#especially since leaving red bull i think he's worked really hard to be so good in media and even on the team radio | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilovejevsjeans · 3 years

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How Olympian race engineer Tom Stallard helped coach Daniel Ricciardo to Monza victory

Daniel Ricciardo and the ever-improving McLaren team were seen as a match made in Heaven ahead of the start of the 2021 season. But while it all came good at the Italian Grand Prix, Ricciardo’s win at Monza was a product of hours and hours of unseen work, and some confidence-shaking moments along the way. F1 Staff Writer Greg Stuart sat down with Tom Stallard, the man who’s race engineered Ricciardo throughout 2021, to trace the arc of that breakthrough Monza win.

You could make a strong case that Lap 52 of the Monaco Grand Prix marked the nadir in Daniel Ricciardo’s first season with McLaren. As the Australian exited Sainte Devote and accelerated up the hill, he dutifully jinked left to allow team mate Lando Norris to lap him, Norris acknowledging the gesture with a wave from his cockpit. Norris would go on to finish third. Ricciardo, who’d brilliantly won in Monaco just three years earlier for Red Bull, finished out of the points in 12th.

That was May – and yet just four months later, Ricciardo had taken McLaren back to the winner’s circle for the first time since 2012, capping off a superb Italian Grand Prix weekend with an emotional victory at Monza, and leading Norris home in a McLaren one-two.

How did that happen? Ricciardo’s race engineer Tom Stallard has been the man F1 fans have heard soothing and chivvying Ricciardo over team radio this year, a year in which success has been harder to come by than many had anticipated – and he was naturally delighted when Ricciardo combined all his learnings to take the assured win in Monza, his first victory since that 2018 Monaco triumph.

“I was super proud,” Stallard tells me as we chat in the paddock in Sochi, “because we've worked really hard this year to be honest, and it was nice to see him executing everything that we'd talked about and worked on.

“Obviously he did a fantastic job, but he actually did the job that we'd been talking about and working on together. He's a top driver, obviously, joined our team as a top driver, but we’ve actually had to work at it quite hard and in Monza, he really executed that.”

Why didn’t Ricciardo and McLaren gel immediately? Ricciardo’s stellar second half of 2020 with Renault – during which he took two podiums and finished every race in the points – combined with McLaren’s sharp upward trajectory and the arrival of Mercedes power units at the team for 2021, meant that many earmarked the Ricciardo/McLaren combination as a potential surprise package this season.

But despite claiming points in his first four races for the team – including convincingly leading Norris home in Barcelona – right from the off, Stallard says, there were issues.

“I think the Bahrain race [where Ricciardo finished P7 to Norris’ P4 on his McLaren debut] he did quite well, but that was with a lot of time in the car in the [Bahrain] test – I mean, not a lot of time but a bit of time at the test, and a circuit that suits him well,” says Stallard.

“And then at Imola [where Ricciardo finished P6 as Norris claimed a podium in P3] we kind of exposed the problems, if you like, that he was having with the car, and we understood the struggle that we would have.”

As you might expect from an engineer of Stallard’s experience (he joined McLaren back in 2008) his first reaction to the situation wasn’t to panic, but to put in place processes to help bring Ricciardo on.

“We put in place a plan of what we needed to do differently and how we needed to react. And since then actually, we've been on an upward trajectory from that point, but you don't always necessarily see that from the outside.

“There have been a number of races where after the race, he's been frustrated and I've been reassuring him that actually we are seeing progress, and we don't have the good results yet but they're coming.”

So what was it about the MCL35M that wasn’t suiting Ricciardo and his driving style?

“Ultimately,” says Stallard, “all the drivers would choose the same thing, which is very good rear stability, and front end that increases as you add steer. That is totally universal, but the truth is that having a car that does that is the Holy Grail of Formula 1 design; every team up and down this paddock is trying to do that, and succeeding to a greater or lesser extent.

“We have a car that understeers and that's been something that he's had to adapt to and modify his natural approach to get the best out of.”

One thing Stallard is at pains to point out is that, for all of Ricciardo’s famously insouciant manner, beneath the gigawatt smile there lurks one of the world’s top racing drivers, with a work ethic to match.

“Obviously Daniel seems like the most laidback guy in the world,” says Stallard, “but behind the scenes, under the water, the duck feet are going quite quickly.

“Because we were in lockdown and he was in Los Angeles [over the winter break], we did most of his initial integration virtually, and during that phase, he learnt all the switches, what all the toys do, how to use the steering wheel.

"We spent a lot of time talking through the strategy with Daren [Stanley], our strategist. And actually all the communication side, all of the switches, all the controls, he had completely down by the time he went to winter testing.

“He's been in the factory loads, doing the simulator, partly working on his driving with that, but also giving feedback to the team about what he wants from the car,” adds Stallard.

“And at no point during the phase where he was getting up to speed with our package did he question that there was any kind of, the team backing the other driver, or the engineers didn't know what they were doing, or the car was set-up wrong. He just knuckled down, got on with the work, and I think that the whole team has a lot of respect for him for that.”

Ricciardo endured an up-and-down run of form leading up to the summer break, the lows including a tough Styrian Grand Prix where he finished 13th to Norris’ fifth and a Hungarian Grand Prix where first lap contact with Charles Leclerc hobbled his McLaren, leaving him 11th at the flag.

But Ricciardo appeared rejuvenated after the summer break, nailing his best qualifying of the year at that point with P4 on the grid in Belgium – while after a race to forget for the whole McLaren team in Zandvoort, Ricciardo then put together what would ultimately be his winning weekend in Monza, qualifying P5 on Friday, racing to P3 in Saturday’s F1 Sprint before claiming that sensational victory in the race.

Indeed, it was Ricciardo’s anger at qualifying P5 on Friday at Monza (and just 0.006s off his team mate) that seemed to indicate that a change had come in the Australian’s expectations of the level he should be performing at – with Stallard noting the key difference in Ricciardo since the summer…

“I think the ‘frustration at being P5’ thing was there all along,” says Stallard. “For me, the difference with the break is that it helped him not overthink it, so he's adapted better to the way you have to drive our car without it being completely conscious every corner, what you need to do.

Daniel's easy to work with, because if you give him a problem to solve, he goes away and works at it, so the work ethic's always been good, which makes life easy,” adds Stallard. “He doesn't defer responsibility away from himself; he takes a lot on the chin, which means some of what I've had to do is keeping him, let's say, up, because he's taken a lot of responsibility for things himself.

“But from my side, that means he's great to work with, and that collaboration is very strong. And when we got to Monza, we both had a lot of confidence in each other, so that made the result in Monza feel very natural.”

Going forward

Ricciardo leading McLaren to their first victory since Jenson Button’s 2012 Brazilian Grand Prix triumph, and their first one-two since the 2010 Canadian Grand Prix, was a fantastic moment for all at McLaren, and one that was warmly welcomed by most in the F1 paddock.

But Stallard was under no illusions during our chat in Sochi that Ricciardo is still on a journey to being fully comfortable in McLaren’s MCL35M car this season – a point Ricciardo would then back up himself a few days later when, despite finishing P4 in the Russian Grand Prix, he admitted that “there is still some stuff missing”.

“In Monza, the circuit and our technical package aligned well,” says Stallard, “and actually last year we came second there, so it's a circuit that suits our car and obviously Daniel did a very good job putting it all together, and the strategy was correct.

“He now understands how to drive the car; I think he's felt that himself rather than it just being explained to him, which means we have made another step. But it's a much more linear process than it appears from the outside.”

What Ricciardo does have in his corner, meanwhile – apart from the work ethic and talent that have made him an eight-time Grand Prix winner – is a race engineer in Stallard who has been an elite athlete himself, forming part of Great Britain’s silver medal-winning men’s eight rowing crew at the 2008 Beijing Olympics.

And Stallard believes that his own experience as an athlete can help get the best out of Ricciardo, who signed to McLaren on a three-year deal that will take him into Formula 1’s bold new era of regulations with the team.

“In this sport, 20 years ago, the race engineers were very much engineers,” says Stallard. “But now we are coaches, and so we're using the data to guide the drivers in how to get the best out of the car.

“So I see myself now as a coach and I have a lot of experience of being coached, whereas a lot of the other race engineers… don't necessarily have the same experience of being coached. And I think that does give me an insight in terms of the struggles that people have when being coached, especially in a sport where on the way up, drivers often aren't coached that much and it gives me a good ability to manage the pressure and stay calm in what would be a pressured situation as well.

“And I also think that on any journey, although I describe it as a linear process, there's still ups and downs, and there'll be events in the future that are more difficult and that we'll have to respond to and react to. It would be naive to think it's plain sailing from here – but I think that it's a good next step.”(X)

#daniel ricciardo #tom stallard #dan #so long but so good #articles

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themoonandotherslikeit · 3 years

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Painted - Chapter One

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Y/N has moved on, her scars are barely noticeable anymore, and she’s finally stable. Or at least she was.

10 years after the worst day of her life, Y/N found herself staring face to face with an unimaginable horror. In the wake of her worst nightmare come to life, she finds herself reunited with the man that saved her all those years ago - Agent Dean Winchester who had left her a decade before broken and wanting.

Dean Winchester has spent the last 10 years trying desperately to forget Y/N and the tragedy that he pulled her out of, but when she called asking for his help he dropped everything to come to her aid as he knew he always would.

Can Y/N and Dean solve the mystery that has resurfaced after all this time? Will they be able to resist the pull between them? Or will this be the final brush strokes on a canvas, sealing their fate for good?

No Beta currently, all mistakes are my own!

Pairing: Dean/Reader

Tags: Dark!Fic, Agent!Dean, Serial Killer Fic, Smut etc.

Chapter One

Everything has a color. To Y/N, violence was red. She pulled back her arm, her fist colliding with the heft of her punching bag with a soft thud . One, two, kick. She liked training alone, it centered her, cleared her mind. She didn’t have to worry about pulling her punches, avoiding the knees when she kicked. The biggest danger was the skin on her knuckles, which were expertly wrapped.

It all started as self defense, a way to ease her mind as she walked back to her Jeep on the dark nights, but it had evolved to something else altogether. She didn’t fight because she was afraid, she fought because she was pissed . She was pissed that she had to learn to defend herself; that other women did. She taught classes so that her community would be safe, so that they’d find less women abandoned in ditches beaten to death.

But when she was alone, it was something else completely. The why of the thing was a mystery most of the time, even to her. People used to ask her if she was afraid she would see him again. She wasn't, not really. But she kept fighting anyway, and she would be lying if his face wasn’t the one she pictured every time her fist collided with the bag.

The beat of her music throbbed in her ears like an angry heartbeat as she went for an uppercut that rattled the bag. She was panting, sweat rolling down her temple. Each hit was a beat of her heart, causing the bag to come alive. With each swing she made, it swung back at her. She was strong, and she wasn’t holding back. One, two, kick.

Her watch chimed to alert her that she hit her workout goal for the day, but she had more fire within her that needed to be extinguished. It was a long workout, even for her, but she had a lot on her mind. If she was thinking about the ache of her knuckles and burning in her biceps, she was less likely to obsess over the things she couldn’t control. So she hit the bag again and again.

The sun was starting to speckle through the blinds on the storefront window, making the sweat on her arms glisten like diamonds. She considered, just for a moment, how the coast would look against the purples and oranges of the sunrise. She could have a coffee and just enjoy the silence. Or she could keep fighting. That answer was easy. She didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty in life. She hadn’t for a long time. All of the colors had lost their brightness, the depth that he used to talk about so frequently. The thing that kept him mixing until it was just right.

She hadn’t thought of him in so long, so when the thought came to her, she didn’t react fast enough to the bag swinging back toward her from her last hit. It collided directly with her face, sending her backwards onto the mat. A loud, painful crack echoed through her skull as her nose collided with the bag. She laid there for a moment, groaning. She tried to sit up, her nose throbbing and her mouth filling with blood from the hit. “Fuck me,” she whispered to no one in particular.

Trauma was black. According to her therapist, there were different types of trauma. Y/N learned that they all could be sorted into one of three main categories: acute trauma that results from a single incident, chronic trauma that is repeated and prolonged such as domestic violence or abuse, and complex trauma which is exposure to varied and multiple traumatic events, often of an invasive, interpersonal nature. More so, there was capital T trauma and what she called little t trauma . Capital T was the big stuff, the stuff that wrecks a person in an irreparable way. Little t was less so. It is possible for a traumatized person to get over a little t trauma.

In Y/N’s life she’d seen her fair share of trauma. Probably more than a thirty-three year old woman should’ve. She’d seen trauma happen to others, happen to herself, and continue to happen in case after case that she worked. She saw trauma that others didn’t. The kind of trauma that couldn’t be seen from the outside. The kind of trauma that a person inflicts upon themselves.

She was always told that trauma healed over time, like a bruise, but for her, trauma was a cut that kept reopening. It was a scab that she couldn’t stop picking at, a bruise that seemed to deepen to a darker purple before it ever yellowed. Her eyes stung from the hit, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

The only way she knew how to heal was to move on, leave the trauma behind. Her therapist told her to imagine herself placing the memories in a box and locking them away. Sometimes, when she was alone, she could hear that box screaming, banging, and begging to be opened. She resisted the urge, especially today.

She forced herself to stand, her head spinning. She leaned against the wall to regain her balance before she walked out to her car, her head tilted back. She could feel the blood roll down the back of her throat since it was unable to escape her nostril. She’d be pissed if she broke her nose, but, from what she could tell, it seemed intact even though it hurt like a bitch.

Her headphones were askew, but still playing her workout mix. She adjusted them and spit some blood from her mouth. She wouldn’t be thwarted by a fall; no, she wouldn’t be taken down so easily. If she fell in the gym and no one was there to witness her humiliation, did she even fall? The answer to that depended on if anyone would notice her bruised nose after the fact. If they didn’t, as far as she was concerned, she had a perfect refreshing work out with no issues whatsoever. Maybe with enough makeup her secret would remain her own.

10 years earlier

The sound of his paintbrush swiping delicately against canvas was soothing to Y/N. She sat on the edge of the bed, atop black satin sheets, resting on her hands, her back arched and her legs spread just right. Her long strawberry hair fell down her shoulders in loose waves onto the sheets.

“Just like that,” Lucifer murmured, a blonde wave falling into his eye. He was focused, his tongue partially out of his mouth, his eyebrows knitted together. She wasn’t able to see the painting from her vantage point, but she knew what it was. It was always the same. I just can’t get you right, he’d complain, his voice laced with pain and disdain. She thought he made her more beautiful than she ever could be on her own.

When she’d met him, he was so focused on his art. He would eat, sleep, and drink his paintings. His clothing was speckled with oil colors, his fingers calloused from gripping paint brushes for hours on end. She found him sexy and mysterious. She was dying to know the man behind such beautiful pieces of art.

It didn’t take long for his obsession to shift from his art directly to her. He doted on her endlessly, showering her in flowers, candy, candlelight dinners. They made love constantly. He couldn’t get enough of her.

“Let me paint you, Y/N,” he’d purr between her legs. “I just want to paint you.” It took her weeks to say yes. She’d always brush him off, blushing and insecure. “You’re exquisite. Please let me paint you.”

She struggled to deny Lucifer’s requests when he asked as his breath tickled the inside of her thigh. It was hard to deny him of anything , if she was being honest. The first time she said yes, he arrived in her bedroom and asked her to drop the floral robe she was wearing. He’d seen her naked dozens of times, but she was still nervous, vulnerable, staring at him. She brought him a bag, insisting that he look inside before she disrobed.

He stared at the bag, confused.

“They’re body paints,” she explained. “I thought you wanted to paint me.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. They made love on the apartment floor, painting designs on each other's skin until she was swollen and wanting, gasping his name into the night.

When she woke up in the early hours of the morning, she found him painting her image onto a canvas laying splayed out, covered in swirls of sex and paint. “Don’t move,” he instructed calmly. She wanted to be angry, but she still felt drunk from being ravished, and his eyes examining her were sensual and slow. She watched his wrist spin and curl, and a chill ran up her spine.

“Lucifer, how much longer? ”

“You’re just so beautiful, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“No,” she murmured, and his eyebrows knitted together.

“We will fix that,” he promised. “You will always be this beautiful.” He was talking to her, she logically knew that, but from her vantage point she could’ve sworn he was speaking to the canvas.

Present

Y/N entered the code to unlock the front gate to her property, leaning half out her car window. Thankfully, her bleeding had stopped, but her upper lip and chin were still crusty with blood. She looked like a mess, if she was being honest, but the only one there to judge her was her chocolate brown pit bull, Castiel, and Y/N figured that Cas wouldn’t care much either way.

The iron gate opened with a groan, sliding to her right. She slid back into her seat and shifted out of park to pull forward down the driveway toward her house. It was modest, nothing too big or magnificent. The outside was grey brick, a two story home with a large green yard and a pool in the back. As she pulled up, she could already see Castiel’s nose pressed against the window, her head through the thick curtains. Y/N smiled, her heart warming at the sight. She wiggled her fingers at Castiel in a small wave.

