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lupiiifics · 3 years ago

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Lucky To Love You

Fic #2 Posted on AO3 on October 1, 2021 for Luzeni Friday on Twitter.

A/N: I swear my stories aren't going to be formatted like this. It's just that I formatted it to fit AO3 so I wasn't sure how to split the chapters here. I didn't want to post them separately, so this is how I did it. Hope it's not too jarring. Next story will be posted on October 8, 2021.

Summary: Zenigata and Lupin agree to a date in Lupin's jail cell. Some hijinks occur, but it's mostly just pining and fluff.

Word Count: 6,988

Chapter 1:

"He's coming."

Goemon appeared between Lupin and Jigen's shoulders, the first sign of him being the hilt of Zantetsuken. His hand gripped the shoulder of the seat in front of him, and Lupin looked back just in time to see blue lights flashing in the distance.

" Shit . How do you do that?" He asked, glancing at the samurai. "I thought we'd have a clean getaway tonight, but it looks like Pops has other plans."

"I thought you kept this one secret? How'd he find us?" Jigen asked.

Lupin shrugged. "Dunno. That guy has some sixth sense when it comes to us."

"When it comes to you , you mean," Jigen corrected. He pulled his Magnum from its holster and popped the chamber to count the amount of bullets. "Want me to take care of him?"

"Maybe. How many are there?"

Jigen turned in his seat, peering past Goemon to stare out the back windshield. "It's just him and his lacky. No one else."

Lupin nodded, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Hold off for now. I'll signal you when I need you to slow 'em down."

Jigen lowered his hand but didn't put away his gun. "What're you plannin'?"

Lupin waved a hand in front of them, steadily accelerating to try and outrun their pursuers. They were fast approaching a large copse of trees, the plush green blur becoming clearer as the seconds passed. "I'm gonna try and lose them."

"You sure?" Jigen angled his head upwards until one of his eyes was visible, his bangs peaking through to frame his face. "I could at least stall them."

"Don't waste your ammunition. Save it for when we really need it."

Jigen shrugged, leaning back to kick his feet up on the dash. He pushed his hat down over his face again and stuffed a cigarette from his pocket into his mouth. "Suit yourself. Just don't complain to me later when he catches you."

"He won't catch me," Lupin said, matter-of-factly. "I'm Lupin the Third!"

"That hasn't stopped him before," Jigen muttered. “That guy can’t resist putting his handcuffs on you, can he?”

Lupin grinned, glancing through the rearview mirror again. “Hey, I can’t help being irresistible. It comes with the charm of being me!”

The blue lights were fast approaching, as was the forest. He slammed on the breaks and pressed the clutch to the floor, shifting down until he felt the car catch enough to turn. He jerked the steering wheel, pressing Jigen up against the passenger side door, and throwing Goemon against the back seat. He came up with a glare on his face, his fierce stare peering at him through the rearview mirror.

“You could have warned us,” Goemon said, gripping Zantetsuken. The debris from their sudden shift fell through the sunroof, covering each of them in fallen branches, leaves, and dirt. Lupin ignored the yells of protest coming from his two partners, pressing down the small dirt road in hopes of losing Zenigata. The blue lights still stubbornly pursued them, however, a permanent fixture in the reflection of his mirrors.

The sound of the sirens mixed with the sound of crunching metal as long grey streaks appeared along the sides of his precious Fiat. He pressed his cheek against his window, watching as the trees scratched his car. “ Fuck . Pops is gonna owe me for this one.”

“Ain’t the first time I’ve heard you say that,” Jigen drew a pull from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out through his nose. “You gonna actually hold him to it, this time?”

Lupin leaned forward, shifting as he accelerated deeper into the forest. It was a bumpy ride, throwing each of them around the car as the forest grew more narrow.

“Hush you,” Lupin said. He leaned over, not taking his eyes off the path ahead of him. “Gimme a taste of that, would ya?”

“Thought you hated Marlboros?”

Lupin craned his head, shrugging. “Can’t really pull one of mine out right now, can I? I’m driving.”

Jigen huffed. “Fine. Here.”

He held the cigarette out and allowed Lupin to suck on the end of it. As soon as he pulled away, he crushed the cigarette between his fingers, shoving it into the car’s ashtray and pulling another from the pocket of his jacket.

Lupin laughed the smoke forward to filter against the windshield. It rose overhead and escaped through the sunroof. “Grumpy much, Jiji?”

Jigen ignored him, lighting his brand new cigarette. Goemon leaned forward between them again, his face grim and his hair dotted with leaves and spots of dirt.

“The car will not last,” he said, indicating their slowing speed with the hilt of his sword. “Zenigata will catch up.”

Lupin looked between the samurai and the speedometer. “What? No! She can’t give up on us now!”

Jigen held up his Magnum again, eyes glinting with obvious mirth. “You want me to slow them down now?”

The car began to sputter, dying like a star at the end of its lifecycle. “I’m not sure there’s much point. Looks like we’re running from here. Goemon, you got the stuff?”

Goemon held up a duffle bag full of loot, the pockets glimmering with various pieces of gold, silver, and whatever else they could find that they deemed worth enough to take. He hefted it against the top of one of his shoulders, hopping through the sunroof right as the car came to a stop at the end of a clearing. He drew Zantetsuken in one fluid motion, sending the surrounding trees crashing to block Zenigata’s pursuit. They could hear the inspector yelling on the other side, obviously frustrated to be stopped in his goal of catching them.

“LUPIN! Move these trees, dammit!”

“Sorry, Pops!” Lupin shouted over the chaos. “But I’ve gotta run.”

“Oh no you don’t!”

Zenigata exited his police car and began climbing the fallen trees. When Jigen and Goemon saw this, they began to back away.

“Whelp, I’m outta here. You comin’, Goemon?”

The samurai nodded. “I’m right behind you, Jigen.”

Lupin turned to follow them, but found his arm restrained by a familiar set of handcuffs. He looked back, and found Zenigata half slumped over the trees, grinning at him with a thick rope clutched between his fingers. “I’ve got you now, Lupin!”

Lupin turned toward his friends, watching as they continued to run away from him. “Wait, no. Guys, help me !”

Jigen gave him a sympathetic look while Goemon remained stoic in their escape.

“Sorry, boss,” Jigen said, “but we gotta keep the goods safe, right?”

“No! You’ve got to keep me safe, you bastards!”

Jigen ignored him. “We’ll be sure to give you your share when you escape, okay boss? See ya later!”

“What?! No. Jigen , get your ass back here.”

They disappeared out of the clearing, leaving Lupin alone with Zenigata and Yata. Lupin slowly turned to find Zenigata standing behind his shoulder, tugging his hand up to grin at the cuffs.

“Thought you could escape from me, did you?” He asked. He untied the rope and grabbed Lupin’s other hand to trap behind his back. “Now you’re coming back with us to the station.”

“Aw, but Pops. Tonight was supposed to be a quiet night. I didn’t even send out a calling card.”

“I don’t care!” Zenigata beamed, his face absolutely alight with pride. “Wherever you go, I follow, remember?"

Lupin hunched his shoulders and blew out a defeated sigh. "Normally I'd call that romantic, but with you I'm not so sure."

"Call it whatever you want. You're not getting away this time, Lupin ," Zenigata said. He turned toward the pile of trees and pulled Lupin along with him. "Yata! Come help me load our prisoner."

"Yes, sir!" Yata poked his head up from where he had climbed the trees, reaching an arm down to do just as Zenigata had asked. "Boost him up. I’ll pull.”

Zenigata fumbled with his cellphone, struggling to dial the number of his police chief. Yata did his best to help him, but there wasn't much he could do for a man as stubborn as the Inspector. Lupin watched helplessly from the back seat, listening as the two bickered.

"Just let me dial the number—"

"No, I already told you I got it. Here, look. See? It's ringing!"

Zenigata held the phone gleefully to his ear, a large grin spreading across his face. Yata's expression was a little less enthusiastic, exhausted against his superior's relentless tenacity.

Zenigata didn't notice this. His voice was bright as he said, "hello? Chief? Yeah, we got 'em! We caught Lupin. We're transporting now."

Lupin had already slipped his cuffs, but his escape was thwarted by this car's lack of back-door handles. This wasn't Zenigata's typical police car. It didn't have a sunroof either.

He wrapped his arms around the headrests of the seats in front of him, leaning to poke his head between the two police officers. Yata jumped when he noticed the thief, while Zenigata ignored him and finished his report.

"We'll be there in an hour. Have his cell prepped and ready for me, alright? Yes, sir. I'll give you the full run-down once I have Lupin locked up tight."

"Sir—" Yata sputtered, staring wide-eyed at Lupin. He held his hand to his holstered handgun, ready to use it if Lupin decided to try anything hasty. Zenigata remained calm as he felt Lupin snake his hand around his left shoulder. He simply said his goodbyes, hung up the phone, and turned to look at their prisoner.

“You slipped your cuffs,” he said, voice flat.

Lupin held up the cuffs in question, hanging them off the top of his forefinger. He grinned. “You know me, Pops. I’ve never been one to be restrained.”

“I beg to differ,” Zenigata said. “Seeing as I’ve got you where I want you, and we’re heading back to the station now.”

Lupin shrugged and fell back against his seat. "I'll find a way out of this. I always do. You got a smoke?"

Zenigata grumbled, much of his initial enthusiasm gone from his body language. He rummaged through his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter, pulling one out, lighting it, and handing it back to Lupin. Yata stared at him as the cigarette left his lips, his entire face twisted in confusion.

"You're actually giving him one?"

Zenigata shrugged. "They haven't been tampered with, so why not? Not like he'll get many opportunities in prison anyway."

Yata slumped his shoulders. "You're too kind, Inspector. He's a thief!"

"Hey, just ‘cause he’s a thief, doesn’t mean I can’t treat him with respect.” Zenigata said.

Yata sighed, and Lupin laughed at the reserved look on the young police officer’s face. This earned him a glare worthy of Goemon, and Lupin’s laughter only got louder.

“Zenigata, with all due respect, you’re hopeless…”

His cell was at the back of the police station, past the rows of office desks, people, and officers. The room was dark and windowless, with lights that were controlled by whoever was guarding him. The cell door was heavy and automated, with no obvious control panel, nor way Lupin could conceivably hack it. He realized then that this cell had been specifically created to contain him, at least temporarily, until they could figure out a way to keep him from escaping. It was kind of impressive actually, until he realized the reality of what that would mean.

“You’ve been doing your research,” Lupin said, looking around. There was a bed suspended by wire in the corner of the room, and a mirror and toilet behind a wall for him to use.

“Told you you weren’t going anywhere,” Zenigata said. He pressed his hand against the back of Lupin’s shoulder, pushing him forward into the cell. “Welcome to your new home, Lupin~”

Lupin was beginning to panic, though he hid it under a veneer of careful planning. He straightened the orange jumpsuit they’d forced him into. Anything to make him look, and feel, composed. “ Temporary home, you mean. You know I’ll bust outta here eventually.”

Zenigata smiled at him and started to turn to leave the cell. “Whatever you say, Lupin.”

Lupin stumbled forward, unaware of the movement until it was actually happening. He caught Zenigata’s wrist in a plea to get him to stop. “Wait.”

“What?” Zenigata raised a dark eyebrow at him, turning to stare at their intertwined arms. “Do you need something?”

“Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” Zenigata shook his head, pulling away. “I don’t make deals with criminals, Lupin. You know that.”

Lupin was desperate. “A bet then. If I can make it through a week, you have to go on a date with me.”

Zenigata’s face flushed red and he took a step backwards. “A date ? Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably,” Lupin said, “but anyway. What do you say? Will you accept?”

Zenigata pressed his back against the cell door, face still flushed with what Lupin thought was embarrassment. “Don’t you have Fujiko? Or Jigen? Why would you want me ?”

“Why wouldn’t I want you?” Lupin asked, genuinely surprised. “You’re my rival , Zenigata. No cop in the world has ever managed to capture me for more than a night, and you’ve done it more than I can count. You’re my equal .”

“What about the others?” Zenigata asked. “Won’t they be angry?”

Lupin waved a hand. “Nah, they won’t care.”

Zenigata spluttered. “But isn’t that… cheating?”

“ Zenigata …” Lupin stared at him, a smile slowly growing to meet his eyes. “People can be polyamorous.”

“R...Right.”

Lupin edged toward the inspector eagerly. “So? What do you say?”

Zenigata rubbed his face. He was silent for several moments, seemingly going over the pros and cons in his head.

“This isn’t some plan to escape, is it?”

Lupin shrugged. “That depends. Where will the date take place?”

Zenigata scanned the room with his eyes, a plan slowly forming in his mind. “Here.”

“Really? How?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Zenigata said, “but we’re sure as Hell not doing it anywhere else.”

Lupin drooped his shoulders, disappointed that his idea hadn’t quite worked how he expected. “Aw, you’re no fun.”

“Just be glad I’m gonna let you do this at all.”

“So is that a yes?”

Zenigata looked like he was about to sign his soul away. He exhaled and rolled his shoulders. “ Yes , but only if you make it a week. Otherwise, the entire thing is off.”

Lupin shouted his excitement, throwing his arms around the inspector’s shoulders. “I’m looking forward to it!”

Zenigata allowed Lupin to nuzzle into his neck for a moment, enjoying the contact as much as he could allow. A moment later, he pried the thief off of him, and missed the warmth of his arms almost immediately. “Seven days,” he said. He held up seven fingers. “One week from today, or the date’s off.”

Lupin saluted him loyally, stepping back with a grin bright on his face. “Yes, sir! One week.”

Zenigata gave Lupin a small smile, stepping to turn back to the door. He paused for a width of a second, expecting something else, but the only sound he heard was the squeak of Lupin’s bed as the prisoner climbed into it. He wasn’t sure why he was disappointed as he left the jail cell. There shouldn’t have been anything else he was expecting.

As soon as the door closed, and Lupin was sure Zenigata was gone, he tugged at the edge of his ear until a small earpiece popped out into his hand. He played with the contraption for several seconds, bending and contracting it until he had it how he liked it. Then he hooked it back to the plastic by his ear, and grinned when he heard the other end pick up.

Jigen sounded tired as he answered, and Lupin wondered if he had woken him. “Boss?”

“Hey, Jiji . Listen. I need a favor.”

Chapter 2:

Report #1, Zenigata Koichi. Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department:

“Day one of Lupin’s imprisonment was an overall success. Lupin himself was cooperative. He answered my questions, followed orders, and did his best to seem like a perfect prisoner. Most of his first day was spent lounging on the bed. When I asked if he needed anything, he requested extra blankets. This seemed to be for comfort, as he used them as pillows and laid one over the sheets on the mattress. Otherwise, there is nothing else to report. He asked me for details on the date, and I hesitated to answer. I’m still not sure what I’m feeling over our bet, but my heart keeps skipping beats. Maybe I should go see a doctor?”

Report #2, Zenigata Koichi. Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department:

“Day two came with a string of complications, none of which seemed to affect Lupin or his seemingly unwavering determination to make it through this week. I hadn’t expected him to be so positive throughout this experience. So far he’s been nothing but smiles when in the past, it was always grandeur and posturing. I feel like he’s hiding something from me, though I can’t figure out what. I will get to the bottom of it, however. He can’t hide from me! I know all his secrets. Also… he called me ‘handsome.’ I’m not sure if that’s information I should share in my reports, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Report #3, Zenigata Koichi. Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department:

“I think his facade is starting to crack. When I approached his cell at the beginning of my shift, I found him shouting orders to the men guarding his door. Of course, this stopped once I announced myself. The men wouldn’t answer me when I asked what he had been shouting about. Instead, they told me it was nothing and, even when ordered, ignored me when I asked them to tell me. I entered Lupin’s cell angry, which was a mistake, because he caught me off guard with a hug from behind. I was so startled that I threw him off. Of course, he laughed about it. Sometimes I forget how damn good of a man Lupin can be. It takes a lot to piss him off. Apparently throwing him against a wall isn’t enough to break him down.”

Report #4, Zenigata Koichi. Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department:

“Day 4 and I think Yata has finally given up on me. He refuses to work with me on Lupin’s imprisonment, instead choosing to pursue the other three. So far, he hasn’t made much leeway. I warned him that this would be the case. Lupin might have screwed up by allowing himself to get caught, but Jigen and Goemon are a whole other monster when put together. And who even knows what’s going on with Fujiko? Lupin doesn’t seem to know where she is, but he’s not concerned, so neither am I. I instructed Yata to keep looking, if only to keep him from judging me. He seems disappointed in my deal with Lupin. Personally, I don’t see the issue with it if it keeps him in jail. We’ll have to see how it goes. That is, if Lupin makes it through all 7 days and Yata stops sighing whenever he looks at me.

Lupin was just as sugar-coated as usual today. He kept asking me opinions on things we could do during our date. I’m not sure if that was his way of flirting with me or if he was simply trying to make small talk. He does seem fairly sincere in his affections, but Lupin is like that with a lot of people. I don’t know if I can trust him. The men cheered when I exited the cell and I found several post-it notes with words of encouragement at my desk. I’m not certain I like what they’re all getting at.”

Report #5, Zenigata Koichi. Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department:

“We ran into our first actual issue with Lupin today. He seemed oddly defeated when I visited him in his cell, though he put up a facade almost as soon as he noticed me. Otherwise, he was energetic. I don’t know if being in the cell is starting to take its toll, or if he’s accepted his future imprisonment. He wasn’t lying when he said I’d done my research. The cell itself is tailor made to keep him contained, plus it’s at the back of the police station. If he were to escape, he’d have to go through me and every officer on duty in the office. He might be a master thief who had escaped from impossible odds time and time again, but everyone has their limit. He is just one man, and as far as Yata has told me, there’s no sign of Jigen or Goemon on their way to save him. As far as I can tell, they’ve abandoned him. Maybe that’s why he’s so listless? He’s probably missing his partners. I’ll try my best to make him happy during his time here, if only to wipe that hurt puppy look off his stupid monkey face.”

Report #6, Zenigata Koichi. Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department:

“I can tell Lupin is trying to come up with a way of escaping after our date in two days. He was restless when I found him this morning. I don’t think he’s really slept since I caught him, and while that shouldn’t concern me, it does. I tried asking him about how he was feeling, and he just dodged the question. I wonder if this is what he’s like with all of his partners. Is he open with Jigen, Fujiko, and Goemon? Or does he thrive on hiding behind a mask? He seems to be trying to convince me he’s fine, but I can see he’s not. I don’t think he likes being alone. He thrives off of other people, but I can hardly let him around other prisoners. It’s not that he’s particularly dangerous. He’s rarely even violent. He’s just flighty. If I let him anywhere but the bath house and his cell, he’ll get too many ideas and be out of my hands before I even know it. Maybe that’s not a risk right now with our date at the end of the week, but it becomes a risk as soon as that date is over. I’m not sure if this entire thing is just some elaborate scheme to take advantage of me, but he does seem to actually like me. I keep asking what it is he sees in me, an old police inspector, and he keeps saying the same thing. We’re destined rivals, which means we’re destined to be together.”

Report #7, Zenigata Koichi. Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department:

“The date is tomorrow night, which seems to have revived Lupin’s spirits a bit. He gave me a hug again when I entered his cell, though he waited until I could see him before actually doing it. This time, I didn’t throw him off me, though part of me kind of wanted to. I just can’t wrap my head around what’s happening here. We’re on the opposite sides of the law. I shouldn’t have this pressing need for him to be nearby, but I do. I’ve tried so long to push these feelings aside, or to channel them into capturing him, and now that I have, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve started to realize that this is the way it’s always been. That my desire to capture him was more than just my job. It was personal, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about that. The men seem supportive, with the only detracting person still being Yata. He seems to have overall accepted the fact that this is something that’s happening. I don’t know how to explain to him why I have to do this. Hopefully, he’ll eventually understand.”

Report #8, Zenigata Koichi. Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department:

“I still think Lupin is hiding something from me, and when I tried to ask about it, he once again ignored me. For now, I’m giving up on figuring it out by focusing on tonight. Lupin seemed over the moon when I talked to him about it this morning. I’m mostly nervous. I’m getting off an hour early to go home and prepare. The men seemed excited for me. They kept cheering me on about it. They even got Yata to join in, though he seemed embarrassed. It makes me happy to finally see him come around. Yata’s still new to this. I think it’s taken him a while to understand that the life of someone like us is not all about catching criminals. Sometimes, it’s about capturing them and then going on dates with them. I still can’t believe I agreed to do this.”

Chapter 3:

Zenigata pulled up to the police station embarrassed.

He was dressed in a dark brown pinstripe suit, with a pristine white dress shirt, a cream and gold striped tie, and an old pair dress shoes. He felt oddly stuffy when walking into the station. Like he looked out of place. Most of the people on duty complimented him as he passed, and suddenly he wished he had not gone without his hat. At least with it he could hide, and maybe get rid of this feeling of wanting to flee. This was Lupin’s reward, after all. He couldn’t back out now, not when the thief had buckled down and done what he had promised to, anyway.

He noticed about halfway through the office that most of his colleagues wouldn’t look him in the eye. Normally this wouldn’t be something that bothered him. He could be intimidating, especially to younger officers, based on his title alone, but this was different. People he’d worked with for years didn’t quite meet his gaze. They dodged his questions, welcomed him and asked him what he had planned, but they didn’t look at him. It got to the point that he thought something was wrong with the way he looked, and a wave of self-consciousness washed over him once again.

The only outlier was Yata, who led him back to Lupin’s cell with the same smile he always had on his face. He treated Zenigata as he normally did, and for the moment, that helped to calm him down.

“Is something wrong?” Zenigata asked as they passed the rows of desks.

Yata shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that everyone seems to be acting weird.”

Yata shrugged. “It’s not everyday a police inspector has a date with a world-renowned criminal. I’m not sure it’s surprising that they’re acting differently.”

Zenigata shifted the basket he had brought with him to rest under one of his arms. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Yata looked back, holding out his keycard, but not actually scanning it against the hidden scanner quite yet. “No. Why would I be mad?”

Zenigata rubbed his neck. “Well, I know this isn’t quite what you expected when you agreed to become my partner.”

Yata laughed and it surprised him. “With all due respect, sir, nothing we’ve done so far has been what I was expecting. It’s been fun though, and I hope we continue to work together.”

“So you’re really not upset at me?”

“No. I thought it was odd at first, but then the men reminded me that this is always how it’s been between you and Lupin.”

Zenigata was astonished. “That’s not true…”

Yata smiled. “Are you sure? From what they tell me, you’ve always been smitten with him.”

“That’s… okay, probably true, but I don’t know if ‘always’ is the word I’d use.”

“Whatever you say, Inspector.” Yata scanned the keycard, and punched in a code that was linked to his work phone. “You ready?”

Zenigata sighed, looking down at himself and the basket. He looked back up to Yata and nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The feeling of nervousness was so strong his chest hurt. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting as Yata opened the door. Maybe it would be empty? Maybe this was how they discovered how Lupin had played them? Maybe it would be normal? He didn’t know.

