#knowing whoever set it was probably checking up on my blog like a maniac to see if i responded yet/gave them an opening and then i never do

[imo-chan-imagines]

『 Haikyuu!! Week 2020 | Day 2 』

· Sept. 26th → One Ball, Heart and Soul ·

Characters: Sawamura Daichi, Testurou Kuroo, Bokuto Koutarou, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Oikawa Tooru, Terushima Yuuji

Prompts: A. favourite position/role + B. travel/journey

Tags/warnings: Haikyuu!! (anime), PG, fluff, crack, headcanons, HaikyuuWeek2020

A/N: I found it so hard to pick a favourite position/role, because they're all so interesting and important, and I love everyone 😭 But I settled on the role of captain because of the headcanons I thought of. Captain Sqaud, assemble! So, want to find out what these boys are like on a road trip?

(Just to be clear, I do love all these guys. None of this is hate 😂) All my Haikyuu Week 2020 posts will be SFW, but I have some NSFW stuff on my blog, too. Feel free to check that out~ Thanks for reading! Please enjoy ♡ Imo~

☆ Sawamura Daichi ☆

Dad-chi™

Comes prepared with all the food, drinks, snacks, med kit, camera – literally everything you could possibly need on a road trip

Plans out the route beforehand down to the tiniest detail nothing gets past this man

As well as multiple backup routes in case there's diversions etc.

Plans for regular breaks at two-hour intervals where everyone can pee, stretch their legs, buy anything they need, etc.

He's the one who's driving he's not letting anybody else get a scratch on his van, lmao

And he's good at it

No speeding he's a cop, y'all but he doesn't dawdle either, no running red lights, turns corners well, keeps an even foot on the gas, etc.

Just a good time, tbh

Nobody is getting car sick because of him that would be a damn disgrace

"Stop fighting right now, or I'm turning this van around"

And will actually do it if you don't stfu, lmfao

Don't even think about making a mess and dropping your rubbish in the van you'll be walking home

Everyone else thinks his music is boring and for old people, but Daichi honestly doesn't care

Besides, it's either that or no music at all, because he needs to concentrate on the road

He takes this shit seriously. People's lives are in his hands, dammit!

☆ Testurou Kuroo ☆

Likes to switch between driving and riding shotgun/being designated navigator

Is fairly decent at both

Is constantly eating something but, like, he probably doesn't even know what it is

Some kind of edible is shoved towards his mouth by whoever's riding shotgun, and in it goes shut up. Not like that, you cretins 😂

Somehow manages to behave like an overbearing grandparent and an overexcited child at the same time?? Nothing new there, I guess 😂

I'm sorry, Kuroo, I love you. Please don't be mad 😭

Has a banging playlist full of throwback songs from the 90s and early 2000s

Drums along sofly on the steering wheel or dashboard constantly

HATES driving in rain he's low-key terrified he's going to aquaplane

Likes driving with the windows wound down and feeling the wind in his hair

Will plan the route, but then forget to save it/print it off, etc.

Cannot work Google Maps or SAT-NAVs to save his life Kenma, please help him

Actually packs properly balanced meals, but is heavy on the snacks, too

You'd think he'd drive too fast, but he's actually really responsible

Constantly telling dad jokes to try and keep people amused the groaners are the best

Would probably fight someone at the gas station if they started being a dick and causing trouble

Kuroo, baby. I love you, but please don't get arrested 😭😂😭

☆ Bokuto Koutarou ☆

Dear God, do NOT let him drive leave it to Akaashi, I'm begging you

Has really bad spacial awareness in a vehicle and drifts all over the place

Probably speeds without even knowing it, too

Likes to ride shotgun, but is a terrible navigator, so is nearly always made to ride in the back

Is the loud one that moves around too much and blocks the rear view mirror strap him in tight, Akaashi

Belts along at the top of his voice to whatever music is playing, he's not fussy

Was told to pack essential items in his backpack and proceeded to fill it with sweets and snacks and a pack of condoms??? and thought he did good

Bokuto: Bro, you said they were essential

Akaashi: NOT FOR EVERY SITUATION

Rarely ever has to pee, but when he does, it's always miles away from any service station, and he has to hold it for hours

Has definitely peed at the side of the road multiple times because he couldn't hold it any longer, but he wasn't even embarrassed as numerous cars zoomed past

Likes sticking his head out the window like a dog on the motorway which gives everyone else heart attacks

Like, get the hell back inside you maniac 😭

If the car has a sunroof, he's 100% standing up through it with his hands in the air just you try and stop him

And they will. Everyone will try

"HORSES!!"

Will get out of the car in traffic jams to find out what's going on and end up chatting with random strangers until it starts moving again

And he's very sad when he has to leave his new friends. Droopy hair and emo Kou for the next 2 hours :(

Unironically enjoys playing 'I Spy' for hours at a time

Is a bit much to handle in such a confined space for hours on end, but he's just so excited for the road trip

Will fall sound asleep in a matter of minutes if you set him up with a travel pillow and it's freaking adorable!!

☆ Ushijima Wakatoshi ☆

No music whatsoever it's distracting. Why would he want it?

Okay driver, brilliant paper-map navigator

Will sit and do absolutely nothing but stare out the window the entire trip if he's neither

Breaks too hard and accelerates too fast, though

Is also kind of heavy-handed with the gear stick he may or may not have snapped one off before...

Never give him a SAT-NAV, though, because he will follow the directions with 100% accuracy and end up driving through a wall or some shit don't try and deny it

Does he ever even blink when he's looking at the road? We may never know

Might be astral projecting, who knows

Forgets people need toilet breaks but refuses to make unscheduled stops

"Just hold it in"

Uh-huh, sure. That's how that works, Toshi

No snacks

Or rather, no fun snacks. Protein bars and mineral water all the way, babyyyy 🙃🙃🙃

Could probably drive all through the night without taking any breaks but that's irresponsible

Don't do it, kids

Will likely devour the entire KFC menu at the service station he's big, okay? He eats a lot

Is prone to leg cramp after long drives oh look, he needs a massage 😏

Doesn't get car sick. Ever. Upset stomachs are for the weak

Has garbage and recycling pouches on the backs of the front seats use them correctly, or feel his wrath

Isn't exactly a barrel of laughs, but it's somehow endearing just like always *happy sigh*

But it's actually a good thing

There's no hidden side to Ushi or any bad or annoying habits that come out of the woodwork on a long road trip

He's just the same old reliable, adorably straightforward Ushijima ❤

☆ Oikawa Tooru ☆

Calls shotgun and demands the aux cord every. Single. Time but it's pretty decent music, so no-one really complains

Not that he's any good at navigation pray for Iwa-chan

Is constantly taking selfies, making TikToks, and documenting the trip on his social media

#ROADTRIP #SQUAD GOALS #BETTER THAN YOU

Will send all the photos in the group chat when it's over, and they actually come out pretty well

Will not stop complaining if the air conditioning is busted and Iwa-chan will threaten to dump him in the middle of nowhere if he doesn't can it 😂

Iwa-chan: I shoulda left you on that street corner where you were standing

Oikawa: But'cha dIDN'T

Bonus points if you get that reference, lmao

Has to keep taking breaks because his butt hurts when he sits down for too long because it's fLaT

I'm sorry, Tooru 😭😭 Forgive me. I love you, really

Is constantly on his phone

But he points out pretty views and interesting sights to everyone all the time awww

Low-key needs to pee all the time, but gets defensive if someone brings it up please stop bulling him, travelling is hard

"Are we there yet?"

Seems kind of annoying, but is actually just genuinely excited to go on a road trip and spend time with his friends 😭😭

Buys matching souvenirs for everyone in secret to surprise them with 🥺

When people complain about all the photos, souvenirs, and enthusiasm, etc. and ask why he has to keep doing it, Oikawa says:

"I want to remember as much of this as possible. I want us all to remember as much of this as much as possible," with a sweet little smile 😭😭😭

And that's when everyone realises how mean they've been to him about being over-the-top and irritating, and they all feel terrible

Just like in the freaking anime, man

☆ Terushima Yuuji ☆

Will hijack the aux cord to play his incredibly niche music taste

Feet up on the dashboard when he rides shotgun

Shoes on is bad enough, but shoes off just stinks up the entire car you have to roll all the windows down, lmfao

Will break all sorts of road laws if you let him behind the wheel please don't

Daichi will come and arrest him 😭😭

Lives on energy drinks

That's all the drinks he packs. Nothing else

Travels in sports wear and sliders yes, even though you reallly shouldn't drive in sandals

Like he knows or cares 😭

Will chat to girls at the gas station and ask for their numbers, even though he's never going to see them again

"You never know, man! It could be, like, fate or something"

Yes, Yuuji, you do. And it's 'or something'

Thinks it's a good time to sext his current booty call because, like, he has hours of free time. What else is he going to do?

Probably forgot to pack actual food

Has to live off of snacks and cheap service station food for the duration of the trip

But not his own snacks, of course. Everyone else's one doesn't keep friends and buy one's own snacks

Genuinely doesn't realise if he's being gross or annoying, so let him down lightly like a bro and he'll probably make an effort to stop

Doesn't plan the route or anything, even if he's driving. Just punches it into Google Maps as he sits his ass down on the day and trusts it to get him there in one piece and on time

Entire Johzenji team: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...

For some reason knows how to change a flat tire, though, so he's good for something, I guess 😂😂

Probably saw a YouTube video on it. Maybe a WikiHow article

Somehow still manages to be an endearing part of the trip??

