#i love watching the red bull team in shock horror
Note
A different anon but as someone deeply fascinated by Esteban Ocon and the redbull musical chairs here are some extra notes:
Estie bestie is currently at Alpine formerly Renault since 2020. And back in 2018 (ie when he was in Racing Point) there were rumors linking him to the Renault seat Daniel would take in 2019 so that’s possibly why his and Lances friendship survived
Unrelated but Alpine/Renault is currently the Frenchest team to ever French. It is (or at least was) partly owned by the French government through their stake in Renault (Alpine got renamed cause Alpine is the sports car brand of Renault. Not that they make any sports cars I believe they made maybe one in 2017). The current two Alpine drivers are the aforementioned Estie bestie and Pierre Gasly (both French. Also childhood friends to enemies to they have to tolerate each other now) and while their current reserve driver is an Australian, he will hopefully for his own good take a page out of his countryman’s Oscar Piastris book and hightail it out of there for his own good. The most likely replacement for him would be Victor Martins. Also French. The Alpine factories are in Enstone (UK) and Viry (France) so that’s the least French part of that team
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming of rbr 2nd seat:
So rbr started by buying the Jaguar team in mid 2000s after afaik getting fed up by Sauber who they used to sponsor. Also at that time Sauber was sponsored by Petronas, Mercedes’ current title sponsor. Fun fact
The two drivers that they started with was David Coulthard who no one cares about in this story and Mark Webber, Australian, first victim of rbr 2nd seat shenanigans
At some point (for the 2009 season I think?) Seb Vettel, German, certifiable little shit at that time, replaces Coulthard
Insert a highlight reel of Seb Vettels warcrimes between ~2010 - 2013, which culminate in Multi-21 Mark Webber retiring after the 2013 season. He gets replaced by Toro Rosso driver/Red Bull junior Daniel Ricciardo, Australian, happy go lucky guy and our next victim in a couple of years
2014 brings new regs for the cars and Red Bull struggles to adapt. For context Seb went from a 9 win streak at the end of 2013 to no podiums in 2014. Yeah. So he runs away to Ferrari for 2015 to become a victim of Italian incompetence instead
He gets replaced by Daniil Kvyat, Russian, the most forgettable man in this story. Also he is pretty new into F1, it’s his second or third year there
2015 is sorta meh for rbr but the two Daniels are sorta even. And then 2016 happens
Here’s the thing; Daniil decides to play bumper cars in Russia and China right off the bat at the beginning of the season, one of the victims being former rbr golden child Seb. Now there’s more lore that I don’t remember but it culminates in him being replaced for Spain 2016 by Max Verstappen, Dutch, aged like 18 at that time
Max goes on to win his first race with Red Bull because Mercedes (the best team on the grid) is in the throes of a civil war and their drivers take each other out. There could be novels written about those two drivers btw
The next two and half years are a slow process of the garage slowly going from preferring Danny Ric to preferring Max. Highlights include Baku 2018 and then Dans redemption win in Monaco the same year. There could be novels about this as well but we culminate in Dan leaving for Renault
And then we get to the real musical chairs. He gets replaced by Pierre Gasly, French, third victim of rbr 2nd seat
He has a shite start to the season and ends up getting replaced by Alex Albon, Thai, a rookie that year, midway through the season after Christian Horner, Mr Ginger spice, swore up and down he won’t
Intermission: Toro Rosso liked playing musical chairs as well and Pierre Gasly only got an F1 seat at the last few races for 2017, Alex got told he’s racing in 2019 (his first season) days before preseason testing. With no experience in an F1 car. And there’s a world of difference between a shit car (Toro Rosso) and a good car (Red Bull). Yeah they were ultimately victims of rbrs shitty management, especially Alex since he does wonders in a Williams now
Rbr decides to drop Alex after 2020. Except they usually promote Toro Rosso drivers and the two Toro Rosso drivers right now? Pierre Gasly and Daniil Kvyat. Yeah
So they end up hiring Sergio ‘Checo’ Pérez, Mexican, who knows if he will be racing next year. Idk if he got an extension or if they hired him for four years, either way his contract is supposed to last until end of 2024 season but right now how Mr Ginger spice is acting… yeah
Also, Daniel just came back to rbr as a driver for Alpha Tauri (former Toro Rosso) after a mid season swap that was widely regarded as shittily done so there are very little contract issues that would stop Red Bull from hiring him, a marketing departments golden boy, a good friend of Max, as the second driver to maybe finally have a good team
(Red Bull has never ended 1-2 in drivers standings. Checo is currently second but Sir Lewis Hamilton can do wonders sometimes)
So to reiterate the seat movements:
It’s Webber -> Ricciardo -> Gasly -> Albon -> Perez in that metaphorical seat which when rb had a clear first and second drivers it was usually second drivers seat
And (Coulthard ->) Vettel -> Kvyat -> Verstappen for that other seat. The one that if rb had a clear first and second drivers was usually first (Vettel, Verstappen after ~2018)
Bonus fun fact about Liam Lawson, one of the threats for Checos seat:
He is born in 2002. He’s younger than Fernando Alonso’s career by several months, upwards to a year
He is the guy that knocked Verstappen out of quali in Q2 in Singapore and consequently broke the several year long streak of at least one car always in Q3 that Red Bull has been holding
There is always a debate if he has a guaranteed seat from rbr or not at some point. There were rumors of a guaranteed for 2025 a while ago but who knows…
Sorry for rambling so much I have thoughts haha
forgot i’ve been sitting on this ask for a month lol but yes. red bull second seat drama is indeed fascinating. and now there is aparently another rumor that arthur leclerc might come up to f1 through racing bulls (alpha tauri) which would disrupt the process again.
#i love watching the red bull team in shock horror#i don’t always like them but they provide good entertainment#not a tag#from saph#f1
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Steal Your Girl - LN4
Carlos is awful to his girl and Lando wants her. He gets what he wants.
THIS IS NOT A REFLECTION OF CARLOS SAINZ AS A REAL PERSON, ALL THESE ACTIONS ARE VRRY OUT OF HIS CHARACTER
18+ ONLY
Warnings: emotionally abusive relationship! smut! eating out, bj, finishing inside, fucking against the wall
Ex! Carlos sainz x reader, lando norris x reader
5.5k
Yes, I changed this up a lot from the original request, but Bianca and I have spoken a lot about this fic and it was decided that having it a friendship rivalry would make this so sweet so I changed Lewis to Carlos
Carlos Sainz walked into the British grand prix, his hand holding his girlfriends. It was warm for England, and he could swear it was getting warmer and warmer every year. Not hot, not compared to what he was used to.
Although he was now a driver for Scuderia Ferrari, he still had friends in other teams. Like Lando and Max. The year before he wouldn’t have minded being on a team with either of them again, driving alongside Lando in Ferrari or Max in a Red Bull.
But now Carlos was in a truly competitive car and, for the first time since his career began, he was a contender for the championship title.
As he looked at his girlfriend, she gave him a smile. Just a small one, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Carlos kept a tight hold of her as he pulled her through the paddock, heading to where he could see the orange hat on the smaller man’s head.