What he wasn’t expecting was the sound of music, the smell of scented wax candles, or the shuffle of feet as Lupin rushed to finish whatever it was he was preparing. He stepped through to see the thief turn on his heel, greeting Zenigata just as the door to his cell slammed shut behind him.

“Pops! Welcome!” Lupin swung his arms aside to showcase what he had been working on. It was then Zenigata noticed that both the room, and Lupin, had been transformed to match that of some fancy French restaurant. There was a tall circular table in the middle of the room, covered by a bright white sheet. On this table sat a basket of red wine and two crystalline glasses, as well as two tall candles and a single red rose in a vase. On the floor near the table was a small black cassette radio playing a song Zenigata didn’t recognize. It said,

“ I ain't got any worries

And I ain't got any money

But luck seems to follow

Wherever I go

When you said hello

My luck disappeared

You didn't even know I cared. ”

Lupin wore a black three piece suit, fancier than anything Zenigata owned, with a white ruffled blouse, and shiny silver cufflinks. He was so surprised by this, he didn’t even hug back when the thief wrapped his arms around his shoulders. His mind was too preoccupied with trying to figure out how he’d done this, along with processing just how good Lupin looked in that suit.

“What is this?” Zenigata asked, voice weak.

Lupin pulled away from him and smiled. He led Zenigata to the table, and pulled out one of the two chairs for him to take. “Our date,” he said. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

“How? How did you do this?”

Lupin’s smile turned into a grin. He picked up the glasses and placed one in front of Zenigata. “I enlisted the help of your men. They planned everything. All I did was order some stuff for Jigen to drop off. Like this wine, or my favorite suit.”

“They… really? Is that why they wouldn’t look at me as I was walking in?”

Lupin shrugged. “I guess they didn’t want to ruin the surprise. What do you think? Did they do a good job?”

“It’s perfect,” Zenigata said, still shellshocked. “Wait, did you say you’ve spoken to Jigen?”

“Yes, but not about escaping. I’ve kept my promise.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about. I just want to know how.”

Lupin looked guilty, and pulled at something at the top of his left ear. A thin flesh colored piece of metal appeared between his fingers and Lupin held it out to show him. “This is how. It’s an antenna with a builtin speaker and microphone. I connect it to this,” he removed another piece by his ear, “and I can talk to whoever it’s connected to like a cellphone.”

“Shit, didn’t think of that,” Zenigata said. He wasn’t really surprised. With the amount of contraptions Lupin had on his person at any one time, it was impossible to be alarmed by missing something.

Lupin’s expression of guilt shifted to pride and he grinned. “Clever isn’t it? I came up with it for situations just like this.”

“You came up with it for dates with police inspectors?” Zenigata smiled, watching as Lupin’s expression shifted once more into disdain.

“Quit being facetious. You know what I invented it for. Now drink your wine.”

Zenigata nodded and picked up his glass. “About that. You said Jigen dropped this off? How’d he do that without being caught?”

Lupin took a sip of his own glass, tipping it toward him. “He disguised himself as one of your officers. Said something about finding everything I asked for dropped off at the door with a note attached saying, ‘For Lupin.’”

“And they didn’t notice?”

Lupin bobbed his head. “What can I say? There’s truly no one out there like you, Pops.”

“Koichi.”

“Hm?”

“For tonight, call me Koichi. This is a date, isn’t it?”

Lupin laughed. “Yes it is. Doesn’t that mean you should call me Arsène?”

“Do you want me to?” Zenigata asked.

Lupin hid his face in his glass. “I wouldn’t be against it, though I cannot remember the last time someone called me by my first name. It might have been right before my grandfather died. I can’t be sure.”

“Well, Arsène , if it’s any consolation, I don’t remember the last time someone called me by my first name either.”

Lupin shivered and placed his glass back down on the table. “Okay, that’s gonna take some getting used to. It doesn’t even sound like my name anymore.”

“I can call you Lupin instead if you’d like.”

Lupin shook his head. “Nah, if it’s coming from you, Koichi. It’s fine.”

Zenigata smiled. He leaned forward in his seat and took another sip from his glass. “Alright, but we go back to normal after this. I don’t know how the men would react if they heard you calling me Koichi.”

Lupin nodded. “And I don’t know how Jigen would react if he heard you call me Arsène. He might actually kill me. He gets kind of touchy when it comes to things like that.”

“I don’t think Jigen would be capable of killing you,” Zenigata said. “One, you’re well… you and two, he loves you too much.”

“Oh he’s capable, alright. If Jigen wanted to, he’d be able to take me out in mere seconds. Luckily, as you said, he loves me.”

“A lot of people do,” Zenigata said.

Lupin leaned forward. The look on his face was wide and cocky. “Is one of those people you, Koichi ?”

The way Lupin purred his name gave Zenigata pause more than the actual question did. He found himself spluttering for an answer, his entire face flushed and bright red. “I… well . Yes. I suppose so.”

The song playing over the radio had long since repeated itself, playing softly to aid the thoughts running through Zenigata’s mind. Now it said,

“ Lucky-I can't be lucky in love

All my four leaf clovers

Can't do me no good

Funny, just when I needed to be lucky

Couldn't help but lovin' you

Lovin' you… ”

Lupin repeated the last of the lyrics in a whisper between them, wineglass all but forgotten and Zenigata the main focus of his attention. He reached forward and plucked the inspectors hands up off his lap, rubbing calloused thumbs over the top of both of them.

Zenigata stared at their entwined hands, and couldn’t help the thrum of emotion from rising deep within him. He almost felt like crying. He wasn’t quite sure why.

Lupin noticed this and smiled at him. He leaned farther forward, close enough that Zenigata could smell the wine on his breath. “I haven’t gotten a chance to tell you this yet, but you look wonderful tonight, Koichi. I wasn’t even expecting you to come dressed up.”

“I couldn’t very well show up in my regular clothes now, could I? Just because it’s been a while, doesn’t mean I don’t remember how to prepare for a date.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Lupin said. “You’re perfect no matter what you’re dressed in.”

“That’s not true, but thank you anyway, Arsène.”

Lupin looked scandalized. “It is true, but you’re welcome.”

Zenigata felt awkward, but he plowed forward anyway. “You… you look nice tonight too. So nice in fact, I think I short circuited when Yata let me into your cell.”

Lupin giggled and nodded his head. “I noticed that, though I wasn’t sure if it was me or if it was everything we’d managed to sneak in.”

“It was both,” Zenigata said. “Though you were a big part of it.”

“Even in jail, I clean up pretty nice, don’t I?” Lupin looked down at himself and back up at Zenigata. “They even let me shave.”

“I can tell, and yes. You’re probably the most beautiful person I know.”

Lupin looked genuinely touched. “Even compared to Fujicakes?”

Zenigata nodded. “She doesn’t even begin to hold a torch to you. I promise.”

“Hey, Fuji-chan’s a knockout. Don’t underestimate her looks.”

“Don’t underestimate yours either,” Zenigata said. “You’re gorgeous, you know?”

“So I’ve been told,” Lupin smiled. “Hey, Koichi. I have a question.”

Zenigata dipped his head. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Everything stopped, and the blush returned to Zenigata’s face. That song kept up it’s chorus, saying,

“ Couldn't help but lovin' you

Lovin' you… ”

“Yeah…”

Lupin inclined his head, letting go of Zenigata’s hands to press his own against his cheeks. His lips were soft as they met the inspector’s, sweet like wine and cherry chapstick. For several moments they stayed like that, lost in a world of warmth, love, and that happy song playing in the backdrop. Zenigata’s heart raced as the time went on, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. The kiss felt so right against him that he wished it would go on forever. The rush of air between them tickeled as their breaths quickened, and their tongues slid together through parted lips. It was like nothing Zenigata had ever experienced. Like lightning in a bottle or the unmistakable feeling he got during a car chase.

When they pulled apart, he wanted to go back in. When Lupin smiled at him, he did. The second kiss was faster, more passionate, but just as sweet. They pushed against each other, fighting for dominance. For a time, it was unclear who would break away first. It seemed to go on endlessly, but at long last, it was Zenigata who broke contact.

They came up from the kiss huffing into each other’s faces, out of breath but grinning like school girls. Lupin snuck his chair closer to Zenigata, and wrapped his arms around his back to bury his face in the inspector’s neck. He sighed heavily, purring almost like a contented cat.

“I’m glad we made that bet,” he said. “I had a really nice time tonight.”

Zenigata hummed and allowed himself to nuzzle his nose against the thief’s shoulder. “I did too. We should do this every time I catch you.”

“Thought I wasn’t getting away?” Lupin chuckled, and Zenigata felt it bubble between their chests.

“You’re not,” Zenigata said. “But in the case you do, I’m going to be extra determined to get you back.”

Lupin’s chuckled turned into genuine laughter, and he pulled away just enough to see Zenigata’s face. They were close enough that their knees pressed together, the fronts of each of their chairs practically touching. “Challenge accepted,” he said. “Though we don’t have to save these dates for every time you catch me.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Zenigata asked.

“Hey, the chase and date themselves might be fun, but I’d actually like to take you out sometime.”

“I wouldn’t be against that. This turned out to be more than I was expecting.”

“Is that a good thing?” Lupin asked.

Zenigata nodded and pressed his lips against Lupin’s forehead. “It’s the best.”

“Good,” Lupin leaned down onto his shoulder again. He grew heavy until, that is, he noticed something. He perked up. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

Lupin broke away from him to grab the basket Zenigata had deposited beside his chair. He held it out. “This.”

Zenigata slapped his forehead, having completely forgotten about his basket. He took it from Lupin and placed it on the table, opening it up and dropping its contents around the candles and rose. The moment he pulled out two containers of cup noodles, his electric kettle, and bottles of water, Lupin lost it. He nearly fell out of his chair laughing, and for a moment Zenigata grew defensive.

“What are you laughing at?”

The laughing continued. “Why…why did you bring cup noodles?”

“It was all I had.”

“But we’re on a date .”

Zenigata was confused. “So? They’re good and easy to make. There’s not much we can do in a jail cell so I had to improvise.”

“Yeah, but cup noodles? You could have ordered something from a restaurant and brought it with you.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Zenigata said. “And anyway, why does it matter? Why’s it matter what we eat?”

“It doesn’t,” Lupin said. “It’s just so incredibly you . I’m not sure what else I was expecting.”

“I’m not sure what you were expecting either.”

Lupin continued to laugh. “You realize the wine I asked for isn’t cheap, right? Wine and cup noodles. It’s so… perfect .”

Zenigata began to put his supplies away, offended by Lupin’s reaction. “If you don’t want ‘em, I’ll leave. Maybe this was a mistake after all.”

Lupin threw out his hands to stop him. “ No . No. Don’t go. I'm sorry. I’m not mocking you. It just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“I can order something too if that’s what you’d prefer. I’m sure Yata would—”

“No. Make the damn noodles, Koichi. I’m sure they’ll be delicious.”

Zenigata slowly started to place his supplies back down on the table. “You’re sure?”

Lupin nodded. “I can’t wait to tell Jigen about this. He’ll get a kick out of it.”

“Alright,” Zenigata said. “I’ll be sure not to bring noodles with me on our next date.”

Lupin shook his head. “But you have to. At this point, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Perhaps, but it’s only because I love you.”

Zenigata stared at him, all the emotions of the past hour rushing back to flood his brain.

“I love you too,” he said, along with the chorus of that song, and the chuckles of his thief reverberating throughout the jail cell.

#lupin iii #koichi zenigata #arsene lupin iii #jigen daisuke #goemon ishikawa #lupin x zenigata #zenigata x lupin #luzeni #my writing

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

Text

Only the Light: Ch. 15

After shooting Mulder to prevent him from implicating himself in his father's murder, Scully takes Mulder & Melissa on a road trip to Albert Hosteen's Navajo reservation in New Mexico.

TW for mentions of guns/shooting, death, funerals

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

His eyes flutter open to some place like Heaven, which pisses him off cause that’s not supposed to exist, and if it does, then how in the hell did he make it here? A fiery-haired angel lays a gilded hand upon his chest, her touch made out of air. Tendrils of hair fall against her face, and Mulder wonders where one gets haircuts in Heaven.

He must be floating on a cloud, so close to the sun that it is stained an earthly golden-yellow. His sky accommodation is not as comfortable as all those Renaissance painters made it look, and for that he feels deceived. Is the soul so solid that it is weighed down, even in Heaven? And if it is, well, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a soul?

He is fatigued, and it’s bullshit, in his opinion, that he could be dead and still feel anything but blissful numbness. He’s about to voice this particular grievance when he realizes where he is, and sure English is turning into a lingua franca of sorts, but something tells him that God isn’t spending his spare time teaching the angels the difference between too and to. So he keeps his mouth shut, unnerved by not knowing whether he’ll ever be able to speak his mind again.

“Hey,” a soft voice breathes, and he’s surprised to understand it, but not altogether upset. He tries to respond, but his tongue has tethered itself to the base of his mouth.

“Mulder…” the voice says, and it registers in his mind that it’s not an angel--not technically--but Dana Katherine Scully, and my god, what atrocity has dared to send her to Heaven so damn soon?

He coughs, then grumbles from deep in his throat. He’s got to be the most undignified person in this joint, and he can only hope his welcome dinner with God isn’t anytime soon. The angel’s hand that is actually his partner’s drifts over his forelock, her fingers guiding his hair back into its part.

“Mulder, can you hear me?”

He nods, hungry for some sense of things.

“You were shot, Mulder. By me. Because you were acting very stupid.”

She killed him?!? Maybe he shouldn’t be so shocked by this, but he can’t help himself. And she’s here too, so how did that happen? Murder-suicide?

Her hand sweeps his shoulder, and he looks down to see the space where her bullet must have pierced him. Patched up right above his heart. He didn’t expect to carry wounds into the afterlife.

Her eyes meet his, blue as ever. “I’ve been taking care of you, and you’ll be just fine.”

His lips form an O, but no sound follows.

“Let me get you some water.” Scully disappears from his line of sight, and he realizes that his cloud has a roof and an open door. You can’t see those from the ground.

Scully returns with a plastic water bottle. Deer Park, to be exact--another thing he didn’t expect to find in Heaven. She holds it to his lips, tilting the liquid gently into his mouth. He revels in it, vitality slowly being returned to him.

At last, his tongue functions as it should. “Where are we, Scully?” he asks, his voice creaky. He’s beginning to think it’s not Heaven after all, but the back of his partner’s Chevy. Which feels about as equally likely, if he’s honest.

“At a gas station In Texas, about two miles off I-40,” she answers, twisting the cap back on the bottle. “We’re headed to a Navajo reservation in New Mexico.”

Met with the realization that his life is not, in fact, over, Mulder tries to piece together the last moments he can remember. He squints, the sun outside the vehicle colliding with the darkness in his brain. He remembers a fever and a bed that was not his.

“Did I sleep in your bed?” he asks, fairly confident that more important things before and after have slipped his mind.

“You did indeed,” Scully replies. And before he can get to it--”Melissa and I shared.”

“Ah.” He pushes himself up, every muscle in his arms rebelling.

Scully pats his shoulder. “You should stay reclined.”

“I’m like a whale in a fish bowl back here,” he protests. And he’s not wrong, Scully knows this. To fit him in, she leaned his head against the driver’s side windowsill and let his bare feet push against the passenger side door, then said a silent prayer that there would be no potholes.

“Why can’t I come up front?” he whines. “I’ll lean the seat back.”

“Because Missy’s sitting there.”

Mulder glances into the front, his expectations of privacy shattered. Still, an empty passenger’s seat meets his gaze. “Well, where is she then?” he pesters, more pointed than intended.

Scully chuckles. You can put a hole in the man’s chest, but you can’t take the restlessness out of him. “She’s inside getting snacks.” Scully smiles at her partner, fondness flowing out in a way she rarely lets it. He’s been out for a couple days now--and while she was closely monitoring him and knew he was okay--she’s so glad that he has come back to her. “Do you want sunflower seeds?” she asks with a sparkle in her eyes.

He nods. “Sp--”

“Spitz.” The moments that have gotten them there, that have indebted her with that knowledge, flash through her mind. “I know.”

And it feels almost prophetic, to Mulder, that she does.

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

The plains of North Texas roll past them, headlights and moonlight meeting in a demure embrace. The two-lane road bears a great resemblance to many they’ve gone down in days past. There’s no one else in sight.

Mulder has been relieved of his back seat duties, taking Melissa’s place at the passenger side so she could get some sleep. He’s slipped on the shirt Scully swiped from his apartment, a Knicks 1990 tee that she must have found in the corner of the living room where he throws his dirty clothes. He wonders if she even packed anything for herself before she hightailed it out of the city.

He couldn’t have imagined that punching Skinner would lead to his father dead, him shot by his partner, and them on the run across the country. And yet, there’s no place he’d rather be. The desert gifting them with a stunningly clear night, he’s opened the car’s sunroof and kicked back to stare up at the stars. The radio having long turned to static, quiet permeates the car.

“I’d gladly live in the middle of nowhere if I got this view every night,” Mulder remarks, drinking in the night sky.

Scully glances at him. There’s a rogue part of her brain that hoped he’d be looking back at her. Alas, the sky is his mistress.

They continue barreling down the highway, about seven hours out from their destination. The speedometer reads 87 mph...Scully is prone to speeding when she can get away with it.

“Keep it up and we’ll beat the sunrise,” Mulder jests.

“That’s the plan.”

Mulder pulls his seat back into place, popping suddenly into Scully’s peripheral vision. “Hey Scully, can I ask you a question?”

“If I said no, would that stop you?”

“Negative.”

“Go on, then.”

“Setting aside the why--though I’d be interested in that, too--how exactly did you decide that shooting me near the heart would be the safest bet?...Unless you wanted to kill me.”

“Well, I was pretty certain I’d be able to remove the bullet with what you had in your apartment, since the wound isn’t near a bone. That also makes it easier to prevent infection.”

“So you either have an insane amount of confidence in your shot, or you don’t value me very much,” he quips.

Scully smirks. “Lucky for you, I consider target practice a great stress reliever.”

“Does the Bureau psychologist know that?”

She bats his arm playfully, the car swerving as she does.

“Hey, that’s no way to treat a patient. Now I know why you’re not practicing.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention…? I’ve decided that I prefer Dr. Scully to Special Agent Scully, so this is the last you’ll be hearing from me.”

Mulder chuckles, though the very idea that there could be any truth to that gives him a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. “There are millions of doctors out there,” he says, “and some of them aren’t even the cool type. Special Agent? That’s way sexier.”

“Oh, is that the metric we’re measuring at now?”

“That’s the metric I’m always measuring at,” he deadpans.

“Mmm.” Scully looks at the rearview mirror, her sister’s steady-breathed sleep reflecting back at her. Good. She’d never hear the end of it if Missy overheard this conversation.

Mulder rubs his eyes, the events prior to his blackout having flowed back to him through the waking hours. “I’m sure I’ll regret asking this,” he begins, “but am I a fugitive?”

Scully glances out the driver’s window, as if she were going to change lanes though there is nowhere to go and no one else around. “I took your weapon to ballistics and proved it wasn’t the one used in the murder.” She says it so casually, Mulder notices, distancing them from the fact that the victim was his father. “But you’re still the only one placed at the scene, and it doesn’t look good that you called the police then ran. Still, the evidence implies that it wasn’t you. Of course, there’ll be suspicion…”

“Especially since we’ve both disappeared…”

“Hey, we’re on FBI business,” Scully declares. “We didn’t go through the official channels, but this is related to the X-Files.”

“Maybe Skinner will believe that if he hears it from you.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

Mulder smiles. She’s using her reputation to pull off a ruse. And damn, does that turn him on.

He breathes in the scents of the car--the McDonalds fries they bought with Melissa’s credit card (just to be safe), his own eau de cologne from three days without a shower, but, above all, Scully’s sweetness. Her, just...her. A hint of strawberry, a swipe of gardenia perfume, and her honey-suckle skin. Smoke was never a fitting scent for her, and he is glad she has given it up.

“I’m guessing it’s safe to say you never caught up to Krycek,” Mulder mutters, balling up the fast-food straw paper and tossing it in the air. “Unless you’ve got him in the trunk.”

Scully shakes her head. “No stowaways besides you. He ran off after I shot and catching him wasn’t exactly my top priority.”

“So you do value my life…”

Scully flashes a brilliant but bashful smile. “You caught me.”

What a relationship they have. They are each other’s slayer and savior; a cut of the knife stitched by a meticulous hand. Hurt then healed on the other’s command.

“Fox…”

Mulder glances at the backseat. He finds Melissa sound asleep, snoring softly, and his gaze snaps back to the other Scully in the car. What glitch in the universe has led her to address him by his dreaded name?

He has never been so sure as in this moment---his partner is an otherworldly being, something supernatural. Not an alien, nothing so sinister...but perhaps the angel he imagined, or a fairy who has guided mankind for millennia, or a genie granting his wishes in freeze-frames. She looks through him...not in a way which makes him invisible, but one that takes the physical aspect out of it entirely. She sees his soul. He knows this.

“Fox,” she continues, layering on the vulnerability, “I’m sorry about your father. I know you loved him, above it all.”

Mulder pinches the bridge of his nose. “Something like that...I don’t know, honestly, that he ever loved me.” He looks at his lap. “He spent his last breath asking for forgiveness. You have to wonder what he’s done with his life to end up there.”

“It all becomes clear at the end,” Scully responds, not so much a hypothesis as a statement of fact, drawn from experience. “His regrets caught up to him, and he loathed some things he did while cursing himself for the things he left undone...And in that moment, an apology was all he could do to right some wrongs.”

Mulder looks at her through the corner of his eye, somewhat disturbed by the oracle she has become. “He asked me to forgive him,” Mulder replies. “That’s not the same as an apology.”

“Isn’t it, though?’

Mulder crosses his arms over his chest, the lumpy gauze of his wound rubbing him through his shirt. “Well, first of all, he didn’t even specify what I was supposed to forgive him for, so I don’t see how that can yield any sort of apology. And the very fact that was saying it at the end of his life means that it wasn’t actually about soothing my feelings, but lessening his guilt. Really, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with me.”

“So you’re saying it was a selfish apology, and that doesn’t count.”

“Exactly.”

“So do apologies only work if the recipient accepts them?” Scully interjects. “Is there no value in the attempt?”

Mulder bites his lip.

“I’m not trying to play devil’s advocate,” she clarifies. “I’m genuinely curious about what you think.”

He sighs. “I think...what matters is not necessarily if the apology is accepted, but the intent of it. Like in this case, it was ill-timed, and so I don’t accept it. Maybe if he had said it to me ten years ago, it would have mattered, even if I were too stubborn to accept it at the time.”

“So if your father had apologized to you ten years ago, you would accept it now that he’s dead…?”

