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pauking5 · 4 months

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Runaway 🏎️ Chapter 3 🏁

Pairing: Naozumi Hiyama x fem reader oc

Genre: racing AU, enemies to lovers, sports rivalry, suspense, a whole lot of teasing, gender power games, spice

Word count: 15.2k+

A/N: Curious who's going to catch the Tokyo Drift reference 😏 Hope you're ready for the storm cause lightning and thunder just met for real in this one. It was literal hell to write at times, but I wanted to get more accurate with it and bring you as close to the view in my head as possible, so sorry for the delay. Tried my hand at writing tension so I hope it's good. Enjoy lovelies. Smooches to you :)

Raiko's Playlist: Bad Boy - Red Velvet, High Horse - Kacey Musgraves, Antisocial - Ed Sheeran, Travis Scott, True Disaster - Tove Lo, "good guy" - Against The Current, Summer Jam - 99 RZNS, John Gibbons, KOOLKID, How Bad Do You Want It (Oh Yeah) - Sevyn Streeter, Pump It - Black Eyed Peas, Tokyo Drift - Teriyaki Boys, Morning After Dark - Timbaland, Nelly Furtado.

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Day 3 of Tour de Tokai - Final stages

The sun was up before you could catch any sleep, peaking through the thick blinds with bright beams. That brightness didn't bode well with the small hangover brewing between your pinched eyebrows. A remainder of the excessive amounts of champagne you drank last night and the really excited twosome next door, working hard to drill a hole in the wall behind your head all night long.

At one point, they quieted down and you were near falling asleep until they went at it again and again, and you contemplated sleeping in the bathtub.

Putting on your golden blue team kit and the darkest shades you could find in the mess of luggage, you packed and dragged your heavy bags into the hallway and pressed the button on the lift for reception. You caught your reflection in the shiny silver doors and thanked god no one saw you yet. Your hair was a half-tangled mess, hidden under the team baseball cap well enough. Only two days on the job and you already had sunken in eye bags, but those were probably from the amazing beauty sleep you had the night before.

I had better days, you blew out a breath pulling up your shades.

Bags checked out and safely loaded into the airport car until later, you headed for the track. Walking out to the biggest stand on the hill overlooking the road for today, you scanned the grounds. It was still pretty early but the crowds were already making their way to the stands to get the best seats - right in the sputter of a dusty drift corner. The dirt must be doing wonders for their skin if they paid so much to sit there willingly, you thought, grimacing at the dried up mud painting most of the sun-bleached seats.

At least it was a quiet spot to just do some people watching and wake yourself up. You watched the food court vendors open the back doors to their vans before getting to work on the food. Some people were sat on the trunk of their cars, huddled in blankets or hoodies, eating a makeshift breakfast before queuing up for entrance. The race marshals were putting up the access signs and doing other maintenance checks.

The spring breeze blew softly feeling like a refreshing cup of coffee you didn't have yet. Early mornings like these were the best. Just quiet and mundane. Slow and pleasant.

Your peaceful perusal was interrupted by a figure settling in on your right, mimicking your leaned back posture on the wooden fence next to the race banner, hands crossed over your chest and all. You didn't even need to look over to know who it was. The expensive combination of lemony vanilla and other bitter, citrusy fruits entered your nostrils like ten meters ago, before he even stopped next to you.

How can someone so irritating smell so good?

"How did you sleep?" he spoke, voice low and husky, still laced with blissful sleep. A luxury mere mortals are unable to acquire at the expense of divine hedonism. Though, if that was how gods fucked, you wished to never hear it again. The girl's moans replayed like a broken record in your head even now, voice sweet like cotton candy reaching impossible notes.

Jesus Christ, you shuddered, trying your hardest to get rid of the image you just accidentally put in your head.

"I didn't," you said with a tight-lipped smile, turning to the devil beside you. He did look well-rested. "Hearing your name being moaned until three in the morning kinda ruined the peace one needs to sleep."

"I told you to join us," he shrugged, like he was asking you to join a grocery run and definitely not a threesome call. "It was a good sex catch."

I hope that angel never comes across his dick again.

Staring ahead, you hoped that if you ignored him, he would make himself scarce like he did last night at the car reveal. Instead, he leaned over to your side, lips slightly brushing the side of your ear with another offer that made your skin crawl with tendrils of chills, branching out from your nape all the way down to your spine.

"You know, we could've moved the show to your room. Get you out and about with the masses. Learn a thing or two."

You could taste the malice in his voice, looking to throw you off with raw sex talk. He pulled back to his corner, that annoying grin bright as day on his face, way too enthusiastic about his choice of words after last night.

He should work on his sweet nothings some more.

"I have my fair share with the masses. Don't you worry your frozen little braincells with that," you said, trying to shake off those chills still dancing on your spine.

"Ah, so she does get action," he laughed dryly, tilting forward with another remark he was better off keeping to himself. "I couldn't tell."

A little burst of mischief raised in you, so you turned to face him fully, pulling your shades off. Your body acted on a mindless spurt of small revenge as one of your hands lapped itself around his shoulder, gripping the other in balance and to pull him towards you, while the other rested on top of his chest. Under your palm, his heartbeat was calm and steady, just like the engine of the car before the race.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you scanned his face to see the ever-present amusement etched into every chiseled dent of his jaw, high cheekbones and perfectly angled lips. You wondered if dimples would pop out on the sides if he ever smiled for real, not just in a teasing manner or for show. Was he even capable of smiling?

The more your eyes drove up his face, the wider that eager glint in his eyes got. In the morning sun, rising brighter over the hill behind you, golden beams reflected off his orbs much like fiery bronze specks glinting off regal statues.

That eagerness turned to confusion when you inched closer to his ear, your lips brushing his in the same way his did. Your breath ghosted over his neck and you felt the smallest rise in his pulse, the muscles in his back tensing under your hold. You spoke small, but loud enough to cover the buzz of the rave music catching volume in the stands, making sure he received every single word.

"You know what would be a better catch?" you asked, tone sweet and tempting like a fiend.

His head craned down slightly and he quirked an eyebrow at you, curious as to where you were taking this. Only for it to not be in the direction he expected it to go in.

"Breaking that penis of yours in two and scattering pieces of it on the track like it's fucking gravel for everyone to drive over it. That," you enforced your threat with a swift gaze at his precious groin then moved your eyes back to his, "would be the catch of the year."

His lips parted in disbelief, the smug look on his face gone completely, as if you just detonated a bomb with his very own hand on it.

That was an unofficial war announcement. Jaw tightened in bold offensive, you stood your ground waiting for his retaliation. Your hand was still on his chest waiting for that spike to come again. But it never did.

Slowly but surely, the look in his eyes morphed to one of challenge, burning with the dire need to crush you to pieces for that daring threat.

Was this a novelty to him? A woman driving the reality train through his brain without having her legs open for him? Possibly. Because his smirk was now taut, filled with the same vindictive goading you carried. Just a tad bit darker and full of hunger for battle.

"I would like to see you try, rookie."

Rookie.

That nickname was starting to get on your nerves. Though there was no lie in it because you were a rookie in the sport, the way he said it implied that there was nothing else to you but that - a clueless beginner that will always stay a clueless beginner. Belittling at its finest. Your temper didn't buy belittling very well.

"Listen here you asswipe-" you started, only to get cut off by Don Tanaka's voice closing in behind you.

"Rai, the crew's waiting for... you..."

The words died in Tanaka's throat the more he took in how curled up you were with Naozumi. At first he was about to reprimand you for dealing cahoots with the enemy again, but when his eyes fell on the teeth grinding murderous looks you both threw each other, he decided on breaking it off before the interaction turned violent.

"Rai, step away from Naozumi."

"This. isn't. over," you gritted out with poison, plying yourself away from him.

Pushing your sunglasses back up your nose and throwing one more sharp imaginary knife right in the middle of his annoyingly handsome face devoid of imperfections, you sourly turned and left with Tanaka.

"I think it is, princess," he muttered behind you.

"Just you wait."

The really funny thing about curses is that they never truly... leave.

They might take a break and sip a cocktail somewhere sunny, like the big white-bearded gramps dressed in red does in his vacation after Christmas, letting you bask in some sort of chill ambiguity that all is well and perfect. Until nothing is well and perfect. Just absolutely horrifying and close to provoking a collective meltdown. Quite like the one in your team pen at the moment.

The team was gathered around the car with discouraged looks decorating all their faces as Sentaro, the main mechanic, relayed the news to you. Not one soul moved, everything and everyone as still as your shut off engine.

This had to be some sick joke. There was no way this is happening.

"What do you mean I can't go out on track today? You're joking right?" you laughed nervously, trying to stop your eye from twitching violently.

Apparently, the mechanics tried to start the engine and black smoke came out of it. While that issue was partly because of a clogged air filter that was vacuumed clean now, the engine also overheated to the point they thought it would blow up if they let it run longer.

From your brief experience with cars and growing up around the team garage, you had a feeling of what the issue could be.

"Is the dashboard blinking with the high oil pressure sign?" you asked Sentaro to which he nodded in response.

You were in front of the car in an instant, popping the hood open to check the oil injection. Pulling out the dipstick on a clean cloth your assumptions were proven right, though you wished they were horribly wrong. The rough dirt roads from yesterday definitely took a toll on the engine's oil filter, judging by the black sludge you were met with instead of the normal light brown color of the motor oil.

Dropping down to the ground with your phone's flashlight, you looked under the car and sure enough, there was a trail of the same dark goo leaking out from the car. The oil filter was the problem. And lucky for you, the oil specialized mechanic wasn't here today.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," said Tanaka, leaning on the side of the car. "There's nothing we can do."

Before you could even browse solutions, Kate ran in the pen nearly tripping over her feet. Thanks to Tanaka's steady hold, she landed upright on her feet, giving him a shy look of gratitude that didn't go unnoticed by you. They held each other's gaze for a while, not one thought behind them but a tinge of affection.

Realizing they had an audience, she cleared her throat stepping away from him. His hand shot up to rub his nape with a nervous smile.

What was that about? you thought, scrunching your nose inquisitively at the two. The faint blush spreading on her cheeks and the playful look in his eyes was a bit of a dead give away of what went on between the two. The car issue was more of a priority right now than their mutual fancy. I'll pester them about it later.

"What's up, Kate?"

Your voice seemed to break her out of whatever reverie she was having.

"The pre-race press conference starts in fifteen," she announced, eyes grazing over your team kit before flying back to yours with confusion. "Why are you not in your racing suit yet? What's going on?"

"I'll explain on the way," you replied hastily.

You moved away from the car to grab your bag and went to change in the trailer with her following in tow. Turning back around, your eyes flew back to Tanaka and the rest of the crew.

If the big man was here, he would know what to do. But he left for Tokyo early in the morning for a business meeting with a new sponsor. You were completely on your own with the team, and from the looks of it, it was time to take the lead.

"Nothing you can do," you said with a small smile trying to bring some optimism back into the sour mood. "There's something I can do. Just don't touch the engine until I'm back from the conference."

"Also, go tell the organizers I'm retiring from the first stage and keep them posted on the second one," you told Tanaka, ignoring Kate's gasp of shock. "We might still have a shot at points today. We worked too hard to let that go."

With that, you ran back to the trailer behind the pen, getting changed while Kate's worries doubled and spilled over yours in a frenzy of overly dramatic and stressed hand gestures.

"What do you mean retiring from the first stage? Are you crazy?"

Taking off the kit with a grunt, you made haste for the fireproofs and the suit.

"Not crazy," you groaned, pushing your legs through the pants of the racing suit. "Just trying not to freak out because it won't help anyone if I do."

"The car has an issue that's preventing me from taking part in the first stage today, but I hope," you breathed out, struggling to pull the top part of the suit over your hips, "that we can somehow get it out on track at least for the second stage."

With the already smoldering heat outside and your growing nerves, the ensemble felt so uncomfortable to wear. Pulling your arms through the sleeves and zipping it up to your neck, you fiddled with the soft collar unable to close it properly. Kate swatted your hands away to help you fix it so you could be out the door. Though you couldn't do that without your driver's card that was nowhere to be found.

"On a scale of one to ten, how big are your hopes of that actually happening?"

You stopped your relentless searching for your identification lanyards only to find them in the safe hold of Kate's hands.

"A solid eleven," you paused, grabbing them with a grateful smile. "On a good day. We'll have to see if today is one of those."

You were out of the trailer in no time, heading for the conference room while she ran you through possible questions you could get asked by the stingy reporters. Before you went on stage to take your designated seat, she pulled you back around for a last check.

"You know what you have to say?" she asked, placing her hands on your shoulders to make you focus.

Narrowing your eyes at her with a 'I'm not a child' look, you recounted the rules of publicity she made you repeat before each press meeting. Or more like your very own not so accurate version of them.

"No snarky replies, wait for my turn and try to maintain the already crumbling image we have. No biggie."

She smacked your cheeks together, shaking you hard to bring you back from sarcasm land. Better sarcasm than a full blown meltdown. You rolled your eyes at her dramatic antics, reciting the actual holy trinity of rules to get her off your case.

"If it's not for my own benefit or the team's, don't reply. Avoid all questions about my or dad's personal life with a simple 'no comment'. Keep levelheaded and avoid conflicts of interest," you finished confidently, but with a slight confusion on the last one.

She nodded with a bright smile, letting go of your cheeks. Whirling you around, she made quick work of your hair in a ponytail and fixed your team cap on top of your head to look more professional than you felt at the moment.

"You've got this, Rai," she encouraged sweetly like she always did. "I'll be right here in case of anything."

"Thanks Yuzu," you smiled at her, trying to ease her stress before it rubbed off on you, turning you into a ticking bomb. "I owe you one."

"You owe me more than one," she quipped as a matter of factly.

"Yeah, yeah," you waved her off, turning for the stage. "I'll tell dad to add a holiday bonus to your paycheck."

"All debts are paid," she replied, sounding like an ATM machine that just cashed out your first salary before you even saw it in the account.

You went up the stairs, taking a seat behind your name tag, near the middle row on the lower side of the makeshift stage. Most drivers were already in their seats waiting for the show to start so you could all be on your way. You caught sight of Akira about two chairs down to the left, already clocking you with a small wave.

At least there's some sunshine in the world.

You leaned over the seat, turning the mic away. He scooched over, meeting you halfway with a short smile that was enough to send butterflies swarming wildly in your stomach.

"Hello there."

"Hi," you replied sheepishly. "You ready for today?"

"I hope so. The tracks today look way better than whatever the fuck those three were yesterday."

You both shared a horrified look remembering the disaster that almost left your cars in totaled wrecks the day before.

"What about you? Ready?"

"It's complicated," you looked down in disdain, conscious of the mess awaiting you in the team pen after the conference.

What was the point in elaborating further? He's going to see the scoreboard anyway. The retirement issue was better kept under wraps for now, in case press inched to you like leeches before they even got to ask you a question.

"Hogging my seat doesn't look that complicated."

That tone of mixed delight and irritation could only belong to one person. That and the shady vibes prickling the hairs on the back of your neck like the very shadows of death were about to swallow you into the underworld.

Sure enough, craning your head backwards Naozumi was right behind you. Alarm bells rang in your head replaying his words again. His seat? What the fuck is he on- Your eyes fell back on the name tag right beside yours, reflecting Naozumi Hiyama back at you, bright as the light of day. Oh.

Naozumi was to be seated on your left for the next half an hour. What a joy. For some poor sick bastard, definitely not for you.

How did I not notice it before I sat down? I could've switched seats with the backfield guys in a heartbeat and no one would know a thing.

Looking back behind you, your small hope was crushed as most seats were taken up already, busting your escape plan. Your gaze landed back on the man, now more interested to know how much of your conversation he heard.

"How long have you been standing there like a scarecrow?"

"Enough to almost physically gag at your conversation."

Ah, there he was. Repulsion in human form. Wonderful.

You bid Akira an apologetic smile and leaned back in your seat, letting nation's finest walk by to take his own. He held onto your backseat to let himself down in his. Leaning way too close to you again, you caught an extra accidental whiff of that expensive perfume of his, toned down by the scent of the burnt rubber fumes caught to his suit. You turned your head away with a breath, resisting the urge not to choke. From the snicker on his lips pointed downwards, you could tell he did that on purpose. Fucker.

It wasn't long and the press conference finally commenced. As expected you weren't first in line for questions, both to your relief and growing unease. Your thoughts ran back to the car. The longer you spent here, looking pretty for the media that could care less, the less time you got to spend on fixing the car. Changing the oil filter was relatively less time consuming than the oil draining and changing. Besides, who knew if there weren't other problems. There were always problems.

Tapping your feet impatiently under the table, your eyes trained on the digital clock at the back of the room, mentally pushing the flickering red dots bouncing between the numbers a tad bit faster. Boring questions aimed at the other drivers went in through your ears, fading together, getting lost into an incorrigible mess of side thoughts, all while you dissociated somewhere far away.

At some point, something heavy moved on top of your leg that seems to have taken on incessant bouncing. You broke your eyes away from the clock to check. Thinking it must have been a bug or your sleep-deprived hallucination, you were beyond surprised to see a hand resting there, all five fingers of it splayed wide on top of your knee, nearly enveloping it whole.

Following the path of the muscular, veiny hand to the grey material going up the plush arm of a racing suit, you found it connected to Naozumi's shoulder. His gaze was set ahead with his chin propped on his other hand, a bored look taking over his usual amusement.

Is he looking for entertainment again?

Focusing your attention back on the press crowd, you went to push it off briskly. You felt it slide off your leg, shutting your eyes in relief that he let go and didn't put it back, going back to your daydream.

The clock ticked by infuriatingly slower, and by the looks of it, only ten boring minutes passed. You resumed your foot tapping, unable to keep cool without releasing tension in a way that kept you calm and levelheaded for the rest of the conference. You even started repeating Kate's set of three rules, again and again, until they blurred together in your head into a mess of words.

Unconsciously, you resumed the knee bouncing. That's when the same familiar weight sat back on top of your knee, trying to cease your restless shaking. You groaned mentally, aware that there was nothing else you could do but let his hand sit there until he got bored of being annoying.

Was it weird that the touch gave you a small ounce of comfort? It was so far from an actual touch, closer to a simple brush. But it grounded you back to reality in a less impatient way than your nervous foot tapping.

Jesus, Rai. The man fucked the sleep out of your brain last night. He's trying to get under your skin.

Leaning forward on your hands, you shifted your position so your feet crossed under your seat in hopes his hand would slide down again. His grip never lessened, turning firmer on top of your knee, seeing right through your trick. You huffed a breath through your nose, trying to calm down before you shoved your fist heavy with rage in his beautiful face to do some overdue damage, since he was asking for it so nicely.

In your line of sight, you saw him reach down for his water bottle, right beside his leg. His hand trailed down your calf with the movement, only for it to slide back up to its original spot on your knee.

This wasn't anywhere near comforting. This was teasing. Maybe even payback for this morning for invading his space with violent threats of castration. The side of his lip curled up in the slightest, letting you know he was enjoying tormenting you a whole lot.

Since he's so into masochism, we'll see how brave he is next time when I sneak in a lighter. The suit might be fireproof but I don't think his fingers are.

Somewhere between Naozumi's idiotic game and your patience running thin for the male species, the press finally remembered you existed and your name was called out by a reporter.

"I'm Hina from Daily Times. I have a question for Rai Suruki of Suruki Racing."

"Go on," you nodded with a smile.

"There haven't been a lot of female entries to rally in past years. Are there some goals you hope to achieve with your participation in the Seiko Rally Cup Series?"

That was quite a nice question. She seemed a little unsure of herself, probably new on the job since she was already being mangled down by the experienced male gazes in the room, especially from the reporter clique.

Turns out rally isn't the only industry where women are not welcomed.

"Well," you started, "I hope that if more girls see me out there on track, they can gain the courage to get racing too. Be it karting, rally or any other series. I grew up seeing my father's generation race and it felt daunting getting into it in the first place, since there was little to no female involvement. But times are changing and I hope it's for the better. Goal-wise, I would say the biggest one is to get girls into the sport, technically or behind the wheel," you ended with another smile, making sure she got a good amount of detail to work from.

That encouraged her to show you a bright smile in gratitude before she sat back down. You nodded back at her with one that matched.

"For Raiko Suruki, from Automotive Racing," called out another reporter, much older than the rest. "Heard the car is totally self-manufactured. How's the pace on track so far?"

Ah, technical questions. I like those.

"So far it's good. We're still testing bits and pieces to see what works best, but so far it's responding well to our tinkering. Like any car there's setbacks, as you may have seen in the previous stages, but we're working to remedy that and maximize its current performance. There's a lot of power under that hood and we're trying to see just how much of it we can bring out."

He nodded, scribbling down your words in a stacked leather notebook filled to the brim that has definitely seen better days. At least that said he's passionate about the sport and not just here to get a quote for a flimsy article. True to that, he geared up with another question.

"Performance progress-wise, do you think it's a car able to compete for the cup this year? Maybe even to reach the WRC?"

It was a reach to aim for the title, knowing the team barely got back on the road. But it was a goal nonetheless.

"Absolutely," you answered right away. "We wouldn't be here if it wasn't. As for the WRC, I guess it's all in due time."

"I'm looking forward to your evolution. Thank you," he concluded his short round of questions, sitting back in his seat.