Lando was always his first stop if he could help it. Carlos loved him like a brother, the two of them becoming the best of friends for the short time they were teammates. Everybody in Formula One had their best friend. He had Lando, Logan had Oscar, Charles had… well Charles was a bit of a slut. He had Max and Pierre at his beck and call.
He let go of his girlfriends hand, reaching forward to smack Lando’s butt. Lando jumped out of his skin, spun quickly on his heel and came face to face with his best friend. His look of shock and horror turned into a grin and he wrapped his arms around Carlos, smacking his back as he did so. He looked to Y/N offering her a tight lipped smile.
Being Carlos’s best friend meant Lando got more of an insight into Y/N and Carlos’s relationship. All of the speculations he saw the F1 and WAG news sights posting, he could reveal how true they were. He wouldn’t; that wasn’t his place. If Y/N or Carlos wanted to come out about their relationship, they could. But he wasn’t going to do it for them.
But he felt sorry for her. He saw the way he treated her, how short and angry he was towards her after the race hadn’t gone his way. Lando had stopped himself from running over and getting between them several times. But, once again, it wasn’t his place. As much as he wanted to run over and grab Carlos, keeping Y/N behind him, he knew he couldn’t.
But he wanted to. Don’t get him wrong, he wanted to.
All Lando could do was watch, try and ask if she was okay without actually saying anything. He was observant when it came to her, noticed the way her smile wasn’t too wide.
I guess I should give some context. The year was 2024, and Lando and Carlos were both in the championship fight. It was intense – one week Carlos would be leading in the points and the next Lando would be. As much as it frustrated the both of them, it never affected their friendship.
The summer break was approaching and the two of them were way too close in the points for comfort. It wasn’t like the previous year where Max was practically a shoo in. You never would have guessed by the way they walked through the paddock together, Oscar joining them on Lando’s left.
He was another contender for the championship. It was only his second year in the championship, and he was fighting with the likes of Max, Lando and Carlos. It was insanely impressive, but not unexpected.
“You two got any plans for over summer?” He asked as they stopped outside of the McLaren hospitality suite.
As much as Carlos was happy to finally be in the competitive car, he still missed McLaren. As much as he loved driving alongside Charles Leclerc, he missed driving alongside Lando. But he loved fighting him on track.
Carlos wrapped his arms around Y/N, pulling her in close. “We are staying in Italy,” he said and kissed the side of her head. The smile Y/N shot in Oscar’s direction wasn’t a happy one. Her shoulders were hunched as she tried to make herself look small, her smile barely there and her eyes not meeting his. Whatever they were doing over the summer, she clearly wasn’t happy about it.
They went their separate ways, Y/N and Carlos heading off to Ferrari while Lando and Oscar headed into the hospitality suite. “Is she okay?” Oscar asked as he walked slightly behind Lando.
It was no secret how Lando felt about Y/N. It was no secret that he liked her. There had been one time where Oscar had physically held Lando back after Carlos had crashed earlier in the day and seemed to be verbally taking it out on Y/N.
Lando couldn’t answer. Because he really didn’t know. He didn’t know if she was okay, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t find out. He steadied himself and led Oscar into the hospitality suite.
***
It wasn’t a good race for Carlos. Y/N watched from the garage as he made contact with the Mercedes of George Russell and spun out into the gravel. “Ah fuck!” He shouted. “Fucking fuck!” He hit the steering wheel and pulled it out of the car, handing it to the steward that came running over. He climbed out of the car, keeping his helmet on as he made his way back to the pitlane.
As soon as Carlos sorted himself out, Y/N threw her arms around him. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered and kissed his cheek. Carlos didn’t respond. He just stared at the track at nineteen cars came speeding past the pitlane.
After the race and the ceremonies, when they were heading back to the plane, Carlos drove them. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he sped around cars, at a pace that was, quite frankly, terrifying to his passengers. “Carlos, baby,” she tried to say as she held onto the bottom of her seat.
But Carlos didn’t let her say anything. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled.
Y/N fell silent. If they weren’t driving down the motorway she would have demanded he let her out of the car, but she couldn’t. She just sat there, the familiar feeling of anxiety bubbling up inside of her chest.
If this was how she was going to be feeling for the rest of the championship, Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to be a part of this world. She loved Carlos and she loved travelling around with him, but it made her feel fucking terrible. He made her feel fucking terrible.
These feelings didn’t stop through the Hungarian Grand Prix or through Spa. They were miserable weekends for the girl sat in the Ferrari garage. In both races Carlos did well, which you may think would mean he was happy. You’d think he’d be in a good mood and happily showing his girlfriend how much he loved her.
But for both races, a younger, less experienced driver beat him. In cars that seemed to be equal in terms of how competitive they were, Lando Norris beat him.
Although Carlos got a good amount of points from it, Lando had beat him, putting a bit more distance between them in the championship.
It made him vile to be around. The points, the championship, consumed his very being. Not in the way it did for most Formula One drivers, where their goal for every training session, every practice session, every qualifying and every race was to be the best. Carlos was a man obsessed it muttered about it, going back through past races to see if there were any way to take points away from his competitors.
He became snappy and rude to his girlfriend. She couldn’t even say his name without him sending a glare in her direction. Y/N was walking on eggshells around him.
It wasn’t as though she could avoid him. Carlos wanted her at every race weekend; her only respite was the few days she got to spend at her apartment.
During summer break, Carlos gave her a break from himself. He wasn’t crazy obsessive over points as they went to Italy. But that feeling of Anxiety was still in Y/N’s chest. Even as he took her out on the boat, she was still anxious.
When Carlos kissed her, she kept her eyes shut, unable to look at him. His touch was warm, but it still made her shiver. If he knew something was wrong, he didn’t say anything to her.
It was a sign, surely. A sign that she should have left him. But, no matter how anxious she felt around him, there was still a part of her that loved him. She always would love him, at least in some capacity.
Y/N pushed the feelings deep down. She loved him, she really, truly loved him, and she could get through this. They could get through this. As soon as the championship was over, things would go back to normal, she was sure of it.
As if to assure herself, Y/N walked over to Carlos, who had sat himself on the sun lounger in front of the pool, and wrapped her arms around him. She kissed the side of his head and closed her eyes as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder.
After their amazing summer break, Y/N thought maybe things would change between them. Maybe she’d get the old Carlos back, her Carlos back.
Spoiler alert, it didn’t work. Even though Carlos finished ahead of Lando at the Dutch Grand Prix, they still hadn’t quite come level with the points. Lando was still ahead of him and it was all Carlos could think about, all he could talk about.
The drivers went out that night. Well, a few of them did. Max took Lando, Charles, Carlos, George and Daniel out for the night. Everybody was invited to the club, but these were the few that went.
Of course, Y/N went with Carlos. Even with everything going on, she still didn’t want to head home alone. So, she dressed her best and walked into the club on Carlos’s arm.
Lando walked in behind them. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, and that little voice in the back of his head that usually told him that she was his best friend’s girl and he should stay away was suddenly quieter. Maybe it was because of the few drinks he had in his system already, but Lando wasn’t scared about Carlos seeing his lingering eyes.