He smiles a lot and makes a lot of jokes, particularly when things go wrong, so it keeps everyone's spirits up

It definitely wouldn't be the same without him

© imo-chan-imagines 2020

[hazellvesque]

Some Kind of Miracle - Chapter 3

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: G

Pairing: Adrien/Marinette

Summary: If Marinette had her way, she would have had nothing to do with Alya’s latest celebrity crush. So how did she get roped into stalking him around Los Angeles? When fashion icon Adrien Agreste quite literally crashes into Marinette’s life, they have no choice but to put up with one another or risk ruining both of their potential careers forever.

An AU based on the iconic Disney Channel Original Movie, Starstruck.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 3 - Incredible

<<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>>

Marinette’s right hand was sore. Grey graphite smudged the entire length from her pinky to her wrist, but the result was all worth it. Fifteen pages of new menswear ideas were detailed on the pages in front of her.

She had spent majority of the flight – aside from meal and bathroom breaks – furiously sketching in her notebook. She’d been so concentrated on the steady flow of ideas streaming from her brain onto the paper in front of her that she almost didn’t hear the pilot’s landing announcement.

Alya roused next to her, having entered her third nap of the trip about an hour prior. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and stared out the window, grinning maniacally.

“We’re here!” she mouthed, making no effort to hide the pure joy on her face.

Marinette took a quick peek past her friend to look out the window, immediately regretting the sinking feeling in her stomach that resulted. They were still so high up in the air that even looking out for a fraction of a second gave her intense vertigo. She was glad she hadn’t been assigned the window seat.

All around the aircraft, people were bouncing their legs, fidgeting with magazines, or trying to stealthily reach for their bags early. Normally Marinette would have been just as irritable as everyone else, but she had had a welcome distraction for the past twelve hours.

“Is that who I think it is?” Alya half-whispered, taking a glance at Marinette’s drawings before she could stow her book away.

Marinette could feel the blush rising to her cheeks as she realized – it was exactly who Alya thought it was. Every single clothing sketch had been accompanied with a mop of blonde hair and huge, curious eyes wearing it. She’d drawn Adrien Agreste’s face in almost as much detail as the outfits, over and over again.

“He’s a model,” Marinette squeaked. “I needed something to work off of. And since you wouldn’t stop talking about him all morning-“

“Someone’s in denial,” Alya smirked. “He’s gorgeous and you know it. You’ll come to your senses eventually.”

The pilot came over the intercom once more, sounding sterner than the last time as he reminded passengers to store all personal items away for landing. Marinette sheepishly tucked her sketchbook away as other passengers reluctantly stored their belongings as well.

Two rows up, a flight attendant was having an altercation with a passenger. She and the teenage girl bickered back and forth at each other.

“Miss, all phones need to be powered down completely for our landing,” she gently tried to explain, but the girl was having none of it.

“I need to make sure my driver is going to be there when we land,” the teen insisted. “I am not going to be late getting to my destination.”

“The plan can’t land at all if our safety is compromised from your cell phone signal,” the flight attendant said with finality before walking to the back of the plane and taking her seat.

The blonde girl across the aisle looked oddly familiar, and not just because she was attached to her phone the same way Alya had been all day. Maybe Marinette had seen her around school somewhere? Regardless, she finally decided her conversation was less important than the lives of the hundred or so fellow passengers surrounding her, so she powered her phone down and tossed it aside, grumbling under her breath the entire time.

“I don’t blame her,” Alya whispered. “My fingers have been itching to check my blog, it’s been driving me crazy.”

The remaining twenty minutes of the flight passed without incident aside from slight turbulence. Disembarking the aircraft and heading towards the exit were equally as mundane.

Marlena Césaire walked ahead of the girls as they left the building, her carry-on bag trailing behind her. She stood at the curb and waved frantically in an attempt to hail a cab. Marinette and Alya, on the other hand, were too busy gaping at the scenery to do anything productive.

There were real live palm trees. Actually growing from the ground, not in a pot. And they were massive; at least over a dozen meters tall. Taxis and personal cars alike swerved wildly in and out of traffic, picking up travelers and making their way down the long stretch of motorway ahead. In the distance, the giant LAX sign was bright white in the sunlight. More incoming and outgoing flights passes precariously close over their heads. And the people: men and women in business suits, families with children wearing mouse ears, and travelers of all ages looking much less lost than they did.

Marinette didn’t see the blonde girl from the plane, again. She guessed her driver made it on time after all.

And judging by the man who had just walked up behind them with a sign, asking if they were the Césaire party, apparently their driver had made it too.

“Oh,” Marlena was taken aback. “We didn’t order a car.”

“You are here for Ms. Sancouer’s events this week, correct?” The man asked.

Marlena nodded slowly, looking absolutely dumbfounded.

“As part of her payment, she has gifted you service to your hotel,” the man smiled and gestured to his left. A sleek black car was pulled off to the side of the road with its doors wide open, waiting for them.

This Sancouer woman had apparently thought of everything, even so far as to hire a driver who spoke French. Props to her, Marinette thought.

Alya shrugged – as if to say ‘this may as well be happening’ – and hopped into the backseat of the car, with her mother and Marinette following close behind. The man walked the perimeter of the car, closing each door as he went, before getting behind the wheel and entering the traffic of the city.

And then they were off. And this city was massive.

There were too many things to see all at once. Marinette had complete sensory overload, trying to take in the sights and sounds and smells of Los Angeles.

The beaches had been one of the things she was looking forward to most. Only she hadn’t expected to see so many sandy shores right off of nearly every street they sped down. Seeing the ocean from the ground was even more surreal than flying above it, not to mention much less terrifying. The blue water sparkled in the morning sun and stretched out as far as the girls could see from their tinted car windows and beyond.

Before they knew it, they were pulling up to the front doors of their hotel. Alya bolted out of the backseat and through the hotel’s massive glass doors, her phone camera snapping furiously.

Marlena glanced back at Marinette from the front seat. “Go,” she said. “Explore, have fun. You have your key, right?”

Mme. Césaire’s clients had conveniently already checked them in as well, so their driver had their keys ready as soon as they arrived. Marinette nodded and patted the front pocket of her bag where she’d tucked the key earlier before running in after her friend.

She stepped inside and was immediately taken aback. The hotel was beautiful – far more extravagant that she had expected it to be. The soaring ceilings were covered in incredibly detailed murals. The furniture consisted entirely of sturdy dark wood and marble pieces accented with what was most likely real gold. The crystalline chandelier hanging in the center of the room probably cost more than Marinette’s entire house.

Whoever had hired Mme. Césaire and paid for this trip must have been swimming in extra cash.

By the time she caught up to Alya, the other girl had worked her way through the hotel lobby and into the gift shop, where she held half a dozen different very expensive looking candy bars.

“Do you know what any of these things are?” Alya seemed absolutely giddy. “I’ve never heard of any of these brands before!”

The store clerk stared at Alya, looking mildly terrified. Now that Marinette thought about it, she realized that most of the people here probably couldn’t understand a word Alya was saying.

Marinette could only imagine what everyone in the lobby was thinking about this teenage girl staring at the walls, taking photos of the lamps, and screaming French exclamations at the top of her lungs.

The endless foreign babble didn’t end for hours, even after they’d settled into their suite.

Their room was just as unnecessarily lavish as the rest of the hotel. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a full kitchen and dining area were just the beginning. The television had over three hundred channels and a full gaming system set up. Mme. Césaire’s room had a bottle of expensive-looking wine and a welcome note sitting on the side table. Marinette and Alya were each given their own fruit baskets.

The bags they’d checked on the flight, which had been picked up from the airport for them, sat waiting for them inside as well. They’d even paid attention to the luggage tags, Marinette noted while tilting her head to get a better look at the inside, as all of her belongings were seated at the foot of the right bed, and Alya’s at the left.

The three women had stood gaping in the doorway for what felt like ages.

Marlena cleared her throat. “The woman that hired me is vey generous,” she said weakly.

“No kidding,” Alya was the first to enter the room, where she and her phone camera went to work, documenting every last inch of luxury.

Marinette stepped inside next, feeling completely overwhelmed. Her fingers itched to take out her sketchbook again. There was so much to take in. The surrounding colors and shapes and patterns jumped around in her head, begging to be eternalized in a sketch.

Their driver stood politely outside of the door, allowing the girls enough time to get used to their new environment before interrupting once more.

“Mme. Césaire,” he began, “when you are ready, I will escort you to your venue to begin preparing for tonight, if you would like.”

Marinette could practically see the word ‘trouble’ flashing behind Alya’s eyes. No doubt, the other girl was already scheming about what she’d do once she was out of her mother’s watchful eye.

If Marlena suspected anything, it didn’t show on her face. There was no hesitation as she began collecting her things and preparing to leave. Alya was practically shaking in excitement.

Marinette hoped her disapproving look was enough to silently communicate to Alya that she very much did not approve of her scheming. She had been awake for far too long today. She wanted to unpack, and take a nap, and watch American dramas on television that she didn’t understand. She wanted to relax.

Alya Césaire and “relax” didn’t even belong in the same sentence, as far as she was concerned. Especially not here in the Golden State. Alya had a mission and she was determined to set it in motion.

Once Alya’s mom and the driver had left for the night, Marinette asked, “You’re going to look for Adrien, aren’t you?” Though she already knew the answer.

“Of course,” Alya winked at her. “And you’re coming with me.”

