#and once Dust got dragged along for the ride because the idiot got too hurt to teleport them and Horror's crystal didn't have enough charge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ancientschampionau · 17 days

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RealAgeAU drabble - Moving

Hello I am back and I got another idea for this little silly au that I have @spotaus to thank for for the original idea :3 Though I think this may be officially becoming one of my AUs hahahaha First part Prev Part Next part

Also yes. I know it would work better to number these uploads but also i am not writing these in any set order so it will become miserable for all of us if i number them because either they will be out of order or I will have to rework all the names and I am already editing links I don't need that extra energy in my life.

ANYWAY! :D

Next part! The one I lovingly clal in my head - The one where the gang finds a more permanent temporary home. (also yes. Before this they all speed-run the whole Parental bonding and emotional bonding to the idea of having a babybones. Which honestly can and probably will make four different drabbles)

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Horror stares at the door and wonders once again how he got to this point.

Well, no. That is a lie. He knows exactly how he got to his point.

He glances over his shoulder where the other four at hiding off to the side. Out of view from the doorway but still visable for Horror if he looks just right. Seems like Dust won the discussion, again, and is holding Nightmare, again.

Horror wants to say it is surprising how quickly they all just... accepted the situation they got into but he really isn't. Monsters are weird like that. Forced adoption is not that wild all things considered when you are talking about beings made of magic and emotions.

Horror stares at the door and raises his hand before knocking twice.

He really hadn't wanted to do this but they have no other choice. As he waits he can't help but think back to what made them decide this.

Cross walks from side to side "That was way to close! That was the third time we came across the Stars with Nightmare out. Third!"

Killer nods from where he is sitting wiht the sleeping Nightmare in his lap "Yeah no kidding. It is annoying as shit that they are hunting us."

Dust shrugs "Not surprising. Nightmare 'disappeared' after all. We are their only lead."

Killer grins "We were lucky Cross managed to lie his way out of the last one." and he shoots Cross a wink.

Cross sputters "I panicked!"

Killer grins and winks "Sure sure daddy crossy."

Horror holds up his hands between his two... co-parents "This is not the time. We need to figure out where we can go." and he thinks things over.

Cross sighs "I don't get how they keep finding us!"

Dust huffs as he packs their bags "We go to too little universes. Makes it easy for Ink and Dream to pick us out because they recognise us personally."

Killer frowns "Meaning. we need a big universe?" he taps his chin "But also mostly positive as we still don't know how obvious Nightmare would be otherwise."

Cross frowns "I think it will be fine. He can't feel the balance anymore right? And no one seems to have a reaction to him like they had before nor how people have a reaction to Dream's aura thing. Maybe with the corruption gone he really is just... ex-guardian now?"

Killer groans "I hope so. I am not a fan of child labor."

That is when it hits him. Horror sits up "I think I know a place."

All of them turn to him and he immediantly regrets saying anything. See? This is why he normally tries to limit what he says.

Either way. Here they are now and Horror prays this works. Please. They need one thing to work in their favor.

The door opens and a gasp "Horror! It has been ages! It is great to see you. How have you been?" Crop smiles at him.

Horror steels his nerves. Come on. Too much hangs on this moment "Hey Crop. Nice to see you. I am... okay. How are you?"

Crop frowns at him instantly "You sure? You don't sound okay. Trouble at home?"

Horror chuckles "Kinda? Not exactly. Euh... Can't go back to that place now?"

Crop frowns "Why? Need a place to stay? I got a spare room."

Okay yes! this is going great! just... gotta make sure he knows.

Horror nods "I do need a room. Not just for me though..." Crop starts to frown and Horror raises his hands "Just temporarily!"

Crop frowns "Did... something go wrong?"

Horror pauses and thinks this through once more. He trusts Crop. Crop has never been anything but kind even when Horror had been an ass. Even when he had to once drag Dust here to get healing before they could make the jump back home.

Horror looks to the side and he sees the others just beyond the treeline, hidden in shadows and waiting. Crop takes a look as well but he can't quite spot them. Crop looks back up at him.

Horror takes a deep breath "You need... to promise me, no not just promise you need to swear. That what you are about to learn will not leave this universe."

Crop frowns as he immediantly looks uncomfortable. It is the reaction a promise gets from most of them. But Crop also shoots him a considering look before he nods. He holds out a hand "I swear and promise I will not share the about to be giving information. UNLESS! It endangers anyone." and he waits.

Horror stares at the hand and thinks. That... That is fine right? That should be fine. Nightmare being a child doesn't endanger anyone. Only them and Nightmare. Horror nods and shakes the hand.

Crop nods and steps aside "Come inside. I bet you will be more comfortable explaining there." he glances at the forest "Do your... friends? Want to come in too?" a guess clearly. probably on multiple fronts.

Horror shakes his skull "Not yet. Need to know your answer and reaction first." He turns to the forest and makes a signal to wait a bit longer. He sees a thumbs up shot his way back. Probably Killer. He never bothered with the signals they had learned together.

Crop nods as he steps aside and Horror walks in, having to duck slightly for the door. The door closes behind him and Horror sees the small living room with fireplace.

Crop leads him to the kitchen "Lets talk there. I will get some tea."

A few minutes later they are both seated and with a cup of tea. Crop looks at him expectingly.

Horror takes a deep breath and takes out their most valuable resourch. The Dreamtale book. And places it on the table. Crop frowns at it before looking at Horror.

Horror nods to it "It will help explain... Very long story short... Nightmare was never an adult. He was a child with a magical shield of some type. That magic has ran out."

Crop stares at him for a moment, then he pulls the book closer and starts reading it. He pauses at the title before opening it.

And now he waits.

---------

Crop sits wiht his skull in his hands. Horror just sits across from him, with his empty cup of tea. Crop's own cup has grown cold a long time ago. Horror just waits for anymore questions but Crop hasn't said anyhting in the last ten minutes.

Horror looks back at the book and sees that Crop has turned the pages back to the one with the drawing of Nightmare's head being cracked open. The image makes a very clear show on how small Nightmare was compared to the ones attacking him.

Horror still thinks the book doesn't do it justice. Nightmare is much smaller in person than the picture makes him seem. The cracks had been much worse than the picture showed. But it is the closest they got.

Crop finally sighs and speaks. He doesn't look away from the picture "I don't... Know a lot about this whole... multiverse stuff. It isn't my place at all. And that is fine." he pauses for a moment "But this... You are telling me... That the one being that had everyone afraid. That everyone saw as a demon. Is a child... is this child?"

Horror nods before he explains more "Nightmare... gained a lot of magic and powers when he ate those apples. At least that is what the story implied. We haven't managed to get him to tell us yet, mostly because well... he is six again." Crops pulls a face as well, yeah. Horror agrees. A PTSD filled six year old is not easy. But they are managing.

Horror nods "so... What Cross nad Dust think what happened is that... The magic and negativity of the apples bond itself to Nightmare. Which game him the magic and powers he would use. The connection to the balance because the apples were part of the balance. and more importantly, an adult form and mind to fit all the magic. There was just no way all that magic and energy would have fit a babybones. Especially one that hadn't shown much magic beforehand." an assumption on their end as Nightmare was never said to use magic in the book.

"We think... We think that this magic of the apples just. ran out. We had been in battle at the time and Nightmare had been hit but it shouldn't have had that much of an effect. it was the same type of attack he had been hit by before. Dust thinks it was just the last bit of magic that the apples had having run out. Meaning that with the magic and energy so went the form." all a theory of course. But it is the only thing they have.

Crop nods as he clearly thinks "And as he was suddenly an adult. instead of just being afraid and scared. all that pain and emotions took a more violent turn. As he was an adult and was suddenly able to realise that it was unfair which made him angry..." Crop pauses.

Crop glares back at the table and shakes his skull "It is... It is a whole story about victim blaming. A victim is blamed for the abuse they suffered. They are made to believe they deserve it and should be abused. Then as soon as they fight back and defend themselves they are seen as guilty." Crop takes adeep breath as he leans back "What I don't get... Why come here? I can't help with any of this."

Horror shakes his skull "This isn't about any of the big stuff. We don't even care about it. We just... Nightmare is himself again. His real self." he taps the page lightly "Not his aged-up self that the corruption enabled him to be."

Crop stares before his face changes to shock "You are trying to hide him." Then a frown "Why not go to your own home? Has it been compromised?"

Horror snorts "At this point? probably." a confused look and Horror continues "Nightmare used his magic to shield off an universe and make a castle." he shrugs at the glance "Nightmare likes to read. I imagine he liked to read back then too. He may have been an adult technically but he was still a child at soul. Child him wanted a home and wanted that to be a castle and adult him made it happen... probably... that is Killer's theory at the moment."

Crop laughs and nods "Suonds reasonable- oh... and with his magic disappearing."

Horror sighs "When I left his universe the castle had already been decaying..."

Crop frowns "Left? The five of you you mean?"

Horror looks to the side and feels the shame return "We.... we did not react well... when we saw the changes at first... we... we obviously dind't know what was going on and well." he looks down "We abandoned him. I know it was wrong and stupid and we all regret it. We came back but we still did it." shame.

shame shame shame shame shame shame shame-

A hand on his shoulder. Horror glances up and Crop smiles at him "It is okay. You are trying to fix it now right? obviously. Not cool that you abandoned a child... but it can be nerve wrecking. Suddenly going from a position where a person is mostly guiding you, to going to a position where you suddenly are responsible over that same person."

Horror looks to the side "We still left." he can't believe they just left!

Crop nods "But you returned." he grins "And you are trying to fix it."

Horror nods again "We are..." he chuckles "Not that we have been doing a good job at it. Jumping from place to place."

Crop hums "So you are looking to settle, at least for a little bit, while also hidding. Why this universe?"

Horror nods "Yeah..." He looks to the side "We... we don't know how everyone will react. To him being like this. Maybe they will react well. Maybe not. We don't want to risk it. Risk him."

Crop stares at him for a long time and nods "There must be better places?"

Horror shakes his skull "The Stars kept finding us. Dust figured out we needed a big universe that leans towards positive. Yours is one of those. It is one of the wider and bigger ones. And overall leaning towards positive."

Crop frowns "It can't be the best one..."

Horror shrugs but continues "True... there are bigger and more positive ones. But those are busy. Many people. many places. Yours is quieter. more empty. Gives peace and room to work from."

Crop frowns as he taps his chin. He thinks deeply before sighing "You guys got any type of backstory we can use? The multiverse thing isn't a known thing here and the only reason my brother and I know is because you crash landed here."

Horror blinks "You will let us stay?"

Crop nods "Sure." and he grins "Can't kick out four parents with a babybones." and he gets up.

Horrro shakes his skull "That isn't... Well I mean technically." He knows that Killer has come close to killing quite a few people with how protective he has grown over Nightmare and that isn't even including the motherhenning of Cross nor the clinginess that Dust has.

Crop chuckles as he nods towards the stairs "The attic is messy and should be cleaned but can be used by you four, well five. There is an old bed and an old lounge chair up there." more thoughtful "How big is he exactly? we will need some clothes. Probably also get a healer to check him if he is developing okay after all those magical shenanigans."

Horror stares for a moment before smiling "Thank you... I know it is a lot."

Crop shrugs as he opens the linnen closet "Horror. Taking care of milking all the cows on your own is a lot. Having to fix your roof in the middle of a thunderstorm is a lot." He straightens his spine with blankets in his arms "Helping a friend and his friends who have somehow aqcuired a babybones, while strange, does not compare to either of those. Now get your friends out of those woods. They will make the animals nervous." he grins "I am excited to be one of the first ones to meet the real Nightmare."

Horror smiles as he packs his book and goes towards the door. "Thanks again Crop."

Crop waves it off as he moves the piles upstairs.

-------

Boom! and they are staying in FarmTale for now! Horror and Crop are homies and Dust is more of an acquaintance of Crop but it works. Aged-up Nightmare knew that Horror had an universe he liked to visit but never demanded details. *shrugs* Nightmare didn't see the point. as long as horror wasn't going to betray him what did it matter he didn't tell him?

Surprise Nightmare, this is your temporary home now. For a bit. or maybe longer? They are still figuring it out.

First part Prev Part Next part

#RealAgeAU #UTMV #fanfiction #drabble #nightmare sans #Deaged Nightmare Sans #Horror Sans #Dust Sans #Killer Sans #Cross Sans #Farm Sans #Look most of them aren't in it for long but they had to be included okay?! They are mentioned! It counts!#We are back with me writing stuff to indulge myself again #hihi i am having fun #The guys are all very attached to their immortal toddler.#does six year old equal a toddler?#okay one google search later and turns out it doesn't.#doesn't matter immortal toddler sounds funnier #What else.#Yeah right Horror 100% once crash landed in FarmTale and had to wait for his teleport crystal to recharge before he could leave #He made friends.#and once Dust got dragged along for the ride because the idiot got too hurt to teleport them and Horror's crystal didn't have enough charge #so they made a stop there #Dust was very confused to wake up in a random farmhouse #This is also why Dust hasn't just teleported away with Nightmare #because technically this isn't a strange universe and he kinda knows these people #so relatively okay #Killer and Cross however are not yet chill about this #But yeah they are rooming with Crop for a bit :D #Okay rambling over time to fix my links

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chaoticforever · 3 years

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You're Not Broken | Tom Holland x Male! Reader

A/N: Before anyone starts reading this, please read this first. This contains depression and a brief mention of self harm. If those trigger you, I would advise you not to read the story. I'm not sure if I'll do another chapter, it depends how much people like it. Well, have fun reading!

You woke up to the sound of someone calling your phone. You groaned and opened your eyes slowly. The light of dawn seeped into your room as you rubbed your bleary eyes, and grabbed your phone off the bedside table. Your best friend, Warren Foster was calling you really early on a Saturday morning.

You pressed the answer button.

"Sup, Warren. Why are you calling me this early in the morning?" You asked.

"Hey, Y/N!" He replied enthusiastically, "Get dressed because you are coming with me to the Meet & Greet to meet Tom Holland!"

"Oh, the Meet & Greet is today?"

"Yeah, I've been planning for us to go to this Meet & Greet for months now, remember?" Warren frowned when you didn't respond, "Did you forget about it, Y/N? Please tell me that you didn't forget."

Warren didn't know what was up with you. Whenever he wanted to spend time with you or make plans to do something together, you would either blow him off, or make excuses not to come.

He made these plans with you so that you both could have a good time, but it seems like you didn't even remember.

"Of course not, War." You lied, "I was just confirming with you that it was today. You can pick me up and we can drive over there together."

Warren smiled. He was glad that you didn't forget about their plans, "Okay, man! I'm dropping my sister off at her friend's house, and I'll swing by your place after that. Goodbye Y/N!"

He hung up the phone and you let out a sigh, throwing your phone on the bed.

There weren't any more excuses you could have made not to go, but you did want to spend more time with Warren. The two of you haven't spent that much time together outside of school like you used to, but there was no one to blame, but yourself.

Depression is a bitch as well as your father.

Terrible thoughts constantly run through your mind and they weren't all pleasant. Most of them consist of the words and names that your dad has called you over the years. You had some good days, and had some bad days. And sometimes, those bad days became the worst days to ever happen.

Most of the time you just wanted to be alone which is why you cancelled plans with Warren at times, and even thought about pushing him away, but you couldn't do that to him. He was your best friend and you loved him, he was also the only person keeping you alive.

As soon as you were done getting ready for the day, you walked downstairs and let out a sigh at seeing your dad asleep on the couch, an alcohol bottle placed in his hands inside a really messy living room.

Quickly, you tiptoed towards the front door, so you wouldn't wake your dad up because you knew that he wasn't someone you wanted to be around, especially when he is drunk off his ass.

Arriving outside and slowly shutting the door behind you, Warren's car could be seen parked in front of your house. You ran over to it and hopped inside.

Warren smiled at you and was about to greet you enthusiastically like he always does until he noticed a cut above your eyebrow that was definitely not there yesterday when they were at school.

"How did that happen?" Warren asked, pointing to the cut with concern rising in his chest.

"Oh, this?" You pointed to your cut and Warren nodded, "Uh, I ran into a door at home, but I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt."

You smiled at War reassuringly, telling him that it wasn't nothing for him to be worried about, but he didn't believe you.

He wished that you wouldn't lie to him and just tell him the truth, but he didn't want to force you to have to tell him. He wanted you to be able to trust him more and confide in him, but he would have to wait for that to happen.

Warren gave you a smile though, "Well, let's go meet Tom Holland!"

He started up the car and took off down the road. As he drove you were thinking if you should tell Warren about what has been going on in your life.

XXXXX XXXXX

The trip down there was pretty fun.

The Meet & Greet was about an hour away from your house here in LA, and this car ride mainly consisted of you both Jamming to every good song that came on the radio along with Warren occasionally flipping people off.