Castiel greeted her at the door, his tail wagging excitedly. She knelt down to pet his chin only to be met with deep blue eyes and a pink tongue. “I know, buddy. I need to shower somethin’ fierce.”

She kissed his nose and murmured. “I’m good. We’re good.” Half the time she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. She locked the front door behind her and kicked off her shoes. Her arms ached and her heartbeat was still residing in her sinus from her fall. She let her hair out of the tie that kept it up in a high ponytail, letting it fall down her back. Her head was sore from her hair being up for hours. She massaged her scalp with a wince. Everything hurt and she couldn’t wait to wash her problems down the drain and start fresh.

Her work out clothes were discarded on the bathroom floor, the sound of running water and the steam accumulating in the air were already starting to soothe her. She took a deep breath in through her nose with a wince before stepping into the shower and closing the curtain behind her.

Y/N faced the water, letting the heat roll down her skin. The water ran brown from sweat and blood. She braced her hands on the walls of the shower to keep herself steady. She closed her eyes, letting the baptism wash her worries away. Time has a way of wrecking a person, she knew that much. It gave a false sense of security, a sense of growth and change. She spent so much time trying to put her past behind her, locked away inside of a box.

She opened her eyes and looked at the half sleeves covering her wrists and forearms. The flowers and vines twisting around her arms, climbing, and growing out of thick, pink scars - creating something beautiful out of tragedy. She had hoped, when she got them, that they would help her heal and forget. She could laugh now at that naive girl who thought anything would let her forget. Time heals wounds, yes, but the greatest ones still ached in the cold and the rain.

Suds from soap and shampoo swirled down the drain, and she reached down to turn off the water. She wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into her robe. She could hear Castiel whine outside of the bathroom door, unusually unhappy with not being able to see her. “You’re good, Cas,” she called out, wiping the fog from the mirror. She examined her nose. It was a little swollen and already beginning to bruise. She cursed to herself and just hoped that it’d be dull enough that her painted foundation would cover it. The last thing she needed was to worry those around her.

Castiel scratched at the door again, and she opened it, her dog circling her legs impatiently. “What is your deal?” Y/N reached down and scratched behind her ear, eliciting licks from Castiel.

Towel drying her hair, she stepped out of the bathroom and rounded the corner. Her eyes were heavy, and her head pounded from the hit. She needed coffee, bad . As she turned the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks, her towel falling from her hand. Castiel whined insistently, nudging Y/N’s leg with his nose. She stared face to face with something so familiar that it made her gut tighten, acid crawling up her throat.

A painting hung at her eye level in the hallway near the bathroom. Fine brush strokes of pale peach skin, strawberry twists of hair splayed out on black satin sheets, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and freckled legs spread out, exposing a delicate pink vagina tucked between them.

Y/N stared at herself. Her eyes closed, her swollen mouth, her pink cheeks on a face and head that belonged to her. Her freckled neck blended downwards onto heavy breasts with dark nipples and a mole under the right that she’d never seen before.

Her knees were weak, and she stumbled back, bumping into Castiel and tumbling backwards. She fell, hitting her tailbone on the wood floors with a hard smack . Tears burned in her eyes, from pain or fear she wasn’t sure. Castiel came to her, licking her cheek in concern.

Anxiety crept into her chest, pressing down heavily. She gasped for breath and clamped her eyes shut. She pictured the box inside of her mind, thrashing and pulsing with anger, begging to be opened. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she forced herself to stand on shaking legs. She made her way to her bedroom and quickly spun the code on her safe, pulling her gun from it. She clicked the safety off and held it in front of her.

With each room that she checked she only found an emptiness that overtook her home with a heaviness that seemed to engulf her completely. Nothing seemed strange or out of place other than the large depiction of her naked body that hung on her wall.

She kept her gun positioned outward and pulled out her cellphone, dialing the number that she could never forget. All she could hope for was an answer, and as a ring met her ear she let out a sigh of relief. It had been so long, she had expected a disconnected tone. She pressed the phone closer to her ear as she heard his voice.

“Y/N?”

“He’s back.”

------

Chapter Two

Read on A03 Here

Tag List: @lyarr24

@dean-winchesters-bacon

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metalheddie · 3 years

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Are You Lonesome Tonight?

summary: Reader and Spencer's relationship is on the rocks, but they manage to work it out.

tw: light swearing, arguments

word count: 2.3k

genre: angst/fluff

a/n: This is a songfic after "Are you Lonesome Tonight" by Elvis! This one is honestly one of my favorites to write :0 and don't worry, it's not super sad, just a little :)(Reader goes by she/they)

This has been going on for far too long now. Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. They felt alone in their own lovers’ arms, he was like a stranger, a ghost of the man they once knew. They loved him still, so much, but he was distant and he never talked to them about the things he was obviously stressed or drained from.

Y/n just wanted to help him but he never gave them a chance to, they’re actively being pushed away and it’s a pain that they never thought they would experience in this lifetime. So they decide to talk to Spencer about it.

“Spence…?” She calls from his bedroom doorway. He’s sitting on his bed cross-legged surrounded by piles of books, and his head in his hands.

The case he had just gotten back from was a difficult one, to put it mildly. Teens held hostage by another student, who was a lot like Spencer. Too smart for his own good and always overlooked by his peers. He couldn’t save them all and it was eating him up inside. He didn’t look up from the page he was dwelling on. Re-reading and trying to fit all the pieces together that he missed. You hated seeing him like this. Broken and isolating himself, throwing himself into his work where he would eventually drown.

You walk over to the bed and place your hand on his knee. He flinches back away from your touch. He’s never done that before and it breaks your heart. You retract your hand and sit on the ottoman next to the bed. You both sit in the uncomfortable silence for a little while before you say,

“Spence… I know you’re having a difficult time right now, but I really think we should go on a walk or something, just to clear your head-”

“No, y/n. I’m fine. I don’t need your help right now. Just leave me be.” He said with venom in his voice. He’s never talked to you like that before, and it hurts like hell.

“I- ok I will, but Spence at least let me get you some water or something, please just let me help-” you tried to reason with him.

“I said get out! I don’t need you here!” he shouted. That was the last straw for you.

“Fine! I’ll leave you here for the next week and a half dwelling on all the things that you could have done when you should be trying to recover from all this. All you do is push people away when you’re upset and you never think of the consequences or the people you hurt in the process.”

You lost your cool then. All the pain you’ve been feeling for the past couple of months spilling out like a dam bursting.

“The BAU’s Golden boy who could do no wrong, huh? Well, I think that’s bull. Don’t call me until you put your big boy pants on and want to talk about what’s going with you.”

Y/n could see his jaw clenching so hard his teeth might split, but at that moment they could care less. She was done being the subject of his emotional whiplash. With that, you left with tears streaming down your face and a heart so heavy you thought you would collapse from the weight of it.

It’s been a week and 4 days since y/n has talked to Spencer. There hasn’t been a call, text, email… nothing. She misses him of course, but she has to stand her ground. It’s so difficult not being able to pick his big beautiful brain for ideas for her songs. Y/n realized she depended on him more than she thought. She wants to pick up the phone and call him so badly, to tell him that she’s sorry and that she went too far, but pride is holding her in an iron grip and it’s almost suffocating.

All y/n has been doing is working on their covers and desperately trying to find inspiration for their next song. They haven’t had any luck so far, their mind is too preoccupied with how Spencer is holding up after what happened that night. To try and distract themselves from their own mind, they put on their favorite oldies playlist and lay on their floor.

The first few chords of their favorite song play and then,

Are you lonesome tonight

Do you miss me tonight?

y/n closes their eyes and lets a few tears slip past their lashes. Oh, how they miss their lover so…

Spencer hasn’t left his apartment all weekend. Wading in the guilt he felt over hurting the most important person in his life. He hadn’t meant to snap at them like that...or any of the other times it happened over the last few months. He’s pacing his apartment trying to distract himself from his own mind.

On Monday as he walks into the bullpen, he tries to keep his microexpressions in check so the team doesn’t try to profile what he’s going through. All he wants to do is get his paperwork done and go home. To do what? He’s not sure, especially because his partner won’t be there with him. Just thinking about it like that makes him tear up. He’s eventually able to pull himself together with a few deep breaths, but not without Derek catching on at the last minute.

Derek looks up from his paperwork right as Spencer hangs his head in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. Derek knows how private Spencer is when it comes to his love life, hell he’s only met his partner once the whole time they’ve been dating. He knows something’s wrong and he cares about the kid, so he walks up to him and says

“Hey, boy genius, what’s on your mind?”

Spencer turns to him, trying to keep it together. “Just thinking about this case….” He held up (what he thought to be) a random file.

“You sure about that, kid?” Derek said while reaching for said “file” which really turned out to be a loose page of his handheld calendar with a red heart around one of the days.

Derek only had to look at it for a moment to know exactly what was wrong. He was having relationship problems and suddenly he was floundering. Derek knew that feeling all too well, knowing that the job had put such a strain on his past relationships.

Spencer whips around and stares at the page, tears welling in his eyes that threaten to spill. He grabs at it and takes it back without a word. He’s embarrassed and upset and this day isn’t going as smoothly as he’d wished. Derek pulls up a chair and clears his throat to get his attention. Spencer turns to him with a look he can’t quite read. He says,

“Look, kid… I know relationships can be tough, especially in this line of work, but we have to push through the bad stuff to get to the good parts that we’ll remember forever.

Spencer sat in silence, contemplating his words.

“Do you love her?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes… A thousand times yes. When days and cases get really bad, she’s the only thing that keeps me going…” tears glistening in his hazel eyes.

Derek nods and leans forward. “Go to the place you think she might be… you mentioned she sings at that jazz club uptown right?”

Spencer nods, knowing where he’s going with this.

“Ok, so tonight you’ll go and see if she’s there.” Giving Spencer a small smile and pats him on the back.

He leaves for his desk and leaves Spencer alone with his thoughts once more. He would do anything to see his lover again...

---

That night Spencer found himself at the Black Rabbit Jazz Club, all by his lonesome. Sitting at the bar waiting for open mic night to start. He was replaying their fight over and over again in his mind when he heard the first chords of Y/n’s favorite Elvis song flow through the speakers. Then he heard it… The voice he’d come to know and love, filled with honey and gold.

Are you lonesome tonight?

Do you miss me tonight?

Are you sorry we drifted apart?

He turns in his chair to see Y/n, in a sleek black cocktail dress with fishnets and 40’s style heels. She’s always had an affinity to dress to the club’s feel. Her hair is situated to frame her face beautifully and the spotlight she’s given makes her look like an angel, his angel.

Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day

When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?

They’re scanning the crowd to find a spot, or someone, to focus on to pour their heart into. Suddenly a familiar face appears to them in the crowd.

Spencer

It takes everything in them not to jump off the stage and run to him. Instead, she chooses to pour her heart out to him the only way that would seem to fit, through song.

Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?

Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?

Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?

Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?

At this point, Spencer is in awe of his partner. Holding eye contact with her as she sings, knowing how much emotion is behind those words. He’s shed a few tears at this point, but she’s not finished.

She steps off the stage with the mic and walks through the tables and chairs in the audience gracefully. She says,

“I wonder if you're lonesome tonight, Fate had me playing in love with you as my sweetheart. Act one was when we met. I loved you at first glance,”

She was looking right at him now, baring her soul to him while he stared in awe into hers.

“You rambled your facts so cleverly and never missed a clue. Then came act two. Honey, you lied when you said you loved me, and I had no cause to doubt you. I'd rather go on hearing your lies, Than go on living without you.”

At this moment Y/n had let go just enough to let a single tear fall past her lashes, creating a faint trail of mascara with it. Though it was getting tough to hold it together, the show must go on.

“Now the stage is bare and I'm standing there, with emptiness all around, and if you won't come back to me then make them bring the curtain down.”

Spencer dropped his head to hide the tears falling from his eyes then. Seeing them so emotionally exposed in front of him like this was rare. Especially after putting up with so much.

By then Y/n had made their way back onto the middle of the stage and sang the ending lines of the song while staring at their lover.

Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?

Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight…

She reached out to him as she sang, and as the ending chords played she placed her hand on her heart.

After the song ended there was roaring applause, for the performance and the show she put on as well. She thanked the audience and exited the stage. She made her way out the door and Spencer followed. He rushed after her so fast he barely missed her leaning on the brick exterior. She looked up at him, slightly startled. They gazed at each other, wondering who would make the first move. After about 2 minutes y/n reached for his hand, hoping he wouldn’t pull away.

He meets her halfway and they start on the walk home. It’s wordless, but there’s no negative energy, no tension to be felt. As they arrived at Spencer's apartment door he went to unlock it and y/n wrapped their hands around his waist and leaned their head on his spine. A subtle gesture to let him know that they loved him. After going inside and sitting on the couch together, Spencer finally speaks.

“I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for not being there when you need me, I’m sorry for putting my own insecurities and self-doubts before your feelings, and most of all I’m sorry for being selfish, y/n. You deserve so much more than being cast aside. I love you so much.”

y/n’s bottom lip quivered as she tried to hold herself together so she could speak too. She took a deep breath to calm herself and said

“I’m sorry too. I should have never said those things about you and your job. God, you're wonderful at what you do and I should have never used it against you like that. I was being stupid and I wasn’t thinking. Can you forgive me, even after all of that…?”

He took y/n’s hand and kissed the back of it, he pulled her in close for a tight hug and cuddled into her. She quietly cried into his shoulder as he whispered sweet affirmations in her ear to help her calm down. After a while, her breathing evened out and her sniffling stopped. She moved to be face to face with him and gently placed her hands on the side of his face and pulled him into the sweetest kiss he could have ever imagined. If she claimed her lips were made of honey, he wouldn't doubt her for a second. After a beat or 2, they pulled away and decided to order in and watch Doctor Who, and all was well.

Fin~

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #songfic #maddies fics <3 #boldlyreblog

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skellebonez · 3 years

Note

You like soulmate aus? 44 with a soulmate au where there are countdown timers for important events and if you concentrate you can see the lifespan of your romantic and platonic soulmates except immortals. MK realizes he can see Red Son's life countdown and he only has 1 year left

ANON I WANT YOU TO KNOW THIS WAS THE SADDEST PROMPT I HAVE EVER BEEN GIVEN AND I HAD TO TAKE IT OUT OF THE WAIT LIST TO FILL IT ASAP. Just. Damn. You came for my heart and crushed it. @kitkat1003 you helped make this sadder so I wanna make sure you see this.

WARNING: I mean, look at the prompt. It's gonna be a depressing read regardless. Read the tags for a major spoiler if you want to know about the end in advance.

The Lunar New Year special is mentioned in passing but NO SPOILERS.

Why are you still awake?

MK never made it a point to concentrate and look at his soulmate timers unless he really felt he had to, tempting as it may have been. Especially not their life countdown timers. The colors one saw differed from from viewer to viewer, some people even saw only one color in varying shades, and no one knew why the colors were chosen the way they were for each individual. But to MK the timers were a whole swath of colors.

It was easy with Mei, her platonic bond with his allowing him to see the bright green (green for all platonic bonds, not just Mei) countdowns to major events (some bad but usually good, like a major race being announced or taking part in a game tournament spontaneously). The familial blue bond he had with Pigsy and Tang went much the same, as well as Sandy's own platonic bond. He didn't learn that immortal beings had their own color, brilliant gold tinted in whatever the proper bond was until he met Sun Wukong, his gold-green timer slowly changing into a gold-blue bond of family found.

It wasn't until Red Son that MK realized his romantic bonds were a brilliant red (which, in retrospect, could have been seen as funny), shining brilliant and bright and almost blinding him when he caught sight of him properly from far above him (and it nearly made him fall before Wukong forced him to, the traitor). He'd mistaken it for some kind of antagonistic bond before he learned that that was also a type of platonic soulmate. So that was something he shoved deep deep deeeeeep down inside to think about later, especially since a lot of people now a days rarely went after their first romantic soulmate and instead waited for a platonic to change in time.

He never told anyone.

It also wasn't until he tested concentrating on timers with Wukong, for fun and out of sheer curiosity if he really was super immortal, that he realized that immortal's life countdown timer just looked like a mass of rapidly changing numbers screaming in confusion and he decided to never do that again.

Until... the Lunar New Year celebration.

He was curious, scared, and Red Son was there and he let his curiosity get the better of him. He wanted to see if Red was still immortal and if his timer did the same thing.

361 days, 17 hours, 8 minutes, and 42 seconds.

That couldn't have been right.

He tried again.

361 days, 17 hours, 7 minutes, and 30 seconds.

And again.

361 days, 16 hours, 56 minutes, and 45 seconds.

And one last time, after everything was over.

361 days, 12 hours, 1 minute, 29 seconds.