Mulder shrugs. “I think I’d realize that he actually meant it, and so I should cut him some slack.”

“Interesting.” Scully says nothing else, keeping her attention straight ahead.

Mulder smirks. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

She pulls her lips into a tightly-knitted line. “No, no, that makes sense. I just think there are instances when a poorly-timed apology is accepted, and what then? Is the inevitable misunderstanding that will result the recipient’s fault for being so naive? Or do they get to place all the blame on the dishonest person?”

“How about a little bit of both, ey? Spread the blame out nice and evenly. A sprinkle there, a pinch here...”

Scully cracks a smile. Of course he’d make this conversation dirty. “You know, you scare me sometimes, Mulder.”

And just like that, they’re back to his preferred name. He lets out a sideways smile. “Yeah? Why?”

“Because I think that maybe you’re truly crazy, you’re not just faking it.”

He laughs, deep and sudden. Pulled from the trenches of his being. “Glad to hear it,” he snickers. “Glad to hear it.”

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

As the motorcycle rumbles over the desert dust, Scully wonders how she could be so stupid. Barely out of psychosis and she sends Mulder to a burial ground. She didn’t intend for it to be his final resting place.

Eric had tried to warn him before the helicopter men, as he called them when describing the scene to Scully and Melissa, burned the place. But Mulder couldn’t hear him over the whirl of the blades--that’s what Eric suspected. As he recounted to the girls, the smoking man had threatened him, had laid a grotesque hand on him and forced him to show the way back to his house. They interrogated his father Albert and bruised and bloodied him. The conclusion, all around, was that nobody knew where Mulder was. Regardless of whether he had burned in that boxcar or somehow disappeared into the desert beforehand, he was gone.

Scully has a pretty clear idea of who’s responsible, and she wishes she had a helicopter she could ram into their dumb black helicopter to wipe them off the face of the Earth... and prevent them from wiping anyone else off the face of the Earth. Thwarting their ambitions will have to be enough.

But how? Desert heat mixes with smoldering ash as she stands over what’s left of the boxcar, making the moment unbearable. It is obvious to her that if Mulder was still in the boxcar when the ignitor went off, he is now dead. No human can survive that magnitude of burning--he would, in fact, be incinerated. Not a piece of him left behind, identifiable even to Scully’s trained eye.

And if he wasn’t in the boxcar, if he heard the helicopter and gave himself over to the desert? What then? Surely he would have found his way back to where she was standing by now. Surely she’d be able to see him, hear him, touch him. There’d be proof he was something more than ashes. Maybe even, he might have made it back to the motel. But Melissa is keeping watch, and she hasn’t said a word. Missy would not play games about this.

Logic prevailing, as it often does with her, Scully lets Eric drive her back to the motel. If he’s not here, then he’s there. And if he’s not there then--well, she knows. And isn’t it just like Mulder to leave her enough evidence to point one way without giving her the proof she needs to conclude? She imagines a funeral sans a body and shutters.

When they get back to the motel and Missy opens the door and she is alone in the room, Scully is not surprised. She is shattered. It’s like learning the day you’ll die, then waking up on that day and recoiling at the calendar. What will be cannot be stopped. Not by any power of persuasion. Any.

She wants to scream, cry, file a personal complaint with God. Instead, she walks through the door, thanks Eric for his help, then asks her sister what she wants for dinner. Scully’s not hungry--she rarely is these days, and how could she be at a time like this?--but Melissa, she’s human, and she’s been waiting around all day, and all they have in the room is a quarter-full bag of gummy worms, so yeah, Scully decides, Missy probably is hungry. And that’s something she can take care of.

Missy looks at her sister like--well, like she said she just saw an alien. “Dana, you’re not well.” Then, after getting no reaction--”It’s okay to be upset.”

Scully throws her blazer over a chair. ”I didn’t say I wasn’t upset.”

Missy sits down on the bed and pats the space next to her. “Come on, let’s talk about it.”

Scully throws her hands in the air. “He’s gone, Melissa, what else can I say?” She paces through the room. “If he was in the box car, he burned to death. And if he wasn’t, then shouldn’t we have found him by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Missy counters. “Albert told me about the Anasazi, a tribe that lived here hundreds of years ago.”

“I know, I know. They disappeared, historians have no explanation for it.”

‘“That’s what they say. But, honestly, Dana--nothing disappears without a trace. Mulder included.”

Scully shoots her a look. “So what is your explanation? That he was abducted, despite there being multiple witnesses who didn’t see a thing?”

“He called you, he said he saw something in the boxcar.”

Scully nods. “Bodies...lots of them. He said they didn’t look human. And they all had smallpox vaccination scars.”

“What do you make of that?”

Scully shrugs. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the Anasazi.”

“So why did the men burn the boxcar?”

“It could have been because Mulder was in there, and they wanted to kill him. Or because what’s in there was damning to them.”

Missy bites her lip. “Did the boxcar blow up?”

“No, but it’s still smoldering.”

“Could you go in tomorrow and take a look? See what you can find?”

“Missy, I doubt there’s anything left. And besides, I’ve already ignored about thirty calls from Director Skinner. I need to get back to DC...I’m lucky if I’ll still have a job.”

“Fuck the job. Think of Mulder.”

“I need to consider both if I’m actually to uncover any of the conspiracies that Mulder--and his father and so many others--died as a result of.”

Melissa frowns. Dana’s already counting her partner out...that’s hard to come back from, being christened as a corpse. She sighs. ”Alright, I’m going to preface this by saying that I truly don’t believe that Mulder’s dead, and I know you will find him.”

Scully’s eyes narrow, intrigued by her sister’s shift in tone. “Okay…”

“There’s a technique that I learned from my therapist friend,” Missy begins, already setting off alarm bells in Scully’s head, “that is meant to help process complicated feelings about a person.”

Scully purses her lips as Missy continues--”It’s used to find clarity and--if it’s someone you’ve lost, literally or metaphorically--to give closure. I think it would help you establish a clear motivation to keep up your work on the X-Files.”

Scully’s forehead creases right between the eyebrows. “I just told you, I have one.”

“Yes, but if you go back to Washington, bureaucracy’s gonna get in the way of all of that. That’s why you drove out here in the first place, isn’t it? To avoid bureaucracy and push forward with the case?”

“I suppose,” Scully mumbles.

“And that’s exactly what Mulder would have done, and that’s what he would want you to do now.”

“This is beginning to sound like one of those ‘if x jumped off a bridge, would you?’ scenarios,” Scully retorts.

“But with the opposite sentiment,” Melissa clarifies. “You and Mulder have never been closer to finding the truth. Now do you want to hear my suggestion or not?”

Hands on her hips, Scully’s silence commands Missy to continue.

“Let me remind you that Mulder is not dead, and this is just an exercise.”

Scully nods, more to keep her moving than in agreement.

“I want you to write a eulogy for him.”

Scully’s mouth drops open in protest. “And this is going to advance the investigation how?”

“By giving you emotional clarity. Essentially, you’ll realize how much he means to you, and it will push you to do whatever you can to complete the investigation.”

Scully scoffs. “You act like I don’t even like him or something.”

“You like him, but you’re afraid of imitating him. There’s a lack of...respect for his methods. And they’re the only way this case is gonna get solved.”

Scully crosses her arms. “Gee, apparently you should have gone to Quantico in my place.” It’s not that she’s afraid, per say, but that she doesn’t think Mulder’s unconventional approach will work. Two plus years in and she still believes herself more than him. She wishes she didn’t.

“You don’t have to read the eulogy out loud,” Missy coos, knowing full well that she’ll be sneaking around during the night to get her hands on it when her sister refuses to share.

“Wow, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better,” Scully groans.

Melissa squeezes her sister’s shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll find him, and this will help you know what to say when you do.”

Scully leans into the hug. “For the record, I think this is insane, alright? I’m only doing it because it’s getting too late to search the desert.”

“Understood.” Missy stands up. “Oh, and to answer your question, Albert invited us over for a traditional tribal feast at his house.”

“What?”

“You asked what I wanted for dinner. Those are our plans.”

“Oh.” Scully looks at her lap. It seems unfair to have to face the world at a time like this. Especially when her head is plagued with thoughts about what she would--will?--say at her partner’s funeral. And still, she continues.

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

Crowding around Albert’s dining table, the party finishes the last bites left on their plates. It has been a long day--or days, more accurately--and the desolate black sky outside makes Scully feel like it’s 4am, though the clock only reads 7. She blinks toward her company, trying to remain present.

“I am thankful we could share this meal,” Albert says, nodding to Scully and her sister. “It is not often we get outsiders here, and even less often that we’re able to indulge in the foods of our ancestors.”

Missy reaches for the final piece of fry bread, biting into it daintily.

“There’s not a lot here,” Albert tells them, eyes downcast. “Nowadays, we take what we can get, and that means eating to survive...your processed foods and non-perishables have become the staples of our diets.”

Scully tries not to frown. “Well, we’re very glad that you prepared this for us. It was delicious,” she says, trying to inject enthusiasm into her downtrodden heart.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Missy affirms.

Albert casts his eyes in Scully’s direction. A shadow falls over her. From where, she is not certain.

“You are hurting, but you do not need to be. What is yours will find you. There is no such thing as disappearance.”

Scully pulls her lips into a solemn smile. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“It is the truth. The desert acts in its own way, and it is never wrong.”

Scully nods, trying to believe him. Trying to have faith. “Thank you, Albert.”

From across the table, he extends his palms toward her. “Pray with me.”

She clasps his hands and closes her eyes. Prayer is not normally something she engages in with others around, but neither is grief.

Albert begins speaking in the language written on the Defense Department files. She doesn’t understand the words, but his sincerity transcends semantics. The spirit of faith--the spirit of God--is there.

She has been thinking lately of faith. The faith she has been feeling is not that of Sunday mornings and ‘forgive me Father for I have sinned.’ It’s something else entirely, something that has compelled her to do things she would never do... until she looked down at her hands and she was doing them.

So many transgressions to count, and yet she hesitates to even call them that. Injured her partner--a suspected fugitive--to keep him from implicating himself, tapped her sister as her sidekick to take him halfway across the country, and deserted her duties at the FBI, all in favor of the truth.

Maybe truth is faith that good will prevail.

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

When Scully sits down that night with the motel notepad and a pen, she becomes a conduit for everything she couldn’t say out loud. She copies the entire Mulder file from her brain, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t capture any of his essence, the unique flavor of humanity that he bravely faced the world with which made him so...him.

It is then that Scully realizes you can know all the details of someone’s life without ever really knowing them, and that scares her because she gets the inkling that she has never truly let Mulder in--though he has opened up to her--and what if he dies feeling like he never got further than the young woman whose physics thesis he read? That’s not fair, not when she knows him so well.

She takes a breath and puts the pen down. She can’t compose Mulder to life. Resurrection doesn’t work that way. What she can do--and what she realizes is what every person does in this situation, and there must be something wrong with her because it wasn’t her first instinct--is write about how the man she knows (knew?) made her feel. About the impact his life had on her life.

Her vision blurs as she works to consolidate her unauthorized biography of Fox William Mulder into a passage that suggests the joy their partnership brought into her life. Though Missy said she wouldn’t have to share, Scully can’t shake the feeling that she will need this at some point in time, that having a eulogy on call might not be such a bad idea. It’s a terrible thought, but a truth every agent knows. After all, she and Mulder witnessed each other writing their wills, and that was considered a customary work duty. Nothing is out of reach.

And so she wrote as if she’ll have to read it one day, letting her emotions flow within the confines of her finely tuned self-awareness. The end product turns out somewhat more sentimental than she envisioned, but she caps her pen and walks away, giving herself permission to take up space.

--Fox William Mulder--

As he despised being called by his first name, I must take the liberty of referring to my partner as Mulder one last time. I was lucky to know him. Not as Spooky or the alien-obsessed man in the basement, but for who he truly was. Nothing was more important to Mulder than the truth. And the truest truth I know about him is that he loved his sister, and he wanted justice for her. It’s what he spent his life on, and ultimately, what he sacrificed it for. I am honored to have played any role in his mission, and I hope to continue it in his memory.

If there’s one piece of Mulder that I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life, it’s his tenacity. Mulder never, never let any obstacle get in his way. I can’t tell you how many times I wasn’t sure where he was, only to learn that he had flown to the ends of the Earth to investigate whatever lead he found promising that day. I doubt that I’ll ever encounter anyone who lives up to the passion and determination he contained within him. And it’s a shame because the world needs that...The world needed him.

I needed him too. He challenged me in ways I never dreamed of. Sometimes I wanted to pull my hair out, but mostly, I just kept thinking about how boring my life would be if I never met him. And now...I don’t know what’s next. There were so many possible futures ahead for us and the X-Files. This isn’t just a eulogy for Mulder, it’s a eulogy for all that could have been. He was my best friend. There’s nothing more I can say.

When she reads it back the next morning, she falls to her knees in conversation with God, pleading for a miracle to bring the man she has finally realized she loves back into her life.

#this got tender as hell #truly a labor of love <3 #thank you for reading as always #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #melissa scully #mine

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heartbreakgrill · 4 years ago

Text

Circles; Harry Styles Pt. 2

“Remember Frankie? From World History? She has a baby now,” you remarked, voice like lyrics over the rhythm of your white tennis shoes and Harry’s leather boots stepping in time on the concrete bike path.

Leaves occasionally fell, crunching under your feet, sticks and stones on the path being kicked or broken away. The fall wind blew gently, waving strands of your air in front of your face. You had decided against lipgloss, luckily because your hair was so unruly. Harry’s curls, a beautiful feature of his which you always admired, were flopping with each step. You found your eyes trailing from his cheek to his hair consistently, simply admiring. He didn’t catch on much, his own focus glancing between you and the ground beneath his feet.

Lunch had been wonderful. He took to you the local pub, where you sat in the corner, knees bumping against each other after every movement. You shared a basket of fries, ate your own sandwiches and drinks. You caught up on everything: Your studies in London, who your friends were these days, the last boy who broke your heart. He told you about Louis and Niall, and only a little of Liam and Zayn. He explained the sketchiness of his management, the stress of touring, but his excitement on stage. You admitted to have listened to his two albums the night before and told him Little Thins became a quick favorite. You told him about your plan to move to New York when you finished University in order to delve into the world of international journalism.

After lunch, you didn’t want to leave one another, lingering in front of the door, still chatting, when you remembered the local bike trails. (“Gosh, I haven’t been there in forever.” “Same here.”)

So, now, you were strolling along, hands in pockets and elbows bumping somewhat. He replied to your comment about a forgotten classmate with, “God, its strange to think about people we know having children. Were only 19.”

You shrugged, “That’s normal around here, I guess. People settle down straight away, let go of their dreams for simpler, easier things.”

“I could’ve done that,” Harry spoke with a whispery tone. “Sometimes I wish I would’ve.”

You didn’t want to poke and prod at a comment that could turn into something bigger and moved on. “You’ve got money. Be happy.” Of course, this was a joke.

Harry laughed, “Money cant buy happiness.”

“Oh, I’m sure it could buy mine.” He glanced at you inquisitively. “Well, Im constantly stressed in London because of work and school. Its stressful and exhausting paying for my apartment and class and food and life.”

Harry frowned somewhat, “That’s part of the reason I hate it sometimes. I’m so lucky and undeserving of all I get just because I can sing and I’m attractive. You work so hard for what you have and you still struggle. It’s unfair.”

You retrieved your hand from your pocket and pushed him lightly, “I’m just confused as to who said you were attractive.”

He blushed deeply, his eyes downcast and shy. Suddenly he met your eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “You did say I was cute.”

Your own cheeks quickly turned red. “I’m gonna avoid my problems.” Your pace quickened and you began to walk away from Harry.

He giggled, emitting a grin on your face, and walked fast. Harry reached out and grabbed you around the waste, spinning you around in his arms. You caught yourself on his shoulders, feeling his warm breath combat the cold on your cheeks. He grinned cheekily down at you, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t lie,” you unashamedly spoke. “Ive always thought you were cute. Hell, the only reason I came to the bakery so much was because of you.”

“What about the muffins?” He mused.

“Harry, a girl gets sick of eating muffins every single Saturday for 2 years in a row.”

He chuckled, squeezing your waist gently. But, then, his eyes fell slightly, his lips molding into a frown. His grip loosened and he almost stepped back. But, he didn’t. “Do you wanna go on a date tomorrow? With me?”

“I’d really like it if you could get Niall’s number for me, but I guess you’ll do,” you whipped your head around in exclamation.

He scoffed, laughing loudly, before pulling you against his chest. You just stood there, hugging each other lightly, though you were shivering in the breeze. Soon after, he walked you home and even kissed your cheek prior to leaving. You giddily walked up to your bedroom, bare of much decoration because of your schooling situation. You closed the door and leant against like a heartsick teenager. You felt the same way you did two years ago, head over innocent heels for some stupid boy. You didn’t know if this would work, given your future career and his present one. You didn’t know what his favorite color was, but he did telll you his favorite way to drink tea. You didn’t know who his childhood cartoon crush was, but you knew that when he looked at you, your stomach was in flames.

You didn’t know what you would regret in the future, as no one does. So you decided to jump.

Harry had definitely gone on Pinterest.

When you opened your door (only knowing he would be arriving at the time he did because you spent the entire afternoon, night, and morning texting one another) you immediately smelled the sweet fragrance of men’s cologne. It was nice, slightly overwhelming, but nice nonetheless. He held a bouquet of red roses, your favorite because you told him you were a fan of cliches. He wore a jade green button-up, short-sleeve dress shirt. It was obviously new, given away by the fact that there were creases in his sleeves. (His favorite color was ocean blue, by the way, and yours was the color of his shirt.) In his other hand was a picnic basket, which he held up to you after he handed off the roses.

“It’s freezing outside, Harry,” you giggled whilst motioning him to step inside. He did, following you into the kitchen.

You set the roses up in a vase as he replied, “I know. But its okay because I have a really nice idea.”

“Okay, I trust you,” you spoke reassuringly. You turned towards him from your spot by the counter.

Harry’s eyes trailed over your figure, clad in a long-sleeve, ocean blue wrap top tucked into a pair of blue jeans which stopped just above your black ankle boots. Gold jewelry dangled above the neckline and from your ears, your hair tied up in a low messy bun which took too much effort. “You look lovely, by the way.”

“You, too,” you grinned, meeting his eyes. “Guess we both thought of impressing one another.”

“I went to three different stores to find this,” he spoke as you began to lead him back to the front door.

“Uh, me, too. Don’t act so special,” you grabbed your coat off the rack and slipped your arms through it. Harry laughed.

You bid farewell to your parents, who were watching television in the living room. They gushed over Harry, about to ask him a million questions when you said, “Dinner reservations, sorry, got to go!”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door. You didn’t let go, and neither did he, but he had to in order to open your door. You hadn’t expected this and hesitantly slid into the passenger seat. “Thanks.” You told him once he started the car.

After a few moments of adjustable, comfortable silence, you piped up again, “So, where exactly are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

You arrived to a park two towns over after half an hour. It was massive, with lookout spots all over the hills. He parked in one with the trunk of his mum’s car facing out over the countryside. He opened your door for you, again, and led you to the back of the car.

“Okay, Ted Bundy,” you giggled lightly, walking ahead of him.

“Oh, please, I dont want to kill you,” he scoffed, popping the trunk. “At least not until the nights over.”

“Why not?” You held his eyes, not yet looking to the trunk.

He shrugged, “Because I have to get a goodnight kiss first.”

He left you stunned, cheeks red and eyes wide. Harry sat down in the trunk, leaning back against the pillows and blankets decorating the small space. You grinned at him, as he was awaiting your reaction. He leant a hand and helped you settle next to him. You both crossed your legs in order for him to set the picnic basket down. He shut the trunk, the heater cranked up and the radio playing.

“Were wasting so much gas,” you laughed, shedding your coat.

Harry took it from you, folded it, and set it on the folded down back seats. He took off his own, “Dont worry about it. I’m rich, remember?”

You tossed your head back with a loud laugh. The hours flew by from there on: He had made finger sandwiches, which you ate with liberation, and homemade lemonade packaged in a thermos. His mother helped him melt chocolate and cover strawberries in it. He had even made a mini cake at the bakery and packaged it all nicely for you two to share. You talked about everything you hadn’t already discussed: Music, books, television, his supporting act on tour, your favorite professors. You told him about your dumb job waitressing, about the lady who had tipped you one-hundred euros.

Once you were done, you helped him pack up the trash. He set the picnic basket in the front seat before shutting off the car. The sunroof was closed, but the stars were visible through it. He laid down on the blankets, head smushing the pillows. You sat there for a moment, feeling slightly awkward, before he motioned for you to lay down, too.

You cleared your throat, face hot and body stiff, before doing so. There were barely a few inches between you, but Harry made sure there were none. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tugged you into him. You took the liberation to lean your head on his chest and lay your arm across his stomach. No words were exchanged, but they didn’t need to be. Everything that you could learn had probably already been said: Deeper stories, moments, could be exchanged later. A bond was now established and you already knew what was coming.

For now, you could only enjoy the moments that he was here: His hand in yours when he drove you home; hand in yours as you led him to the front door; lazily smiling down at you; a gentle, comforting hug; his eyes flickering between yours, your lips; his breath fanning closer until he stole his goodnight kiss.

“Guess you can kill me now.”

TAG LIST: @mantlereid , @boxofteenageideas , @dinosaursandsocks @ashhdaniellee95 @heartbreakcity @sadhwstudent

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry 1d #harry styles fanfiction #harry imagine #one direction imagines #one direction

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scribbling-stiks · 4 years ago

Text

AAR - XXI - The Howling

America sleeps for most of the day, leaving Russia virtually trapped on the bed for the day. Russia honestly didn't mind too much.

'It's warm here.'

With America sleeping peacefully in his lap, he can almost forget the fact that they're being hunted, or that they got hurt. America's magic soaks the whole room in a peaceful, light blue glow.

The magic feels happy, light, and airy. It makes Russia feel right. Sure, he knew he would feel even better at home, but for right now, he felt content, happy.

The states bask in the magic filling the room, and even Philippines looks around happily.

"You know, he hasn't done this in a while," Wyoming comments, looking up at Russia.

"What do you mean?"

"His magic only gets like this when he's really happy," Texas explains, a small smile growing on his face.

'Really happy? Here? With me?'

Russia bashfully smiles and looks down at America, who radiates warmth and a sort of contented happiness that Russia hadn't felt since this whole adventure started.

"The last time he got like this was when Hawaii first started visiting for holidays," New Hampshire comments.

"The only thing left to do now is to get Dixie off your case," California says.

"How are we gonna do that?" Wyoming asks.

"I don't know," California says, "but we need him to accept Russ so Dad can be happy."

"I have an idea," Kentucky says. He holds up the phone and takes a picture of Russia and America on the bed.

Russia just smiles and gets lost in thought, smiling down at America.