"One more question for Miss Suruki," shouted another reporter. "From Tokyo Action Sport."

Uh-oh.

Tokyo Action Sport was one of the big ones Kate told you to be wary of. Due to their huge coverage of all sports around the country, sports buffs took their word like it was the weekly Ten Commandments in print form. That and the fact that they liked to scandalize most, if not all of their headlines - basically the foul celeb tabloids in dirty sports version.

From the way the reporter twirled the pen around his nimble fingers and the sneer on his face as he skimmed over his fancy notebook, you could tell he was looking for another front page story with an equally disarming question at the ready. You nodded for him to talk, bracing yourself for the incoming attack.

"Last night, at the official car reveal, you said you will compete for Suruki Racing until the team no longer wants you," he started, lifting his icy eyes from the paper to cut through you. "Does that mean your contract has an expiry date?"

If there was a question that, when uttered out loud, would have the power to open the gates of hell, it would be this one.

Expiry date? Driving for the team that has my name on it? Fuck me if I know.

Your nervous tapping resumed tenfold, forgetting all about Naozumi's hand that was still stationed on your leg, now struggling to stay there in the wake of the shaky earthquake coursing through you with the sharp truth of the real world.

You never thought of the possibility of driving for another team. Right from the start, Suruki Racing was to be your forever home. For Christ sake, you were the only hope for the team to stay alive at the moment. But that was just your opinion, maybe Tanaka shared it. But the team might still be adamant to take you as their only viable option and that might just be the case for your father too.

Nothing guaranteed that you will always be their number one choice.

"Why did Suruki Racing pick you out of the wider talent pool out there?"

"Are you trying for yourself or for him?"

"Do you consider yourself a challenge to the rest of the drivers?"

Your nervous shaking was several tempos away from rattling the panel table and attracting attention you were better off without at the moment. The aftermath of that happening was already in sight.

Suruki Racing's finest cracks under the pressure of her first press conference, would read the first page in the later Sunday print.

Is Suruki's own bloodline able to keep the legacy with no surety of a long-term contract? another one would say.

If you were lucky they would put it on the second spread or in the middle pages next to some old car adverts. But the worst part of it all is that the majority of the rally community, including the panel of drivers around you, would wholeheartedly agree with the newspapers.

Maybe this was just you making movies in your head but those were always possibilities upon possibilities and they all pointed to failure. Your failure of saving the team and seeing it succeed if you caved in to them.

The weight on top of your knee moved higher up your leg, stopping mid-way on your thigh. Enraged out of your mind, you were about to swat if off like a fly just when Naozumi did the unthinkable - his thumb started rubbing the side of your leg in circles over the suit, alternating patterns. You could feel that touch burn even through the triple permeable fireproof layers, sending all your senses in override, heartbeat pounding louder in your ears with each languid stroke of his thumb.

Was he trying to calm you down? Or was this him riding on the wave of anger surfacing from the depths of your very being to make you inch closer to exploding? Because there was a thin line between the two and you struggled to find which direction he was steering in today.

Strangely, that mildly provoking but oddly comforting caress worked. It calmed you down and drowned the black hole your mind went down into, bringing your focus back on the task at hand - giving the reporter an answer before your silence was taken as one.

"I'm afraid not," you responded, your voice bouncing back way too quiet on the microphone for it to sound like you were sure of yourself.

A handful of chuckles erupted behind you, rippling down into the audience and the rest of the media crews around the room.

"Everyone has an expiry date on their contracts, doll," commented a gruff voice from behind you. "Better find it out before the press does," they added with a chuckle.

You turned around to match the rude remarks with Katsumi's face, driver for Top Rank Racing. From what you knew about the man, he's been in rally long enough to know that he was right. Though he could've delivered that a bit more nicely.

Casting an unsure look at Kate, you saw her beckon you to say something else, mouthing several pointers that fell unheard with your growing unease. There was nothing else to say. That was the pure truth. No one had a safe seat in rally, except if you were Akira with loads of talent or Naozumi with a shit ton of cash to throw around. But you... you were lucky if there was a next year for you at all. And that might just be the case for your team too, whether it takes off or it burns to charred ashes again. Whether they keep you with them or not. And that realization hurt the deepest of them all.

"There you go again with useless questions, Misano," spoke Naozumi, successfully diverting your attention away from a meltdown.

His voice carried out smooth like whiskey over the shushed murmurs in the room, able to charm the attention of even the stingiest creature. His dark brown eyes were throwing sharp daggers with the aim to impel the man in the middle of the press convoy, almost like he had some personal vendetta against him, able to see past his journalistic tricks better than anyone.

From the few words he uttered your way you could tell why.

"Why don't you wrack your brain for something more interesting to ask?" he added bitterly.

Misano could only glare at him, shifting his attention from you to the man beside you, much more poison seeping from his tone at being interrupted.

"I was just about to get to you Naozumi. Impatient as always," he sneered. "I do have a really good one," he chuckled lowly to himself, like he was about to get the scoop of the century.

Naozumi was absolutely unfazed by his tactics. Just like you were, before he opened his mouth.

"You and Shinkai are in quite the fight to reach the higher ranks of the WRC. Did you solve the misunderstandings from last year to prevent more incidents from happening this time around?"

Naozumi laughed dryly at that, averting his eyes away from the man so overzealous for drama. When his eyes fell back on him, it wasn't with the same playful gaze reserved for toying around with people, but with raw hunger to rip him to shreds until every other word he was dying to write was out and cut to tiny little pieces on the floor.

Even you shuddered at the intensity of that look. You thanked the heavens it wasn't directed at you. If you were in Misano's shoes, you would shove those words back down your throat and run to puke them out somewhere they would be more well received, like the trash can outside, right around the door. That might do everyone in here a favor.

Naozumi finally let go of your leg, turning around in his seat to face the press with more interest. You breathed a small sigh of relief at the loss of contact. But a small part of you mourned the reassurance it provided for a short while, letting the nerves about your future race back up your spine again. At least they were dimmer now, since you put your focus on the charade of power to your left.

"If by misunderstanding you mean forced damage to my car," paused Naozumi with an icy grin matching the gaze that never once faltered from Misano, "then no, we didn't solve anything."

He delivered that affirmation so smoothly that even you leaned over the table to get a better look at him. Contrary to the calmness in his voice, there was a furious annoyance taking over his features. One far more irritated than the other looks you've seen him sport in the past three days.

"You can't solve misunderstandings with hardheaded people," piped in Akira, matching the same sweet venom in Naozumi's voice.

Naozumi could only smirk coldly, dropping his gaze to his team racing suit before he aimed it at Akira.

"That's where you're wrong," corrected Naozumi. "You can't solve misunderstandings with irresponsible people that can't admit to their faults."

It was Akira's turn to be vexed, staring down the man on his right. Those eyes, softer than melted chocolate, turned into the most violent tempest catching speed by the second. Though he wasn't necessarily asked a question, he was just as involved in the one served to Naozumi, so he turned to Misano with a comment.

"I think what Naozumi means by that is that some things are better left in the past. Or swept under the rug for the sake of it."

Point, aim and shoot.

"Let's leave the talking to the track," grinned Akira, patting Naozumi's shoulder in feign respect.

Naozumi broke into a toothy smile, tongue coming out to swipe over his teeth in disbelief. That smile grew and grew until it matched Akira's, just like a Cheshire cat. Then he leant over to him, whispering something in his ear. A threat you just so happened to hear.

"Stay the fuck away from my track. And don't fool yourself that thing was accidental to free your conscience" he mumbled.

The cameras flashed to immortalize the moment, making sure to get all sides of the burning declaration of war. They held each other's gaze with impending rage, pumping hard enough to blow out big dark fumes like messenger torches.

Keeping levelheaded and avoiding conflicts of interest was a rule their agents were probably negotiating with them, not even close to being able to enforce it.

From the looks of it, there was way more tension between the two than they let on with those loaded glances passed from one end of the paddock to the other in between stages. They had history that was better left unraveled for the sake of the rest of the season.

I take it back. The car reveal was a baby next to this shit show.

After that, the rest of the conference went by uneventfully. Surprisingly. The stifling tension however, was still palpable in the air. It was crazy how just one question from Misano turned the mood salty real fast. He hasn't asked anything else ever since, sitting merrily in the audience with a smug smirk, utterly pleased at causing an uproar.

The rest of the reporters went for decent questions as the drivers geared up for mayhem on track. As soon as the organisers let you, you dashed outside, welcoming the fresh breath of air and freedom away from that purgatory room.

Got nine more of those to endure.

"Not bad for your first press conference, rookie."

Was that supposed to be an encouraging pat on the back? If anything it sounded haughty and kind of condescending.

Does it hurt him to shed off some of that superior complex thing he has going on?

Upon remembering his game back in the conference room, you whirled around to him instantly, backing him in a corner so no one could hear your murderous intentions. The flames inside of you were leaping high and violent again. But that must have been the Naozumi effect at this point - setting you on fire then walking away only to come back and kindle you again whenever he saw fit.

"Don't ever touch me again or I will rip your hands and shove them down your cars' exhaust. Understood?"

"It was a good distraction though, wasn't it?" he smirked, pinning you with that knowing look of his that made you want to spit fire like a dragon.

"It was so fucking unnecessary-" you stopped, the rest of your words dying in your throat. "It was so -," you growled. "You're so -"

You gave up on speaking. There was no point in explaining why punching him was the right thing to do because the more you looked at it you realized he was right. That playful stroke was a good distraction from going berserk with all those demons patiently waiting to pick you apart like flies that dove into shit on the side of the road. Even if it was for a while, he managed to calm down your stormy temper. It was a miracle for anyone to even do that in the first place.

He leaned down to you, stopping just a few inches off your face. His eyes drifted down to your lips for a brief second before securing your gaze again with that dark look of his that has probably disarmed more girls than you could count on all your existent fingers, hands and toes included.

"That's what I thought," he said as teasingly soft as a brush on canvas.

Before you could say anything else he walked off, leaving you dumbfounded with your tongue poking your cheek, and kind of questioning your sanity.

He's so goddamn infuriating.

Back in your pen, you took off the suit, changing back in the team kit and made a beeline for the car. There was no time to waste. The crew gathered around you in a heartbeat, waiting for your directions.

The skilled gazes laid on you, full of years of garage work, made you very aware of the fact that they expected full professionalism from you.

God, I hope this works.

"Okay so, we need to change the oil filter," you started. "The oil inside is contaminated and from the looks of it, it's not usable anymore. The filter itself appears to have blown a gasket, so that too needs replacing," you finished in one breath.

"But our oil person isn't here today," Akio, one of the mechanics, pointed out.

"Mister Hinode isn't," you sighed, hoping the old man was enjoying himself for taking the day off today of all days. "But I am. I watched him change enough oil filters back at the garage to know what I have to do."

"Very well. Lead the way," he replied with a nod, fully placing his trust in your hands.

Though slightly unsure, the rest of the team followed. Looking back at Tanaka, you saw him nod too, letting you know he had your back. At the silent show of support, you pushed the nerves away and got to work in your full element.

"What I need from you is a car lift, a drain pan, the new oil filter, and four or five liters of motor oil," you told the team. "Draining it will take about an hour, more or less, and replacing it a little less in theory. We have less than four hours until stage two so we can't afford to lose any time if we want to get something out of today."

"You heard the girl," clapped Tanaka, moving to get all hands on deck. "Let's move."

You turned to Sentaro and the electrical engineer.

"I need you guys to run the electrical checks again, now and after I finish changing the filter, in case anything else goes off and needs fixing so we're on top of it ASAP."

"Got it. Also, regarding the oil pressure, it was on high levels last night when we brought it back from the event, but we thought it was from being out on track for so long," he said apologetically.

"Don't worry about it. It can happen out of nowhere too, especially considering the roads I drove it down yesterday. But do ping Mr. Hinode in case there's something we're missing."

"Thanks, Raiko. You're a lifesaver," he said, walking back to his laptop.

Eh, I'm a what now? you blinked trying to take that compliment in. Shaking yourself out of it, you rolled up your sleeves to your elbows and worked to lift the car at an angle you could fit under it.

Pulling over a creeper, you leaned back and got under, looking for the oil plug under the dirty chassis. Finding it right away, just a little off the underside of the front bumper, you unscrewed it with a wrench. Barely twisted open, the splotchy black goo started spilling everywhere, much more liquid and disgusting than you thought it would be. What was on the dipstick was nothing compared to what spilled out on the sides of the plug. It smelled horrible, like murky grass and three days old mud had a biochemical hazard lovechild. And there was about four liters of that to drain out.

The more you unscrewed the plug, the more it splattered everywhere, some of it flying in your hair. Jerking away so it wouldn't land in your eyes, you turned the plug tugging it off completely. The oil flow doubled right away and you realized you should've had the drain pan under it before you unscrewed it.

"Fucks sake," you grunted, holding out a hand to whoever was close by. "Loosen the oil cap on the top and hand me the drain pan."

A hand pushed the drain pan into your own and you moved fast to shove it under the oil drain, to avoid more of it staining the asphalt.

You slid out from under the hood to breathe in some fresh air, meeting with Kate and Tanaka's faces, looking at you with matching disgusted looks as they took in your very contaminated appearance.

"Your face..." started Kate, pointing at your face as she pinched her nose.

"All natural," you shot back. "You should try it sometimes."

Tanaka howled a laugh as he pulled you up from the ground, handing you a few clean cloths. You wiped your hair as best as you could, frowning at the dirt coming out of it. That will take a lot of showers to take out.

"Now what?"

"Now we wait. And make other checks on the car to make sure nothing else is broken."

Come on, pick up.

Pacing the dusty ground above the stands, you listened as the line rang and rang, each dial tone pumping the nerves back in your system. You were starting to regret this until he finally picked up on the seventh ring.

"I'm in a meeting right now," filtered your father's shushed voice through the phone.

Of course he's in a meeting. That's why he left early this morning. In the chaos with the car and the press, you forgot all about that. Now the scope of the call didn't even really seem that important anymore, preoccupied with the fact that you interrupted something that probably was.

"Raiko? Are you there?"

A car whizzed past on track, pulling roars of cheers from the crowd, prompting you to find a quieter corner.

Was there even a point in asking that?

Fuck it. Just get it over with.

"Does...," you started, but the rest of the words got lost somewhere in the mess in your head. You took a deep breath and tried again, this time sounding a bit more composed. "Does my contract have an expiration date?"

He could tell something was off. You could be as composed as you wanted, but your father could always pick up on the uncertainty laced in your voice.

You heard shuffling, rushed goodbyes and a door closing shut, before a chair creaked. His voice came through more clearly now.

"Of course not. I told you you're welcome to drive for Suruki Racing until you no longer wish to."

Those were the same words you said out loud to the reporter just last night, so sure of yourself and knowing what you wanted that it would be impossible for anyone to second guess it or even challenge your claim to the seat in the team. Until smug-face opened his mouth to comment on it in the press conference today.

"Is everything alright, Rai? I know I left in a rush but if there's anything you need, please let me know."

"Everything's alright," you reassured him, trying to sound more on top of the situation than you felt. "Sorry for disturbing the meeting."

"Eh, don't worry about it. I could use a break," he chuckled, making you chuckle too.

It was so good to finally talk to him like that. Like you were father and daughter for once in a while, before being team principal and driver.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" he asked again, willing to listen to any concerns you had, big or small.

"Yeah," you sighed softly. "It is now. Thanks dad."

He could tell there was more to it than you were telling him, like the issues with the car and missing the first stage, but you didn't push it. Tanaka would catch him up on it later anyways. There was no use in railing him up on a plane right now.

"Always, firebolt. Good luck out there."

That always was your I love you. He wasn't one to be a softie for cheesy stuff, like blurting out those three words, but that always never failed to reassure you that you'll get through anything and come out on the bright side. No matter what.

"Good luck to you too," you piped up, ending the call.

Looking ahead, you caught sight of the Spica Racing blue hues right on time, approaching a rocky corner. Naozumi took it so effortlessly before diving into the last drift portion taking it wide, closer to the barrier, lifting the dust and gravel off the ground to fly off in the stands like a gust of sand.

You backed away coughing a little, shaking your head with a smile at the gesture that was one hundred percent intentional.

At least someone's having fun today.

You got back to the pen at the same time Naozumi pulled up. He got out of the car much more pleased with his run than he has these past few days. He didn't even yell at his engineers this time. Peace and quiet ruled the Sigma Racing pen surprisingly.

Unfortunately for your short lived peace of mind, he caught sight of you and turned your way with a smile as wide as his pride must be flowing in from head to booted feet for completing a stage this nice. If only you had the chance to go out on the road too.

The closer he got to you, he eyed you from head to toe, taking you in all your muddy glory, scrunching his nose at the smell that was still glued to you like you sprayed on intense dirt road cologne. The nasty kind that barely washes out of your clothes after rolling in it. Your clothes also reeked of motor oil. If someone had a flint they might as well light you on fire if you just breathed in their direction.

"What happened to you?" he frowned. "Did you DNF into a bush of skunks or something?"

"Haha, really funny," you deadpanned. "I didn't even start the race for that matter."

Throwing a look at the scoreboard in your pen since it was closest, he scoured all the names of the drivers until his eyes landed on yours, staring back at him with a DNS in bold letters, right at the bottom of the grid. Shameful and defeated wouldn't even begin to explain your sour mood.

"What? How did you even manage that?"

Was he actually concerned or was he just planning to fumble the bag for more insults based on your answer? Closing in on the playful glint in his eyes, it was probably the latter and you were not in the mood for it. At all.

"Engine issues," you sighed, slumping in defeat.

It's been half an hour and you were still waiting for the oil to finish draining before you could actually fix anything. Time was ticking away and so were your hopes of somehow participating in the second stage.

"You missed a spot," he said, gesturing to your face.

Bringing your hands up, you wiped them everywhere coming up entirely clean. Is he seeing things?

He shook his head before coming closer, wiping his thumb over the tip of your nose. Your heart thrummed in your ears, drowning everything else around you but his touch and how close he was. Feeling the callused pads of his fingers on your skin, without all those fibrous layers of the suit between you, felt like being touched by millions of sparks of electricity at the same time. Heat surged on your cheeks quicker than you could hide it.

Him being him, he just had to ruin the moment. Not that there was one there.

Instead of getting the splotch of mud away, he smudged it all across your cheeks with a grin.

"There. Much better," he concluded, stepping back from you, proud of his outstanding work of art.

That only provoked you, flipping the switch on your rage. You kept it under wraps long enough and at this point, he was just asking for it. Not your fault his decency sensors must have been broken since he was born and folded in a blanket.

"I told you not to touch me ever again," you rasped, swatting his hand away a bit too violently.

"Hmm, I don't recall," he hummed, wiping his thumb on his suit to get rid of the dirt splotch he scooped from your nose. "It was probably an empty threat."

An empty threat? Hah. He's really starting to piss me the fuck off.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Because he had many of them and most of his recent issues included disturbing your peace on an undetermined period.

"I don't really have a problem, rookie," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Stop calling me that," you seethed. "I'm not a rookie," you breathed out with eyes closed to try and calm the fuse inside of you before it blew. Though you didn't mind if it blew in front of Naozumi's face and set him on fire a little.

"Oh, but you are." He took a step closer to you, broad shoulders branching out to appear more intimidating. "Need I remind you that you stepped foot in the car not even two days ago? A rookie stays a rookie until they prove themselves worthy of the road."

"You think you're the shit, don't you?"

"And you are?" he chuckled darkly. "You don't have the guts for it. Why don't you go back to being daddy's little spoiled princess, driving plastic cars, since it's very obvious you can't drive a real one?"

Naozumi had a talent at making sure his words drove straight to their recipient, cutting deeper than intended, at times with a purpose more painful than the edge of a knife could do damage.

But words were empty to you. You trained yourself not to believe the little white lies and rumors people tried to feed you to stay as far away from letting it affect you as possible. This was just another one of those confrontations meant to throw you off and undo the steps you've already done on the climb towards the top.

Hard pass on downgrading. But nice try.

"At least I'm not the idiot that wrecked the car in the easiest turn in the whole region just yesterday, driving it full speed with an engine failure only to blame it on my team. It takes real skill to pull that off."

His jaw ticked with fresh blood. You definitely ticked a nerve with that. If you're throwing knives at each other, might as well throw them deep just for the funk of it.

"At least I didn't get a DNF and a DNS first time on the job. Your father may have put that winning image in your head to motivate you, but if you think it will be that easy, you're wrong. You will always be a rookie and there's nothing you can do to help it."

If that was supposed to make it hurt more, boohoo, it missed it's mark. Kinda late to the pity party. Might invite you next time.

"Oh, you're one to talk," you scoffed incredulously. "You're nothing without your team and you can't even see that. What's gonna happen when they all walk out and leave you stranded to work on the car all by yourself? Will you magically pay your way out of it by hiring other people?"

"That's none of your business," he hissed.

"Real drivers help their team," you growled.

You were overtaken by a sense of kinship for your team stronger than anything the world could say or throw at you. He probably knew nothing about what it means to make constant sacrifices for something you love body and soul. But he sure had the nerve to come and preach it to you like a total hypocrite since the rules of normal society apparently don't apply to him but they do to everyone else.