Red Son... had less than a year left to live. Red Son, The Boy Sage Prince, the one who almost defeated Sun Wukong on his journey and eternal thorn in his side... was going to die.

MK hadn't ever really imagined that he could die. He had believed that Red Son was immortal, and maybe he still was. There were ways to kill immortals who weren't all powerful Monkey Kings. But he'd always imagined that, maybe, eventually, they could possibly at least work things out and get to know each other eventually after what happened with WBS.

Now he was plagued with the thought 'what if I'm the one who kills him' and he couldn't handle that so he made up his mind then and there and before Red Son could leave he grabbed him by his jacket collar in front of everyone and changed that thought to 'fuck it' and kissed him and pulled away and looked DBK in the eye and announced "I've known Red is my romantic soulmate since day 1 and I am not wasting anymore time with stupid feuds".

Apparently that was just enough to startle the other man into not attacking and to send Sun Wukong into a frenzy of cackling "I KNEW IT"s.

Red Son turned as red as his jacket on his cheeks and just looked at MK in awe. They had-

361 days, 10 hours, 2 minutes, 16 seconds.

Red hadn't left his parents, not immediately, but the sudden relationship that have been revealed between the successor to the Monkey King and the son of the Demon Bull King had forced everything to a standstill. DBK wanted revenge, PIF wanted her husband to be happy, Sun Wukong wanted to be retired, and all three of them were too stubborn to not insist the two men court each other anyway because tradition dictated that when a romantic soulmate pair revealed their bond no one could force them apart.

352 days, 14 hours, 34 minutes, 18 seconds.

MK felt back constantly checking Red Son's timer, but he didn't want to waste a single second. They had less than a year. He'd seen just how smart and resourceful and, as much as he didn't want to admit it at first, protective and caring for the people he had grown close to he was.

By the end of the month they had moved into Red Son's apartment (he had an apartment?).

322 days, 2 hours, 28 minutes, 50 seconds.

MK learned that Red Son was a fantastic chef, on par with Pigsy even. His food was spicy but over time he learned that MK would suffer through food that was hurting him just to try his food and make it less so. Just for him.

315 days, 2 hours, 45 minutes, 34 seconds.

They kissed for the second time well after they had moved in together. Despite rushing into this they had both been too nervous and flustered to do more than hold hands and sleep side by side in different blankets.

They started sharing a blanket by month 2.

292 days, 8 hours, 1 minute, 12 seconds.

DBK was still pissed at Wukong. No one thought his grudge would ever fully disappear. But he and PIF had stopped attacking. For now. For their son. The best thing they had ever done for him was let him be with his soulmate without fighting.

MK never felt more guilty than when he realized he was never going to tell them. He tried once, after they moved in. After he had truly fallen in love with Red Son. He'd cried too hard to get the words out and PIF had looked torn between telling him to leave and comforting him before she put a shockingly gentle hand on his shoulder.

He could never tell them.

267 days, 18 hours, 59 minutes, 2 seconds.

Red got along amazingly well with Mei and Sandy. The three of them together were a mechanical nightmare for anyone on their bad side and the most amazing team for anyone they made anything for. Red was also the new favorite among Sandy's cats. No one was surprised.

He and Red ended up adopting a little one eyed kitten they found outside Pigsy's Noodles. They named her Bao-Bao. They loved her.

245 days, 7 hours, 29 minutes, 34 seconds.

Naturally nothing was going to be calm for the Monkie Kid. Eventually demons far and wide came to attack either him or the city. The only difference was that, now, he had Red Son by his side.

Every time Red took a hit MK felt no fear. He knew that would not be the hit that killed his soulmate. His soulmate had-

208 days, 19 hours, 78 minutes, 21 seconds.

Red and Tang were fast friends. Red and Mei and Sandy were faster. It had taken longer for Pigsy but he came around fast enough.

Sun Wukong, though. Even after 5 months he was still slightly tense and terse and short with Red. But he had been coming around, slowly. Just like with everyone else, Wukong was hard pressed to open up to anyone who wasn't MK.

They visited Flower Fruit Mountain from time to time, and it was one day when Red had wandered off to enjoy the scenery at MK and Wukong had heard the pained screech of a small monkey in the distance.

When they saw Red calming the little one down, tending to it's wound as best he could, MK saw Wukong properly smile at him for the first time. Soon they had-

157 days, 22 hours, 28 minutes, 59 seconds.

There were still fights. DBK and Sun Wukong didn't get along. But things were better.

There were family game nights. Red and Pigsy and Wukong cooked together. Bao-Bao had grown into a beautiful Tortoise Shell cat (with tortitude included). Everyone promised to try to get along and things were going well. Red Son and MK were truly in love, it seemed. At least MK was. He was certain Red was as well.

That's why MK asked him to marry him that night.

Red said yes.

140 days, 19 hours, 34 minutes, 34 seconds.

Was 7 months too fast? Yes. Did MK care? No. Did anyone object?

Only the demons that showed up to fight. They were taken care of quickly. DBK was not entirely happy about how fast things were but for his only son it seemed he would not allow anything to ruin the day.

He'd changed over the 7 months. Not entirely, not enough for MK to completely forgive him for everything since he had awoken. But seeing him punch a demon into the stratosphere for Red Son was a pretty good marker of how much he was trying.

6 days, 37 hours, 8 minutes, 12 seconds.

Everything was amazing for those few months together. They fought demons. They kissed. They spent time with their family. No longer two families but one family.

Then Macaque came back.

MK had thought he was gone for good, he had been so quiet. But apparently he was planning something the whole time.

Something to kill an immortal.

That was when MK learned he was immortal. And wasn't that ironic?

Macaque had meant to stab him. MK didn't move in time.

Red Son jumped in front of him and there was red.

Macaque wasn't seen again after what MK did to him.

They bandaged the small wound in Red Son's shoulder. They would find a way to fix this. They had to. MK knew what would kill Red Son now, it wasn't that he wasn't immortal it was whatever poison had been meant for him. He knew people had beaten death clocks before.

He had to try.

5 days, 12 hours, 29 minutes, 56 seconds.

5 days, 12 hours, 29 minutes, 55 seconds.

5 days, 12 hours,. 29 minutes, 54 seconds.

That was what MK saw when Red Son coughed up blood for the first time.

4 days, 1 hour, 12 minutes, 13 seconds.

Sun Wukong found out where Macaque had gotten the poison.

There was no cure.

Red coughed more red and MK screamed at the Monkey King to look again. Do something. Anything. Anything...

They didn't see him or DBK for over 2 days.

1 day, 17 hours, 34 minutes, 14 seconds.

1 day, 17 hours, 34 minutes, 13 seconds.

MK watched the countdown timer tick down.

"Why are you still awake?" Red Son had asked him as he held his head in his lap.

"I don't want to miss any more seconds with you," MK answered softly.

"Am I going to... die?" Red Son asked softly.

"Not if Monkey King does what I know he can do," MK answered again. "I know he'll be back soon. I know it. I-"

"MK! MK I'M BACK!" Sun Wukong yelled through the apartment, bursting into their room looking disheveled and like he hadn't stopped moving since he left. But smiling. DBK looked much the same as he came through the door behind him.

"I think we found something!"

1 day, 17 hours, 32 minutes, 2 seconds.

MK prayed that Sun Wukong was right. He was Sun Wukong. He had to be.

1 day, 17 hours, 32 minutes... 3 seconds.

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

Text

Who Are You Really?

Spirit Masterpost (Ao3 link there)

Chapter 2: Find A Way In

Summary: This town's got quite the cast of characters

Spirit spends the next couple of months on reconnaissance. They hop over rooftops and monitor the town where the supposed successor lives. They hadn’t had the time to ask for a description after getting their orders from the Demon Bull Family, and they’re afraid to go back to the trio with their query.

Something about that home is broken. Spirit has spent enough time in a broken home to know it’s not a nice place to be in for long. Best to stay away unless they’re needed.

The town that the successor lives in is pretty lively. They only assume this is where the successor lives, though, because the successor had arrived to fight Demon Bull King rather quickly and would likely need to be close by.

They watch the city from the rooftops. Bright colors, people, loud noises—they would hate to be down there, lost in the madness, but from a far enough distance it’s tolerable.

The people are so...loud. There’s so much stuff here. So many things, sights, sounds. It’s awful pretty, especially the glowing stuff. Spirit tries touching it, but it’s really hot. Whatever it is, it burns.

They’re sitting on top of a skyscraper, taking a break with some cheese tea they got because they were curious about it, when the sky shifts. The weather begins changing without reason. That gets them to jump down, because it sounds like a storm is brewing and the higher up you are the more likely you are to be hit by lightning. Getting hit by lightning does not sound appealing.

They duck down into an alleyway, shifting into human form just as Red comes onto the myriad screens all over the city.

Spirit has to give him credit, it’s certainly a foreboding speech. They don’t do well when giving speeches. Often when they’re sent to intimidate or kill they either write up a script on their way there or stay silent. Whichever is more effective, anyway.

They lean against the wall as mortals panic, pulling out their nifty little phone. It’s sturdy, which is good, since they can be a bit clumsy with their things.

‘Red’ They type out. They gave him their number when they got a phone, excited to have one. He’d texted them a lot of boxes. They don’t know what the boxes mean, but they hope they’re nice.

‘I heard your speech up on the screens! It was very articulate and polite, and threatening! I think your dad will be mighty impressed with you.

Do you need my assistance? Please let me know. I’m in the area, so I can come quickly!

From,

Spirit’

They rock back and forth on their feet, turning their head to the side and watching as the mortals all vanish into their buildings, the streets becoming empty in minutes. Spirit has to admire the speed of it. Maybe they got more vigilant after the attack by Demon Bull King. It’s only been a few months since the attack, long enough to set in some sense of safety but short enough that they would still be on edge. Spirit knows the timeline of overcoming traumatic experiences. They start to fade out of the forefront after about half a year if you’re lucky.

Their phone buzzes. It’s from Red!

They blink at the deluge of boxes, using the little arrow buttons on their phone to scroll down.

‘i don’t need anyone! Thnx for the compliment’

Spirit blinks a few times, and shrugs. Red never is very eloquent in text form, and they’ve heard that brevity is the soul of wit! Whatever that means. Spirit isn’t quite sure. Plus, they can understand the desire to do everything by yourself, especially when you’re doing something to prove yourself to someone.

Since the town is pretty much deserted, Spirit takes the time to walk around, get to know the place. They know it plenty from a bird’s eye view, but whenever you scope out a territory it’s best to know all the angles. They trace the different side streets with their eyes and memorize the street signs. They might make a diagram, to make sure the layout sticks in their head.

They’re pretty calm, until they feel the ever ethereal power that comes only from one source.

The Monkey King.

Something like primal terror freezes them in place for a split second, before they race away running as far away from the outpouring of heavenly power that comes with the Monkey King’s presence. They can’t even think about where they’re going, feet pressing hard against the messy street pavement. T, crunching on glass and debris without thought because they just need to get away. They know who Monkey King is. They know that they would mean nothing to such a monarch, to such a being. They have no favors to spare, nothing to keep themself safe, so why wouldn’t he jump on the chance to get rid of them?

Considering their reputation, considering the times they’ve colluded with Monkey King’s enemies, there’s no reason to believe he’d let them live, if he saw them. No reason to think that he wouldn’t leave them a bloody stain on the pavement the moment they appeared in his line of sight.

Or worse, he’ll \tear out an eye for your insolence. He clearly doesn’t have a problem pulling out organs, from what you’ve heard in the stories, and with what he did to Macaque? He’ll ruin you. Well, at least you’d finally have a normal amount of eyes, right?

Their breaths come in short bursts. They climb up to the roof of a short building, curled into a little ball, and shut their eyes.

They don’t manage a single normal breath until they feel the energy of the Monkey King fade out. He must have left, back to his mountain. Good. That means they won’t die today, which really is something! Every day they manage to live is kind of a surprise, really. They’re consistently shocked by their ability to keep going.

They carefully sit up and glance down at their feet. Bleeding, apparently. Not a surprise, given how they weren’t careful when sprinting through the street, but annoying nonetheless. They pull out the pieces of glass, clean off the wound with some antibiotic ointment they keep on them at all times (Mom used to make it herself with stuff they scavenged in the forest, and now you can buy an even better version in the store for cheap), and wrap their feet in gauze.

Once that’s done, they lay back, spread eagle on the roof, staring up at the cloudy sky as they try to regulate their breaths. They’re not exactly steady yet, but at least now they can breathe. Soon, though, the sky clears, and Spirit has to squint to keep the sun from burning their retinas. Their phone buzzes in their pocket, and they pull it out, holding it up so the shadow of it falls over their face, blocking the sun a little.

‘The garbage noodle boy will pay!’

They type out a reply.

‘Red.

I don’t know who the noodle boy is, but I’m sorry he made you upset. Did you have to leave the weather tower? Do you need anything?

Let me know!

Spirit.’

They get a bunch of boxes and a very hard to follow explanation, but eventually they parse it out. Noodle boy is the nickname Red has for Monkey King’s successor, and apparently he came in and kicked Red out of the weather tower.

Spirit asks if Red needs help with his next scheme, but Red declines. That’s fine.

Spirit knows when they aren’t wanted.

As the sky clears, people begin to peer out their windows, and a few brave souls actually leave their homes. Within an hour, the city is back to its bustling state, if a little slow as it tries to reset from the panic. Spirit watches this happens with a fascination one would have with watching ants build a colony. Well, not in the sense that mortals are just like ants, but they are simple in many ways and complicated in others. Peril is unknown to them in a way Spirit never could understand, and to see them grapple with the appearance of it and work it into their community and lives is ever fascinating. Mortals are very tight knit, after all. Everything affects the collective.

Demons are typically solitary creatures. They create small clans, sure, but they do not settle, create towns for themselves.

Spirit flits between the different factions and never settles themself. They have a few caves that could become homes, if they stayed, but they never do. Not when there are favors to hand out, places to explore. Besides, an empty home isn’t a fun one to return to.

They’re about to head out, disappear into the forest areas outside of the town for the night, but the roof door to the building opens.

“Hey,” comes a gruff voice.

Spirit freezes. They turn their head around, slowly, eyes wide.

The figure that stands before them is a stout pig demon, wearing what appears to be a chef’s coat. He’s got stubble, sharp blue eyes, and small tusks that peek out over his upper lip. He stares at them without animosity. Mostly interest and confusion.

Spirit, at a glance, suspects that they’d be able to take him, should he attack. A second glance, more a read of a soul, proves otherwise. Whoever this is, there’s a power they’re hiding. A lot of power.

“Don’t see a lot of monkeys around here,” The demon says.

“Sorry,” Spirit replies, immediately. “I-uh-I didn’t know this was your roof, I was just sitting up here for the view-I-I’m leaving, so—”

They don’t want to get in a fight. There’s no point in trying to throw on glamour, appearing human. And they don’t know how to really explain themselves, either.

The demon raises his hands in a peaceful gesture, trying to put Spirit at ease. It doesn’t exactly work, considering it reveals the demon’s claws. Dull as they are, Spirit is sure he knows how to use them. But they do recognize the sentiment.

“Hey, hey, no need to apologise, ‘s long as you’re not causing trouble,” he gives them a sort of half grin. “Just figured I’d see what you were up ta, if you were alright. Not often I find anyone hiding on a roof for a good reason.”

Spirit stares. They don’t exactly know how to react in this situation, so they just. Don’t. Their tail curls around one leg and they wish they could just. Run. But then he might chase them. That wouldn’t be good at all.

“Uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, seemingly uncomfortable with the silence. “I’m Pigsy.”

How...appropriate? Spirit fights a giggle, because of course his name is Pigsy, what else could it be? The smile worms its way onto their face anyway, and their ears twitch as they look anywhere but at Pigsy.

Pigsy smiles back and chuckles a little.

“Yeah, I know it’s kind of on the nose. Not my first choice of a name, but apparently it’s everyone else’s,” he snorts.

This time, Spirit does giggle, their nose crinkling with the motion as their smile reaches their eyes. They relax a little. If Pigsy is at ease enough to joke, it’ll probably be okay. They’ll probably be okay.

“You, uh, mind telling me your name?” Pigsy asks them, and they freeze again, suddenly shy.

They fidget, then sigh. It would be rude to not tell him, even though they wanted to keep a low profile, but Pigsy is asking nicely, and he doesn’t seem mean. What’s the harm?

“Spirit,” they reply.

With a wave, they leap across the space of the street between the two buildings, sliding down the back side of the building. It’s easy enough to slip into human form and disappear into the crowds towards the outskirts of the city.

They sleep leaning against a tree. It isn’t terribly comfortable, but Spirit is used to that.

The next month is spent really getting to know the town. It’s a huge place, and Spirit wants to be aware of every nook and cranny, just in case. They’re a bit on edge, too, because Monkey King was here, which means he’s unafraid to come back. If they’re around when he does, that wouldn’t be good.