But Carlos didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he thought Lando was being a good friend and keeping an eye on Y/N, who was definitely stunning enough to turn heads.
For the entire night, Lando stayed close to Y/N. He was behind them when she and Carlos danced together, followed her to the bar and got another round of drinks. And, when Carlos disappeared and Y/N found herself sitting alone in one of the booths in the club, Lando came to sit beside her.
“Hey,” he shouted over the music.
Y/N stared at him, clearly not happy. But she gave him a weak smile, leaning against the table in front of them. “You okay?” He shouted, furrowing his brows. Y/N shouted something back, but Lando couldn’t hear a word of it.
Standing up, he walked over and slid into the seat beside her. “You okay?” He asked and placed his arm over her shoulders. The drink must have been making him brave.
Y/N shook her head. “I want to go outside!” She shouted into his ear.
Standing up, Lando helped her. He shot Carlos a quick text and led Y/N to the smoking shelter outside of the club. Neither of them smoked, but they needed the fresh air, desperately. The smoking area was busy, but not as loud as the club; they could speak without much issue.
"What's up?" Asked Lando as he leaned against the wall.
Y/N looked at him and let out a huff. She folded her arms over her chest and looked up at the stars in the night sky. "I'm hoping you're drunk enough to forget this, but Carlos treats me like shit," she said and turned her attention towards him.
"I know."
Lando hadn't meant to say it, but it was too late to backpeddle now.
"And I fucking hate it," he finished.
Silence hung in the air between them. Y/N didn't quite know what to say. She was speaking to Carlos's best friend and she didn't want to slate him.
And Lando, well he was waiting for Y/N to say something. He didn't want to push and then have to deal with Carlos why she was crying. That wouldn't end well for anyone.
I think you should leave your boyfriend.
But he couldn't say that. It was a decision Y/N had to come to all on her own.
And she did. Just not for a while. Not until the end of the 2024 championship.
It was down to the wire, the deciding race for the drivers championship being the very last race of the season.
As Y/N sat in the ferrari garage she bit her nails, nerves bubbling up inside of her. It wasn't nerves over her boyfriend winning or losing. Well, it was, but more because of what he might've done to her.
Lando was the championship winner. Lando crossed the finish line less than a second ahead of Carlos.
As they climbed out of the cars and congratulated each other, it was clear Carlos was pissed. As he stood on the podium and listened to the British national anthem, he was angry, that much was clear.
Y/N could have left him then and there, but she didn't want to. There was a small part of her that loved Carlos and that didn't want to leave him.
But, after they had headed home that night, after skipping out on Landos offer of celebrating, Carlos was fucking horrible to her.
Never physical, just angry and verbally abusive. He roared at her, spitting in her face as he did so.
Y/N got up and left him then and there. She walked out of the door, not looking back.
There was a lot of speculation online on the couples break up. The news of it only came when Carlos was seen with a new woman, having moved on pretty quickly. Y/N just hoped this girl could handle him better than she could.
When the 2025 season started up, she missed it. But she couldn't even bring herself to watch it on the television.
She missed it, and she was missed.
By Lando, mostly. Although she'd made some friends from her time on the grid, it was Lando who missed her the most. He'd been the one to call her up and make sure she was okay when he found out about the breakup.
Ever since the 2025 season started, Lando had been desperately trying to get her to come to a grand prix. But Y/N shot him down every time. How could she go to a grand prix and face Carlos?
She couldn’t. As much as she would have loved to go to at least one Grand Prix, she couldn’t face Carlos. So, Lando had to find other ways to see her. He was the one who came to her apartment and spent time with her while she was having an emotional breakdown over Carlos. He was the one who brought her snacks and comfort her, watching movies and attempting to make her dinner.
In this time she and Lando became incredibly close. It didn’t feel right, the way she was relying on him for emotional comfort when he was her ex boyfriends best friend. At first, Y/N was scared Lando would just be a rebound, that she was feeling the way she did because she was upset about the breakup.
But, as time went on, she realised it was a lot more than that. She genuinely loved Lando’s company and she wanted to spend time around him. That didn’t mean she’d be going to a grand prix, though.
So, Y/N threw herself into her work. When she’d bought her apartment, she’d been with Carlos, and it was filled with memories of the two of them. She worked oh so hard to make it her own, erasing every memory of him from its walls.
On the few days before the British Grand Prix, Lando was in the UK. He was in Surrey, at McLaren before heading off to London. What was in London? Just the girl he was in love with.
Okay, maybe in love was a strong word. But everybody knew how he felt about her, knew how much he wanted her.
So, he hopped on a train to London (because there was no way he was driving through the city) and made his way to her apartment.
This was the first Grand Prix that he hadn’t been bothering her to attend. It was strange and, in and odd way, it made Y/N want to go all the more. It was too late now, though. She’d never get tickets she could actually afford.
There was a knock at her apartment door. Y/N stood up from her computer and strode over. She pulled open the door, coming face to face with none other than Lando Norris. “Lando,” she somewhat gasped, incredibly surprised to see him. “Aren’t you meant to be at Silverstone?”
“That’s exactly why I’m here,” he said and walked into the apartment. He took a seat at her kitchen table as she got him something to drink. “I want you to come to the grand prix with me,” he said. He’d said it so many times already this year. Maybe the answer would be different now he was here in person.
Y/N let out a huff and Lando knew what was coming. She was going to shoot him down, to say no and send him on his way. But she didn’t. She sat back and stared at him, tapping her nails against the glass of water in front of her. “Okay,” she said and sat up a little straighter. “But I have conditions.”
Lando gestured for her to go on.
“I’ll go if you can guarantee I won’t see Carlos.”
It was an impossible request, but Lando just grinned. He held out his hand for her to shake. “Deal.”
***
It was Lando’s second win at Silverstone, and the home crowd was going wild. Y/N was with the McLaren team. When Lando pulled into Parc fermé, Y/N was waiting at the barrier. She watched as he jumped towards his team, all of them patting him on the back.
And then she caught his eye. Lando pulled off his helmet, placing it on the ground and strode over to her. “Congratulations!” Y/N shouted over the noise with a wide grin.
But Lando didn’t respond. He pulled her close, just the barrier between them, and kissed her.
It was quick, Lando didn’t have long until he was pulled away to do post-race interviews. And then he was on the podium as Y/N waited back in the garage. What had just happened? Lando had won his home Grand Prix but, more importantly, he kissed her. Lando Norris had kissed her.
And she hadn’t minded. Did that make her a bad person? That she didn’t mind kissing her ex boyfriends best friend? Well, more than didn’t mind. She liked it, and she wanted to do it again.
Carlos hadn’t quite believed what he was seeing when he climbed out of his Ferrari, having just missed out on third place. He was in a foul mood anyway from his result, and this certainly didn’t make things better.
There was a feeling of betrayal that settled in his chest. He was ready to tear apart the Ferrari garage and not care about the consequences.
If she couldn’t be with him because of his racing career, what the fuck was she doing here? With him of all people?