"You don't get to tell me how to be a driver," he shot back, tone becoming more menacing with every word.

"And you don't get to trample all over my hard work. My team's hard work. Don't talk to me about privilege when you're living off it just fine."

You didn't even notice you closed the distance to him, getting right up in his face, seeping into his space once more, this time with a different kind of savagery - one that felt a lot like unleashing chaos. You were a brief remark away from spearing your claws out for some physical atoning.

"You don't know shit," he growled, towering over you. "So I suggest you to back the fuck off."

"Or what?," you gritted back.

The corner of his lip turned up with a dark wicked smirk, a warning pledge of fast approaching colossal disaster, just like the words rumbling out of his throat, low and deep like thunder.

"I'll make sure the rest of your time here," he paused, raven eyes boring into yours with intensity before he whispered the last words a mere breath away from your lips, "is a living hell."

A living hell?

I'm already living hell, pretty boy.

You simply chuckled at that. He had no idea that you laughed in the face of danger. He must have thought you were crazy for it. It took more than a threat to steer your wheels in that direction. The direction of sin.

His head tilted in slight confusion at your reaction, though his eyes never left their furious fire behind. You quipped a brow, silently accepting his challenge, wondering just how far he could go to prove a point and preserve his pride in the face of a mere rookie.

"I'd like to see you try."

"You're gonna regret this."

This man loved to make enemies with everyone. But he picked the wrong person to start the fight with. Unfortunately for him and his loud wrathful thunder, vengeful lightning always strikes twice. Always.

"We'll see about that."

Not another word came out of his mouth. But you knew better than to accept his silence as a retreat. His mouth curved, a devilish grin over it, as if he already started devising a wicked little plan in his head to pull the earth from under your feet when you weren't looking.

Regarding you with one more look full of hatred, he pulled back, walking off to his pen.

Little did he know, he just met his match.

Regrets... you had many for yourself. But you were sure as hell that him of all people was the last one to add to them.

Never in a million years would you let that happen.

I wouldn't wish hell upon anyone. Especially mine. But if I had the choice to curse one person in the whole wide world right now...

I would curse him in a heartbeat.

You were sitting outside the pen, glaring at Naozumi's back, until Tanaka called out to you.

"Raiko. The oil has drained out.," he said, stopping in his tracks. "What are you doing out here?"

Googling ways to overcome your enemies with the power of forced distance.

"Nothing," you scoffed, heading back inside.

Time to get dirtier than my soul.

Taking your place back under the car, you worked on changing the oil filter with a new one. Screwing off the old filter entirely by hand, the leftover oil spilled everywhere again. At least there wasn't that much left in the basin to really stain anything.

It would've been nice not to have to do this with your bare hands, but you've been Mr. Hinode's human flashlight enough to know that the filter can only be tightened by a bare hand to make sure it's in the right spot and that none of it can leak out.

"Could you hand me a filter wrench?"

"Here," popped in Akio's head, who now became your human flashlight.

"Thanks."

A little shimmying and the old broken filter finally popped out with the rest of the oil leaking out down your arms. The last drop fell on your forehead. A good luck omen? We shall see.

Passing it to Akio, you motioned to him to shine some light on the broken filter. You noticed the head gasket was indeed damaged.

"Is the new filter ready and rubbed with oil yet?"

"Yep. Good to go?"

"Yeah."

Checking the engine block with the flash light one more time to make sure there weren't any other bits or parts stuck inside, you tried putting the new filter in. You struggled to make it do inside the engine block, moving down a little farther under the car. Not a fun thrill to experience with a ton hanging above you lifted by a tool weighing less.

Please don't crush me, hun. I drive you but I can assure you that you don't want to drive me.

Spinning the part to the right, you finally got it in, puffing out a breath. You screwed it on until you felt it stop turning. You gave it another spin with your hand before you tightened it with a wrench the rest of the way.

"We should be good to go now. Pour the motor oil in."

One of the mechanics poured the oil in on top. You waited to see if any of it would still leak out only to see none.

The new oil filter was successfully attached.

Well fuck me, I just did that.

Rolling out from under the car, you breathed out a sigh of relief as the team started applauding you and howling your name out of nowhere.

"Raiko! Raiko! Raiko!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up."

They all laughed at your antics. Tanaka and Sentaro pulled you up as the rest threw their cloths at you to send you to shower. Your team kit was sticking to you like you just took a dip in an oil lake, save for the sweat rolling down your back. That one belonged to you.

"You smell as bad as the car after a day on track and I'm saying that in the nicest way possible," said Akio.

"Haha, really funny," you laughed, throwing some of the cloths back with oil stains. "If I had a hose I would drench you all. Don't tempt me."

Little did you know that someone came around to check out what the ruckus next door was about. He watched you from the sidelines, running around to smear the oil on your hands on whoever landed in your range of attack. Most of them didn't even move, welcoming your attack with defeated smiles. The corner of his lip tilted up in a delighted grin at the scene.

Maybe I underestimated her.

"Everything's got the green light, right?"

"Yes, Raiko," Tanaka reassured you for the hundredth time since you stepped in the car. "All other car checks came out good. Stop stressing."

"I'm not stressing."

Well, you kinda were since you lost a lot of points by retiring from the first stage. You needed a clear head before the race and after today it just wasn't happening. You fixed the car before it was time to race, but if you didn't do right by this one, you could kiss any advancement ahead in the series goodbye.

"You saved us today. Any other driver would've ripped their contract to pieces in front of the team if they had to get anywhere near motor oil."

"I think you're forgetting I'm not just any driver," you smirked, pulling your helmet on. "Let's do this shit."

You went out there and enjoyed it for the first time this weekend. Your run was smoother than anything else today. The corners were mostly wide, mid-range turns, and the car felt great with the new oil change. It would be another 3000 miles before you had to change it again and hopefully, the filter would last longer than that.

Even Tanaka seemed to enjoy himself. He didn't reach for the door handle not even once like he was used to whenever he was in the car with you. You did accelerate faster in some turns watching his hand come up halfway only to stop and retract back.

"6 left 100. Flat out."

One hundred meters left to the widest corner left in the race.

Come to mamma.

The dirt flew up in the air behind you, leaving a trail of dust on each side. You dove closer to the left where the stands were, taking the last corner with a large drift that rose up huge clouds of sand from your rear. You heard the roars of the crowd before the puckers from the slide over the gravel, all getting lost in the rave music booming through the speakers.

This is what racing was about. Leaving it all in the hands of the wheel for two minutes where the world quieted down. Being on a one track mind.

Once every driver went for their run, you sat on the hood with the rest of the team waiting for the final update of the track times. You chewed your lip in thinking, tapping your foot on the floor.

I hope all those sacrifices weren't in vain. We all worked way too hard to fall off the track right now. We need this right now.

The scoreboard loaded to display the first three names and all heads perked forward. No one spoke. Not even the wind dared to rustle a banner.

1st place - Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory

2nd place - Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing

3rd place - Takatoshi Tohira - YM Works

Naozumi's ego was strong today. He just so managed to bag podium after that whole show of arrogance. Fucker. Pushing your annoyance for the man away, you focused back on the board.

Come on, load faster.

4th place - Katsumi Ishibashi - Top Rank

I can kiss top five for Tour de Tokai goodbye. So long world.

5th place - Raiko Suruki - Suruki Racing

What the fuck-

Loud cheers erupted all around you like the national football team just won the World Cup. That was totally impossible but you did it. You placed in the first point rankings. You were in top five! Still far away from the podium, but at least you didn't fall off the scoreboard.

Before you even said anything, the screen updated to display the Drivers Championship standings so far.

1. Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing - 61 pts

2. Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory - 53 pts

3. Neil Emerton - Cusco Racing - 47 pts

4. Takatoshi Tohira - YM Works - 38 pts

5. Fairuz Badawi - Eliot Racing - 31 pts

6. Katsumi Ishibashi - TOP RANK - 28 pts

7. Raiko Suruki - Suruki Racing - 25 pts

"It's not much, but they're good points," said Tanaka, patting you on the back. "Amazing work today, lightning strike."

Turning back to everyone, you called out to them. The team gave you their full undivided attention. Your team. Most of these people saw you grow up from a rowdy teenager into the driver you are today. They were more than your team. They were your extended family. You owed them everything.

"I know dad's not here today, but someone has to do the honorary speech" you clapped your hands together, trying to will some normal words out.

"I wouldn't have been able to get out there without you guys. You're the reason this team works like oiled parts, no pun intended."

Some of them laughed at that. You happened to have your father's humor.

"I know there's no podium celebration for us this time, but I will work even harder to bring it to you soon. For now, please rest up, eat well and stay safe. The Fuji Highland Masters round is nearby so we need to get in the gear for it soon."

"Raiko! Raiko! Raiko!"

"Guys, please stop," you giggled, suddenly flustered at all the attention. "Come on, go home. Before the organizers kick us out."

Grabbing your duffel bag with your things, you went back to the race banner. You pulled out your phone and took a photo of it and a selfie.

Your career officially started. It was a rocky start and the climb up to even get a chance at podium was even rockier. But you were willing to fight for it with your teeth.

Suruki Racing was born again this weekend and you were planning to keep it alive for longer than it has before.

Turning around, you cast a look at the podium. Naozumi just received his trophy, smashing the champagne bottle to spray the crowd. That million dollar smile was back on his face, wider and brighter than you've seen it. It almost looked real. Among all that lust for fame and money in his blood, he looked like he fit right in with the haze of celebration. Like he was made to be a winner.

On the other side of the podium, Akira lifted his 2nd place trophy too, fully enjoying the squeals from his fans. You didn't know what came over you, but you pulled your phone out to snap a picture of both of them for safekeeping.

Spotting you on the side about to leave, Akira took off in your direction. His hand tugged on your arm to spin you around.

"Hey!"

"Hey, you," you smiled. "Second place, huh?"

He looked down at the trophy with a small smile, not really reaching his eyes like usual.

"Yeah. Not my best drive but it's alright."

"Could say the same."

"Are you coming to the party?"

"The famed afterparty on Naozumi's yacht?" You looked back at the podium, watching him throw the champagne bottle down his throat, spilling everywhere on his suit in the process. "No, thanks. I'll pass."

"He wants everyone on the grid there. Though I would much rather not go, my agent said it's good publicity. To tame the media after that stunt today or something like that. So, come with me."

After declaring each other mortal enemies, you wanted nothing to do with Naozumi at all. Not even being in his range of view. Going to a party, on his yacht, in the middle of a body of water was the last thing you needed.

"I'll think about it."

A staff member came to pull him away for a quick press interview. He seemed adamant to leave but you waved him off. You were in need of a shower before the mud became one with your skin.

"I have to go," he pressed his lips together in a smile, dimples popping on the sides. "See you back in Tokyo?"

"Sure."

Would going to that party be so bad? I could definitely use some alcohol and if it's free, why the hell not? He must have expensive alcohol on board. I can let my pride go for a free drink.

There was no lie that Tokyo's skyline looked so magical at night, especially on a yacht ride down the central river. Skyscrapers stretched out into the sky, multicolored lights blinking back at you with sparkles. The rich really had this superb view every night and they barely took a ride here if it wasn't for business purposes.

At least yours truly knows how to pick a party location.

Speaking of the man of the hour, you counted about eight girls around him from your secluded spot at the bar. You could hear their high-pitched voices all the way there, asking him all kinds of questions about himself and the car. He just hummed in response to all of them, focusing his attention elsewhere.

If today wasn't so shit and he didn't literally declare war to you, you might have just been a tad bit happy for him. The most you mustered was a mumbled congratulations when you boarded the ship. He just passed you a grin and left it at that.

He doesn't deserve my cheerfulness. He gets it from the world enough as it is. Plus the fact that he invited everyone on his yacht just in spite.

None of the drinks at the bar were for free and most were too expensive for your pocket, so you had to drink a mocktail. Even his hospitability was in mocking.

More girls scooched closer to get a piece of him, tanned arms and bare legs brushing up against him from all sides. He didn't even seem to be bothered in the slightest that his space was being taken up. But he did mind when it was you doing it.

"Then let's make a toast again!"

"Cheers!"

"Congratulations on being the champion!"

The girls cheered and clinked glasses, sipping on the expensive champagne. He joined on the clinking too, though he didn't drink with them, keeping his glass aside.

His eyes drifted from the champagne glass in his hand to you. The small smile on his face turned into a smirk of provocation. A smirk that went right to the epicenter of your rage. He came to kindle that fire again.

Before you knew it, you made a beeline through the crowd stopping right in front of his table. The girls shot you disapproving looks, sizing you up and down in every way they wanted. Picking apart your messy, tousled hair. Your tomboy outfit. Some even mumbled something about your nails not being in fashion. You shot them a look and they stopped looking at you altogether.

Naozumi just regarded you with a knowing look, averting his eyes to the water surrounding the boat in dismissal. You just stood there with your arms crossed, waiting for him to stop his passive ignorance.

"Got something to say to me, rookie?"

Would he explode if he just called me by my name?

"I do actually."

"Then," he extended a hand around one of the girls getting more comfortable with her. She snuggled into his body, giddiness taking over her for getting so close to him. You could feel the jealousy oozing off the other girls, waiting for their turn. "Let's hear it."

He really does have a thing for public humiliation.

Akira stepped beside you, lightly pulling at the sleeve of your leather jacket to get you away from trouble. Little did he know you loved trouble more than anything in the world. Especially when it involved a certain know-it-all with an annoyingly handsome face.

"Rai, let's go," he muttered, aware that some people turned around to watch the scene. "You're better than him. Don't give him the satisfaction."

"I wasn't talking to you, Shinkai," spat Naozumi, not once lifting his eyes away from you. Not even when the girl at his side caressed the side of his neck with obvious want. "Go lick the boots of your own team principal."

"Talk, rookie. Or did the cat get your tongue?"

You want war on and off track, Naozumi?

You have it.

The words were out of your mouth in a heartbeat, not one thought behind them. Nothing but the sole need to see how he would react to being challenged publicly.

"Let's settle it on the road. You and me. Our cars back at the docks."

An illegal race on the streets of Tokyo. Might as well be career suicide for some. But you had way too hanging by a thread, while he only had his pride. Taking that away would be like shoving him off his throne and sitting on it like it was yours.

Best case scenario, you win and leave him with a shattered ego.

Worst case scenario, you lose or end your career.

The only good thing was that the odds were in no one's favour out there on the road. It took skill to win an illegal race in a city that was built up on street racing of the highest stakes.

"What does the winner get?"

"Always so set on winning, aren't you? Would losing something dim your small manly pride?"

His tongue pushed his cheek in the same annoyed manner it would at his brother reprimanding him for being incapable of listening to simple directions.

"That's between you and me," you added, settling on making this as private as you could.

The sudden realization was written all over his face. He knew what you were referring to since you threw his very own words back at him.

"A rookie stays a rookie until they prove themselves worthy of the road."

Ripples of gasps echoed around you, people already murmuring things about you. Until the rumors started being directed at Naozumi and his ability to drive. It was time for him to prove himself worthy of the crowd as well.

Naozumi sat back swirling the champagne in his glass until the liquid was left without bubbles. He seemed to give it a good thought.

There was that curiosity dancing in his eyes again. The same rush of novelty measuring up on your very own. He wanted to know where you would take this if he gave you the chance.

"Fine by me," he said, taking you up on your offer.

Shaking off the female arms circled around him, he got up and threw back that glass of champagne emptying it in one go, before calling out to the captain to turn the boat around. He walked to you, stopping mere steps away from you.

"Where?"

"The hill over there down to the docks. No time cuts, no tricks."

"You shouldn't drive after drinking," you remarked.

He smirked, taking one more step towards you. "Are you worried about me, princess?"

"No," you said, taking one step in his direction.

One more step from each of you and you were chest to chest, facing off like it was a real battle for the very pride of driving. People made a circle around you, staying away from the tension already wafting through the air.

He bent down to your ear. "To settle your worries, it was non-alcoholic champagne. But don't let them know. I keep my alcohol for the big wins."

He really was the biggest asshole on the planet.

The two of you were the first to get off the boat and find your cars, driving them up the top of the hill with some of the crowd from the yacht following right behind. It would be a drive down through traffic and tight corners but it looked much more doable than the roads you've driven through today.

You heard his car purring before he pulled up next to you turning in your seat to gawk at it - a midnight blue R8, a beast of a car compared to yours.

It was an older model, so overpacked with modifications it made your head spin. Nothing on that car looked like it belonged on it and you had a hunch that long hood curving over the engine held a lot more mysteries than the outside body of the car.

He rolled down his window, leaning a hand over it to check yours out too. He scanned it back to front and from the twinge in his lips, he appeared impressed by your weapon of choice. Who wouldn't gape at it when yours was a collection car worth more than three of his yachts together.

"Veilside RX-7. Not bad for a rookie."

He sounded genuinely respectful.

"Thanks."

"I'll give you a five seconds head start," he added.

"I think you could use them a lot more than me," you shot back.

He revved his V8 engine, roaring it to life like a lion looking to claim his rightful throne. You did the same, revving your V6 longer to prepare it for the sprint race. Your engine missed two cylinders and some horsepower but yours had way better grip on the road. Though small compared to his speed intake, you had a shot at winning this.

He was big and wide, a monster under the hood but one that got swallowed on serpentine roads like the one that awaited you. It was a show car. It wasn't made for racing. That and your car was smaller and bunchier, meaning you were able to whizz through corners much faster if needed.

He can't beat me at what I know best.

I was born with the drift in my veins.

And illegal street racing?

Not my first rodeo, pretty boy.

Someone walked to the front stopping between your cars. It was the blonde woman from last night. Shorts that were shorter than your lifespan climbed up her buttocks, joined by a tank top that hugged her boobs better than any of your bras could. A checkered flag hang in her hand, getting rustled by the cool night breeze.

"Not too late to back out," he piped up.

"See you at the finish line. That is if you can keep up," you said, rolling up your window to avoid more of his attitude from seeping inside your car.

You cast a look down to your right at the docks then turned back around to the road.

On second thoughts, Tokyo's skyline looks way better from up here.

The blonde rolled her hand with the flag calling out a count and holding up her fingers. The crowd cheered behind you, already getting gassed by the fumes burning out through the exhausts.

"Three."

It's not about how fast you go.

You revved the engine loud, feeling the car shake with the raw horsepower under the hood.

"Two."

It's about how long you go fast.

Throwing a look at Naozumi, you caught him looking right back at you, that shit-eating grin back on his face.

Fast like lightning.

"GO!"

The flag barely hit the floor when you pressed the gas like a madman. His extra horsepower propelled him a few meters ahead of you. You kept close on his tail, letting him take the tight corners before you so he felt it on his own skin that this wasn't the type of road to get cocky on. Not with a million dollar car like his.

Passing the first two corners, he moved to the middle of the road to cover more ground. He must have realized his car takes way too much space to even drift. And this was a drifting road.

The next corner gave him an opening to shift gears and drift. You went on the outside, trying to overtake him but he was way too wide to get past. You needed a wider corner.

Moving around a rocky hillside, you noticed the road barriers curving down into a wider path, less narrow with more flow.

Naozumi slowed down, reducing his drift angle in the process, rear jerking in a light drift. That's my cue. You pulled the hand brake, pressed down the clutch then quickly stabbed the gas, turning the steering to the left. Accelerating, you flew past him, sliding in front of his car over the middle of the road, slick and smooth like butter on a hot frying pan.

The next turn was just as wide. He accelerated trying to get past you and he almost did if you didn't know him any better. You took the drift faster than him, with the risk of letting the car skid off the road. The tyres screeched loudly at the excess of pressure. Thinking fast, you dropped in the clutch moving down in second gear, finding the sweet spot where the rotations aligned and swerved left into another perfect drift. The roaring growl of the engine was music to your ears.

This is how you drive a car, baby.

A few more turns and you skidded out into intense night traffic. The move from rough to slick asphalt sent your rear wide in the middle of an intersection, passing a red light and being honked at from all sides of the intersection. Naozumi followed right behind you, mere meters away from smashing into your tail lights if you slowed down in the slightest.

You entered a tunnel, whizzing past city cars as fast as you could, overtaking them in fast twisting zig zags. Going back down the hill of the main road, he slid in beside you, pushing the car to its limits to close the gap to you. You didn't let off either, dropping down another gear to rev the engine and push past him.

The docks were just a few blocks away. So close.

Police sirens howled loudly in the distance. One look in the rearview mirror and sure enough the red and blue lights shone bright behind you, heading for you and Naozumi.

Three more police cars pulled up two blocks down, trying to block the street and the two of you from passing through. You shot him a quick look he shared with you, fully aware that this was going to get messy. He threw his head to the blocks on the side, wanting to take the longer route and go around. You laughed at that, turning back ahead.

Go hide, Naozumi. I like to face things head on. You should try it sometimes.

Pressing the gas pedal to increase the speed, you slid in front of him and went through fast. The hands on your speedometer went past 120 kmph. If the officers didn't want to get crushed, they had to pull away. But they didn't. Not that you wanted them to.

You cut the gas, tapped the clutch and steered left really tight, drifting down the lane of the street that was left unguarded. You held on tight to the wheel to stay in control of the car as the force pushed you into the door. Your tyres skidded with a screech at the amount of power, but you drifted into that lane and got the car back around straight, leaving the law enforcement behind you.