But if they know all the secret passageways, just maybe, they’ll be able to outrun him. From what they hear, the Monkey King cares about mortals, so he’d probably try and mitigate collateral. If they disappear into a crowd, or get underground, they’d likely escape.

They have plans. They make them whenever they stop on a skyscraper and let the wind blow through their fur, when they look down at the steep drop and think about catching a hand over a thousand years ago, when they think about every step to the present. They have a plan for every street corner and alleyway, should they be caught. They have to. It’s the only way to survive.

Their plans come to a halt when they feel a soul split. Well, not split, because that’s not possible, but at the very, least spread out. All kept together by a thin, golden tether that ties them to their source.

It starts as just one tether. Then two. Three, seven, fifteen, thirty-eight, a hundred—Spirit goes dizzy trying to count them all, up on the tallest building in the town. The weather tower’s roof basically has seats built into its design, if you push a window open and sit on the glass tile, so it’s fun to climb on top of it.

Eventually, they have to see what is happening, because the city is dancing with golden lights scattered across it, and it’s making Spirit dizzy.

A group of tethers coalesces in a single building, an anti gravity arcade. Spirit hasn’t gone in, because they like when their feet stick to the ground, and the amount of noise and bright lights is enough to leave them dizzy for decades. They hop to the roof of it, peering over the ledge to see just who is inside.

“Monkey King?”

Spirit whirls around, and comes face to face with a mortal, wearing a bright orange jacket, red pants, a white shirt with a target on the chest (which, not that Spirit would say, is a bit odd, and is asking for a chest injury), and a red headband.

Then, an identical copy of that mortal appears. Then another.

Suddenly, Spirit is surrounded.

“Uh,” they start. “No?”

Regardless of their valiant effort to make it known that they are not the Monkey King, they’re dogpiled quickly, grabbed by tens of hands and carried into the sensory hell that is the anti-gravity arcade.

Considering they’re not being hurt, and considering they can’t move their arms, Spirit doesn’t struggle much. They just shut their eyes, coiling their tail around their leg and staying as limp as possible. Resistance seems a bit futile, and if they’re malleable instead of stiff they’re less likely to be damaged during their, uh, transport.

“I’m really not the Monkey King,” they try again, though their voice gets muffled by the many, many figures holding them.

The group stops. There’s a buzz of chatter before one voice cuts out above everything.

“Alright, alright, what’s the haps? What’s got y’all making me step away from the porty?” The voice has a very casual lilt to it, but it’s recognizable as the same voice of all the other mortals.

“We found the Monkey King!” One of the clones pipes up.

“You what?!”

“We got him, boss!”

“You—okay, okay, lemme see! Drop him!”

Spirit is dropped onto the ground unceremoniously, and the crowd parts so they can look up to this supposed leader.

He looks like the rest of the group, but his orange jacket is tied around his waist and his shirt doesn’t have the target on it the rest of them do. He’s got his pants bunched up at the base of his boots, blue headphones hanging off his neck, and when he glances down at them, Spirit sees a flash of a sharp tooth poking up over his bottom lip.

“Sorry,” they say. “I’m, uh, not the Monkey King.”

The ringleader groans, leaning his head back.

“Of course you’re not,” he says, though the tone doesn’t indicate that he’s angry at them, which is nice. He turns to the group standing behind Spirit, and glares. “C’mon, boys! I told ya if you saw the Monkey King, you report back to me. No goin’ after him, no makin’ a fuss. If this was the real deal, he’d’ve had you poofed quick! The Boss might not know how to make us go away yet, but the King definitely does.”

He gives a quick, cursory glance over the group.

“We lose anyone?” he asks.

The group shakes their heads.

“Good. Now, next time, listen to me!” he shouts.

Spirit flinches at the sound.

The group, thoroughly chastised, all mumble apologies. The leader sighs.

“Alright, alright. Half of you keep on look out, and the rest of you go and play. We got the arcade to ourselves, after all,” he waves them off, and they scatter.

Once they’re gone, he turns to Spirit. Spirit stiffens and very carefully picks themself up.

“Sorry ‘bout them,” The leader says. “They’re not the brightest bunch, and any monkey demon is gonna get them excited. I told them to look out for the Monkey King, not kidnap him, but you spread one brain cell thin enough and things are bound ta’ get lost in translation.

Spirit glances around. They look to be backstage somewhere. The hum of pounding bass is muffled, but they can still hear the music. There are no flashing lights, which is nice.

“Haven’t seen or heard of ya’, though.” The leader speaks up again, drawing back Spirit’s attention. “What’s your name?”

“Spirit,” Spirit replies. “And, um, it’s okay. They weren’t very rough handling me, so it was fine.

“Um,” They can tell the leader isn’t an original, they can see the tether, but they have to ask. “You’re, uh, like them, right?”

The leader shrugs.

“If by ‘like them’ you mean a clone? Sure,” he leans in close toward them. “But, uh, keep that on the DL, you know? Don’t want it gettin’ spread around.”

Spirit blinks a few times. So, clones. That isn’t surprising. Macaque can make clones from his shadows, and he told them that Monkey King can make clones out of hair. The successor must have inherited that power.

The thing that does confuse them, is

“DL?” they ask.

The leader raises a brow. “The down low?”

“Uh…” Spirit fidgets and glances at their feet.

The lingo makes no sense. Is it a new thing? They’re really bad at keeping up with trends and dialogues. Their ears burn with embarrassment. They must look really stupid.

“Just don’t go tellin’ nobody, alright?” The leader clarifies.

Spirit nods.

“Okay! But, uh, why are you hiding?” It doesn’t seem to make sense. If the successor made the clones, why do they feel the need to run from him?

“Cuz the Boss made us, made us do a bunch of his dirty work, and I don’t think he’s gonna like that we got tired of it.” The leader glares out toward where Spirit assumes the rest of the arcade is. “Free will ain’t something clones are supposed to have. I’m a little more, uh, on the wild side. The rest of the boys are pretty simple, so I keep ‘em close so they don’t get into trouble. And hey,” He smiles, all sharp teeth. “Can’t have a porty if you don’t got a roaring crowd.”

Well then. That certainly changes things. Spirit has never wondered about the sentience of clones, considering they’ve never interacted with them for long. Macaque’s shadow clones are more extensions of himself than they are sentient creatures, and they never talk. But, if clones really do become sentient, it’s a rather cruel thing to strip that sentience away, right? So long as they aren’t hurting anyone, anyway.

“That’s fair,” they shrug. “But, um, if you want to really stand out, maybe some new clothes will help?”

“That a fit check?” The leader smirks.

“A what?”

“Nevermind,” The leader waves a hand. “What you got in mind?”

Spirit tilts their head to the side in thought.

“I think, um...your aesthetic,” they start. “It doesn’t fit with, uh, the others, so I could get you some new clothes. Accessories. As a favor?” They shrug, a bit self conscious.

The leader is pretty confident, and Spirit is decidedly not. It’s awkward to think that they could be of service.

A blade has a use, but if you have claws that are just as sharp, why buy the tool?

The leader considers this, and then shrugs.

“Sounds good, 3 eyes,” he agrees.

Spirit blinks. “It’s Spirit,” they clarify.

“Sure.” The leader shrugs them off. “Exit’s down the hall to your right.”

Spirit nods and dashes off. Slipping into human form is easy as a new set of clothes, though they always have to be wary of their tail, wrapping it around their waist like a belt so as not to arise suspicion.

Sure, demons live in this town, but the ratio seems 10:1 and Spirit prefers to blend in. Besides, if they get mistaken for Monkey King again, they might just scream, if only to startle the crowd so they can get away.

They flit between stores, looking for something fitting for a character like that clone had been. Spirit isn’t good at fashion, Macaque picked out their outfit after all, but they do have several eyes for flashy things (two, the third isn’t as entranced by such things). They grab a pair of visor glasses, pink to accent the blue. They have these weird lines through them, probably to see through. Spirit thinks they’d be mighty useful to counteract all the bright lights.

Then they look for something orange to replace the jacket, since it seems to be a fixture on all the other clones. They find a kind of garish orange tiger print coat. It’s pretty wild, and, well, the leader said he was pretty wild. They toss it over their shoulder and head back toward the arcade.

They come in the same back way, because anything to spare themselves the sensory overload of the arcade is worth it, though they feel eyes from all around watching them as they approach the backstage.

Two large bouncers step in front of Spirit, as they approach the backstage, and Spirit nearly trips and falls in their haste to back away. They’ve never been a fan of looming figures, and even though they’d probably be the same height as the bouncers if they stood up straight, they’re far too used to hunching down to do anything else.

“U-um,” they manage a whisper, clearing their throat before they continue, trying to speak up above the din of the music blaring in the other room. “I-uh-I-the boss, uh, wanted me to get him some clothes, so…”

They hold up the items they found as proof, giving the two bouncers a shaky smile.

The two share a look, before one walks toward the stage, leaning down for a moment to talk to someone before straightening back up.

“3 eyes!”

Spirit fights the urge to wince at the nickname, because they don’t like that they only have three eyes, they don’t like the reminder. Instead, they sigh and smile awkwardly, waving as the leader saunters over.

“Hello,” they show off their pickings. “I thought these would fit. Since, uh, neon pink and blue go well together, and, um, I thought this jacket could, uh—”

“It’s way better than the old one!” The leader snatches both items out of Spirit’s hand.

The shades go on his face quick, and he tosses his old jacket so fast it’s a blur as it hits the wall. He slides the new one onto his shoulders and leans back, hands in his pockets.

“Do I look good?” he asks, then continues without waiting for an answer. “Nevermind, course I do! Look at me!”

“I am,” Spirit agrees with a half shrug.

“Nice work, 3 eyes! The fit fits!” He chuckles, and did his teeth get even sharper in the half an hour or so Spirit has been gone? They can’t tell.

He plays with the sleeves of the new coat, and glances down at his feet.

“Anyway, uh.” For a moment, he’s almost shy. “Picked out a name for myself. Figured keepin’ the old one made no sense and all.”

“Oh?” Spirit keeps their tone carefully neutral, tilting their head to the side.

“Yeah. Porty.” Porty gives them a wry grin. “If I say it weird, might as well be my brand, right?”

“Sure?” Brand? Spirit thought a brand was when you put hot iron on something. Macaque wanted them to do that to a cow he found, but they couldn’t. It was too mean.

“Anyway,” Porty’s voice cuts through their confusion. “I gotta get back to my DJ stand. Wanna stay for the porty?”

Spirit lets out a nervous laugh.

“Oh, uh, no thank you,” they say, and when Porty frowns, they scramble to explain. “Not that I don’t, uh, like parties-I—” Well, they’re no good at lying. “I just have uh, really sensitive eyes and ears. It would be too loud and bright for me,” Spirit lands on something truthful as they finish, giving Porty a hopeful smile.

Porty’s expression stays carefully neutral, before he bursts into a sharp toothed grin that stretches wide across his face.

“That’s fair, but don’t be a stranger, kay? Us wild ones gotta stick together!” He nudges their arm.

Spirit thinks Porty is awfully nice and cool, but he talks in ways that make their head spin.

“Got it,” they reply in lieu of asking for clarification, and they disappear out the back door as the music swells again.

They write Porty’s favor into their book just as they start to see the tethers vanish. One by one, like dying stars flickering out, they disappear. Spirit watches, wide eyed, as each of over a hundred vanishes.

There's a pit in their stomach, as they think of the giggly, desperate for approval, mostly kind clones suddenly ceasing to exist. Thinks of the many voices going silent.

Macaque would tell them that clones are a means to an end, a weapon to be discarded after use. But the successor didn’t discard them after use, he used them and left them, abandoned them. And now has the audacity to get rid of them when they’re becoming too sentient for his liking?

Spirit doesn’t know the circumstances. It’s rude to judge a person over things Spirit doesn’t know the full story of. But they didn’t hate the clones, and Porty, for all his faults, seemed to just want to make a good time for people. Not the type of good time Spirit would enjoy, but they know others might.

Curled up on the roof of a skyscraper, they watch the lights disappear. The arcade, a veritable lighthouse of stars, loses its many tethers in an instant. The mass of light vanishes as if blown away by a gust of wind, until there’s only one left.

The final one, Spirit knows.

It disappears like the rest.

They break into the arcade that night, and find the coat and glasses on the floor, abandoned. The arcade is dark and there is broken glass all over the floor, but Spirit steps around it, eyes only for the coat and glasses. The things they got for him. To prove that he was more.

Now all that’s left.

They pick the two items up gently and bury them out in the woods. Maybe Porty wasn’t a real person, maybe he was a means to an end that got out of hand, but Spirit can’t fault anyone who lets them do them a favor. And besides, sometimes all that’s left of people are memories, and Spirit wants to remember.

They remember Mom, and they know they’re the only one who does. They can carry that weight for the clones, too, if no one else will.

They get a call from the Long family a month or so after meeting the clone, and isn’t it funny how one of the most affluent, mystically inclined families lives just on the outskirts of the town that Demon Bull King was sealed in? Spirit wonders if they settled here for that reason, perhaps guarding the staff that the Monkey King left behind, since Monkey King had left it there without any thought.

Spirit doesn’t hate anyone (their father doesn’t count, because they made sure he wasn’t anyone ever, just a memory in Spirit’s mind, forgotten by time as his body burned on its pyre) but they severely dislike the lack of responsibility Monkey King takes. Not only did he seal away Demon Bull King (Spirit is aware that Demon Bull King was destroying villages and causing a stir, but Monkey King took Red away and what parent wouldn’t be angry?), but he didn’t even stick around to watch over his seal! He just left it, like the staff alone would be the end-all.

Spirit would be too anxious to ever leave something that could even possibly be broken. Maybe they’re paranoid, but they would have at least stuck around, or left a guard, or something!

Honestly, it isn’t surprising that Red managed to break it, eventually.

They arrive at the Long residence to a sight of a broken down door and demolished artifacts scattered across the entrance hallway. They blink, three eyes darting around to try and drink everything in.

“Ah, Spirit,” Comes a prim voice.

Spirit jumps, and turns to find a couple, dressed in green and gold, staring at them. They’re dolled up, makeup and everything. Spirit bows, polite.

“Hello,” They greet. “You’re in need of a favor?”

“Yes,” the woman answers. “Yesterday, there was an attack on our home by the Demon Bull Family. Many priceless artifacts were destroyed in the process. We would like you to salvage as much as you can from the wreck, and clean up the rest.”

So grunt work. That’s fine. Typically Spirit is called for that sort of thing, if there are secrets involved. And when you have priceless artifacts, you don’t want just any random person handling them. Spirit doesn’t think they’re terribly trustworthy, but if someone asks them to be, they can be. Keeping their mouth shut is easy because people don’t usually come to them for conversation.

Macaque told them once that they were awfully chatty, but that was when they were younger. They grew up. They usually only talk to themselves now.

“Okie doke.” They nod, turning back to the wreckage.

This should take them a few days, if they pull a few all nighters. They’re pretty bad at sleeping anyway, so at least this time it’ll be on purpose.

They pointedly don’t think about how they told the Demon Bull Family of the artifact that was here. They pointedly don’t think about how the Demon Bull Family likely attacked this home for said artifact. What people do with the information they give out is none of their business. It’s not their fault.

Well. It is. Spirit isn’t stupid. Actions have consequences. A domino falls and starts a chain reaction. Regardless of intent, the first domino is the issue.

And Spirit pushed the rest of the pieces down, so the aftermath is their fault.

They start with the biggest pieces of the wreckage, moving out broken stone and whatnot, so that salvaging the finer pieces will be easier. They’d ask where they’re supposed to move the large pieces of stone, but the two mortals didn’t seem to like them, so they just bring it to the side of the house. Out of sight for the moment.

They start collecting pieces of broken artifacts, sorting them into different piles for reconstruction later. They cut their fingers a few times and decide to wrap up their hands in gauze to spare the rest of their fingers from mutilation.

While they’re doing that, someone comes up behind them.

“Hi!”

Spirit jumps a full foot in the air and stumbles to regain their footing, nearly slipping on the dusty tile before steadying. The gauze not yet secured sticks haphazardly to their sleeves, and they fidget with it as they turn around fully to see who it is that interrupted them.

It looks to be a girl around their age—a little younger, they think. She’s got the same fine makeup as the two adults who Spirit wagers are her parents, though hers is made less refined in application, instead more youthful and in the form of self expression. Her green varsity jacket fits in line with her parent’s outfit, green and gold, but the rest of her outfit is a bright white only seen in the marble of the home’s interior.

And then there’s the dragon blade, strapped to her back. She seems comfortable with it there, which leads them to believe she’s the new wielder. Which certainly gives her presence weight.

Spirit lowers themselves to appear non threatening and demure, and they wave, awkwardly, before continuing to affix the gauze to their hands.

“Hello,” they reply.

“I’m Long Xiaojiao.” The girl bows politely in response. “But you can call me Mei.”