Chloe Bourgeois arrived at the Agreste house precisely when she said she would.

Her chauffer had given Adrien an apologetic look as he dropped Chloe’s bags off in the upstairs guest room. He only dealt with the girl once or twice a year, but he knew what a terror she could be. Lucky for him, he only had to drive her around. Adrien had to be the one to keep her entertained.

And out of the press, he reminded himself.

It was going to be a very difficult task, seeing as she nearly tackled him to the ground in greeting on his front lawn, in full view of the entire block.

“Finally!” she cried, planting a kiss on each of his cheeks. “I felt like I was going to drive myself crazy waiting to see you!”

Adrien firmly placed his hands on her shoulders and held her just out of reach. “Listen,” he started, “I’m happy to see you too, but you can’t do that. Not out here.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

Adrien turned back and forth, checking his surroundings. Thankfully, he didn’t see a flash go off or any bushes rustling in the distance.

“I told you, most people here aren’t that…affectionate with their friends. Someone might see you do that and get the wrong idea. Come on.” He kept one hand on her shoulder, loosening his grip so that he felt friendlier and less forceful. They walked together through the house to the main lounge room.

“What kind of wrong idea?” Chloe asked, plopping down in the seat behind her.

Adrien had to hold back a groan. “People might think we’re dating.”

“Is that so bad?” At Adrien’s exasperated look, she rolled her eyes. “I’m kidding. I’ll stop, I’m sorry. I’m just really happy to see you.”

“I know,” Adrien said. He took the time to hug her properly before standing back up and offering to get her something to drink.

By the time he’d returned from the kitchen with two glasses of water, Chloe was practically bouncing out of her seat from excitement.

“So what’s our itinerary for the week?” Chloe asked. “Last time we talked you had said something about a bonfire on the beach. Or a music festival. Or a music festival on the beach with a bonfire.”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, um…”

“Oh, I hear that there’s still some fireworks left over from this place’s Independence Day and they’re going to set them off tomorrow night, can we go see them?”

“Nathalie’s hosting a cocktail party here tonight,” Adrien said quickly. “How about we go to that first, then decide what to do later?”

Chloe shot him a disappointing look. Adrien had a notoriously bad poker face.

“You can get all dressed up,” he continued. “And she’s getting some really fancy food catered. There’ll be lots of big-shot Hollywood types here to talk about business and-“

“You should have started with that,” Chloe interrupted. “You know I’m a sucker for a stuffy middle-aged guy talking business. Look, I’m already swooning.”

Adrien knew he was being a bad friend. First, he’d forgotten all about her arrival, then he was already making excuses for the next few days about why she couldn’t enjoy her time here with him. The guilt was almost enough to make him forget all about his promise and let Chloe have her fun.

Almost.

He took her hands in hers and got very serious. “Listen, Nathalie wants me to stay out of trouble. I’ve got a huge opportunity coming up that rides on me being on my best behavior. Just promise me one hour? Two, tops. Just enough for me to make a good impression with everyone coming. And after that, I promise we can do something you want.”

She didn’t quite look convinced. She pulled her hands away and crossed them over her chest, sticking her nose in the air stubbornly. Adrien decided to try one last thing.

“Nino will be here tonight too. You wouldn’t miss an opportunity to insult his fashion sense, would you?”

Despite trying her best to stay stoic, Chloe smiled. “I do enjoy seeing that look on his face when I tell him his hats out of date. Fine. Two hours of your posh little party. Only because I’m such a nice person.”

And this was why Chloe Bourgeois was still his friend. For one, she would always come around and make sacrifices for him when he needed her to. And two, she couldn’t resist a chance to schmooze with socialites for a night.

Perhaps this little visit of hers wouldn’t be so bad.

“Even the wall outlets are weird here!” Alya shouted from inside the bathroom, where she had been straightening her hair for the past hour.

Marinette could still hear her camera’s flash snapping every couple of minutes.

“Don’t tell me you’re taking selfies with the electrical wiring,” she called back.

Marinette had just finished emptying her last suitcase. All of her clothes were stored away in the drawers and closets that they’d live in for the next two weeks. Only the essentials – her cellphone, her keys, and of course, her sketchbook – were packed away in a small backpack that she could also squeeze a few snacks from the fruit basket into if she decided to venture off and needed fuel.

She sat back on the plush bed, feeling extremely satisfied with herself. The sun had set a little over an hour ago and she felt absolutely exhausted. She could fall asleep sitting up if she tried.

As soon as she saw Alya emerge from the bathroom dressed to the nines, however, she had a good feeling that she wouldn’t be sleeping much at all.

“Why are you wearing that?” Marinette asked, dreading the answer.

“I told you, we’re going out!” Alya said, as if it were obvious. “The sooner we start looking, the more ground we’ll cover. Come on, get dressed!”

“Your mom said not to get in trouble,” said Marinette. That outfit definitely looked like trouble.

Not only was Marlena Césaire gone for the night, but her schedule was practically booked up this entire trip, and that left the girls far too much unsupervised time to get into mischief. She had made them promise to follow a few rules on their vacation: stick together, spend money carefully, and don’t do anything that will land you in a cell. Oh, and don’t forget to have fun!

Clearly Alya was disregarding the three former statements for the latter.

“We won’t,” said Alya. “Everything I plan on doing tonight is completely legal in this country. Now come on!”

Alya practically dragged Marinette from under the covers and into the bathroom, painting her face in a flurry of cosmetics and colors without so much as asking whether or not Marinette even wanted to go anywhere. She guessed this was Alya’s way of following rule number one: they couldn’t stick together if she didn’t pull Marinette along for her joyrides around LA.

At least Marinette had a say in what she got to wear; she chose a sensible pair of white jeans and flats, so she wouldn’t end up like Alya who would most likely be shoe-less and complaining about how much her heels hurt by the end of the night.

Marinette barely had time to grab her backpack before Alya dragged her from the room, shouting giddily the entire time about what Adrien’s eyes would look like in person.

It took them fifteen minutes to figure out how to hail a cab. Another twelve minutes, and they had pulled up to a building with far too many neon lights and what looked like nearly a hundred rowdy teenagers standing outside of it’s doors.

Marinette’s face paled. “Alya, where are we?”

“Calm down,” Alya said. “There’s a concert going on inside in an hour.” She opened her phone and started reading from her extensive list of notes. This place looked like the first on an incredibly long list of possible locations she was looking to scout. “Adrien’s been seen here attending shows seven times in the past year, plus, he’s been spotted hanging out with the lead singer of one of the bands that’s on the schedule tonight.”

After scanning just a dozen faces in the crowd, Marinette already felt pretty hopeless. “And you’re sure you’re going to find him here?”

“He’ll be wherever the most camera flashes are going off, most likely,” Alya said. After seeing Marinette’s doubtful face, she added, “And think of it this way: if we don’t find him, we can still enjoy the concert.”

Alya pulled two bluish slips of paper from her bag and handed one to Marinette. Judging by the dates on the tickets, Alya had purchased these far in advance. She really had every step of this trip planned out.

When they exited the cab, Marinette took Alya’s hand as a security precaution. Alya ducked and weaved through the crowd like a pro, leaving Marinette to wonder where she’d learned to be so confident. They pushed their way to the front of the red-roped area, gotten their hands stamped by the doorman, and rushed inside with the rest of the concertgoers.

The first act of the night had just begun their sound check. Endless snacks and drinks flowed at a bar area to the far right of the venue. The massive space filled immediately with eager teens and young adults ready to dance the night away and sing along until their voices were long lost.

The clock on the wall read 10:00pm, and the party was just getting started.

“Adrien, I’m bored,” Chloe whined.

Honestly, Adrien couldn’t blame her. A cocktail party full of adults standing in circles with wine glasses humble-bragging about their lives wasn’t exactly the place that three teenagers wanted to be on a Friday night.

At least Nino was entertaining himself with the chocolate fountain.

Adrien was on full alert, making sure to remain on his best possible behavior. Some might call it paranoid, especially since the security team had made sure that no paparazzi or unauthorized guests were within a thousand feet of the house, but Adrien was still on edge. There was no telling who here may have loose lips and let something slip from tonight. So he had to make sure there was nothing to slip.

“It’s been more than two hours,” Chloe reminded him. “I kept my promise, it’s time for you to keep yours.”

There goes the guilt again. It reared its ugly head time and time again throughout the night as Adrien watched his friends work to fight off their boredom. They were itching to do something – anything – more exciting than this, and honestly, so was he.

Nino walked up behind them, the tiniest bit of chocolate still smeared on the corner of his mouth.

“So we’ve conquered the hors d’oeuvres and listened to some snazzy piano music. What’s next on our agenda, kids?”

“Oh, I’ve got a good one!” Chloe said. “Let’s leave.”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve had in your entire life,” Nino said. He turned to Adrien. “I hate to admit it, but she’s right. I can only eat finger foods for so long. We can have one night out without you getting in trouble. You’re not under house arrest, dude, you’re allowed to leave.”

It was easy for him to say. Sure, there was no official order or locked door keeping him in, but he still felt the weight of his reputation pulling him back behind closed doors at all times.

Both Chloe and Nino pleaded with puppy dog eyes. Damn them. Alone, one of them could be convincing, but when they teamed up against him, it was impossible to say no.

Then again, glancing around the backyard, it seemed that no one was really paying any mind to the teens. Maybe they’d be able to get away for a little while without anyone noticing.

