the youngest child insecurities. Still, that relationship didn’t stem any deeper and he focused his energies a little more on Elijah. Still, they have him to thank for the Sloth scars on their arm, thanks for that. They’re starting to run out of unmarked skin.

Faith: Faith, meanwhile, was a little more directly focused on Raf, partly because her region was the first time they had to operate a little more on their own. For personal reasons, Elijah wasn’t particularly able to engage with the Bliss. Meaning if Burke was ever going to get saved Raf had to be the one to go in there, again and again. Faith, like Joseph, can tap a lot of that loneliness that Raf has, as well as some gender and sexuality stuff Joseph can’t touch. Suffice to say Sharky had a pretty good reason for being as overbearing as he was during those months, even though he was eventually able to do the job. As a side note, they haven’t had access to their ADHD meds for MONTHS and it doesn’t help when the cult drug is the first thing to make your head feel clear in a while.

Jacob: Jacob was utterly uninterested in Raf and the feeling was mostly mutual. He doesn’t really get him or what he’s about, just knows that the county would be better off when he was put down. Transition goals, though (don’t tell Staci they said that).

10. How did they handle having to kill animals and other humans? Had they done it before?

Animals yeah, you don’t live in Montana as long as they did without hunting occasionally. People....well. You can get used to it.

11. Which canon ending did they choose in-game, and would you have changed the ending at all?

Resist. I wouldn’t. Raf might.

➷Personal

1. Favorite weapon(s)?

They usually prefer to show up to spots early and lay traps, try to minimize the direct combat involvement. When it can’t be avoided though, their pistol isn’t ever far and neither is a hunting knife.

2. Stealth or firepower?

Stealth, one hundred percent. Sharky and Eli are here to do the firepower.

3. How did they spend their time, when not fighting peggies?

A lot of bad movies with the boyfriend and a LOT of poker, one of their more unknown talents. Resistance isn’t gonna fund itself.

4. Where did they live during the events of the game?

Wherever there was a bed they could fall into. Their little trailer they’d been living in prior to all this got absolutely decimated while they were healing up on Dutch’s island.

5. Any other facts you want to share about your Deputy!

He’s got almost supernatural luck to the point that a couple of their guns for hire have gotten superstitious about bringing him to certain events. Including fishing. The catch just always seems somehow a little better. Also he’s privately obsessed with the 1998 recording of Cats and is terrified of anyone finding out.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #far cry deputy #oc: raf tanager #oc: elijah rook #joseph seed #sharky boshaw #long post #far cry rook

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