“Mei,” Spirit repeats, getting used to the word on their tongue, getting over the confusion of someone actually coming up to talk to them when they’re on a job. “I’m, uh, Spirit.”

“Nice to meet you!” She smiles sunnily up at them.

Spirit stands and fidgets, a little, trying to figure out how to respond. They don’t know how to interact with people much. Interacting with Red is easy, they’ve known him for centuries, but with new people, it’s hard. They’re terribly awkward, and they’re a monkey demon with three eyes. It isn’t as if they can have conversations with mortals without that becoming a factor.

In fact.

“You know, I haven’t seen a monkey demon before. Do you know the Monkey King?” she asks.

Spirit winces. “No,” They respond, quietly. “He-uh-from what I hear, he’s kind of a recluse, and I don’t interact with many monkey demons,” Spirit shrugs, trying for a smile.

Mei doesn’t seem perturbed by their lack of knowledge, shrugging nonchalantly right back, and Spirit relaxes a fraction. Like with Pigsy, Mei doesn’t seem to have many expectations on Spirit’s behavior, or requirements of knowledge and or ability. So far, anyway.

Then again, that could be because they know not to expect anything from Spirit. Spirit is well known in the demon world to be as worthless as they are useful, and Mei is from a powerful family that Spirit has done favors for before. The two of them probably knew of Spirit already. That’s why they’re good at knowing that Spirit knows pretty little.

“Yeah, that’s fair. My friend MK’s met him, since he’s his successor, but from what I hear from MK, Monkey King doesn’t talk to a lot of people.” She drops the information down in front of Spirit as if it isn’t a bombshell.

Spirit blinks a few times, trying to process the information. Huh. So, this girl knows the successor. Interesting.

“MK?” they ask, curious.

Information is important. If they perform a favor for Mei, that might get them an in with the successor, which means they’ll have something against the Monkey King and then they can be safe.

“Yup!” Mei whips out her phone, dragon phone case and everything, and shoves the screen up at Spirit, bright light pressing up towards their eyes.

Hand reaching toward their face, reaching digging scraping pain—

Spirit’s back hits the wall. They don’t remember backing up, just like they don’t remember their breaths picking up, nor do they remember starting to shake. Eyes wide, they glance around, until they lock eyes with Mei, whose phone is still held up in the air near where their face used to be.

“Oh,” Spirit murmurs, ears rising up from their previously downturned position. “Sorry.”

Mei drops her arm, brow furrowed in concern.

“I, uh,” Spirit scrambles to explain, because they don’t want her to tell her parents that they’re easily startled, that they’re not good enough, because that could ruin their reputation, that could stop the favor from being kept, it could ruin everything. “I don’t like. Things thrown at my face. Without warning.”

“Oh,” Mei says, softly, gently, glancing at Spirit with something softer and kinder than pity.

“Sorry,” Spirit mutters again, standing up straight.

They shuffle off, getting back to work at getting the many cracked artifacts off of the ground. They don’t usually have visceral reactions like that around other people. The last they can remember is when they were with Red. He’d waved a hand too close and they’d jumped back. He didn’t apologize, because Red hates admitting fault, but he did hover over them for a moment, as they regained their bearings.

Mei scuffs her boot on the tile, and then idles over.

“Nah, I get it,” she waves off the apology, though Spirit does question how she could possibly understand when they never told her why. “Hey, do you have a phone? I could send you the picture!”

Spirit turns to her, glancing down at the earnest smile on Mei’s face.

“I don’t know if my phone takes photos,” they reply, pulling out the brick of technology out of their pocket.

Mei’s face drops in shock at the sight of it, hands jumping up as if to snatch it from Spirit’s grip. They hand it to her instead, because Spirit can tell she wants to hold it, and Mei looks at it like one would the priceless artifacts shattered around the hall.

“This is...ancient,” she says, delicate, like she doesn’t want to insult them. “It doesn’t even show emojis!”

“What’s an emoji?” Spirit asks.

Mei drops her face into her hands and groans, before perking back up.

“Can I upgrade it?” she nearly begs, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Befuddled, Spirit doesn’t immediately agree. Should they? They already made Mei upset because they freaked out, it would be rude to deny her something that brings her joy, even if it could come at the expense of Spirit’s phone.

Even more confusing is that, rather than think them stupid for having an inferior product, Mei just wants to fix it up for them.

“Um,” they start, haltingly. “I like that my phone’s pretty indestructible, and I’ve had it for a while. Aren’t, um, newer phones more fragile?”

“Not when I make them,” comes Mei’s cheeky reply. “I’ll even use the materials from this one as a base! It’ll be the same, just better! And I’ll be able to send you photos!”

She puts on what Spirit can tell are puppy dog eyes, and Spirit caves instantly. Mei needn’t use those on them; Spirit knows they’re a pushover.

“Okay,” they acquiesce.

Mei cheers.

“Perfect! I think I have a charm that will look nice on your phone, too, so I can give you that!” She rocks back and forth on her feet, looking up at the ceiling in thought.

Spirit smiles to themself, setting a collection of pieces on one of the pedestals spared of the destruction. Tonight, they’ll have to get special glue somewhere to make the cracks nearly unnoticeable. There’s a demon marketplace a few miles outside of town, so there will probably be some there.

They walk over to the other side of the hall, glancing over at Mei, who follows them. She fiddles with her phone, and a cursory glance of her screen shows that she’s researching the model of Spirit’s phone for reference. Huh. Spirit didn’t know phones could do that.

Their eyes travel from Mei’s phone to the legendary blade on her back.

“You can wield the Jade Dragon Blade?” they ask, aiming for nonchalant and landing on incredulous. They’re not a good actor.

Instead of puffing out her chest and acting proud, something Spirit would find more characteristic of Mei based on the twenty minutes they’ve spent around her, Mei hunches down a little, looking shy.

“Yeah, I just found out. It’s, uh, pretty cool.” She shuffles her feet, seemingly reluctant to acknowledge her newfound importance. “I was never really, uh, what was expected of by my family, so it’s kind of a surprise that I can use it.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, Spirit knows. High expectations for children of powerful families are to be, well, expected, but it doesn’t mean it’s pleasant. Spirit doesn’t have to see the tired slump of Mei’s shoulders, with the weight of something wearier than just exhaustion, to know that. They’ve known it since they saw the fervor and desperation Red worked, the way he swallowed hurt at dismissal.

It’s a bit sad, they think, that they see it in Mei, too.

“I, uh, I know how to use a bunch of weapons,” They offer off handedly as they continue to work. “I could teach you some things. If you want?”

Macaque taught them to use a wide variety of weapons, before they settled on their combat sickles, so they know how to use general blades. They aren’t a sword master, but they’re sure they could teach Mei the basics.

Mei perks up again.

“Really? That’d be super helpful. I think my parents kind of expect me to already know how to use a sword, since I can wield this one, and if I told them I don’t know they’d get me some stuffy tutor or something,” she rolls her eyes at the idea.

“Once I’m done with this,” Spirit gestures the mess of the entrance hall. “We could meet up somewhere to start? Call it a favor.”

Spirit tries not to seem too excited, but opening up a new line of favors with someone is always a fun experience. A new layer of safety, a new token, even. If they’re lucky, Either way, to have Mei’s name in their book would be awful nice.

Mei opens her mouth to accept, but the hard slap of heeled slippers against the marble floors makes them both freeze.

“Xiaojiao,” comes the cold voice of Mei’s mother. “Spirit is here on a job. Don’t talk to them.”

“But—”

“Either find someplace else to be or stay in your room. Now,” Mei’s mother is unrelenting, eyes sharp.

Mei gives Spirit a commiserating smile, and then bounds down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

Once she’s gone, Mei’s mother turns on Spirit, a snarl on her face. Spirit knows the Long family is one of dragons, but maybe they might have forgotten just how protective dragons are of what is theirs.

“Never,” The voice is a hiss, and Spirit hunches down, curling in on themselves. “Never talk to my daughter. You keep away from her.”

Spirit trembles, and nods. They didn’t want any trouble, really! They just wanted to help. And Mei owing them a favor means they could interact with her without being as scared as they are, in general.

But, then again, they suppose having a reputation like theirs does work against you.

They work until nightfall, managing to get most of the hard work done. There’s still the matter of reconstructing artifacts, which means they need special glue. So they depart late at night to the demon market a few miles out of town.

It’s more a flea market, not exactly as concrete as some of the other shopping centers Spirit has perused. It’s actually kind of new, popping up because now that the Demon Bull Family is up and running, demons are crawling in droves to get a piece of the new economic boom.

They find a stand a half an hour into their walk that has the type of glue they need.

“Oh, well there’s a familiar face,” The shopkeep says when Spirit steps up to the stall.

Spirit tilts their head to the side, but doesn’t comment. “I would like that glue, please,” They practiced saying it a few-fifty-times in their head before stepping up, so they would get it right. They point to the jar they want with a small smile on their face, to be pleasant.

“Alright,” The shopkeep, a fox demon by the ears and swishing tail, takes the jar and wraps it gently.

Spirit reaches into their pocket and pulls out their coin purse, but when they do, the shopkeep laughs.

“No, no, your money is no good here,” The shopkeep says. “Let me return a favor, to you.”

Spirit blinks a few times, but it isn’t a surprise. People try and return favors all the time, as if they could ask for anything of Spirit and then return the favor on their terms. Spirit may do anything for a favor, but they don’t let anyone decide when that favor is returned for a reason.

White splattered red, a smile made dull with crimson spilling over lips. Returning the favor, returning the favor and dying and never coming back and it’s all your fault why didn’t you stop her—

They sigh, stand up straight, and put on the intimidating smile like Macaque taught them to. Wide eyes but with a glow that is more a promise than an effect, and a grin with just enough teeth to show that it’s sharp. It feels weird on their face, but it always works.

“No,” They respond, voice ever quiet. “I’m the one who deals in favors. I make the terms. And I want to pay.”

The marketplace has gone silent. The shopkeep is frozen in place. Spirit smiles.

“A-Alright,” the shopkeep finally says, rattling off the total.

Spirit blinks once, letting the glow in their eyes vanish. Their shoulders fall as they fumble with their coin purse until they pull out the total. The shopkeep hands them the bag, and Spirit waves cheerily, turning around and heading toward the exit of the market.

The demons in the market give them a wide berth, but Spirit prefers that. They like their space.

The whole project for the Long family takes a total of three days, two of which are without sleep. Spirit is used to not sleeping, whether it be from the usual nightmares or a lack of forethought to go to bed, and so they manage. Being without sleep leaves them jittery and off kilter, but Mei has seemingly taken her mother’s warning to heart, and Spirit is undisturbed as they work.

They like reconstructing the artifacts. The heads of the Long family tell them that the family can handle the actual reconstruction of the house, which is a relief considering Spirit knows very little about architecture. Putting artifacts back together is just like putting together a puzzle, and Spirit loves a good puzzle. Gets their brain working.

Macaque had puzzles, but his were always more...violent. Spirit prefers these ones, with the artifacts and without danger.

When they’re done, they’re regarded with distaste but not disappointment, which is nice. Spirit is pretty sure most people they do deals with don’t particularly like them, because no one likes owing people something. That’s not Spirit’s problem though! They always allow people to refuse, but people like convenience, and Spirit is malleable, quiet, unobtrusive, and generally willing to be used as any sort of tool. They’re more an object than a person, on the job, and that’s good! It means Spirit is good at whatever they need to be.

They almost forget that they’ve given Mei their phone, because they’re leaving the property when she shouts their name.

They jump a full foot in the air, turning around.

“Hey!” Mei comes sprinting across the courtyard, skidding to a stop in front of them. “You almost forgot your phone!”

She holds it out, and it looks very little like what Spirit expects. Gone is the black brick of an item, replaced with a wide, reinforced screen. The case is sturdy, black with purple accents. Spirit feels the familiar material in the black sections.

There’s a little purple lotus charm dangling from one corner.

Spirit holds the phone gingerly, almost afraid they might break it. They tap on the screen, and it glows! Spirit taps it a few times, but nothing else happens.

“I have no idea how to use this,” they say, looking over at Mei with wide eyes.

Mei laughs, kind and not at all cruel, which is confusing in and of itself. Spirit half expected her to think them stupid for not knowing. But Mei directs Spirit to a stone bench by a pond in the gardens, and carefully explains how the touch screen works, and how to get into the different apps, like contacts and messages.

“I put my number in there,” Mei says, pointing out her contact. “So that way we can text each other!”

“Oh,” Spirit stares, and then smiles, small and shy and pleased. “That sounds nice.”

How often is it that someone wants to talk to Spirit? How often is it that Spirit is told how to contact someone for fun? For something besides work? They can only recall Red bothering which is somewhat depressing, but it does nothing to stop the swell of elation that makes their hands shake with the desire to move, at the thought of a new friend.

But to flap their hands like that is childish behavior, so they grip their new phone tight instead.

That doesn’t stop their tail from wagging beneath the bench, though.

Once Mei is done teaching them the basics of modern phone technology, she stands, giving them a sheepish grin.

“I should get going. If mom finds me here with you, she’ll get real cranky, again,” She smiles. “Text you later?”

Spirit stands, and their shoulders don’t ache so much. Subconsciously, they feel the wherewithal to stand tall, for the moment, when Mei gives them such a blinding grin.

“Yeah!

They send their first emoji to Red, a little purple heart and the message ‘Red! I just learned what emojis are! I hope you like this one! From, Spirit.’

Red responds with a bunch of flame emojis, and a single red heart back, stuffed between the fires. It makes Spirit giggle. Has Red been sending little fires in every text? It’s certainly on brand, though they feel it might be a little redundant. Maybe it’s his theme?

They get a text from Mei.

‘Hey! I got a race a couple of months from now. Wanna come watch? Call it a favor ;D!’

Spirit rocks back and forth on their feet excitedly.

‘Mei,

Sounds fun! See you then :)

From,

Spirit.’

They add a little purple heart emoji to the end of the text, and receive a barrage of green ones in reply.

Spirit smiles.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #Yin Spirit #kitkat1003 #monkie kid oc #monkie kid mei #monkie kid pigsy

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f1 · 2 years

Text

Contrasting fortunes at AlphaTauri as incredible race for Gasly tempered by rear wing issues for Tsunoda

After getting both cars into Q3 for just the second time this season, the mood down at AlphaTauri was one of confidence heading into the 2022 Azerbaijan Grand Prix. But in the end, only one of the team’s drivers managed to deliver points in a frantic race that saw plenty of overtaking in the tightly packed midfield. Pierre Gasly qualified sixth at the venue of his last F1 podium, while Yuki Tsunoda lined up eighth. But it was Gasly who netted his first points finish since Australia, biding his time and slowly making his way back through the field after an early pit stop under a Virtual Safety Car. Ultimately, Gasly would nurse his hard compound tyres for 42 of the 51 laps before coming home a season-best fifth, in what he described as a “pretty incredible” result, adding: “Finishing in the top five is really good, especially considering how the start of our year has played out. READ MORE: ‘We were a little bit quicker than expected’ – Russell seizes opportunity to take unlikely Baku podium “We’ve not had that much luck so far, so it was important to get a clean weekend, which is what we’ve achieved here in Baku.” 2022 Azerbaijan Grand Prix: Hamilton gets past defending Gasly It wasn’t an easy way to make it to the flag, after the team opted for track position over fresh tyres late on when a second Virtual Safety Car was called. That left the Frenchman with a freshly-shod Lewis Hamilton on his tail, and although the Mercedes man eventually got past, he was made to work for the move as Gasly put up a stout defence. “Unfortunately, we had the second Virtual Safety Car, and we knew that wouldn’t play out in our favour. I tried to defend against Lewis the best I could once he pitted for new tyres, but he was much faster – I tried to nurse my tyres through the race, but they really weren’t in great shape by that point. At the end of the day, to be in a position to fight with the Mercedes means that we’re doing a really good job.” HIGHLIGHTS: Watch the action from an exciting race in Baku as Verstappen leads Red Bull one-two For much of the afternoon it looked as if Tsunoda would also come home in the points, with the Japanese racer running just behind his team mate. But he too found himself overtaken by Hamilton – before an unusual reliability issue became apparent, with only half of his DRS flap opening. That earned the youngster a black and orange flag from Race Control, sending him into the pits late on to try and fix the issue – and leaving him a disappointed P13 at the flag. 2022 Azerbaijan Grand Prix: AlphaTauri tape up Tsunoda’s broken rear wing “We just repaired it with some kind of tape, it was the only thing we can do. Just the complete rear wing was broken,” he said afterwards. “I’m really disappointed today. Until the reliability issue the race was going really well for me, we were really in control of the tyres and the pace was good, so I think we could’ve easily finished in P6 today.” READ MORE: ‘I could’ve finished 8th if I was more of a rebel’ says Norris – but accepts McLaren team orders were ‘fair’ For Tsunoda, the quest for his first points finish since Spain continues, but at least he can take solace in the fact that the AT03 was much more on the pace of its midfield rivals in Baku. Canada is up next for the team – and while Gasly has experience of the Montreal track, Tsunoda does not, with the circuit not featured on the calendar in his rookie year. via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com