“Fine,” Adrien said. Nino opened his mouth to let out a cheer, and Adrien immediately muffled it with his hand. “But be subtle.”

“I’ll get my keys!” Nino ditched his paper plate in a nearby trash bin and took off into the house with Chloe hot on his trail.

Adrien was stealthier about his exit. He trailed his way down the dessert table, pretending to be deliberating between options. He took one last paranoid glance over his shoulder and realized that his acting chops could rest for the time being. No one was paying him any attention whatsoever.

Freedom. Nino pulled up his car and Chloe plugged coordinates into the GPS by the time Adrien had made it out of the front door.

Luckily, when they pulled up to the club half an hour later, the second band’s set was just starting, leaving everyone in the venue too distracted to notice their entrance. Chloe made a beeline for the V.I.P. lounge upstairs and wasted no time ordering the most sugary, caloric drink on the menu.

Nino settled into a couch in the far back corner. He closed his eyes and swayed to the music, looking and feeling like he was in heaven. Places like this were his natural habitat.

Adrien, however, couldn’t help but notice the sinking feeling in his stomach that appeared the moment he stepped out of Nino’s car. There were so many cellphones. So many potential fans who could notice him and stop him at any moment. So many things could go wrong. He picked up his pace, taking the stairs two at a time and keeping his head ducked down until he was sure no one could be following him.

Two more weeks of this. No problem at all. He’d let Chloe and Nino have their fun for a bit, then they’d duck out before the crowds got too thin. With how the party had been going back at home, no one would even notice he was gone.

A smile crept to his face. Nathalie’s reaction to this would be priceless. There might be actual smoke coming out of her ears. That alone would be worth it.

And yet, he still couldn’t help but feel like he was being watched.

Chloe dropped down next to Adrien on the small couch, practically sitting in his lap, taking extra care not to spill her drink. The doorman hadn’t stopped to stamp their hands, Adrien noticed.

Chloe was thinking the same thing, apparently. “Don’t worry, it’s just juice and soda,” she said. “Americans and their silly drinking laws. I’m not going to get you in trouble. Here, take a sip.”

Not that he had much of a choice – Chloe practically shoved the straw into his mouth. The blue slush concoction was way too sweet and gave him brain freeze. He didn’t want to think about how much sugar was in even one sip of it.

His dietician was going to kill him. It was wonderful.

“Dance with me,” he said to Chloe.

“Now?” she had just enough time to put her drink down before Adrien grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Why not?” The rest of the V.I.P. lounge was empty aside from the bouncer, the band downstairs was playing some ridiculous rock song, and the Adrien who had scaled his rooftops for fun had returned ready to have some fun.

He spun wildly in circles, taking advantage of all the extra space around them. He was completely off beat and he was bound to trip over his super squeaky dress shoes, but for just a moment, he didn’t care.

The three of them radiated pure joy. Why wouldn’t they? They were living the teenage dream – sneaking out late at night, hyped up on sugar, adrenaline, and the company of amazing friends.

Swaying along to an album’s worth of rock ballads and downing slushies all night - it didn’t get much better than this.

Moments like this made the stress melt away. He’d sit through a million photo shoots, try out dozens of ridiculous diets, and sit in stuffy vehicles for hours if it meant he got to let loose and have the time of his life with his best friends at the end of it all.

Once he got out of LA, this could be his life every day.

Of course, leaving LA would mean there would be a lot less days like this one, with Nino and Chloe by his side. It would probably mean a lot less clubs like this one, which he’d grown to love over the years. He’d likely have to move somewhere with a lot less beaches; somewhere where the sunsets weren’t nearly as breathtaking.

Plus, he couldn’t get away at all if he screwed up tonight and did something reckless. One misstep and he could kiss that dream goodbye.

Adrien immediately felt very dizzy, though he and Chloe had stopped spinning long ago.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You have this weird look in your eye. Here, sit down.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. Chloe led him back to his seat and helped him down gently. He made a point to lean back and shut his eyes, thinking only the happiest thoughts and hoping that it showed on his face. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

And then a flash went off behind Adrien’s head.

Adrien’s seemingly cool smile turned panicked in an instant. It might have been an accident, or maybe someone was taking a photo of something else, or maybe a light bulb blew out. Honestly it could have been anything. But the paranoia had been running too high for too long.

His guilty conscience was back in full control now. Goodbye Rebel Adrien, hello Anxious Adrien.

“Come on, let’s go,” Adrien was glad that Nino had said it so he didn’t have to. “We’ve been here long enough. You look miserable, dude.”

Chloe didn’t hesitate to agree. Her feel-good vibes were lost as soon as she’d seen his face. At this point, they had had their fun for the night. The sooner they got Adrien back home, the better.

“Can you pull around back?” Adrien asked quietly. “I don’t want to be seen.”

“We’ll meet you in ten,” Nino said, fishing his keys from his back pocket. “The usual spot, okay?”

He didn’t know what he’d do without Nino. Leaving him was going to be one of the hardest decisions Adrien would ever have to make. He’d have to work extra hard to remember today. It might be one of the last nights they’d have like this.

He watched Nino and Chloe disappear down the front steps before making his way down the back stairwell. It was time to face reality once more.

Marinette wanted out now.

The heat was absolutely stifling inside the club. The third band of the night was in the middle of their set, the bass booming loud enough to shake the floors. Somewhere in the midst of dancing bodies, Alya was probably having the time of her life. Marinette wouldn’t know, since she’d been pushed far into one of the back walls and trapped, unable to make her way back to the front of the stage where she’d lost her friend. She could barely move an inch without getting her feet stepped on or her bag snagged on someone’s jewelry.

So far the Adrien hunt had been a total bust, and Marinette honestly couldn’t tell if Alya cared or not. When they first walked in, Alya had been balancing on her toes, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of blonde hair and making a beeline towards anyone who even mildly resembled the model from the back. Her cellphone had stayed tight in her grip, ready to record anything and everything she may see that was blog worthy.

Then the band onstage played a song she remembered. And a boy at the juice bar had offered to buy her some colorful concoction (“It’s not alcoholic, I promise,” the bartender had said as he slid it over). In no time she blended right in with the local girls who were just so ready to let loose and have some fun. It was like she had gotten so swept up in the night that she had forgotten all about her mission.

Marinette wished she could forget about everything right now. The too-loud music, the sickly sweet smell in the air, the pure frustration she felt after essentially getting left alone in a corner in a strange country surrounded by what could have been very dangerous people.

She needed some air. She silently promised herself she’d only be gone for a second. No way she was leaving her best friend to fend for herself in a place like this.

Attempting to escape to the women’s bathroom was an absolute bust – it was full of girls reapplying makeup and spraying obnoxious amounts of perfume into the air, clouding everyone’s senses with the scent of cherry blossoms.

The upstairs lounge area was no better. Dozens of chairs and couches sat in semicircle formations, all crowded with boys who were guzzling down bar snacks and yelling at an American football game on a nearby television.

There was no chance of her passing off as a celebrity to sneak into the quieter V.I.P. section, either.

Slowly but surely, Marinette wiggled her way to the front of the venue and back out through the doors they’d entered an hour prior. Even outside hadn’t offered enough peace, as large groups gathered on the sidewalks to smoke and discuss their other plans for the rest of the night.

Holding her breath, she put her head down and tried to seem confident as she walked away as quickly as possible. There was no need to draw attention to herself, especially not by sending herself into a coughing fit.

Part of her wanted to try getting another taxi and heading back to the hotel on her own. Alya had done it the first time, it couldn’t be too hard, right?

Of course, she and Alya were supposed to stay together, and leaving Alya inside a club while she got a ride to somewhere miles away was definitely not one of the rules she’d promised to abide by.

After another minute, Marinette slowed to a stop, feeling like she was far away enough to finally breathe. The booming bass was still audible, but just barely. She glanced up and blinked in confusion. The neon lights of the club’s sign were nowhere to be seen. Had she really gotten turned around that easily? She couldn’t have walked far.

Great, she thought.

She could feel her eyes start to well up with frustrated tears. Why had she even let herself get talked into doing this? She could have had a nice two weeks, lounging on beaches and drawing in her book, but instead, she was here. Lost in an alleyway with no idea how to get back to her friend. Her friend who could have gotten in all sorts of danger while she was alone in there.

She was too busy letting her anxieties get the best of her to notice the door to her left, much less react quickly enough when it swung open violently, landing a direct hit to her face and turning her entire world to black.

[armadil-lo]

La Vida Mocha (1/?)

Summary: Months after the fall of the infamous Fake AH Crew, gang activity is still booming. Jeremy was left in the dust after the crew he worked with was busted for selling out the Fakes, and now he’s returned to underground fighting. Despite money running thin, he has found himself spending every afternoon possible with the cute new guy at Starbucks. Little does he know that Ryan is actually far less innocent than he seems.

My Notes: If you don’t already know, this is a Jeremwood Coffeeshop/FAHC AU that spawned from a whole bunch of posts and asks. If you want to see the origins of this AU (and get an idea of where this fic is heading, probably some spoilers though), please check out the tag I have on my blog here, or the masterlist here. I don’t know how long this fic is going to be, all I know is that it’s probably going to be a monster.

Also, this first chapter is kind of a prologue, there will be a timeskip next chapter. :’)

Words: 6241

AO3

CHAPTER ONE

By all standards, it’s a fairly ordinary day when the Fake AH Crew goes under.