'Stars, you are more adorable than you will probably ever know.'

He's snapped out of it when Alabama starts handing out paper plates with sandwiches. Russia gently shakes America awake.

"Hi," America mumbles, trying to ignore him. Russia giggles.

"Wake up," Russia says, "you have to eat."

"I don't want to," America whines.

Russia pushes him up gently and sits him up on the bed. America groans playfully and throws his arms around in protest. Russia laughs.

"Eat," Russia persuades playfully.

"Fine," America mumbles, crossing his arms.

America shovels food into his face and eventually gets up and starts making another sandwich. But he keeps miscalculating the distances, grabbing at the air and then whacking his hand on the table. Russia watches on with a bittersweet feeling.

'I did this to him.'

Russia gets up, ignoring the ache in his stomach, and walks over to America to help.

"No. I don't want you to do this for me!" America protests, swiping at Russia's hands. Russia sighs.

'I can't keep watching him struggle.'

Russia takes America's hands and guilds them down to the table. America sighs.

"Thanks, Rue, but I have to learn how to do stuff by myself," America says softly, shaking off Russia's hands. Russia pulls away with a small smile, admiring America.

'So stubborn,' he thinks, shaking his head, 'nothing will stop him from being independent.'

They eventually return to the bed, and Russia watches carefully, ready to help America get up, but America shakes off his attempts.

After another few hours of examining documents and coming up short, Russia drifts off, the words from the documents circle in his mind, losing their meaning.

He woke up the next morning to the kids beginning to pack up the cots and someone reaching under his shirt and drawing shapes on his chest. He opens his eyes and sees America tucked into his side, lazily tracing swirls on his skin under his shirt.

"*Good morning,*" Russia mumbles.

"Hi," America mumbles, "it's time to get up."

Russia groans and grabs America's hands, bringing them to his face, and he covers his eyes with America's hands.

"Nope. It's too dark," Russia argues playfully.

America giggles and pulls his hands away.

"Come on, we have to get ready to go," America insists. America grabs Russia's hands after a bit of fumbling and pulls him up. Russia sits up but goes limp soon after, slumping on top of America, knocking him onto the bed.

"Hey!" America exclaims.

Russia laughs as America rolls him off.

"You need a shower," America teases, pushing Russia to the end of the bed.

Russia rolls his eyes and gets up. He gets himself ready, careful of the injuries he had. Walks out to see the teens crowded around the window. He walks over and peaks above their heads out the window.

Snowplows run on the roads, but it's snowing so hard that they didn't seem to make a dent in the blanket of white. Snowflakes the size of coins bump against the window, melting soon after contact.

'Looks cold.'

He grabs his coat, only to find that it's wet.

"How? Why is this wet?" Russia asks aloud.

"We washed the blood out the best we could last night," New Mexico explains, "so Dad could fix it today. Sorry, we thought it would be dry right now."

"I can try to dry it," Arizona volunteers.

"No. You'll light it on fire," California protests.

Arizona groans.

"It's fine," Russia insists, "I will not be outside for very long."

They finish getting ready, and Russia dawns his hat. He pulls Katya out from the pocket and strokes the fur, trying to convince himself the cold would be fine. He sighs and returns it to the pocket.

When Russia had agreed to drive in the snow, he didn't realize he'd be driving a death trap with zero visibility. Even still, he couldn't stop. America identified some government vehicles parked outside the hotel while they were leaving.

The wind whips around outside, pushing the truck around the road, and the snow falls so heavily, he can barely see out of the windshield. The morning had started with startling cold and speeding as fast as the tires would allow because of the suspicious people behind them. Russia is almost positive he'd slid off the side of the road at least twice.

America tries his best to navigate, but Russia finds himself not hearing him, focused on the road with white knuckles and cramping hands.

'This is why I prefer riding trains in the winter.'

They make slow progress, but according to what they overheard on the radio, the agents sent to find them aren't going out in this storm and think that Russia and his group are still at the hotel because "only a crazy person would try to drive in this weather."

Russia would agree with this sentiment and agree that maybe he is crazy, but finds this drive to be far less terrifying than the thought of being sitting ducks back in Denver. America had turned on the radio to help calm Russia down a little, and Russia appreciates the sentiment but turns down the volume.

It also really didn't help that his coat had been slashed open, though he can't complain too much. America sits in the passenger seat and is trying to fix it, yelling expletives every time the car swerves. Honestly, Russia would have laughed had he not been so glued to the wheel.

Suddenly, the phone rings, and Russia jerks up in his seat. He hastily fixes the car's trajectory and America answers the phone.

"Hello?....... He can't talk right now........ He's driving and the weather is pretty bad right now.......... Dark, heavy snowfall, icy roads, and we can't risk getting stuck at the side of the road unless we want to be captured......... Okay....... Honestly, I have no idea. I can't navigate if I can't see anything. But we have to keep moving, so this direction is good enough."

"*F***! God d*** it!*" Russia shouts as the car drifts almost sidewise into a ditch. Russia struggles to recover the skid and manages just before falling off the road.

Wind whips around them, blasting the car with heavy, wet snow, nearly forcing them into another skid. Russia curses and pulls the car back onto the road. He glances up and sees New Hampshire's headlights in the mirror.

'Good.'

Then a dark shape begins to form behind the heavy sheet of snow. Russia squints at the huge figure hunched over in the middle of the road.

"America."

"Hold on Russ-"

"No. What the f*** is that?" Russia asserts, pointing at the thing in front of them, still barely visible behind the snowfall.

"S***. Listen, commie, I'm going to have to call you back, okay? Big monster, danger, all that. Bye."

"Wait, who were you talking- Ugh, nevermind. What do I do? I can't stop. I'll lose traction."

"I don't know. S***! Uhh, just try to go around," America says before grabbing the radio, "Get your car ready to shoot!"

"Roger," Wyoming replies.

America unbuckled and throws on his coat and a pair of thin gloves. He reaches into the glove box and pulls out a handgun. He cocks it and glares ahead.

"Keep the car steady. Kids, get your coats on," America warns before opening the window.

Russia is blasted with wind that reminds him of home. He shivers but tries to keep the car steady. New Hampshire pulls up beside him, and he sees states, tightly bundled up, popping out the sunroof and windows, with guns drawn.

America fires the first round, and the others follow suit. The thing shrieks and Russia finds himself approaching way too fast for his comfort. He clenches his hands tighter, set on ignoring his shivering and the numbness starting to spread through his fingers.

He had one shot to make it between its legs. He grabs the radio.

"Follow me."

"Roger that."

New Hampshire returns to just behind him, and the dark silhouette moves.

He clenches the wheel and struggles to keep the car straight. It was like trying to thread a needle inside a blizzard.

"We're getting close!" America shouts.

Russia clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too loudly and tries to correct his movements caused by his shivering. Normally he would be more resilient in the face of the cold, but with his recent thawing, he's still sensitive to the cold temperatures.

'I want my jacket.'

'Or maybe America.'

'Have to get out of here first.'

Russia's fingers are numb, and he relies on his eyes to make sure he's still holding the wheel. His core rapidly loses whatever heat he had been able to collect. Russia finds that he misses it.

Russia stares ahead, ignoring the prickling the snow brings as it touches him. He stares at the creature. Memories flash in his mind's eye.

'The mimic,' Russia mentally dubs it, remembering what it had done and its gaunt, canine face.

It glares down at them as they pass under it, and gunfire rings out from behind him, muffled by the snowfall. The thing shrieks and begins following them, its silhouette racing along the road.

He can almost see it open its mouth in the rearview mirror, and the sound of gunfire aimed at the cars pierces through the air.

'S***.'

Table of Contents

#rusame #ch russia #ch america #statehumans #countryhumans

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 30

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @ocfairygodmother

And a huge, warm welcome to @saintt101 !!

Quarter after eight in the morning and he finds himself standing at the end of the driveway; barefoot and in a pair of dirty jeans and a ratty t-shirt. Eyes still glazed over from sleep and hair tousled and messy; sipping from an oversized mug of steaming black coffee laced with three shots of espresso, watching the three oldest as they play across the road. Supervising -albeit sleepily- as they attempt to build a fort on the edge of the woods using broken branches, fallen tree limbs, and old stumps. Listening to them squabble over what food they could put inside to lure in koalas and kangaroos and then keep them as pets. Tanner is the only logical one of the bunch, vehemently arguing that koalas and kangaroos are wild animals and should never...ever...be anything but. And even if it was okay to have them as pets, it’s obvious that the only reasonable and believable food they’d be attracted to would be vegemite sandwiches. This IS Australia afterall.

It had been a better night. The pain hadn’t been as intense; under control with over the counter meds and a heating pad over his knee and an ice pack under his shoulder. His confession earlier in the day had lifted a tremendous weight off his conscience; knowing that she would support him as long as he dedicated himself to the fight had boosted his waning confidence. It had been his main concern: how she’d react knowing that he was not only slipping, but slipping hard and fast. Concerned that she’d be disgusted with him. Ashamed. That she’d somehow think less of him because the battle has become too powerful to fight any longer. She’s always looked at him as if he’s the most amazing man on the face of the earth; always feeling safe and secure and protected. And he hated the thought of not longer being the things she wanted or needed. That she deserved.

But all her assurances and even ultimatums had done wonders -at least temporarily- for his broken and tortured mind. Falling asleep much quicker than usual and staying that way until the twins were shaking him awake and telling him that it was ten minutes before the bus arrived and mommy needed help. It’s the first time in years that he’d slept past her; usually up at the crack of dawn AND several times through the night. But she’d let him sleep through; handling both of Addie’s middle of the night feeds and the kids’ morning routines on her own.

There’d been no nightmares. No dreams of any kid. Waking only once when he’d heard Addie begin to fuss, then feeling his wife’s hand on his chest and her lips against his forehead; the soft, sleepy voice telling that it was okay, to just rest. After that, nothing until Tanner and TJ had come bursting into the room and jumped on the bed; way too loud and way too boisterous but excited to start a new week at school. The battle with the principal had been short but successful; TJ had avoided a suspension and would receive an apology for being signalled out and the other boys would be properly reprimanded for their bullying. It didn’t make the actual issue go away; the kid still has problems that they need to get to the bottom of, things that definitely need to be treated in one way or the other. But it was a start; in the same way admitting to his own issues was. It was part of the journey; confessing to and accepting your shortcomings in order to work on fixing them.

The shoulder is sore, but not the worst it’s been; not as many crunches and pops when he was pulling on his t-shirt. And the limp is there -it would be for the rest of his life- but nowhere near as pronounced as it was the night before. As if getting those deepest and darkest secrets out in the open had not only calmed his mind, but his body as well. The pain will return; both physically and mentally. But he knows now just what need he needs to do. The people he needs to reach out to, the steps he needs to take.

The sound of a car door slamming captures his attention; briefly glancing to his left, just in time to see Salena waving to whoever is behind the wheel of a black jeep parked at the end of her driveway, a stack of file folders in one of her hands, a take out cup of coffee in the other. The vehicle lingers; engine idling. And from even two hundred yards away, Tyler can easily identify the make and model: older model Jeep Grand Cherokee, with back tinted windows and a sunroof and noticeable damage to the front grill and a cracked passenger side headlight. His sunglasses make it easy to hide the way he keeps an eye on things; his head turned towards the kids, nursing his coffee while he observes the unknown -and potentially threatening- vehicle. He’s eerily calm; the breath he exhales long and steady. No anxiety, no shaky nerves. No cold sweat or nausea. He’s been in this kind of situation before. Numerous times; too many to count. And he knows...beyond the shadow of a doubt...that he can handle any and every threat that could come his way. You don’t spend years in the game only to have your confidence and skills disappear the moment you leave it. They’re ingrained in you; fingers still itch for a trigger, brain still quickly and efficiently assesses situations and comes up with appropriate courses of action.

The driver remains behind the wheel; staring straight ahead, sunglasses covering his eyes and no expression registering on his face. Caucasian, mid to late forties, blond hair in brush cut. He’s broad shoulder and barrel chested, emphasized by a well fitting suit jacket; white dress shirt, no tie. And it isn’t until he notices the driver put a hand to his right ear and his lips begin to move that Tyler’s instincts kick it up a notch. It’s an earpiece. No doubt about it. An older model with all of its glitches and poor sound quality; not the high tech, wireless ones that Yaz had managed to score for the job in New Zealand. And the stranger is watching him. Intently. Even with those mirrored aviator shades it’s obvious as hell. This isn’t the first time that Tyler’s been watched; he’s stepped on a lot of toes, pissed a lot of people off, made a lot of enemies with all the wrong people in all the wrong places.

“Guys!” He keeps his voice and face calm as he calls to the kids. There’s no sense in alarming them; his goal now is to keep up the appearance of a relaxed, happy family getting ready to start the day.

They’re less than thirty yards away; he could send them into the woods if he has to. All three shockingly clever and resourceful; they’d know exactly where to hide and to stay as quiet and still as possible; not emerging from their safe places until he came to get them. But he’d rather it not get to that; preferring to keep them as close as possible.

“Get over here,” he gently orders. “Bus will be here soon.”

They grumble in disappointment and reluctantly stomp over, and he focuses on both them and the vehicle down the road; tending to brushing dirt and grass off their clothes and picking leaves out of their hair while keeping an eye on whatever is happening in front of the neighbor’s house. It’s the first time since Ireland and Michael McMann that he’s felt this on edge when it comes to the safety of his kids. He’s always alert; always ready and willing to protect them at the drop of a dime. But this kind of intensity is something he hasn’t felt in months; instincts telling that things aren’t what they seem. Salena isn’t the friendly -it not TOO friendly- and bizarre new neighbour. She’s more. So much more. And that isn’t just some random visitor showing up at the house.

“Stand over here,” Tyler jerks his head in the direction of the truck, then places one hand on Tanner’s shoulder and the other on the back of TJ’s head, firmly guiding them in the direction he wants. “Amelia…” he uses her full name, letting her know that he means business and she’s not to argue or ignore him.

“How will we know when the bus comes?” she inquires, as she joins her father and brothers on the other side of the truck, out of the Jeep driver’s line of sight.

“It’s big and yellow,” TJ huffs. “How would you miss it?”

“And it’s noisy,” Tanner added. “You’re gonna hear it.”

“I’ll keep an eye out. You guys stay there,” Tyler instructs, and then walks to the end of the driveway; back to the road in order to be facing them at all times. Head once again facing forward yet his eyes constantly moving.

The engine on the Jeep is off now, but the driver remains behind the wheel; his attention intently focused on a cell phone clutches in his hand. Until he notices Tyler is back in plain sight.

“Millie…come here for a second…” he motions for her towards him, then scoops her up and settles her on his hip. “...we’re going to take a selfie. Send it to Bonnie so she can show grandpa, okay?”

“Okay!” She cheerfully agrees, and he pulls his phone from the back pocket of his jeans; turning and angling their bodies just right so that the Jeep’s licence plate is visible in the background. It will be blurry, but Yaz had shown him apps and enough tricks on the computer that he’s confident he'll be able to zoom in and clean the image up enough to be able to make out the letters and numbers. Then he’d cash in some favours he’s owed; guys that will get him the name and address of the Jeep owner before the end of the day. If not sooner.

There’s enormous relief when the school bus arrives; knowing that the kids will be away from the house IF something does transpire. And he kisses them and tells them he loves them; the hugs are tighter and last longer than usual. But they’re none the wiser; bickering with one another as they climb the steps and then rush down the narrow aisle to their seats. Those little faces pressing against the windows; beaming smiles as they wave to him as the bus pulls away, doing a U turn at the edge of their property and then continuing down the road. He notices the way the driver of the Jeep watches the larger vehicle as it passes. The guy’s a rookie; his entire body and head turns as he observes.

There’s a brief moment of panic when the engine springs to life just as the bus reaches the end of the road; Tyler’s instincts immediately consider the worst case scenario: that it’s actually the kids the driver had been watching, not him. That they’re the ones he wants. And his heart pounds furiously in his chest; he can hear the rush of blood in his ears and the sweat that beads at his temples and across his forehead as he second guesses his decision to send them away. It would have been better to keep them there with him; he can keep them safe and protect them and defend them in ways no one else possibly can. His jaw is painfully tight and his stomach queasy when the Jeep reverses, only to be filled with instant relief when the vehicle swings onto Salena’s property and disappears behind the rows of trees that line the driveway.

***

“What’s going on?”

The sudden voice behind him causes him to startle. Ovi. Sidling up beside him with one of his hands shoved in a pocket on his shorts; eating an apple that he holds in the other.

“You always sneak up on people like that? You want to get knocked the fuck out? Because THAT’S how you get knocked the fuck out.”

Ovi frowns. “I called your name. Three times. You didn’t hear me?”

“Guess not. Must have been when I was getting the kids on the bus.”

“The bus had already left. You were just standing there. Just staring off into the woods. What were you looking at?”

“Thought I saw something.”

“Probably a dingo,” Ovi reasons. “Did you hear them last night? They were going crazy back in there. All kinds of howling and barking and shit.”

Tyler shrugs. “Must have slept through it.”

Aside from humans hell bent on revenge, the dingos are by far the biggest and most serious threat living there, and he keeps a hunting rifle -safely stored- for when they need to be dealt with. There’s other weapons too; a medium sized stash locked away in a gun locker in the garage. And a Glock he keeps in a safety box in the top drawer of the nightstand on his side of the bed. Old habits die hard; the edge will always be there, as will the desire to protect what -and who- is his at all costs.

“What are you doing?” he asks Ovi. “We don’t have any jobs today.”

“You told me to come over after the kids went to school. You sent me a text last night. First you don’t hear me calling you and now you don’t remember?” he laughs. “You going senile AND deaf?”

“Still half asleep I guess,” Tyler reasons. “You wanna come in? Grab a coffee? Have some breakfast?”

“Isn’t Esme in there?”

“Yeah. So? What’s she going to do to you? She doesn’t bite. Well, anyone other than me, that is.”

“She’s still mad. We haven’t talked since that night. When she said what she said. I’ve tried to talk to her, but…” he shrugs, sadness and regret shimmering in his eyes. “I don’t want her to be mad.”

“You have to admit, she made a lot of valid points. I do have a lot to lose. If I don’t come back, I’ve left five little ones without a father. A wife without a husband. It’s not just me anymore.”

“I know.”

“You still thinking about doing this? The job? You been reconsidering it at all?”

Ovi shakes his head.

“Good. Because I’ve got a business proposition for you this time. And I think you’re going to want to hear it.”

He cocks an eyebrow; head tilted to the side. “What kind of business proposition?”

“What if I told you that there’s a way to get both of us into the job. Without having to involve Nik. Just you and me and a few guys I can pull in. Until I can get things off the ground and build on it.”

Ovi nods slowly, taking in his words. “I’m listening.”

“Let’s go inside,” Tyler says, and then turns and heads up the driveway. “I think you might want to be sitting down for this.”

****

“You have to do this now?” Esme’s voice is a harsh whisper as they stand in the kitchen; Ovi on the back patio entertaining Declan. “Why didn’t you tell me last night that he was coming over? I’m still in my pajamas.”

“So? He doesn’t care. He’s seen you in pajamas before. He’s lived with us for almost six years now.”

“I haven’t showered, I have baby puke in my hair, and I smell like vomit. Not exactly how I want to greet the company.”

“Technically he’s like one of our kids so he’s not exactly company.”

“You could have at least given me a heads up,” she huffs, as she begins gathering up the kids’ breakfast dishes from the table. “I look like shit.”

“You look beautiful.”

“As much as I appreciate your efforts at constantly boosting my confidence and as much I love you for it, I’m a mess. And not a hot one, either.”

He begs to differ; her nightshirt stops just above the knee and her legs are smooth and well toned and tanned and the various tattoos that decorate them and the top of one foot are on full display. And he can’t help but think about how they’d felt last night when they’d been wrapped around his waist while he’d fucked her, or when they’d been draped over his shoulders while he went down on her.

Not the time, he tells himself, and silently urges his hormones to get their shit under control. Definitely not the time for this.

“You couldn’t have given me ten minutes to shower to and put clean clothes on?”

“It’s Ovi. Who gives a shit?”

“I do. I give a shit. And not just because I look like hell, but because Ovi and I are in the middle of a thing…”

“Fuck the thing. Get over the thing. Kiss and make up.”

Esme sighs, busying herself with returning milk and juice to the fridge.

“Besides, things are going to change. I’m going to get him away from Nik and get him working for me. And then I can control exactly what he learns and what kind of jobs I send him on. So, in a way, that completely voids the whole thing you and him have going on.”

“Okay...no...it doesn’t,” she says, and shuts the fridge door with her hip before turning to face him, arms crossed over her chest. “He was still going to drag you back into all the bullshit and all the mess. Even after I pointed out all the things you’ve been through and all the things you are still going through. None of that mattered to him. Not even the fact that if you died, you’d leave kids behind. He didn’t care. And you know what? It pissed me off and it fucking hurt.”

“Okay...I get that…” he lays his hands on her shoulders. “I do. That’s all completely valid.”

“What is up with you? Why are you acting so weird?”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” she insists. “You don’t even sound like yourself.”

He frowns. “What do I sound like?”

“I don’t know. But you don’t sound like you. You seem...I don’t know...hyper.”

“Well in all fairness, I did put three shots of espresso in my coffee this morning.”

She snorts. “That’ll do it.”

“I get you’re pissed. And hurt. I totally understand why. But take it from the source, yeah? He’s a kid.”

“He’s twenty. That makes him a grown ass man.

“He’s a kid,” Tyler insists. “You know that. You know what he’s like mentally. He is still a kid. And kids say stupid shit and they do stupid shit. Especially teenagers. Think this is bad? Wait until ours are that age. Especially Millie.”

“I’d rather NOT think about that. Why are you being so pushy about this? I’ll forgive him when I’m goddamn good and ready. And I’m NOT ready. So please stop. Stop pressuring me into kissing his ass, okay?”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I just think it’s gone on long enough and you’re the adult and you should be the one to extend the olive branch or whatever. And he’s right out there, so….”

“Tyler…” she places her hands on his hips. “...I am going upstairs and I’m going to take a shower and get dressed and then Declan and I will walk over to Salena’s and…”

“No!” It comes out more forceful than he’d intended it to and he sees the way her brows shoot up. “I don’t mean ‘no’ as in you can’t go over there,” he attempts to explain. He can’t tell her about what he saw; the mysterious Jeep and the stranger behind the wheel with the earpiece that had been intently watching him and the kids. She’ll only accuse him of being paranoid and overprotective and will only be more irritated than she already is. “She’s got visitors. Sabrina. Salena. Whatever the fuck her name is.”

“Yeah, Kyle’s over there. But he’s hardly a visitor considering what they’ve been up to.”

“Not just Kyle. I saw someone. While I was putting the kids on the bus. First she was sitting in the car with him and then she got out and whoever it was just sat there for a bit with the engine running and…”

Her eyes narrow. “You were spying? On our neighbour?”