Two hundred meters in, you repeated the same maneuver this time to the right and steering wide, diving into another turn down the street, completely losing them. The farther away you got, the less you could hear the sirens. They didn't follow.

One thing about police here: they didn't give a fuck if they didn't stop you on the first try. With the amount of street races around Tokyo at night, they gave up on speeding tickets too. If you can do better than one-eighty they can't catch you. They just liked showing up for some ruckus for people to know they were worth their taxes.

Naozumi slowed down behind you, unable to understand how you got away. He followed your drift on the stretch, miscalculating how wide and low he was as his wheels got up on the sidewalk, scraping his front bumper in the process.

Circling around the last blocks with him in tow, he raced up to you, catching speed until he reached you again.

Now it was finally head to head.

Eight hundred meters stood between his dignity and your career getting knocked off and thrown into the river. None of you backed off, increasing the speed to inhumane limits. Not even the rally cars went this fast. The tyres gripped the asphalt hard, engine thundering under the hood, wheel quivering in your hold the faster you drove.

Five hundred meters.

On your left, his R8 got closer, trying to take away from your ascent. A lower portion going under a bridge came up ahead with a tight corner between the pillars. You veered under it, drifting with his car at the same time. He took the inside pushing you off into the rocky sidewalk as payback for his scratched bumper. Your rear wheel caught onto it, swaying the car off the road. The tremors shook your seat the more you drove over the rocks and you managed to get off it just before you smashed into the pillar, sliding back on the road.

Motherfucker.

You pushed the car even faster to catch up to him. You played fair and square and he was pulling tricks. Fairplay was in the trash at this point when it comes to him. What was worse was that you expected more, but maybe that was a mistake.

Three hundred meters.

The size of a football stadium stood between you and the finish line. The docks were now in view, tall and shabby warehouses littered on the sides of the road. Time for Plan B.

Just because I don't have one between my legs doesn't mean I can't act like a dick too.

You let go of the throttle, slowing down to fall behind him and tailed him, sticking to his end like a leech. He liked to play dirty. At least he could have a taste of his own medicine.

He tried to shake you off, going in chicanes and slowing down in the process. He was growing impatient and it showed because you weren't letting off his tail not in even a little, keeping close to his end. If you had more horsepower you could've kissed his back bumper for shits and giggles.

He tried his hardest to lose you, turns getting Once he steered right really wide, you took the opening and accelerated, speeding through ahead and leaving him behind. You turned to wave at him with a smile as you passed by, bolting through to the end.

You whizzed past the redhead waving the checkered flag, getting the crowd yelling as you drifted around them, lifting some of the dust up in the air as you did some victorious doughnuts. Naozumi pulled up behind you and you circled him a few times before you stopped in front of him.

That dark look in his eyes was full of hatred just a few hours ago. Now, it turned furious with rage, pride absolutely shattered. He took a gamble on your inexperience and he lost the game he started so confident in his own powers.

Everyone rushed to your car to cheer on you. You got out shocked at the crowd pooling in. Akira bolted through the endless mob of people, reaching you and bringing you in a bone-crushing hug you couldn't help but melt in.

"That was batshit crazy! We could see everything from down here."

"I know," your voice came out muffled from being tucked in his shoulder. "I can't believe I did that."

"Well," he pulled apart to hold onto your shoulders, "believe it 'cause you absolutely just did that."

The crowd started chanting your name and you couldn't help the giddiness overtaking your senses. Some of those people were either drivers or really famous and they were calling out your name with excitement.

You might have fallen off the track today but you won the crowd tonight. This was yours to enjoy fully and no one could take it away from you. You earned it. You proved that you belonged on the road.

Naozumi finally cut the engine off. He slumped back in his seat for a moment before he got out to inspect the damage on the front of his car. You walked over to him to see him threading his fingers over the scratched paint stretching over to a dent, covering a good part of the corner in front of the right wheel.

"That looks nasty," you said.

He shot you a look filled with hatred. That graze looked worse than nasty could describe and from how he grinded his teeth in annoyance, it looked like it was entirely your fault in his head.

Not one word was uttered between him getting back in his car and speeding away, leaving his victory celebration for you to enjoy.

I think I scratched his ego too.

Akira slid in beside you, eyes trained on the back of his car, watching it drift away until you could no longer see it.

"Is it wrong that I feel bad for him?"

"Nah, you earned this. He's just complicated." Then he paused, rotating to you. "Frankly, I don't think anyone threw him off his high horse this hard before. Not even me," he said with a grin, happy at Naozumi's demise.

Maybe he was right. Naozumi was a really complicated person. But the more you faced each other on and off track, the more you got to know more about him. And the more your hands inched closer to unravel that puzzle on the shelf with his name on it.

One thing was for sure.

After today's events, that plastic foil on his puzzle box was entirely gone. And one of your dying curiosities was satisfied tonight.

You now knew what made Naozumi tick.

And it wasn't losing.

🏎️Glossary of terms and other useful information 🏎️

The Points - Points in rally get awarded on a top 10 places basis. Depending on the placement at the end of the final stage, the score one gets differs. First place can get as high as 25 points, while tenth place gets only one point. *The last stage is called the Power Stage, giving drivers in top five extra points in the overall standings.

Drivers Championship standings - The overall points gathered over the course of all rounds. If you're familiar with F1, it is the equivalent to the Drivers' World Championship standings.

Downshift - One of Raiko's favourite things. Changing gears from an upper one to an inferior one, where the car revs up before it speeds up. Also the sweet spot where the rotations align and the engine roars.

Thank you for reading! Please leave a note, comment or reblog :)

Taglist: @ellisaworld @howimeetyoukit @jonnelpunk @nadlx33333

#runaway 🏎️🏁#naozumi hiyama #naozumi hiyama x reader #naozumi hiyama x you #overdrive fic #akira shinkai #akira shinkai x reader #overdrive mackenyu

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slippinmickeys · 7 months

Text

Three Part Harmony (24/25)

She could feel him in her head before she heard him.

“Scully!” he said urgently, then she felt his hard grip on her shoulder.

With an instant dump of adrenaline, she sat up straight, the blanket falling to her waist. Mulder was standing next to the bed, his arm extended, still holding onto her.

“What is it?” she asked, instantly sending out mental feelers for William, but finding the distance between them too great.

“They had a tracker on Rhonda’s car,” Mulder explained. “They know we’re here.”

“Shit,” Scully said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and grabbing the pants she’d worn the day before, sliding them up and on.

Mulder dug into the bag of their things and tossed her a shirt and a fleece, which she pulled on, her thoughts flying a mile a minute.

“Get the guns,” she said, but turned to see Mulder already pulling them out of their luggage, dumping the paper bag of S&W ammunition and ketamine syringes onto the mattress which was still warm from her body.

“Where’s the other Glock?” she asked.

“Gave it to Rhonda,” Mulder said, distracted. He had paused what he was doing and cocked his head to the side as if he heard something. Scully was lacing up her second boot when she heard it, too; the low, distant growl of an approaching helicopter.

Mulder hissed a vicious swear.

“I think we have to assume that’s for us,” Scully said, standing.

Mulder turned to her. “Can you bring it down?” he asked.

“Not before getting confirmation that it is for us. But…Yes,” Scully said. “I have to see it first, though. I have to know its position in relation to me, to everything else. That’s why I connected with you in the US Marshals van and asked you to look around for me. I have to see and feel what’s going on. It’s hard to describe.”

“So when we’re connected…you can see what I can see?”

“Sort of,” she tried to explain.

Mulder nodded, then looked out the small window of the cabin.

“I think it’s coming from across the lake. Toward the lodge.”

“William-” she said, her already thumping heart jumping to beat more madly.

“What if he’s nearby the chopper?” Mulder asked. “Can you work through him?”

She nodded, once again casting out her thoughts for her son. “But I can’t…” She winced. “William is too far from me right now. I need to be with him.”

“Okay…” Mulder said. “Go to him. Now.” He pressed the other Glock into her hands along with the ketamine and grabbed the big Smith and Wesson, tucking it into the back of his jeans. Scooping all the loose ammunition into his pockets, he said, “I think we have to assume that they’re not just coming from the air. That they’re going to come from all over. I’ll go out there, into the woods and by the road. Let me be your eyes and ears.”

“Mulder, no,” she said, a panic gripping her. She saw the sense in his argument, but couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from him again.

“Scully,” he said, looking at her intensely.

She closed her eyes and nodded at him, relenting, releasing him to the wilds. They both made their way to the door of the cabin and Mulder pulled her sharply back before they could push their way through. He pressed a searing kiss to her mouth, pulling away after a moment and then running out into the cover of the forest.

Scully shook herself and then flew out the door of the cabin, running as fast as she could toward the lodge.

XxX

Rhonda had William working on a small bowl of dry cereal when she heard the distant tucka, tucka, tucka coming from the other side of the lake.

She dashed to the big bay windows of the lodge and looked out. On the far side of the water she saw three distant black specks coming toward them, low on the horizon through the valley between the mountains that fed into the lake.

“Christ!” she sputtered, and ran back toward the kitchen to kill the lights she’d turned on.

There were two doors that led into the main part of the cafeteria and one off the kitchen in the back. The doors that led into the main space were to the left and right of the big windows that overlooked the lake. The one to her right led to the main part of campus, and the one to the left, on the other side of the large fireplace, opened to the back side of the lodge where they kept a large store of firewood and some of the utility equipment.

Rhonda flew first to one door and then the other, throwing the locks and then darting to the center of the big space, unsure of what to do next. She should probably go into the kitchen to lock that door as well, but she expected Mulder and Scully to come through it at any moment, and she didn’t want to leave William, who was sitting on a blanket on the floor happily shoveling cereal into his mouth, unaware of the incoming danger.

Most of the large room was as they had found it, all furniture (but for the table they’d pulled in front of the fireplace the evening before) pushed up against the walls and neatly stacked, the old lost and found box sitting next to a dusty upright piano. There was a large pass-through window that opened into the kitchen with metal supports at waist level so that kids could slide their trays along as they picked up their meal. On the other side of the room, behind the dining area, was a small dais with dusty red curtains hanging on either side of it– an area the kids used to put on shows on sodden, rainy days. Otherwise the space was cavernous and empty, but for the pictures along the walls and little William on his blanket.

The specks across the lake were growing larger, and she could clearly see them now, the sleek black shapes of three military-like helicopters, each of them bristling with weaponry.

Keeping low to the ground, she shuffled over to where William was sitting and picked him up along with the bowl of food he was eating, easing her way back to the edge of the room. Her first instinct was to hide, but she knew the men coming for them would search every square inch of the camp. Their only course of action was to fight back.

At that moment, there was a bang from the kitchen, and Scully came flying into the middle of the room, her gaze immediately swinging toward Rhonda and her son. The boy in her arms tensed momentarily, dropping the Cheerios that were in his hand. When Rhonda looked down at him, his pupils went wide, blown black, and then returned to normal, his ice blue irises locked in on his mother.

“Mama,” the boy said, reaching out to Scully.

Rhonda realized that she’d witnessed the moment that Scully and the boy mentally connected.

Scully walked toward them with purpose, holding out her hands, and Rhonda passed the boy over without a word. Scully leaned down to kiss his downy head, and she breathed deeply into his skin, her eyes closed. Rhonda saw the baby relax into her arms.

The sound from outside was growing louder and louder, and Rhonda looked toward the lake. The choppers were practically on top of them, hovering above the roof of the lodge, out of sight. Rhonda watched as black ropes unfurled into the frame of the windows before them, uncoiling to the ground like snakes ready to strike. A moment later, dozens of soldiers dressed head-to-toe in black combat gear rappelled down the cords, each of them swinging up an automatic rifle the second their boots hit the ground. Scully had a faraway look on her face, but then snapped-to.

“Come on,” Scully said in a low voice, reaching out with her free hand to touch Rhonda’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of sight.”

She turned and made her way up onto the tiny stage at the rear of the room, and Rhonda followed her, ducking behind the curtains to hide themselves from view.

Rhonda swallowed thickly. “What do you need me to do?” she whispered.

“I need you to take William,” Scully said, kissing the boy’s forehead before handing him over. “And I need you to keep him close to me, no matter what.”

Rhonda nodded, her skin buzzing with fright. The soldiers outside were taking stock of their surroundings, clumping together in formation of six or eight, each tight knot of men moving in a different direction. They suspected the little family and Rhonda were here, but they didn’t know exactly where. Yet.

“You have a gun?” Scully asked her, and Rhonda once again nodded her answer. “Only use it if you have to,” the other woman went on. “We only have the clip that’s in there.”

“Okay,” Rhonda exhaled.

“Take this too,” Scully said, passing over the ketamine syringes. “Just in case. And stay hidden. I won’t let them get close to you.”

With this, she stepped out so that she could see what was going on outside, as Rhonda pushed herself and William behind the edge of the wall that ringed the dais. She could see a corner of the room; the edge of the fireplace and the door that stood next to it. She watched as Scully, without moving an inch, sent cafeteria tables and chairs flying through the air to block the doorway, silently stacking them in such a way that the soldiers wouldn’t be able to get through.

“Okay,” Scully said, shaking out her hands nervously. “Things are about to get interesting.”

A second later, Rhonda heard a high-pitched sound–almost like tinnitus–from outside the walls of the lodge. Almost immediately after, she heard several distant shouts and one quick peal of automatic weapons fire, like someone’s finger had involuntarily squeezed a trigger.

“What was that?” Rhonda asked.

Scully turned to Rhonda briefly.

“I disabled their comm system,” she said. “And hopefully blew out a few eardrums.”

Rhonda felt a nervous smile creep up her cheeks.

“Well done,” she said.

Scully shrugged. “All well and good,” she said, “but now they know for sure that we’re here.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder tore through the trees that ran parallel to the camp’s driveway as fast as his legs would carry him. The ground was frozen, but the thick layer of soft litterfall caught at his feet. He could hear the helicopters getting closer as they approached the camp behind him, but had to trust that Scully could easily handle whatever they threw at her and continued to make his way toward the lonely county road from which they’d arrived yesterday.

It didn’t sound lonely anymore. Out past the locked gate of Camp Waawaate, in the open air of the valley, came the rumble of engines, big-treaded tires growling over asphalt.

Mulder hit the tree line and skidded to a halt, his breath coming in gasps, pillars of steam in the hard, frigid air of the mountains. He had the big Smith & Wesson in his hand and pockets full of loose ammo. The gun’s grip was warm in his sweaty palm, but the shiny barrel, pointed at the ground, was as flinty and cold as the snow at the top of the pass.

There was a cloud of dust in the distance down the long arrow of road that shot past the camp, a few inches of snow not quite covering the bristly husks of grasses on either side of the berm. Mulder narrowed his eyes. There were four trucks barreling towards them, maybe five; sand-colored medium tactical vehicles with semi-open bench seating in the back—troop transport, the big diesel engines eating up the distance. The trucks wouldn’t even need to slow at the gate, they could easily plow right through it.

Mulder raised the pistol and sighted uselessly, then dropped his arm. It would be like firing sand at a concrete wall. No point in giving up his position. This was a job for Super Scully.

He closed his eyes and tried to feel for her in his head, and at first it was like an ill-tuned radio, the dial in his head spinning, but then he felt her—half with him and half not, distracted.

“ Scully-”

“ One second, Mulder ,” her voice in his head like cool water on a hot day.

“ We’re about to have company, ” Mulder said mentally.

“ We have company ,” came her voice, distracted and laggy, like an old long-distance call.

The trucks were getting closer, the big twin windshields reflecting the flat gray light of the sky. There were five of them. No, six.

“Scully.”

From the distance in the camp behind them, Mulder heard several male shouts, then the quick skitter of rapid gunfire.

“Scully!”

A moment. Mental lag, then Scully was fully in his head.

“We’re okay, Mulder,” she said, fully present. “Show me what you’re seeing.”

Mulder eased back behind a tree and looked out. The trucks were almost to the gate, and he could hear them downshifting, slowing slightly as they approached.

Suddenly, the tires on the lead vehicle, all four of them, blew out simultaneously. The truck lurched forward on its own momentum, then stopped, the truck immediately following it plowing into its back. Before Mulder could really register what was happening, the same thing happened to the third and fifth vehicles, sending the trucks behind them careening into their tails.

There was the awful sound of metal on metal as the third and sixth trucks both tipped onto their sides, and the whole mass of them went skidding to a hissing, crumpled halt twenty feet in front of the camp’s gate. Mulder ducked lower, staying as far from sight as possible, as troops began pouring out of the mess, some of them pulling injured comrades.

Not far away, Mulder could hear various shouts and voices.

“Spike strip?”

“Call medi-vac-”

“-covert. There’s no medi-vac on this op!”

“Comms are out!”

“Did it work?” came Scully’s voice amongst the shouting.

Mulder was still ducked down, unable to see much for fear of being spotted.

“I’ll say,” he answered. “Their vehicles are toast. But there are troops to deal with, Scully. Lots of them.”

He tilted his head to get a quick look. More and more men were pouring out of the wreckage of vehicles and grouping together, weapons raised. Some took a knee on the outskirts of the ruined vehicles, keeping watch for whatever enemy had just attacked them, but some were already on the move, two tight clusters of them disappearing like smoke down the driveway toward the camp.

“Scully.”

“Are there dead?” she asked. Injured?”

“Probably both.”

He could practically hear her stomach churning, could feel her unease. She’d said she could and would kill to protect their son, but First Do No Harm was a hard habit to break. These men weren’t Donnie Pfaster. They were just doing their jobs. But their job was to take William

“Scully,” he said to her gently. "These men are coming for our son. Take the gloves off. ”

If his partner cracked her knuckles, this was the moment she would have done it. He could feel it through their connection.

“Follow the ones headed for us,” she said. “Now.”

Mulder eased his way back trying to remember Indian Guide tips for walking silently through the brush. He needn’t have bothered. Once he was about fifty feet away from the treeline, there was a tremendous conflagration. Scully had blown the gas tanks on all the trucks.

Mulder tore off at once, his ears ringing, using the cover of the explosion to move through the woods and onto the driveway where he could move silently and fast. Bits of metal and other things he didn’t want to think about rained down around him.

He caught up to the two groups of troopers as he was rounding a curve with the lake just coming into sight. Several of the men whipped around and aimed their guns at him, but for nothing. The weapons they were holding, along with those of all the other combatants, went flying out of their hands and up into the high branches of the trees. A few of the quicker-reflexed men pulled out pistols from holsters, but all the pistols started going off at once, and not a single one aimed at Mulder. Several of the men were shot by their comrades as the triggers kept pulling and pulling and pulling, and those that hadn’t been quick enough to draw their weapons found their sidearms firing from their holsters, into their legs and their feet and the ground. Once the ammunition ran out, blood splatter painting their dark uniforms, combat knives came flying out of belts and into chests and Mulder didn’t have to worry about the troops on the driveway anymore.

The helicopters had moved off, but he heard droning coming from two different directions; the lake and the woods beyond the cabins. If there were boats coming in, Scully would be able to see and deal with them from the lodge. But if there were four-wheelers, or some other kind of troop transport that could bring in fighters through the trees on the other side of the camp, he would need to be her eyes and ears.

Leaving the dead behind him, he took off for the other side of campus.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The explosions of the trucks scared William. Scully’s guilt and dubious conviction over killing the soldiers coming to get them sent him into a fit of hysterics. And there were more soldiers at the door.

Rhonda was shushing the baby, Scully was trying to maintain her connection with him, which felt more and more difficult, and the troops at the doors–both doors on either end of the lodge–had already blown out the locks and were working on the tables Scully used to barricade both entrances. And Mulder was out there, unprotected, with possibly hundreds of trained commandos, all intent on his destruction or capture.

With a quailing of fright, her connection to William suddenly closed off.

When she had first discovered her ability to connect with him, when she was still trying to figure out the ins and outs of their linkage, she had told Mulder that it felt like the boy could shut her out, that it was like he’d closed a door and she was on the other side. She’d thought she was past that; their bond had come so naturally to her lately that she assumed it always would.

But the boy was frightened, her feelings had upset him, and it was all happening at the worst possible moment. And then Mulder was in her head, his words urgent, but choppy. She could connect with him outside of her mental union with William, but it was far easier with the boy’s help.

If she’d had the bandwidth for despair, she would have fallen to her knees and screamed.

Instead, she strode to Rhonda and took her son from the other woman’s arms.

Bam! Bam! Without Scully’s resistance, the fighters at the doors were making quick work of deconstructing her makeshift rampart.

Rhonda was shaking like a leaf, and Scully put a hand on the woman’s arm.

“Rhonda,” she said, her voice as serene as she could make it. “I need you to play.”

“What?!” the other woman said, equal parts frightened, dazed and confused.

In Scully’s other arm, William wasn’t wailing anymore, but he was whimpering, and Scully shushed him quietly.

“The piano,” Scully said, thinking of the way William had delighted in the music. How even Scully’s own amateurish plinking of random keys had made his powers surge back at the cabin. “I need you to play,” Scully went on. “For William.”

Rhonda gulped once and then nodded, shaken, but looking determined. She stepped off the step of the raised platform and sat quickly at the piano against the wall. The banging of the soldiers moving furniture was increasing, getting more frantic, but Scully shut out the noise and lowered herself to the floor, moving her son to her lap.