Jammed to every song like a bunch of idiots along with talking about nothing and everything at the same time. It was fun and you were having fun so far like you used to all the time with Warren.

This was one of your good days so far.

We finally arrived and waited inside the line until it was your turn to meet Tom Holland. Warren was fanboying the whole time which made a smile come across your face. A beautiful smile that made Warren smile back at you as the two of you stared into each other's eyes.

Now, you were starting to see why people thought you both were a couple, but that's just how y'all friendship was. And you both loved each other too much as friends to potentially date for a few weeks, or months and stop speaking to each other.

Both valued your friendship too much.

When it was Warren's turn, he gave Tom a huge hug and Tom hugged him back, as he patted his back and you let out a little chuckle.

You pulled out your phone and the smile that was once on your face instantly vanished at seeing the amount of text messages you received from your dad.

Where jthe fuck did xyou go? ~Dad

You better be sout getting me bsome moer beer, Fairy. ~Dad

Answer me, fag! Where hte fuck dikd you gxo? don'vt think i can't track your location because i wilql and drag your faggot ass back here. ~Dad

These messages were sent 10 minutes ago and panic rose inside your chest.

You slid your phone back into your pocket and hoped that he wouldn't somehow manage to show up here and ruin the good day that you were having. You were already terrified to go back home. How bad he would hurt you if you found out, and you didn't know that a tear had slipped down your face.

When Warren's time was up, you walked over Tom with a forced smile on your face. Tom noticed how the smile you had on your face seemed to be forced along with a tear that had fallen from one of your eyes.

"Hey, Tom Holland!"

"Hey, are you feeling okay?" Tom asked, feeling very concerned for his fan.

"Hmm?" You wiped your eyes and forced a smile once again, "I'm fine. Some dust Just got into my eye."

Tom knew that you were not telling the truth because it wasn't dusty out here, but decided not to question it, even though he felt concern for this young man, "Well, how about we get a picture together?" Tom offered, changing the conversation and you nodded, feeling grateful that he did.

Once your time was up, you gave Tom a hug. He was your celebrity crush, after all. He held onto you a little longer than necessary, but you decided not to question it.

You walked off and didn't see Warren anywhere. You were about to text him when it was shown that your dad left you a voicemail. Most likely a drunk voicemail.

You sighed before walking off into the nearest men's room. You peeked under the stalls to make sure that no one was there and luckily no one wasn't.

But you forgot to make sure the door was locked.

You pulled out your phone and played the voicemail.

Look, Y/N. I was being patient with you but now you just pissed me off by not answering your phone. Get your faggot ass back here and I promise that I will make your beating less severe.

Everything that comes out of your so-called "father's" mouth made you want to pick up your old razor and cut again.

But, you wouldn't do that.

Sure, every word and every sentence he has told me made you want to do that, and cutting used to be a coping mechanism at one point. It helped to distract yourself from depression, but you soon realized that by cutting yourself, your dad wins the battle. He has that power over you, and you didn't want him to have that power over you anymore which is why you stopped. Even though it was hard and still is hard, you planned on staying clean from that.

As your mom once said, 'If someone or something is strong enough to bring you down until you ultimately break, show them you are strong enough to get back up. Be strong now because things will get better. It might be stormy now, but it can't rain forever.'

You never really understood what she meant by that. You were only 12 when she told you, and died a year later, but as time went you finally understood what she meant by that.

Maybe it's time that you tell someone, starting with Warren.

You turned around and your eyes widened when you sat Tom standing there, looking at you with worry in his eyes.

"Tom, I-" You breathed in and out, "It's not what it sounds like at all."

"Don't try to lie to me. I heard the voicemail," He walked up to you, "Is someone abusing you at home?"

You let out a sigh. You had to tell him. What excuse could be good enough to cover this up?

XXXXX XXXXX

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x male reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #avengers x reader #avengers x male reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x male reader #tom holland one shot #x male reader #male reader #male reader insert

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hyperpsychomaniac · 3 years

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Who Says You Can't Go Home - Chapter 4

Darkwing Duck (90s series) fanfiction

Sequel to my recent fanfic The Other Side of Me

Summary: Down on his luck, the Negaverse Launchpad crashes at Launchpad’s parents looking for help. Launchpad, who has avoided visiting his family since he started working with Darkwing, returns in a panic to ensure his double isn’t causing trouble. And then it gets awkward.

Chapter 1

***

“Are we there yet? I thought you said this was supposed to be fun?”

Launchpad shook his head and grinned. “Nearly there, kiddo.” The whining should have been bugging him. But he was surprised she’d actually come. This one was much more of a troublemaker than his Gosalyn had been. Not that she hadn’t upset her adoptive father on more than one occasion, but that had always been innocently. She’d been such an odd child.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No.”

“Launchpad doesn’t ignore me.”

“I’m not your Launchpad.” The Negaverse Launchpad took one last drag on his cigarette, then stomped it out under his boot and carefully kicked dirt over it. “Look, we’re here.”

They’d come upon a derelict little shack. Behind it ran an old creek bed, all but dry in the arid weather.

Gosalyn frowned. “I’m still not impressed.”

“Man, you’re a tough little nut, aren’t you?” Launchpad booted open the rusty door, and the whole hovel rattled and shook. A single, not-quite-upright support column propped up a support beam that ran across the centre of the roof. The column visibly swayed, dust rained down from the rotting ceiling and the old kerosene lamp he’d hung up bounced around, but the shack stood firm. One day he was going to send the whole thing crashing down, and that was exactly the reason Launchpad kept booting the door in so hard. Inside was littered with fuel cans, butane canisters, a couple lengths of PVC pipe, crates of bottles and cans, some old course rope, and, of course, potatoes.

Gosalyn raised an eyebrow. “Where’s the gun? This is just a pile of trash.”

Launchpad winced. The terrible thing was she was right. He really missed his rocket launcher. He scooped up the PVC pipe and tossed it to her. “Well, you’re going to learn how to make a gun from a pile of trash. Grab the other half. I’ll get the potatoes.”

Gosalyn looked at him like he’d grown another head. But he definitely had her hooked. She grabbed the other length of pipe, and carried them both outside.

Launchpad gulped at the lump in his throat. Oh man. He was getting attached way too fast. Hanging out with Gosalyn had roused that faint feeling of guilt down inside. He’d have liked to have thought he’d gotten between his Gosalyn and Negaduck once or twice, that he’d protected her. But the truth was, despite all his faults, Negaduck would never dream of physically hurting his daughter. He had other ways of keeping her in line. Launchpad had never stood between them; he’d never had the guts. He’d just been the guy who was usually around when Negaduck got so fed up with his daughter he felt like hurting someone. At least now his Gosalyn was being looked after way better then he’d ever been capable of in Negaduck’s house. She was better off without him.

Launchpad huffed and hefted up the crate of potatoes. “Bastard.” He booted one of the butane canisters and sent it spinning out the door.

“Hey!”

“Pick it up. We need it.”

Outside, Gosalyn was trying to assemble the bits of PVC pipe, her tongue stuck out in concentration.

“Here.” Launchpad set up the pipe to form the canon, resting it on its makeshift tripod so it pointed out and over the dry creek bed. Across the other side he’d previously set up crates, bottles and cans. And, most importantly, nothing that he’d get in trouble for hurling a potato clean through.

Gosalyn was picking up on the general idea. She rifled through the crate of potatoes, picked a good sized one, and rolled it down the tube. Then she scowled. “How’s a bit of plastic supposed to fire a potato?”

Launchpad picked up the tin of butane and spun it around so Gosalyn could see the ‘caution: flammable’ warning on its side. “We’re going to set this. On fire.”

“You’ve really got a theme, don’t you?”

Launchpad filled the tube with gas, and sat himself behind the pipe to line her up and make sure the recoil didn’t send the whole thing spinning off. That had been pretty funny the first time he’d fired it, and Gosalyn probably would get a kick out of the whole contraption knocking him on his ass. But he wasn’t going to risk it with the child of the superhero who probably still didn’t trust him around. Satisfied everything was set up as safe as a potato gun could be, her lit her up.

The potato shot out of the tube with a pop, sailed through the air and splattered some hundred yards across the other side of the creek.

Gosalyn’s jaw dropped. “Keen gear.”

Launchpad loaded and fired off a half dozen more. Truth was the thing was impossible to aim, and he rarely had to go out to set up new targets. Still, he somehow managed to send a potato splintering through an old crate he’d set up. He broke down laughing, which really confused Gosalyn. He’d spent far too long scratching a likeness of Negaduck into that crate, but you couldn’t actually see it from this distance.

“Okay, you weirdo. If you’re going to sit there and giggle, I think that means its my turn.”

“Alright, alright. Let me get you set up. This things got a fair bit of kick. Wait…” The sound of an engine cut into the desert air. It sounded like a motorbike. Launchpad’s eyes narrowed and his fists tensed at his sides.

“Is that a motorbike? What, what is it?”

“Probably that damn kid.” Launchpad drew in a breath, and fought down the part of himself that still wanted to deal with any annoyance with as much force as possible. He’d kept it at bay last time, even if Mrs McQuack hadn’t been entirely happy when he’d told her what happened. “I caught him riding on the McQuack’s property a few weeks ago. When I told him to clear off, he back-chatted me. So I fired a potato in his general direction. I think he got the message.”

Now, he was going to have to find some other way to deal with the situation. Mrs McQuack had told him off, despite the fact he’d made it clear he hadn’t actually fired the potato straight at the brat. She hadn’t made him do anything dumb like go apologise, but she’d told him not to fire projectiles at or near people again. Especially kids. “At least, I thought he got the message.” Launchpad shielded his eyes as he searched for the machine. It was familiar, but now he wasn’t sure it was that same kid’s bike.

“Fill her up. Check. Aim. Light her up!”

Launchpad didn’t realise what Gosalyn was doing until the PVC pipe let out a decidedly louder than normal pop. The slam of an impact and splintering wood followed a split second later.

Launchpad spun around. “Shit!”

The PVC pipe bounced and rattled along the ground then rolled to rest. Gosalyn slumped against the side of the shack where she’d been thrown, one of the brittle boards cracked and splintered behind her head.

“No, no, no…” Launchpad skidded to his knees beside her and gently shook her shoulders. “Kiddo?”

The motorbike rattled up behind him and the engine shuddered off. Even a bratty kid would help. And if he didn’t, he could donate his bike to getting Gosalyn back to the house as quick as possible.

“Oh. Wow. Nice job. She’s been here, what, three hours? I can’t believe I used to let you babysit. In fact, I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

Launchpad’s chest tightened; he couldn’t breathe. His vision grew fuzzy around the edges. All he could focus on was his trembling hands and how they engulfed Gosalyn’s tiny shoulders. Gosalyn. Launchpad finally managed to suck in a gasp of air, and the oxygen cleared his head. He couldn’t let him hurt this Gosalyn. Launchpad gathered every ounce of his strength and turned to face the voice from his past.

“You ran away from me too, didn’t you?” Negaduck. He was right. There. His yellow and black motorcycle behind him, and Launchpad wondered how he’d ever mistaken its sound for a dirt bike. “So much for loyalty.”

“What are you doing here?” Launchpad’s voice grated and caught in his throat.

“I tailed that idiot Darkwing Duck. Figured I could have a little fun out here.” Negaduck’s beak split into a wide grin. “But this is a surprise. Where’ve you been, buddy?”

“I was never your buddy. You have to leave. Now.” His voice sounded weak, pathetic. Even to his own ears.

Negaduck laughed. “Oh, someone definitely ran away, didn’t they?” The cackle cut off just as quickly, then Negaduck was right on top of him, grabbing him by the collar, pressing his beak against his. “You don’t tell me what to do!”

Launchpad stumbled back under the unexpected weight and his heart-rate rocketed. He shoved Negaduck off and threw up his guard. “Don’t touch me!”

Negaduck raised his hands and took a step back, chuckling. “Someone’s developed a backbone.”

“You can’t. Be here. You’re whole deal is Saint Canard, and Darkwing Duck, and… you can’t mess with the McQuacks. They’re good people. They don’t live in a place like Saint Canard. They can’t deal with all this superhero and villain stuff.”

“The McQuacks, huh?” Negaduck stroked his beak, completely ignoring the fact Launchpad was squared up like he wanted to fight. “Oh, you idiot, what have you been doing? Playing happy little families? This isn’t your world, you know.”

“Never stopped you from trying to take it over.”

Negaduck flung his arms wide. “That’s because I’m ambitious. But now, there’s an idea. Messing with a cute innocent country family whilst Darkwing Duck tries to protect them? Could be fun.”

“Negaduck, don’t.”

“Come on, Launchpad. You know it will be. I know I usually left you in charge of the home front. But, seeing as you’re here, why don’t we both have a little fun?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Negaduck waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll let you fly my aeroplane.”

The faintest hint of a thrill rose in Launchpad’s chest. He was actually letting him… And then, slowly, he lowered his fists. “I… I can’t believe I let you take that away from me. I’ve got plenty of aeroplanes I can fly now. And the people who own them don’t tease me with them, and make me feel like I have to earn every last little shred of respect!”

“Been behaving yourself, have you? Got them fooled? Please. What do you think they’ll think about this?” He pointed a finger at Gosalyn. “Or this?” And jabbed his thumb back into his own chest. “As soon as they see who you really are they won’t be so forgiving.”

“Darkwing’s here.”

“Yeah, and you just knocked out his daughter. Listen up, Launchpad. I’m giving you a choice. As soon as your little surrogate family realises I’m here, they’re going to start asking questions. They’re going to think you called me, or at least that taking you in was what brought this tragedy down upon them…”

“You leave them alone.”

“Maybe I will. I’d rather cause my havoc at night anyway, so I’ll give you until sunset. Then, you’re going to come back to this sad little shack and you’re going to tell me you’re ready to help me take down Darkwing Duck. In return, I’ll let these good, kind people get away with simply the scare of me slaughtering a superhero in their back garden. Or, you oppose me, or tell Darkwing I’m here, and if that happens…” Negaduck cackled. “I’ll burn this whole place to the ground, along with any soul unfortunate enough to get in my way!”

Launchpad’s fists shook at his sides. Grab him now. Tie him up. Beat him to a pulp. He’s half your size! All those thoughts bounced around in his head. But he didn’t move. “Negaduck, please don’t.”

Negaduck threw a leg over his motorcycle and started her up. “Think about it, old pal. It really would be fun causing chaos with you again.” Then he gunned the engine, skidded around so the bike threw up a wave of dirt, and tore away.

As soon as the motorcycle disappeared over the nearest rise, Launchpad’s knees buckled. His back slammed into the old shack besides Gosalyn and he put his face in his hands. “Aw, kid. What am I supposed to do?” He fished the packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, and fumbled to push out a single one so he could grab hold of it. The simple task was almost impossible.

Gosalyn shot to her feet. “I knew I needed to keep an eye on you!”

“Shit!” The packet jumped from Launchpad’s hands and cigarettes scattered everywhere. “Damn it, kid. I thought you’d really hurt yourself.”

Gosalyn put her hands on her hips. “Don’t play games with me. I saw you talking to Negaduck! You’re still working for him, aren’t you?”

Launchpad’s heart plummeted. “No! I didn’t even know he was here, I swear.”

“A likely… story…” Gosalyn blinked a couple of times, then sat down heavily.

“Aw, man, you’re not okay, are you?” Launchpad reached out for her.

Gosalyn swiped a hand in front of her face. “Back off, buster.”

He could’ve scooped her up and there would be nothing she could do about it, but Launchpad paused in his advance. “You hit you’re head. I just want to check you’re okay.” He reached out for her again, slowly, and she lowered her hand. He felt her head. There was no blood, but he thought he could feel a decent sized bump.

Gosalyn tolerated it for a second, then slapped at his hand. “Ow, stop.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two.” She frowned up at him. “Your hands are shaking.”

Launchpad swallowed hard. “I’m not working for Negaduck. Please believe me. He was just… there. He said if I didn’t help him he’d hurt the McQuacks. What am I supposed to do?” Suddenly, nothing seemed as important as this kid believing him. He didn’t know what else to say to convince her.

“I must’ve really hit my head… okay. He must’ve followed us from Saint Canard. Maybe we should tell Dad.”

“No! We can’t. If I tell Darkwing, Negaduck’s going to hurt the McQuacks. I have to deal with this myself. And if the McQuacks find out…” If he lost their trust, he didn’t know he could take it. No wonder this world’s Launchpad had been so angry with him when he arrived. It didn’t matter that he’d changed. He’d dragged trouble right along with him. Launchpad hung his head. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Gosalyn leaned over and swiped her knuckles into his arm. It was a terrible punch, and he was sure she could’ve done better had she not been semi out of it. “Come on. Where would you be if you hadn’t crashed in their front yard?”

Not causing trouble for innocent families for sure. Launchpad stood to his feet and held out a hand. “Can you get up?”

Gosalyn pushed herself to shaky feet and grabbed onto his arm.