He stormed past everybody, his body language aggressive.
But Lando and Y/N didn’t notice. Why should they? Lando was wrapped up in his win and she was wrapped up in him. In Lando.
After the race Lando drove her back to her apartment. She invited him in, cooked him dinner, which they ate with a couple of candles between them. It was romantic, and they were loving every second of it. It wasn’t what Lando had planned for his win; he was supposed to go out to dinner and party. But he’d told those who were set to come with him to go without him, and this was definitely better.
“I want to ask you to be mine, but I don’t want to push you,” Lando had said as they ate.
Y/N immediately shook her head. She reached over, placing her hand on top of Lando’s. “I wouldn’t have invited you in if I didn’t want this,” she said and let go of him.
They didn’t sleep together that night; Lando kept up with the whole not wanting to push her thing. He didn’t want to push her into sleeping with him and then have her regret it later. So, he took things slow, letting her make the first moved.
It didn’t take long for them to get together, Lando as her boyfriend and Y/N as his girlfriend. But it took a long while before she returned to a grand prix with him. Sure, the world had seen them kiss in Silverstone, but Y/N still needed time. She needed to mentally prepare herself for facing Carlos and the rest of the grid again.
It was towards the end of the season that Y/N went to the next grand prix. She joined him in Brazil, proudly walking through the paddock with her hand held in his. When the cameras started flashing, Lando leaned close and kissed the top of her head. That way there would be no doubts as to who they were to each other.
Lando didn’t win in Brazil. But he didn’t care – his girlfriend was there with him and that was all that mattered. She watched him stand third place on the podium, watched him spray champagne on Carlos and his teammate.
When Y/N hadn’t been keeping up with the sport, before she and Lando were together, she hadn’t realised just how close the title fight was this year. She didn’t realise that the Red Bull car was, essentially, a piece of shit, and that the only real contenders for the title was Lando, Charles and Carlos.
She and Lando made their way out of the circuit together, hand in hand. “Well done,” she said and reached up onto her tiptoes to kiss him. Lando kept her walking as she stole his hat and placed it on her own head. “I love watching you race.”
“I love it when you watch me race,” he replied, squeezing her hand.
Ahead of them was Carlos and his girlfriend. Since she hadn’t been keeping up with the world of Formula One, Y/N didn’t know her name. But she was pretty and, if they were happy, then good for them.
Even though he had won the race, Carlos’s body language was tense. Y/N knew him well enough to know that. She didn’t say anything, though, not when he definitely hated her.
It took a few hours for anything to actually come from this. Both couples had decided that they would stay for the night in Brazil, get a good sleep before heading home. They were staying in the same hotel, rooms relatively close to each other.
That was why, when they were away from the prying eyes of fans of the paparazzi cameras, Carlos took a swing at Lando.
It was sudden and terrifying, both girls stood back in shock. Because, really, what could they do? Try and attack two athletes who were definitely stronger than them?
But then a full of fight broke out. They were punching and trying to tackle each other to the floor. Carlos had his arm around Lando’s neck as he punched him, Lando trying his best to get away.
But he was struggling, his face red. That was when Y/N jumped onto Carlos’s back trying to get him away from Lando. When Lando finally got away, Carlos got Y/N off of his back, knocking her to the floor.
Immediately, Lando got Y/N to her feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He spat at his old friend, holding his girlfriend close.
Carlos didn’t answer as he walked off to his own room, his girlfriend following him.
There was a moment where Y/N and Lando didn’t go anywhere. They put some distance between themselves and the Spaniard. Both their hearts were beating erratically, Lando’s breath coming out short.
“I’m sorry,” Y/N mumbled as they started walking again. “I can’t believe he did that.”
Lando held her a little bit tighter. “You don’t have to apologise,” he said as he pulled out their room key. “He’s being an asshole.”
Things only got worse between them as the title fight heated up. Just as it did the year before, it took the right to the end of the season, with tension between Lando and Carlos becoming worse and worse. The media speculated as they watched the two interact, most of the speculations having something to do with Y/N. They were right; the title fight was just a small part of it now.
***
Abu Dhabi, 2025. Carlos was leading for most of the race and looked set for the win. It would have been his first championship win, a dream of any Formula One driver.
But Lando? He was tricky, and he was fuelled by more than a desire to win. Just as Carlos thought himself set for the win, Lando overtook him. Carlos didn’t see it at first, he had already begun waving to the crowds as the orange car crossed the finish line just half a second ahead of him.
Y/N let out a scream in the McLaren garage. The atmosphere was insane, much different to the atmosphere in the Ferrari garage from the year before. Everybody was jumping around and cheering, rushing out to meet Lando.
When he climbed out of his car he jumped at his team, screaming, shouting and crying.
Just as he did in Silverstone, he pulled off his helmet and placed it down by his feet, leaning down to kiss Y/N. This time he didn’t care about the post-race interviews, he kissed her until he was starving for air. It wasn’t sweet of kind, it was definitely too much for the cameras. It was a promise for later, for what was to come.
That night they celebrated, the team out partying. Y/N and Lando left the party before everybody else, alcohol in their systems as they made their way back to their hotel room.
The two were giggling, drunken messes, kissing on the street every few steps. He kept a tight hold of her, hand just a little too low on her back, but not quite obscene.
In the elevator of the hotel, Y/N was pressed against it, with Lando finally holding her ass. He kissed her feverishly, his kiss bruising.
And she loved every second of it.
Lando was impatient to get her into their hotel room. He kicked the door shut behind them and began pulling off her clothes, only breaking their kiss when he pulled her shirt over her head.
"I fucking love you," he said and began kissing down her neck.
She let out a moan, eyes flying shut as she unbuttoned Lando's shirt.
When they pulled apart to undress themselves, Lando looked at the purple bruises he'd left on her neck, grinning as his tongue came between his lips.
He wasted no time in throwing her down onto the bed, her arms wrapping around him as he went back to kissing her.
He began moving down her body, kissing her chest and between her breasts, moving down to where she needed him most. Her breathing became laboured as he kissed her thigh and gently bit it, his manner teasing.
His large hands rested on her hips as he leaned down, licking across her folds. He sank off of the bed, pulling her closer as he began eating her out. Like a man possessed and licked and sucked at her folds, his skills expert.
Y/N moaned and whined, gripped his hair as he held her still. She tried to move her hips against his face, but Lando held her still, keeping her there as he worked. "Holy fuck," she cried, throwing her head back and gripping the sheets.
Lando grinned as he sat up, painfully hard. Y/N grabbed him, pulling him back up to kiss her. "I want you to fuck me against the wall," she whispered as she moved to kiss down his neck.
The chain he wore dangled between them, getting in her way, but Y/N didn't care. It was incredibly hot.
Lando whispered something in her ear and Y/N nodded eagerly. He set his phone up across from the wall he was going to be fucking her against, and pressed record.
Suddenly Lando was up against the wall, Y/N on her knees in front of him. He moaned as she bobbed her head up and down him. His hand rested on the back of her head, not pushing, just holding her as if he wanted to ground himself.