Outside the building, over the lake, the sun cut through clouds, making the sky a sudden, brilliant pink. Sunrise pink. Beach pink. Scully thought of her father, her dream. The coral edged sky, Daddy in his dress whites. Look inward , he’d said.

And as the first notes of a concerto lifted to the rafters of the lodge, as the first men began moving into the building, weapons raised, Dana Scully closed her eyes, pressed her lips to the downy head of her toddler, and went down inside herself.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder had barely made it to the first cabin on the boys’ side when he encountered the first group of troopers.

They were moving up and into the cabins, searching each one two at a time, and the two coming out of the first cabin clocked him and instantly opened fire.

He dove behind a large beech tree off the dirt path and rolled quickly out to return fire, the huge gun in his hand blasting like a cannon.

“Scully!” he called to her over their connection.

He got nothing back.

Once the gun was empty, he rolled back behind the tree to reload. He could hear the other soldiers calling to each other and when he laid out more fire, the rest of the unit had come in to help, firing rapid spurts of fire at him, chewing up the tree he was behind, and peppering the ground around him, sending dirt and leaf detritus flying.

“Scullaaaaay!” he called again, peeking out at the soldiers so she could see what he was seeing.

The soldiers were moving toward him. Scully was silent.

He fired at the men, who scattered behind trees, unloading the pistol until his finger was pulling the trigger and it clicked uselessly. The men were well trained and moving in on him, fifty meters away at the most. He reloaded, spilling loose bullets into the leaves under him in his haste. He was cornered. Without Scully’s help, he was dead.

A shout. The drone of engines from the east, getting closer and closer. More troops. Something must be wrong. His insides flooded with dread, his mind with panic. And then the sound of another explosion from the direction of the lodge, the groaning of metal and yet another conflagration.

He wasted no more time. Using the distraction, he leapt to his feet and tore ass through the woods toward the lodge, using the forest as cover as the soldiers behind him reopened fire. Mulder was just cresting the rise right behind the big building where Scully, Rhonda and William were when a searing fire blazed across his arm. He’d been hit. He ran on anyway.

Ahead of him, the door of the lodge was wide open, a gaping maw. And then, from the lake, another cacophony. Mulder looked over and watched as a helicopter tilted and fell out of the sky and into a hard-bottomed inflatable troop carrier.

Scully, he thought, and flew into the open door of the lodge.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When the explosions started, Rhonda Fitzsimmons began questioning every choice she’d made in her life that had led to this moment. And then remembered that most of the things that had happened to her, that had propelled her to here, now, had been choices made for her. The death of her parents at the hands of an angry mob, half of them hiding behind white sheets. The loneliness and confusion of being shipped to the cold mountains of the west, to the care of a loving, but unfamiliar uncle. Those were not things she’d chosen. They were things she’d been a victim of. And she had decided, when she offered to help this small family, that her days of being a victim were over.

And so, despite the baby in her arms crying, despite men with guns darting by the windows and trying to get in, despite the distant gunfire and the terrifying knowledge that there was very little in her control, when Scully asked her to play the little piano in the corner, Rhonda did it. It was the only thing Rhonda could do that no one else could. And she had seen how it had helped the child in the past.

Her back to the lodge, to the confusion and the sound and the shouts and the shots, with a gun tucked into her pants and a capped syringe of ketamine sticking out of her back pocket, Rhonda played the piano as she had never played it before.

She played her grief. She played her fear. She played the chaos and the noise and the love of the family she was helping. She played herself; the strongest, most resilient version. She played it all.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #wip #three part harmony #family fic #but not fluff

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fablesrose · 10 months

Text

Ch 6 - The Order 23 Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: The team messes with a dirty financial planner's mind by stealing a hospital and convincing him of a disease.

Words: 2355

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our next job kept us in Massachusetts, where a finance guy had stolen money from his clients. Many had relied on him, only to leave them penniless. This was an interesting job, however, as he had already been charged for his crimes, in fact, we had shown up for his sentencing. The money he stole, though, was still missing.

We gathered in the courtroom, discussing the situation. Eddie, the mark, was going to a glorified prison in Florida that sounded more like a country club for only 18 months before he could come back and collect the nearly $400,000 he stashed before his trial.

“Alright, if this guy’s not afraid of prison,” Sophie started, “then what incentive does he have to tell us where the cash is?”

Nate didn’t have an answer.

“Nate, hate to rush you, but Eddie goes to prison in an hour so…” Parker probed.

“Yeah, yeah yeah…”

“Did you guys notice how much hand sanitizer that guy was using? Seems like a germaphobe on top of being a jerk. Makes me like him even less” I commented, mostly to myself.

“Did you like him at all?” Eliot asked me.

“No.”

Nate turned to us, “What are you more afraid of than prison?”

“Death?” Sophie guessed.

“And what are you more afraid of than death?” Nate raised the hand sanitizer Eddie had and looked at me, “Exactly.”

Nate quickly came up with a plan, Parker would sneakily drug Eddie’s water with some spy type vent menuevers. Nate would then pose as a doctor to keep Eddie in the area, even getting him to a hospital so we could have an even greater control over him. Once we stole the hospital of course.

Once we arrived Hardison and Parker set up equipment on an abandoned floor. Sound systems, cameras, anything you could think of to be able to convince Eddie that he was in an operational floor of the hospital. Nate sent me to grab some things with a list. Once everything was set up we met in one room which would be our makeshift HQ.

“Hey, are you sure there are no patients on this floor,” I asked after I had gathered all the stuff.

“No, they use this place for storage. We own it,” Hardison answered.

I nodded, setting the duffel I had down. “Alright, well here’s the stuff from the van, plus almost everything from the list. And by the way, nurses haven’t worn skirts with white stockings since the 70s.” I didn’t fail to catch the slight smirk that came from Hardison and Eliot when I said that.

“Guys listen up,” Nate caught our attention, “Eddie is here for an MRI, that gives us two hours. Don’t need to tell ya that’s not a lot of time. You might be playing multiple parts on this one.”

“Even me?” I asked, I hadn’t had a large role in a job yet, or any role at all for that matter.

“Yeah, even you,” Nate answered. “Parker, y/n, and I will be the medical team. Sophie, next door to the patient.”

Eliot and Hardison were bickering over shirts.

“Guys, just keep an eye on the Marshalls alright? We’ve got two hours starting now. Go.”

We split up with Eliot giving Hardison some last splitting words before walking off. Parker went down to the lobby to prepare and retrieve Eddie for the con. Nate went down in his doctor persona to meet them. Eliot and Hardison were down there dressed as cops to distract the marshals. I couldn’t help myself from taking a second look at Eliot in uniform before shaking my head to snap out of it. I was actually going to do something in this job, I had to prepare for it.

Sophie and I stayed on our floor, waiting for them to come back up. Sophie posed as a patient in the same room and chatted up Eddie when he got there.

“How’s this supposed to work?” Parker asked in our HQ room, “I barely dosed him with Rohypnol, I mean, it must’ve worn off by now. Especially with the rash.”

“Yeah, well look at him. I mean, he’s totally fine.” Nate answered. He handed me a script, “This thing, I need you to read on the…”

“PA?” I asked.

“PA thing, yeah.”

“Want me to make announcements?”

“Yeah, could you?”

“Yeah, you’re really selling the whole hospital experience.”

“No, that’s not what I’m selling.”

He didn’t explain further so I went to make the announcements he told me to. “Dr. Burns, please report to the cardiac ward. Dr. Burns, to the cardiac ward. Infectious disease unit, please pick up line 23. Infectious disease, pick up 23.”

When I came back Nate started to explain to the both of us, “See, you tell someone they have a bunch of symptoms, and the information gets processed in the executive center of the brain, right? Its job is to question assumptions, start an argument. But, if you suggest symptoms, you can bypass all that.”

“Like subliminal advertising?” Parker asked, asking my own question.

“It’s actually neuro linguistic programming. You know the gateway to the amygdala and… Which is the fear center of the brain,” Nate explained, “you asked what we’re selling, that’s what we’re selling.”

“So we’re selling fear?” Parker asked

“Yeah, we’re selling fear.”

“Lovely,” I commented, mostly to myself. The plans he comes up with are both amazing and somewhat frightening. I found it interesting I didn’t see as much of this growing up. It was like seeing a whole different side of him, and while he was still my uncle, I don’t think he was the same man anymore.

We watched on the cameras as Eddie became more paranoid with a fake special report on the TV and different recordings talking about contagions coming from the hallway. It all seemed to be going smoothly until the marshals discovered that Eddie was missing. Luckily Eliot convinced them to not call it in yet, but this was not ideal.

“So much for having two hours,” Parker said.

“We’re gonna stick to the original plan. We’re just gonna move things up. Eliot, lose the uniform, Sophie, it’s time,” Nate directed.

Sophie started to act disoriented and distressed, “I don’t feel good!”

The four of us, Nate, Parker, Eliot, and I all stormed the room with medical supplies. I pulled the curtain, and we all acted like we were doing things behind the curtain, giving Eddie shadows to look at while Nate barked orders. We simulated cpr and defibrillators before Eliot called time of death.

We all acted distressed at losing a patient as we rolled Sophie out on a gurney, leaving Eddie by himself.

Eliot went back downstairs to help Hardison stall the marshals.

“What do we do now?” Parker asked.

“Now, we wait. This is the stall. It’s no different than any other con.”

I took a mental note of that fact as I watched Eddie on the cameras. “Wait, his nose…” I pointed out, “Is that real blood?”

Eddie started screaming that he was bleeding.

“Yes, yes it is…” Nate replied.

“Did you just give a guy a nosebleed with the power of your mind?” Parker asked.

“Amygdala mania,” Nate said, “The almond tonsils…” He walked away quickly.

Parker turned to me, “did you know he could do that?”

I shook my head quickly.

“But you’re his niece!”

“I may be Nate’s niece, but…” I trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

Parker then looked at Sophie who entered the room in her normal clothes, “Is it just me or has Nate gotten a little sadistic since he quit drinking?”

“Is it just me or does that make him even more attractive?” Sophie responded before snapping her eyes to me as if just remembering I was there.

I just shrugged at her with my hands raised, “I’m not gonna comment.”

We continued to watch Eddie and listen to Hardison as he investigated the marshals a little bit when a guard came up to our floor. Nate told Sophie to take care of him, which she did in the form of an intimidating hazmat suit.

Hardison, on the other hand, had found some interesting things about one of the marshals in his car, namely that he wasn’t a marshal at all. He was a hitman sent to kill Eddie. Eliot was supposed to meet up with him, but Hardison couldn’t get him on comms. He took a somewhat drastic measure of speaking in code over the intercom of the hospital.

We had our own hands full playing with Eddie’s mind a bit more. Nate went in to him and explained a little bit about this virus that has been infecting people before collapsing. Me and Parker rushed in, trying to help him, all in character of course. We hauled him into the bed next to Eddie, where Sophie was before.

“I’m fine, you know. The rash is localized,” Nate said drowsily, “I just need an anti-inflammatory nurse. What, what are you doing?”

Parker handcuffed Nate to the bed, “I’m sorry, Order 23.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Eddie asked, “You can’t just leave me here!’

“Please, nurses!”

I tied a mask around my face and made a show of pulling Parker out of the room.

“Let me talk to CDC Atlanta,” Nate called.

Parker pulled back to answer him, “I can’t, they’re coming.”

“Who’s coming,” Eddie yelled, “wait! What is Order 23? Is it to leave us here to die?”

I made another act of pulling Parker away, “Come on, we’ve got to go now!”

“Please, get me out of here. I am not sick,” Eddie pleaded.

“Don’t listen to him,” Nate said, “Variant U cannot be released into the general population.”

“You heard him, I’m leaving right now!” I told Parker, “I’m not waiting for you anymore.” I dashed off down the hallway.

“It’s not my decision!” Parker told Eddie.

“Is it for $400,000?” Eddie asked. “Is it your decision then? I have it. Near here. And I’ll take you there, all you have to do is let me go, please!”

I smiled from my chair in our little HQ, we got him.

Nate cried no from his bed, begging Parker not to do it, but she released Eddie and led him out of the room.

Nate dashed from the room quickly after and joined me so we could clean up quickly to avoid the marshal that was reaching our floor. It wasn’t too long before the Marshal called it in that Eddie had escaped causing the whole hospital to be flooded by cops. We made our escape, Parker sticking with Eddie after he thought he tased her, the rest of us close behind.

Eddie led us right to the cash, which was hidden in the court house, ironically enough. Parker took the money after she punched him in the face, “Deal’s a deal.”

“So what happened, Eddie, huh?” Nate asked him. “You got a little bored during your trial, started looking around and you thought, ‘now what’s the last place someone would look for stolen money in this town?’”

Eddie looked from Eliot to Hardison who were holding him up to Nate before he started laughing.

“What’s so funny Eddie?” Eliot asked.

“I’m just thinking about all the crimes you committed today,” he pulled himself loose, “burglary, assault, kidnapping. I’m going to prison for eighteen months. But you, every one of you is looking at 25 to life.” He panted, backing away from us, “I know your faces. I know all your faces. I am really good with faces.You’re gonna pay for what you did to me. Right now!” He dashed off down the hallway as we heard sirens outside.

I rolled my eyes and moved my hands in a talking motion, mocking him, “ho, ho ho, I’m a jerk, AND an idiot!”

Eliot huffed a laugh before turning to Nate, wordlessly asking if we should follow.

Nate shook his head no.

We watched from a distance as Eddie got arrested, yelling like a maniac about us.

Nate exited the courthouse first, “So, here’s everything you need to know about criminal law. Every crime has two elements: Actus reus, the act itself, and mens rea, literally the guilty mind.”

“Wait, now you’re a doctor and a lawyer?” Hardison asked.

“Yes,” Nate answered without missing a beat, “Now, for the escape, the prisoner has to both break out of custody and show intent of escape.”

“Wait,” Sophie interjected, “So, if, let’s say, a prisoner was taken hostage during a jailbreak, then he wouldn’t be guilty of escape.”

“That’s a perfect example,” Nate praised.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I commented.

“Which brings us back to our friend Eddie,” Nate continued, not acknowledging me, “and how the brain reacts to fear. In the heat of the moment, Eddie didn’t ask himself one simple question, who would doubt his guilty mind?”

I leaned over to Eliot, “I wouldn’t have asked myself that.”

He just nodded at me.

There were a few loose ends that still needed to be cleaned up. We split up again, Eliot and Hardison had to go back to the hospital to take care of the fake marshal. I kept my comm in, just to listen and make sure everything went smoothly. What I wasn’t quite prepared for though, was Eliot’s request of the marshal.

When he came back, there was a moment with just the two of us.

“I heard what you asked that marshal to do. To help that kid…” I looked to see him ticking his jaw, “that was really good of you. I’m glad he had you to look out for him.”

He glanced at me for only a moment, “Yeah well…” He gave me a tight smile, but didn’t finish his thought. He looked at the time, gave me a curt nod, and left.

I looked at the time myself and thought it was time to head home, I quickly said my goodbyes to everyone else before heading back to my apartment, wondering if I said something wrong.

Tags: @isoldeahlstrom @kniselle

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer #leverage #rewrite #slow burn #multichapter #nate ford #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #parker #ford!reader

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officialmandelacatalogue · 1 year

Note

enjoy the tears!

Quiet, calm, yet paranoid was Jonah Marshall. Sitting alone in the van for the second month without Adam since the incident. Terrified of being left behind, yet he had to leave his best friend to save himself. Breakdown after breakdown, Jonah went on investigations alone.

With a heavy heart he did so. Instability wracked his mentality as he went on. Encounter after encounter happened as he was fighting for his life once every day.

Alone is he. He can’t muster up the fight in him to do what he should have done when Adam was still here. Not anymore. He’s got alternate blood in him now that he dealt with the one on the side of the road.

Groaning, he covered half of his face with his hood. Attempting to stop that weird black substance from taking his place entirely. He knew he wouldn’t get his body back if it happened, so why let it? He fought for his life enough, now he has to fight for his body.

Shaking, Jonah bit down on his lip as he felt pain surging through his left side. Looking down at his hand and noticing a few eyes resting on the dark film covering him.

“ No. Nono– I’m not letting this happen– “ he hissed. Clawing at the seats, crying out for help. He knew nobody would help someone with alternate blood, yet it was worth a try. Begging for someone to come and save him from this hellish feeling. From his despair, his anger, his sadness… All emotions were harming him now.

Kicking at the seat ahead of him as he whined out. He felt sick and alone. Just like Adam wanted him to…

Right?

As he felt himself struggling to get his body under his own control again, he convulsed violently a few times before vomiting. More of that filmy black stuff…

“ … Oh God. “

Coughing, he tried his very best to rid himself of every bit of it. Nothing seemed to be working. It was only that stuff covering half his body. He felt disgusting.

He never wanted this to happen.

But he knew Adam did.

His hands shook as he held himself, trying to keep himself from screeching out in agony. Writhing in pain, he clung to the last bits of sanity held in his own. He felt disgusting for trusting anyone. Why would he ever trust that stupid creature? But he shouldn’t lie to himself, that “stupid creature” was the reason he’s alive now. His breath was heavy as he struggled to keep his composure.

Until he convulsed. Vomiting up whatever the fuck was left in his body. He hasn’t eaten in three days.

He was sick. Twisted, even. A horrible amalgamation of a human and not. His body ached.

Even if he tried to eat, it wouldn’t make him feel any better. It never worked.

Finally, someone stopped their car. They got out, and opened the door to the van.

That face was one he could remember.

Sarah lifted the boy out of the car, softly cradling him like a lost baby. Jonah instinctively clung to her, trembling as if he was slowly dying. It definitely felt and looked like he was, but he was more than alive.

She shushed his sobs, taking him into her car. She sighed as she started it, heading back to her brother’s old house.

Jonah knew he wasn’t going to live with her. She’s just going to help him and dump his ass back out on the street.

He already caused enough pain, what’s one issue with himself? Besides, he deserved it after what he tried to do years and years ago.

Sarah was afraid, in a way. She stopped at her old home, sighing as she opened the door and stepped out. She opened Jonah’s door too.

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me,” She said, with a remarkably annoyed tone to her voice.

(not a ship fic of course this is just for the funsies if jonah lived and ended up an alternate and ADAM died)

oh i love this 👍

#as a general rule of thumb ill try not to post fancontent here but i'll post this. very cool

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fieldandfountain · 2 years

Text

Stealing Aemond Targaryen’s Parking spot

Aemond Targaryen x strong!midwestern!reader

You are Strong American woman who drives a minivan and loves Jamba Juice

But can you really flit around the Stop n’ Shop center, after stealing Aemond Targaryen’s parking spot, at no cost?

SEQUEL HERE: https://at.tumblr.com/fieldandfountain/aemond-targaryen-is-my-overworked-barista/w0kzs8q7k79i

You think you’re going to kill someone.

Today has been stressful, with the insurance claims piling up, and the congestion on the parkway did not improve your mood. You have road rage, you are pissed off, and you are going to get your goddamn Jamba Juice, come hell or high water.

You pull into the parking lot, and to your fury, it is packed. All the spaces from the Starbucks down to Gold’s Gym are occupied. You turn and hiss as someone honks at you.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” you wail, as you make your third round. Nobody is leaving.

Then finally, blessedly, you arrive on a Subaru backing out. You bang on your steering wheel as you see a Mercedes Benz creeping in.

No way. Not on your watch.

You swerve in with remarkable speed. You know you should feel bad, but the adrenaline coursing through your body simply makes you all the more ready for sugar.

You get Aloha Pineapple with extra strawberries and are happily sipping and walking to your car when one of THEM shows up.

Oh god.

“’’Twas my spot,” Aemond Targaryen says, and he lifts up his jaw to look down on you. He only has one eye, and you don’t want to be a dick about it, but does stare twice as hard with it.

The Targaryens are freaks, but super rich so they can get away with a shocking amount. They’re like a cult, and live in a weird compound and raise pitbulls. You even heard that they fuck each other.

Last year two branches of the family split and had a ‘war’ with flamethrowers until the Fire Marshall and the Park service went apeshit. Now they just walk around town glaring at each other and trying to drag everyone else into their weird feud.

They also look and talk like Lord of the Rings elves. You think it’s some Renn Fair thing, but the Eileen from Supercuts says the hair is 100% real.

“Sorry, bud,” you say, rolling your eyes as you pass. He bangs his hands on your minivan, pinning you in space. You slurp your juice nervously.

What a freak. Not bad looking though.

His voice is withering. “You think you can flit about the Stop n’ Shop center, after stealing my parking spot, at no cost?”

Fuck, you’re getting kind of turned on.

“You’re going to rue the day your father whelped you on a tavern whore.”

Your dad met your mom when she was working Applebee’s on wings night, so it’s not exactly wrong but not right either.

You shove him backwards, but he snatches your wrist. “My, you are Strong.”

Not this again. Everyone in town knows your stepdad adopted you, and your bio dad is Wayne Strong from Strong HVAC and Plumbing. The dude got around so there are lots of Strong kids in town, but Aemond is absolutely obsessed with them, probably because Wayne hooked up with his sister.