“Right, I’d better carry you.”

“You are not carrying me like a baby.”

“I’m not letting you walk.”

“Hang on. Crouch down.”

Launchpad did as she instructed. Gosalyn managed to make a little jump, and hook her arms around his neck. Launchpad hefted her up in a piggy back, making sure he had his arms under her in case she passed out again and lost her grip. He started heading back to the house. “You’re not going to tell your Dad about Negaduck, right?”

“Okay fine. But you have to do something for me first.”

Despite his apprehension, Launchpad rolled his eyes. This kid was something else. “I’m not letting you play with the potato gun again. But, go on, anything else. What do you want?”

“I know Negaduck’s not a nice guy. But you’re terrified of him. What did he do to you? Launchpad told me about him making you burn your planes, but, you know, what else?”

Launchpad’s guts tightened. “Aw, man, kid. You don’t pull any punches do you?”

“If someone scared my Launchpad that bad… well, that’s why I was so mad at you.”

“Okay, okay…” There was plenty to choose from. Some he certainly wouldn’t share with a kid. But neither did Launchpad want to downplay her question by choosing something like Negaduck getting way too competitive about playing punchies, which had never really bothered him at all. And then he thought about his own Gosalyn. “It wasn’t just me he was a jerk to…”

***

“Come on, Negaduck. Are you sure you’re not going a bit overboard?”

“Stop whining,” Negaduck grumbled as he balanced on Launchpad’s shoulders so he could tie his minion’s wrists to the branch above. The dying tree in Negaduck’s backyard couldn’t take his weight, so they’d just settled for stringing him up to it with his feet still on the ground. “You’re the idiot who let her keep talking about getting a pink pinata for her birthday. Honestly, I leave you two alone for five minutes…”

“You beat a pinata with a stick! I thought you wanted her to find something violent to enjoy? Sounds like violence to me.”

“She wants a pink pony pinata because its supposed to have candy inside. Urgh. I don’t want any daughter of mine getting candy for her birthday. By this age, I expect her to ask me for a butterfly knife or something.” Negaduck finished his knot, then leapt back to the ground. “If she wants to hit something with a stick the only thing she should enjoy getting out of it is blood and teeth.” He scooped up the rolled up bit of cardboard that had come with the pinata Gosalyn thought she was getting, and thumped Launchpad heavily on the chest with it.

Launchpad grinned. “Heh. Yeah. That’s always fun. I’m glad she won’t be knocking anything out with that flimsy piece of trash though. But we’ve got to start her somewhere, right?”

“Oh, yeah of course.” Negaduck dug amongst the smashed paper mache they’d already destroyed in the corner of the yard, and came up with a handful of colourful candy, and a pink ribbon. “Now, hold still.”

“I don’t want that thing in my hair… wha…”

Negaduck rammed the candy, wrappers and all, into Launchpad’s beak, then trussed it up with the pink ribbon. “That’s much better.” He grinned, patted Launchpad on his bulging check, then screamed: “Gosalyn! Get your butt out here. It’s pinata time!”

Gosalyn stumbled out of the house in her pink party dress, blindfolded. She grinned madly as she swayed across the yard like a drunk man. “Dad! Can I at least see the pinata first?”

“What? And break the pinata rules?” Negaduck winked at Launchpad. Then he hurled the rolled up piece of cardboard over the Muddlefoot’s fence. “Won’t be needing this!” He reached into the pile of paper mache and pulled out an aluminium baseball bat.

Launchpad shuffled back. “Nefadufck…” he mumbled around the plastic mixed with sickly sweet goop in his mouth.

“Stay where you are, Launchpad!” Negaduck barked.

Launchpad jerked to a halt at the order.

“What?” said Gosalyn. “What’s he doing?”

“Being pushy. You know how he likes smashing thing. But you’re the party girl; so you get to go first.” Negaduck shoved the bat into Gosalyn’s hands and adjusted her grip. He pointed her to face Launchpad.

Gosalyn tapped the bat on Launchpad’s hip.

“Higher, sweetheart. If you want it to spill, you need to hit it right in the guts.” Negaduck leaned forward, hand on his daughter’s shoulder, a wicked grin splitting his beak.

Gosalyn adjusted her grip. All the practice Launchpad had with her in the back yard was paying off; her swing was perfect. The bat slammed up under his ribs. Launchpad dropped. The flimsy bough broke under his weight and snapped in half on impact across his back. Launchpad doubled over as bile leapt up his throat and mixed with the gunk in his mouth. He spluttered and gagged and couldn’t get air, and then the flimsy pink ribbon popped and the whole mess spilled out on the browning lawn.

Gosalyn ripped her blindfold off. No way she could’ve been fooled that impact had been with paper mache. The bat clattered to the ground at her side.

“Gosalyn… I’m… kay…” Launchpad said, then sagged back down with a wheeze.

Gosalyn’s eyes filled with tears. “Launchpad, I’m sorry.” She bolted back into the house.

Negaduck cackled. “Happy birthday, sweetheart!”

Launchpad spat, then pushed himself to his knees, a hand still to his belly.

Negaduck grabbed him by the collar. “Next time, I expect you to talk her out of this kind of garbage before I have to get involved. I can find someone much bigger than a little girl to take a swing at you.” He hauled him to his feet and flung him towards the house. “Now go ask her if she wants cake!”

***

He’d carried Gosalyn almost all the way back to the house now. Launchpad gulped and adjusted his grip underneath her. Between Darkwing Duck and the McQuacks, he really didn’t know how this would pan out.

“You can put me down now.”

Launchpad let her slip off his back. She grabbed him around the waist and hugged him tight.

“Hey… what?”

“I’m sorry, Launchpad. I knew Negaduck was a jerkface, but… I won’t tell my Dad. And I’ll help you take care of Negaduck.”

“Heh.” Launchpad prised her off him. “Let’s just make sure you’re okay first.”

***

Drake had paced the porch for the last half hour. His only consolation, despite Birdie’s assurances that the Negaverse Launchpad was harmless, was that it was highly unlikely he had kidnapped his daughter. Gosalyn would have taken off with him simply because she knew her father wouldn’t like it.

Finally, he saw her coming down the front path, Launchpad’s double trailing almost right behind her. Drake cleared the front steps and rushed to meet his daughter. “Gosalyn, don’t go running off like that!”

He knew something was wrong when Gosalyn looked up at him, not ready for an argument, but with relief. And then she slumped into his arms. Drake clamped her tight to her chest. His gaze snapped up to the Negaverse Launchpad, and the only thing that stopped him from slamming a fist into his face was supporting his daughter. “What did you do?” he hissed.

“Dad, it’s okay,” said Gosalyn, though she still clung to him. “It’s not his fault. I was being stupid and I fell over.”

Launchpad shuffled a boot through the dirt. “She hit her head. I’m sorry. I thought I was watching her.” The subdued moment was just so… Launchpad, that it gave Drake pause. His buddy’s double actually felt bad about this. So he should, but still.

Leaning on the porch railing beside his wife, Ripcord went rigid. “Wait, she hit her head?” He paled several shades. “I’ll… doctor…” He bolted back inside so quickly the door slammed into the wall and the front windows rattled.

Birdie winced. “Rip! It’s okay, she’s conscious…” She hung her head in resignation. “Great. We’re going to have the entirety of the town’s medical staff here in ten minutes. I thought we were past this.”

Drake scooped Gosalyn up, despite her half-hearted protestations, threw a glare at Launchpad’s double, and followed Birdie inside. His heart still thudded in his chest, but it was steadily slowing. He wasn’t sure how mad he was supposed to be at the Negaverse Launchpad. I mean, he’d be mad at Launchpad if he’d let something like this happen, but he wouldn’t hold it against him. He wasn’t surprised Gosalyn had gone and down something dumb. It wasn’t the first time.

“Yes, send them now!” Ripcord growled into the phone.

Birdie, put a hand on his arm. “Ripcord, calm down. Here…” She took the phone off him. “Yes, she’s conscious. But if you could send one of the doctors over that’d be great.” She hung up, then turned back to her husband and grasped his hands. “Are you alright?”

“Better safe than sorry,” Ripcord grumbled.

Launchpad pushed past them, not making eye contact with anyone, and went into the kitchen.

Drake took Gosalyn into the living room, put her down onto the sofa and rearranged the cushions around her.

“Dad, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you are. Although, its not the first time you’ve given yourself a concussion.” He squeezed her shoulder. “That head of yours is nearly as hard as Launchpad’s. You’ll be fine.”

“My son does not have a hard head,” said Ripcord. “And neither does your daughter! You don’t know what happened to her; it could be serious. How can you be so blase about your own child…”

Drake saw red. He whirled and stabbed a finger into Ripcord’s chest. “I think I know whether my daughter needs medical attention or not, thank you very much!”

Although Drake had intended to give him a good prod in the chest, he found himself pointing just above the man’s belly button. Ripcord glared down at him, and then his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

Drake lowered his hand. “I… yeah, I know. Thanks for, you know, being so on the ball and calling the doctor. Sorry, I overreacted.”

Ripcord smiled tightly. “Hey, its fine, I get it. I have kids too, remember?” He turned to Birdie. “How long ago did we call?”

“Speaking of kids,” said Birdie. “I heard one of our planes come back over. Launchpad might be back in the hanger. You should go talk to him. He’ll be in a better mood after taking a plane out.”

“Yeah, but…”

Birdie patted his arm.“Not your kid. We’ll handle it. You know you’ll just get underfoot.”

“Probably,” Ripcord huffed. He glanced one last time at Gosalyn, then headed out the front door.

Launchpad came back from the kitchen with a glass of water and took it to Gosalyn. Drake snatched it off him, then handed it over to her.

“Dad, really?”

“I don’t know what you two were up to,” he said, voice low. “But you are not going out together unsupervised again!”

***

Chapter 5

#darkwing duck #darkwing #darkwing fanfiction #darkwing duck fanfiction #dwd #dwd91 #darkwing duck 1991 #nega launchpad #negalaunchpad #gosalyn mallard #drake mallard #ripcord mcquack #birdie mcquack #negaduck #disney ducks

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ladyninjaa · 4 years

Text

Blasty Boi and The Cat Brat (2)

Imagine: Ground Zero saving your ass from being mugged.

Part One

In your spare time, you typically didn’t spend it with felines, surprisingly. Today, however, wasn’t those days as you decided to partake in a local shelter TNR’ing feral cats. Now, what was TNR? TNR stood for Trap, Neuter, Release. You set up traps to capture the felines who did not have clipped ears and once they were trapped, they were taken to a local vet for examinations fixed, chipped, and ear clipped and from there they were released back into their colony.

You liked working alone; cats could sense you as a friend; someone that could be trusted and you’d typically explain to them what you wanted to do and that it would help them. Most felines went without a fight but there were stubborn cats that needed to be tricked and trapped.

Now, why bother these felines with something that could be and probably was stressful? For their safety and to reduce the risk of breeding and overpopulating. A female cat can have their first litter at four months old! And it wasn’t exactly a safe life for those kits in the rougher areas of the city.

You were just loading up some TNR cages with willing felines into a rented truck; these types of jobs required a vehicle for easy transport. A few of them were sleeping soundly and others were questioning their journey for the next few days; you calmly explaining what they should expect and you were too absorbed in answering their meowing questions that you didn’t hear running footsteps coming up behind you until the alpha male of the colony hissed loudly.

When you turned around, there was a gun in your face.

Your heart skipped a beat, your stomach dropped, and your body went cold. “Give me your wallet and the keys to that truck.” The man behind the gun gruffly told you; he wasn’t alone. There were two others with him and they looked dangerous, no, these weren’t your typical young thugs trying to act hard; these were violent street veterans.

You swallowed thickly and nodded, “My wallet is in my purse in the front seat, the keys are in my left pocket,” The man peered at you and nodded his head to one of his companions, “At least let me take the cats out of the truck.” You hurriedly blurt out not wanting them to hurt the defenseless felines.

“No,” The man instantly replied with suspicion in his voice, “Move away from the truck.”

You did as told but pleaded again, “Please, they don’t deserve to be harmed.”

“Got the wallet, boss!” One of them chirp.

As you move away from the truck; your cats were making quite some noise. It seemed to irritate the man as the third companion reached into your left pocket to grab the keys, “And I have the keys.”

“Get those cats out of the truck,” The gun-man muttered with annoyance, “I ain’t gonna deal with those noisy shits the whole ride.”

“But...I’m allergic to cats, boss.” The second man muttered giving the cats a distasteful look. If you weren’t basically shitting yourself, you would have laughed.

“Now.” The gunman ordered.

The two men complied wordlessly and got to work with unloaded the felines that weren’t happy with what they were doing; these men were greeted with hissing and spitting. From the corner of your eye, you saw movement. Your eyes flicker to your right and saw a group of felines watching from afar; the colony who lived here in this park.

They were watching knowingly and one of them meowed loudly. You almost flinched but the dangerous men hadn’t registered that this meow came from elsewhere. The cat was telling you that they were looking for help; though how long it would take for these felines to locate a hero and manage to get them here was unseen.

By the time that happened, these men would be long gone.

You shook your head slightly.

A bold black tom wandered up to the scene with a loud meow and rubbed against your legs asking if you were alright. “What the fuck,” You looked at the man wielding the gun and saw him glaring at the cat at your legs, “You got some kind of cat quirk, lady?” He demanded.

Since you had been wearing a beanie today, they couldn’t see your cat ears. You nodded dumbly, “Yes.”

Before this man could question you about your quirk any further, another meow was heard and a familiar ginger tabby was walking up to the crime scene. Grumpy! Your eyes got wide as saucers.

Grumpy peered at you and meowed and suddenly you heard one-word echo through your mind.

Duck!

A second later, there were the sounds of explosions and you instantly ducked while reaching for the black tom and Grumpy to tuck underneath you. What the fuck, what the fuck! Your mind screamed. Dirt and smoke clouded your sight but you could hear and feel movement around you.

You heard grunting and you heard a shot go off. Your body jolted and prayed that no one got hit by that stray bullet. What were a few seconds felt like years as suddenly the air got still and the dust and smoke slowly started to disappear? You heard footsteps; heavy footsteps walking towards you and when you looked up...you were very surprised to see Ground Zero towering above you with a scowl.

Grumpy wiggled in your grasp and padded over to his human; it was then that you noticed the harness and leash dragging behind Grumpy. Ground Zero wasn’t in his hero costume, he was wearing civilian clothing.

“Are you hurt?” He asked offering you a hand.

You take it and shake your head, “No, I’m fine,” You remember about your cats and immediately whirled around to find them relatively unharmed; a few cages were thrown over and on their sides but the cats seemed fine.

You quickly begin to release them; they had been through enough tonight. You would come back next week to TNR them. Most of your felines crowded around you with concern but you reassured them that you were fine; you were acutely aware that Ground Zero was on the phone with the three men tied up and knocked out.

“Police are on their way,” Ground Zero took a few steps towards you, “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” He asked again.

You nod as Grumpy came up to softly meow at you, “Thank you,” You thanked him with watery eyes.

“Tch,” Ground Zero scoffed, “Your lucky I was walking Shang and all these cats were bolting from this area,” He said casting a quick glance at Grumpy, “They must’ve told him you were in danger. Next thing, I know Shang’s bolting through the bushes and into the park.”

Ah, Shang was Grumpy’s new name! Shang meowed agreeing with what you were thinking. He was introducing himself as Shang. “Thank you too, Shang, my hero!” You cried bringing Shang into your arms and squishing him to your chest. Shang meowed in protest but began to purr a second later.

You also noticed cats crowding around Ground Zero and brushing up against his legs; you smiled. A thought puzzled you...Shang, you had heard him, like, actually heard Shang form a word. Shang peered at you for a prolonged second almost as if the feline knew you were thinking about earlier.

Shang looked at his human and meowed at you, cat friend.

Your eyes widen and a gasp escaped your lips, “How this is possible?!” You muttered in shock.

“What’s wrong, what did he say?” Ground Zero was kneeling beside you now with evident worry; his crimson eyes skim your dirtied form for any injuries.

“I…” You swallow thickly, “I heard him speak.”

Ground Zero’s eyebrows furrowed, “Isn’t that your quirk?” He rolled his eyes.

“No,” You mumbled a little taken back by these sudden turn of events, “I’ve always been able to communicate with felines better than most; they see me as one of their own and they can understand me very well...I can feel emotions extremely well; they feel gratitude and fear and love and all those complicated emotions but never until today have I heard a cat speak a direct word towards me.” You explained as calmly as you could.

“And that happened just now with Shang?” Ground Zero asked.

You shook your head, “No, it was earlier when he ran up to me and he told me to duck but I thought I had heard it differently, I thought it was just an inner voice telling me to duck but right now, he looked at you and said cat friend.”

“What the fuck does cat friend mean?” Ground Zero demanded hotly.