“I wasn’t spying. I was observing. I just happened to look over and…”

“And you saw her get out of some guy’s car.”

“It was a Jeep, actually. A Grand Cherokee. Black. Sun roof. Tinted back windows and damage on the grill and a fucked up passenger headlight.”

Esme gives an incredulous laugh. “You noticed all of this while you were waiting for the kids for the school bus.”

“Bus was late,” Tyler shrugs. “Gave me time to notice things.”

“And where were our kids while you were doing all this noticing?” she inquires.

“With me. In the driveway. I wasn’t letting them wander all over the place. I WAS watching them. But she does have a visitor. Your friend. After the bus left, he pulled into the driveway.”

“Okay...this is just…” she sighs and shakes her head. “...you were waiting for the school bus with our kids. Not doing surveillance.”

“Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“I guess so. Fine,” she surrenders. “I won’t go over there. I hardly feel like showing up while she’s having a threesome with my brother and some random. But I am not getting involved with you and Ovi and your talk. I’m staying out of it. I said I was fine with whatever you wanted to do and that’s all the involvement you’re going to get from me. This is all up to you now, Tyler. This was your idea and you can deal with it. I’ll support you a hundred percent and I’ll help you WHEN you need it. But right now? I’m not dealing with him. I just can’t. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees.

“Now, I’m going to shower and put fresh clothes on and I’m going to leave you alone to do whatever it is you’re going to do. The baby’s in her playpen and if you’d just listen for her…”

“I will,” he says, and then lays a hand on the side of her face and kisses her. Long and soft and sweet, until she’s standing on her tiptoes; arms circling his neck and her body leaning into his. And when it’s over, he pulls back and grimaces. “You DO smell like puke.”

She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes, then puts her hands on his chest and pushes him away.

“Still beautiful though,” he calls to her, as she heads for the door. “Baby puke and all.”

She laughs, then flips him the middle finger and leaves the room.

***

The remnants of breakfast clutter the patio table; pancakes, eggs, bacon and fresh fruit. The coffee still piping hot in their mugs. Neither of them speak; Ovi’s attention on the cell phone in his hands, Tyler’s on Esme and Declan down on the beach. She’s in that one piece black suit that’s so simple yet so sexy; cut high on the hip and tied around the neck. Her skin is wet and glistens in the light, and she wears one of his ball caps to protect her head and eyes from harsh rays of sun that bounce off the ocean. She has a firm grasp on Declan; her hold tight on the back of his life jacket as he fearlessly wanders further into the water and she follows dutifully -and protectively- behind.

He can’t help but think of how vulnerable they are; out in the wide open like that and him a hundred yards away. And he wonders if someone is watching them right now; a pair of binoculars pressed to their face, observing everything from the confines of the neighbor’s property. There’s no panic or anxiety that accompany those thoughts. Just rage. Pure, raw and violent rage that someone would not only have the nerve to threaten his family, but that his past life and the things he’s done and the people he’s pissed off are once again catching up to him.

“So…” Ovi says, as he places his phone on the table. “...this business thing.”

“Where’s Chloe?” Tyler asks.

Ovi shrugs. “Still sleeping, I guess. Why?”

“She been in contact with her family? Anyone else back home?”

“She talks to her folks all the time. And a few friends.” Ovi sips his coffee. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Do any of them know? Who I really am? What I used to do?”

“Just her parents. And you said it was okay to tell them as long as they promised to keep their mouths shut about it. Which they have, as far as I know. Why?”

“That’s it? No one else? No friends, no other family? That she would have told?”

“She wouldn’t have a reason to tell anyone. It’s no one’s business; what you used to do. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, right? Why? What’s going on? What…?”

“Nothing,” Tyler gives a small, reassuring smile “Just some stuff that’s been on my mind, that’s all. It’s probably nothing. So you still want to do it? You still want a shot? At the job?”

The younger man nods.

“You’re one hunderd percent sure it’s what you want?”

“Look, I appreciate the breakfast and the coffee, but if you’re just going to try and talk me out of it…”

“I want you to come work for me.”

Ovi blinks.

“I’m starting something up. My own gig. A way to get back into the game without actually getting back into it. It’ll start slow and be pretty small at first; us and a few guys I’ve worked with before and I know I can trust. It’ll take a while to get off the ground. Money won’t be great at first. But I’d rather you be working for me than Nik.”

Ovi’s eyes narrow and his brow furrows. “Isn’t that the same idea I had? Wasn’t it…”

“We’re not going to be partners,” Tyler informs him. “This isn’t going to be fifty-fifty. I’m in charge. I’m going to be running things. It’ll be strictly my operation. You’ll just be working for me. As a merc. If that’s still what you want to do.”

“It is. It definitely is.”

“I’m going to bring someone in to help train you. Someone I helped over in New Zealand. Young guy; ex Marine. He’s good. Damn good.”

“As good as you?”

A sly smile tugs at the corners of Tyler’s mouth. “There’s no one as good as me, kid.”

It isn’t conceit. It’s just the truth. He knows it. Ovi knows it.

“And these people will work for you?”

“I know they will. Once they hear I’m back in the game, they’ll jump at the chance. You don’t how things world; how things travel in the circle. My name and my rep were pretty well known before you and Dhaka. Surviving that shit? That just made them even bigger and better. I know I can pull this off. Once word gets out who is running things, we’re going to be pulling in the big jobs. Big jobs that pay big money.”

“How big?”

“IRA gave me five mill, right? We’ll be pulling in money even bigger than that. Per job.”

Ovi’s eyes widen and he nods slowly, palms rubbing against the side of his mug as he considers everything being said.

“I’ll be the one that decides what you do,” Tyler continues. “You’re not going to get the choice on what jobs you go on. Not until you have a lot of years in. That’s how it works; more experienced guys get the harder and more dangerous gigs. These are guys that have been doing this shit for a long time. Ex military. SASR, Marines, Navy Seals, Green Beret. Shit like that. These are guys that have seen shit and done shit you can only imagine. You won’t be stepping on their toes. Not on my watch. Understand me?”

“I understand.”

“You gotta start at the bottom. Just like I did. You think I started out doing shit like Dhaka? Fuck no. I was getting sent on jobs that only took a couple of hours. Mickey Mouse shit that a toddler probably could have done. But there’s a ladder you have to climb; you don’t just get put at the top without earning your way. It doesn’t work that way. It’s going to take a while to get there. You gotta want it.”

“I do,” Ovi insists. “I do want it.”

“You gotta put in the work, kid. You gotta bust your ass to make a name for yourself. To get sent out there with the big boys. And this guy I have in mind, Nathan, he’s going to put you through the ringer. And so am I. Until I have you on the ground in a puddle of your own puke and piss, crying for your mother. I’m not fucking around here. I’m dead serious. So if you don’t think you have what it takes, you better back away right now. Because I don’t want fuck ups. Fuck ups lead to people dying. Good people. And I won’t tolerate that shit. Hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“I’m going to give you some names and numbers. Of guys you should talk to. That’ll have all the advice and all the stories that you need to hear. I’ll let them know you’re going to call. From here on out, you work for me and only me. And you only talk to me and who I tell you to. No more Nik. You cut ties. Completely. Okay?”

Ovi nods. “Okay.”

Tyler swallows the remains of his coffee and stands up. “I got people I need to call. Contacts that can help us out and get us what we need. Weapons, ammo, tech. All that shit. We start the day after Millie’s birthday. First thing in the morning. I’ll get Nathan here sooner so you guys can meet and get to know each other. I don’t want you talking about this to anyone, understand me? Not Chloe. Not Nik. Not Kyle. No one. The only three people around here that know about this are me, you, and Esme. Keep it that way.”

“I will,” the younger man promises.

“I’d be hitting the gym,” he suggests. “Hard core. I’ll meet you in there around one. I’d eat some more and hydrate the fuck out of yourself. You’re gonna need it.”

“What are you going to do?” Ovi asks, as Tyler heads for the door.

“First I’m going to get this shit started and off the ground,” he replies. “Second, I’m going to find out just who the fuck the neighbour is.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

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⁂ Moving Metal #2: Wheel of Power

📑 Table of Contents | ◂ Previous

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Believe it or not, it took us a full day to reach Highway 35, and by the time we did, the sun was beginning to set. The sky was alive was dark red and orange, swirling together like an angry blaze. Sandstone covered the ground we drove on, kicking up dust something horrible. I had to roll up the window pretty quickly, all while ignoring the ‘I told you so’ look from Taro who had warned me about the window just an hour prior.

I turned up the AC because of how hot it was outside. The middle of summer in the desert at sundown. Can you imagine my struggle?

“Hey, Taro! Wylde’s here!” Monkey’s voice came over the radio, followed by loud coughs as said Maniac sped past us. Unfortunately, Monkey didn’t have the Taro warning system like I did and his window was down. “Hey! This isn’t a race!”

“It’s always a race.” Came Mark’s reply, making me resist the urge to slam my head against the dashboard. He really was impossible. He increased his speed, slamming his car into the female from Teku before hitting his brother’s car from behind. He quickly claimed the lead even though, as Monkey stated, it was not a race.

About ten minutes later, a building came into view. It was square, probably about three stories tall, and looked like it could fall apart with just a gust of wind. The walls barely covered the metal piping that held the building together.

A dark-skinned man with dreads stepped out of the shadows like some super villain, but when he spoke, his voice was something you’d expect from a hero. The man and Vert exchanged pleasantries.

“Vert. It’s been a long time.” The man had some type of accent, but I couldn’t place it for the life of me.

“Good to see you again.”

Monkey stepped forward. “Is that Tezla?”

I rested my forehead against Taro’s shoulder in place of a facepalm. I had been told the exact same stories that Monkey had and I knew that this man, whoever he may be, was definitely NOT Tezla.

“My name is Kadeem.” The man said with an air of pride. A few more notches North and it’ll border arrogance. “Who are you?”

“He’s just a freaky little Metal Maniac, Kadeem.” Kurt’s comment made both Taro and myself tense up and push away from the car.

I growled in annoyance. “Better a Maniac than a pansy Teku!”

“Yeah!” Mark agreed, slinging his tattooed arm over my shoulder. “Metal Maniacs are the best! Like me, Taro and Jae, huh?”

“Real drivers are Teku!” Kurt argued back.

“Let’s test that then, aye?” I cracked my knuckles as I stepped forward, daring him to move. The Metal Maniacs are multi-skilled, you see. Not only are we badass at driving, we’re damn skilled at beating the snot out of people.

Kadeem’s laugh broke through the tension. “Yes, I see how it is.”

He and Vert started to speak to one another, but I was too angry to care as Kurt an I stared each other down. He may be older than me, but I know I can beat him in a fight, and man did I want to beat his ass. I inched forward, but Taro grabbed the back of my shirt, pulling me back to our side and giving me a look that clearly stated ‘knock it off’. I scoffed in annoyance, shooting the Teku one last glare before looking away. The day will come when I can beat that prick’s ass, but today is clearly not that day.

“So, if this is so important, it must pay a lot. Right?” Monkey’s question caught my attention, seeing as how I want to know the answer as much as he does.

Kadeem only laughed in response.

“Is that a yes?”

His laughter grew louder.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. The horrid combination of heat, anger and now this guys laughter had finally weighed down on me, gracing me with a splitting headache I knew would be near impossible to get rid of. I barely registered Taro gently pushing me toward the passenger seat.

Though it doesn’t happen very often, sometimes I get overwhelmed and when I do, I get these crippling headaches that render me… well, pretty much useless. Taro has been there for most of them, so he knows what to expect by now.

When the pain finally subsided enough for me to open my eyes, I found that we were in the middle of this strange rock maze. I faintly made out the sound of Kadeem ordering us to stay behind him.

Taro glanced at me.“Still with me?”

I grunted in response, trying to force myself to get a grip. I avoided looking out the window since the swirling of colors didn’t help my headache and only served to make my eyes hurt. Instead, I chose to stare at the back end of the Spinebuster, who happened to be in front of us. Before I realized what was happening, we had flown off the edge of a cliff and through a camouflaged opening in the side of a large rock formation.

We drove down a narrow hall before it opened up to this huge dome with a track twisting and turning towards the ceiling. I had never seen anything like it in my life. And just like that, the amazement overwhelmed the pain inside my brain. Taro opened my door but ordered me to stay put just to be on the safe side. I did as I was told.

“Woah, check it out.” Vert seemed just as amazed as I am, which seemed a bit strange considering what he must have witnessed during the World Race.

A bright yellow light shot out from the center of the dome, forming a man’s face. I knew instantly that the face belonged to Tezla. “Welcome… to the Acceledrome!”

His voice was loud and bounced from wall to wall, rattling my head.

“Gelorum and her drones have the wheel of power. Before the wheel was taken, I discovered that it’s more than just a source of power. It’s the key to something much bigger than Highway 35. Countless new tracks and unique new worlds that I call, the Racing Realms.”

Jeez, this guy sounds like a friggin’ commercial or advertisement. Can he get any more melodramatic?

“Reaching the end of Highway 35 was only the first step mapped out for us by the Accelerons.”

Monkey’s vehicle squealed to a stop behind us and I clenched my jaw at the sound, glaring at him as he popped the top half of his body out of his sunroof. “Did I miss anything?”

The group collectively turned to stare at him before looking back to the hologram.

“The journey of discovery… begins here.” The face swirled into a blur before a large ring appeared in its place. Two smaller rings were inside the first, like those Russian nesting dolls. It spun around in a slow circle.

We followed Kadeem to a room with a large table and plenty of chairs. Naturally, the Teku sat on one side, while the Maniacs took the other. Kadeem took the head of the table.

In the center was a miniature ring, an exact replica of the large one.

“Which one is the wheel of power?” The female Teku questioned.

“They are both holograms,” Kadeem answered as a female in overalls entered the room, picking up where he left off. That robot was right behind her.

“Exact three-dimensional recreations.”

“Lani!” Vert smiled. “It’s great to see another Waveripper.”

The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. She certainly didn’t look familiar to me.

“I’m not driving, Vert. I’ve been working with Tezla in the Acceledrome. He didn’t tell me who was coming.” She narrowed her eyes at Taro and it clicked.

Lani… the reason the name sounded so familiar was from Mark and Taro’s World Race stories. She was one of the drivers and apparently she and Taro dated for some time before breaking up. Judging from that look and the tone of her voice, it didn’t end on a happy note.

“Awkward,” I muttered to myself, earning a glare from the man next to me. I coughed and shifted in my seat as the robot started to circle us.

“While studying the wheel, Dr. Tezla recorded a unique pattern of its wavelengths and vibrations.” It explained.

“Yeah, yeah. Scrap the lecture, Gig. We’re here to race.” Mark placed his huge feet on the table, leaning back in the chair with his hands on the back of his head. Typical Mark.

Wait… what did he say? Gig? So I guess that robot does have a name. Maybe I shouldn’t go around saying ‘it’ anymore.

It, I mean, Gig, continued. “The holographic image resonates with the same imminations of the actual wheel of power.”

Monkey looked confused, as usual. “Is he speaking English? He’s speaking English, right?”

“In a very real sense, the image is the wheel.”

“And that means…?” The female Teku asked what we were all thinking. I should probably learn her name, too, huh.

Lani answered, “Dr. Tezla believes the wheel of power has been opening the Racing Realms.”

“My headache is coming back.” I groaned softly.

Taro stood and walked toward the glass wall over-looking the large wheel.

“And that Gelorum’s racing drones have been entering them,” Gig added.

“We must reach the end of the next realm before the racing drones.” Kadeem had become very serious. The change from cheerful weighed heavy on me. It all felt like a dream, but it also felt like everything was about to become very real very fast.

“Why should we? Last time it was to get the wheel for Tezla. What does the doctor want now?” Kurt accused.

Where the hell did he even come from? He was not sitting there a minute ago.

“The drones have already accessed several racing realms.” Gig explained. “Dr. Tezla believes that with each new realm, they become more powerful.”

“Whatever’s at the end of the racing realms must be even more powerful,” Kadeem added.

Monkey laughed and I knew what he was going to say before it even left his mouth. “Well if it’s that powerful, it must be worth a lot of money! Right?”

Kadeem started to laugh again, and I was growing annoyed by it. It’s not that difficult to just say yes or no.

“Why is he laughing?” Monkey asked, sitting back down in defeat.

“Now more than ever, the best drivers are needed.” Gig said just as a loud alarm began to echo through the building.

“It’s moving,” Taro announced. Sure enough, both the large and miniature wheels were now turning, each ring moving in a different direction.

Lani approached the window. “A new realm is about to open.”

“Alright, come on!” Mark sounded like a kid on Christmas, and I found myself smiling. “Let’s go!”

“We need Nitrox,” Vert announced.

The alarm grew louder as we got back to the cars. Those who already have the tanks installed refilled theirs, while the rest installed the tanks themselves.

The smallest ring stopped moving, the symbol on its side illuminating. It looked like a baby snake or a worm… or maybe just a squiggly line.

Monkey picked up the tank of Nitrox, looking between it and Taro. “What exactly does this juice do?”

“You’ll see,”

I raised my brow at Taro’s response.

The second ring stopped.

The third stopped and then a large ball of blue light appeared in the middle of the smallest one.

“The racing realm is open,” Gig announced, barely audible over the screeching of the alarm.

I hopped into the passenger seat and Taro took off before I could even close the door. One by one, the drivers formed a line and entered the sky-high track. A machine sped up the vehicle, the force pushing us back against our seats as the speedometer soared to life, easily reaching almost two hundred miles per hour.

“You must be going three hundred miles per hour when you’ve reached the wheel,” Kadeem announced over the radio.

His words made my stomach tingle as the adrenaline inside my body stirred to life. My lips twitched up as our speed gradually increased. One more machine at the end of the track propelled us past the three hundred mark as we soared into the swirling blue abyss.

I heard the realm before I could see it.

Thunder, loud and angry, rattled the car as the flash of bright light faded. Mark’s cries of there being no track snapped me out of my daze and I frantically looked around. We were falling through the air, surrounded by thick clouds of purple and black. Thunder roared overhead and lightning struck down in the distance. It felt like we fell forever, my heart sinking at the thought that there might not be a track at all. Monkey started screaming and my heart pounded faster against my rib cage.

It felt like an eternity of falling and I briefly wondered if this was hell, when the track finally came into view. My heart rate didn’t slow until the wheels touched the track and we zoomed after Kadeem and Mark, who had landed first.

“Yo, this is wicked.” I stared at the swirling clouds lit up by strikes of lightning, cutting through them like a knife through warm butter. Don’t ask me why, but I’ve always had a thing for storms. They always made me feel peaceful and happy, though a part of me was wishing that it was raining, as well.

“Does anybody know what’s holding this track up?”

I couldn’t tell if Kadeem was being serious or joking.

“Ask the Accelerons,” Taro commented. I found myself grinning at his response.

The track started to turn, creating a tornado down into the clouds. The lightning was no longer in the distance – it was dangerously close now.

The track changed direction again, shooting up into the sky and forming a loop like a roller coaster then plunging straight down in the most wicked verticle line I’ve ever seen.

“Can anybody hear me? What’s the situation?” Lani reached out over the radio.

Monkey was the one to respond and I almost started laughing. “Whatever this dude’s paying us, it’s not enough!”

“Who said anything about being paid?” Gig asked. If he hadn’t been a robot, I would swear that he said that sarcastically.

I howled with laughter when Monkey screamed after hearing the response. I had never felt as alive as I do at this moment. My adrenaline is pumping, working through every inch of my body. I want to drive so badly! Why did I have to leave my car behind and ride with Taro to the race?

After the track straightened out, lightning rods appeared on both sides of the track. Lightning struck down from the sky like a vengeful god, sending power to the rods as they connected with one another through the currents of electricity.

Taro dodged the shocks as they flew from the rods to the track itself, making the drivers swerve back and forth to avoid them. I could see a flash of light hit Kurt’s car, the window shattering as it lost all power. I vaguely wondered if we should help, but the thought was quickly left behind as we passed him. He has his own teammates to help him.

We didn’t just have the lightning to worry about anymore. The farther we got, the harder it became to see thanks to a thick cloud of fog. I could barely see the tail lights of whoever was in front of us.

We were both struggling to see, but I guess Taro’s sight is slightly better than my own. He noticed the car heading straight for us way before I did, and he managed to swerve to avoid it. Unfortunately, the sharp turn of the wheel sent my side of the car straight into one of the lightning rods. The sudden stop sent a jolt through my body as the straps of the seat knocked the wind out of me. Man, having boobs is really inconvenient!

“You okay, Taro?”

He was rubbing his head, growling in anger. He said he was fine, but I could tell that he was feeling the impact as much as I was. Well, you know, except the whole boob-in-pain thing.

“The racing drones are here,” Kadeem announced, and it clicked into place in my mind. That’s what that thing was? Because he sure as hell was not racing!

“Where? I don’t see any racing – ” Monkey’s voice suddenly got very low. “- drones…”

I scowled. “Let’s kick some ass, Taro!”

He nodded in agreement and we took off, passing a broke down Mark on our way. I radioed to make sure he was good, to which he promptly made fun of me for quote ‘worrying about him’. Pft, that’s the last time I ask him if he needs help!

The fog was starting to clear and I could finally see up ahead of us. “Taro, we caught up to the drones!”

Without a word, he pressed down on the gas and rammed the closest one from behind. The force of the impact sent the drone spinning out and we zoomed past. In front of us was Kadeem, with a drone in front of him.

“Good, Taro! We can take on these drones together!”

“I’m gonna pass you.”

I whipped my head around to see that the drone had recovered himself and was now behind Kadeem with another one close behind. Just how many of these things are there?

The drone at the back of the line did something strange – he hit the drone in front of him, sending him off the track. It was then my eyes caught sight of the wire attached to the back of Kadeem’s car, dragging him over the edge.

I glanced at Taro, but he was too focused on the track in front of him. Biting my lip, I decided not to say anything. Kadeem had been racing these realms long before we came along. He’ll be fine.

Right…?

I turned around and shook my head. I had to stay focused on the task at hand. Even if I’m not the one driving, I can still assist Taro.

Three drones were driving in front of us, forming a wall to prevent others from passing. Taro increased his speed and rammed the one in the middle. The force sent the drone struggling for control and in that struggle, he managed to miss a ball of lightning that hit the track.

I screamed Taro’s name, but he didn’t have enough time to dodge it. It hit us head on, encasing the car in electricity and sending us rolling across the track. I could feel the pain surging through my entire body. It was nothing like earlier when he hit the rod. No, this pain was intense and horrible, like I had just shoved a wet fork into a light socket. My body started to grow numb, and I struggled to keep my eyes open.

“Ta… ro…” I managed out, but he was out cold.

I tried to hold on. Maybe if I could stay conscious until the pain subsided, I could recover from it. All I could think about was the unconscious man next to me. I started to remember my life before I met him and the other maniacs, how drastically everything changed after I met them after they took me in. After they became my family.