“What’s the matter?” He smirks and you notice his gaze run over your body. He’s unhinged as hell, but you’ve known worse.. “’Are you not strong? ‘Twas only a compliment.” He hones in closer, and his breathes meets yours. You almost forget what a goddamn dork he is.

You lunge at him, faking him out, and he pulls back. His nostrils flare. “Come at me again, and I’ll feed you to my pit bull.”

You slurp, batting your lashes. “You mean the one ate your nephew?”

He slams his hand against the van, but face goes pale as he stares into the distance, towards the TJ Maxx. “My father says that Targaryen control over their pit bulls is an illusion.”

“No shit,” you say. Those dogs are constantly escaping and pissing everywhere.

The kiss is hot and fast and comes as a surprise, mainly because the Aloha pineapple falls on your sandals and freezes your foot.

“Damnit, Aemond,” you say. “That was $6.”

But you gasp as he nibbles on your neck as a family of five waits patiently in their SUV. You see them sigh, and leave, you know everyone and their mom will hear about this.

“I know with your Strong blood, you must support my sister’s claim.”

Because your dad fucked her? Now you’re just confused.

He grinds against you, your arm pins against the minivan, and his lean form feels good between your legs. “The pit bulls will bring this city to its knees. We can never be together, that much is clear.”

“Okaaay,” you say. His long fingers are sneaking up your tank top, and you don’t want him to stop, but you’re pretty sure that’s your eighth grade social studies teacher staring at you from across the lot.

“But I still intend to claim you, as mine.” His hand is slipping under your bra, and you whine and also worry the cops will show up. He hisses into your ear. “You enrage me. You break me. I will have your innocence.”

A bit late for that, buddy. “Cool,” you say. “Your place or mine?”

#aemond x you #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond x y/n #crack #hotd #hbo house of the dragon #house targaryen

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merwynsartblog · 2 months

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Okay jdndznz

So his full name is Cameron Davidson, but everyone just calls him 'Cam' for short. Cam is overly calm and chill to the point of it being kinda the running gag of his whole character (like in that one episode of Legacy where they go to the Zombie-filled amusement park, Cam is calm even after they found out they're all zombies and is like "ehhh we'll be fine" despite nearly dying a few seconds after saying that—and even after nearly dying, he just shrugs his shoulders while Tom drags him off). He's charismatic and can charm people pretty easily into liking him just because of how overly chill he is. I imagine his canon voice is the youtuber ProZD or that he'd sound kinda like Marshall Lee from Adventure Time. He's also really into strawberry milk, and has a massive distaste for chocolate milk. He's also just into the color pink in general. Deep down despite his normally calm demeanor though, it comes from the fact that he's been through so much to the point where basically nothing phases him anymore, and also because he doesn't want people to worry for him. And as to why that is—ehhh, I'll tell of his backstory with Tord as an answer.

So in kindergarten, Cam was actually a very emotional and sensitive kid. This was due to his already manipulative and abusive mother, but also because of the kids in class who'd bully him non-stop for being 'girly'. Tord ended up seeing this, and felt bad for him. But due to Tord being a pretty unhinged kid, he didn't handle it well, and instead started making fun of Cam for being a 'crybaby' so the other kids would divert their attention him from being girly to that. So of course, Cam and Tord developed a very complicated relationship right from the start due to Tord always picking on him.

Buuut, throughout Elementary School, their relationship did kinda soften a little. There was one incident where Cam got beaten up by kids and left on the street, and Tord found him while riding on his bike, and decided to take him back to his house because he isn't that much of a dick to the point of leaving him there. There was another incident where it was Cams birthday, and nobody came, and upon seeing him cry on the porch of his house, Tord felt bad and reluctantly decided to come over. There was.. also an incident where Cam ended up getting kidnapped by some random man in a van when he snuck out one night. But Cam was able to escape by using rat poison on his kidnappers food (his kidnapper made him cook for him a lot and do a bunch of other stuff), because Cam remembered something Tord had told him about poison, and decided using the only poison in the house might work. From the kidnapping incident though, they finally became friends, or at least they did until 5th to 6th grade. Cams mom randomly decided she wanted to move away, and manipulated Cam into thinking no one wanted him there anyway, so this prompted Cam to not say anything to Tord on the day of him moving away. Which prompted a misunderstanding between the two, and made Tord angry at him for years for not even telling him he was going away, while Cam thought Tord already didn't like him and was just being nice.

(Stopping so ya can read)

OH MY GOD POOR CAM

#tw kidnap mention

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sunny6677 · 3 months

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Figured I'd post about an Eddsworld oc I've had for a while now cuz why not

TWS FOR ABUSE, MANIPULATION, COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIPS, UNHEALTHY MINDSETS, WOUNDS, KNIFE IMAGERY, WOUND IMAGERY, ARSON MENTIONS TOWARD THE END??, KIDNAPPING, TRAUMA.

ALSO BY TORD, MATT, EDD AND TOM I MEAN THE CHARACTERS—CLARIFICATION ON THAT PART SINCE I DONT WANNA START SHIT.

In senior year of high-school though, Cam suddenly came back one day as a 'new student' because.. well, he moved back. And he was like VERYYYY different compared to how he was before. He was overly chill and laughed most of the things people said about him off, which prompted him from becoming the most bullied kid in class to becoming basically the most popular guy in school. Tord didn't even know it was him at first due to his different look and personality, but when he found out it was him, all of Tord's anger returned, and he angrily vented to his friends about it while at lunch. Not to mention, he thought Cam was already kind of ignoring him (Cam wasn't—he just didn't recognize Tord).

Tom, being an asshole and kind of already having a rivalry with Tord, decided to randomly get up from the table afterward just to invite Cam over to sit with them (because Tom was kind of mad about something Tord did to him a few days ago and was desperate for some form of pay-back). Cam agrees to sit with them, and sparks some conversation. He immediately befriends Edd, Matt and Tom, and tries to befriend Tord—but that doesnt work for obvious reasons. But doesn't even recognize Tord until the end of lunch nears, and the two immediately begin to argue while the others watch.

But throughout Cam being finally back and having reunited with Tord, their relationship slowly starts to soften up again due to Cam going through like a bunch of different shit (people spreading rumors about him, his mom being an asshole, etc). And they slowly become friends again after a while. This is also kind of where Tord starts to develop a repressed crush on him. However, Cam actually started liking Tord the moment they finally became friends in elementary, and has been kind of keeping his feelings deep down inside for years due to thinking a relationship like that wouldn't work out.

So in the time before Tord first leaves in the current time of Eddsworld, a rather complicated love story begins with Cam and Tord after a series of chocolate milk filled pranks Tord pulls on Cam to get revenge on him for making fun of his 'hentai'. It doesn't work though because while Cam is mad, he doesn't really care that much since it was Tord who did it. And Cam already thinks WAYYYY too highly of his friends just because they befriended him despite how 'horrible' of a person he truly thinks he is, and therefore thinks of them as saints due to that. This prompts Edd to intervene though, and forces them to kinds get along by making them go to a carnival thing together. And eventually they do apologize, but a certain incident regarding them holding hands and even getting maybe a little too close starts to make them question their feelings. However, at the end of this little love story of theirs, Tord has to leave for the big city. And Cam is upset deep down, but tries to keep it all hidden away. He isn't able to for long though, and when Tord comes to his room later that night to say another goodbye before he actually leaves, Cam finally breaks down in front of him after so many years and accidentally admits his feelings. Tord is shocked, but ends up reciprocating his feelings, and as a promise to Cam, he agrees to get with him after he manages to accomplish all of his dreams since they don't really think a distant relationship would work out considering he's all the way in some other city.

So after Tord finally leaves the next day, Cam is very quiet and visibly upset the whole time, but eventually calms down near the end of the episode. And to not worry his friends, he pretends like nothing happened and that everything is fine. Cam willingly will talk about Tord after he leaves, but he will avoid talking about anything related to their little romance.

When Tord comes back in The End, Edd wants to surprise Cam (since he knew how close they were before he left), so when he sees Tord in their house, he covers Cams eyes and leads Cam to where Tord is. And upon seeing Tord, Cam is obviously happy and pulls the guy into a hug. But Tord only came back for the giant robot obviously, and he doesn't want to get too attached, but unfortunately for him, he finds his feelings for Cam slowly rising up again. He tries to push Cam away or act distant with him the whole time, and avoids talking about the romance thing. But in The End Part 2 when he pulls out the giant robot and it explodes from Tom's harpoon gun, one of the debris lands on Cam and claws off the side of his face. Cam is too in shock from Tords betrayal to really care and just looks up in shock as his friends frantically run up to him.

After this incident, Cam is effected, but once again keeps it all inside and tries acting like nothing happened. Deep down, he still feels very hurt by Tords betrayal, and will probably keep acting like nothing happened until WTFuture where he finally has enough and basically attempts to assassinate Tord due to how much of a dictator he's become. (Though Cam kinda gets captured by The Red Leader army and Red Leader! Tord anyway, so that becomes difficult pretty quick)

As for Cams relationships with the other boys though:

Cam is pretty cool with Edd and thinks of him as a really talented, sweet guy. And he usually attempts to make the guy happy by giving him lots of cola or bacon, etc etc. Cam is also pretty chill with Tom who he thinks is just really cool despite how grumpy he is a lot of the time, but they kinda become closer after The End Part 2 because Cam ends up kinda venting to Tom about the whole incident, and Tom feels bad for him since he already hates Tord. Cam is especially close with Matt out of all of them though and genuinely thinks he's the best guy to have ever lived—he compliments Matt a lot, he helps him with his shenanigans a lot of the time, and even kinda got married to him once just because Matt was trying to do a list of things he had never done before.

Cam also kind of already helps with his friends shenanigans as well. Like he joins Tom during that one episode of Zanta Claws where he goes on a rampage throughout the entire town, but mostly because Cam is already kind of wasted and can't really think straight about why he maybe shouldn't destroy the town with Tom. Cam helps out Edd with the acting and the script during Movie Makers. Etc etc.

Other facts about Cam—

1. He isn't even lying when he says he thinks Matt is genuinely the coolest person he's ever known, and means all of his word of praise to him. He doesn't even think of Matt as arrogant, and just thinks he's a really confident guy.

2. In Spares, there was a Cam clone that was EXACTLY like how he was as a kid. Tord hesitated to shoot this clone of him because it reminded him of Past Cam, but Cam came up from behind and proceeded to kill the clone without hesitation, kinda symbolizing the fact that Past Cam really IS gone.

3. He also only started repressing his emotions (at least after leaving town) mostly because he thought it was what Tord would have wanted due to how he always made fun of him for being a crybaby when they were in elementary.

4. Tord called him 'crybaby' as an insult at first, but it slowly became a term of endearment when they finally became friends.

5. Cam kinda nearly breaks the ship in Space Face - Part 2 because he starts complimenting Matt a little too much and Matt's ego nearly busts the ship.

6. Cam is overly flirty or at least a little more honest about how he feels when drunk.

7. I imagine there's an episode where Cam literally just goes around the town and destroys a bunch of stuff. But his friends catch him in the act, and Edd is like "Cam, what did I tell you about doing arson?!... without US—" and then they all proceed to join him in a epic montage until the police show up.

May do a post about his story in WTFuture later—also I encourage him being shipped with other characters if you wanna do that. Bro already has a complicated relationship with Tord, he probably needs something healthy lmao

#eddsworld #cam eddsworld #edd eddsworld #tord eddsworld #tom eddsworld #matt eddsworld #eddsworld oc #oc x canon #canon x oc #read the tws

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happyspookysteamer · 1 year

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Letters to a Friend

Chapter 5

At Elsbridge, James pestered Wallace about the letter again. They had just dropped off their train, and both crews brought their engines to an empty siding for their next job. The signal man ran down to tell them that they would be waiting a while to proceed to their next job because an engine came to a standstill on their line, probably because of the frost. Until the line is cleared, they won't be going anywhere.

It wasn't as cold as it was in the morning, but frost still covered the land. Bored and curious, James wanted Wallace to finally read the letter. He didn't have to tell the young man twice, as he was dying of curiosity as soon as the letter was given to him. He had skimmed through it, but when he got it from the station master, he really wanted to read the whole thing through with Vance and James. Wallace clambered clumsily off of the red engine’s cab and stumbled all the way to his front. This was quite normal for Wallace, so James and Vance were not surprised in the slightest. Vance sat on James’s buffer, and Wallace stood in front of the two. Holding the letter as if it were some sort of scroll that had a decree from the royal family or something.

He was about to start when he stopped and looked to the back of Edward’s tender that was parked in front of them. He pointed in a questionable manner, as if asking, 'Is he allowed to listen?' Before James or Vance could respond, Edward answered for them. Well, gentleman, if I am invading your privacy, I could move to another siding, but I can't help but be curious as well after you have told me about your endeavour, but I will respect your wishes either way". Wallace was startled; he couldn't find out how he knew what he was doing, and he looked around Edward’s tender, looking for another pair of eyes that the old engine may have hidden. Vance just facepalmed, and James tried to contain a wheeze. The driver looked at his engine and nodded. He doesn't mind Edward listening. James looked between him and Wallace for a moment. If an engine could shrug, he would have, but instead he asked, "Edward? Would you like to know what is in the letter?". The old engine responded politely. "I would be delighted. Thank you, James." With that, Wallace sat on James’s other buffer and read the letter to Vance and the two engines.

Hello and Good day from France!

My name is Andreas Stark; I am 15 years old and live in France. I want to introduce myself, Mr. Marshall, who is a 45-year-old driver originally from Marquise in the northern part of France, and my father, Claus Stark, who is 38 and is also the fireman of our old engine named Leonhard. Leon is a large black 0–10-0 goods engine called the K.BAY.STS.B. class G5/5. He is partially blind in one eye from the First World War, but he is really friendly and would not harm a fly. He likes to work hard, but that often leads to him overworking himself. We all work on a railway in the southern part of France in a place called Belfort, which is close to the Swiss border.

The circumstances under which your letter fell into our hands were completely coincidental. We took a mail train that day, and your letter has fallen out of the bag and onto the floor of the mail van. When I saw the address, I first brought the letter to our administrative office. They threw the letter away, but I picked it up. I don't know why, but now I am glad I did. When I read your letter, I was very pleasantly surprised and couldn't wait to show Leon and my father the letter. Leon was as happy about the letter as I was. I immediately asked my father if we could write you a letter. Getting paper and a pen was the easiest part. My father and I also speak pretty good English, and so does Mr. Marshall, but Leon does not, but he still helped with writing by coming up with ideas of what we could write.

When we finished the letter, the biggest problem was finding a way to mail it. That is where Mr. Marshall came in. Being good friends with a postman, he managed to get some stamps and an envelope in return for a favour in the future. Mr. Marshall also came with a camera that he owns and took a photo of us after we gave Leon a wash-down, which we attached to the letter before we mailed it. If you would like to send us letters in the future, we have put down Mr. Marshall’s address so that we can get the letters directly.

We really loved hearing about you and hope to get to know each other better. Leon wants to say that he would really love to be friends with you, and so would I. We don't have that many friends anymore due to us having to flee our home, and your letter gave us something to look forward to. The days can be quite hard and repetitive, but this is something new and nice for a change. We can't wait to hear from you, and we hope the three of you, Mr. Wallace Peterson, Mr. Vance Jordan, and Mr. James, have a wonderful day.

Sincerely,

Andreas and Claus Stark, Mr. Marshall, and Leonhard

"What a lovely letter," said Edward. Wallace was giddy, happy that his idea paid off and that he has a pen pal now. Even Vance had a soft smile. He took the letter from the jumping fireman. In the envelope was a black and white photo of a large goods engine as well as two men in the cab that he assumed were the driver and fireman, Mr. Marshall and Mr. Stark. Standing on the tender of the engine stood a boy, probably Andreas, waving his arms around from the looks of it. Vance held the picture up to James’s face. The red engine cracked a smile as well. ‘They look like a nice bunch,' he thought to himself.

Vance got up and gave Wallace the picture. The ecstatic fireman takes off with the photo to show it to Edward. James and Vance heard Edward chuckle. Vance looks up at James and says, "So, what do you think? Up for another letter tonight?" James thought for a moment. At first, he didn't think much of his fireman’s idea; it was just a way to pass the time, or so he thought. Now, miraculously, it actually has someone’s attention in southern France. They wrote back… So maybe they are genuine in their interest in a new friendship? He would just have to see. To him, it's still just a letter, but he is curious about them and would like to see where this goes. "Why not? I know Wallace would be upset if we didn't," said the red engine. "We would have to see about potentially getting stamps for our new friends over in France; they seem to have difficulties in that regard," noted Vance. James had no idea where to procure stamps, but Edward suddenly spoke up. "Howard collects stamps; I’m sure he has a few extras to spare if you ask." "Thanks Edward! I’ll be sure to ask when he is back!" shouted Vance to the front, so Edward could hear him while also making the red engine wince at his volume. James thinks that wasn't that necessary since he really believes that the old engine hears better than a bat.

After some time, Edward’s crew returned with food. Vance asked Howard about some spare stamps while the crew all headed inside the station to eat. Leaving the two engines alone outside in an awkward silence. For James, it had seemed to get a little colder. The cool breeze made the red engine shiver in his frame. James looked around, unsure of what to do, and the silence started to make him a bit uncomfortable. James, I can literally hear you tense up. What's wrong? Talk to me," said Edward gently, unable to look directly at him because of the way they were arranged. James stuttered for a moment, looking at Edward or his tender. "W-well I guess I am not used to the silence," he said, more unsure of himself than usual, which did not go unnoticed by Edward.

"You never had a problem striking conversation with engines in the past; what is so different now?" said the old engine, trying to get to the bottom of the red engine’s recent strange change in behaviour. "I have had a lot of things on my mind recently. I have been having a hard time with many of the drastic changes that have happened recently. I don't really understand what is wrong with me recently or what it is that I am feeling. I’m just still trying to find my footing, Edward, nothing else'. James finished with a sigh, as if he had been holding his breath. Edward decided it would be best to leave it at that for now…

There was a bit of silence again; the only thing you could hear if you listened closely was the sound of engines in the distance, the low howl of the wind, and yard workers talking to each other further down the line. Edward, in an effort to break the silence, spoke again. "What do you think of the young boy who sent you and your crew the letter?" Edward asked instead. "Hmmm… Hm! W-what?" "In your own world, James?" he teased lightly. "N-no just… Whatever, what was the question again?" James asked, turning red at being caught zoning out. "I asked what you think of the lads in your letter." James muttered a quiet ‘oh’. "I- I think they seem like the nice sort; I’m not entirely sure what to make of them though based on that one letter; I mean, it's just a letter, right? I would hardly consider this a way to make a proper friend, not like a friendship that we have, for example, at least". " Letters have helped maintain contact with people across the world for ages. It can help form all kinds of relationships, but only if you want to. Remember James, there is a person on the other end who wrote it. Much like meeting new people, you barely know anything about them; these were more like introductory letters. Over time, you can get to know each other better and form a friendship that can last a lifetime, much like old Turner and his friend in America; he goes to visit him every year now. I don't see why you can't do the same James." Edward told the red engine. "Well, I can hardly just travel to France whenever I feel like-" "You know that is not what I meant James, give it a shot; maybe you’ll be surprised." James paused. "I guess you're right," he said, slightly resigned.

James and Edward’s crew returned shortly after having finished their meal. Wallace ran up to his engine and said, "Guess who is getting a washdown today!" James smiled widely at this news. "We’ll be taking a nice picture of you to send to Andreas." Vance followed up after catching up with his energetic fireman and trying to warm up his fingers by rubbing them together and blowing on them, causing him to puff similarly to an engine. That made James let out an amused snort. Vance continued to follow Wallace, and they climbed back into their engine’s cab. Howard and Edward’s driver stood close to the station, talking to the signal man. Howard was then the first to go over to Edward. He told both engines that the obstruction had been cleared and that it was safe to proceed to their next job. Edward was to leave for Hackenbeck, and afterwards James was to head for Knapford for another goods train. The signal went down, and Edward whistled a goodbye to James, "See you in the sheds tonight James," and he slowly steamed away. James followed soon after.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful for James, who just pulled trains back and forth, to and fro, round and about across the island for the rest of the day. As evening pulled in, James returned to Tidmouth, and the crew stopped their engine on a siding to wash him down. Men were already standing with buckets of water, soap, rags, and polish. His crew also got out to help wash their engine. James usually doesn't let just anybody close to his face after all, especially in the area where he has his scar. Wallace and Vance took off their jackets and rolled up their sleeves. For a winter day, it wasn't that cold. The sun shone softly, and the frosty rails shimmered lightly. A light, warm breeze brought in nice fresh air for James and the men. Vance wet a rag and soaped it up a bit. He climbed up to his engine’s face and started cleaning. He was especially gentle around the scar, watching the engine’s face in case his expression changed or showed any kind of discomfort. When he finished, he rubbed his engine's nose affectionately, much to his annoyance. Vance then dried off his face before climbing back down. The red engine enjoyed his washdown very much, feeling like it was a much-needed massage for his sore joints.