It’s summer in Los Santos, which means it’s humid as all hell, traffic is marginally better than most other times of the year, and gang activity is skyrocketing. In fact, Jeremy’s been recently hired by a small crew by the name of Pyrite. It’s no Fake AH Crew by any means, but it’s a name he actually recognised when their frontman approached him after another win at the underground fighting syndicate. He may only be doing grunt work for them, but it’s the first time he really feels like he might be moving up in the world since making the move to Los Santos.

Jeremy and another brute are delegated to play bodyguard for the frontman at a potentially dangerous deal, but it all goes over smoothly. Him and the others leave the deal pleased, frontman swinging a briefcase from his hand. “The boss will be very pleased about this information,” he says with a wicked smile. And Jeremy thinks nothing of it. Jeremy actually hasn’t even met his boss yet – he’s barely been working with Pyrite for a over a week.

He and a couple others are sent out in the afternoon for stakeout duty, swapping with the ones who took the morning shift. It’s a hot day and the warmth is stifling in the car, but he dicks around on his phone to pass the time. The two in the front seats don’t pay him much attention, the target never shows up and before they know it, it’s five o’clock and their replacements are knocking on the passenger side window.

Jeremy really should be suspicious when he gets back to base to see the frontman and vanguard sniggering behind a file. From what he’s seen, he’s pretty sure the two of them don’t like each other. What’s even weirder is when the boss himself comes out of the office behind them, claps them on the shoulders and says, “It’s done.” Jeremy can’t help but stare at the three of them laughing maniacally in the corner but is distracted by the treasurer across the room calling out his alias.

“What are they laughing about?” Jeremy whispers as he walks up to her, still a little scared of Pyrite’s leader. He’s a beast of a man and rarely shows his face around people other than his inner circle.

The treasurer huffs and rolls her eyes. “I don’t even know. Out of the loop as per usual. Now, what were you up to today, Rimmy?”

Jeremy tells her the two jobs he was on and watches her count out a wad of notes. The way Pyrite runs their crew is definitely unorthodox, but it seems to be working for them. Getting paid in cash for each day he works is fine by Jeremy – it’s the first time he’s had a steady income in years, he’s not about to complain. She hands him his pay in an envelope with a smile and he wishes her a good evening as he leaves.

Jeremy walks home, because not owning a single vehicle means you walk everywhere, and he doesn’t think twice about the sirens or the helicopters or the small billow of smoke coming out of one of the tallest buildings in the city. He doesn’t think twice about the man with an earpiece exclaiming in shock, the people in their cars furiously texting at every stop light, the happy children’s grins as they skip past him singing, “They’re gone, they’re gone, they’re gone!” He barely even notices.

He’s unlocking the door to his shitty little apartment when his phone buzzes in his back pocket. The text is from one of his new co-workers, Matt, the only one he’s really gotten along with so far. All it says is Turn on the news channel ASAP!!! So Jeremy flops down on his shitty little sofa, picks up the remote and turns on his shitty little television.

What he sees makes his jaw drop.

It’s a fairly ordinary day when the Fakes go under. But then, most days do seem ordinary at first, don’t they?

“Today, LSPD received an anonymous tip on the whereabouts of the infamous Fake AH Crew’s main base of operations,” the reporter on the screen states. “Officers arrived at the scene – a penthouse in the heart of the city – only to find a raging fire inside. It is being speculated that the Fake AH Crew did this themselves in an attempt to cover their tracks. However, firefighters managed to put out the blaze and detectives were cleared to enter after a short period. Evidence is piling up that this was indeed the criminals’ main hideout, right under our very noses. Intelligence are looking into the salvaged cellphones and credit cards left behind and the LSPD are on a manhunt for the members of the elusive cr–”

Geoff abruptly snatches the remote from Jack and switches the television off.

“I want to know who did it, I want to know how they did it, and I want to know where they are so I can fucking strangle them,” Geoff growls.

Ryan has seen Geoff angry before. He’s seen Geoff angry plenty of times, actually. He’s seen Geoff jokingly angry, drunk angry, angry in stress or in worry. He has never once seen the man as absolutely livid as he is right now. Geoff shoves the remote back in Jack’s hands and resumes his pacing, a thunderous glare on his face.

It’s not like Ryan isn’t mad as well. Their man inside the LSPD hadn’t been quick enough to erase the tip before clean cops were on top of it and before they knew what was happening, they had minutes to gather whatever they could take and light as much evidence on fire as possible on their hasty way out of the penthouse. Whoever sold them out will have hell to pay, that’s for sure.

Ryan looks over at Gavin, who’s typing away on his laptop. He’s been practically glued to that thing for hours. Shoulders tense, face pinched, fingers flying. Ryan knows he’s desperately trying to combat the moves of the LSPD hackers as they attempt to look into whatever information they’ve found. Michael is sitting next to him on the couch, their shoulders touching. He’s watching Gavin’s screen with a lost expression.

Lost is not something Michael is very often. And it’s not just because he doesn’t understand what Gavin is doing.

“Geoff, calm down, things will be fine,” Jack is trying to say. Her hands are raised now in an attempt to placate him.

“Calm down? Are you fucking kidding me, Jack?” Geoff snaps, and she flinches a little. “Some fucking asshole ratted us out and now we’re in our oldest and shittiest safehouse with no idea if the pigs can find us here. We left behind the safe of money, we left behind all of our vehicles, we left behind most of our phones and wallets. We only have the fucking clothes on our backs, three pistols and a machete between us. How exactly is this going to be fine?”

Jack presses her lips together, eyes shining. There’s nothing she can say, really.

Geoff sighs into the silence and rubs his hands over his face. “Gav, as soon as you’re done covering our tracks, I want you to figure out who the fuck did this to us.”

Geoff slumps a little and turns away, heading into the kitchen muttering about needing some alcohol.

Jack looks between the others and her eyes land on Ryan. He’s leaning against the far wall with his arms folded and hasn’t spoken a word yet. Ryan knows he looks blank, hard. Jaw set and eyes cold. He’s wearing as much of a mask now as he does when he puts on the skull.

“Aren’t you angry, too?” Jack asks now. Ryan almost snorts at that.

“I want to flay their skin and chop them into a hundred tiny pieces,” he deadpans in response instead. Michael makes a vaguely disgusted noise.

Jack sighs as well and Ryan can practically see the gears turning in her head. “I’m the only one who still has my wallet, right?”

“Yeah,” Gavin chimes in. “Yours is the only effing credit card they’re not trying to get into.” His eyes are still firmly on his screen but the constant typing has paused.

“So, theoretically, I could go out and buy us supplies,” Jack says slowly. Michael finally looks up at her and nods eagerly. “We still have Hardy at the bank and Burton at the real estate agent’s – they can probably help me find a new place for us. Temporarily,” she adds hastily. She takes a deep breath and continues. “After this blows over a bit, we can start thinking about clothes and ammo.”

“We should pick this place clean,” Michael suggests. “Maybe burn it after we leave, too. Just in case the pigs track us down. There’s gotta be some food and shit left here, right?” Jack nods and gives him a grateful smile.

Ryan has to admit, it sounds better than waiting here to get swarmed by the LSPD. It’s not a solution by any means, but it’s a start.

“Ryan, you’ll come with me for backup tomorrow. Just in case.”

He frowns in confusion. “What? Everyone knows the Vagabond.”

“Not without the mask,” Jack corrects softly.

Ryan jolts at the thought, staring at her with a horrified expression. Something rises in his throat.

“You’re the only one who wouldn’t get recognised on the streets,” Jack tells him. “We can go out early and get some temporary hair dye for me or something, but I- I can’t go anywhere alone right now. None of us can.” She takes the few steps towards him and puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re the safest option.”

Ryan swallows. “And I suppose it helps that I’m proficient with the only kinds of weaponry we have left,” he snarks, because it’s all he can say.

Jack gives him the smile that she knows he’ll always give in to and pats his arm. “Think about it.” Then she, too, turns and walks out of the room.

Ryan pinches the bridge of his nose. He listens to the sound of Gavin’s resumed typing, of Michael’s slow but heavy breathing. Eventually, he takes a seat in the armchair across from them and leans his head back to look at the ceiling.

Eventually, he tells the two of them to go to bed. He’ll take watch, because of course he will, and this place only has two bedrooms anyway. Geoff and Jack will want one, so Michael and Gavin can share the other. At least they won’t fall asleep here and wake up with cricks in their necks tomorrow. The two lads reluctantly agree and head off down the hallway.

Eventually, Geoff stumbles from the kitchen towards the bedroom too, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

Eventually, Ryan walks around the small safehouse and flicks off all of the lights and then he is alone in the darkness with his thoughts.

This is really bad. This is worse than a bump in the road. This is worse than a heist not going exactly to plan. This is worse than when Ray up and left out of the blue. This is really, really bad.

It doesn’t take long for Jeremy to figure out who the anonymous tipper was.

It shocks him. It really, truly shocks him.

See the thing is, Jeremy always admired the Fakes. Always looked up to them, appreciated what they stood for as a crew. They always seemed so close and it was something Jeremy dreamed about having one day. He’s almost upset that they’ve been taken down and seem to have completely disappeared. Scratch that, he is actually a little upset.

And it really does not help that he has only been working for Pyrite for little over a week when his boss royally fucks over the criminals who are in charge of the city. Or, they were.