I tried to reach for the radio, but I couldn’t feel my arm. My body felt heavy like I had a garbage truck sitting on top of every limb. It was becoming harder to keep my eyes open, and I fought as hard as I could. I don’t know how long I lasted, but my body finally failed me and my eyes closed. All of the sounds around me started to fade until there was nothing left.

Nothing but darkness and silence.

Is this where I die?

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

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#comedy #friendship #angst #series #acceleracers #hot wheels #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics #scenario #scenarios #writing #creative writing #moving metal #writeblr #hot wheels acceleracers

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searchforthescars · 6 years ago

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soooo @xanouchka donated to my Moving Out Fund and there, she requested that I write something I’ve always wanted to write. So, here it is, pulled from what will hopefully become my NaNoWriMo novel.

all the thanks and love and everything else good in the world to @maskingtapepoetree for editing this and ACTUALLY LIKING IT WOW!!!!!

okay anyway IF YOU’RE READING THIS PLEASE ALSO LOOK AT THIS POST, WHICH IS FAR MORE IMPORTANT THAN ANYTHING ELSE I’VE EVER WRITTEN

When the world starts to decline, Jess barely even notices. The external crises of the higher-ups in her small city in her small county in her less small state inside the larger country that insists on crumbling at the seams every so often are all meaningless to her in the face of more immediate disintegrations.

More specifically, and more clearly: Her back has been aching for close to four days - almost the entire duration of her drive - and her joints have popped and screamed in vicious protest of the three-mile walk she endured yesterday in the name of more and better fuel. The heaviness hanging low and insistent over her brain informed her yesterday, after a useless 16-hour sleep, that it is here to stay.

So yeah, excuse her for not paying attention to the nuclear silos going up near her hometown. She moved away anyway, partially for that reason. Well, not the nukes, but the silos. The silo sites. Her old home. Her playground. The school she pretended to attend so the neighbors wouldn’t ask questions. The neighbors that did ask questions and her mother, who would not answer.

And besides, she didn’t so much move away as abandon. “Moving away,” the singularity of it, implies that it was a calculated choice, bracketed by cardboard boxes and heavy trucks and the noise and disorganization that comes with settling an old life in a new place. Abandonment is something easier, something that sits a little better in her stomach. It tastes like gasoline and oil, like sawdust and this time, it’ll work. It feels like rejection, hopelessness, glass windows in doctor’s offices, needles and blood.

And she fucking hates doctor’s offices. When she thinks about it, the smell lodges itself in the back of her throat. Sterile metal and sympathetic eyes and clinical terms for there is something irreparable about you that will kill you, given enough time, and we can’t even tell you how to live well with whatever scraps Time decides to throw you.

She decides the term “Father Time” has merit. Time, much like many fathers she has known, has never given her anything.

She regards herself in the rearview mirror as her car rattles along a highway that never had a speed limit, caught between the mountains and whatever deserts used to grow Midwestern corn. Every bump in the ill-repaired road jars her that much closer to wakefulness. Intellectually, she knows she shouldn’t drive so half-asleep. But who is she hurting, anyway? Anyone on these roads is only a little better off than she. It would be kinder to take them out of their misery, or allow their one-ton vehicles to put her out of hers.

There used to be radio music and snack food associated with these long drives, back when she belonged to something resembling a family. There’s baggage with that word now, hatred and anger on the luggage tags, and there’s longing in there too, a strange feeling Jess only takes out and examines when she knows she wants to cry.

Sometimes, like now, she misses tea. Hot tea, the kind that stings your mouth properly and burns when it slides over your tongue and down her throat. There’s a specific kind of black tea-sugar-cream combination she loved; dark and bittersweet with the fullness of water replaced by milk. Something warm to fill her stomach on the days food was not her friend.

She misses music too. Music to keep her awake, music to practice to, music to fuel her races as if she’s in the actions movies Dad loved showing her when she was a kid. Not for the first time, she regrets pulling out her car stereo and selling it. It was a necessary evil, but not one she would repeat.

Eventually, she does stop. The sun is coming up over the gentle crest of hilly road before her. She parks her car on the shoulder and climbs atop the roof, hoisting herself up through the sunroof and letting one foot dangle onto the passenger seat. The early sun provides little warmth, but the wind it brings does, and she turns her face to it as if the sand blowing toward her face would cleanse her pores, when she really knows all it does is clog them more.

Damn, she thinks, does she miss makeup. Her last line of defense, her best tool to convince people as far as her teachers and as close as the mirror that she was fine, that everything was okay.

A bird cries suddenly, from a scrubby bush somewhere to her left. Jess looks, then looks again. The tiny thing hops out from the leaves and regards her with beady eyes and jerky head movements. Then, it pecks at the dirt, once, twice, again, and flits off into the sky, its silhouette painted a wash of blue and pink.

Jess stretches. She pulls her arms above her head, reaching for the sky, interlacing her fingers But the last remnants of it left her skin long ago, somewhere between that rainstorm last week and the sudden breakdown she had after she took her last pill yesterday morning.together and twists until her spine cracks and she feels it all the way to her knees. She rolls her head side to side, mindful of her back vertebrae the way her chiropractor taught her, and rotates her shoulders gingerly, wincing when a bruise on her right side protests.

Her brain is still heavy. Unlike the dark night, the fog won’t budge. Tears well in her eyes unbidden. She pushes them away with a string of curses whispered into the morning. The bird from before lands on the hood of her car, carrying a tiny piece of something in its beak. Jess watches it until it flies away, and drives on.

#tcm #wow i've never introduced her to anyone before holy crap #hope you like it #original fiction #original work

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jamiemac26 · 7 years ago

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Movin’ On - Chapter Two: Year One

Movin’ On - By JameMac

Description: A relationship is made up of moments. Moments that span days and years, spaces of time. Y/N had been with Harrison Osterfield for 10 years, but after a horrific argument they break up and she finds herself reminiscing, about all the good times they had together and all of the bad times that they went though. She starts to see the pieces that fell - what she once thought was the perfect puzzle, every piece in its place, turned out to be a facade, one big jumbled up mess with nothing but patches in place of the missing pieces.

“Seriously Elena, why do you always have to introduce me to your boyfriend’s friends,” Y/N huffed as she followed her best friend through the crowded house party.

Elena didn’t even bother turning around, “Will you stop complaining. I promise you that this time will be different.”

“You say that every time,” Y/N mumbled a quick apology as she bumped shoulders with a fellow party goer. “I just want to get through the last year of school incident free.”

“What makes you think that meeting these guys will cause an incident,” Elena air quoted as she turned to face her friend.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I’m not even going to waste my time answering that question.”

Elena shook her head, “You are such a drama queen.”

“And now it all makes sense as to why we go to a drama school. Oh wait, you’re the one that goes to...” Y/N stopped short, nearly colliding with her friend. “Hey, why did you stop?”

“Y/N, I would like you to meet Harrison and Tom,” Elena stepped aside, allowing full view of the two boys.

One was tall, one was shorter. One was blond, one had brown hair. One had stunning blue eyes and the other had liquid chocolate that stared back at her. Both were adorably cute and Y/N found herself blushing under their inquisitive glances.

“Boys this is Y/N,” Elena introduced, doing her job as best friend quite well.

“You go to BRIT,” The one with brown eyes asked.

Y/N nodded.

Elena rolled her eyes, “She’s in the music route, so ya know, she’s too good for us theatre folks.”

“You got that right buttercup,” Y/N laughed, brushing her hair over her shoulders.

“Hey, there’s Rob,” Elena’s eyes lit up at the sight of her boyfriend, “I’ll catch you guys later.”

Y/N watched her disappear into the crowd. In her peripheral vision she noticed both boys shift in awkwardness. She turned her attention towards the one with the bright blue eyes, “Harrison, right?” She waited for him to nod before extending her hand, “Wanna dance?”

His hand slipped into hers and she pulled him into the middle of the wriggling bodies. His body was warm pressed up against hers. His arms were wrapped around her waist and she moved her hips in time to the pounding music. She lost herself in the pulsating rhythm and the night ended far too soon. She was pushed towards the front door by Elena, without enough time to bid her goodbyes. She didn’t expect to see them again, as their particular areas of study did not cross paths, but she at least had wanted to tell them that she had appreciated their company for the night. She frowned as Elena steered her towards her boyfriend’s car.

“Oh stop giving me that look,” She opened the door, tapping her foot impatiently, “It’s late, I want to leave and you’ll see them again.”

Y/N shrugged her shoulders as she climbed into the back seat, “Not so sure about that.”

Rob turned around, facing the passenger in the backseat of his car, “I think that you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Before Y/N could rebuff, Elena cranked up the volume on the radio, squealing about it being her favorite song.

She hated Mondays. It didn’t matter how long the weekend seemed, nor how short. She just despised this day and her mood usually reflected it. She stared into her locker, her mind refusing to focus on this early, gloomy morning. Yawning, she reached in to grab the book for her first class off the day. As she pulled back out, two feet appeared near hers, the owner’s body hidden behind the gray metal panel. She placed her fingers around the lip of the door, leaning backwards to get a glimpse of who her new visitor might be.

“Oh,” She was taken aback by the sight of one of the boys she had met over the weekend.

“Tom,” He re-introduced himself to her.

“I remember, just a little surprised that you came to find me,” She shut her locker door, slinging her worn backpack over her shoulder.

“Well,” He nervously shuffled his feet, “You kinda ran off without saying goodbye.”

She couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he was, “Sorry about that, Elena is to blame for that one.”

He chuckled, “She can be quite the handful, can’t she?”

“Now that’s an understatement,” He kept pace with her as they moved through the crowded hallway to her first class of the day.

“Ummm…” He started, his eyes focused solely on his hands, “Harrison and I were wondering if you wanted to hang out later?”

She looked at him. Her eyes taking in the small details of his face. It took her a moment to realize that she hadn’t answered him and that he was now staring right back at her. She blinked a couple times, bringing her mind back into focus. “Yeah,” She nodded, “I’d love to.”

His grin lit up his face and her own smile grew wider. They quickly exchanged numbers and she watched as he weaved expertately through the crowd, a few high fives thrown in as he passed a couple of friends.

Weeks went by and their friendship grew stronger. She found herself spending more and more time with the two boys. Elena had asked her on more than one occasion which one she wanted to date and everytime she would casually shrug it off, not having really considered that option feasible. However, one night she found herself opening her front door only to find Harrison standing on the stoop, one long stemmed red rose held in his hand. His blue eyes sparkled in the light that illuminated them in the growing dimness. He had asked her out on their first date that night and she had surprisingly, without hesitation, said yes. She had, of course, been worried about Tom; what he would think, how he would feel, would this destroy their trio? All valid questions of course, and Harrison had assured her that he had asked her out with Tom’s blessing.

Their first date had simply been dinner and a movie, but the conversation that took place on her front porch had been all she needed to accept a second date. Her fears about the effect that it would have on their friendship were dispelled when instead of drifting from Tom, their bond only grew stronger. Even during his absence, he kept in constant contact with her.

The year was winding down and they were weeks away from graduation and in the midst of their final projects. She had been locked away in the studio for the last couple of hours, when Harrison plopped down into the chair next to her. She pulled the headphones off of her ears, turning to smile at him.

“You do realize that school ended about an hour ago, right,” He swiveled back and forth.

She nodded, “I have to get this part finished or I won’t get the entire thing completed in time.” She pressed a couple buttons, watching the screen in front of her with intense concentration.

“What about chilling at Tom’s tonight? Watch a movie and grab some food?” He wheeled himself closer to her, his arm draping across the back of her chair.

She shrugged but didn’t say anything.

“Come on Y/N, I’ve barely seen you the last couple of days,” Harrison grabbed her hands, turning her body to face him.

She grinned at his pleading face, “Leave me be for another hour and I’ll meet you at Tom’s.”

He smirked, leaning forward and planting a kiss on her lips.

She knocked on Tom’s door. She could hear voices on the other side and smiled. She loved Tom’s family. His brother’s had taken quite the liking to her and his parents were always very welcoming whenever she came to visit. The door flew open and Tom’s beaming face greeted her.

“Hey, I was wondering if you were going to make it. Come on, we’re hanging out in the backyard.”

He turned and walked through the house, leaving her to close the door. She shook her head, laughing quietly.

“I thought we were watching a movie,” She stepped into the backyard, stopping short as she was met with a giant sign, balloons and Harrison dressed up in a suit. “What??”

“Y/N, will you go to prom with me?” Harrison stepped towards her, a single red rose held in between his fingers.

Her smile grew and she stepped forward, her arms wrapping around his neck in a tight embrace. “Of course I will,” She pressed her lips to his, deepening the kiss as his arms encircled her waist.

“Okay okay, now that that’s settled, let’s get to watching that movie,” Tom chortled as he brushed by them.

She pulled from Harrison, her forehead leaning against his, “You could have just asked me at the studio.”

“I know, but I wanted to make it a bit more special and you were way too occupied earlier… I doubt you would have even heard me.”

“Well Romeo, I do appreciate all the effort,” She took his hand, allowing him to pull her back into the house.

Her dress was a beautiful color pink. The skirt flowed around her knees and the bodice hugged her in all the right places. A pair of white heels donned her feet and she stood patiently with Harrison next to her, his tie matching her dress perfectly, as they posed for pictures. The smile wouldn’t leave her face and it grew even larger when a shiny black limo pulled up in front of his house. Tom popped up out of the sunroof, beckoning for them to hurry.

The music was loud and she found herself reminiscing about her very first dance with Harrison. His arms were wrapped around her tightly, his body flush against hers. His lips made their way up her neck and she moaned slightly as he hit a sweet spot behind her ear. She turned her head, allowing him better access and she caught a glimpse of Tom and his new girlfriend. He looked happy and she could almost hear his laughter drift across the room.

She hugged Harrison closer to her body, “We can go back to my house after this, my parents are out of town for the weekend.”

“Should we head out now? I can go and tell Tom?”

She clutched at him tighter, “No, just me and you.”

She watched his face light up with realization.

“Are you sure,” He whispered.

She nodded her head and he gripped her waist tighter.

It had been her first time. It had been his first time. Saying that it was magical would have been an exaggeration but it had been their memory, their moment and the intimacy had only brought them closer together. He had spent the night, his arms tight around her as he slept. She hadn’t slept much that night, her mind racing with every detail of what they had done and how it had made her feel. She knew she liked him. She knew she cared about him but as she stared at the ceiling, the silence of the night enveloping her, she had known in that moment that she loved him.

Movin’ On Masterlist

Tag List: @5-seconds-of-sarcasmm @marvelmakeuplover @baileythepenguin

#tom holland #harrison osterfield #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield fanfiction #harrison osterfield x reader #tom holland x reader #movin on

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missymistressa-blog · 7 years ago

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Good Prank Ideas For Cars

Harmless, But Awesome, Car Pranks There is A car a Piece of a individual's life. Never should you depreciate its value or be doing anything which will damage another individual's vehicle. With that said, there is no reason not to fuck with it in ways at the expense of other people's emotions. Keep in mind, your friend's frustration confusion and fear is the fuel to get you gold laughter. Leaving things like lunch and egging meat out on the paint, we have some solid examples of how to leech these emotions. Here are 10 Harmless, But Awesome, Car Pranks.

Rent Car Toronto Cheap

Fake Accident Note

Occasionally, Confusion is easily the thing. Mix that confusion with anxiety in a styrofoam cup as you serve your buddy a nice tasty prank, and you will be enjoying yourself. Put under the windshield wiper with a apologetic, but amazingly vague, statement about hitting the person's car but having to plunge on account of your dog getting Crayola Crayon poisoning. As he falls back and forth searching for what occurred, with nothing actually wrong with the car, the individual will be running himself mad. Chances are, she or he will find some sort of scratch which was and blame it on the phantom law-breaker.

A Friend In Need Is a Friend to Prank

Well, we suppose this teaches him an important lesson. Get some new friends.

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Stopping Short

That is the reason why we insist on driving our pals take us . For a bonus scare, wait till listen to your passenger scream like a woman and you need to tap the brakes at a stop sign.

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Filling a Car with Shredded Paper, Ping Pong Balls or Packing Peanuts

This one is Possible in two situations the kid left his windows or you've got access to a secret to his vehicle. Depending on your degree of access, do you best to fill each and every inch of the car using either paper, ping pong balls, or packing peanuts. We are talking about inside the glove box, in the ash tray, even at the CD case (oh wait, those don't exist). Should you're Feeling sneaky, pop the back lift the spare tire compartment and fill that. Imagine their faces when they move to correct a months and find a lot of information that is crumpled up covering the tire. Each one presents Tiny its own problem , painful cuts the danger of developing a ping pong avalanche when you open your own door, in the paper, or even the hassel of the tiny styrofoam scraps from the peanuts. Any way you choose, it's likely to be a hassel.

Brampton Car Detailing

Is There Nothing Duct Tape Can Not Do?

This one is Good because it is so simple to build off of there is no reason a bunch of other objects could not be stuck to the duct tape and be pulled along with it.

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Squeal of Delight

Yeah, with Clients such as these, we would have a startle reflex that is good . We like how this one doesn't involve any cars really moving: just of frightening your friends the fun.

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Sticky Notes

The same Automobiles are applied to by philosophy: The glue will not do any harm. That is why addressing a vehicle in stickies is amazing. Make certain that you cover and don't skimp every inch of the automobile. If you feel like gettin' fancy, then switch it up with colours, patterns, or compose a message with the notes.

Ball Pit on Wheels

Sure, you Fill their car with weasels that are live, but filling it with plastic balls is likely to get you detained. It's also cheaper. This prank happens to be why we recommend you do not drive a car with a sunroof or tinted windows.

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The Tape That Binds

Although They don't reveal it the Mythbusters discover that, yes, duct tape will hold a car in place. In 20 mph.

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Paper or Plastic? Or Both?

Filling the Car with paper and Saran Wrapping it looks only a little cruel. Better to only Saran Wrap it. Or perhaps cover with newspaper instead.

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1 note · View note

ecotone99 · 5 years ago

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[FA] [UR] The Idol - Episode 1 of Eternal Payment Serial Season 2

pdf link at the bottom for whoever wants to download.

The tires screeched and slid violently around on the asphalt. I spun the steering wheel hard to the left to avoid a dumpster and make the turn down a side street. The last thing I needed to do was make a wrong turn and end up in a cul-de-sac or a dead-end or something. Getting cornered with a pack of pissed off warlocks on my tail would be bad news. “I hate this city,” I murmured to myself and stomped on my car’s gas pedal.

Technically it wasn’t my car. It was Jonathan’s black Impala, but he had been missing since we took down my witch of an aunt. I meant that literally. My aunt was a witch, not the devious and evil kind, but the blast you with spells kind. Actually, thinking about it, she was totally the devious and evil kind too. Either way, Jonathan was an angel, but him being probably the worst angel ever created, he spent more time in trouble up in the heavens than down here, so I stole his car.

I felt a little guilty about some of the extra dings and scratches that had appeared since he left, but I needed the wheels. Besides, that part of my guilty conscience was in the minor leagues compared to some of my other character flaws.

A big gray SUV made the corner I had just pulled away from. It didn’t have the turning radius the Impala had and had plowed into the dumpster sideways. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the whole passenger-side door dented and scratched up. “That’ll probably make them so much happier with me,” I mumbled again.

This dialogue wasn’t just because I was batshit crazy. I mean, I was crazy, being held hostage in Hell for a few months did that to a person, but I was used to having conversations with myself before that. I had a demon sharing my head with me. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Beth. They’re gaining on you. Let me out,” I said although the words came from my demon.

“Shut up,” I growled and spun the Impala to the right and down another side street to break my pursuer’s line of sight.

A second car packed full of angry warlocks waited for me on this street. Somehow they had managed to flank me. I briefly wondered how many red lights they had blown through to get far enough ahead of me to make the turns needed to face me down here. This one wasn’t an SUV. It was a BMW with a sunroof which it opened as the driver floored the car in my direction. The street wasn’t wide enough to go around them. They were trying to box me in.

Instead of playing chicken, I threw the manual transmission in reverse and pumped the clutch down and up as my other foot slammed down onto the gas. Pumping the clutch that fast should have killed the engine easily, but the reason I liked Jonathan’s Impala so much is that he had somehow managed to enchant the thing never to die, oh, and it only needed gas every six months or so. The angel was an idiot most of the time, which got him into some major league hot water, but occasionally he had a good idea.

The BMW kept coming at me, and a warlock popped his head up from the sunroof and started waving his hands in some mystical gestures that were sure to make me have a terrible day. Since I hadn’t made it very far down the street, I rolled down the passenger side window and ripped the wheel around to the right while still moving backward. The twist put me into a backslide to the left.

The SUV with the busted door appeared in my rearview mirror again, and it was getting way too close for comfort. The ninety-degree reverse turn put me going in the right direction on the previous street and lined up a shot through my lowered passenger window towards the oncoming BMW. I picked up my bright blue painted sub-compact pistol and fired three rounds at the BMW’s tires.

I slammed the Impala back into first and then just as quickly shifted up to second and third as I tore off. I didn’t stick around to see if I had hit my target on the BMW. I knew I did. Those bullets were super expensive because of the enchantments on them. They didn’t miss whatever target the shooter desired as long as there was even a slim possibility they could hit. They were my lucky rounds. I only had a few more, but they were worth the price. I always kept a magazine of them on hand for just this kind of situation. This kind of situation seemed to happen a lot more to me than I thought was fair.

“Well, you do put yourself into these predicaments — no one to blame but yourself. Let me out, and I’ll get you out of it,” my demon suggested.

“I thought I told you to shut your trap.”

The SUV was still on my back bumper. I had to do something about that, but I couldn’t risk knocking my ride out of the fight either. This pack of warlocks had more resources out there, and I couldn’t afford to get caught with my pants down in the Atlanta suburbs. The car was the best chance I had to get out of town undetected. That was the glory of the city; there were a whole bunch of small highways into and out of town. I just needed to get to the loop and out of these stupid suburbs.

The windows on the SUV lowered, and rifle barrels poked out. “Oh, shit.”

“I can’t let you die. I’m in here too, remember. Let me out. I’ll take these assholes,” the demon pleaded.

“Not a chance,” I replied and kicked the Impala into a series of swerves as the warlocks opened up with the rifles. I heard several dings of the jerks putting holes in my back bumper and trunk.

“But Beth,” it said, this time mentally since I was concentrating on driving too hard to speak.

I turned out onto a two-lane street with a grass median in the middle. I hopped the curb and went over the median. There were a few cars on the other side, and I knew if they kept their speed, I’d be fine, but the SUV would lose momentum going around them. The curb cut my speed, and the suspension groaned, but the plan worked. The SUV had to drive in the grassy middle for three seconds more before they found an opening and cut over to me. Those seconds gave me enough time to weave back into traffic going the wrong way.