Before too long Lando was pushing her way. If he was going to celebrate his championship win, he was going to do it inside of her.
"Come here, baby," he said as he gave her one last kiss. He picked her up, Y/N wrapping her legs around him, and turned them around, so that her back was against the wall.
Using the wall to keep her held in his arms, Lando reached between them and lined himself up. He pushed forward, sheathing himself inside of her.
"Ready?" He asked, forehead pressed against hers.
Y/N nodded and Lando began thrusting. It was incredible how strong he was as he pushed into her, pulling himself out and pushing back in.
Y/N let out cries and whines and moans as he fucked her. Because it wasn't romantic, the pace Lando was thrusting inside of her was animalistic.
She moved against the wall, eyes shut as she tightened her legs around Lando, coming closer and closer to the edge. Lando was, too, slowing his pace, becoming sloppy.
When Y/N finally went over the edge she fell forward, leaning her entire weight against him. Lando kissed her head and squeezed his eyes shut as he came, painting her insides with his seed.
He pulled out and carried her back to the bed. Picking up the phone he pointed the camera at Y/N, keeping her on full display. "She's my girl now," he said and ended the video, sending it to the man who was once his best friend.
Lando went to the bathroom and ran the bath. He made it warm and filled it with bubbles. As he waited for it, watched the video go through to Carlos, watched as he opened the message.
He turned off the water and walked back out to the bedroom, where his girlfriend was still laying, her breath evening out. She was close to falling asleep, he realised as he walked over and kissed her forehead.
"Come on, baby," he said and gently coaxed her up from the bed.
Rather reluctantly, Y/N followed Lando into the bathroom. She leaned against the door as he climbed into the water, waited until he was submerged, and slotted herself between his legs.
Lando gently washed her, scrubbing the sweat from her skin and the mess between her legs.
***
Carlos wasn't sure when his girlfriend had left. It was just like last time, alone again after missing out on the championship. It was his fault, even if he didn't know it.
When his phone buzzed he picked it up, desperately hoping that maybe he wasn't so alone.
But then he saw the message, then he opened the video.
His face twisted with rage. He threw his phone across the room, the device bouncing of the wall, the screen completely shattered.
He was going to kill Lando Norris.
#lando norris imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris fluff#lando norris smut#lando norris x you#lando norris x reader smut#f1#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula one#formula one imagine#formula one x reader#formula 1#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#ln4#ln4 imagine#ln4 x reader#ln4 smut
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Just saw that you're feeling a little down. So I'll try taking your head out of it for a minute.
I'm wondering do you have any other ideas for Toto/Christian (one where they are happy in it at least. Not like the cheating au 😅)
And if it's not too much, can you do a headcanon about Toto/Christian and 4433 please?
I hope this help with you feeling down 🤍
Thank you for asking, and I'm happy to report that your ask works! 🤗
Oh, Toto/Christian my beloved! And yes, I have ideas for their happiness, especially with baby Max!
Au where baby Max is diabetic!
Christian and Toto decided to take their five-year-old Maxy to the Austrian Grand Prix, since he's be able to have Mick and Michael (yes, he's not a coma) around him. They made sure to watch Max's blood sugar levels before they even thought of getting ready, packed snacks, drinks and insulin and watched as Max has a hard time deciding what stuffed friend he wants to take with him.
It's not only Toto's home race (curse his Austrian heighty ass) but also Red Bull's home race, so both teams are giddy with the aspect of a good and fun home race (and the fact that their little chaos named Max would finally be at a race track).
Max, dressed in rubber boots and a raincoat, stands in front of his mountain of fuzzy, furry and round stuffed friends, contemplating what friend has the privilege to come with him. "I don' wanna leave you alone," he pouts while carefully tugging on his shark plush.
Suddenly, he gets picked up and lifted high above the ground, Toto had snug into his room and smiles brightly. "My little Spatz learns how to fly, how wonderful that is!" Both laugh and giggle, their mood could be felt all over the hotel room and the rain couldn't ruin it for them.
"Toto, don't drop him," Christian walks in, dressed in his Red Bull stuff and carrying the "Max Deluxe Bag". "We need him for our strategy, Ferrari might be on our butts and we need our secret weapon."
"Momma!" Max squeals and stretches out his arms towards Christian, the stuffed friend still tightly held. "Papa make me fly! I am bigger than you!"
Yeah, Max is higher up than Christian is tall, but if your husband and wonderful father of the little miracle is around 20 centimetres taller than yourself, it is to no wonder. "Oh, are you? Then I guess you are too big for a tickle kiss. How bad," he sighs dramatically and turns around for effect, only hearing Toto's and Max's shocked gasps in response.
A short moment passes and hurried tiny footsteps rush towards him, small arms holding onto Christian's pants while Toto's arms sneak around his waist. "Not fair," both whine and Christian laughs, heart feeling warm and full of love.
Despite everything that had went wrong or complicated in their lives, Christian and Toto enjoy moments like these in large quantities and qualities, their little ball of energy never seizing to amaze them.
The only thing that breaks the moment is a high-pitched bark and a young dog running towards Max, tongue already all over the boy's face and the happiness in Christian expanding all over to Toto. Yeah, their life together is perfect right now, in their hotel room in Austria, with their sun and dog and their love for one another.
As for headcanons, I would say that Lewis and Max often times get caught making out or just being super toothrottingly cute in private/team intern. They get scolded but never stop, so whenever someone sees them, they'll just ignore them.
With Christian and Toto, it's the same though, just in team principle style (and, to everyone's horror, s lot kinkier). Max always jokes around that Lewis is the vanilla version of Toto while he is the vanilla version of Christian.
Another headcanon is that Max is actually viewed as Christian's and Toto's son, so Lewis was super worried at first when Max and he started dating (all those super protective dads all over the internet didn't help). It was a surprise for him when Toto sank onto his knees and thanked him for finally shutting up their son about how mich he loves him. Max terrorised Toto with his crushing on Lewis while Christian just loves every second of it 😂
#nugget asks#4433#lewis/max#mawis#max verstappen#lewis hamilton#toto/christian#toto wolff#christian horner#diabetic baby max#i love fluffy toto/christian moments but i also love their angst potential <3
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Lockdown training
Lockdown was full off zoom interviews and making banana bread till all hours and sometimes things got slightly messy. Trent had been doing tones of interviews with red bull,fifa and under armour but this time he was up at half 7 getting ready for a team training session online. He had told you about it yesterday whilst you where watching another old episode of love island accompanied with the dogs but you still had no idea. Shock horror.
"Babe have you seen my training top?" trent said across the large bedroom throwing up a pile of clean washing from the closet due to his panic and rush.
"Urrgh I dont know" you said pushing your face into the pillow as the bright light fell into your eye sight. Due to the national lockdown your sleeping pattern hadnt become the most amazing thing, aswell as everyone else's but no one could of prepared you for the blunt awakening of your unorganised boyfriend at half 7.
"Oh my god! I'm gonna be late the meeting is on down stairs everyone is going to see our fucking kitchen so that will be embarrassing wount it!" Trent shouted searching through the piles of clothes at a rapid speed.