#F1 #Contrasting fortunes at AlphaTauri as ‘incredible’ race for Gasly tempered by rear wing issues for Tsunoda #Formula 1

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chubbydino · 3 years

Note

Could you do the same for the ‘cheating’ couples (idk how to call them) as you did for the official ones? Like carlando, lestappen, maxiel, Lewis and George and so on…

i think i would get myself in trouble if i did that! haha but i guess i can expand on what's already been explained:

carlando: come on, we all know how good they are together. when carlos got appointed to ferrari, lando had a really hard time with it, but i also imagine he was relieved in terms of racing because he could focus on his job and not have to worry about it affecting his relationship. and tbh i think he was really happy to marry daniel because dan knows his shit behind all of the immature jokes & innuendoes lol. i always imagine carlos chose to be a prince knowing that he would have to put his career before his relationships to an extent, so though going to ferrari was a difficult choice, he doesn't regret it. i'm sure he and lando had lots of forced talks about it because carlos likes to explain EVERYTHING he is thinking lolol.

lestappen: oh, pain. but the muted kind that ebbs and flows like the sea at low tide. charles has not recovered from the way max just straight up dumped his ass cold turkey (obviously), and max & charles were each other's first love so it's especially deep. max's initial reaction when he first saw charles again was to avoid the entire situation (he was already pretty in love with dan already but dan didn't really understand the depth of it at that time) and sucker punched charles with that reaction at the bar, as we saw. but max has matured a lot since then and so has charles. they both have a very deep connection with each other and a level of comfort that they don't have with anyone else, because they've been through life together before the crown, and there is something incredibly powerful in that they chose each other before someone else was chosen for them.

maxiel: woof. the love here is so intense and grown and all-reaching that max and daniel absolutely cause pain to anyone who happens to wander too close to their relationship--sometimes intentional, sometimes not. max had blinders on about dan in the beginning, thinking they would be together forever no matter what happened, then dan blindsided him by leaving red bull for renault. if you think max is a dick now, he was 1000% worse at the end of 2018. things got BAD and red bull nearly collapsed because the government couldn't contain the fallout. alex, pierre, and kvyat got fucked over because of it, and as we've seen, it created a huge rift in every relationship in max's life. but after this period, max and daniel gravitated toward each other again and things kicked back off in secret. everyone more or less knew about their relationship, but for people like lando, it was easy to perceive it as a long-term relationship that was very loose because of the way the royalty works. so like, lando really did think daniel loved him to an extent, and while he may have known in the back of his mind that dan would always choose max if it came down to it, lando probably figured that dan had max on the backburner because they "couldn't" be together. sorry lando lol.

gewis (lol idk if they have a ship name): haha. this relationship is still a "tread lightly" situation, especially for george, who has the most to lose. lewis has already said he won't take a prince as a lover publicly, but george makes him a softer, whether he wants to acknowledge that or not. we'll see more about this in chapter 27. george is very perceptive--more perceptive than lewis planned on, i think. and while george can be just as cutthroat and ruthless as lewis, he is also a very strong relationship partner and will make the sacrifice play to save his relationship even if it means taking a blow. lewis would call that naive, but george still finds humanity in the crown, which is why he's loved by so many even after what he did.

#asks #fools gold #FG headcanons

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space-------kid · 4 years

Note

hi there!! I really love your genya fics they make my heart feel so full 😭 i was just wondering if you could write kimetsu academy genya w the reader going supporting his shooting competitions + dragging sanemi along to prove that genya has incredible skill 💗 tysmm

Thank you so much!!! 😭💕💕💕

I’m sorry this took a while (this request is so cute OMG OMG OMG), but I hope you enjoy this! 💕💕💕

Also, thanks to everyone who submitted a request! I hope I managed to put a smile on your faces with my writing! Thank you so much! 💕💕💕💕 💕 💕💕

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓲𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭, 𝓼𝓮𝓮 𝒮𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓏𝓊𝑔𝒶𝓌𝒶 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓎𝒶 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“The shooting competition’s gonna be next week, isn’t it?”

Genya tears his gaze off the target to look at [Name]. She sits on the audience stands, elbows resting on her knees and her palms cupping her chin. The way she glows with admiration while she watches him during morning practice sends Genya’s heart aflutter, and he’s filled with the need to impress her even more. Shyly, he gives her a confirmatory nod and turns to face the target again.

“Yeah,” he tells her as he lines up another shot. He pulls the trigger and the crack of the gunshot reverberates in the training area. He hears [Name]’s delighted gasp, clapping her hands while Genya smiles with pride upon seeing that he hits the bull’s eye a third time.

“I’ll make another banner and little flags for you, then!” [Name] exclaims, hopping off the bench and making her way to him. She picks up his towel and offers to wipe the sweat off Genya’s forehead with another of her lovely, bright smiles. He leans down so she can reach his face.

“You really shouldn’t bother, you know…” he tells her quietly, face red from the proximity and how gently she dabs at his forehead with the towel. “And besides, nii-chan won’t even come to watch like the usual… Remember what happened last time when the school gave me an award?”

[Name]’s expression falls at the memory. Genya has been so shaken that day, humiliation and pain fighting for dominance on his face when Shinazugawa-sensei ripped the certificate and told the former that he ought to focus on his studies – especially Maths – instead.

It hurt her, how Shinazugawa-sensei doesn’t even seem to care about his own brother. She remembers how full of confidence Genya has been during practices and the competition itself, and how he even forgot his shyness when he gave her a hug after being crowned the champion for all three clay shooting categories. He isn’t the type to brag, but [Name] recalls how Genya – lavender eyes shining with pride – wondered how proud Sanemi-san might be of his achievements.

It all crumbles during that day Kimetsu Academy organized an event to award certain students for their achievements in different competitions.

Genya’s sympathizers may have increased and showed their support openly since that day, but [Name] knows that only Shinazugawa-sensei’s matters the most to him.

“Don’t worry, Genya-kun,” she consoles him with a reassuring smile, a plan already hatching in her mind. “I’m sure your nii-chan will come around.”

“Oi, [Surname].”

“Yes, Shinazugawa-sensei?”

The white-haired Maths teacher gives [Name] an appraising look as she stands by the doorway of the staff room, hands folded in front of her and her [colour] eyes gleaming with a mixture of worry and curiosity at being summoned. She hopes she hasn’t done anything to earn his ire – not when she’s working hard with her plans to convince the older Shinazugawa brother to come to Genya’s shooting competition next week.

“You’re the Public Speech Club’s ace, aren’t you?” Shinazugawa-sensei asks her, folding his arms over his chest while he leans against the doorway.

“Um, y-yes…?” [Name] replies hesitantly, still unused to the sudden attention she’s been showered with lately. She has been one of the students who are awarded alongside Genya by the school upon snagging the gold medal Kimetsu Academy’s Public Speech Club has long coveted in the interschool public speaking competitions. Rengoku-sensei is assigned to oversee the club’s participation in competitions, and she wonders why Shinazugawa-sensei summoned her for it.

“Rengoku’s on a sick leave and he asked me to take over your practices until he returns,” Shinazugawa-sensei tells her, frowning at her diffident response. “I want you to transcribe and give me a hard copy of your speech in your previous competition.”

“Yes, sensei!” [Name] replies, inwardly thankful that Genya has taken a video of her performance when he came to watch and support her like she does with him. She will just have to ask him to send her a copy of the video.

Speaking of Genya—

“Um, Shinazugawa-sensei?”

“Yeah?”

[Name] fidgets, looking down in embarrassment to avoid her teacher’s piercing gaze. Genya has told her that his nii-chan already knows about their mutual feelings for each other, and despite not being an official couple yet, she suddenly feels shy about asking Shinazugawa-sensei to come and watch Genya’s competition in the upcoming week.

“Spit it out already, [Surname],” the Maths teacher tells her but not – surprisingly – unkindly. [Name] meets his gaze and sees the impassivity on the usually ticked off older Shinazugawa brother.

“I-I…!” she blurts out, now standing at attention. Her cheeks turn red at the amused look her future older brother teacher is giving her.

(Out of all his students, Shinazugawa-sensei seems to be tolerant and kind enough towards [Name]. No one knows that the reason for this is that he sees how supportive, kind, and patient she is towards his brother – but of course he won’t tell anyone that.)

“Sensei, Genya’s shooting competition will be held Thursday next week,” [Name] says, her expression seeming to say it’s now or never. “Do you want to come and watch–“

Shinazugawa-sensei rolls his eyes at her and turns away dismissively. “You should be worrying about your own upcoming competition, brat. You’re dismissed.”

“But sensei–!”

He looks at her, eyes narrowed with an expression she can’t name. “Drop it, [Surname]. And tell that moron to quit already. He barely even passed last time’s quiz.”

Worry fills [Name]’s entire being. It’s her first time asking, and she’s already been shot down! What will she tell Genya?

She turns around and leaves, hands clenched at her sides. [Name] can’t believe herself – why does she think that way? The first is not the only opportunity given to her to ask. There’s still a second, a third! If she wants to see Genya happy and for Shinazugawa-sensei to witness how skilled the former is, then why is she being disheartened at being shot down?

Heart set with fiery determination, she turns to the direction of the staff room and pumped her fists. “Telling me to drop it won’t do, Shinazugawa-sensei! I’ll ask you a hundred – no, a thousand times if I have to! I’ll do anything to prove to you that Genya is outstanding at what he does! Just you wait–“

“No shouting in the hallways,” comes a cold voice from behind [Name], her face turning pale at the sight of the Chemistry teacher glaring at her.

“I’m sorry, Iguro-sensei!” she yells and bows at him, sprinting off out of sight.

The week-long saga of convincing Sanemi to attend Genya’s shooting competition ends with a shouting match between [Name] and the teacher during one of her practices for the public speaking competition. The topic given to her is familial bonds, and [Name] seamlessly and shamelessly slides in Genya – though anonymously – every three sentences, sometimes subtly or even openly telling her teacher to show his younger brother support by watching the competition.

Monday comes, and the practice devolves yet again into another heated argument between teacher and student.

“I told you to drop it already, didn’t I?” Sanemi bellows at her, finally losing the patience he reserves for her.

“I don’t want to!” [Name] yells back, face flushed with frustration. She is alone in one of the classrooms with the teacher – she wouldn’t be yelling at him like what she is doing now if they weren’t. “And why are you being so difficult about it, sensei? Would it kill you to watch even just one event? Why are you being so stubborn?”

“You’re the one to talk! I don’t give a shit about Genya’s fucking obsession with guns and joining shooting competitions!” the older Shinazugawa brother rages on. “Not when he’s close to failing my subject because he’s stupid!”

“Don’t say that you don’t give a shit, sensei! And don’t call him stupid – not when he’s trying so hard to be good at something he isn’t!”

Sanemi stops from spewing another heated comment when [Name] begins rubbing an arm over her eyes to stop the aggravated tears from flowing down her cheeks. His arms drop uselessly to his sides, suddenly feeling so clueless at the sight of the crying girl in front of him. Genya has good friends, that much he knows (he still hasn’t forgiven that Kamado boy from frowning disapprovingly at him when he rudely commented on Genya’s quiz results). He knows as well that something is up between his younger brother and [Name], but to actually see her crying in Genya’s defence lifts the heavy fog of neglect in the teacher’s heart.

“You’re always telling Genya-kun to quit, and you look like you don’t even care when he looks hurt by your words! Why do you keep doing that to him? B-Because… Because he’s bad at the subject you’re teaching? Because he’s not as good as Maths as you? Sensei–“

Sanemi knows what his constant discouragement is doing to Genya. As much as his heart clenches at the look of hurt on his little brother’s face, the older between the two has to do it for Genya’s sake. He’s doing it because he truly believes that the reason why Genya keeps on nearly flunking the subject is because the latter focuses his attention too much to his club activities. Sanemi is harsh because he genuinely wants for Genya to focus on his studies so he graduates with good grades. With good grades, Sanemi knows that the big universities in the city would send invites for his brother to enroll – and soon enough Genya’s future would be as bright as Sanemi has always dreamed of it to be. But to hear from [Name] herself that his little brother is trying hard to be good at Maths despite not being gifted like Sanemi…

He knows that [Name] is always at the shooting range with Genya during the latter’s morning practices. He even sees the two hanging out with Genya’s friends in the library, the group patiently helping each other with subjects they find difficult.

Sanemi smiles and softly places a hand on top of [Name]’s head, prompting her to stop crying.

“You’re a good kid, you know that, [Name]?” he quietly tells her, gently stroking her [colour] hair. “Now I know why Genya’s so smitten with you.”

The red on her face deepens, and [Name] hides it with her hands with an embarrassed squeal.

“Sensei!”

The day of the shooting competition finally comes, and Genya’s heart sinks when he doesn’t see [Name] among the audience.

He knows that she also has an upcoming competition, and he’s even surprised to learn from her that his nii-chan becomes her temporary coach in the absence of Rengoku-sensei. Anxiety slowly creeps in his chest, dread weighing him down where he stands.

What if… what if nii-chan has stopped her from coming to watch and made her practice today instead?

A purple banner saying “KIMETSU ACADEMY’S UNBEATABLE ACE! GO GENYA!” pops out from the stands and Genya’s doubt leaves him as soon as they came when he spots his friends (aptly named the Kamaboko Squad because of Inosuke’s penchant of getting people’s names wrong) waving at him in support. Aside from the banner, they wield flaglets depicting his shotgun and his name. Smiling, he lifts a hand to wave at them but freezes when Inosuke puts the banner down to reveal–

“N-No way…” Genya mutters in utter disbelief, eyes widening and filling with tears.

Sitting side by side are [Name] and Sanemi, the former holding onto the latter’s arm and excitedly pointing to where Genya is. A huge smile splits [Name]’s face as she waves cheerfully at him. Sanemi, on the other hand, looks like he’s trying not to look too annoyed or bored with the proceedings. He faintly hears her shouts amidst the crowd’s din, his heart leaping up in his throat at her words.

“GENYA-KUUUN! LOOK WHO I MANAGED TO DRAG HEEEEEERE! YOU BETTER SHOW SENSEI YOUR TOP-NOTCH SHOOTING SKIIIIIIILLS!”

Genya is reduced to an embarrassed, blushing mess as he follows the other competitors in the first shooting location for the first event, all the while thinking of ways on how to express his gratitude to [Name] for managing to do the unthinkable.

Skeet shooting, the last of the three clay shooting categories, comes to an end with Genya remaining at the top of the leaderboard.

To say that Sanemi is astounded by his little brother’s shooting skills is an understatement.

Judging from the categories of the shooting competition, Sanemi is quick to deduce that a competitor is required to have quick reflexes and flash judgement, not to mention a sharp eye, accuracy, and precision. The way his little brother handled all three categories with ease proves that Genya possesses such skills, and maybe even more.

Despite his distance from the audience stands, Sanemi can perfectly see Genya’s posture and the way he holds himself. When holding a shotgun, Genya seems to transform into an entirely different person. He is so steady, not even a hint of trembling nor exhaustion evident regardless of how long he has been holding the shotgun up and constantly aiming at a clay target flying at approximately 30 seconds per meter. While there have been contestants who merely grazed their targets, the ones Genya shoots always end up shattering mid-air.

His little brother doesn’t half-ass these competitions, doesn’t he?

In his mind’s eye, Sanemi can clearly see Genya raking gold medals and trophies for Japan in international competitions.

He trails behind Genya’s friends when they swarm his little brother right after the awarding ceremony. As expected, the younger Shinazugawa brother is sporting gold medals for each event. Sanemi blinks and looks down at [Name] when she tugs at his sleeve, her face glowing with pride as she gazes up at him.

“Well, sensei?” she asks him, and Sanemi fights the urge to roll his eyes at the smugness in her voice. He settles for poking her cheek and shooting her a proud grin.

“N-Nii-chan…?”

The two look at Genya with varying degrees of pride on their faces. Sanemi places a hand on his brother’s shoulder, now openly showing the latter his brotherly love and support.

“Well done, Genya,” he simply tells the younger Shinazugawa before resuming his task of poking [Name]’s cheek. “And tell this idiot that she can call me nii-chan outside of school from now on.”

The (still not official!) couple’s faces explode into a brilliant shade of red at the blatant implication of Sanemi’s words.

“NII-CHAN!”

“SENSEI!”

#shinazugawa genya #shinazugawa genya x reader #genya x reader #kny genya x reader #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kny

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gossipchii · 3 years

Text

Drive to survive

FF.net: here / AO3: here

Characters: Ishida Yamato

Words: 5100+

Notes: I promised this on twitter, and here as well and well, it happened. A Digimon story on my latest obsession. the Formula 1.

It’s safe to say I got excited, this is my longest story in forever!