Horns blared at me, and I saw a pair of police cars idling at a gas station. Both kicked their lights on and came to life as I passed. I knew this main road would take me straight to the highway, but I wouldn’t make it with both the police and the warlocks on my ass. I had to figure something else out.

I weaved around a sedan and flew through a red light going the wrong way. Luckily it wasn’t a super busy intersection, and I made it. However, the police noticed my pursuing SUV still had its rifle barrels pointed in my direction. The police shouted over their loudspeaker, ordering the SUV to pull over. Of course, the warlocks ignored it and kept firing at me.

I turned and cut across a gravel parking lot and hopped another curb. The SUV attempted to follow me, but one of the police cars decided they had enough of the gunfire and tapped the SUV’s rear right fender just as it hit the gravel. It spun out and caught an abnormally large rock which kicked up and put a hole in the police car’s windshield. I grimaced, hoping they were alright. The SUV couldn’t correct its spin in time and overcompensated. The momentum carried it up and over its side, and it slid on its driver’s side about fifty feet, digging a deep furrow into the parking lot. The second police car pulled up next to it, and I lost sight of them as I continued.

I heard the third vehicle before I saw it. That was because it was roaring like my demon trying to claw its way out. Flares of green light splattered on the street in front of my car. They immediately dug deep potholes as an acid ate away at the asphalt. The car then came out of a side street and pulled up beside me, matching my speed.

One of the warlocks leaned out the window. “Give us back the idol,” he screamed over the wind. I flipped him the bird and smiled. “Have it your way,” he said and fired one of the acidic green blobs at the Impala. I figured he would do something like that. People don’t tend to take kindly to rude gestures after you’ve stolen something from them. Besides, that idol was locked in the trunk. How did he figure I would give it back to him even if I wanted to. I definitely wasn’t going to pull over and hand it to them. The whole stupid group would probably chop me into pieces.

The acid blob sailed clear over the top of my hood as I slammed both of my feet on the brake pedal. I had made it to my getaway spot. Maybe that wasn’t the right word. It was more of a hideaway or a bolt hole. It was a small pocket dimension I had set up the day before, just in case I needed to keep a low profile on my way out of town. There was a tear, in reality, one block east of here. It was only detectable by practitioners, but even though they could sense it, they couldn’t open it without the pendant I had used to create it. In a way, it was locked. Lucky me, I had the foresight to put the entrance and exit in different locations, so even if they monitored this one, they wouldn’t see me come out. The exit was right next to an entrance ramp to the highway out of town.

I cranked the wheel around and fished the pendant out of the glove box. With a word and a slight push of power, I opened the dimension, and the Impala sailed inside. I stopped the car and closed the opening before the warlocks could follow me in. Using my power left me slightly nauseous. My demon tried to force itself out every single time my mental defenses weakened, and using my power to open and close the portal definitely weakened my defenses, at least momentarily.

My aunt, Katarina Glostiva, was a nasty piece of work. Although she wasn’t able to cause any more trouble now, I was still dealing with the fallout of her insanity and ambition. I would be dealing with it for the rest of my life. Auntie Kat, in all her infinite wisdom, decided to trap a demon, but she didn’t have any vessel handy to hold onto it. So she used me instead. When I figured out what was happening to me, naturally, I went ape shit. We had a huge argument where I demanded she banish the demon and that I never wanted it. I had asked auntie Kat for power like hers back when I was young enough and naive enough not to understand how that power came to be. She took that as consent even years later when I was in college.

Most people got pretty regular college experiences like hating boring classes, going to a couple of parties, and getting way too trashed on some disgusting punch. I didn’t have anything like that kind of luck. My best friend, Violet, tried to get me to open up and share some of the baggage I had carried around, but when I told her, she couldn’t relate. Auntie Kat wasn’t someone an average person could comprehend. Don’t get me wrong, Violet had thought I was crazy for a good while there, but after I showed her some of the cool magic I could do, her demeanor changed.

College had started to work out my sophomore year. I did the whole party thing that my classmates had gotten out of their system the year before, and Violet had decided on a journalism major. She had been spurred on by her eagerness to learn all about the magical underbelly of society. Just as I was getting into the swing of things for the first time in my life- and right when I had my back turned- Katarina enspelled my mind and scrambled my brain before dumping me in prison in Hell. She had wanted the demon to finish me off, and then it could have complete control of my body. Her plans changed with the shifting winds, and when she saw an opportunity, she sent Jonathan to break me out and tried to repair our relationship so she could continue to manipulate me. It didn’t take, but now I was picking up the pieces.

I got my defenses back under control just in time as my phone rang. I wasn’t on the material plane. That meant if my phone were ringing, it would have to have been someone calling who could send me a message even here. That could only be a few people. “Beth Rastin, speaking,” I said as I picked up the line.

“Beth,” the voice said, smooth as silk on the other end of the line. “I assume you have the idol?”

“Yeah. I just picked it up. Where would you like me to deliver it?” I asked. The person on the other side was not one to keep waiting, and the sooner I got rid of the thing, the better off I’d feel. There was sickening dark magic emanating from it so strong I could feel it from the front seat. The warlocks used it to conduct their more advanced magics. It was the kind of rituals that a person couldn’t manage by themselves. Somehow over a few decades, the idol had become stained with the residual magic from uncountable spells.

“It is a dark artifact. I will secure it once it is cleansed. I’ll text you the address,” Patterson said.

“How big of a deal is this idol anyway?” I asked.

“It’s not that important. It was more useful because it scrambled the warlock’s bigger workings. It should slow them down enough for us to get a squad over there to lock down any nefarious plans they’ve got,” the angel replied.

“You’re angels. Why can’t you go immediately?”

Patterson scoffed on the other end of the line. “We’ve got a million cases piling up that outclass this one. It would have been a bigger problem if the warlocks kept the idol, but now we can afford to let it ride a little longer while the teams take care of the more dangerous and pressing matters.”

“I bet you and Jonathan could have taken care of it,” I said. I knew it was mean, but I was tired, and my demon loved it when I was exhausted. It got to force a little of its vileness through the cracks in my defenses.

“I’m stuck working the phones and riding the desk, and you know it, Beth,” Patterson said. I had hoped she would slip up and mention something useful after the jab, but she was careful as always.

“Are you bringing a kit, or do you want me to pick one up?” I asked. Patterson was Jonathan’s old partner, and even though I could tell she knew exactly what was going on with him up in heaven, she refused to tell me anything. That had put a severe strain on our relationship. She didn’t think I should be privy to Angelic business, especially since I had a demon straining against me. Although I knew she had a point, I also didn’t think it was fair for her to keep me in the dark. I wanted to know what was going on with Jonathan because if the Angel Corps sided against him, they were probably going to come after me too. I would like some warning if that were to happen, and Patterson was holding out on me. She told me her bosses tied her hands about it, but ever since that conversation, our friendship was in murky waters.

Don’t get me wrong, Jonathan was a friend, but he was also an angel. He’d be fine. I had to look after myself because I was much less immortal than he was. I didn’t get extra chances and new bodies every time a monster blew me to bits. The beast just blew me to bits. It occurred to me that Patterson shouldn’t even be letting me help in the small ways I had been, but it helped ease my guilty conscience about a large number of the side effects of my aunt’s dark plans. The thought that she was even doing that much for me- while stonewalling me about anything else- frustrated me even more. Minor retrievals be dammed. It would take me a long time to tip the scales back in my favor doing small-time stuff like that. I couldn’t risk doing anything major league, or my demon might break free and make an appearance. That would undo everything I’d been working towards and then some.

“I’ll bring the kit,” Patterson replied and hung up on me.

I stared down at my phone for a second after she was gone. “What a bitch,” my demon said, and I couldn’t help but agree. The phone dinged again as a text came in. It looked like I had quite the drive ahead; I was off to New Orleans.

Hope you enjoyed the first episode from this serial I'm starting. Please let me know what you thought in the comments. It really helps drive the story.

https://gallery.mailchimp.com/9bc87e210399bcf2fd71d1dab/files/9b1e0def-e74a-4467-a196-08d54d874954/EP2_CH1_Preview.pdf

submitted by /u/RallisFex [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2NJkug2

#Blogger #Story

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locochronic-blog · 6 years ago

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Cue the helicopters.

Federal agents soar high above California’s northern coast like eagles with a bird’s eye view of this multi-billion dollar black market marijuana industry. They see a symmetrically beautiful Yin Yang of rough blue sea and rolling green hills. Rhythmic waves crash like percussions on the shore ‘n rugged, mountainous terrains mimic the ups and downs of hill life for weed growers and trimmers, locals and transplants alike.

The task force chopper in the air slightly descends, losing sight of its moving target as a line of cars disappears under a Redwood forest canopy that is too dense.

Launch the drones.

Agents rely on monitoring live stream footage from their remote controlled drones as the little fed cameras swoop closer to the ground, able to finagle through trees with ease. Able to stalk this criminal brigade mobbin through the woods.

Humboldt, Mendocino and Trinity Counties are collectively known as the Emerald Triangle for ranking highest in Cannabis production throughout the United States for all of time… Don’t quote nothin tho. These counties have been putting in work since before getting high was this cool… and with all the recent advancements of this underground industry, getting high has never felt so sensational.

This that LoCo Chronic, sucka.

Majestic rays of love and light filter through giant, ancient trees as the dusty mountain road begins to narrow on a summer’s eve. From the sun, rays of light travel a hundred million miles in under ten minutes and still must reposition around these mystical Redwood beings.

Beings wider than the SUVs that maneuver amongst them through roads ’n coves.

Fallen beings crafted into big castles.

It’s the green Wild West, baby.

Primitive ferns carpet the forest floor and rattle as the ground rumbles out of nowhere. Ballerinas of Godly mist percolate above vines and mossy rocks, dancing with mountain lions, bobcats, bald eagles and bears. One might imagine Louis Armstrong’s “What A Wonderful World” playing merrily in the background.

Shit ain’t sweet out here tho, so Tupac’s “High Til I Die” gets progressively louder with its deep bass and quick pace. People are really out here mobbin in the middle of nowhere.

“Smokin chronic muthafuckas, causing ruckus”, Tupac’s distinctly sexy voice stabs at the tranquility of surrounding nature. “It’s the last of the drank pull over, can’t hear a damn thing sober. High til I die, loced til they smoke me, the shit don’t stop til my casket drop… I’m high til I die…”

Oversized wheels race by, one set of beefy black rims after the other as five or six off-road capable trucks and SUVs cruise swiftly through the woods. The racket approaches Wyatt and Chaska's ranch rapidly, reverberating sounds of music throughout the hills, causing critters to scatter at once, with chills.

Rabbits and deer steer clear.

For growers and trapstars, summer in Humboldt is when all goes well, or, well, you’re fucked. And the drought ain’t over. Won’t be anytime soon. All this heat and wildfire smoke is a bitch, it’s making some hill workers go crazy.

“I know the feds watchin!” Chaska shouts above the music playing in the car, “Why else they circlin round here on a Sunday? Can't be no dang electric company!”

Chaska is co-owner of the grow-op and acts as both the armed guard and the DJ in the passenger seat. His buzz cut glistens with sweat on this hot August day and he wears a couple gold chains that contradict his country boy demeanor yet reinstate his unpredictable priorities. He also wears his machine gun like a seatbelt.

A gorgeous, soft spoken Alicia Keys look-a-like named Aura drives with one hand, adjusting the rearview mirror with the other to be sure of what she sees.

“We’ve got visitors!” Aura warns.

She feels alert and refreshed, refusing to put the A/C on anything other than high while she is behind the wheel. Curls poppin, dancing with the air that blows in their direction. Her beaded charm bracelets jingle over bumps and potholes as she transports a load of workers to the farm. Her favorite and most unique charm on her wrist was decorated by her son Carmelo after his last day of Kindergarten a couple months ago. He painted a beautiful rendition of her head and hair’s silhouette onto a plain wooden coin and she looks even more like a Goddess through the eyes of her child.

Aura is a mother, a college student and a bartender who hosts karaoke every Thursday night. With a demeanor so sweet, nobody would believe the lifestyle she truly lives… Not that she talks much about herself to strangers anyways.

Aura and Chaska teamed up to drive and guard the last car in the criminal convoy today. The goal of this backup squad is to deter cops and crooks, by any means necessary, from following the rest of the gangsta fleet of guards and workers up to Chaska and his brother Wyatt’s weed farm.

Rose turns around from the middle row of the overly lifted SUV and peaks through the tinted back window. She finds herself at eye level with a couple steadily approaching drones and instantly snaps around to face front, paranoid about having her face on camera. She pulls her long, wavy hair into a sloppy bun and throws on a black hoodie to cover the distinct tattoos painted preciously on her arms.

The drones stream footage up to agents in the helicopter, revealing a line of pimped out trucks and SUVs all painted forest matte green so deep they look black at night. Each whip is equipped with massive all-terrain tires, heavily tinted windows, spotlights ’n grille guards.

Incidentally, all the doors and windows of this brigade are also bulletproof. Some markings decorate the exterior of a couple cars like souvenirs from upset shooters whose bullets never made it to the person riding shotgun.

Ironic.

Drivers, armed guards and over a dozen blindfolded passengers bump up the mountain on the hottest day in years. A sunny Humboldt summer that’s hot with the cops, too.

“Yeeee”, Chaska haws as he pops a magazine into his modified gun and loads the chamber, “I’m sher glad I done chose to git in your vehicle today, Miss Aura. Now open that sunroof for me, if you be so kind”.

Aura is Chaska’s sister-in-law, though she and his brother Wyatt split up a year ago. Wyatt waits at the ranch for the convoy of cars to pull up, caring for Carmelo along with other little kids and making lunch for the guards who stayed with them for the day.

Chaska and Wyatt look similar but act totally different. They are muscular and healthy, half Portuguese half Native American with a natural tan to their skin year round. They could pass as twins despite their different personalities and hairstyles. Wyatt is younger yet wiser and he flaunts his Native roots with long, silky black hair he keeps tied back while working. Chaska is a couple years older and keeps his hair short as if he’s about to deploy with the militia.

Chaska acts so savage and redneck it’s comical, considering his familial upbringing surrounded by countless tribal elders guiding him in the right direction. Soon as him and Wyatt’s folks died Chaska quit attending ceremonies, quit showing respect to food he hunts and quit following advice from his tribe. As much as Wyatt becomes enlightened, Chaska becomes equally as dark and twisted. Instead of going to group gatherings, dances and prayers, a young Chaska would disappear for days at a time to camp in the woods. He can drive every single back road that stretches north, south, east and west in the Emerald Triangle blindfolded. He can survive for months alone in the wilderness.

And he can kill anything that moves without feeling a drop of remorse.

Aura presses a button on the dash and the sunroof slides back like a door to an action packed movie. Chaska takes off his shirt, ties it around his face and throws on a baseball cap leaving only a slither of his eyes as evidence in a potential case. In one fluid, almost rehearsed movement he places a hand on the roof of the car and thrusts himself upwards til he is standing on the passenger seat with his gun toting in the breeze. He switches the safety off and steadies his aim amidst such dusty, rugged curves in the road.

Agents in the air monitor the cameras that lag only a second or two behind real time. They see a masked figure pop up out of nowhere and call through their radios that there is what appears to be an M4 aimed directly at their pricey cop toys. Orders from base are given to hold the drones back a few yards and begin swerving them from left to right on this winding mountain cut through.

Turn those fuckers off.

Distance and swerves are no match for Chaska’s tactical moves as he holds down the trigger and sprays in one sweeping motion. With a shot to the brain of each robot, footage is immediately ceased, leaving nothing but fuzzy gray connections up on the helicopters split screen.

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countingdesaparecidos · 7 years ago

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Scene 1

[rough, first iteration... not a complete work...]

4 JULY :: 2130

At six-foot-seven, the broad-shouldered Mestizo instinctively ducked to clear the garage doorframe. On the other side, boxing gloves thudded against swaying heavy bags; competitors threw each other onto worn padded mats using well-practiced techniques. The mats' resounding smack preceded transitions through grappling and wrestling drills, scrambling for top position, chokes and joint locks.

"Sinclaire." Arms heavily tattooed with Native tribal designs spread wide to greet the visitor whose black leather jacket hid similar body art. "Where you been, brother? Word is a couple of detectives ID'd you on a test drive before experts at Chuy's Speed Shop could clean up your new ride."

Surrounded by walls of posters and plaques, the two exchanged an Area-323 racers' handshake. Every horizontal surface of the room was strewn with spare parts, tools and vintage auto memorabilia. "You heard right, Chuy. A certain charitable organization posted my bail. Unless I win tonight, they'll pledge one of my kidneys to an impatient rich kid in North Korea. I don't even get to choose which one."

"The kid or the kidney?" "Neither."

They laughed and stepped back into boxing stance. "Lo siento pero we all got bills to pay, homie. Nothing free in this world."

Chuy threw a light body shot to the mid-lower back, blocked by Sinclaire's elbow in a crouching sidestep followed by quick left jabs. At six-foot one, Sinclaire was smaller, but also more agile; the two evenly matched skill for skill in a round of spontaneous sparring.

---

Sinclaire turned and jogged across the garage, weaving between biodiesel injection tanks stood along the floor and partially disassembled engines slung from chains attached to the ceiling. Chuy followed the improvised path to a hydraulic lift at the garage's far side, lit by overhead LED lamps and covered in a beige drop cloth.

The lift descended to floor-level; headlights beamed forward as Sinclaire pulled the drop cloth with a toreador's flourish. The vehicle rose four inches from the floor, hovering with a quiet hum of electromagnetic superconduction.

"Karma HOV6. Electrodynamic suspension, Hayabusa electric-linear quad motors, Versa integrated lift system." Chuy squatted to assess the electromagnets' balance on the car's four corners. "Trying to be the black James Dean tonight?"

Sinclaire daubed grease-stained hands with the clean spot on a rag streaked by motor oil and engine assembly grease. "Best I could find on such short notice, Chu. As long as it makes my daily bread tonight... and Dean got t-boned by a station wagon on the freeway. Not in a street race."

---

High-heeled lace-up boots stepped gingerly down from the hovercar, accompanied by neo-perreo basslines that ceased with a cellphone screen-tap. "Suprise! Hola, Chucho!"

Chuy stood. "Que onda, Leni?" "Asi asi, como siempre." The heels clicked in dance-walk rhythm and the two embraced. "Isn't this a beautiful ride? I helped Mark boost it. Love these colors..."

Valentina ran fingertips along the freshly washed and waxed hood. Silver nanoparticles evinced a fish-scale shimmer as swirling pools of blue, gold and purple responded to the overhead light; in deepest shadow, the painted surface seemed to disappear.

Sinclaire headed to the workstation console a few metres away. "Valentina's a natural. Nobody can resist her." "I'm the best diversion ever made. You're luckier than you know, baby." Valentina joined Sinclaire to retrieve a telematics dongle from the workstation desktop as Chuy moved to the driver's side of the car, sliding in behind the wheel.

"The takeover's in an hour. You need more than a pretty paint job if you want to win tonight." Chuy plugged the dongle into the car's OBD-VII dataport below the steering wheel.

On the workstation's screen, an AltSocial private social media page contained only one post created earlier in the day: "@Yungsta213: Meet on Tuesday night. PM for location." The inbox showed sixty-three unread private messages. Sinclaire clicked a black-cat silhouette taskbar icon to raise the Freematics Hub server software window, then entered the car's newly updated password. They switched places, Sinclaire behind the wheel and Chuy standing at the workstation.

---

Chuy read the telematics configuration data onscreen. "Induction response on the rear left generator is a few milliseconds off. No surprise the HOV6 is hard to steer at high speeds."

Sinclaire resumed diagnostic checks and calibrations using a laptop connected directly to electric steering, battery array and power output management interfaces. "I've been thinking, Chu: our first-generation HVs drove through Pyongyang to circumvent landmines. You have any idea how hovercars became a thing for civilians with the stability profile of a helicopter in a typhoon?"

"Same reason people used to eat pig flesh and chopped-up cow, but acted like dog meat was some kind of barbarism: marketing."

Early fireworks went off outisde, not far from the garage. "Like Americans on July fourth, blowing up explosives as if world war is a soldier's holiday. Propaganda."

An M-80 explosion rattled the windows in the garage's upper floor; Chuy opened a phone app to check the surveillance cameras.

"Better to hear engines all night than see memories of squadmates on foot patrol split in half by IEDs, dead or dying one by one from enemy sniper fire..." Eyes closed, Sinclaire listened to the report of fireworks popping, crackling and booming.

Valentina kissed Sinclaire on the cheek. "Come back..."

Sinclaire's eyes opened, looking straight at the screen, checking the rear airbrakes on the HOV6.

Valentina stood from the car, walked over and sat on an old leather couch nearby, rearranging the phone's playlist. Soon the thumping basslines of neo-perreo became the background atmosphere, partially obscuring the sound of the fireworks.

---

Chuy frowned at the telematics simulation. "Slick ground at the takeover spot tonight. Oil and rain in the conduction grooves could give some loose brake readings, especially in a HOV6."

Sinclaire flipped the Maglev|Air switch. The electromagnetic hum became a whoosh of ten high-RPM electric propellers engaged along the car's undercarriage. Billows of dust and metal shavings swept into the air as the HOV6 wobbled slightly, re-centering its gravitational balance. Dashboard gauges oscillated wildly, then settled into neutral. "Manual stabilization. Vector, acceleration, altitude. Nothing I can't handle."

The switch flipped to "Off" and all fans went silent. The car snapped back to magnetic equilibrium in alignment with the etched ferroconcrete below. Fish-scale nanopaint glimmered an oceanic tide along the car's carbon-fibre panels amidst the workshop's dusty grit.

---

Chuy's voice echoed over the music. "You're ex-mil, though. Mechanical skills, too. Why not use the G.I. bill and go live the straight life -- engineering, university degrees and all that?"

"G.I. bill? I'll be lucky if I don't get merc'ed out here, Chuy. Army brass and I didn't exactly part on speaking terms." Valentina sat on the passenger's side, playing with a pair of pink fuzzy dice dangling from the rearview camera screen as Sinclair revved the engine. "Guys from my unit opened domestic security and enforcement firms, operations you don't hear about on the news; same homicidal maniacs running renditions and black ops across Africa and Southeast Asia. Nowadays there's just as much profit at home as overseas. Even Commerce City SWAT team is privatised."

Valentina gently squeezed pressure-sensitive hair filaments between thumb and forefinger, cosmetic gene modulation gradually changing diffraction gratings at the root of every strand. Decora fingernails raked through thick curly hair, hues spiraling from black to fire-engine red and settling on hot pink that matched the dice. The update was complete with a tousle of eye-level bangs under critical appraisal befitting a professional hairdresser. "Chuy, I've been telling Mark we should escape to Canada, but he won't listen. One of my girlfriends does passports, papers and everything."