"Trent there's no need to shout urrrrgh" you mumbled into the pillow as you were refusing to move your head due to the horrific relationship with you and this light bulb.
"Y/n help! Please!" Trent quickly said until standing still abruptly, listening to something from downstairs.
"Shit oh god klopp is on it I can hear him from the laptop! Oh shit shit shit" trent added throwing the duvet off your body in a panic to get you to help him find his top. You felt the cold air fall on to your body causing you to jump up wondering why you could feel Antarctica in your house.
"Are you serious?" You said snapping your head towards your boyfriend who stud at the bottom of the bed with a large duvet in his hands.
"Yes y/n quite serious to be honest" trent said with a sarcastic smile. You slowly got out of bed, wearing trents old hoodie which reached just about your knees due to your surprisingly small height. It had become a normal activity to steel trents hoodies no matter how old or new they may have been.
"Oh babe" you sweetly said realising you had washed the item of clothing which you could see sat on the radiator in your mind. You had completely forgotten you decided to do a red wash last night which consisted of mostly liverpool clothing.
"Yeah? What?" Trent replied quickly opening and shutting wardrobe doors.
"Its on the radiator down stairs" you said covering your mouth quickly not wanting your laughs to escape your mouth. He quickly turned to you, his eyes bursting out of his head as he had a face like thunder. Trent rushed down the stairs in nothing but trainers and a pair of shorts. You went over and quickly made the bed which trent had rudely thrown across your bedroom in a rush of panic, huffing and puffing was all you heard from downstairs sometimes you didn't know the difference between your boyfriend in a mood or your French bulldogs.
"What's up trent" you shouted from your room hoping he would hear you. You quietly stayed still until you knew he hadn't heard you.
"Oh for jesus sake" you mumbled walking down the stairs as you couldn't believe you where about to spend your morning acting like trents very own mother. You pushed open the kitchen door seeing trent looking for any radiator possible.
"Which radiator!?" Trent shouted from across the room to you causing you to laugh as he hadn't realised most of the lads could hear and see his tantrum which you knew he was going to get the piss taken out of him for.
"Here" you said with a smug smile picking up the t shirt and waving it in his face as his face lighted up with pure joy. You ran past the laptop on the floor from a far not wanting any of the boys to see you this early in the morning. It had become a normal occurance for one of your girlfriends to pop up on these online training sessions due to the chaos of the lads wife's and children wanting to be apart of the small way of socialising in a world which we can't.
"Oh y/n hiya darling" klopp shouted through the camera noticing you run past. You had become very close with klopp as you had established a very close friendship with his daughter.
"Hello how are you klopp?" you said coming into the laptops view as you saw trents face drop realising his tantrum had been shown to practically the world in his eyes. He had sat himself right infront of the camera on the floor showing his moody and fed up face aswell as his hand trying to reach for yours as a way to say sorry.
"Well im quite well my love after hearing trents cry over a t shirt, I wonder what he would do without you or his mum" klopp joked between laughs as he knew how much of a brat trent sometimes could actually be.
"Oh for god sake right thats it" trent said lightly pushing you away from the laptop on the floor over to the kitchen island.
"Oh come on trent you know we only want to talk to y/n and not you" virgil joked knowing just how jealous trent gets even if the lads where married with kids.
"Oh my god leave babe please" trent begged as he looked up at you whilst you where laughing to yourself now crouched down behind him engaging in the banta from the boys.
"Right fine im going" you quickly said kissing trents forehead as you made a beeline to the door whilst hearing a choir of awws coming from the laptop as there had been an on going joke from what felt like the begging of time which stated trent was apparently hooked and became all cute and babyish around you, certainly not the normal trent who was competitive and serious 24/7.
You had been watching TV for about half an hour whilst trent had been engaging in his eventful training session. You where focused on kim and kourtney kardashians argument until you heard trents voice from in the kitchen. You got urself up making your way to the annoying sounds coming from behind the door.
"Yes darling" you said walking into the kitchen noticing trent trying to do a final stretch but failing miserably as the dogs had decided to use him as an obstical course.
"Omg" you laughed seeing how much trent was struggling with two tiny frenchies on him.
"Oh my days lad! you can't live without her can you" Alex said whilst watching the madness unfold. Trent quickly flipped Alex off as he was looking at you with puppy eyes wanting you to help him.
"God your like a baby" you laughed picking up the two small dogs who seemed to be mesmerised by there dad.
You could definitely say any other training session in the future wasn't going to be as chaotic as that but you always knew trent would somehow find a way to get you involved even if that was making you run around after him like a parent.
#trent alexander arnold imagines#trent alexander arnold#trent alexander arnold x reader#trent alexander arnold x y/n
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14: promises kept
You're gonna take Ibara's place in Tetsutetsu's team during the cavalry battle.
Sorry plant queen, I love you! Please forgive me!
~~~~~~~~~~
For the cavalry battle, you forced your team to avoid Deku's team, which held the 10 million points. You focused on collecting points off of others despite your team's complaints.
Of course, you immediately shut those complaints down with a simple glare. Juzo and Awase didn't even fight you, Tetsutetsu did, that is, until you gave him the most frightening look ever.
You four got more than enough points to head into the finals, just at second place behind Todoroki's team. Midoriya's was below your rank, which dimmed the fire inside, but only for a moment.
Only for a moment.
"Shit! You were right about avoiding the 10 million points!" Awase said once seeing Todoroki and his abilities.
"We still coulda got it..." Tetsutetsu said.
"We're not here to worry about silly games, Tetsutetsu, we got into the finals, which means we have a chance to get into first place." You said while staring down the greenette.
"You've been glaring at that guy for a while."
You snapped out of it and turned to look at Tetsutetsu.
"I thought that Bakugou guy was your arch nemesis or something, but you've been completely focused on the green haired guy."
"It's none of your business, Tetsu." You muttered.
Tetsutetsu shrugged but still stood beside you, watching the greenette as well.
'I wonder what he's done to get all of (Y/n)'s attention...' he thought as the greenette was speaking with his friend group.
"(Y/n)!!!"
You turned to glare at whoever came up to you. Monoma appeared before you and gripped your shoulders with wild looking eyes.
"You better win this for me- for us." He said in an intense manner.
"Yeah yeah, Monoma, we got this!" Tetsutetsu said while flexing his muscular arm.
You looked on in disinterest and then turned your attention back to Deku. He was approaching you. He was walking right towards you with his eyes locked onto yours. You soon started approaching him and his determined eyes slowly showed hints of fear.
You kept approaching, even as he stopped in his place.
You kept approaching... until Todoroki approached him.
You stopped with a frown and watched as the two teens walked away to somewhere.
They weren't friends. You could tell. It seems like Deku has more than one enemy, and you weren't about to let the Todoroki get in your way.
You silently followed the two, ready to confront them, or Deku, yourself before Todoroki started talking.
While you weren't able to have a chat with the greenette, you did learn a few interesting things about Todoroki's father...
Being respectful though, you didn't eavesdrop beyond him mentioning quirk marriages.