“You saved us,” You explained softly, “They deemed you worthy to be deemed as a cat friend like I was when I first obtained my quirk,” You pet a few of the felines who were sitting beside you, “They are grateful and thankful for your actions to save us. Cats gossip fast so, don’t be surprised if you have cats near your place.” You chuckled softly.

Ground Zero looked suddenly bashful, he glanced away from you and muttered something under his breath and it was then that you registered the distant sound of sirens probably heading this way. “Gimme your cellphone.” He suddenly demanded...was he blushing? No, it must’ve been your imagination.

“My...my cellphone, what for?” You asked, surprised.

“Just do it, woman.” Ground Zero muttered.

You chuckle and got up to get your purse from the passenger side of the rental. You grabbed your phone, which was thrown haphazardly out of your purse and went back to Ground Zero. You offered your phone and he gently snatched it out of your hands.

You watched him as he sighed, “Why is your phone unlocked?”

You gave a sheepish grin, “I don’t have anything to hide and if I lose it then I can probably get a better phone pretty easily.” You shrugged.

“Put a lock on your phone, stupid,” Ground Zero said firmly as he began tapping away on your phone before you heard his phone go off. He fished his own phone out of his pants pocket and saved your number, “Next time you decide to do this, give me a call and I’ll come along.” Ground Zero asserted leaving no room for arguments.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, “I doubt this will happen again.”

“You damn right it won’t happen again,” Ground Zero snorted indifferently, “Because you’ll call me and I’ll tag along.”

Shang meowed almost angrily, what about me, you idiot?!

It was so sudden that you laughed loudly.

You saw Ground Zero’s eye twitch, “What did that fucker say!?”

You gasped for air and said through giggles, “He said what about him.”

Ground Zero pinned you with a scathing glare, “He said something else otherwise why would that be so funny?” The cops had arrived and you took the distraction happily. You certainly didn’t want to tell Ground Zero that his cat just called him an idiot.

Hours later, you had been escorted home by a police cruiser at Ground Zero’s request; you answered questions made by the police and did a report as well and by then your body was exhausted. Ground Zero saw this and ordered a police officer to take you home. You stumbled into your apartment and the cute sound of feet pit-pattering on your wooden floors made you smile with a chuckle.

Your cat, your actual cat, meowed at you with concern. No doubt, the incident had been spread among the felines and brought to your own cat’s attention. You gently cradled your cat in your arms and murmured gentle words of reassurance and it was then that your phone pinged signaling you had received a text message.

You walked over to your couch and fished out your phone from your bag. You plopped down with your cat purring against your bosom contently. You turned on the screen and saw a text message from Katsuki Bakugo.

Momentarily, you were confused until you saw the text message.

Did you make it home safely, cat brat?

You smiled softly, “Ground Zero.” You murmured his hero name gently.

There will def be a part three :) Sorry for any errors!

Part Three Part Four

#my hero academia imagine #katsuki bakugō #katsuki bakugo x reader #kacchan imagine #ground zero

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the-space-above-the-stars · 5 years

Text

good luck charm

drag racer!lucas wong x reader

Summary: Lucas Wong is your best friend. He’s also the dumbest motherfucker you’ve ever laid eyes on, a realization you come to after one faithful drag race.

Warnings: dangerous driving (wear seat belts and obey the speed limit, kids) , drinking, cussing

Word Count: 2k

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint?

A/N: I’m curious, who are all y’all biases in NCT? Do you have a bias? Is it even possible with 21 crackheads? This is also unedited, so have no expectations.

If you drove east for 15 minutes from where you lived, there was an abandoned lot on the edge of town, surrounded by a wire fence. Something big used to stand there, but it was torn down over 20 years ago. Over that time, it became many things. A place for kids to make out, do drugs, throw up graffiti, even the focus of an ill-funded effort to clean the city up. But most recently, someone from your school had realized that this was the perfect place to race cars.

And so the tradition of Friday Night Racing started, high school and college kids bringing their cars down to gamble with money and their lives. Their was a certain level of secrecy about the whole thing, as everyone knew a snitch could land everyone in jail. Kun, the most reluctant and most trustworthy, set the dates and handled the lineups and money.

It was definitely not your style. The place always smelled like stale beer and cigarette butts and almost every other week some kid would get hurt, but every week you still waited by your window, phone charged in your pocket and backpack ready with a first aid kit for Lucas to pull up in his Mustang.

Lucas, Yukhei to his friends and Xuxi to you and you only, was your best friend since the eighth grade. You had both landed in detention and you had managed to get both you and him out with an excuse about needing to visit the nurse that the poor substitute teacher watching over you both bought. You got slushees on the way home, him paying as a thank you, and ever since then you’ve been friends.

Lucas races. When he entered 9th grade he fixed up his dads old Mustang and entered his first race. You called him an idiot, but you still fixed him up when he came back slightly banged up with the money he one clutched in his fist. He was good. You knew he never lost a race on purpose. Sometimes he fudges up on purpose to fuck with the other racers, but he’s still always the first person crossing that finish line.

He knows you hate the races but that doesn’t stop his dumb smile as he pulls up in your driveway. “Can’t forget my lucky charm,” He tells you every time, with a wink that makes you smack him on the back of the head. As if dragging you along isn’t enough, before every race starts he taps his cheek and turns his head for the mandatory good luck kiss that you’ve never failed to give him.

Maybe it’s because you’re in love with him. Have been ever since he dethroned Jackson Wang from the spot of best racer in a one on one race. You remember how his car had barely come to a stop before he jumped out, and you could barely yell at him about safety before he had picked you up and spun you around in a big hug, placing a big kiss on your forehead. Fuck, you had thought at the way your heart was beating. Fucking hell.

And so here you were, mid July waiting in your bedroom window for Lucas. Like always, he was bordering on being late. Your backpack was thrown over one shoulder, wearing a Nirvana t-shirt and ripped jeans. It was too hot for much else. Finally, you perked up at the sound of a car engine as Lucas slowly pulls his red mustang into your driveway, so as not to wake your parents. “Come on, Rapunzel,” he grins as he climbs out.

“You’re late,” you call down as you toss him your bag, climbing down the downspout and jumping onto the ground. “Again.” He rolls his eyes as he tosses your bag in the bag, jumping over the driver side door as you do the same on the other side.

“Oh, your highness I’m so sorry to have inconvenienced you, what a pity to be late to something you didn’t even want to go to-” With a laugh, you punch him in the side and he pulls out of your driveway. The Mustang purrs smoothly, Lucas steering with one of his hands wrapped around the wheel. The other one rests on the dash, long fingers tapping out the beat to a song you don’t recognize. The ride should take 15 minutes but when has he ever followed the speed limit. It’s just a suggestion, you remember him saying to you with a dumb smirk.

The races are pretty much already in full swing, some of the newer racers already shooting off. Someone’s playing music out of their car and there’s definitely alcohol. “No drinking!” You slap Lucas’s arm as he reaches for the bottle of vodka. “Go win, dumbass, and then I’ll let you get shitfaced.”

“Nice to see your confidence in me, shortcake.” He bends over as he speaks to you and boops your nose. You’re two seconds from jumping him when someone taps his shoulder.

“Lucas,” Jackson Wang smirks, ignoring the girl basically throwing herself at him. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

“Wang,” Lucas stands to his full height and you roll your eyes. “Came to see me win again?”

“Actually I have a proposition for you.” Putting two fingers in his mouth he whistles and the music stops. People turn their eyes to the three of you. “One on one, you and me. 2 laps around the lot. What do you say?”

“Didn’t you get enough fun of me beating you last time? What fun do I get out of proving what everyone here already knows?”

Jackson chuckles, and it almost sounds dangerous. “How did I know you were gonna want to bet? Okay, how about this. Loser leaves the races. Forever.”

“Throw in the winner’s car.” Lucas interrupts, looking over at Jackson’s sleek black Corvette.

“Deal. And the winner...” Jackson looks around and you almost recoil when his eyes land on you. “Gets a kiss with L/N.” Lucas’s smile drops and your eyes widen. Jackson smirks at Lucas’s reaction, giving him a smug shrug of his shoulders. “Seems fair to me.”

“What the fuck-” Lucas shakes Jackson’s hand, dead seriousness written on his face as his knuckles turn white. They both head to their cars. “Xuxi!”

“Relax, Y/N/N, I’m gonna win, so you don’t have to worry about kissing Wang.”

“This is stupid. And ridiculous, you already beat him once, you know Jackson plays dirty-”

“You do realize all this is going in one ear and out the other. I’ll be back in two laps, and then I’ll have a new black Corvette. Might even let you drive it.” He winks with a dumb grin as he tilts his cheek. You kiss him before he can even ask. Then you give him another. “Two? Wow, I must be special.”

“No, you just need double the luck. Go. Don’t die, or I’ll kill you.”

Seulgi, as usual does the honors as she walks up to the starting line, red handkerchief in hand. “Racers ready?” Her response is the simultaneous revving of two engines as Lucas and Jackson reach the starting line. She raises the make shift flag, and with a wave, is left in a cloud of dust and smoke as both cars take off.

For most of the first lap, they are neck in neck. Jackson’s obviously fixed up his car since the last time they raced. But as they reach the first turn, Lucas hits the gas and pulls ahead, drifting around the roundabout and shooting off. Jackson has to swerve to avoid being hit and regains himself before following. You can basically hear the smug smirk on Lucas’s face.

He stays ahead for most of the first lap but as they reach the second, Jackson pulls next to him and bumps his car, making him go off the road slightly. As he pulls back in, Jackson shoots off, Lucas racing to catch up with him. Your heart’s beating in your ears, nerves builgingup with the prospect of Lucas being banned from the races. And of course, kissing Jackson Wang.

100 feet. 80 feet. 60 feet. They’re 40 feet from the finish line when Lucas pulls ahead and turns his car completely sideways in front of Jackson’s, drifting across the finish line. He straightens himself out and stops the car before jumping out. Hey, at least he stopped this time. “What did I tell you, shortcake?” He preens, bending over to be your height as he pokes your forehead. “You’re not kissing Wang and I get a new car, it’s a win win.”

“Yeah, shut up idiot. Come on, let’s grab slushies.” You try to ignore the dull thump of dissapointment in your chest. The bet was that the winner would kiss you. But he’s chosen to forget that apparently.

Jackson climbs out of his car, tongue pressed against the inside of his mouth as he rolls his eyes at Lucas. “Sorry L/N maybe another time.” Lucas lunges at him, but stops as a voice breaks through the air.

“COPS!” The whole place goes silent as someone yells, and there’s the faint noise of sirens down the street. Everything goes to hell the next second as screams break out and racers run for their cars, people who came on foot jump into other’s cars or start climbing the fence.

“Come on, haul ass!” Lucas yells, grabbing your hand and pushing you into his car. “Seatbelts-” he cuts himself off by putting the car in drive and hitting the gas, pulling out of the lot just as the first cop car turns the corner.

*** Lucas pulls into a stop right in front of your house, eyes wide as his hands relax around the wheel. “Jesus fucking christ, my heart’s beating so hard.” Without hesitation, he grabs your hand and places it over his chest, leaving you to ignore the less than platonic thoughts in your head. “Jesus, do you think they’ll shut the races down?”

“No,” you speak with certainty as you move your hand. “All the racers got away, I’m positive the only people they got were the kids who got shit faced. The most they can do is fine them for underage drinking.” A comfortable silence fills the car as you both catch your breath, but of course it doesn’t last as Lucas takes your hand in his. “Good thing you kissed me twice, huh? Or we probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to get out of there.”

Know what, fuck just being friends. Fuck Lucas Wong when he says shit like that that makes you question if he really just likes you as a friend. You’ll never know what you both could be if you don’t try. “I love you, Xuxi.” You’re not looking him in the eyes. You expect him to drop your hand and stutter out some excuse or an apology, but what you don’t expect is that he lets out a laugh.

“Aww, Y/N I love you too,” He puts his head on your shoulder. “Where would I be without my best friend, huh? Now go get some sleep, it’s almost morning.” It feels like a weird dream as you stumble out of his car and climb the downspout, giving him a fake smile before he pulls out with a wave.

Today’s been exhausting. Flopping down on your bed, you turn to see the photo on your table. Both you and Lucas on the top of the ferris wheel at the carnival last year. Your tongues are blue from slushies and you’ve got a big plushie he won at the bottle toss. His arm is around you and you’re both grinning like idiots. “Why are you such an idiot, Xuxi?” You whisper, rolling over and burying your face in a pillow.

If anything good came out of today, it was one piece of knowledge.

1. Lucas Wong is oblivious.

A/N: Should I make a second part? I feel like this could be a oneshot but idk if people want a second part to this. Requests are open.

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vagrantblvrd · 6 years

Text

Coming in Like Lightning (1/1)

Summary: The whole thing with Los Santos starts as a dumb bet, which should tell you everything you need to know right there.

Notes: Based off this fic idea I had a while back. (Because reasons.)

AO3

Geoff’s shooting the shit with Burnie in his office late one night. Sharing a bottle of whiskey between them while they reminisce about the good old days back when they were stupid kids just starting out in this life.

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and no idea what was ahead of them in their futures, but fucking hell were they determined to get there as fast as they could. Convinced they were headed for greatness and intent on making it happen no matter what it cost.

Looking back on it, it was pretty stupid of them. Should have gotten them killed, but somehow they made it work. Went from being a group of mismatched individuals to the driving force behind a criminal empire spanning the country, its reach growing longer each day.

“God, we were stupid,” Burnie laughs, some gray starting to slip in his beard, peppering his hair.

Creases at the corner of his eyes and lines around his mouth because the fucker laughs like no one else Geoff knows.

They’re not old, but they sure as hell aren’t young anymore.

“Christ,” Geoff says, grin on his face. “We still are.”

They really, really are.

Geoff watches the city skyline through those ridiculous windows of Burnie’s, and makes the mistake of telling the fucker there are times he feels like he might as well retire now.

They’ve got the next generation set up to take over now, hard-earned experience under their belts and this hunger to them they’ve lost along the way. Traded it for things, people, here and there as they grew the fuck up and realized money and power will only get you so far. That if you wanted to have anything worth keeping, you had to give something up for it.

They’ll learn that too one day, these kids. They’re smarter than the four of them ever were, and they’re not alone. Have the Founders standing behind them if they need it, but something tells Geoff they won’t. (Smart kids, after all.)

Burnie snorts and pours Geoff another round, eyebrow raised as Geoff reaches for it, corner of his mouth quirked.

Old bets made by stupid kids, and the whiskey burns as it goes down. Geoff knocking it back like it’s nothing because he used to have money riding on it, but now it’s more of a pride thing.

Burnie’s laugh fills the office, and a moment later Geoff’s joins it because it’s hard not to.

“That so,” Burnie says when his laughter trails off a while later.

Geoff shrugs, because hell if he’s done anything meaningful when it comes to the Roosters in a long while.

Burnie hums, and something to it reaches through the pleasant haze of alcohol, sharp enough to make him pay attention because he knows that thoughtful little hmm too damn well.

“Burns?”

There’s a thing, about the Founders.

About Burnie and Geoff in particular and all the stupid bets they’ve made over the years. From the stupidest shit to things that rocked the foundations of their city until everyone knew who the fuck the Roosters were. (Hullum and Gus and goddamned in the mix there somewhere, but for the most part they liked to stand back and wait until the dust settled before they made their move.)

“Los Santos,” Burnie says, and pulls out a shiny little tablet to bring up a map of the city. Spins it around to face Geoff with that same fucking smirk he gets when he thinks he’s about to get one over on someone. “You’ve heard of it?”

========

“So,” Jack says, so goddamned amused as he sits on the side of Geoff’s bed. “I hear we’re headed to Los Santos.”

Geoff rubs a hand over his face and tries to remember what the fuck happened the night before. His head hurts – hell, his everything hurts – and he feels old and wrung out. (Hangover, his old friend.)

Jack sighs, and for one small hopeful moment when he gets up, Geoff actually thinks he’s going to let him sleep it off, but of course he doesn’t.

This is Jack, and he’s a monster.

Geoff actually recoils with a hiss when Jack pulls the blinds up to let sunlight in. Tries to burrow under the tangle of blanket but Jack is relentless and merciless as all hell, ripping them out of his hands.

“Oh, fuck no,” Jack says, super nice and pleasant and anyone who says the man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body doesn’t know him half as well as they think they do. “Our flight leaves tomorrow, you need to fucking pack, you asshole.”

Geoff presses his face against the mattress in the vain hope he can smother himself because bits and pieces of the night before are coming back to him, but it doesn’t work.

“Up, Geoff,” Jack says, dumping the blankets on the floor beside the bed as he leaves. “You have a lot of shit to get done.”

Geoff sighs when he hears the door shut behind him, and flops over on his back like a fish out of water because -

He made a bet with Burnie, and those have always felt like making a deal with the devil. Chipping off another piece of his soul and handing it over in the hopes he’d win this time.