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how his boss got ahold of the information. He doesn’t understand what the intention is. But most importantly, he doesn’t understand why. Why sell out the Fake AH Crew? They’ve been running Los Santos for years now, and by criminal standards, don’t actually seem like bad people. It feels wrong. Jeremy doesn’t care if his boss was in it for money or for power – it feels wrong.

It’s a few days later that he learns why.

He’s called into work by the frontman, who claims they’re having a meeting of sorts. It seems more like a gathering when Jeremy gets there – everyone who’s on the crew’s payroll is at the base, it seems. Not to say that that’s a lot of people, Pyrite being just one of many gangs in Los Santos with a tiny bit of territory to call their own. There’s still roughly twenty or so people there, a couple of them Jeremy has never seen before. He makes a beeline for Matt, of course, who’s standing in the corner looking artificially disinterested.

“What’s going on?” Jeremy hisses. The atmosphere in the room is strange. Some people are making small talk – that’s mostly the brutes – but there’s quite a few who look worried. The vanguard and treasurer are pressed closely together by the door to the leader’s office. They’re both shaking.

“I have no idea, dude,” Matt claims, a little louder than necessary. Jeremy fixes him with an odd look and glances him up and down. Matt’s hands are shaking and he leans closer. He looks around the room quickly before whispering, “I think we’re in trouble.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asks quietly.

“I mean, I think someone has the same kind of intel on us as we did on–” Matt breaks off abruptly and looks at Jeremy from under his glasses and shaggy hair. There are dark circles beneath his eyes.

Jeremy inhales sharply. “You knew?”

Matt shakes his head. “Not all of it. Just pieces. I- Jeremy, he just played our one trump card. But they didn’t care.” He starts wringing his wrists.

“Who’s they?” Jeremy demands. Matt opens his mouth to speak and then the room falls silent.

There are sirens. They’re in the distance for now, but you’d be stupid not to be afraid of that noise nowadays. LSPD have been cracking down on every criminal network they can get their hands on lately, not just the Fakes. Everybody in the room goes tense at the sound, some eyes flicking between the windows and doors. Matt shrinks in on himself in the corner. The sirens are gradually getting louder and louder but nobody moves. Everybody’s frozen and pale nobody moves until the sirens are so close they’re right outside, accompanied by running engines and screeching tires, and the boss comes charging out of his office and just yells one word.

“Shit!”

And Jeremy knows it’s all over.

Chaos ensues. The boss immediately makes a run for it out the back, dragging a couple brutes with him for protection supposedly. People start bustling and shouting and running for the armoury, but the frontman steps out and blocks them from getting in, trying to calm everyone down. The sirens stop, but the red and blue lights are flashing through the windows now. Jeremy takes a step and feels Matt’s hand on his arm, stopping him. He glances back, ready to shake him off and get moving–

A loud booming noise makes the world shake and Jeremy is thrown to the ground. There are more shouts now, aggressive and demanding, LSPD pooling in from where the breaching charge – bomb? Grenade? – gave them an opening. The muscle of Pyrite start fighting back immediately and Jeremy lifts his head groggily to watch one get tasered and another pinned down and pummelled by three cops. Gunshots start sounding from the far end of the room, where the armoury was, and holy shit Jeremy doesn’t have any weapons on him.

He scrambles to his feet and sprints for the nearest window. All of the windows in the building are high up, but with a running jump Jeremy is able to grasp onto the windowsill with his fingertips and kick off the wall until he pulls himself into a better position. He’s barely even thinking as he throws a fist through the glass and makes quick work clearing it out of the pane as much as possible. Jeremy hoists himself through – and then feels hands on his ankles. He frantically kicks out, not knowing or caring who it might be, and wriggles the rest of the way.

He falls ungraciously to the ground outside and lies there for a moment, breathing heavily, listening to the gunshots and yelling echoing out from the window. His hand has been shredded by the glass and he landed on his shoulder funnily but he pulls himself up off of the ground and starts running.

He starts running and he keeps running, down back alleys and side streets, hopping fences and staying in shadows. He keeps running, heartbeat pounding in his ears, holding his shoulder with his cut-up hand, blood trickling down his arm and wounds faintly pulsing. He avoids the streets and the noises of traffic and quickly zips around corners when he sees someone heading his way. In the warehouse district of Los Santos, it’s easy to disappear. Jeremy knows nobody followed him, but he keeps running away.

He runs until he can’t run anymore, until his legs are aching and breathing feels like sandpaper in his throat and his vision flashes. He stops and looks behind himself, just once. There’s still nobody following him. So he rests for a minute, gathers his bearings, and starts walking in the direction of his apartment.

He gets some odd looks from people as he walks past them on the busier streets, but honestly a little blood isn’t anything someone living in Los Santos is shocked by. And when he finally makes it to his apartment building almost an hour later, he slams and fumbles to lock the door behind him. He’s shaking violently as he quickly moves around the space and throws every curtain shut. Then he drops onto the couch and pulls his knees to his chest, staring blankly at the floor.

Time passes. At one point, Jeremy numbly cleans himself up in the bathroom. His shoulder is just bruised, the cuts on his hand are mostly superficial. When he comes back into the main room, he finds himself restlessly switching between checking his phone for any word from Matt and spying out of his window to see if LSPD, or even Pyrite, tracked him down after he ran. He paces for a long time, catches himself staring into the half-empty refrigerator, bounces his leg anxiously when he sits down.

The silence becomes overwhelming.

Jeremy turns on the TV, just for white noise, just for something to listen to in the background. It doesn’t even really register that he’s left it on the news channel since spending the last few days anxiously following any updates on the Fake AH Crew.

He supposes this is an update of sorts, too.

“–were arrested at the scene and a further three died in the shootout that occurred.” Jeremy freezes. “The gang’s leader fled as LSPD arrived and police pursued him on foot and were able to apprehend him. A local captured the moment from a safe distance on their mobile device.”

And then they’re playing some grainy footage that shakes as it zooms in. There are two cop cars parked haphazardly in the middle of the road, three LSPD officers in armoured vests standing with guns all trained on…

“I took down the Fakes! I sold out the Fake AH Crew before I went down, I don’t give a shit what you do to me now!”

Jeremy’s boss is being dragged towards the open back door of one of the cars. He’s struggling, and paired with the blatant fear in his voice, it’s a bit of a contrast to what he’s saying. Then he’s shoved into the vehicle and it cuts back to the reporter standing in front of a green screen.

“Police will be further questioning the man to see if he has any more information on the Fake AH Crew.”

They move onto other topics after that and Jeremy lets his mind wander, tuning out the background noise he initially wanted.

LSPD never comes after him. Pyrite never tracks him down. Matt never contacts him.

Jeremy was alone for a long time before he was picked up by this small crew – and he’s alone again now.

The Fake AH Crew go from a luxurious penthouse in the center of Los Santos, to some small townhouse on the outskirts.

There are two bedrooms, a tiny study that they put a mattress in for Ryan, a conjoint kitchen-dining-lounge area and one bathroom. Which all means they have zero privacy.

See, the Fakes are used to working together. They’re used to hearing each other over the comms, looking out for each other on jobs, spending a night or two in a spare room at the penthouse. They are used to each retiring to their own various apartments at the end of a long week. What they are not used to is living with each other.

Disagreements have been quick to pop up over the last couple of weeks, particularly about bathroom habits. Ryan’s taken to using the shower in the early hours of the morning and slipping out to the front porch or small backyard whenever he hears the knocking and shouting start. It seems ridiculous that for such a ‘close-knit’ crew, spending so much time with each other in an enclosed space is doing them more harm than anything else.

Geoff calls a meeting in the living room and the five of them gather in the small space. Geoff and Jack take seats at the dining table, Gavin and Michael on the loveseat and Ryan perches on one of the arms. At least the place came pre-furnished.

“Alright, so, Jack and I have been talking about some more long-term arrangements,” Geoff starts. The lines on his face seem to have gotten deeper recently. “Crimes are way too fucking risky to try pull off right now with the pigs on high alert. I’m gonna be recognised if I take one step out of this place so I’m stuck as dicks for now. And since we can’t access any of our savings, money is going to become a bit of an issue here.”

“I’m going to start going around and doing recon soon,” Jack tells them. “Checking in on our allies and suppliers for now, but if we’re going to make some ground work then I’m going to have to get busy as soon as possible. I can’t keep playing diffuser here,” she adds with a meaningful look to Michael and Geoff.

Geoff at least has the decency to look a little apologetic before he continues. “That means the rest of you need to get busy, too.”

Ryan frowns. “And what exactly will that entail?”

“Jobs!” Geoff announces gleefully. The lads glance between each other in confusion. “Real jobs,” Geoff clarifies. “Posing as civilians.”

“But we’ll get recognised!” Gavin splutters.

“Ryan and I haven’t been recognised yet,” Jack points out. “Disguising ourselves as ordinary people is actually working. Civilians aren’t looking for a guy in dad jeans or a brunette in a pencil skirt. They’re looking for the Vagabond, for Pattillo. And they’re looking for Mogar and the Golden Boy, too. They’re looking for our personas – not us.”

“Okay, yeah, but how the fuck are we meant to get jobs without resumes and shit?” Michael asks. He doesn’t look too uncomfortable with the idea, not like Ryan was when Jack first pitched it to him a few nights ago. Gavin seems displeased but doesn’t look necessarily opposed to it either.

“Fakehaus have a forger at our disposal,” Geoff says. “Lawrence is gonna fake your records and experience and shit. He’ll send new IDs in the mail for you.”