You could connect the dots on your own...
You left them alone, but not before passing Bakugou. You didn't realize he was listening as well, but you didn't say anything but lock eyes.
~~~~~
"So you're the kid Kirishima keeps talking about." The lightening bolt teen said.
You didn't reply and instead got into a fighting position, ignoring the background noise that was the crowd cheering. The blonde raised an eyebrow and smirked at this.
"So quiet! Kirishima said you were super manly and intimidating." He said as a spark of electricity flashed from his shoulder.
"Let's see how manly you can be!" He yelled as he launched himself forward.
It wasn't really much of a fight. Nobody could even call it a fight.
You were swift in defeating the teen, Kaminari you believe.
The electric shock you received did hurt, but it left no burns or wounds behind.
In fact, the only thing that was left on you were crimson sparks. Even as his unconscious body was taken off the field, you were still sparking.
It was the same way when fighting the kid with engines on his calves.
He was more challenging then the blonde you Pimp smacked, but then again, that's a very low bar to pass in your opinion.
Entering the stands where your class was, you were immediately met with cheers.
"You were so freaking cool out there!" Tetsutetsu exclaimed.
"I'm glad I'm not going against them..." Juzo muttered, earning a couple nods of agreement from Togaru and Kuroiro.
"Hey, (L/n)-san! You're still sparking!" Kendo pointed out.
You looked at your shoulder to see sparks of crimson electricity. Blood was slowly sleeping through your uniform, which also caught the class's attention.
"Hey, you're still bleeding..." Reiko said.
"Yeah. I am." You said while grabbing a bottle of water from a vending machine.
"Wait, how are you still bleeding? You shouldn't be unless your quirk is still activated." Sen said.
You didn't respond, opting to chug on the water you have.
"(L/n)... your quirk is still activated!?" Kendo said in surprise.
Still nothing from you.
"You realize how dangerous that is!? What if you lose control!?"
You emptied the rest of the bottle into your mouth and crushed it then turned to Kendo and the rest.
"I trained with Sekijiro-sensei long enough. I can take better control now." You finally answered.
"Okay, but why do you need to keep your quirk activated?" Jurota asked in a skeptical tone while crossing his arms.
"If I deactivate it now, I'll be too tired to continue." You said.
Before anyone could respond, the speaker shouted something that made your blood run cold.
"Midoriya is out of bounds! Todoroki wins this round!!!!"
You shot up from your seat and leaned against the railing.
There he was, laying on the ground. Like a little bitch.
'This is his predecessor...? This is who I'm supposed to prove myself against???' Your grip on the railing was crushing.
'I didn't even get to pummel him to the ground... that scarred bastard did it.'
"(L/n)-san...?"
You didn't turn to your classmates, still stuck in your thoughts.
'If I can't fight Deku...'
'...Then I'll just settle for Todoroki.' You grinned maliciously.
It was no secret that your quirk was starting to take a toll on you...
"And here we have TODOROKI SHOTO vs. (L/N) (Y/N)!!!"
The fight began with a shot of ice aiming for you.
It was too quick to dodge, but you were able to break it into pieces.
Todoroki kept using his right side, his ice, but never his fire. You were quick to notice this.
What? Were you not good enough to use his full power on? He used it on Deku. Why not you???
"No way!!! Despite being covered in blood, (L/n) is somehow overwhelming Todoroki!"
Oh hell no.
He's not going to treat you as less. You are BETTER than him. BETTER THAN DEKU.
Does he think he can just use half of his power!?
You stood tall, skin and hair covered in red. Todoroki halted momentarily upon seeing you stand still.
"I ain't your fucking father, Todoroki..."
Todoroki grunted in surprise with wide eyes.
How did you...
"...You aren't fighting Endeavour." You pounded your chest with a bloody fist before yelling at the bicolored boy again.
"My name is (L/n) MOTHERFUCKING (Y/N)! And I will beat the shit out of you for thinking you could be a hero by half-assing shit."
The crowd around you seemed to quiet down a bit, including Present Mic, who was usually yelling something random.
You crouched down and readied yourself to pounce at Todoroki.
"So if you want to at least impress somebody, GIVE ME YOUR ALL!!!!" You exclaimed and ran at Todoroki with the speed of a raging bull.
And he did just that.
Despite being unable to feel most of the pain due to the adrenaline high you were having, you could feel the heat and smell the vapor of blood and flesh from the bright orange and yellow fire that grazed your right arm. You still rushed at the teen and reared your fist back to punch him.
The boy was stunned by the force of the punch as well as the blood that was left behind. Either his or your blood, he didn't know.
Your right fist, covered in charred flesh, still pumped blood out to replace the old vaporized blood, creating a rather grotesque sight.
Despite this, you used both fists to pummel the student from class 1A. He didn't get time to recover and soon his face was bruised and swollen.
He fell to his knees, holding out his right hand and freezing your left side.
"Oh god..." All Might said breathlessly while the heroes next to him stood up. People began to freak out over the sight before you and him. Paramedics were rushing to the scene and heroes were just about ready to leap down there. Endeavour was also watching in shock at his prodigy getting beaten to the ground and his fire slowly dimmed.
Up in the microphone room, Present Mic was staring down in horror at the two students on the bloody field along side with Eraserhead.
Todoroki wasn't looking too well... but you were worse.
Despite feeling like you could run across the world, you were bleeding heavily, burnt, and frozen to the point of getting frostbite.
"Oh my god! Somebody stop them!"
"They're gonna kill him-"
"What... what is this...!?"
You started walking over to Todoroki's collapsed form, your body sparking with red electricity, and gripped his uniform with your burnt, crispy looking arm and pulled him towards the edge, where the paramedics and heroes stopped at once seeing you move.
"(L-L-L-L/n) is still moving!!!" Mic's voice echoed throughout the stadium, causing chaos throughout the crowd.
In the stands, class 1A was half silent, half loud. The grape kid, Kirishima was freaking out along with a few other students. Mineta threw up in a trash can, Shoji couldn't look away but was stuck staring at the scene, Iida was also frozen in his seat, unable to look away.
"There's no way..." Midoriya wheezed out.
Even Bakugou seemed disturbed by the bloodshed that occurred in front of him.
Class 1A could hear 1B freaking out nearby. Kendo was practically shrieking for you to let Todoroki go, not just for his wellbeing, but for yours as well. Monoma would have cheered you on if it weren't for the fact that you looked like you could die any second with the wounds you attained.
You stopped at the edge of the concrete and chucked Todoroki over the side, having him land on the dirt with a sickening 'thud'.
"T-Todoroki Shoto is OUT!!!!" Present Mic shrieked into the microphone.
People cheered as well as shrieked, but that wasn't your concern. You didn't care about the paramedics rushing towards you and Todoroki.
No.
You were focused on the green eyes of that Midoriya brat. You pointed over to him, letting him know you were looking right at him before a sadistic smile came over your face and you swiped your finger over your neck in a slit-throat motion, blood dripping from your blackened skin.
And then you collapsed.
"Everyone, please stand by-" a female voice said over the shrieking.