A soft chime fills the air, and Geoff turns his head towards the end table. Reaches over to snag the stupid tablet Burnie gave him as a going away present. When he unlocks it, the map of Los Santos is still up, and there's an email notification.

Common sense tells him not to open it, but Geoff’s shit at that, so he taps the icon.

It’s from Burnie, because of fucking course it is, and there’s an attachment. A video with last night’s date

No guesses as to what’s on it, but Geoff hits the play button anyway because he’s a glutton for punishment.

His dumb face comes up, drunk as fuck and throwing Burnie’s original bet in his face. Telling him he can make Los Santos his bitch in under a year, because Geoff is an idiot but drunk Geoff is a million times stupider.

“Oh, Christ,”Geoff mutters, tablet falling from hands to hit him in the face, video still playing if a bit muffled now “I’m so fucking stupid.”

And because the universe hates him that much, Burnie in the the video starts laughing.

========

Geoff decides to swear off drinking, because all it’s ever done for him was get him in trouble, and this stupid bet he’s agreed to is looking to be much the same.

========

The airport’s crowded as always, bustling crowds and harried people trying to get wherever the hell they’re headed with a minimum of fuss. Most manage to do so, others get the short stick and the rest just get shit on.

Geoff and Jack are somewhere in the middle at the moment. Flight delayed due to inclement weather and Jack’s on top of it.

Speaking of, Geoff looks over at Jack, knot of guilt eating him up because Jack’s got a life here. A good life, nothing like what they had when the Roosters were starting to gain a foothold in this city.

And because Geoff is an idiot with a big mouth, he’s uprooting Jack and dragging him halfway across the country on a fucking bet.

“Jack - “

“Shut the fuck up, Geoff,” Jack says, not unkindly

Geoff shuts the fuck up, waits patiently until Jack’s done with whatever he’s doing and looks up at him.

He doesn’t look angry or annoyed, or even particularly troubled at this sudden upheaval in his life, and more like fondly exasperated.

“Uh - “

“If you think,” Jack starts, mild tone of voice that’s honestly terrifying because Jack. “Geoff, if you think I’m going to let you head off to goddamned Los Santos on one of your stupid bets alone, I will straight up fucking murder you.”

Strangely touching, if a bit alarming.

“...okay?” Geoff tries, and breathes a sigh of relief when Jack smiles at him.

“Good,” Jack says, and clears his throat, eyes skipping away from Geoff’s as he goes back to his phone.

Geoff fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot before he deiced the hell with it and grabs Jack in an awkward little side hug.

“Thanks Jack,” he murmurs, relieved more than he can say.

Jack huffs in annoyance, and pulls Geoff into a proper hug, complete with super manly back slapping because he’s a brute.

“You’re welcome, asshole. Now let’s never talk about this again, the way men are supposed to.”

Geoff snorts a laugh, shoulders shaking as Jack breaks down laughing as well because they’re a pair of idiots and it’s kind of awesome.

========

To be fair, Burnie didn’t send the two of them to Los Santos to die.

He sent the two of them to Los Santos to handle the expansion of the Rooster’s criminal empire, which might look a hell of a lot like the same thing from the outside, but it is not.

Mostly not, anyway.

They have an old warehouse renovated with living spaces. A small support team to make sure once Geoff and Jack get things rolling they stay that way. A list of reliable contacts who Geoff is going to have to schmooze properly to get things rolling. Requisite funding from the Roosters until they’re turning a profit out here.

Not exactly starting from scratch, but in a city like this, it’s still a hell of a challenge.

The parameters of the bet are for Geoff to set up a crew of his own out here, grow its operations until they have the city under their control, and that -

“Holy shit,” Geoff murmurs, watching the news. “This place is worse than back home.”

Which makes sense, because the Roosters have been running things there for a long time. Stamp out trouble before it starts and keeps everyone in line. Actually made the city safer for everyone there, and for whatever godforsaken reason drunk Geoff told Burnie he could do the same in Los Santos.

“You’ve got meetings today,” Jack says was he wanders over to set the tablet Burnie gifted him with down. “A lot of them.”

Reluctantly, Geoff picks the tablet up and scrolls through the appointments. Scrolls.

“Jesus dicks,” he mutters, because he hates meetings.”How much shit would Burnie give me if I backed out now?”

Jack hmms as he strokes his beard like he’s thinking about it.

“Well,” Jack says, like the bastard he is. “The answer you’re looking for here is a metric shit-ton, I believe? But you’re also forgetting all the shit the rest of the Founders will give you. And myself, among others.”

The entire fucking organization, Geoff knows, because everyone in the damn crew is an asshole, and Geoff hates them all.

“Okay, yeah,” he concedes. “Point.”

========

After the first full day of meetings, Geoff wants a goddamned drink.

“I want a goddamned drink,” Geoff groans, chin resting on his folded arms as Jack organizes Geoff’s meetings for tomorrow.

Sure, he’s sworn off drinking, but Geoff really fucking hates meetings and there’s a hell of a lot of them in his foreseeable future.

Driving all over the damn city to meet paranoid, greedy fuckers to make sure they don’t accidentally kick off a gang war.

“That’s nice, Geoff,” Jack mumbles absently. “There’s diet soda in the mini-fridge.”

Geoff feels his mouth pull up in a tired smile as he gets up to grab one, and grabs a beer for Jack while he’s at it.

========

Geoff’s schedule over the next few weeks is pretty much the same old same old.

Get up, make himself presentable, charm the fuck out of people so as not to get himself and the people relying on him not to fuck this up killed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, strike a deal of two that’ll bring in come money, allow them to expand their operation out here.

Catch shaky camera footage of himself and Jack on the news and see reporters and so-called experts debating what it means for the city of Los Santos for a Rooster of his standing to be here.

Call Burnie up and demand to know why the fucker didn’t tell him they’ve broken up after a decades long love affair in which Geoff turned angry and bitter and left to start his own crew.

“Torrid, asshole. Our torrid love affair,” Burnie corrects between gasps of air, and Geoff grins as he pictures that idiot laughing himself sick over the tabloids Geoff sent to him. “And also, fuck you for breaking my goddamned heart.”

Geoff leans back in his office chair and kicks his feet up on his desk because it’s been a long couple of weeks and he kind of misses the son of a bitch.

“It’s what you get for breaking mine first, fucker.”

Burnie’s laughter peters off after a bit, but Geoff can still hear the smile in his voice.

“Gonna give up?”

Geoff’s office is the old manager’s office overlooking the main floor of the warehouse. He can see his support crew down below, hard at work while Jack troubleshoots. All of them talented people with the kind of hunger to them that’s going to make this city his – theirs – soon enough.

“Nah,” he says, “I’ve got this.”

========

The next day someone tries to break into his fucking car when he goes to a more or less legitimate meeting regarding some real estate he’s looking at, so there’s that.

“Nice,” Geoff says, because whoever tried to break into his car broke the driver’s side window and left the twisted up coat hanger on the driver’s side seat along with all the safety glass. “Really. Thanks a fucking lot for that, asshole.”

There’s a cough a little ways down, the sort that tends to cover up a laugh.

Geoff turns his head and there’s a guy leaning against a building smoking a cigarette. Light brown hair pulled up into man bun - man bun - collar of his coat pulled up against the wind and hand with the cigarette hovering in front of his mouth.

“Hey, you see anything, buddy?” Geoff asks, not expecting much, because Los Santos and all.

The guy shakes his head and flicks ash from the end of his cigarette.

“No, sorry,” he says with an apologetic shrug, and Geoff doesn’t go weak at the knees at the sound of his voice because he’s not a goddamned teenager anymore, but it sure as hell didn’t not affect him because Geoff is still very human. “Just stepped out for a smoke.”

The guy’s watching him curiously, blue, blue eyes, and it really must have been a long time since Geoff gave any thought to finding someone if some stranger is getting to him like this.

“Thanks anyway,” Geoff says, because he’d figured as much, and reaches for his phone to call Jack.

========

Things start to pick up after a few weeks of Geoff shaking hands with people and making promises that won’t cost him too much of what’s left of his soul.

Jack brings him a list of names. People he thinks would be a good fit for the crew.

“You come up with a name for us yet?” Jack asks, flipping through the files the support team put together on them.

Geoff shrugs, attention on the news and the latest piece about his presence in Los Santos. Old mugshots from the early days, and goddamn it’s weird seeing himself without all the tattoos.

One of the “experts” seems to think the idiot in the short video clip of Geoff someone took isn’t actually him. That it’s an actor or someone trying to capitalize on his reputation here in Los Santos to scam morons out of money before running.

It’s insulting and amusing at the same time, watching them try to figure out what’s going on.

“I dunno,” Geoff muses. “They seem pretty convinced I’m a fake, don’t they?”

There’s this pause, sound of papers being shuffled before Jack laughs, Geoff joining in a moment later because he kind of likes the way it sounds.

========

Geoff’s heard of Brownman before. One of the best snipers around who hasn’t committed himself to crew or gang. Likes the freedom of being able to pick and choose his jobs, and a reputation for coming down hard on anyone who tries to double-cross him.

He didn’t expect the fucker to be so damn young, though.

Skinny kid in a purple hoodie and this wary look in his eyes when Geoff drops down in the seat across from him in some hipster coffee shop.

Not his ideal place for a meeting like this, but he can work with it.

Jack’s in line for a coffee, and Geoff smiles at the way Brownman tracks him, searching the other coffee shop patrons to see which ones are Geoff’s. (The answer is none of them, by the way, because Geoff didn’t come here to make an enemy of Brownman.)

“I’m looking for a guy with your particular talents,” Geoff says. “If you’re interested, that is. Contract work, that kind of thing.”

Brownman isn’t looking for a crew, but Geoff wouldn’t mind working with him from time to time. Let the kid know he won’t have any problems from them, and who knows? Maybe something good will come of it.

Brownman studies him for a long moment, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and snorts. Tension bleeding out of him.

“I don’t put out on the first date,” Brownman says, head tipped to the side. “Just so you know going into things.”

Oh, Geoff likes this kid.

========

After a few months the hard work the support team’s been putting in allows Geoff to sign the lease for a place close to the Dell Perro Pier. It gives him his own space back and lets the support team take over the warehouse the way they’ve been itching to since the beginning.

It’s not quite a penthouse, but the only other apartment on the same floor is Jack’s, which is nice.

“We’re going to have a penthouse bigger than Burnie’s one day,” Geoff tells him, taking in the view through the living room windows. “Show that fucker what class looks like.”

He can hear Jack rolling his eyes, but the asshole doesn’t say a damn thing which means he’s in agreement with Geoff on that one.

========

Geoff’s apartment’s a good ten stories up, give or take, and someone tries to get in through the windows.

The windows.

Geoff’s checking his texts before bed when he hears noise coming from his living room. Being the kind of idiot he is, he grabs his gun out of the nightstand and goes to investigate, and then -

“What the fuck.”

It’s the middle of the night and there’s a guy on a window washer platform on the other side of his living room windows. He’s dressed up like a burglar in some terrible made for television movie and using a glass cutter to get in like this is some kid’s cartoon.

The guy freezes when he notices Geoff. Slowly releases the suction cups on the glass cutter and tucks it away in his bag like he’s hoping Geoff won’t notice.

“No, seriously,” Geoff says, because what the fuck?

This has never happened to him before, what the hell does he do here?

He’d feel bad about shooting the guy because he’s very clearly an idiot, but he should probably do something about this, right?

Geoff doesn’t, though. Too fucking confused by what this idiot even thought he was doing, and watches as he slowly raises the platform until he’s out of sight.

Any other time, and Geoff would head up to the roof to catch him. Get some answers from him, but with this guy it feels a little like kicking someone when they’re down.

========

“What the fuck is that?”

Geoff looks over to where Jack is staring at the marks the would-be burglar left on his living room window, and right. That was a thing that happened.

“Hell if I know,” Geoff answers, because he doesn’t even know where to start with that one. “I thought you wanted to talk about getting more people for the crew?”

Jack shoots him a suspicious look because he knows Geoff too damn well by now. Years of friendship and dealing with Geoff’s bullshit, but he lets it go for now, which is a hell of a relief.

“We need someone with demolitions expertise,” Jack says, and the window incident is forgotten as they go through the candidates.

========

Mogar turns out to be a kid who might have a few years on Brownman, but not much.

Geoff likes him from the start, and from the way Jack’s looking at him, so does he.

They’re in an all-night diner where the owners turn a blind eye to this kind of thing.

“This is fucking stupid,” Mogar mutters, picking apart the half-assed plan Geoff and Jack put together as a test. “You’re going to get everyone killed if you use this much C4. Who the fuck thought this would work?”

Geoff shrugs, watching Mogar pull a napkin out of the dispenser to draw out a feasible plan that won’t get anyone killed, bitching about whatever idiot came up with the original plan.

“I like him,” Jack says, grin in his voice because Mogar’s too lost in his work to notice. “We’re keeping him, right?”

“Motherfucker,” Mogar hisses, finding some new fault in their shitty plans to be angry about.

Geoff laughs, because they sure the fuck are.

========

Geoff runs into Man Bun a few days later. Back at the real estate agent’s office with Jack, and there he is, taking another smoke break

“Hey,” Man Bun says, sounding happy to see him. “Fancy seeing you again.”

Geoff hesitates before he waves Jack to go on ahead as he goes over to talk to him.

Because manners, yes.

Jack gives him this amused smirk, which is in no way appreciated at all before he gets the fuck out of there.

“Uh,” Man Bun says, and Geoff should not find the his frown as adorable as he does, he’s an adult for Christ's sake. “I didn't interrupt anything, did I?”

“Nah, Geoff says, feeling a little like an idiot, because what the hell is he doing?

Man Bun looks at him for a long moment before he shrugs, little smile tugging at his mouth.

========

“Does your boyfriend have a name, Geoffrey?”

God, Jack is such an insufferable asshole.

“...his name is Ryan,”Geoff says quietly.

He tries not to think about the scrap of paper in his coat pocket or the number on it he’s never gong to call.

In another life, maybe, but in this one?

Geoff’s one of the Founders. Helped build the Roosters from the ground up and he came to Los Santos to do the same all over again with his own crew, and it’s not going to be easy.

He already has enemies, people who’d be fucking delighted to use Ryan to get to him. Break him down and send whatever is left to Geoff just to make a goddamn point.

Geoff’s not so selfish that he’d put him through that just because he likes the sound of his voice or can’t get over how fucking blue his eyes are.

He can feel Jack watching him.

“Geoff - “

“We’re going to be late for our appointment,” Geoff says, cutting him off because he doesn’t want to talk right now. “And Lindsay is going to kill us if we don’t get her more warehouses for storage, so hurry the fuck up, Jack.“

========

With Brownman and Mogar on board, Geoff figures they’re ready to make a little noise.

Pull everyone’s eyes to the assholes blowing shit up and robbing banks and all that shit while the support team quietly goes about the real work of expanding the crew’s operations throughout the city.

Lindsay and Trevor have things in hand there, and Los Santos has been waiting for him to make his move, so why disappoint?

========

“Fucking Christ!” Michael yells, ducking back into cover as bullets whiz past. “This was the shittiest plan in the world!”

Dozens of cop cars puled up in front of the bank along with a few news vans. Choppers in the air and to be fair to Michael, it does look pretty bad.

Geoff hands Michael fresh ammo and reloads his own assault rifle, unable to help his laughter.

God help him, but he’s missed this.

The chaos and noise and he’s definitely a little fucked in the head, but damn it’s nice to get back to basics.

There’s adrenalin's zipping through his veins, lips stretched into a wide grin as the cops order them to put their weapons down and come up with their hands up.

Ray’s out there keeping the cops off them and Jack’s inbound with a Cargobob. He and Michael have the money and they’ll be home scot-free in a few minutes.

“Everything’s fine Michael, just stick to the plan,” Geoff says, patting him on the shoulder as he pops out of cover to fire off a few rounds.

Behind him he can hear Michael bitching about Geoff and Jack and how goddamned stupid he was to sign on with their fucking crew, and grins as Michael stands up beside him to fire towards the cops trying to flank them.

“Take that, you fuckers!”

========

The news outlets go nuts for weeks afterward, buzzing about the Fake AH Crew and their daring daylight bank robbery.

The city’s in an uproar and Geoff is riding high on their success, so of course he comes across the hapless would-be burglar again.

This time it’s at the support teams main warehouse as he’s seeing to paperwork and goes to investigate (still that kind of idiot) when he hears a loud crashing noise downstairs.

“Seriously,” Geoff says, coughing on dust that came down with the air vent the idiot was crawling through. “What the fuck.”

The would-be burglar doesn’t say anything, which is fair because he just fell out of the vent on his back.

“Is - “ Geoff stops, frowns down at the guy as he starts to sit up. “Are you okay?”