When the crew finished cleaning and polishing James, Vance put his jacket back on as it was getting colder again, as if Wallace’s shivering and complaining were to go off of. Remembering the picture he wanted to take for the letter, he climbed back into James’s cab to grab the camera that he had stored there during one of their stops before coming here. He was able to dash home real quick, grab some more food, greet his kids, and find his camera. He climbed back down with his camera in hand. Wallace finished with the final touches before putting his stuff back on and trying to make himself look a little more presentable. Vance asked one of the workmen to take a photo of them. He explained how the camera works and quickly rushed over to James and Wallace, who was still trying to figure out a good pose. The workman directed the men into the proper position before asking the two men and James to smile. What followed was a bright flash and a whirring sound. The workman handed the camera back over to Vance, and he thanked the workman for doing him this quick favour.

Afterwards, the men slowly backed their tired engine into his spot in the sheds. It was dark now, and the skies were clear. The crescent moon and bright stars visible in the sky are the only sources of light besides the shed lights. Gordon, Henry, Edward, and Emily were also in the sheds, having finished their duties earlier than James. Edward was the only one to greet him at first, as Gordon and Henry seemed to be either having a really loud conversation or arguing about something. Emily keeps dozing off, but she did notice James. She greeted him before yawning and finally falling asleep. She had long mastered the art of cancelling everyone’s voices out when she wanted to sleep. Henry and Gordon put a halt to their conversation when they heard Emily greet him. "Oh, hello James, how was your day?" said Gordon. "About as good as yesterday… and the day before that, and the day before that," responded James. "Well, at least the weather wasn't so bad today, and you look like you just had a washdown," noted Henry with a smile. "Thank you for noticing Henry. It was still rather chilly today, and I have been told it is going to get worse. By the way, what happened up the line in Elsbridge, where Edward was headed? We were told the tracks were blocked," asked James, to which Edward responded, "Turns out Thomas came off the rails; nothing major; they were able to get him on the rails again. He’s a bit cross, but he’ll be fine".

As the engines talked about the day's events, James’s crew dropped his fire and got him ready for the night. Vance strode up to his engine, patting him on the buffer. "Looking good Jim. Have a good night." "You too Vance, get home safely," the red engine responded. "Looking good? He’s gorgeous!" Wallace yelled, running after Vance after he had turned off the shed lights; now the moon was the only source of light aside from James's face, which was practically glowing red with embarrassment.

Henry howled in laughter, and Gordon grinned mischievously. "Well well my good engine I was not aware that we were in the presence of ultimate beauty." "Oh, leave me be Gordon," grunted James. Henry howled even louder, waking Emily. "Really? Do you have to be so loud?" she yawned tiredly. "James is gorgeous, apparently," came from the end of the shed. "Wow, what did I miss?" said the Stirling single, still a little dazed. Even she chuckled a bit. Henry was still wheezing uncontrollably, and Gordon continued to mock the red engine between his own laughter. The red engine had a grimace etched onto his face from the somewhat expected relentless teasing.

The only comforting voice came from the blue engine next to him. "There is nothing to be embarrassed about; you can just ignore their teasing; you know they just want to get under your paint." "I know Edward; I just know I won't hear the end of that one for weeks. Thanks, Wallace... He really just had to say that, didn't he? You know, I often feel like he just says things without thinking." "Well, I’m sure he did not mean to embarrass you in front of the others; from my perspective, Wallace is just a very passionate, albeit somewhat all over the place, kind of man, and I’d say you and Vance are the most important faces in his life." Edward smiled when James nodded knowingly. "You know, he once told me he does not have family anymore; he didn't tell me what happened, but he said it's kind of why he always goes out of his way to be around Vance and me. It kind of makes sense though, when you think about it. He goes home every night to an empty apartment, with no one to greet him when he gets back or someone to talk to. I remember what it is like to feel alone, so I feel for him." The thought of being alone brought memories from the red engine's past to the surface. He was not very close to his siblings on his old railway, or anybody else for that matter, but he remembers the emptiness he felt when he got the news that his class was being retired. He shook in his frame, not keen to remember those times.

"Well, let's think of it this way. I think you and your crew have a very special kind of relationship. I’m close to Howard and Robert, yes, but they are more like good friends. We still try to remain professional, and I am not that knowledgeable about their past or personal lives, though they have been my footplate crew for many years. I only know that Robert has three grandchildren, a son, and a wife. Howard is married but has never had any children; he lives in a small cottage with his wife and his nephew. Now look at Gordon's crew. Charlie is always arguing with Gordon. Or Henry's crew; Francis is still rather new as a driver and has been given an engine that needs a little more finesse while handling. Emily’s driver is a rather distant and not the most talkative man, which has led to miscommunication on quite a few occasions. From my standpoint, I believe that You, Wallace and Vance, have a unique understanding of each other's strengths and weaknesses; you work well together, and you look after and respect each other. You are more at ease with those two than you ever have been with any crew before. It's something to cherish." Edward finished.

While they spoke, the snickering from the other engines gradually died down. While Henry, Emily, and Gordon had fallen asleep, Edward and James were still up. For a while, they just looked at the night sky together, enjoying the peaceful silence. It did not make him as anxious as it did in the morning. Perhaps because James was preoccupied with thinking. He thought over Edward’s words. The red engine was remembering things again. He thought about his footplate crew. The day they met, the times they fought, the times they comforted each other, the way they would laugh together... he thought about how he absolutely loved Vance and Wallace. They treated him as a unique individual and not just another engine. They treated each other like family. Those two special men treated him better than his actual so-called family ever did. Almost everyone on this railway treated him better than the people and engines on his old railway, he thought. Especially Edward… James looked over at the blue engine and thought for a moment. He thought about how the old engine said his relationship with his crew was something to cherish. It made his thoughts wander to the engine next to him.

"Edward?" "Hmm?" the old engine looked over to James. "Do you have anyone that you especially cherish? Like with any of your footplate crew in the past or any Engines?" The old engine stared out at the sky for a moment. "Hmmm… well. I really love the many people and engines on this railway. I always felt that Thomas was like a son to me. Same with Bill and Ben. I am also especially grateful for my relationship with Sir Topham Hatt and his family. And I would like to think that The engines of this island are good friends to me. But I am closest to Gordon, Henry, Percy, Toby, and of course you, James." Edward finished with a smile. James blushed a bit and averted his gaze, which was directed intensely at the blue engine.

"But I guess you already knew that. You want to hear something different, right? I believe you want to know about those who had a significant impact on my life in my younger days, perhaps?" James nodded slowly. Edward looked up again; he seemed lost in thought. "I was once very close to a man named Johnny Bay. He was a fireman back when I was still working on the Furness Railway. I had multiple different crews depending on shifts, but John was special because he always had some snacks for the engines he was assigned to. He was closer to the engines than he was to other people. He also gave us nicknames."

"What did he call you?" smirked James. Edward laughed. "He called me Toffee." James went wide-eyed and tried to contain his laughter. "It's alright; it was meant to be funny. I used to love Toffee, and he especially got Toffee for me. There was an engine I worked with that he nicknamed Scone; another he called Pudding; another was called Tart… See a pattern? My favourite was our old shunter that he nicknamed Whisky, though that nickname was a little more problematic as a tipsy locomotive was a bit counterproductive. So John only gave him candies with small amounts of whisky. But John always loved to spend time with us; he loved to sing us drinking songs, tell us tall tales, play the occasional prank on other footplate crews, etc. He was quite agile for an old man. Every engine loved that man, and he was never unhappy, even when everyone else had no reason to be happy. He absolutely adored us engines the most. I remember a time when we were in our sheds during a particularly nasty storm. He came in completely soaked with a basket. We had a picnic of sorts. He spread a blanket on the shed floor for himself and spread some food around. He had many exotic things for us to try. Whisky apparently had a severe dislike of mangoes." Edward laughed at the memory before his smile fell. He sighed before he continued.

"I had a younger brother. Everyone called him Jr. He was named after one of our predecessors, a K1 Seagull named George. He followed me around like a lost puppy. It used to annoy me, but now I look back on those times with great fondness. He was the kindest engine in our yard, helpful, eager, smart… He was truly the best of us; he still had our typical shy steaming troubles, but he rarely ever let them show, which often led to him overworking himself, and he would also take any job given to him without complaints."

"He sounds a lot like you," smiled James. "Well, I do try to be as hardworking as he was when he was alive. I admit that when I was young, I was cocky, arrogant, and very impatient... I felt that what prompted me to change was when I had already been on Sodor and was told Jr. was in an accident and was being sent away for scrap. That really stirred something within me. I remember thinking, ‘Why him?’ He was a hard worker; why him and not me?" James looked down, and Edward sighed. He had a tired smile, and his eyes showed his age.

"Do you still feel bad?" the red engine asked carefully. "No, not that much anymore." James raised a brow in question at the response. Edward chuckled at his expression before looking back up at the starry sky. "I got to see him before they took him away, thanks to Sir Topham Hatt letting me take a train to Barrow in Furness so I could go see him before the scrap train left. He wasn't upset that he was being scrapped. He told me the only thing he regretted was not being able to spend more time with his favourite big brother." The old engine choked out the last part. He took a deep breath in an attempt to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. James grew concerned; he was unsure of what he should do, but he felt he should not say anything and interrupt his train of thought. If Edward didn't want to continue, he was sure he would say so.

"You can imagine how hard I cried," Edward said with a half-hearted smile. "I’m not even ashamed to admit it... He told me he had already come to terms with being scrapped, and he spent most of the time trying to console me. I remember constantly apologising to him for the times I mistreated or ignored him, and he just laughed it off like it was nothing; he wasn't the type to hold grudges, I guess. But before he left, he did make me promise him one thing, one thing as his last wish." "And what's that?" asked James cautiously. "He made me promise him to live a long, happy working life, find new friends, and find a new family... I promised... Then the train took him away."

The sheds were silent. Edward sighed in relief, his tense expression easing from his face. "I’m sorry, Edward." James spoke quietly; the heartbreaking story had made him emotional as well. For a while, the only thing that could be heard between the two engines was a soft, cool breeze through the yards. "Don't be! We have known each other for years now, and I do consider you to be my family. Understand that that is why I worry about you and occasionally tease you or am strict with you. I enjoy your company, and I enjoy working with you. To me, it was no big deal to tell you a personal story, especially since you asked and I trust you, so I was more than happy to share with you." He had no words for Edward's admission. To James, what he had just said was a really big deal, but he couldn't come up with anything to say. He awkwardly cleared his throat and contemplated for a bit. "I, um… I appreciate the sentiment." Edward’s expression fell a bit at that, like that was not what he was hoping for, but was quickly replaced with a smile again.

"Well, James, would you want to share anything about your past crew or your siblings?" asked the old blue engine. "Oh, well..." James tried to recall. "I was kind of an oddball amongst my siblings, and they treated me as such, either downright insulting me or ignoring me. I have had many crew members who liked me, but they were always more like colleagues than friends. Lawrence I had the pleasure of calling a friend. The war did make it so we had to trust each other, and it made me upset when I saw what it did to him. Then came Vance and Wallace. I remember at first I couldn't stand Vance; he would just bark orders and didn't consider my wishes… When it came to goods trains… Anyway, Wallace at the time was new to the yards over here, and I just remember thinking of him as a bit of a scatterbrain. He didn't annoy me as much as he did Vance… We really gave Vance a hard time, now that I'm remembering… but one night we got stuck in a siding as the switches broke and were stuck against me. Instead of just finding a place to stay, Wallace decided to stay. Vance went to find a place but then came back because he either couldn't find a place or because he felt bad. I think he felt bad because he wasn't gone for long. We just talked… all night. Vance told us about his family: his wife and kids, his parents, his siblings, yknow. Wallace told us about his travels and his difficult upbringing. He was always much more open, probably because he didn't have much to lose. I told them about the Lancaster and Yorkshire Railway, about my time on Sodor, my crash, my paintwork, and so on. We talked well into the morning when workmen came to fix the points. After that day, we had a sort of understanding, and over time, that developed into a bond, I guess... Beyond what Lawrence and I had."

Edward smiled. "Thank you for sharing with me." O- oh sure, you know, we should maybe… talk… like this more often?" The red engine stuttered, looking away. "I’d like that," said Edward with a smile. "And thank you, Edward, for sharing. I’m actually grateful," said the red engine. "Of course James, anytime. I thank you for listening. I appreciate it. Anyway, we should get some sleep. We’ll be up early again." "Yes, you're right… Goodnight Edward" "Goodnight Gorgeous." Edward snickered, backing into his sport in the shed, leaving James a spluttering mess. James just grunted in the end and backed into the shed as well. Before falling asleep, he just watched the stars for a little while longer, sighing deeply before slowly drifting off to sleep.

#letters to a friend #thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #ttte #ttte edward #ttte james #edward the blue engine #james makes a new friend #james the splendid engine #james the red engine #gordon the big engine #ttte henry #henry the green engine #ttte gordon #ttte emily #ttte oc

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oculiaperticlausi · 6 months

Text

INTRODUCING...

welcome to marina, SAWYER MARSHALL ( cis woman, she/her ) ! they are a TWENTY-SEVEN year old MEDIUM who resides in MARINA HEIGHTS. They work as a/an RECEPTIONIST AT KIDD RECORDS and are said to look a lot like GRACE VAN PATTEN. People around the island find them to be +LOYAL and +OUTGOING, but also -RECKLESS and -UNPREDICTABLE. what do you think?

CONTENT WARNING FOR ALCOHOL ABUSE, PHYSICAL ABUSE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, DRUGS, DRUG ADDICTION, DRUG OVERDOSE, PREGNANCY.

Full Name: Sawyer Reese Marshall

Age: 27

Date Of Birth: May 24th, 1997

Zodiac: Gemini

Species: Medium

Parents: Glen Marshall and Sidney Harmon

Siblings: Two half older siblings.

Orientation: Bisexual

Occupation: Receptionist at Kidd Records

Languages: English

Positive: Amusing, Outgoing, Faithful, Gregarious

Negative: Reckless, Unpredictable, Restless, Anxious

HISTORY;

the product of a one night stand that turned into something more for nine months.

her mother tried to stay but ended up confessing to her father about the other life she had. a husband that wanted her back, two beautiful children that were missing their mother. she told him she couldn't stay and she had to go back, leaving him with a newborn infant.

as the years went on, the more resentful her father became. as she got older, the more independent she had to become.

it wasn't until she befriended the boy next door where her life became a little easier.

in the summers, his family would whisk her away to marina and during one of those summers she met the other half of herself.

something she would be in denial about for years.

his name was dante, he was unlike any other person she's ever met before the two of the clicked as if they knew each other their whole lives.

she knew his dark history and he knew hers. in fact, whenever she went home he became the person she called all the time.

the boy next door hated it, he had feelings for sawyer and wanted her so when they were seventeen he told her he had feelings for her (told everything he knew she needed to hear) and they were dating.

he was manipulative in a way the blonde didn't see and would get mad that even when they were dating she would still go stay at dante's house during the summer.

a few weeks before graduation, when her father lost it on her after finding out she wasn't actually his. the boy next door took advantage of the vulnerability and helped her escape to chicago.

where he then became physical, emotional, and mentally waring on her.

until she was twenty-three, when she walked into their apartment and found another woman in it. he told her to get lost, go finally be with the guy she actually wanted.

she even called dante but he was on the road, living his dream and the last thing she wanted to do was make him come take care of her so she decided to be on her own.

it was a few weeks on the street until she found out her mother lived there too so she cleaned up and went to go see her.

when she turned her away, sawyer didn't know what else to do. it's when she went down a path she shouldn't have.

it lead to three blurry years, a boy, and then an overdose.

it brought her to marina, it gave her the gift of seeing the dead (one she wouldn't notice for a year)

her and dante became more, got pregnant and have now been parents for a year to a little girl named vivian lissette kidd and a little boy named vincent leonardo kidd.

viv goes by liss and vincent goes by vince.

it's been the best year of her life but lately she's been seeing people that no one else can see and she hasn't been sure what to do with it.

#sawyer marshall — intro.#supernatural — intro.

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phatburd · 9 months

Note

violence!: 4, 14, 22

4. what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

If we’re talking about my most recent block, it was on Reddit where the dude tried to argue gender essentialism at me. Basically, he asserted that my call to write women like people was bullshit and that women should be written like women (weak and helpless). Yeah, I did not and do not have the emotional bandwidth to deal with that shit.

Even better though, when other people in the thread brought up Ellen Ripley as an example of where a role was originally written for a man but Sigourney Weaver was cast instead. The dude then stated he had never watched any of the Alien movies, but he read the Wikipedia article on Ripley and assumed she must be a boring and poorly written character because she was a woman.

Yeah, dude … delete your fucking account. All of your accounts, everywhere.

Tumblr blocks? Yeah, it was the Nth blog that posted the TOG van speech verbatim and declared JoeNicky to be the most perfect thing ever. Went into the blog, found their AO3, blocked that, then blocked their Tumblr. Because clearly this person and I have nothing to say to each other, and I’m tired and I get petty when I’m tired.

14. that one thing you see in fics all the time

Making the bottom in an m/m ship extremely feminized, sometimes straight up infantilized. This isn’t to say there aren’t feminine gay dudes in RL, because there are. I’m talking about fan works.

I don’t know if it’s out of ignorance, sexism, misogyny, or just boring-ass heteronormativity, this idea that someone has to be the “girl” in a same-sex pairing. And every time I see it, I’m reminded of this little cartoon:

I don’t really get top/bottom discourse and especially the need to assign specific personality traits to the top or the bottom. It was something I set out to not do in my m/m Bessimu fics. I wanted to write them as equals, and I think I succeeded.

(FWIW, I see Bessimu as both being switches, because that’s more fun. I also find it hot to write Bessières as a power bottom dom and Murat as the submissive service top, and it’s not what one would expect when judging them by their public personas.)

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

From The Old Guard? Those three and a half thousand years that Andy spent alone as the only immortal on the planet (as far as anyone knows).

I’ve been wanting to explore that period and, yes, it’s fucking intimidating. Historical documentation is more miss than hit once you start going back to certain points in human history.

Three and a half thousand years is a really fucking long time. What did Andy do, where did she go? What did she see? There’s a lot of potential to mine there, and maybe I’ll do it someday.

For the Napoleonics? Joseph Fouché is a fucking amoral bastard, but I think people forget he tried to save Marshal Ney. Ney, being Ney, was either politically naive, stubborn, and/or he just wanted to fucking die already when he refused Fouché’s offer of fake papers and an passport to sneak out of France in the aftermath of Napoleon’s second abdication.

(I’ve also read that Laurent de Gouvion St. Cyr was the one who offered the passport and papers, so take the above with the proverbial grain of salt. St. Cyr did vote for exile in the final trial, which lends weight to that too.)

I also have a shitload of question marks around Bessières’ final years and the way it gets treated by academics, but that may be better off in a post of its own.

For Star Trek ... no one ever really talks about what kind of influence Sisko might have had on the Bajorans other than just being the Emissary/Space Jesus. Like, did baseball become a national sport and baseball leagues spring up all over the planet? Is there ticky-tacky Emissary merchandise one can purchase, like humans have in real life of the Pope?

(Sisko did show up on a pack of Bajoran tarot cards in Lower Decks, and I squealed over that, ngl.)

Thanks for asking! 😘

#asks

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floripire · 10 months

Text

NPC FILES: SALVATORE BOARDING SCHOOL EDITION

Brock Paxon (he/him) is both a member of the Paxon pack and a member of the Salvatore Boarding School pack. He splits his time between New Orleans and Mystic Falls. Brock is quite knowledgable about werewolf packs and the hierarchies within as a whole but he never broadcasts his knowledge. He is currently dating Wade Rivers.

Piper Barry (she/her) is a member of the very well off Barry pack as well as a member of the Salvatore Boarding School pack. Much like Brock, she splits her time between New Orleans and Mystic Falls. But if she could choose, she'd stay in New Orleans indefinitely because she's tired of having to fight for her life every other week or so.

Piper is always working to elevate her status in the pack for herself and her friends and when she's not doing that, she's busy thwarting her parents' plans of securing an alliance with the Deep Water pack through marriage. Piper is nowhere near ready to tie the knot. She is fiercely loyal to those she considers 'her people' - like her ex-boyfriend, Brutus, and her current boyfriend, Rick - and always makes sure to add some bite to her bark.

Brutus BasRoq (he/him) is the future alpha of the BasRoq pack. Though Brutus is secretly unsure whether or not he has what it takes to take up the mantle after school.

He masks his insecurity with pointed remarks. He knows to use his words to hit where it hurts. Unlike his ex-girlfriend Piper, Brutus is quite all right with his social standing. Both at school and within the Salvatore Boarding School pack.

Though he does arch his eyebrow at the fact that his alpha is dating a vampire: Brutus may not say it aloud, but he thinks that Jed is gonna get his heart broken in the long run.

Rick Rogers (he/him) is one of the last remaining members of the Rogers pack. In fact, it's just him and his dad. When Rick took his first breath, his mother took her last. Everyone else is gone too. Hunter attack. His dad was never capable of bouncing back after enduring so many losses all at once. So he took it all out on his son.

And when he could not take it anymore, Rick left. He grabbed what little belongings he had and hitchhiked his way to Mystic Falls when he heard about a school for supernaturals. To this day, he doesn't know what became of his dad and to be frank, he doesn't want to know.

Rick is a year-rounder. He's the class clown, the jokester, and will try anything once - which is why he climbed onto the broom that Alyssa Chang had enchanted once. Rick doesn't do well with emotions but he does have genuine feelings for Piper.