Sinclaire involuntarily glanced up to the garage's windows a split-second after blinding flashes of light erupted into phoshporous-white sprinkles that drizzled down to Earth. "Try to cross the border with the wrong name, sexuality, gender or political orientation and get shipped out to indefinite detention in a corporate-run lockup."

Chuy nodded. "No due process. Desaparecido."

---

"Diablo... here we go again..." Valentina pressed the Sunroof button on the car's centre console and the fibreglass ceiling panel began to retract.

Chuy glanced at the security camera feeds on the cellphone app. "Those chinga puta madre ICE agents got half our families deported, remember, Leni? Now it's not just Chicanos -- Jewish, Polish, gays, refugees -- even Irish and Italian immigrants fresh off the boat."

Valentina unlaced and kicked off the high heels, then stood on the passenger's seat, popping up through the open sunroof. "Dear pastor Chuy." Valentina counted on the fingers of one hand. "Mark is half-Sicilian, my grandfather is German, and I'm darker than both of you. My stepdad was Muslim, and so am I." Valentina fanned out the five fingers toward Chuy. "Is that not political enough for you? Is the target on our backs not big enough? So can we skip the sermon for once?"

Chuy’s fury quickly deflated to voluble grumbling. "Guess who gets stopped four times more than any 'pure' white boy in Southern California...."

Sinclaire leaned out of the open driver-side door. "Hate to break it to you, but -- we steal cars for a living, Chu. You run a speed shop and unlicensed fight club for street kids like us. But there is a slim chance if you change the name to Latter-Day Church of Saint Chucho Santana, you might get a decent tax deduction. You should think about it."

Sinclaire and Valentina laughed; Chuy couldn't help but crack a smile. "Chingada," Chuy groused, immersed in the telematics readings while stretching out a stiff right shoulder. "Nice hair, Leni."

Valentina grinned. "Si, claro. It's good luck for tonight. Now we can't lose!"

---

4 JULY :: 2145

Valentina's idle hands traced a faint scar at the side of Sinclaire's closely shaved head. "Laying low is my only option, Val, at least for the next few years. This place is a prison without walls. Some people just choose not to face it." Sinclaire set the laptop to Sleep mode and closed the lid.

Valentina slipped arm-in-arm, cheek pressed against Sinclaire's shoulder. "So if you're wanted by mercs, known to ICE agents, and the outlaw scene is all you've got, you must really be as bad as they say, huh, baby? Guilty until proven innocent..."

Valentina stroked Sinclaire's chest, outlining three dog tags strung along a necklace of miniature ballbearings resting beneath a tight black t-shirt.

"Watch out, chica." Sinclaire growled, nose buried into the side of Valentina's neck, teeth gnashing and taking a playful nip of the soft perfumed skin. Pretending to scream, Valentina melted into giggles. "Maybe one day I'll tell you the whole story. Tonight is about winning this race."

Valentina's eyes shut tight as Sinclaire revved the engine near maximum, testing the power output. "I can feel it..." Valentina wirelessly re-coupled the phone to the car sound system, turning up the music to party volume while Chuy and Sinclaire completed last-minute adjustments on the HOV6.

The rolling thunder and lightning of Fourth of July fireworks sparkled and boomed outside.

#science fiction #sci-fi #scifi #wwIII #post-apocalypse #post-apocalyptic #cyberpunk

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robertkstone · 7 years ago

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2018 Honda Accord 1.5T vs. 2018 Toyota Camry 2.5 Comparison

All you hear these days is the same mantra: Crossovers are hot; sedans are dead. Every month, sedan sales are down while crossover and SUV sales are up.

And although there has indeed been a marked shift in the transportation preferences of the American nuclear family, reports on the death of the sedan have been greatly exaggerated. Last year, more than 2 million midsize four-doors crossed the threshold of dealer showrooms with happy owners at the wheel. The Camry was Toyota’s best-selling vehicle last year, and the Accord was part of Honda’s trio of vehicles (along with the Civic and CR-V) that each sell around 350,000 units annually.

For the 2018 model year, both sedans received complete ground-up redesigns, which means it’s time to put on our consumer-advice pants. Sure, we’re going to evaluate performance and handling of these new-gen sedans, but we’re also going to drill down to determine which is the smarter purchase for the pragmatic car buyer who puts commuting comfort and smart features high on their priority list.

As associate online editor Collin Woodard and I approach the vehicles, we find each is making a distinctive design statement—as if to show the dowdy family sedan can still be relevant and hip. The Camry presents itself as an evolution, its grille wider and Toyota badge thrust forward in a pouting prow. It’s a bold look but obviously recognizable as a Camry. The Accord’s brash, massive belt-buckle Honda badge leaves no question of its provenance. Neither nose strikes us as conventionally pretty.

As for the side and rear sheetmetal, the Accord extends a fastback roofline to the Camry’s more traditional three-box sedan shape. At the rear, the Accord’s bulging taillamps unfortunately evoke a goiter, and there’s a lot of busy design in the Camry’s C-pillar as it extends into the tail.

Upon entering each car, we notice the Camry’s doors (on all trims) close with a hollow, tinny whumma not unlike a wobbly metal shed. The Accord’s close with the sturdy, reassuring thud of a luxury car. This as a shopper’s first tactile impression of the Camry will not help the Toyota salesforce.

Inside, the Camry design raises questions with the -dimensional look of its simulated wood trim. The optional metal-looking trim is pleasing. Some other materials are far better quality than the previous generation, but that quality is not universal. The black plastic around the cupholders looks and feels cheap, as do the lower door panels. On the other hand, we appreciate the real contrast stitching on both the dashboard and seats.

The Accord has moved past interesting and gone directly to sophisticated. It’s as if they took notes at an Audi design seminar. Honda’s simulated open-pore wood trim and brushed-metal accents seem borrowed from a higher class of car. The temperature controls use knobs backlit white until you turn them, at which point they turn blue or red, depending on the cold or hot direction of the dial. With the exception of trim pieces just below the door handles, the interior materials look and feel more premium than the Camry’s and indeed more premium than we’d expect from a midsize family sedan. It’s an impressive step for Honda.

Settling in, the Camry XLE’s seats are leather, but they’re flat and offer little support beyond the adjustable lumbar. The seat-bottom cushion is also shorter than we’d like in terms of thigh support. The Accord has cloth seats for its midgrade version, and we’d need to upgrade to the more expensive EX-L trim to get leather. Still, the Accord seats are more comfortable and offer more lateral support, particularly when cornering. Both the Accord and Camry lowered the seating position from their previous generations, which makes for a racier feel but might prove a chore for older drivers when getting out of the cars.

As for features, each walks tall with a reasonably large infotainment screen featuring a mix of touch controls and physical buttons. The Accord’s floats atop of the dash; the Camry’s is integrated into the center stack.

Visually, the Camry’s infotainment system feels more integrated into the interior design. But functionally, the Accord’s is far more intuitive. The Camry’s control layout, both physical and digital, is confusing. A prime example: Pairing a phone to the Accord is not only a quicker, more intuitive process, but the display itself also sports a design like a smartphone and has crisper graphics. Only the Accord offers Apple CarPlay and Android Auto. Because Toyota is in an intellectual property snit with the software giants, Toyota instead offers a downloadable suite of apps developed in-house—one of which is the Scout GPS Link App, which runs on your phone and projects on the infotainment screen. Both cars offer Wi-Fi hot spots on higher trims. For audiophiles, the Accord also has a richer-sounding stereo system across all trims.

Swinging our eyes left, we find both cars have integrated full-color digital screens into their instrument clusters, but the Honda’s is considerably larger, covering half the cluster and offering far more functions. Both are controlled by steering wheel buttons and are similarly easy to navigate. We find the Accord’s more intuitive, though. The Camry XLE features a full-color head-up display, but the Accord reserves that feature for its highest Touring trim level. Conversely, cheaper Camry trim levels get an instrument cluster with a full-color digital display half the size of the XLE’s.

As for driver aids to help avoid accidents, Toyota Safety Sense and Honda Sensing are standard on all models and offer similar features, including lane departure warning, lane keeping, forward collision warning, automatic emergency braking, and adaptive cruise control. Honda’s system, however, is considerably more sophisticated than Toyota’s, particularly in lane keeping. Toyota’s system will make just enough of a steering correction to keep you from leaving your lane, at least on the first occasion. Honda’s system helps steer the car into corners and centers the car in its lane to some degree on straight roads. We also found Honda’s system to be more consistent in recognizing the lane lines. Both cars also provide blind-spot monitoring, rearview cameras, and optional parking sensors. The Camry, though, offers a 360-degree camera that no Accord does.

Both cars offer a single USB port and 12-volt power point in front of the gearshift knobs, then more plug-ins in the center console cubby. Toyota also provides a standard wireless phone charger, but Honda’s is available on higher trims only. Both offer heated seats, though top-trim Touring Accords also offer ventilated seats, which the Camry does not. The Camry features two fast-charging USB ports but only on higher trim levels. Lower trims get only the one port up front for the entire car. Above, Camry offers a panoramic sunroof to the Accord’s standard sunroof. When it’s time to gas up, the Accord comes equipped with a capless fuel filler, which the Camry lacks.

Have friends or family who need to climb in the rear seats? Both cars are commodious, but the Accord is roomy like a parlor, particularly in kneeroom and headroom. If you tick the box for the aforementioned huge sunroof on the Camry, those in back suffer greatly reduced headroom.

Additionally, every Accord trim level offers rear air vents, which are only available on higher Camry models. Neither car offers USB ports or 12-volt power points in the rear seat, though top-of-the-line Accords come with rear seat heaters.

Now for the kids. Should the time arise to install car seats, we found the two sedans comparable, with the Accord gaining a slight advantage. Rear doors on both cars swing wide and have large openings to wrangle a car seat. With its additional rear legroom, the Accord allows more space for a bulky rear-facing car seat without compromising front-seat legroom. The Accord hides its LATCH anchors behind a cloth or leather flap sewn in at the bottom and tucked in at the top. The Camry conceals its anchors behind plastic covers, which pop off and risk being lost forever. However, the Camry’s anchors are much easier to find and attach a seat to—you have to feel around a bit between the cushions to find the black-painted Honda anchors. Both cars place the anchor for the top tether surprisingly far back behind the headrests. The Honda’s is slightly easier to reach. The Camry has thicker C-pillars and headrests to reach around. You can also easily see the Honda anchor through the rear window while reaching for it. The Camry’s wider pillars get in the way unless you strain.

Had we needed to haul long, narrow cargo instead of passengers, the Accord’s pass-through in the folding rear seatbacks is noticeably larger. For large items, both cars require you to release the rear seats with handles in the trunk and then walk around the sides of the car to manually fold down the seat backs. Both appear to offer similarly sized trunk openings, and neither offers underfloor storage space. The Accord has a slightly deeper and more spacious trunk to the tune of 1 or 2 cubic feet, and the Camry features struts that fully open the trunklid rather than springs that pop the Accord’s up 6 inches.

Driving dynamics typically are far down the priority list for family sedan drivers. But no one wants a boring car, either.

Starting the engines, we find the Camry’s 2.5-liter four-cylinder both louder and coarser than the Accord’s 1.5-liter turbo-four. The Camry suffers a small vibration at idle. The Accord endures a considerably smaller and less noticeable vibration.

Pulling out of the parking lot, the Camry’s throttle is more responsive—a short first gear lets you jump off the line. However, maintaining the same throttle position does not maintain the same rate of acceleration unless you have the gas pedal floored—the following gears aren’t as aggressive.

Off and running, the Camry’s engine is more powerful than you’d expect and revs eagerly. Its new eight-speed automatic upshifts smoothly and seamlessly. Downshifting, however, is not quite as smooth and the transmission is occasionally uncertain about which gear it wants for a passing maneuver. “Sport” mode makes no perceptible difference in throttle response or shift strategy.

The Accord’s CVT remains the best in the business, though in this application it’s a bit too relaxed. From a stop, you need to give it more throttle than you’d expect in order to get an enthusiastic response. Once you adapt, it accelerates more linearly than the Camry, keeping the smaller, slightly less powerful engine right in the deepest well of its torque. With no gears to change and quick responses, the CVT drives a bit smoother than the automatic—and it lacks the drone that plagues other CVTs.

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privateplates4u · 7 years ago

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Range Rover Velar SUV

For: Hugely desirable, great to drive, beautiful interiorOur Rating: 4 Against: Rear-seat practicality not as good as some rivals, expensive to buy, no Apple CarPlay or Android Auto 2017 The Range Rover Velar is Land Rover’s most desirable product yet. Rivals are arguably better value, but the Velar has more style dynamism The Range Rover Velar is the SUV of the moment. Its slippery shape and stunning interior make it ultra desirable, but it’s the first Range Rover to heavily prioritise form over than function. There’s a good selection of engines but be aware of tight rear seat passenger space and high list prices. The Velar may well start at just under £45,000 but you’ll be spending a lot more than that for a Velar with all the kit you’d want. That said, who said style and fashion come cheap? 14 Aug, 2017 4.2 One of the highlights of the Range Rover Velar is its interior. It showcases the next wave of Range Rover interiors with its three-screen set-up and minimalist interior design. Ever since the launch of the fourth-generation Range Rover in 2012, all subsequent models have had beautifully made and tastefully designed interiors, but the Velar moves things on a notch with a level of technology and tactility we’ve not seen on a Land Rover before. It’s not just the interior that shows the future either. While the sloping roofline will be very much a Velar ‘thing’ in the range, you can expect the sleeker headlamps, restyled grille and pop-out door handles to make their appearances on other forthcoming Range Rovers like the next Evoque due in 2018. Sat-nav, stereo and infotainment One of the most striking features of the Range Rover Velar is its interior. Not only is it minimalist and elegantly designed but there’s a focus on technology that we haven’t seen before from Land Rover. All but the entry-level ‘S’ get three screens as standard – there’s a 12.3-inch display ahead of the driver just like you’ll find on the Range Rover, and Land Rover’s new Touch Pro Duo System which consists of a 10-inch touchscreen in the middle of the dash. When you get in and touch the starter button, the screen tilts forwards as much 30 degrees and it looks very smart as it does its business. Below it is a 10-inch display where the buttons would normally be on the facia. Image 3 of 28 Image 3 of 28 Apart from two rotary controls, there no physical buttons for the screens – but by using these circular switches you can flick through the different menus. These buttons allow you to choose which mode you’d like for the Terrain Response system, as well as letting you adjust the temperature for the air-con. It all looks smart and ultra modern but, with the lower screen in particular, it does involve you taking your eyes off the road to prod the display. German rivals offer more intuitive systems, and while Jaguar Land Rover’s InControl Touch Duo system looks and works well enough, there’s no Apple CarPlay or Android Auto which is a glaring omission when virtually every one of the Velar’s rivals offers this type of convenience. 4 The Velar is positioned as the most dynamic Range Rover in the range. It uses the mostly aluminium platform from the Jaguar F-Pace and shares a large amount of componentry with that very car. While the ride on standard steel springs is harsher than on any other Range Rover, the Velar still feels more comfortable and refined than the F-Pace. This only improves with the more expensive V6 models, as they come with air suspension as standard. Velars fitted with air suspension ride very well indeed and don’t feel remotely bouncy. Nor do they lend the car to excessive body roll, with plenty of control through tight bends. Image 12 of 28 Image 12 of 28 The ride is made even more comfortable with small wheels, as the biggest 21 or 22-inch rims can send small shockwaves into the cabin. However, the Velar looks best on large wheels so most people will put up with a small amount of discomfort in order to look good on the road. You’d be hard pushed to tell the Velar is related to the Jaguar F-Pace because Land Rover has succeeded in making the Velar feeling very ‘Range Roverish’ to drive. The steering is meaty but languid and the Velar’s natural character is to waft rather than thrill – this is despite it being supposedly the most dynamic Range Rover model ever. The feeling is helped by the standard eight-speed ZF automatic gearbox which, depending on which engine you go for, can feel super sharp or a little lost when it comes to choosing the right gear. Engines The Velar is available with Jaguar Land Rover’s latest 2.0-litre petrol and diesels built at its new Wolverhampton factory in the West Midlands. We’ve yet to try a Velar powered by a 2.0-litre engine in either petrol or diesel guise, but experience with other large JLR SUVs like the Discovery would suggest they are a decent fit. Most buyers will be persuaded to go for the V6 engines. Though older they still offer desirable amounts of power and torque – the 296bhp 3.0-litre turbocharged diesel is a highlight. Though slightly costly to run, it nicely matches the Velar’s part-luxury, part-sporty nature, and is quiet and smooth on the move. Image 26 of 28 Image 26 of 28 Many potential buyers will take one look at the 375bhp 3.0-litre supercharged petrol’s running costs and be put off immediately, however we suspect a few buyers will still plump for it, as it allows the Velar to easily rival cars like the Porsche Macan GTS. It’s the same engine used in the Jaguar F-Type and offers similar levels of aural delight – even if the Velar is naturally slightly quieter thanks to its larger body, better sound insulation and more hushed exhaust system. It’s a seriously quick car, though, and can haul the two-tonne Velar along at a decent pace. 4.1 The Range Rover Velar is so new that we’ll need to wait a little longer before forming any real verdicts on reliability. However, it uses plenty of tried and tested parts from cars like the Discovery and Range Rover Sport, so any potentially serious issues should have been ironed out by now. That said, the brand didn’t fare too well in our most recent Driver Power survey, placing just four spots off the bottom (24th overall) - only MG, Citroen and Dacia came off worse. Owners cited poor reliability as the main issue, while connectivity (the Velar doesn’t get Apple CarPlay or Android Auto yet), infotainment and electrics are among other problem areas. Image 9 of 28 Image 9 of 28 Safety should be pretty good, though. The Velar hasn’t been crash tested by Euro NCAP, but the latest Land Rover Discovery gained a full five-star rating with a 90 per cent score for adult occupancy. And while the Velar lacks any real autonomous tech, it comes with automatic braking, adaptive cruise and lane-keep assist. For these reasons, the Velar is likely to be a very safe family car. Warranty All Range Rover Velar models come with a three-year unlimited mileage warranty, which is on par with rivals. A BMW X5 offers the same guarantee, but a Audi Q7’s warranty is limited to 60,000 miles. Servicing Service plans for the Range Rover Velar haven’t been revealed yet, but Land Rover offers an inclusive setup on the Discovery and the brand’s latest model should be no different. For reference, a five year plan with a 50,000-mile limit costs from £725 on the 2.0-litre diesel Disco, rising to £825 for the 3.0 V6 models. Higher mileage drivers are covered, too, paying a little more for a higher limit. 3 The Velar sits between the Evoque and the Range Rover Sport and as such its dimensions fall neatly between those models. When lined up in size order the Velar looks to be a large car, though it’s not the same inside. While there is plenty of room up front, helped by the minimalist design and the panoramic sunroof (if fitted), space for rear seat passengers is a little tighter than it should be. Boot room is good though – it sits between the Audi Q5 and the Audi Q7 for outright space with the seats up or down. Image 20 of 28 Image 20 of 28 Cabin storage is average – there’s a large glovebox and a usefully sized cubby under the central armrest, but the doorbins are rather small. That said there are a couple of nicely designed storage spaces to match the design-led interior, such as the space behind the 10-inch touchscreen on the dash and the cupholder in the centre console that is hidden from view until the Land Rover badge near the gearknob is pressed. Size The Velar is quite a large car and as such it tends to sit between the mid and large-SUV segments. It’s roughly the same length as a Porsche Cayenne but only just a little taller than a Porsche Macan. The Velar is relatively easy to get into compared to other larger Range Rovers thanks to its lower driving position; go for air suspension or a V6 model and the Velar can automatically go into ‘Comfort access’ mode to make getting in and out easier. Leg room, head room & passenger space It’s very easy to get comfortable up front. There’s a slightly sportier driving position than other Range Rovers and sitting up front is not quite as majestic as the large Range Rover due to the thinner, sportier seats that have no pull down armrests. There’s plenty of adjustment in the seat - especially if you have electric seats – as well as in the steering column, so getting a good driving position is easy. Image 16 of 28 Image 16 of 28 It’s a slightly different story in the rear. Due to that sloping roofline six-footers will find their heads touching the roof, and they may struggle for legroom if the two passengers up front are tall. The Velar is more of a four-seater, too, as the middle seat in the back is small and there’s not much foot room for a third passenger due to small footwells. That said, there’s plenty of room for children. Boot While space in the back seats is a little tight, the boot makes up for it. It’s of a good shape and the rear seats fold down and lie down nearly completely flat. At nearly 120cm wide and nearly a metre deep, the boot is surprisingly practical. There’s 673 litres with the seats up and 1,731 litres with the seats down, meaning it sits somewhere between the Audi Q5 the Audi Q7. If you go for a space saver spare wheel is robs you of underfloor storage. The boot lip is quite large though making loading items a little trickier than it should be and unlike the big daddy Range Rover there is no split-tailgate. 3.6 The Range Rover Velar is different from more attainable Land Rover models such as the Evoque and Discovery Sport because there is no front-wheel drive version offered. Even the entry-level diesel is 4WD only, which fits with the car’s high-end target market. It does, however, mean that the 178bhp diesel manages a respectable but not outstanding 52.5mpg on the claimed combined cycle, with CO2 emissions of 142g/km. That’s only marginally less than front-wheel drive versions of the BMW X3, for example, which shows how efficient Land Rover’s four-wheel drive system is. If you want to step up to a the 237bhp twin-turbo 2.0-litre diesel, the economy penalty isn’t too bad, either (it manages 48.7mpg and emits 154g/km). More impressive is the V6 diesel, which despite the extra two cylinders and a substantial 700Nm of torque still claims 44.1mpg and 167g/km. Regardless of CO2, however, all Velars are subject to the £310 a year road tax supplement for cars over £40,000. Image 13 of 28 Image 13 of 28 Unsurprisingly, the petrols fare less well when it comes to efficiency. The most frugal 247bhp 2.0-litre four-cylinder manages 37.2mpg combined and emits 173g/km, while the 296bhp V6 is very nearly as good. The top-spec supercharged 375bhp V6 petrol only manages 30.1mpg combined, and emits 214g/km of CO2. Ultimately, buyers at this price point are more worried about range than fuel consumption, and it’s the diesels which offer a greater distance between fill-ups. Insurance groups The Velar’s insurance looks to be roughly on a par with rivals from Audi and BMW, and cheaper than cars such as the Porsche Macan, which is a good achievement when you consider the Velar’s cost and desirability. The base diesel starts at group 31, and it rises to group 45 for top-spec supercharged V6 models. Depreciation Land Rover hasn’t released residual value data for the Velar just yet, but we’d be surprised if it fared any worse than other JLR products. Smaller siblings like the Range Rover Evoque offer residuals that are well ahead of many premium rivals, so we’d expect to see the same again here, with the Velar rivalling the Porsche Macan for retained value after three years.

http://www.autoexpress.co.uk/land-rover/range-rover-velar/100453/suv

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