The would-be burglar nods, reaching up to fix the balaclava he’s wearing to hide his face that’s been twisted around a bit, and Geoff catches a glimpse of his hair before he tucks that out of sight.

When he looks at Geoff, he notices that the would-be burglar is wearing glasses of some sort – goggles, maybe? - under it all that gives the whole thing a vaguely skull-like appearance.

Eerie and unsettling and some half-forgotten memory in the back of Geoff’s mind.

The would-be burglar sighs, shoulders slumping as he looks at the mess around him.

Watching him, Geoff gets the impression the would-be burglar is more concerned about how his brilliant plan has somehow failed him than being caught in the act.

“Not to be that asshole,” Geoff says, but he’s absolutely going to be that asshole. “You do know who I am, right?”

Geoff’s never ever actually said that in his life, because yeah, no, but -

The would-be burglar just looks at him, startling a laugh out of Geoff.

His face has been plastered all over the news on and off for months now, and after the band robbery it’s all anyone’s talking about. Trying to determine what his next move will be like they have any idea.

“Fine,” Geoff huffs, and then frowns, because he has no idea what to do with this idiot.

Kill him, probably, because he’s not the best burglar out there, sure, but he did get past the warehouse’s security measures. He’s already made a try at breaking into Geoff’s apartment, and he has a sneaking suspicion he might be the guy who tried to break into his car that time. (No proof, but his gut is telling him it’s connected.)

“Are you here to kill me?” Geoff asks, because he probably should, just to be safe.

He’s been making enough waves in Los Santos’ criminal underworld to warrant a hit being put out on him.

The would-be burglar shakes his head, and Geoff decides to believe him, because it would be even sadder to find out this idiot is just that bad at killing someone.

“Alright,” Geoff says and figures since he’s down here anyway he might as well grab himself a can of diet soda. On a whim, and since he still feels bad for the guy, Geoff gets one for him too.”Jack’s going to be in at nine, you might want to be gone by then.”

That said, Geoff heads back up to his office to finish his paperwork before Jack gets in to nag him about it.

========

“Geoff.”

“Jack.”

“The fuck happened downstairs?”

There’s badly hidden worry in Jack’s voice, which makes Geoff feel like a guilty kid keeping secrets from his parents.

He never actually told Jack about the attempted break in at his apartment, although he must have figured it out by now. Especially with the mess downstairs the would-be burglar made a token effort to clean up.

“Don’t worry about it,” Geoff says, and tries not to laugh at Jack’s long-suffering sigh.

========

When Geoff gets home that night there’s a case of diet soda on his kitchen table with a note.

Sorry about the warehouse, but thanks for the drink.

There’s a drawing of a skull in place of the signature - eerie and unsettling, especially with no signs of a break-in to speak of.

Geoff shakes his head as he takes a can for himself and puts the rest in the fridge, because only in Los Santos.

========

After the bank robbery they talk about going a little bigger. Bringing in more muscle, another gun, and not too long afterward Michael drags a kid to Geoff’s apartment.

Both of them more than a little drunk and looking like they’ve been through hell. Fresh bruises and blood on their faces like terrifying war paint and fucking grinning like idiots.

“Geoff!” Michael says (yells), “I got us a guy!”

Geoff squints at Michael.

At his buddy.

At the ugly designer clock on the wall Gus sent him as a apartment warming gift because he’s a bastard and hates Geoff more than anyone else and calls that friendship (Which it is, but like. The worst kind.)

“Michael,” Geoff says, in what he hopes is a reasonable tone of voice. “It’s four in the fucking morning.”

Michael looks like he has no idea what that has to do with anything, face scrunched up in an exaggerated frown. His friend(?) isn’t even paying attention, looking around and making faces at the décor – which is a motley blend of questionable interior decorator choices and “gifts” from his terrible friends who have clearly been waiting all this time to let him know how much they hate him.

Like Gus.

“So? You said we needed more muscle,” Michael says, almost a full minute later, brain obviously on some kind of delay. “Li'l J’s got those.”

‘Li’l J’ looks at Geoff and flexes, and Geoff’s hard pressed not to laugh because what the fuck is his life these days?

“He does have those, yes,” Geoff agrees. “You want to stay here for the night? I don’t think you’re going to make it back to yours with the state you're in, buddy.”

Michael chews on that for a while as Geoff watches, and eventually decides that yes, he is indeed too goddamned drunk to get halfway across the city and lets Geoff herd him and Li’l J to his spare bedroom.

He’s got two, but they insist one is fine and Geoff doesn’t press because what business is it of his?

=========

Geoff wakes up to the smell of cooking bacon and when he wanders out to the kitchen sees Li’l J wearing Michael’s shirt and his pants from the night before cooking breakfast.

He looks like death warmed over, and the bacon smell can’t be helping but he seems determined to keep on trucking for whatever reason.

“Good morning,” Geoff says, keeping his voice down because the poor kid looks like his head’s killing him.

Li’l J looks at him, and opens his mouth to say something when his face goes green and he mumbles an apology before rushing for the nearest bathroom.

Geoff gets up to save the bacon and while he’s getting eggs out of the fridge Li’l J comes back in.

“Uh,” he says. “So that could have gone better, I guess.”

Geoff shoots him a look and the poor kid blushes, what the fuck.

“Nah,”Geoff says, grinning a little, because he’s not wrong. “You’re doing great.”

He gets a skeptical look for that, because hey, Geoff’s a sarcastic bastard, but whatever.

“There’s aspirin the cabinet over there,” Geoff says, pointing.”If you want any.”

Li’l J hesitates before deciding going over to get the bottle, and Geoff watches him from the corner of his eye as he shakes a couple into his hand and dry swallows them. Pause, and then shake a couple more out before he looks for a glass.

“The one to your right,” Geoff says, and smiles to himself as Li’l J gets a glass and fills it with water, setting both on the table for Michael when he comes out.

“Thanks,” Li’l J says, kind of awkward now that he doesn’t have anything to do since Geoff stole cooking duty from him.

It occurs to Geoff that the kid is nervous as hell, which is fair, he supposes. Geoff’s face is pretty recognizable these days, and waking up to find he stayed the night in Geoff’s place after getting as drunk as he had would be a bit of a surprise to anyone.

“Michael seems pretty insistent you’ve got muscles,” Geoff says, because along with being a sarcastic bastard he’s also a regular old bastard.

“...I mean yeah?” Li’l J says, and then his brain seems to catch up to him because his eyes widen as realization hits. “Oh, fuck. He was telling the truth, you really are looking for more people?”

He looks horrified, glancing down at himself and running a hand through his hair that’s dyed bright green. Like someone who’s just realize they’re underdressed for a job interview and it would be funny as hell if he also didn’t look a little like he might start crying.

Geoff slides a plate of food in front of him and pats him on the shoulder because this fucking kid, okay, what the fuck.

“Relax, Li’l J. We can have the proper job interview some other day.”

Not that there’s an actual process to it, but he’s a little worried the poor kid’s going to lose it if he doesn’t, so.

“Okay,” he says, looking grateful for the reprieve, and runs out of the room to throw up again.

========

“You traumatized him,” Michael says when he finally wakes up and comes into the kitchen. He’s wearing Li’l J’s shirt with this look in his eye daring him to comment, which. Geoff would never. “I don’t know what you did, but you fucking traumatized him.

Li’l J, whose actual name turns out to be Jeremy is off...somewhere. Geoff doesn’t know, and Michael seems unconcerned, so Geoff's going to take his cue from him.

Geoff shrugs and finishes his coffee.

“Is he a good fit?”he asks, and doesn’t realize he isn’t just asking if Jeremy’s right for the crew until the words are out of his mouth.

Michael looks at Geoff like he’s an idiot, fond little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he answers. “I think he is.”

========

They hit a few banks after that. A jewelry store or two. Flashy things that catch people’s attention and draw it away from the real work being done.

Jeremy turns out to be what the crew was missing, a spark of bright energy and sheer chaos that would honestly be a little terrifying in anyone else. (Not that it isn’t in Jeremy, because Jesus Christ, but he’s got a good heart and is so fucking gone on Michael it’s not even funny. Which is good, because Michael’s just as stupid for him.)

Los Santos is in a tizzy and whatever the fuck else while the Fake AH Crew’s hold on the city grows and grows and grows.

Burnie calls him to congratulate him on making back to the top of the most wanted list again and Gus sends him the original copy of his first mugshot as a gift.

Because friendship.

Hullum sends him chocolates, because Hullum.

Joel -

The less said about that, the better.

And then Geoff catches the would-be burglar sneaking around his building in a delivery courier's uniform. The guy’s wearing a trucker cap, fucking mirrored Aviators, and has a bandanna wrapped around his face, and how the hell he ever expected his disguise to work Geoff will never know.

“Really?”

The guy shrugs as he shoves a clipboard at him, and Geoff knows he’s grinning at him.

“Fucking weirdo,” Geoff mutters, but goes along with it and signs his name, accepting the box the idiot hands him as he mimes tipping his hat to Geoff and saunters off like this is in any way normal.

(Spoiler: it fucking isn’t.)

When he’s gone, Geoff looks down at the box he’s holding, because why, and goes inside his apartment.

He puts the box down o his counter and eyes it suspiciously for a long moment because it’s the right size and weight to be a case of diet soda, and considering his would-be burglar is the one who gave it to him…

Yeah.

Shaking his head, Geoff pulls out a knife and opens the box.

(Spoiler number two: it absolutely is a fucking case of diet soda.)

========

Things have been going so well for them that of course it all goes to shit.

Not unexpectedly though, since Geoff knew something like this was coming, he just hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

“So you’re Ramsey,” someone says, snide and far too arrogant for anyone’s good. “You don’t look like much.”

Geoff would roll his eyes at that, but there’s a strip of fabric tied way too goddamned tight over his eyes and what feels like a burlap sack over that.

For the aesthetic, probably. Can’t have a good kidnapping without one.

The speaker steps closer and rips the burlap sack off Geoff’s head, taking a few hairs with it as he does. Before Geoff’s done swearing about that, the blindfold comes off, and Geoff starts wearing again because they've got a fucking floodlight in his face. (Goddamn kidnapping aesthetics.)

The asshole’s laughing at him, all high and mighty because look at the great Geoff Ramsey now, and Geoff tunes him out because he’s heard it all before.

Eventually his eyes adjust, and he gets a good look at his kidnapper.

“Jesus,” Geoff says, “I’m so sorry.”

The guy’s laughter stops abruptly, a scowl coming over him.

“What the fuck - “

“I mean,” Geoff says, talking over him. “Your face. I’ve never seen anyone as ugly as you are. It’s gotta suck.”

Yeah, Geoff’s kind of an idiot because the moment the asshole processes Geoff’s words he goes red in the face with fury and the next thing Geoff knows he’s getting punched in the face again and again and again until everything goes black.

========

Geoff comes to when some dickhead throws a bucket of cold water on him.

“Awake, now?” someone asks while Geoff’s sputtering.

Geoff shakes water out of his eyes and looks up to see the punch-happy asshole from before with a dripping bucket in his hands standing next someone new.

All dressed up in a fancy suit and this look on his face like he despises not being surrounded extravagance. The dirty little warehouse they’ve taken Geoff to so far beneath him it’s sad, really.

Geoff doesn’t recognize him, but assumes he’s the leader of a crew here in Los Santos. Not a major concern for them, or something would have been done about him by now.

It takes a moment for Geoff the realize he’s talking, tuning in to the usual spiel about Geoff and his crew moving in on his territory and what a terrible mistake it is. How the asshole can’t let that stand and Geoff tunes him out again, paying more attention to his surroundings and the henchman setting up what look like traps.

Honest to God traps like something out of a Vinewood movie. Spy or superhero, they’re kind of the same in the end because the villainous monologue Geoff isn’t listening to and the ridiculous deathtraps.

“What the fuck.”

“ - Pardon?”

Geoff shoots Suit a look

“Are you an actual super villain?” he asks, because really.

That seems to throw Suit off-balance because he just stares at Geoff.

“I mean, come on,” Geoff says. “There’s a fucking laser grid? Who does that?”

There is a laser grid, super intricate and no possible way anyone could hope to navigate it without setting off the explosives and whatnot. There are also other, less complicated traps, and all of them designed to kill Geoff and anyone who tries to get him out of here.

“No shark tank though,” Geoff says, and feels a little disappointment about that. “Couldn’t get the permits?”

Suit glances at Ugly, and seems to realize he’s not going to get much help on that front.

“No,” he says. “You understand how bureaucracy is.”

God, does he ever.

“Maybe next time,” Geoff says, and waits for that to sink in -

“There won’t be a next time,” Suit says, literally looking down his nose at Geoff. “I expect you - “

“ - to die?” Geoff finishes, because he’s been hoping for this day his entire fucking life.

Geoff is a petty bastard, absolutely loves the flash of pure, unadulterated rage that flashes across Suit’s face before he locks all away again, nice and neat.

“I see,” Suit says, not seeing a goddamned thing at all. “I believe we’re done here.”

Geoff watches as Suit and Ugly leave, henchmen trailing after them, and laughs himself sick.

========

Geoff’s not worried.

It can’t have been more than a day since they grabbed him, and Jack and his boys will come looking eventually, and between them they're smart enough to figure the stupid traps out.

No, Geoff is annoyed.

His head hurts, and he thinks Ugly knocked some teeth loose. His suit is ruined and the chair they tied him to is uncomfortable as all hell.

Geoff’s thinking about that when he hears footsteps.

At first he thinks it’s Suit and Ugly back to gloat or posture, or maybe Jack and the others.

It’s not though.

Really, really not, because -

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It’s Geoff’s would-be burglar.

He’s wearing normal street clothes.

And a mask.

A goddamned raccoon mask, like the ones that store in Vespucci sells.

The would-be burglar looks around pointedly, and Geoff sighs.

“Look,” he says, not wanting to hurt the guy’s feelings since he took it upon himself to track Geoff down and seems like he plans on getting him out of here, but he doesn’t really have the best track record. “Not that I don’t appreciate it - “

The stupid fucker steps toward the laser grid and Geoff loses his shit, just a little.

“Jesus Christ! Do not - “

Would-be burglar turns his head to look at Geoff and pulls a throwing knife from...somewhere.

Throws it with lazy grace, and – horrified because he’s about to fucking die thanks to this idiot – Geoff watches as it arcs through the air to hit the button release at the end of the laser grid maze.

A second later, the lasers flicker and die.

“...the fuck.”

The would-be burglar chuckles, and Geoff watches in silent (mostly) amazement as he methodically disables the traps one by one, humming some cheerful little tune under his breath the whole time.

After what feels like an eternity, he’s standing in front of Geoff, not a mark on him and both of them miraculously not amazingly dead, and so goddamned pleased with himself.

“No offense,” Geoff says, as his would-be burglar moves to cut him free. “But what the actual fuck?”

He gets another little chuckle as the asshole helps him stand, broad hand braced between his shoulder blade until Geoff’s sure he can move on his own.

Adrenaline, Geoff thinks, when he leans into his would-be burglar’s touch a little too eagerly. That’s all it is.

The guy leads him through the disarmed traps and out of the warehouse where Suit and Ugly and the henchmen are trussed up all pretty like.

Geoff stares at them, and then at the idiot with the cartoonish Raccoon mask.

“What - “

Would-be burglar holds a finger to the lips of his mask, and Geoff stiffens as the sound of sirens reach him.

Another chuckle, and he’s being pulled over to a nearby building and gently prodded up the fire escape until they reach the roof. Follows the idiot to the edge where they watch several cop cars pull up in front of the warehouse, officers spilling out of them to stop short in confusion, because yeah.

Someone must get their shit together because they start bundling everyone int the back of the squad cars and more cops show up to investigate the warehouse.

Geoff snorts. He would have liked to deal with Suit and Ugly himself, but this is more entertaining.

“Pretty impressive,” he says, looking back at the guy, who shrugs, seeming almost bashful at the praise. “You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a job, would you?”

Previous bumbling attempts at burglary aside, his performance today was astounding. And there’s the fact that while his attempts up until now have been laughable, he did get past their security without alerting anyone every time.

Pure luck or actual skill, either way it’s worth a shot.

========

He says no.

Or, okay.

He doesn’t talk so much as shake his head, but Geoff understands all the same.

========

“Geoff, what the fuck.”

Jack’s worry sometimes looks like anger.

And exhaustion, because as it turns out Geoff was missing for three days and they’d been looking for him the whole time. Michael and Jeremy tearing the city apart while Ray put out feelers to his contacts, and Jack -

“Hey, honey,” Geoff says, pulling Jack into a hug because he seems to keep doing this to him. “I’m home.”

========

Geoff sics Lindsay and Trevor and their terrifying little army after what’s left of Suit and Ugly’s people after the cops got done with them, and the Fake AH Crew’s territory gets a little bigger.

Burnie hears about the whole mess and sends him Gavin, like he really thinks that’s going to help.

“Burns, what the hell?”