“Didn’t we already borrow Peake from them?” Gavin asks.

“Yes, Gav, because I don’t want you going anywhere near the remnants of Pyrite. He can look into it for us, it’s too dangerous for you right now,” Geoff explains for what feels like the hundredth time. Gavin pouts like he has been for the last week and a half and Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Okay, so for Lawrence to be able to do that for us,” Jack steers the conversation back to the topic, “You three need to start thinking about your civilian disguises.” She makes eye contact with Ryan and he nods. He sees Michael and Gavin do the same.

“Great. Think of it like a… flatmate arrangement,” is what Geoff leaves them with as he stands up and moves over into the kitchen. It’s almost amusing to Ryan how he seems to think that moving a few yards further away in the same room can signal the end of a conversation, but the others get the point and quickly disperse.

He’s sitting on his mattress in the study not ten minutes later when Gavin barges in.

“Jesus Christ, Gavin, knock next time,” he growls, putting his book aside.

Gavin just shrugs. “Ryan, would you be able to go out and get hair dye for my hair?” He waves a hand up at his coiffed, bleached-blonde hair.

Ryan huffs a small sigh and stands. “Fine. What colour do you want?”

Gavin looks up at him with something akin to melancholy in his expression. “Something you wouldn’t think I’d put anywhere near my head even if I were given a million dollars.”

Ryan gives him a small smile and pats him on the shoulder. “Do you know where Michael left his keys?”

“They’re on the coffee table.”

Ryan nods and gestures for Gavin to leave the room ahead of him. He follows the lad out to the living room and picks up Jack’s wallet from the kitchen bench and Michael’s keys from the coffee table. It’s the one vehicle they have left with them - Michael’s most inconspicuous vehicle. The one they all piled into for their hurried escape, the one they knew cops wouldn’t tail. Ryan steps out of the front door and sees it there, parked in the driveway.

A simple, silver prius. No personalised plates, no vibrant colours, no flashy accessories. Not the kind of car you would expect the Fakes to own. And it was lucky Michael still did, actually. He’d used it once or twice for a short undercover stint over a year ago. Ryan doesn’t know how things might’ve gone down had they been forced to hop into one of Geoff’s hot pink atrocities for their getaway.

Ryan’s been the one running errands mostly, since he’s the only one whose face isn’t plastered all over the media. It took him many months to gradually stop wearing the mask around the others and being thrust into the public without it for the first time in many years is terrifying in its own regard. So when he pulls up to the local convenience store, something not unlike paranoia makes him put his hood up despite the sunny weather.

The cashier greets him with a warm smile when he steps inside. Ryan ducks his head and immediately scurries off down the aisles.

He’s pretty sure he robbed this store a couple years ago.

He comes across a small selection of hair dyes. Most of them are natural colours, nothing outrageous. He’s tossing up between a gothic black and a bright red when a woman with a basket already full of other items turns into the aisle and glances over at him. He snatches up a random box without looking at it and speed-walks into the next aisle.

He forces himself to stop and take a deep breath. Nobody knows who he is. He looks down at the dye he picked up - a gross, muddy blonde colour. It’ll do. He looks up and starts to make a beeline for the counter, but on his way stops and also picks up a can of diet coke. He avoids eye contact with the cheery cashier as she scans his items and asks him if he’d like a bag. By the time he’s rushing out of the store, he can practically feel her eyes on him.

His heart is pounding on the drive back and he finds his eyes flickering to the rear view mirror more than necessary. But no one follows him, no car or police tails him back to the safehouse.

Jack and Michael are having a quiet discussion on the front porch when he returns. Michael seems tense and Jack puts a hand on his shoulder, muttering reassuringly. Ryan shuffles awkwardly and tosses Michael’s keys back to him when they make eye contact. Michael catches them in one hand, gives him a nod and goes back to listening to Jack.

Gavin’s sprawled across the sofa, lazily flicking through the channels on the small television, but he leaps up when he sees Ryan. “What colour did you get me then?” He grimaces when Ryan holds out the box to him.

“It’ll probably just look like your natural hair,” Ryan points out.

“The colour I’ve been bloody bleaching for years,” Gavin sighs as he takes the hair dye. “Thanks, lovely Ryan.” He disappears into the bathroom and Ryan takes his spot on the couch.

After some time, Michael and Jack come inside. She sits him down at the dining table and goes rummaging through the kitchen draws. She produces a pair of scissors from one of them and puts them down on the table.

“How short are we talking?” she murmurs, running her fingers through Michael’s curls. Ryan raises an eyebrow.

“As short as you think will work,” Michael says, shrugging. He fidgets in his seat.

“Haircut?” Ryan asks.

“The long curls are a dead giveaway,” Jack responds, looking over at him. “I think he’ll look older with something shorter.”

“Just don’t make me look like Ray that one time,” Michael jokes. Jack smiles, though it’s strained. They don’t talk about Ray much anymore.

As he hears the shower start running and watches Jack lift the scissors to Michael’s hair, Ryan idly wonders if Ray has heard the news. If he knows that they’re in trouble. If he’s still in Los Santos, even. He doubts it. But he wonders all the same.

Jack spends a long time carefully trimming Michael’s hair. It had been growing out quite long but bit by bit it falls away. Ryan goes between watching the process and channel surfing. He settles on an old rerun of a sitcom and is engrossed in it enough that by the time he glances back over his shoulder, Michael looks completely different. Jack was right – he does look older. She’s cropped it quite short on the sides but left the top just a little bit longer in small curls. Without his hair framing his face, his jawline looks harder and his freckles stand out a bit more.

Jack stands back and admires her work, brushing away some stray hairs from Michael’s shoulders.

“All done,” she says and moves to clean up the mess. Michael thanks her and wanders down the hallway. Ryan hears him pound on the bathroom door, where the shower stopped running a few minutes ago, and then murmured voices.

Michael returns moments later wearing his glasses and plops down into the armchair.

A beat of silence. “Is that your disguise? Seriously? Just a haircut and glasses?” Ryan almost sneers.

“Why not?” Michael shrugs. “So long as I’m not playing with explosives or pointing a fucking minigun at anyone, I think it’ll be fine.”

“He’s like Clark Kent,” comes Gavin’s voice from the doorway.

Ryan turns and has to do a double take. Michael may look different, but Gavin looks like a whole new person. He hasn’t styled his hair, left it flat over his forehead, the almost-brunette colour given a subtle golden tint from the previous bleaching. He’s shoved one of Michael’s beanie’s over his head and removed the countless number of facial piercings. In a pair of sweatpants and a band tee, Gavin looks the farthest from his Golden Boy persona as he possibly could be.

He catches Ryan’s eye and gives him an awkward smile. Ryan returns it.

Jack finishes disposing of Michael’s hair and stands between Michael and Gavin. She gives the three of them a once-over, her own hair tied back in a bun and the dark brown dye already turning an auburn colour. Her bright Hawaiian shirts nowhere to be seen.

The four of them all look between each other and exchange solemn expressions at the differences in their appearances. In the silence that follows, Ryan knows they finally feel it too. The change.

Their reign really is over.

If Jeremy wasn’t in a rough patch before Pyrite approached him, he sure as hell is now.

He used to run with a few different small groups of people doing light crimes on the side, though his main income was from the fighting syndicate. As soon as he got involved with Pyrite, he lost those contacts and all of his sponsors from the ring. He runs out of cash very quickly. It takes him a while to convince the manager to let him back in.

Rimmy Tim used to be a big name to underground fighters. Now, people seem to think he’s a sell-out for ever taking on crew work. It’s odd how quickly life moves on without you. Jeremy’s just glad he never told anyone who his employer was when he was leaving, or else they might’ve preferred to kick his ass rather than let him get back in the ring. Nobody is the particularly happy with the crew who made the Fakes disappear and LSPD crack down on all crime in the city twice as hard.

His first fight back is only going to be a small one, but it makes Jeremy nervous all the same. He knows he’s out of practice, and winning tonight may just be the difference between affording rent or not this month. It’s the only gig he’s managed to secure for the coming weeks.

He’s going to drive himself insane if he keeps pacing around his apartment until nightfall hits, so he finds himself walking down the street. He takes the familiar path to a local Starbucks, just a couple blocks away from his apartment. It’s his tradition, every afternoon before a fight. Just stepping into the place and breathing in the familiar aromas leaks some of the tension from his shoulders.

Jeremy hops in line and pulls out his wallet. He double checks that he has enough for his usual order – which he does, barely. He bites his lip, glancing up as the line moves forward. Maybe he shouldn’t be wasting his money on luxuries he can’t afford. But he’s already feeling off, he needs some normality to keep him calm, so fuck it. The cafe is quiet, just a couple others in line and three or four customers scattered around the tables. He steps up when it’s his turn and orders a caramel macchiato frappe.

“It’s Jeremy, right?” the girl at the register asks, her pen poised to write on the cup. He grins and nods. “Thought so. You haven’t been in here in a while.”

“Just got held up with work stuff more often,” he says vaguely and hands her the money. “I think that’s cleared up now though.” She gives him a smile with his change and wishes him a nice day, before turning to the next customer in line. He walks over to wait for his drink, fiddling with his phone and checking the time.

There’s a new barista behind the counter. It’s been about a month since Jeremy was last in here, but he can tell that this guy is brand new because the other employee is teaching him how to make the drink, their backs turned to Jeremy. The new guy is quite tall, has light brown hair tied back and an impressive build. He nods every now and then as he watches how the other barista makes the frappe. When she’s done with it, she gestures behind them in Jeremy’s direction. New guy picks up the drink and turns around.