Anyway, hope you like it as much as I do. Enjoy!

He was making history; he could not let himself forget it. Not ever had there been a Japanese driver to win podiums, and so far, during that season only, he had five. He had been working towards where he was right now ever since he was 8, when his dad had taken him to a kid’s go-kart circuit in Tokyo and had found out his heart had never beaten quicker. His mom had gotten scared when he told her how much he had liked it, and that he wanted to go back.

The owner of the place, a former engineer for Formula 1, was impressed as soon as he placed his eyes on him.

“He’s got talent,” he had told his mother, she shrugged it off. It was only a hobby, it had to be.

When his grandparents had gone visiting from Paris, Yamato had insisted on them seeing him race, he was only ten at the time. His grandfather knew he raced go-karts from his calls with his mother, but since she had insisted it was just a hobby, he took it that way. Of course, as an old French man, he was a big afficionado of car races, and nevertheless he was impressed by how fast his young grandson was.

“He’s a natural Natsuko, you must understand this is not just a hobby.”

Yamato traveled back to France with his grandparents, after he had heard them discussed with his mother about him taking a shot at race teams in Europe, professional ones. He had never been a professional before, he was not even sure what that meant, since Formula 1 was not a popular sport between his classmates, it was all about soccer and baseball, he did not know people could get paid by racing.

Michel, his grandfather, had a friend, who knew a friend, who was a part of the recruiting team of Renault’s quarry, and as soon as they saw 10-year-old Yamato behind his tiny wheel, they knew he was a natural, good enough to start training as soon as possible with their team.

It all happened too fast for him, he had to go back to Tokyo to pack up his life and leaving for good. He was not even certain if he were feeling sad or nostalgic, all he knew was school would turn into something he could do at home, and in French, and that he would be racing all the time. It all sounded like a dream, really.

“Don’t tell your grandma I’m telling you this but go kick those English kids’ butts!” had been the encouragement words coming from his grandpa before his first-ever professional race. He was 13 at the time, already gaining enough attention from the media, especially from his home country, despite only stepping foot in Japan once a year.

He tried not to read anything regarding himself, they tended to be mean, and underappreciating him. He knew after the first article he had read, he would never read it again, what was the point anyway?

“Next time I see anyone writing something mean they’ll be fired, even if they work elsewhere,” his dad had threatened.

“It’s okay, I don’t even care anymore. Let them talk, all I care about is getting podium, again.”

And so, he did, until he was old enough to jump to the bigger leagues. From Formula 3 to Formula 2, and finally, with only 21 years old, signing a five-year contract with the team Michel had always admired: Scuderia Ferrari.

Sadly enough, he had not had the chance to see him drive in red, because he had passed away due to a heart-attack, his grandmother passing away shortly after. People said she had died from heartbreak. Yamato only took it as another reason why he had to prove his best. His management team had told him media were already calling him the best Japanese driver in history, and that was nice, but only if he made it reality.

Yamato had helped Ferrari pound back to being the first-place team once again, after years of competing against Red-Bull and Mercedes. But he had only been the fifth best racer, not good enough if he wanted to make history.

That week he was back in his homeland, Japan greeting him as a hero for the Japanese Grand Prix. It was scary how much his face was everywhere he looked, even more so than pop-icons. He was glad his team respected his choice to remain mostly private, and when they wanted advertising, his team-mate, an Austrian dude who was six years older than him, was more than happy to do the interviewing.

It was safe to say he was not pleased when they asked him to do a photoshoot for a local fashion brand, up and coming worldwide, apparently. Yamato did not care much about fashion, despite him being called the best dressed racer a few years in a row. Not that he knew about it, plus he usually put on an all-black outfit and he was through.

“Why can’t Lechner do it?”

“They want you specifically, Ishida.” His manager said softly, “even the Japanese embassy is paying for this partnership. Aren’t you proud to be Japanese?”

“Of course, I am, asshole.” He smirked, rolling his eyes as he decided it was the perfect timing to visit his brother.

As expected, he was on a tight schedule, this could never count as a vacation visit to Japan, but he had asked his team to send him into Japan two days earlier to visit his family. It was a tradition he tended to do ever since he started racing world-wide.

He took his ever-loved motorbike and drove as fast as he could to Odaiba. Driving a motorbike had been what he could call his hobby, since karting had turned into his job, having built a couple of them while living in Italy.

“He better be home,” he stretched his arms as he opened the door in front of him, knowing damn well his brother always made the mistake to leave it unlocked. He heard him singing in his bathroom, which meant he was finishing taking a shower. He looked around to confirm his mother was not home and shrugged it off. He had drifted apart from her when he initially moved to France with his grandparents, and even more so when his parents (finally) got divorced.

“Don’t you dare opening that door if you’re naked.”

“YAMATO?” Takeru opened the door wearing nothing but his tiny white trousers.

“I truly do not feel like seeing you naked,” but of course his younger brother could not care less and ran to greet him with a hug. He was the only person on earth allowed to hug him.

“What a funny way of admitting how much you had missed me!!” He gifted him one of his traded white smiles, the warmest smile Yamato knew. “Nervous for this weekend?”

“As long as it doesn’t rain, I don’t see why I should be.”

“Even when it rains you succeed, you’re always making everyone proud!”

“Even you?” he served himself oolong tea. He was surprised to see beer in his mom’s fridge, forgetting for a second his younger brother was legally allowed to drink.

“You know I’m your number one fan, those old-rich men are nothing compared to the original Yamato Ishida stan!” Takeru walked into his room to get dressed, for Yamato’s relief. He had offered his mother if they wanted to move to a bigger apartment, considering he now had the money to provide her and Takeru with something better, but she had refused, and he gave up after the third time.

“Going out?”

“I was going to, with the good-old gang, but that was before I knew you would pay me a visit.”

“So Hikari and company, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, even Taichi is coming, you should come, too!” Taichi was his oldest friend, the only one he missed when he moved to Europe.

“Nah, you know I don’t drink.” And it was not merely because of his strict diet, he was not a fan of what alcohol did with his mindset. “But you go and have fun, I must get back to my place, anyway, and be as early as possible in Suzuka tomorrow morning.” Takeru looked disappointed, Yamato felt a pinch of guilt for not being what a fun older brother was supposed to be. “But I’ll text Taichi! Remind everyone they’re invited this weekend, VIP seats and all!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, brother.” Yamato smiled softly before playing with Takeru’s hair like he used to when they were kids, even if he was almost his height.

He took a chopper ride from Tokyo to Suzuka the morning after. He had much rather taken the train, but Ferrari strictly prohibited him from doing so.

“Are you insane? People would eat you alive, you’re pretty much as famous as Hello Kitty is in this place!” He ignored his comment, it was always annoying to Yamato when they were in Japan, because most of his team-mates were foreign to Japanese culture, and he did not have the patience to educate every single one of them.

It was Thursday, which meant he could do strength exercises before the testing race the next day.

“How’s my superstar doing?” the mere voice of his manager irritated him, but he had another year signed up to him, afterwards he had decided to work by himself. After all, he still had another three-year contract with Ferrari.

“He’s extremely focused,” and he was strength training was the hardest to him.

“Don’t forget you have that photoshoot I had mentioned you in an hour, and I wouldn’t like you to go there all sweaty.”

“Do you think I would forget?” but in fact, he had forgotten it, his mind had probably erased the memory of that specific event.

“I’m glad we’re finally on the same track,” he winked at Yamato, before shutting the door of the hotel’s gym.

Yamato did not have much of a choice, so he took a cold shower before heading to one of the hotel’s meeting rooms. It had all been transformed for it to look like a Sakura garden. In reality, it was October and Sakura’s were far from blossoming. He would be lying if he did not admit it looked rather breathtaking.

He had heard about this up-and-coming brand. They had turned the Japanese typical attire and turned it into mainstream. He had to admit he was a fan.

He had also heard the brand had been started by a young student from Bunka Fashion College, under the wings of a bigger brand. He had heard, not that he cared, really, that the founder was around his age. Suddenly, he was curious.

“Ishida Yamato, what a pleasure to finally meet you!” a man around his thirties greeted him rather enthusiastic.

“You must be…?”

“Oh, you’re a funny one! Yoshio Fujiwara, of course!” And the Fujiwara branding was the bigger one who had taken the young designer under his wings, he wondered where she was.

“Of course, of course,” he bowed, always traying himself to remain close to his Japanese customs and traditions. “A pleasure to meet you, Fujiwara-san.”

“No need to be formal with me, I’m very used to western traditions, having spent most of your life in Europe, I would have killed for an opportunity like that!” Yamato tried his best not to roll his eyes, faking his best smile. “It is our biggest pleasure that you have accepted to be the face of our newest collection.” Yamato saw a petit figure running around the room with pieces of clothing covering her, he wondered if that was Fujiwara counterpart.

“It’s always delightful to put Japan’s name high, you know.” He cleared his voice, “so, am I also going to meet Takenouchi-san?”

“You absolutely will, she must be somewhere around… Sora!?” The fast-paced person finally stopped, uncovering her face from the piles of clothing she was carrying. “Don’t be rude and introduce yourself to Yamato.”

“Sure thing, just let me finish up the final touches and…”

“Now?!” Yamato noticed a subtle sigh coming from her lips. She surely seemed young, barely his own age. For the first time since the encounter started, he felt safe.

She ran right next to him, her attention still clearly on the mess she had left. He could immediately tell how passionate she was about what she was doing.

“It’s a pleasure, Ishida-san. I would love to lie and say I’m a fan, but truth is this is my first time having an encounter with races, or cars in general…”

“Sora! You’re being rude!”

“Sorry, I still take the subway and I never got a driver’s license!” Yamato snorted, in those five seconds he decided that redhead was his favorite person in the room.

“Well, I’m glad to admit this is not my first encounter with your brand, I’ve read so much.” Her eyes lit up; Yamato could have even sworn he spotted a subtle blush in her face.

He was rather awkward in front of the cameras, never quite a natural. Another reason why his team-mate was the one to do most of Ferrari’s advertisements. But Sora helped him feel in his element, somehow. He liked how much she got into her character, almost ignoring him by how much she cared on how her designs looked on him.

“I think we’re good, we shouldn’t take much more of your time.” By then, Fujiwara had left the room, Sora was certain he had slipped into the hotel bar.

“That must have been the less stressful photoshoot I’ve ever had, thank you, Takenouchi-san.”

“Oh, don’t call me that! I’m not older than you are.”

“Then you must accept to drop the formalities with me as well.” A grimaced appeared on her face, clearly unsure.

“But you’re a client, that would be completely unprofessional!”

“I promise I won’t tell anybody,” Sora liked that, a dirty-little-secret.

“Fine, but if Fujiwara is around, I’ll go back in character.”

“Deal,” Yamato grabbed a bottle of water and doubted if he should say what his mind was begging at him to do. “Are you staying for the race?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I had no idea how this worked.” She shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “I don’t understand why it lasts so many days, it’s confusing. This whole sport is confusing.” Sora liked sports, for instance, sports where a ball had to go from one side of the court to the other, not cars and tires.

“It’s not that hard, you’ll see,” they took a seat on the fake grass Sora had built for the photoshoot. “The first day is merely for us to get familiar with the track, nothing formal. The second day the places for the actual race, which is on Sunday, get settled. And that’s pretty much it.”

“And you get to travel the world for that?”

“People can be very serious about their cars.”

“Incredible,” she locked eyes with Yamato, she was not familiar with his sport but she sure was with his face, and not only because it was everywhere she looked around the city’s billboards, but because she had studied it for the whole photoshoot, and even for the particular line she was about to launch.

“It would be fun if you stayed, some friends around our age are coming too, so it won’t be that weird for you.”

“Okay, but I’ll stay for fun, not as a part of my job schedule.”

“Great!” He said way too enthusiastic, regretting it right away. “I can get you great tickets, so don’t worry about that.” She chuckled, taking out her VIP pass.

“Don’t worry, I have that part settled.”

“Of course, you do,” he felt stupid, all sponsors got the best tickets, even better than he could even get most times.

“So, I’ll see you around? Do you say break a leg for this?”

“Absolutely not! But I appreciate your luck wishes.”

He was glad on Friday’s there was never much of a crowd, that way he could stay focused on what mattered: getting comfortable enough with the track. Whenever he raced, he felt an almost out of body experience, where he could disconnect from his current reality and be one with his car. Ferrari had nicknamed him the racing samurai, for how dramatic his recovering could be whenever he was behind on the race.

Japan had never particularly been the biggest crowd when it came to Formula 1, but ever since he had started getting podiums, and making a name out of himself, it had a 180 degrees change. Ferrari could not be happier with the now 23-yeard-old racer, he was smart, analytic, and cold headed.

When he got back to the Pits, he was greeted by his family, not expecting to see them until the day after.

“You were pretty fast out there!” his dad said, as awkward as he usually was.

“This was merely the boring race, we were just testing the track,” he smiled widely, greeting him by what could be considered a hug, or sort of one.

“But Hiroaki is right, you were extremely fast. That car you’re racing, is a beauty,” seeing his mother was always an adventure for Yamato. Ever since he left home, at such a young age, they had drifted apart. Naturally, she was worried for her older son, racing and putting his life at risk every time he did so. Yamato had heard her fighting with his grandpa countless times, until she finally gave in. She was never going to win, Yamato loved karting the same way she loved writing.

“You were tremendous there, superstar!” his manager came to greet him, as much as he annoyed him, he was not a bad person, he just clearly loved the money Yamato made him gain. “You better keep up the pace the rest of the weekend.”

“That’s the plan,” Yamato served himself a cup of tea, while he took a seat in front of the screen that was studying his track performance. He was nearly obsessed with improving, never not paying attention at even the slightest mistake.

“Before I forget,” his manager was French, and spoke a very heavily accented English. His family, apart from Takeru, barely spoke any English at all, hence why they did not communicate with one another. Yamato despised that, considering he could speak four languages. “Young Takenouchi asked me to give you her number, Romeo.” Yamato’s cheeks flushed, as he took with both hands the business card he was being given.

“I’ll quickly go to my room,” he excused himself with his family, promising he would meet them for a quick dinner.

He wrote and re-wrote his text message towards Sora, not wanting to appear desperate. Formula 1 drivers, at least some of them, had the reputation of being more than successful with the opposite sex, however Yamato was rather unlucky. He put so much effort into his performance inside the track, he tended to neglect everything else. Hence why it felt nice to have a close to normal conversation with someone his age, a woman his age.

“This is Yamato, I heard the rumor you wanted to have my number,” he finally sent, wanting to throw his phone over the window right after.

“How come we spent so much time talking yesterday and I had to ask your manager for your number?” she replied right after, Yamato felt relieved.

“I guess we lost track of time.”

“Hey, I had to come back to Tokyo, business matters. But I’m not one to break any promises, so I hope you still save a seat for me for the big race on Sunday. Did I say that correctly?”

Yamato immediately felt disappointment, but he had to understand he was not dealing with someone unoccupied; this was a young entrepreneur with a worldwide successful fashion brand.

“Are you sure you want to make a four-hour trip to see some car racing?”

“As I said, I’m not a promise breaker. Plus, is not Formula 1 supposed to be the best car racing in the world? I won’t miss it, and I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, and your spot on Scuderia Ferrari will remain untouched.”

“Great, I’m actually pretty excited! You have turned it into such a big deal for the country, I’ve never seen such a media coverage on the sport before. How was the tracking test?”

Yamato’s stomach made a turn. He did not want to focus on the pressure it meant to be in his home country, he just wanted to do what he always did, which meant to give his 100% performance, and get better every time. He just really hoped it would not rain on Sunday…

Him and Sora kept texting for the rest of the day, and the morning after as he got ready for the weekend’s second race. His goal was to qualify on the front row, that was always a determining factor for the final race. His mom had been right when she mentioned his car was a beauty, because it may not be the fastest car, that would still go to Mercedes, but if Ferrari had something no other team could fight with, was beauty.

He was not one to make many friends, but he was always amicable with the rest of the drivers. He saw them more than he saw his family, and even grew up with a big amount of them, but he always tried to focus on what they really were: his competition.

The weather so far had looked hopeful, a rainy race was one of his biggest fears, he had already had more than one rainy accident, and they had been hard to get over. He tried not to put too much thought into it, how he put his life at risk every time he got into the car, because there was no point in doing so, considering he was not going to stop, racing was the most important part of his life.

He got behind his wheel and his team assured his car was ready to go for the last time, and he got into driving mode, forgetting everything else, the pressure, the people, the weather, his friends. He almost disassociated from everything, but the track, and his team speaking whenever there was something to say, like which place he was on at the moment.

He had gotten so used to Ferrari, after being over two years on the team, that he could go as far as to describe its motor as a part of him. The first few laps were always the most stressful ones, and were most of the accidents happened, everyone tried to gain that valuable P1 as fast as possible, but Yamato thought of it as a waste of energy, he would rather stay behind for the first few laps and give it all in after. It had worked for him so far, avoiding the turmoil behind it.