He likes Gavin, he does.

Burnie’s little protege and a genuinely good kid under all the trouble making bullshit. (Funny as hell and so damned smart, all this potential to him that Geoff’s afraid he’s going to ruin if he keeps him.)

But if Burnie thinks having Gavin around is going to cut down on incidents like Geoff’s recent kidnapping, he’s barking up the wrong tree.

“He asked to go,” Burnie says, like it’s just that simple. “Fucker missed you.”

Well, when he puts it like that.

========

Geoff’s well on his way to winning the stupid bet with Burnie, and it feels goddamned good.

The crew is going strong, Geoff and his idiots putting on a show for Los Santos while Lindsay and Trevor cement their hold on the city, nurture the growing empire that’s taken root.

Ray comes and goes, secure in the knowledge he has a safety net with them if he ever needs it. (He won’t, though, Geoff knows. Kid’s too good, smart about things, to get in trouble like that, but if he ever does, they’re there for him.)

Michael and Jeremy keep circling Gavin who doesn’t seem to notice, and he and Jack look on in amusement because their kids are real fucking dumb.

Lindsay and Trevor throw some kid they found at Geoff and the others. Idiot with a sweet smile and sly sense of humor, and everyone loves him right off the bat.

It helps that Alfredo’s so easy-going, willing to go along with whatever trouble the Lads come up with, which is going to be trouble one day, Geoff just knows it, and looks forward to it because he’s a little fucked in the head.

Jack’s happy here, seems more settled than Geoff’s ever seen him and it finally quashes that last seed of guilt at dragging him halfway across the country thanks to a stupid bet.

Speaking of, suck it, Burns.

========

There’s a knock on Geoff’s door.

Not unheard of, but Jack and the others tend to let themselves in, and he’s not expecting any deliveries.

Probably not someone looking to kidnap him, because those people don’t bother with social niceties like knocking, so.

Geoff opens the door.

“Hey.”

It’s Ryan.

He has a case of diet soda in his hand and a sheepish look on his face and Geoff is having a fucking aneurysm, because there’s a raccoon mask in his other hand.

Geoff swears he hears a record scratch as his world tips slightly on its side, pieces falling into place.

“Oh my God,” Geoff says, and the temptation to shoot Ryan in his stupid, perfect face is nearly overwhelming. “Oh my fucking God.”

Ryan winces, eyes darting to where he has to know Geoff’s gun is and back to Geoff’s face.

“I can explain?” he says, small and uncertain.

The worst part is that Ryan sounding like that (all wrong) yanks so fucking hard at Geoff’s heartstrings that for a moment he honestly think he’s having a heart attack on top of the aneurysm.

“Geoff?”

“Get inside, idiot,” he says, scowl softening at the relieved look on Ryan face.

========

Ryan talks.

And talks and talks, and Geoff lets him, only interrupting him once or twice in the process.

“Murder break.”

Ryan nods, like this is a thing normal people do. Take breaks from killing people because they do too much of that.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

And then, to explain why he needed to take a ‘murder break’, Ryan pulls another mask out.

It’s a black skull.

Geoff recognizes it, because it belongs to one of the assholes he and Jack considered recruiting for the crew way back when. Everyone they talked to about the Vagabond said that no one had heard about him for a while. Figured he’d finally gone and gotten himself killed, or managed to retire from the business, and they’d set aside their disappointment and looked at other prospects.

“Wait, what?”

Ryan shrugs, suddenly unable to make eye contact.

“It’s. Yeah.” Ryan coughs to clear his throat. “That’s. I’m him.”

So eloquent.

Also, yeah, Geoff kind of figured that, context clues being what they are and all.

“Hand me a diet soda,” Geoff says, and watches as Ryan opens the case and pulls a can out for him.

Geoff thanks him and takes a thoughtful sip while Ryan fidgets, waiting to see what Geoff’s going to have to say about things. (Expecting the worst, from the way he’s holding himself, and it’s breaking Geoff’s heart.)

“So this,” he says, waves a hand at the dumb raccoon mask sitting beside the Vagabond’s. “What was this?”

Ryan shrugs, watching Geoff from the corner of his eye.

“I heard about you and Jack,” he says, hands making this aborted gesture before he folds them up in his lap. “I heard about you two coming to Los Santos, and I got worried.”

Two Roosters coming to Los Santos out of the blue the way they did, and one of them being a Founder? Yeah, Geoff can see that.

“About?”

Ryan turns his head to look at him, frowning a little like he doesn’t know where Geoff’s going with this. What he hopes to get from it.

“People like you come to Los Santos all the time,” he says, twist to his mouth. “Most of them make things worse. I didn’t know what you had planned, so I decided to find out for myself.”

That. Okay, that almost makes sense.

“You tried to break into my car.”

From what Geoff knows about the Vagabond, he doesn't just try.

“Murder break,” Ryan says, and shrugs helplessly.

Putting aside the fact that Ryan could have looked into things as the Vagabond without killing anyone, sure, why not.

“You really take those seriously, don’t you.”

Another little shrug.

“After a while I realized you weren’t here to start trouble,” Ryan says. “So it kind of turned into a hobby?”

What.

“What?”

Ryan laughs, a surprisingly dorky sound, and rubs the back of his neck.

“I mean,” he says. “There’s not a lot for me to do on one of my murder breaks, and it was just. Fun.”

Fun.

It was fun.

Acting like the world’s most inept burglar was fun.

Fucking hell.

“So why tell me now?”Geoff asks, not that he doesn’t appreciate it, but why?

And oh, wow. If Geoff thought Ryan was nervous before, was he ever wrong.

Ryan’s blushing.

The fuck.

“You, uh,” Ryan mumbles. “You never called.”

Geoff has to take a moment to process that, really think about it.

“To be fair,” he starts, perfectly aware of how fucking bizarre all of this is. “I thought you were a civilian at the time. I didn’t want to get you involved in this life.”

And Ryan had been spying on him, but maybe it hadn’t been some kind of ploy on his part to get closer? Maybe he had given his number to Geoff in the hope he’d actually use it? (God knows Ryan’s everything since Geoff opened his door to see him standing there backs that theory up.)

“Um.”

Holy shit.

Geoff gets up, ignoring the way he can feel Ryan’s eyes on him as he crosses the room to get his phone. Picks it up and turns around to very deliberately make eye contact with the moron as he unlocks it and brings his contacts up.

“What - “

“Shut the fuck up,” Geoff says, and scrolls until he gets to DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES CALL. THIS MEANS YOU, ME.

Geoff never called Ryan, it’s true, but he couldn't bring himself to just throw his number away either. Ryan’s still watching him, and Geoff hits send.

Ryan startles when his phone starts ringing, eyes widening when he looks back up at Geoff.

“You should probably get that,” Geoff says, feeling stupid giddy because they’re so ridiculous. “It might be important.”

========

The looks on everyone’s faces when Geoff strolls into the briefing for their next heist with the Vagabond behind him is goddamned priceless.

Aces Up Every Sleeve

#ramwood #jeremichael #ragehappy #vagrant fic #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#Heart Like an Anchor

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thatsmybluefondue · 6 years

Text

4. Squirrel Pancake for Dinner

I felt bad for hitchhikers, which meant I felt bad for myself.

I had been traveling for two days, only sleeping for a few hours at a time on the side of the long, unending road, and was exhausted. Bones creaked and muscles ached; my arms swung limp by my sides, and the most my legs could do was drag my feet over the dirt. Running may have been a good form of exercise, but too much without rest was, well, bad.

Ever since I had seen my first car at early morning light, a rumbly sunshine yellow truck, my hopes had been lifted that civilization was near. So when I saw that truck, what did I do? I raised my thumb and waited, of course. But then the truck had roared on passed me, leaving my dumb thumb in the air and my jaw dropped to the ground. I had mumbled—okay, maybe shouted quite loudly—some ear-burning profanities about the truck, the driver, and the driver’s dog when that happened, but then I continued on, fuming and muttering (yelling) some more curses.

A few hours later, another car had come along the dirt path. It was so old I couldn’t tell what type of car it was, but I didn’t really mind because it was going slow and surely would stop to pick up a poor, dirty, weak teenage boy. Right? Wrong. I lifted my straight thumb, wishing I had gotten the genes for the hitchhikers’ thumb from my mom, high up in the air; reaching out, I nearly stumbled into the road to make sure I got the driver’s attention. Then the car was right beside me, decelerating; the driver, a middle-aged, red-haired man with a scraggly beard, was staring at me and my raised thumb. And then the guy zoomed off as fast as his puttering vehicle would allow.

I cursed some more. Did I look like a serial killer or something? Come on! “Idiot,” I spat, trudging on. “They’re all idiots!”

Later, probably around three or so in the afternoon, another car came rolling by. I had recently come upon some thick trees (because this road was nothing if unconventional, it seemed) that surrounded the lone road, so I was hidden—which wasn’t a good thing. Until the shiny new convertible was right next to me, I hadn’t realized it was there, and by then it was too late. It zoomed off, and I was once again enforced to use my rapidly weakening muscles.

I didn’t even have the willpower to shout obscenities at the convertible and all its travelers. Maybe I should have, though, because the hood was down. But then again, the wind could be louder than a thunderous storm. (At least that was my excuse, and not the fact that I may or may not have pouted for a full minute before realizing I could call for help.)

At the moment, the evening sky was turning dark as the sun sank below the horizon. I hadn’t spotted, heard, smelled, sensed, or even felt the vibrations of a car since the convertible, and the hope that had been building inside of me when I saw the old sunshine truck was diminishing. No towns were around for miles in any direction, which was something I had not anticipated; not even a gas station was within the next hour of walking. It was all very odd, but not the strangest thing I had ever experienced.

Sore, I promptly dropped down in the dry, crunchy grass. “Oh well,” I whispered to myself. “A few hours of sleep couldn’t hurt. Never did hurt anybody, did it?” Chuckling at myself like the delusional person I was, I snuggled in the grass, thankful it didn’t have a wet hay smell. “Sweet, sweet sleep, come to me,” I croaked, feeling my eyelids sink like the sun.

Just when my body had relaxed, something dropped on my head. It didn’t hurt, but it definitely was not a leaf that had fallen. Annoyed, I peeked through half-lidded eyes and saw a brown object right in front of me. Crossing my eyes to focus on it, I concluded that it was an acorn. How an acorn had fallen on me, I had no idea, since before I swore the trees weren’t oak trees, but I was tired and the it had kept me from getting my beauty sleep.

Using the last of my arm strength to keep me propped up, I groaned, glaring at the stupid acorn. Then I flicked it, watching it skitter off into the dirt road. Why there was still a dirt road and not a paved one was also unknown to me, but the dust scattered from the acorn puffed up before being swirled around by the wind to my nose. “A-CHOO!” I sneezed and was propelled backward by the force. “Stupid acorn,” I muttered to myself.

Then a squeaking squirrel leapt down from a tree and dashed to the acorn, and I couldn’t believe my luck. Was I ever going to get some decent sleep? I groaned again and lay down on my stomach, but kept my eyes trained on the squirrel, which was now gnawing at the acorn. The squirrel ate, eyeing me warily; I watched. Slowly, silence filled my ears, and my eyelids began to droop.

And then a car came zooming by, running over the squirrel and passing me by in the process. I shot up to my feet, screaming in frustration. “Oh, come on!” I yelled in exasperation, throwing my hands up in the air incredulously. “Come back, idiot! Come back here!” When the only thing that happened was the car’s tail lights flickering—for no reason at all, considering no one else was around—I stomped into the road, in the middle of a dust cloud, next to the deceased squirrel. “At least come back for the squirrel you just ran over!”

Nothing. The car’s lights disappeared, and I was left in the dark with only the moon, stars, and a dead squirrel and its half-eaten meal.

Did drivers not notice teenage boys sleeping on the sides of roads? What about the squirrels that they mercilessly run over? What about the kid on the side of the road?

I screamed, yanking at my hair, probably looking like a madman. But I didn’t care—I was sore and hungry and thirsty and tired of everything. I just wanted a break, and was a ride in some random person’s car too much to ask for? I didn’t think it was.

Anger built up inside of me, burning a hole in my chest, turning my vision red, ringing in my ears. I needed something to hit. Or something to kick. Whirling around, I searched for the squashed squirrel, planning on taking my anger out on it. I know—you’re gonna kick a bloody squirrel? Gross!—but I was furious with the world and getting my shoes all bloody seemed like a small price to pay for ridding myself of the swirling emotions inside of me. Only, when I turned around, there was something… wrong with the squirrel, and it wasn’t the fact that it was a squirrel pancake.

The squirrel’s body was disappearing, like it was a piece of cloth and a thread was being pulled on it, making it thinner and thinner until it was gone. I watched as the white string snaked out, floating off into the forest of trees beside me. I watched as, little by little, the squirrel dissolved into that shimmering white strand of Life that flew by and vanished into the darkness.

My body tensed. Something taking away Life? That sounded too familiar to me.

Gathering my supplies into my backpack, I readied my weary body for the sprint of a lifetime. There was no way I was going to be caught because I was too tired. Nope. I would run ’til the end of time; I didn’t know why I would, but I knew I would. Maybe it was self-preservation. On an extreme scale.

There was the thump of a mighty stomp, then a sinister chuckle. I shivered, because this was not the Death I had grown accustomed to; this was the Death that had taken Charles, the one before I went and ditched it. What happened? I asked myself. Why the sudden change?

I didn’t have time to answer my own questions, because right before me was Death. “Hello, my boy.” It stepped out of the darkness, even though it was darker than night itself. The shadows that made up its body swirled violently, like they were waiting to reach out and grab me.

I gulped in return, keeping my gaze downcast. Through the darkness, I could barely make out Death’s outline, but I could and that was enough. It was thinner, leaner—the same way I saw it the first time I came face-to-face with Death. This was not the muscled Death I was used to, but something told me Death #2 wasn’t gone for good. I’d see it again.

If only I could see Death’s face, see if its eyes were as insane looking as it had acted… Don’t look into its eyes, I told myself. Think of the cat.

“A bit quiet tonight, are you? Hm?” Death shifted, stepped closer to me; I couldn’t force myself to step back, to run away because my Life depended on it.

I nodded mutely, gingerly clenching my fingers. Move! Run! I shouted internally, frantic; I stayed rooted to the spot.

Death gracefully—yes, gracefully; I know, mind blowing—stepped around me, and I felt its eyes burning into me like murderous lasers. “You have made me very, very mad the past year. Did you know that?” It didn’t wait for me to answer. “And I don’t like that, not one bit,” whispered Death. “So, to end my days of anger, I must end you.”

Then Death roared—a sound so deafening it echoed off of nothing. It threw its head back, body convulsing and growing. Teeth elongated, pointing out of its pitch black mouth like they were daggers made of obsidian. Its nails grew into claws, nearly as sharp as its teeth. A ripping sound rang through my ears as Death swelled one last time.

Finally, I stumbled back, but I couldn’t look away from the horrifying image before me. This was the Death that had killed thousands of people, and even some innocent barn animals, the one that had gone insane. This was the Death that had been chasing me for a year—since last February—all over the freaking country and then some.

And the only thing I could think of? Well, there’s Death #2.

It was a good thing my body didn’t need my brain to start running. Adrenaline raced through me, pounding and surging like waves on a beach. My heart rate accelerated, as if my blood-pumping buddy was trying to explode from my chest. The air I sucked into my lungs was cold and harsh, drying the back of my throat and filling my lungs so much it hurt. But all pains vanished as my thoughts focused on one thing and one thing only—run.

I had to run. Run and run and run. Nothing else. Death could not be stopped, and I couldn’t hide because no one could hide from Death. So I had to run.

I ran, not paying attention to the way my bones creaked or how my backpack thumped on my back or that the footsteps behind me were not receding. I just ran. I didn’t look back, only forward. I didn’t check my pulse to make sure my heart didn’t suddenly give out. I didn’t make sure I was getting enough oxygen to sustain my muscles. Nothing else mattered, because nothing else could save me but running, nothing except—

I almost stumbled from the sudden realization. Had I not talked to Life the other day? Had Life not saved my life a year ago? But then I remembered that Life was a bit… out there. The conversation we had had didn’t exactly cheer me up; more like it freaked me out to astronomical levels. A good scaring was better than a torturous death, though, right?

I mentally clasped my hands together in prayer. Okay, Life, please do me a favor and save my butt. That was all I could think of, because I was still mainly focused on running. All I could hope was that Life would get over the bluntness of it all and save me.

But nothing happened. I was on my own.

I ran on—for minutes, hours, I would never know. It became me, my pounding feet, my pumping arms, my sharp intakes of breath, the mantra of run in my head, and the lumbering shadows close behind me.

Somehow, the first four had to save me.

Too bad it didn’t seem likely.

Death sped up—or maybe I slowed down—and suddenly it was hovering over my back, looming threateningly close, nearly stepping on the backs of my heels. “Got you,” it said.