Trevor Poldark (he/him) is a member of the Poldark pack and the Salvatore Boarding School pack. Technically next in line to be the alpha, but he is so not feeling it. He figures that he's here for a good time, not a long time and that he'll probably get taken down by a vampire at some point so why do all that training at all? Nah! He'll abdicate. Make sure the title goes to someone who actually wants this. Trevor is quite all right with the vampires roaming the halls of the boarding school. He wouldn't consider Wade or Floribeth his friends but it's nice to have people to eat Sinigang and speak Tagalog with.

Zoe Nguyen (she/her) is the fashion forward relative of Xi, Van and Kara Nguyen. She grew up in the Ninth Ward and is a member of the Ninth Ward Coven as well as the Choral Coven as she has more patience for singing than anything else. While her best friend, Drusilla Isobel Saitou, exclusively dates witches (and is seeing Claire Blessingway, the sewing witch and leader of the Crafty Coven), Zoe is more open-minded (even though her brief flirtation with Landon got her a nose bleed, courtesy of Josie). After all, one of her relatives - Xi, a former member of Julian's Army - is a vampire too and she keeps a close eye on him because he's literally all she's got left in the world.

She misses Van, murdered by Kol, and Kara, murdered by Hayley Marshall-Kenner on Davina Claire's orders, every single day and she doesn't know how to feel about the fact that she essentially went to school with the daughter of the woman who murdered her relative on orders of Kol's wife. She does not bring her concerns up to Hope because Hope has enough on her plate already.

Aside from that, Zoe has no time for the Super Squad or the Anti Squad. She thinks their squabbles are childish but does business with them when she has to. That and the school is her home and she'll rise to defend it if she must. She's quite unsure about returning to New Orleans after graduation but Drusilla always wanted to see where Zoe grew up so there is a trip on the docket.

Lael Pastore (they/them) is a witch with a serious knack for art. Their past is shrouded in mystery and when the school isn't facing a crisis, yet another monster of the week or losing it's funding, Lael is hitting the books, trying to find out who they are and where they came from. They make it a point to try and get along with everybody because they are a year-rounder. Despite their pleasant disposition, Lael is known as something of a mad scientist within the halls of Salvatore. Which is exactly why Floribeth took to Lael so well and why Lael and Floribeth are also study buddies.

Clara Voronova (she/her) looks small and adorable but she's mighty. Or tries to be. It's not working out very well because she's basically a baby bird. Clara's got a hard time with keeping her bloodlust under control and keeping blood down. She's not the biggest fan of blood bags, either. But she dutifully drains them all even though they taste stale and gross and yucky. Floribeth looks out for Clara when she can and often shares her blood infused sweets with her. Clara likes those much more than blood bags.

Clara is the adopted daughter of Sofya Voronova, a vampire and a hired gun who sought to end Klaus Mikaelson after he killed her entire family in the sixteenth century. Sofya once worked for Lucien Castle and ended up working for Marcel Gerard after Lucien died. To this day, she is still working for and with Marcel. Though whether or not the two are still romantically involved is anyone's guess.

Sofya took Clara underneath her wing after she found her - already turned and subsequently abandoned - because she reminded Sofya of her younger sister even in her frenzied state.

Shortly after that, Clara began to see Sofya as a mother-figure and, in turn, Sofya abandoned her plans to get revenge on the Mikaelsons, choosing instead to devote her time to her daughter, finding she quite enjoyed teaching Clara the ins and outs of weaponry.

(Which is something that Derek never forgave her for. For one, brief, shining moment, he thought he might've found someone who understood his plight and who might take up arms with him against the Mikaelsons. After all, Klaus Mikaelson had ruined Sofya's life too! He couldn't, for the life of him, understand Sofya's attachment to Marcel and to Clara.)

Nathan Clark (he/him) is a vampire who thinks that Landon Kirby is the coolest dude to ever walk around the school for single-handedly killing Malivore. Or, rather, the hottest. Because he's a phoenix, get it? Nathan is quick to ask Landon how he did it. And, honestly, he wants to know every single detail because he wants to make this life of his into art. He doesn't know what medium yet. Maybe he'll write a book. Maybe he'll create a series of paintings. Or maybe he'll work on a graphic novel.

He's gotta do something to kill the time while he works to become a journalist and snag a job at WYET 9.

(This isn't new. Nathan is nosy. He's always been fixated on stories like those. They're like the comics he's always read! And he sure does love comics a lot! Nathan hasn't quite worked up the courage to ask but he does want to know how Kaleb, MG, Clara and Floribeth got turned and who turned them. Nathan doesn't realize that those stories and intimate details might be private for a reason.)

When Nathan figures out that Landon didn't actually single-handedly kill Malivore, his admiration (and crush) vanishes. But it's a good thing. That way, Nathan can treat Landon like a regular (human) being and a friend.

Nathan often joins the others when they play DND and if he's not being a huge nerd, Nathan is helping Lael with their quest to figure out who they are and where they came from. It's something Nathan can relate to. He got turned by Lee and is trying to get in touch with him to this day. You know, for an interview.

#long post /#eye contact /#abuse mention /#*mine: edits #floribeth dalisay / headcanons; metas and world building.#strangers and friends / npcs.#//if anyone wants to write any of those characters pls hmu lmao #//links are included bc it's important to me that you all know that i'm not pulling everything out of a high hat (just a lil bit)#//fun fact: show lael is named after the irl props buyer for lgcs afaik so ye #queue.

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slippinmickeys · 8 months

Text

Three Part Harmony (20/?)

“This is,” Rhonda said, looking at Scully with nervous apprehension over the console of her hatchback, “exactly what Assistant Director Skinner warned us not to do.”

Scully sighed from the passenger seat, lowering the binoculars she was using to watch the activity at the Sheriff’s station where Mulder was being held. They were parked a block and a half away, on the side of the street facing the department, and Scully had one of Rhonda’s winter hats pulled over her hair, a scarf muffled up, obscuring the bottom half of her face. From his car seat behind Rhonda, William babbled happily, cheered to be somewhere other than the cabin.

Skinner had given Rhonda the information on Mulder’s transfer, cautioning the woman that she and Scully should take William as far from Mulder as they could. He’d included the details–including mentioning that it would be done using a US Marshals attachment and SWAT-outfitted LLE escorts–as a warning, hoping to scare the women away. But Scully felt only emboldened by the information, enjoying the rare feeling of knowing exactly what she was up against.

“Skinner,” Scully said, looking Rhonda in the eye, “doesn’t know that we have more than just a couple of guns and our wits.”

It had taken Scully a full forty five minutes to explain the one part of their story that they had kept from Rhonda: William’s incredible gifts. And Scully had spent the last several days testing the limits of what she could do with his power. She was nowhere near to tapping his full potential–something she could sense was buried deep within him—but she was somewhat confident that what she could do would be enough to at least give them a chance of freeing Mulder. Maybe. They’d have to play their cards right. And Mulder would have to seize the opportunity when she gave it to him.

Rhonda barked a nervous laugh and Scully couldn’t help but smile back at her. “William the Conquerer,” Rhonda said ruefully, shaking her head.

Scully looked south, where the mountains beyond the low buildings of the town were wreathed in thick gray clouds. For once, she thought, foul weather might work in their favor.

Up ahead at the station, what looked like an armored van pulled up, cages around all the back windows, thick treaded tires rolling to a stop. In white on the side, US Marshals Service was emblazoned in block letters. Four agents tipped themselves out of the vehicle and headed into the department. Outside, two local cruisers pulled in as well, one ahead of the large van, and one behind.

Rhonda whistled.

“Geez,” she said. “You’d think they were transporting Dillinger. How are we gonna…?”

Scully looked the van over and sighed. “I’m still figuring that out.”

She turned to look over her shoulder at William in the back, probed him a little with her mind, seeking their connection until she could feel it thrum between them. Scully then leveled what she hoped was an honest look at Rhonda.

“I think we’re going to have to follow them at a safe distance. Nearly all the routes down into Utah are through some pretty sparse, mountainous country. I think we’ve got to hit them when we’re way out there. No access to backup or people that might get in our way.”

“...hit them?” Rhonda said, going pale.

“Metaphorically,” Scully said. “Probably,” she muttered, an afterthought.

“Either way,” she went on. “William will stay in the car with you. I can stay connected to him from a fair distance. A hundred yards or so.” She had been testing the limits of their connection. “I need you to keep him that far back. If anything happens to me or if things go badly…Leave. And take him.”

“Take him where?” Rhonda said, paling further.

“Do you still have that address I had you send the package to?”

Rhonda nodded, visibly swallowing.

“Take him to that man. John Doggett. He will help you.”

Several deputies bristling with paramilitary gear got out of their vehicles and congregated by the back door of the Sheriff’s station, where there seemed to be a fresh build up of activity. The deputies were in tactical vests, a couple with larger semi-automatic weapons. Scully felt a swell of raw, tingling nerves.

How she was going to get her partner was still largely a question mark, though she had a few ideas. The odds, however, appeared to be pretty stacked against them.

Oh, Mulder, she thought with a pang of worried apprehension. Mulder.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Scully!”

Mulder sat bolt upright on the narrow mattress. The metal plank upon which he rested took up more than half of the cramped cell. Something had roused him, like an electric jolt to the brain, and he woke up disoriented and startled.

“‘Fraid not,” said a voice from the other side of the bars, and Mulder looked up to see Agent Bryson standing there in a dark wool suit with a navy FBI slicker pulled over it. There were four similarly dressed pasty-faced white men with the stars of the US Marshals Service stamped on their lapels milling around behind him.

A local deputy was at the door, sliding in a key and unlocking the cell. He was loaded for bear, so far as Mulder could tell, having been around the local deputies for a few days now; the man uncharacteristically outfitted in a full kevlar kit, a second pistol strapped to his leg.

“We’ll take it from here,” one of the suited men said to the local, who backed off respectfully.

“On your feet!” called out another, and Mulder was briskly pulled to his feet and two of the Marshals secured shackles to his wrists and ankles. He was marched out the door of his cell, his legs shuffling along with the too-short chains, on down the hallway and to the back door of the department. The two men holding his elbows pulled up short when they got to the door.

“We have the prisoner at the back door,” one of them spoke into his walkie. “Be advised. Prepare convoy.”

“Convoy is a go,” a voice came in over the radio, and then the back door was unlocked and Mulder was marched outside, the thin material of his orange prison jumper not much protection from the cold. The air was heavy, moist with unfallen snow, and there was a frigid wind that felt like needles along the skin of his cheeks.

He did not get much fresh air however, as he was escorted into a large, dark Econovan with caged windows, his shackles secured to a metal eyehook that was bolted to the floor. Three of the Marshals got in behind him, and the fourth, who held up a hand to Bryson as he attempted to get into the front passenger seat, turned the FBI agent away and got into the driver’s seat. There was a cage separating the cab of the van with the back where Mulder and the other Marshals were, with a small door the size of a video cassette through which items could be passed.

Mulder had his first smug moment of the day as he connected eyes with Bryson, who turned unhappily on his heel and made his way toward the lead car, sliding into the front seat of the sheriff’s cruiser that would be leading the small convoy.

“Marshal One ready for transport,” the driver said into his radio, and a moment later, a crackling buzz came through from the other cars.

“Local One ready.”

“Local Two ready.”

“Let’s roll,” the driver said, and dropped the walkie into the empty passenger’s seat.

The other Marshals secured their seatbelts as the cruiser in front pulled out onto the street, followed by the van and then one other cruiser bringing up the rear.

Mulder turned to the Marshal sitting nearest him. “I don’t get a seatbelt?” he asked. “Thought it was the law.”

“Hey fellas, this guy in a DOC suit and handcuffs is suddenly very worried about the law,” one of the Marshals announced. He then toed the eyehook Mulder’s shackles were locked to. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said without emotion, and turned to look out the windows of the van, scanning the streets around them as they passed.

The officers were not a very talkative bunch, and for the most part ignored Mulder’s few probing questions. When he couldn’t get a straight answer on how long the journey might last, he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, letting himself doze and fall back into dreams where he might see Scully and William once again.

XxX

When he woke, it was to that odd electric feeling in his head, and he took a sharp breath and sat up. The van was rolling along through a high valley pass, and snow had begun falling in earnest. It wasn’t so thick that Mulder couldn’t make out the cruisers that were still in front and behind them, but the mountains they were passing were shrouded in thick whiteness, the van’s windshield wipers going at top speed, struggling to keep up with the deluge.

He looked to the other men in the vehicle with him, and could sense a tension that hadn’t been there when they’d pulled out of town. The Marshal sitting next to him was squinting through the window at the back of the van, then leaned forward to mumble something to the driver that Mulder couldn’t make out.

The driver sighed and reached for the walkie.

“Local Two,” the van’s driver said into his radio, one hand steadily on the top of the steering wheel.

“Local Two,” a voice answered.

“Two, there’s a late model, rust-colored hatchback that’s about a quarter of a mile behind us. Can you drop back and check it out?”

Mulder turned to look, but the weather was worsening, and it was now hard to make out anything much beyond headlights through the swirling snow.

“Copy, Marshal One,” the voice said. “Falling back.”

Mulder watched as the cruiser behind them slowed and eased back into the whiteness.

Several minutes later, the driver of their van, huffing a sigh of annoyance, picked up the walkie and opened the cab cage’s small pass-through door, handing the radio to the Marshal sitting next to Mulder.

“Get him back on the horn and get a report,” the driver instructed. “I need both hands to drive in this shit.”

The other Marshal nodded and gave the walkie two clicks before speaking into it.

“Local Two,” he said.

There was a crackle of static, but no response.

“Local Two, come back,” he said a little louder, turning to look out the back window. Mulder couldn’t help but do the same, but there was nothing to see now but snow coming down around them and the windy swirl of white crystals being kicked up behind their own tires.

When there wasn’t an answer, the Marshal sighed huffily and raised the walkie back to his mouth.

“Local One, radio check.”

“Local One receiving,” came Bryson’s voice through the walkie. “Do we have a problem?”

The Marshal holding the radio rolled his eyes. “This fucking guy,” he muttered, before pressing the speaking button. “Be advised, Local Two isn’t responding after the drop-back.”

The radio gave a low squawk. “I noticed. Can you see him back there?”

The Marshal turned, squinting through the back windshield. “I can’t see shit.”

“It’s probably the fuckin’ weather,” said the agent who was sitting in the far back bench seat of the van.

“I don’t like it,” came Bryson’s clipped voice.

“Advise we pull over to regroup,” said the Marshal holding the walkie. “Visibility is shit anyway.”

“This weather is the reason we told him to hold off another day on the transfer,” the back seat Marshal rumbled, clearly unhappy.

“No stopping!” came Bryson’s voice sharply. “We continue on as planned.”

“This isn’t his fucking op,” said the driver, who opened up the small pass-through again and reached a flailing hand back. “He’s lucky we let him ride along. Give me the walkie.”

The other Marshal passed it up to the driver, who snapped it quickly to his face, leaving the pass-through open. “That isn’t your call, Local One,” he said. “Pull over now. We regroup with Local Two and reassess. Over.”

With that, the driver tossed the walkie into the passenger seat once again and pulled off onto the shoulder of the highway, flicking on the van’s hazard lights.

They were in the middle of nowhere, Mulder realized. And not a single car had passed them since he’d woken up.

The cruiser in front of them, though parked no more than twenty yards ahead, was really only visible by the flashers on the light bar. A few moments later, a dark figure emerged from in front of them and Bryson was momentarily lit by the van’s headlights as he walked through them, making his way to the driver’s side window. He tapped on the glass angrily.

Mulder could hear the weary sigh that the driver huffed before he reached over and manually rolled the window down half-way.

“You need to take Local One back to get a visual on Local Two,” the driver told Bryson, whose head was shaking ‘no,’ before the man even finished talking.

“I’ll send him back, but I’m not leaving the prisoner,” Bryson said, flicking his eyes angrily to Mulder, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a cold wind cutting in through the window.

“Suit yourself,” the driver said, and rolled the window back up.

Bryson went back to the cruiser and reappeared a minute later as the police car initiated a three point turn and passed them, heading back in the direction they’d come.

“You gonna leave him out there?” The Marshal in the backseat asked, nodding at Bryson.

“I’d like to,” the driver said noncommittally.

The man to Mulder’s left snorted, the first sound Mulder had heard him utter all day.

“If you don’t let him in, he’s going to be an even bigger pain in the ass,” said the guy who had taken over radio duties.

The driver sighed in defeat and leaned over to the passenger door and threw the lock open. Bryson wasted no time swinging into the seat on a gust of subarctic air. He picked up the walkie that had been left in his seat and held it to his face.

“Local One, stay on the radio, please.”

“Roger that,” came the officer’s voice through the device. “Visibility is almost nothing,” the officer went on, “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to–” on that, there was a burst of noise so intense that everyone in the car flung their hands to their ears. The walkie went sailing out of Bryson’s hand, and Mulder nearly took out his front teeth with the chains from his handcuffs as he raised them to muffle the sound.

The driver yelled something, but the noise continued, and finally, with a wince, he took one hand off an ear and swiped the walkie talkie from the floor and turned it off, leaving the van in a sudden and violent silence.

Everyone sat, dazed for a few moments before the driver turned to Mulder and spoke to him directly for the first time.

“I swear to God, if this is some breakout rescue attempt…”

Mulder, still shaken by the noise, could only gape at him.

“We’ve read your file,” said one of the other Marshals. “We know you had help escaping custody at Mount Weather.”

Mulder seriously doubted Alvin Kersh was out there in the snow, willfully breaking the law once again to save his least favorite erstwhile agent. And Scully didn’t have the resources to so much as attempt something like this, (plus he was confident Skinner would relay his message to stay far, far away from him).

The only explanation, Mulder thought, was that this was some kind of play by Bryson to get him out of official custody and into a much oogier unofficial custody in an attempt to get Mulder to give up where William was. However, Bryson–who had pulled his service weapon and was holding it and appeared to be sweating–was doing an admirable acting job if that was the case.

Whatever was going on, Mulder didn’t have the foggiest idea what it was.

“We need to-” whatever the Marshal was saying was cut off with a now-intense buzzing Mulder could feel in the back of his skull. When he darted his eyes to the other passengers, however, they seemed totally unaffected and the man who had been speaking was still moving his mouth, though Mulder couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“--der,” he heard, in what was unmistakably Scully’s voice. But he didn’t hear her voice with his ears, but rather in his head, where the buzzing was emanating. It was remarkably similar to when he could hear others’ thoughts, pushed into what bordered on madness by an alien craft. But this didn’t feel like lunacy; it was warm and euphoric.

“Mulder,” he heard again in Scully’s voice, this time more clear, the buzzing lessening. “Is that you?”

“Scully,” he thought. “What are–”

“There’s no time for explanations,” she said in his head. “I need you to look around. Show me what you see.”

Though his mind was racing with thoughts and questions and alarm, he instinctively turned his head and looked around the van. The Marshals were getting agitated, all of them pulling their own weapons, and Scully’s voice tuned in and out, interspersed with the angry voices of the other men in the vehicle. His head was turning more and more into a confusing jumble.

“--we need to–”

“--this is not your fucking op–”

“--call it in–”

“--get down–”

It was the last voice–Scully’s–that Mulder instinctively heeded, leaning sideways and down as far as he could in his awkward, chained position as all of the weapons from every officer in the car went flying out of hands, some through the open pass-through of the cab cage, to form a ball of glistening steel that hovered in the air between the driver and Bryson. And then, just as quickly, the windshield of the van blew out and the guns went with it, leaving a momentarily stunned silence with only the backdrop of the howling wind blowing icy flakes of snow in through the gaping gap at the front of the vehicle.

And there, now standing in the dull cones of the van’s headlights stood Scully, dark hair whipping around her face.

Mulder stared at her in awe.

Just as the other men in the car were getting over their shock, all four of the US Marshals were pulled violently back as the seatbelts, which they all were still wearing, tightened around them with a startling whip of hissing nylon. Sparks then flew from the ignition and the van’s engine died.

Bryson began shouting, but the Marshals were all pulling at the straps and jamming the buckle release buttons which refused to disengage.

“Lean back!” came Scully’s voice, no longer in his head, and Mulder just had time to obey as the eyehook that held his shackles was wrenched from the floor of the van with an ear-splitting groan of metal.

The sliding door slid open on its own and Mulder wasted no time, diving past a Marshal who was still tearing at his restraints and out into the snow. The van’s door whipped closed behind him and Mulder spun in time to see all of the van’s door handles simultaneously collapse on themselves, like a tin can crushed beneath a boot.

Behind them came the rumble of an engine, and Rhonda’s old Datsun puttered up beside them, slowing to a stop next to the disabled van.

“Get in the car, Mulder!” Scully shouted, already opening the passenger door and disappearing into the back seat, where Mulder could see the handle of William’s car seat sticking up from behind Rhonda.

Mulder swung into the passenger seat and the second his door was closed, Rhonda goosed the gas, and they were off into the snowy beyond.

The last thing Mulder saw of the van before it was swallowed by a squall, was Bryson crawling out of the hole where the windshield used to be and turning to watch as the old Datsun drove away.

#fanfic #my fic #the x-files #msr #wip

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