There were 53 laps in the Japanese track, not that he counted them, but he always studied the tracks of wherever he was at. He just focused on staying in track, passing the rest of the drivers and being fast, and his team made sure he did not forget where his position was at the moment, which was a P5, his teammate was currently second. Fifth was not a bad position, it was still second row, but it was not his goal, he truly wanted first row. In the end he had managed to end up fourth, which his team congratulated him for, he still was not happy.

Back in Ferrari’s box, he had a bigger crowd greeting him, not only his parents and brother, but some of his closest childhood friends.

“Man, how does it feel to be able to fly!” Taichi said before giving him a big hug, which Yamato did not mind, he guessed he was also allowed to hug him.

“What I wonder is what that amount of speed can do with your body, I read you lose up to 3 liters every time you race,” Joe patted his shoulder, the soon-to-be-doctor never missed to drop a random anatomy fact on him. “And sorry, but it seems to Koushiro your car’s machinery is way more impressive than you.”

His third friend, a genius redhead, had been talking non-stop with his team’s engineers, asking questions Yamato could possibly never answer.

He spent the next few hours doing interviews, as much as he hated them, it was on his contract to do them before and after every Grand Prix. He also took more time studying his career, and where he could improve. He wanted to get podium on his home country more than he had ever wanted before.

But of course, he also took the chance to spend some time with his loved ones, catching up about their crazy adult lives.

“Koushiro could soon enough buy one of these teams, you know? He’s getting so rich!” Taichi had a big mouth, but they had gotten used to it. And to be fair with his brunette friend, he was not wrong, considering Koushiro’s software startup had gotten public, and the dude was only 22.

“And Jou’s about to be a doctor, and you, well, you didn’t get kicked out of Uni!” They all laughed, Taichi rolled his eyes. Yamato had gotten so comfortable with their conversation, he got scared when his phone began ringing.

“Yes?”

“Guess who’s just landed in Suzuka!” it was Sora, his heart skipped a beat. “I’m glad I made it a few hours before I had promised, I truly didn’t want to miss tomorrow’s race.”

“Where are you exactly? You should come join us! I’m at Ferrari’s tent with some childhood friends, I mean, if you’re not too tired.” His friends started yelling embarrassing things to him, as friends did whenever you spoke on the phone with someone, even if that someone was your own mother. Except, of course, it was not his mother.

“Great! I’ll ask the driver to drop me off.”

They spent the next few hours chatting, and laughing, and making fun of Yamato with embarrassing stories Sora was rather intrigued to keep on listening. Of course, Sora had hit it off with his friends, she was a great talker, they all had liked her, he could tell, especially with Koushiro, considering the man was the clearest book when it came to first impressions. He felt disappointed once he checked his watch to confirm it was time for him to go to bed, the big day was closer than ever.

Suzuka was one of the last races on Formula 1’s schedule, which meant every single point counted even more. He was disappointed when he checked the weather, there was a rain forecast, but there was nothing he could do, he still was willing to give the best race he had given in his career span. His friends and family wished him the best of luck, just as he dressed up in the famous red suit.

He had never felt this overwhelmed before, as soon as he stepped a foot outside of Scuderia Ferrari’s box, the crowd chanting his name was like nothing he ever heard before. He bowed shyly, turning the shouts even louder. Fame had never been something he had been looking for once he started racing in Formula 1, but he thought at the end of the day it was only inevitable. He really wanted to make his co-nationals proud.

P4 was not a bad place to start racing, yet he could hear his heart beating up to his ears. A rainy race was always messy, and there was always a bigger risk for accidents, not just for him, but for the other racers as well. He had to drive smartly; speed was not all that mattered in that moment.

His eyes were fixated on the checkered flag, as soon as it went down, his feet went all in. Suzuka’s Grand Prix finally starting.

As it was expected, some cars lost control on the very first curve, him being noticed by his team on the other side of the microphone. He hoped nothing bad had happened to them. On a rainy race it was important to have extra control while reaching a curve, and absolutely never trying to overpass another racer while on them.

By lap 30 he had improved to P3, the engine of the previous third place had had some issues, which pushed him into the pits. The Ferrari engine had significantly been improved for the current season, and it showed. It had been a while since the red team had had both of their cars in podium position, and he was doing quicker laps than the last year’s race.

Everything appeared to be going according to plan, Yamato wanted to win, of course, but he was not unhappy with the third place. Yet, the unthinkable happened on lap 49, when his teammate lost control of the steering wheel. It all happened so quickly, Yamato could barely avoid the inevitable crash, which was bad enough for them to call a red flag, every racer had been sent back into pits.

His teammate had been fine, he could even walk by himself; however, his car could have been confused with garbage. A shame, really, everything had been better than what they could have imagined. Now every podium expectation fell on his shoulders, and he could hear the public screaming his name even louder, as if he was some sort of rock star.

“Only 4 laps left, you can do it,” and he was now put in second place, a bittersweet feeling inside his gut.

The final lap felt like the longest he had driven, all he truly wanted was for it to end. He was less than two seconds away from the first place, which his team kept repeating. He knew he could do it, if he tried and overtake him near the end, right after the final curve… And so, he did, winning a podium for the first time in his short Formula 1 life career. He had not done it for himself only, but for Lechner as well. It felt insane, he was no longer feeling the ground, he was still flying somehow.

Champagne soaked him as soon as he stepped out of the car, being hugged by everyone on the famous red car team. He was not easily to make cry, but he could not help the tears coming out, and he wished, if he were ever going to cry again, it better be as good of a feeling as he finally lifted the trophy for Suzuka’s Grand Prix.

#fanfiction #digimon adventure #fanfic #ishida yamato #yamato ishida #formula 1 #formula one #sorato #sora takenouchi #takeru takaishi #taichi yagami #jou kido #koushiro izumi

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pogues-never-say-die · 4 years

Text

What Have I Done?

Hello my beautiful OBX friends, I had such a good response on my first OBX piece I decided to do another one.

This is part sequel, part an alternate view of my first story “Rome” so I would read that first for some context. A lot of lines double up and it’s because this whole story is from JJ’s point of view.

I’ll give you a second to go read “Rome” first. Here you go.

Good, now that’s done feel free to listen to the song that’s featured in this fic. Since this is just an alternate view to “Rome” I decided to use another Dermot Kennedy song so it all made sense.

You can listen to that Irish beauty here.

We good? Let’s do this.

Oh wait, If you guys like the one too let me know and I’ll turn this into a whole series. I want to do a playlist series with JJ and this version of y/n, each themed to a different song I listen to. Let me know if you want more!

CHARACTERS: JJ Maybank x Reader

WARNINGS: lots of angst, but also lots of fluff. curse words. using the Lord’s name in vain. that kind of stuff.

LENGTH: 2.3k words

What Have I Done?

Woke up this morning, light poured in, you're with me

I thought I'd be better off alone

Now, my soul has been torn and reborn, started breathing

I can’t believe I’ve been sitting here talking to this girl for hours. There were hot tourons in skimpy clothes left and right but here I am, sitting on the beach with Kie’s friend. Y/N. God that’s a gorgeous name. Everything about her is perfect.

“And that’s when I smashed so hard into the reef it literally snapped my board in half,” Oh shit, she was telling a story. And oh my god is that the sun coming up? Have we really been sitting here all night?

“You broke a surfboard in half? I didn’t even know that was possible.” I say back with a laugh.

“Oh yeah, I’ve snapped two boards. My dad has snapped easily a dozen. We keep them in the garage as mementos. He said he wants to build a table or something out of them.”

Where the hell did this girl come from?

“I could probably help him with that, ya know?” Did I just offer to build this girl a fucking table with her dad? “I’m pretty good with my hands.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” she winks at me before reaching over to play with my fingers.

“Did you just hit on me?” I gasp in a southern belle accent, “Little ole me?”

“I would never!” She gasps back, still playing with my fingers. Her hands are so soft, and warm.

“Oh really?” I ask leaning forward, my breath fans over her face. Wow, she’s beautiful. Even just looking at her makes me feel whole.

“No, not really” And then she closes the gap, putting her lips on mine.

Good God her lips are amazing.

What have I done?

I don’t think I’ve ever stood up so quickly. Oh my fucking God, did I just kiss Kie’s friend? And why did it feel different than all the other girls I’ve kissed. Fuck, fuck, I’ve gotta get out of here. Before I can make it more than 2 steps away I hear her voice from behind me.

“Are you leaving to go pick up a book on kissing because that was awful,” she says, getting me to whip around.

“Are you kidding?” I say, looking at her with that shit eating grin on her face. She’s seriously so cute I want to fucking die.

“I mean it could definitely use some work,” she says as she inches closer to me.

If this is a challenge, I’m not falling for it. Oh fuck yes I am.

“I can teach you a few things,” she says grabbing me by my necklace and pulling me back in.

This girl is going to be the fucking death of me I swear. But what a sweet, sweet way to go.

So, don't you fall back asleep for this moment

Just be, I wanna get it right for once

Oh, I've been knocked out and beat but this feeling is fleeting

I can hear people screaming but it’s all just ocean waves in my brain, I can’t stop swinging. My fists are getting bloody and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost a tooth but no piece of shit is going to go around touching girls without permission, especially my girl.

Just as I’m about to drown this piece of shit in the ocean I feel a small, soft hand grab the back of my shirt. I’d recognize that warmth anywhere.

“Jay, he’s had enough. Come on,” Y/N says rather softly. Somehow she’s not the only one screaming at me. But my grip on his shoulders doesn’t loosen. All I can see in my brain is him grabbing her and then it’s all red. Like fire. I want to burn it all down.

“Baby,” she says again, this time wrapping her arms all the way around my waist. “Baby, let’s go. Please? I want to go. Just take me home Jay.”

I finally let go of him, dropping him into the ocean. Not before spitting on him and getting one last word in, “I better not see you on the Cut again scum”.

As we walk away and back to the Chateau, I keep my distance. I don’t know if she wants me to touch her, I wouldn’t want to after witnessing that. As we make our way into the house I prop myself on the counter, letting her go to the back of the house by herself. She probably doesn’t want to look at me right now. I don’t want to look at me either.

But nonetheless, my girl is back in mere seconds with a first aid kit in her hands and a clean shirt from my bag.

“Move,” she says sternly, tapping my thighs so that I spread them so she can stand between them.

Next thing I know she’s pulling out supplies left and right like a nurse on a mission. I’m too busy trying to read her face that I don’t even notice she’s pressed an alcohol soaked cotton pad to the spot on my forehead.

“Ahh son of a fucking bitch, fucking shit.”

“Hey, watch your language there mister,” she says before giggling and doing it again. Her laugh is enough to distract me from the pain that comes with cleaning the wound.

“Wait, you’re not mad anymore?” I hope my voice doesn’t sound as desperate as it does in my head.

“Mad? Jay I was never mad, except when he touched me but I was never mad at you,” she says while applying a bandage to the spot on my head.

“Why aren’t you mad? I just wailed on this random kid 5 feet in front of your face.”

“He wasn’t a random kid Jay,” she says softly while cleaning up the mess on the counter and then looking up at me from her spot standing between my legs. “He touched me without my consent. I wasn’t even talking to him and he came up and put his hand down the back of my pants. That’s not okay, and a guy who’s so comfortable doing that has definitely done it before. I’m sure if you gave him a punch for every girl he’s touched like that we’d still be on the beach.”

Well, this is strange. Most girls I’ve hooked up with get mad when I fight, hell even Kie yells at me every time and I’ve known her for years. Wrapping my legs around her I pull her even closer, putting my hands on each side of her face.

“You promise you’re not mad? You can tell me if you are,” I say stroking her soft skin with my thumbs.

“I’m going to be mad if you ask me one more time if I’m mad,” she says before leaning forward to give me a kiss.

I didn’t ask again.

Ever since the other night, I've been

Thinking 'bout the way you smile golden

Wanna move inside of your light

I can’t get the thoughts to leave my head. Trash, scum, garbage, not good enough. He’s right, everything he said is true. I’m not good enough, especially for her.

“JJ, you better hope for your sake that you’re here right now,” I hear coming from outside. Looking up from the horror movie John B and I are watching I realize I’m so fucking screwed.

“Oh you’re in trouuubblllleeee,” John B says in a sing-songy voice.

“Shut the fuck up man,” I sneer at him getting up from the couch to meet her in the doorway.

“Hey, what’s up?” I say standing in the door to the front porch.

“‘What’s up?’ Are you serious? You’ve been ignoring my calls for 3 days and all you have to say to me is ‘what’s up?’ Really?” she says with a tone I’ve never heard before.

“Bro you haven’t called your girl in 3 days?” John B says from behind me. “That’s fucked man”.

“I swear to God dude if you don’t shut the fuck up right now,” I say grabbing y/n by the wrist to pull her outside and away from his dumbass commentary.

“Look I’m sorry, I just needed some space,” I tell her as we make it to the front yard. That’s the dumbest excuse I could think of but it’s all I’ve got. How do I tell her the truth? That she’s too good for me. That I don’t understand how she hasn’t realized that I’m just Outer Banks trash who can’t stand up to his own father.

She’s too pure to be tainted by me. Her light is too bright, I’m just twisted fucking darkness.

“Don’t pull that with me, that’s the oldest excuse in the book,” she says, still fuming.

“It’s not an excuse, it’s true. You’re smothering me,” I yell at her. Lies, such a lie, but I don’t know what else I can say to get her to leave.

“That’s bull and we both know it,” she says yelling back at me. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going?”

I can’t tell her, I can never tell her.

“What the fuck do you want from me y/n?” Why am I shouting at her? I never shout at her. And did I just swear at her? She hates that shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What have I done?

“Number one, I want you to stop cursing at me right now, you know I don’t like that. Number two, I want you to talk to me!” I’ve never heard her shout this loud before, I didn’t even know her voice could carry this much. How far have I pushed her?

“Fine, you want to talk? Let’s talk about how I want you to fucking leave me the fuck alone, let’s talk about that”.

Why did I just say that? It’s not true. None of it’s true. This is just what I do though. I push people out when they get close - and she’s way too close. She’s all encompassing, she’s everywhere.

“Is this it? Are you too broken to let me in?” She said it so softly I almost didn’t hear her, I was too distracted by the tears slowly starting to run down her face.

Oh god no, I’ve done it. I’ve pushed her too far.

What have I done?

Oh no, what have I done?

You be brave for me, now

“I will never, ever, give up on you,” she said, wrapping her hands around mine. “You keep trying to get me to run, but I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. As long as you want me, I’m right here”.

I don’t think I’ve ever breathed so deeply or smiled so big in my entire fucking life. Leaning forward to kiss her felt like the first time all over again.

As we pull away in the van light I see tears running down her face still.

“Baby, why are you crying? I thought we were good?” I say wiping the tears off her beautiful face but they just keep coming. Was I wrong?

“No baby we’re okay, but I’m not okay,” she says staring me down with those gorgeous eyes. “Why does he treat you like this? You don’t deserve it. You’re so kind and caring and generous. You deserve so much better than that.”

“I don’t know honey, I don’t know if we’ll ever know. We just can’t think about it okay?” I tell her, wiping the last of the tears from her face.

“You good?” I ask as the van light finally turns off. We’ve been sitting here with the door open that long.

“I’m good Jay, I’m a brave girl remember?” She says laughing.

“So brave,” I say leaning forward to steal a kiss. “You brave enough to sneak a dirty pogue into your bedroom window so he can stay the night?”

“Oh yeah, but I don’t know if John B would want to come over this late?” She says with a giggle before closing her door and sprinting out the van.

“Oh you get back here you little monster”

I never thought I needed saving, I was right where I should be

Good God, I know it's dangerous, but it's you that I need

I'm in love this time, I'm in love this time

“Was our first kiss really that awful?” I ask as we lay in her bed, lights off, TV off, just holding her from behind like I never want to let her go.

“Jay I’m so tired it’s been such a long day,” she groans.

“Just answer the question y/n” I grunt back, squeezing her tighter against me.

“No, it was perfect. I was just trying to trick you into kissing me again,” she says with a giggle. “Now shut up and go to bed”.

“Yes ma’m,” I say before shoving my head into her neck. God she smells amazing. She is the best part of my whole world - I was trying to push her away but it turned out I needed her right here with me all along.

Oh god, what am I about to do?

“What would you say if I told you ‘I love you’ right now?” I say whispering it into the night, part of me hoping she doesn’t hear me or is already asleep.

I’ve never said those 3 words to a girl before. I was on some dangerous ground, but I knew if I held it in for one more second it would swallow me whole.

“I’d tell you ‘I love you too’ Jay,” she says, kissing my hands that are wrapped around her from behind . “But if you don’t shut up right now and let me sleep, I’ll take it back”.

“Okay fine, I love you baby”.

“I love you too Jay, good night”,

Good fucking night indeed.

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