“Jeremy?” he calls out, and then looks up.

Wow, okay, he’s gorgeous.

Jeremy clears his throat, feeling his cheeks flush. “Yeah, that’s me.”

New guy places the drink in front of him and gives him a flash of a shy smile, dropping his gaze quickly and mumbling out a, “Here you go.”

Gorgeous and shy. Huh.

“And you are?” Jeremy blurts out before he can stop himself.

The employee freezes where he was half-turned to go back to his coworker’s side and looks up again. The two of them lock eyes. Jeremy holds his breath, shocked that he even asked. He finds himself unable to move even as the new guy slowly turns back around and glances at him up and down in curiosity.

“I, uh,” he stammers, then collects himself. “Ryan. I’m Ryan.”

[69annebowlin69]

5-6/8/19 Watching True Detective Episode Eight Finale

5/8/19

16.53

I can’t work on anything else so i’m writing this up now to salvage this afternoon. Not up for cops and pseudo-philosophy.

One night the summer we all started taking pills, we were at my dad’s house after a party, i can’t remember where my dad was, but Adam said something about how with the Picasso and Kandinsky prints on the wall, it was like a pseudo-intellectual’s house, and because i didn’t know properly what pseudo meant or had such low opinion of my family and i, i took it as a compliment, that at least we were grasping to look like something more than we were. I hate this memory. Why couldn’t i defend myself. I would defend it now. Adam’s family had a fucking New Yorker cover print framed on their wall.

16.58

Hays’ jeans are too tight; his dialogue with Hoyt is a Previously On with the eery music. It hasn’t started raining outside yet.

16.59

This mf Hoyt literally dragged Hays from his house to walk through the Ozarks swigging bourbon and sobbing about the myth of the ideal family. I hate this show. Masculine posturing bullshit, but like a parody of the machismo that people mock online. As previously mentioned, i’m not one to shy away from the Big Opinion. This season more trash than season 2.

17.07

Damn dude sometimes you gotta burn your suit at 3 in the morning, give him a break.

17.18

I had to get the torch out myself the other night. One of the giant snails disappeared. Best friend and i looked high and

17.36

Sorry, the last entry wasn’t even worth finishing, and i had to go to the toilet to scroll the 40 pictures i took of passages from books over the past year. Some of them i couldn't even remember what they were, too much Tao Lin from before i read Richard Yates and saw how problematic he was; a lot of Liveblog, maybe my fav book ever.

17.38

What i look like, a snapshot:

the cheap sports direct adidas striped sliders with nike tube socks (white)

Black chino shorts (dirty, the only proper pair of shorts i own)

T-shirt of the keith haring statue of liberty print (too hack to wear in NYC; Eve’s mum got me it)

Hair “half-up” like Eve’s

Monobrow stubble at the top of my nose that i haven’t excised in a couple of days

Beard just about too long

jaw clenched

stomach gross

My legs are so bulbous, like why was i born with such ridiculous protruding legs. Not muscly, hefty. Very gross. Gross.

17.43

All i’ll eat tonight is a peanut butter and banana sandwich and an apple. Sorry, i have to try again with other Personal Projects. I don’t want to watch this show. i can’t watch this show right now. I’m no insider but there is maybe six per cent of a chance that HBO run it back for a fourth.

***

6/8/19

20.25

Emmy said she wouldn’t be impressed if i were to get in to a fight. I laid out a whole hypothetical where someone gets thrown out the bar where we work and is needling me the whole time. I take off outside after him and we get in to it, but it’s outside work premises. Asked her A) if she thought i was meek, B) would she understand if i threw fists in that instance and C) would i get fired. She wouldn’t be impressed and thought it was the bigger thing to do to let it slide. Also the police would get involved which would effect the work thing.

Pete’s been in fights. People are always getting in fights in the past. I’ve never seen anyone i know who’s been in a fight when they were actually fighting. The fights in True Detective are all in the past. Emmy said she doesn’t think i’m meek.

20.28

Mr Scotland (Peter Mullan) also does a show set in the Ozarks and what i think is that his southern accent was so bad that it had to be edited in post production. During his dialogue, the camera cuts to a reaction shot from his equally sociopathic wife or the Arrested Development guy, which is wildly disrespectful to a man who was trying to play an abusive maniacal southern drug kingpin instead of the usual abusive maniacal alcoholic Scottish criminal. This is what happens when someone tries to branch out and why so many people are scared of failure. Anyway, we’re not here to talk about rival crime shows set in the Ozarks. We’ve got a child sex ring to uncover and Dorff heat to savour.

20.30

Would be nice to have the honesty in a relationship where you can tell one another you should probably give up on a central arterial line of your life and move elsewhere. Emmy and i tell one another something like ‘you should quit’ all the time but neither of us really believe the other when they say they will. I don’t believe her when she says I love you during sex. It feels like a placeholder for real-life emotions or intensity that she’s still waiting to feel.

20.32

Quality of office lighting: strip lights, squares placed amongst the cardboard tiles, headache grain, staticky, unnervingly silent, revealing, bags under eyes, shadowy somehow, depersonalising, unaltering.

Quality of school lights from Euphoria: suplhate glare, neon, alienating and spooky but in a fun way?, fireworks! makes you say ‘it’s like a club in here,’ glitchy, Fireworks!, transformative.

20.36

Roland in the afterglow of starting a mass bar brawl then getting emotional over a mongrel, sipping straight Jack. Damn, to have memories like that. Roland didn’t have a gf telling him it wouldn’t be impressive or cool getting into brawls.

20.38

Like how they announce Man of the Match before the Match is even over (seems presumptive), i’ll be announcing my top crushes from this season VERY shortly.

20.39

Yup, not long to go until my number one crush from this True Detective Season is announced, as well as numbers two, three and probably four and five. It’s been markedly less horny than previous seasons, so we’re including different iterations of the same characters. It’s dry out here in the 80s.

22.02

There are noises in our living room, not like threatening banging or whatever, but people. There are friends in our living room. Not that we’re here to talk about popular 90s NBC sitcoms.

23.35

Everyone is here in our flat again tonight these snails have made us so popular.

Lucy put Mr Rightside on her arm.

Mil cast Bad Medicine to the TV and Jane suggested Van Halen.

Damon put on Carlyle Williams and Mil decided he couldn't apply for a Montreal visa until he found out what Sarah wanted.

Best friend and Jane cast Cold in my Veins. Mil got sad and started rallying for the TV to be turned off.

Best friend and Jane cast a Big Train sketch where Chairman Mao is dying and then the flatlining heart monitor turns into the opening riff of Virginia Plain and Chairman Mao recovers to sing.

Best friend cast the shooting stars where Vic and Bob do Virginia Plain and we listed the most recent instances we could remember of celebrity blackface.

I text Emmy if she wanted to work together tomorrow instead of taking the mushroom pills.

I feigned interest in a story about a kayak Jane told because i think she’s cool and want her to like me.

Lucy and Damon were lame when they left. Lameon lol.

Best friend turned off the tv and he and Jane went for a tab. Mil talked about Sarah.

Jane said she could get acid for Lucy but not this weekend and left.

Steve came in to ask if he could shut the door and I left to watch this episode.

00.07

This one-eyed mf talking like it’s Wuthering Heights and he’s [whoever the Irish housekeeper is who does most of the first half’s narration]. Recalling some vague terrible accident that blighted a rich-ass family, that should have zero impact on his one-eyed ass.

00.10

His story is very Woman in Black. Would love a Pizzolato reading list from this season. Friend of the blog Nick Pizzolato, please send me your reading list and influences.

00.12

It’s always too late. No matter what we do. Damn. That’s some extremely defeatist shit. Old people, you think they all feel this way. A cop out. These detective shows, i want meaning from them. Structure. Some kind of organisation that i can understand and trace, not this.

00.21

Roland and Hays hanging out, staying over at one another’s house. Can’t wait to be old, hanging out just me and the boys. Like how homes have a similar vibe to halls, just at the point on the back end of your life, symmetrical to the front. Just playing old Final Fantasies, absolutely on pills. Distracted during family visits because i have more gaming to do and a year left at most. Sounds reassuring. The long term doesn’t matter, so you do only the things that produce instant gratification.

00.32

Googled “what’s the word for when one thing is the same on one side as it is on the other’ lol then i cried at this stupid show. Mahershala Ali transcends this dumbass show and it’s writing and is  doing something complex and satisfying and sad. Pulling together what he can of this jumble that sometimes makes sense and most of the time is not worthy of us trying to make sense of it.

00.42

Ok, here it is. True Detective season three Crush List:

5. Me all the days i wrote this and didn’t throw up whatever i’d just eaten. Very proud and horny for u, my boy

4. 1990 Roland with the rockabilly blazer

3. Hays in the tight acid wash jeans

2. Amelia’s dulcet monotone transcends being annoying around the middle of the season and turns alluring, like i need to hear it for thirty per cent each episode. It’s pretentious but in a way that makes you wish you were pretentious

1a. Hays burning his clothes in the dead of night. Mysterious. Jacked. Sweating as hell. Haunted.

1b. Everyone who checked out during the front end of this season - intelligence is a quality that personally makes me very horny and they displayed plenty of it by forseeing that this season would be a less exciting mess than last. Would love for them to contact me to just like hang out and watch a different show, if they want.