At the edge of my vision, I saw a dark, clawed hand reach out for me, and I swerved to the right to escape. The claws clicked together, empty. I tried to speed up, to lose Death, but to no avail; Death merely made a few larger steps and—ta da! We were back to square one, where Death was reaching out for me and I was too physically exhausted to do anything but delay my imminent doom.

I ducked, diving to the left. Death roared in anger as it missed again, sending chills up my spine. Death really wanted me dead. Couldn’t imagine why. “Stay still!” it said, making for another swipe.

I barely had enough energy left to breathe, much less send a snarky comment back to Death, but I hoped that it could see how much I hated it in my eyes—because, really? Could a guy not catch a break? I stumbled to the side at the last second, feeling Death’s hands whoosh by my ear.

Either Death had really bad aim or it was messing with me—I couldn’t figure out which one it was. Both were disturbing.

Running along, bumbling like an idiot as I escaped Death’s many erratic attempts, I noticed the first signs of the rising sun in the distance. How long had I been running? Or, better yet, how long did I have left? I couldn’t keep this up much longer. With each passing second, I grew weaker while Death only grew more determined.

As if to prove my thoughts, there was a tight squeeze around my neck as Death wrapped its shadowy fingers around it. “Now I have you,” it crowed.

My hands shot up immediately, trying in vain to yank the hand away so that I could breathe. “Let go!” I wanted to scream, but nothing came out; the vise-like grip was too strong. There was a chuckle, an evil—sinister, malicious, heinous, malevolent, nefarious, and any other word that is a synonym to evil—thing that sent all of the hairs on the back of my neck on end. And then I was being dragged closer to Death, my feet bumping on the dirt road.

I thrashed wildly, dug my half-bitten nails into Death’s hand, let out an inaudible scream. Nothing worked. Actually, it seemed as if I was being pulled even harsher the more I fought. I was flipped around, my limbs flailing, to face Death. My eyes met Death’s chest, but as I rose higher and higher, held up by my neck and one armpit, I was slowly met by other sights. Its neck. Its chin. Its cruelly smiling lips. Its nose.

I forced my eyes shut as I was lifted higher—I did not need to meet Death’s eyes. Being turned into ash was not my favorite pastime, thank you very much. Really, though, I didn’t think it would’ve mattered—my vision was blurring, black spots dancing before my eyes.

My eyes shut tightly, I felt my feet stop touching the ground, and without seeing I knew I was face-to-face with Death. Looking into Death’s eyes was not an option; never was, never would be. Just from the sight of the fat tabby cat I would’ve hated turning into ash that was sucked up by Death, and add to that the burning image of Charles— I forced myself to stop there, because Charles was a touchy subject, and every time I remembered him I thought of how I should have been able to do something instead of turn into some sort of ghost the closer I got to Death.

(This, ladies and gentlemen, is when a cartoon light bulb blinks above a character’s head.)

Before my brain shut down from lack of oxygen, I swung my right arm, mostly using momentum to get it to Death’s body. The blow was weak, but it left my arm inside of Death’s stomach, a trembling, gaseous limb trapped in shadows. I lurched my left shoulder forward, forcing my arm into an arch that hit Death’s collarbone; my body shook some more, and then I felt my arm slice into the shadowy figure.

Death stumbled, confused. It made this growling noise from deep in its throat, but it didn’t sound defensive or even wary; simply bewildered. This was not exactly the desired response, but I figured if I played my cards right, I would get the same results. I ripped my arms out and hit it again, adding my feet into the beating. With each movement of my muscles, I felt my chest constrict, searching for the nonexistent air in my lungs. Still, I kept swinging, kicking, squirming like I wasn’t about to die from something other than being swallowed as ash by Death.

Then, maybe my luck decided to become good for once—well, as good as it could get in a life or death situation—and I smacked Death’s face. It growled and stumbled back, grip loosening. I hacked and coughed and bile rose up my throat, but then I sucked in the little bit of air I was allowed and kicked at its shin. Again, the death grip (no pun intended) loosened. Blow after blow came flying by, stronger each time, and the claws clasped around my windpipe weakened. My body shook like I was a wind-up toy, teeth chattering, as I became ghostly; if I could see, I would probably be transparent and gray.

I lifted my knee and blindly aimed my foot at Death’s chest; then I kicked, my foot sinking into its skin like it was made of Jell-O. My whole body shuddered, as if electricity was sparking through me, and my neck slipped from Death’s hand. Landing on my back, sending dirt and dust up in a mushroom of puff around me, I felt my chest tighten, trying to push the air out of my lungs, but there was none. And then, after a moment of shock, a moment I could have been using to help myself, I breathed.

I didn’t think I had ever been this happy for air in my entire life.

My face flushed as my blood rushed to my brain and then to the rest of my body. My head, before woozy, suddenly focused; my muscles could move and flex. Every breath dried the back of my throat, cold and filled with grit because I was choking on my breaths, but none of that mattered because I was breathing. Did I mention breathing felt good—amazing, actually? It did. It really did. I opened my eyes, feeling the black dots disperse. I probably would have smiled, no matter how sore I was, but then I saw Death’s feet by my face and reality sank in.

I just got to breathe and now I was about to die. My luck sucked.

I rolled to my side, ready to scramble to my feet and run like hell was nipping at my heels, but then Death leaned forward, claws extended. Flipping onto my back again, I felt the sharp knives slice past my ear. Run, idiot! I thought, trying to get my feet beneath me, and that was when I realized my foot was still stuck in Death’s chest.

Cue flurry of cuss words, although I didn’t think any would express how desperate I was.

Feeling crazed, I kicked with my leg, pulled, moved side to side. Nothing. Wrapping my hands around my thigh, I yanked. Nothing. My leg was stuck, super-glued to the inside of Death’s chest, exactly where the heart would normally be. I crawled backwards with my hands and left leg, often stopping and ducking to avoid the many attacks Death aimed at me.

But it was all in vain, because I was trapped in Death, my body shimmering and pulling apart at the seams.

As if to prove my point, that horrible sucking sound began, low at first, but slowly growing louder. My hair whipped around my face, strands floating up in the air. My body convulsed, starting at the tip of my head and traveling straight down, splitting my body in half. I watched helplessly as my fingertips began disappearing, dissolving into threads of white dust that snaked their way into the black hole circling above me.

Then Death’s hand came flying down, claws gleaming wickedly, the path perfect and true. The goal: my heart. It was inches away—maybe centimeters—and I watched, petrified, as it came closer and closer… closer… closer…

Something colder than dry ice, burning like the brightest of stars, slashed through my shirt, punctured my skin.

And then a rock came flying, rocketing by like a bullet, nailing Death’s hand and pushing it away from me.

#my writing #my story #excerpt from a book i've already written #Sterling Blue #noromance #life #death #zombie #zombie apocalypse #apocalypse

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daehwifi · 6 years

Text

MOTOR BOY . | KIM YONGGUK

- admin xion

genre: fluff member: kim yongguk word count: 2, 054 requested: no side notes: for the birthday boy, yongguk <3 // happy 7 months with daehwifi !! it’s been a long journey (”:

prompt: “hop on, it’s not like you’re willing to walk home even if you hate me or love me,” — kim yongguk

where your friend from your old school still insist on driving you home with his motorbike everyday.

“who’s that boy with the motorbike outside of school?”

“he seems pretty cute,”

“too cute, actually,”

“i heard he comes here quite often, don’t see who he picks up though,”

you walked over to the window to look at the schools entrance

there stood a slender boy, with one hand shoved inside his denim jeans while the over was holding the helmet that matched his motorcycle

he was on his phone, waiting for someone to come

“whoever he’s waiting for much be really lucky,”

taking his eyes off his screen, he glanced around the school and through the windows until his eyes locked with yours

a small smile crept up your face as yongguk dangled his keys, waiting for you to come down

grabbing your bag, you ran down the stairs until you go to the first floor, quickly leaving the school and approaching him

“someone’s eager to see me,” he teased catching your backpack you threw at him

“pfftt, you haven’t drove me home in 3 weeks due to your stupid out of town trip,” you muttered

yongguk opened the tail box, and shoved your bag inside (in which only consisted of a pencil case and a small flexible agenda)

“miss me that much?” he provoked, raising an eyebrow before slapping the helmet on top of your head

“never,” you taunt

you buckled on the helmet before hopping on his motorbike

right after yongguk got on as well, you wrapped your arms around his waist and laid your cheek against his back whilst yongguk started up the engine

“someone’s comfy,” you heard him mumble softly making you smile a bit

“do you not want me to hold on then?”

“who said i said that?” he responded before beginning to drive

yongguk is your best friend from your old school

unfortunately, you had to transfer due to your family not liking the community your old school was in

yongguk was your ride home every single day because you grew lazy after the long school day

even when you changed schools, yongguk was still your ride home

the two of you got along in almost an instant simply by being in the same class with one another

he couldn’t give you a ride home for three weeks since he went on a school trip to jeju

at first, yongguk got really flustered to you wrapping your arms around his waist and his ears would get all red

(and lowkey you found it to be the most cutest thing in the universe)

you were just as flustered as him as well

when the two of you came to a red light, yongguk stopped and placed his feet down to the side as you did the same

yongguk usually never put on a helmet for two reasons (one of the reasons he prioritizes more)

one (being the most important) was that he didn’t want you to get hurt or claimed you were personality was too much like a princesses, so he’d fill the role of being a guard

secondly, it’s messes up his hair a lot

yongguk would always loosely play with his hair after taking off the helmet (in which he hated doing) but you’d fall for him even more watching him do so

“you just had to make an entrance to my school,” you began

over the loud engine running, you could hear a faint chuckle

yongguk turned his head to the side and cheekily smiled

“jealous?”

“eyes on the road idiot,” you scoffed, taking your arms off his waist to adjust his head onto the road then instantly wrapping them again

it wasn’t a long drive until you reached your house (you were just that lazy to walk home every 5 days)

he turned off the engine, you got off taking the helmet off as well simultaneously yongguk getting your bag out of the tail box

“so what about me making an entrance to your school?” he asked proudly

“shut up, everyone just loves looking at you when you come to pick me up with your motorbike and all,” you found yourself trailing off your sentence a bit

though yongguk didn’t wear a helmet, he still messed up his hair a bit in attempts to fix it due to the find out of natural habit

“awh your cheeks are red” he avowed, leaning against the motorbike

“NO THEY’RE NOT” you roared almost instantly as yongguk burst out into laughter

“also, i’m going to a party on friday, so you don’t have to pick me up after school that day,” you mumbled, swinging your bag over your shoulder

the party was a day away (making ‘today’ being wednesday) and you could already feel yourself being excited

“oh? i leave for three weeks and y/n becomes a party girl?” yongguk theorized, raising an eyebrow

“it’s one party yongguk,” you chided whilst yongguk started up the engine once again, hopping on

“alright, alright. i’ll see you tomorrow,” he spoke kicking up the kickstand

waving a faint bye, he drove off leaving you there in front of your house

the next day came

the chatter about the ‘motor boy’ were a bit more louder than before

compliments of yongguk flew left and right about his looks from head to toe

some girls even had the audacity to approach him, making small chatter

though on the outside, you seemed perfectly fine about it but there was a hint of jealousy inside of you

he smiled from ear to ear and would even rub the back of his neck from time to time

though you agreed with all the compliments, you couldn’t help but feel that inch of jealousy fume inside you

once the group of girls drifted off, you finally approached him clinging onto the strap of your bag

“mr. popular,” you mumbled before hopping on

you didn’t bother to place your bag inside the tail box since your mind was slowly becoming a mess with two concerns

1. everyone talking to yongguk and the way he smiles with them

2. the party that’s tomorrow

“someone’s jealous,” he commented before placing the helmet on your head once again like a child that needs assistance with that type of stuff

“okay fine then, maybe i’ll start getting rides from a different guy,” you mentioned whilst rolling your eyes

“you’re that jealous,” you heard him faintly say

you scoffed a bit and endured the long quiet ride

it was like he was practically boasting about himself

it’s not jealousy, right?

you grip around his waist became loose without you even realizing it

there was a sour feeling inside of you that made you wince

once reaching to your home, you forcefully (and quickly) got out, taking off your helmet

you went to the front of your door with a bitter feeling inside of you

“don’t pick me up tomorrow,” you demanded loud enough so that he’d heard before slamming the door behind you

talking away, you already received many compliments on your outfit tonight

you completely forgot about the bitterness you felt towards yongguk and just enjoyed yourself for the night

(you can imagine what you wore lolol)

despite there was alcohol as a beverage option, you attempted to avoid that idea before anything serious happens

“y/n! are you dating that guy who picks you up all the time?” a random question from a random girl you barely knew the name of asked

she smelt like alcohol and it was obvious she was drunk

her makeup was smeared, her dresses was too tight and high, but you didn’t bother really making a comment on it

her question sunk to your head until it finally processed through your mind that you should give an answer in return

“ah- wait what?” you blurt

“that motorcycle boy? you know? the one that’s really hot and cute at the same time and always wears jeans?” she exclaims, waving her drink around in the air freely

“oh no, yongguk and i aren’t dating,” you trailed off your sentence a bit, feeling a bit awkward

she flailed her arms up into the air yelling a “yay” before running off

you attempted to shake off that question and your slight bitterness at him the other day

it wasn’t anything serious, so you shouldn’t take it seriously

but you did

you found more questions about yongguk were being thrown you way

they all varied from ‘how old is he?’ to ‘is he single?’

sometimes you’d even hear rumors such as ‘he’s too attractive to be with her’ but then again it could just be your mind speaking for itself

the night went on and you were ready to go home

you lazily found yourself downing cups on alcohol and texting random people random things

not noticing what you were doing at all, you were confirmed drunk and ready to jump into a pool fully clothed

whenever someone would come near you just to simply say hi, you’d yell “STRANGER DANGER” and scare them off (as they’d laugh)

sitting on the front porch, you sighed taking another sip from your cup

there was only a tiny bit of alcohol left until you were left with nothing

there was a bright light shinning in your eyes for a bit, making you squint

the light turned soon turned off and you could hear keys jingling a bit

“god you’re drunk,” you heard a familiar voice say over the loud music

looking up, you managed to point out that it was yongguk through your blurry vision

bitterly, you threw the empty cup at him

“EW IT’S YOU” you blurt without thinking twice

yongguk rolled his eyes and chuckled

“YOU SHOULD BE THE ONE PARTYING HERE! EVERYONE KEEPS TALKING ABOUT YOU!” you added pointing to the house

you got up and dusted yourself off, attempting to barge past yongguk when suddenly he takes your wrist and begins dragging you towards his motorbike

“alright i’m taking you home,” he mumbled softly

“LET ME GO YONGGGGGGGGGUk” you extended the g, allowing the alcohol to get to your head

he forced you onto the bike, making you sit with your legs dangling from the side and placed the helmet over your head before hopping on

starting up the engine, he kicked the kick stand

“YONGGUK YOU’RE NOT TAKING ME HOME!” you declared, getting off the bike with your wobbly legs

“hop on, it’s not like you’re willing to walk home even if you hate me or love me,” you heard him bluntly say

though you were staring at his side view, even drunk you knew he was being serious about it

his cold voice sent goosebumps through your skin

you got on, being a bit sober

despite you were mad at him for your OWN jealousy, you still wrapped your arms around his waist and laid your chin against his shoulder

“i’msorry,” you apologized softly, becoming a bit drowsy

“for being jealous?” yongguk ask, almost chuckling a bit

you nod in return

“i’m mad that you’re attractive,” you scoffed faintly

“o h?”

“i don’t like that the fact everyone asks me questions about you and whenever they ask me if we’re dating i’m forced to say no,” you confessed with your ears becoming red

suddenly, you flailed your arms up into the air and smiled like a maniac

“SCREW YOU FOR BEING ATTRACTIVE KIM YONGGUK!” you chanted loudly to the sky

yongguk chuckled and rolled his eyes, beginning to drive out of the nowhere

you jumped a bit from the suddenly movement you weren’t expecting and squealed the tiniest bit, grabbing onto yongguk’s waist instantly

once the two of you reached home (thus including you chanting weird random things connected to yongguk), you hopped off and struggled taking off the helmet

your hands fidgeted with the buckle of it

yongguk notices as he assist you taking it off

“make sure you go through the door safely,” he teased, messing up your hair

“dammit you and your goddamn motorbike gives you bonus points for being more attractive too,” you complained, lightly kicking his motorbike

“and who said you weren’t attractive?” he asked cheekily

“wha-” yongguk holds the sides of your heads and softly plants a kiss on the top of your forehead with a smile across his face

“let’s hope you remember that when you’re sober,” he adds

#kim yongguk #lim longguo #yongguk #yongguk kim #longguo #longguo lim #jbj #jbj scenarios #jbj imagines #jbj longguo #jbj yongguk #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios

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