Your vision and your sight faded in and out before finally settling in the darkness and silence.
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The Machine
Author’s Note: So you know, I recently finished Pirate101 for the first time after getting back into it since I was like eight (and now I’m getting back into Wiz) and I must say I genuinely enjoyed it. I laughed a lot and cried some — it was great! The only thing I didn’t enjoy was the ending (I liked it, but I was just sad to see it end, ya know). So, I decided to write it from the p.o.v of my pirate — hope you enjoy! Comment down below!
Word Count: 2400
Trigger Warning: Blood, gore, asphyxiation
The time for the final battle had come upon Ingrid and her crew — to defeat Kane himself. She looked around the lower control room of The Machine, a strong sense of disgust running through her veins. Around her was smashed machinery, oil stains, and the twitching remains of masked automata on the gold and steel platform, some of which had fallen onto the cold, brown marble flooring below. But, that wasn’t where her attention lay.
“After him Captain, for the Spiral!” El Toro exclaimed, a heroic smile beneath the bull’s white mask, but Ingrid barely noticed the bull.
She drowned out his voice as she descended the metal steps they previously climbed, her getas clicking against the floor. She stopped at the corpse of Gazpaccio, a sad old man killed by his own creation, his own child, Kane. But, could she blame the heartless monster for his actions?
Gazpaccio was the cause of all of this. The death of her parents, the need for a revolution to begin with, and the endangerment of the Spiral. All of this in the name of revenge against the Tortellini family. And of course, darkness bred darkness. It was only until his last days that he acted, wanting to give his son the heart he should’ve had to begin with. But, it was far too late.
Ingrid wanted to hate him for all the problems he’d caused, understanding how much it hurt to be born out of revenge. But, like her own parents, he had shown his creation love, and love was something Kane wasn’t capable of. Even without a proper heart, he never took the time to understand it — to try to feel it — for surely someone with a magnificent mind could learn to love. Even his chaotic creation, Phule, could love.
Either way, nobody should have to die as Gazpaccio did, nor should they be left to rot. Thus, in good conscience, Ingrid turned his body over, laying his arms across his chest. She took off her headdress, clutching it to her chest and kneeling in prayer. She gently placed it on his chest and stood to her feet, a sorrowful look in her eyes.
With that done, it was time to cover him. She took off her tattered robes, once a fine silk kimono from Mooshu colored black, white, and gold, now, worse for wear from combat. She never properly appreciated nor wore them as it was. And if they could give a man the peace he deserved, even for a fleeting moment, then she would do that for him. Though the sky pirate was used to death, and even able to revive the dead as a Witchdoctor, her mojo was nearly spent, not to mention his age making things more difficult. Besides, she could feel his tired soul reject life, and she would not raise the unwilling.
She felt a hand on her shoulder from her closest friend, if not father figure. He spoke in a gentle tone, “You tried your best, Dragonfly, the fault does not lie with you. We are at the end of our journey — let us not allow his death to be in vain.”
“But… Kan Po, isn’t it already in vain? He wanted to give his son a heart, to properly fix him, and that’s what we came for, isn’t it? Even if our main objective became saving the Spiral, that doesn’t take away from the original purpose, does it?”
“No, but, in a way, he would have died. Life is a cycle of birth, death, and rebirth; we would have killed off the evil in him in one way, Dragonfly, and now we will in another.”
She solemnly nodded in response. “Yes, I suppose. No mercy for a bastard.”
She took a moment to ready herself, checking to see if her chest was bound properly and that her hakama was aptly done. She wouldn’t want her pants to be too loose or come undone in the midst of combat. They hadn’t yet, but you could never be too sure.
‘You know,’ she thought to herself, observing her tan brown skin, ‘I never noticed how many scars I’ve gotten over all these years…’
She looked back up at the platform, Bonnie Anne motioning for her and Kan Po. “Come on, let’s go!” She yelled with urgency.
The young pirate nodded, rejoining the group with haste. This was it.
The crew rode in tense silence, stepping into the upper control room — the head of the near-destroyed Machine. The room was like a dome, decorated with silver and golden gears, and a map of the Spiral with magnifying glasses on the back wall. The green skies of Valencia were visible all around the crew from the glass, polluted by the smog of clockwork machinery. Above their heads was a strange laser-like contraption made from the ethereal purple crystals from the Isle Of Doom, which momentarily brought Ingrid’s attention to the ones kept in glass casings. And at the center of it all was Kane, his elites, and his marine pawns.
That’s when the young pirate took notice of the floor: it was a chessboard. All of this — her suffering, that of her crewmates, and that of the entire Spiral’s — was a game. His pursuit of perfection was just a game. With this realization, her doubts faded away. She had to end him.
“We’ve played a long chess game, you and I, and you’ve done far better than expected. But now it’s time I was rid of you. How about one final match? To be sporting, I’ll only use half my pieces — is that not generous?” Kane menacingly spoke.
“Deacon! Rooke! But how?” El Toro exclaimed in shock.
“Should’ve stayed dead,” Ingrid mumbled to herself, never one for words. She always was unnaturally quiet, even when her parents were alive. She didn’t like noise, nor did she enjoy parties or crowds. In fact, she found the rambunctious nature of the Unicorn nobles so unbearable that it took all of her will not to break down and cry. It was the main reason she stormed The Clock Works and The Machine without hesitation.
Somehow, Valencian nobility was worse than Marleybonian nobility, and that’s saying a lot as her own mother was Marleybonian nobility. Ingrid could play diplomat, but wasn't completely socially literate. She knew better than anyone else that what she lacked in social skills, she more than made up for it with her combative abilities. Therefore, this battle had to be.
“They’re only machines. It was expensive to replace the children you destroyed, but I managed.” Kane stated. “Bishop, of course, you already know. Allow me to introduce Queen, greatest of my creations.”
“You flatter me, darling,” Queen spoke.
“Not at all. Kill them, my children. Kill them all.”
Thus, combat began. The Clockwork marines rapidly charged forward, striking with near-deadly accuracy. They were merely pawns, but could kill, and stab, and cut, and some of Ingrid's crew aren’t able to block or dodge as easily.
Ingrid focused her attention on Kane, her ruby red eyes widening in shock — he could teleport? Seeing as mojo was illegal by Armada standards, the fact that he had any was a surprise, and the fact that he could use it well was terrifying, especially because he was attempting to pick everyone off like flies…
Ingrid rushed over to Old Scratch, helping her fellow Witchdoctor strengthen their team and call upon the willing dead, creating a better chance for survival. Once finished, she jumped into the fray — she’d never been one to simply stand on the sides and cast spells like a Wizard. Her first target was Deacon; she hated him with her soul, so seeing him ‘live’ again… He wouldn’t live for long.
She took him by surprise like Kan Po had taught her to, summoning a mojo knife and slicing off his head. He’d already been damaged by Bonnie Anne’s spark gun, so he was an easy target.
El Toro, Contessa, Kan Po, Ratbeard, and Hawkules fought tooth and nail through hordes of Armada marines, facing Rooke, Bishop, and Queen. They faced bombs, clockwork traps, guns, and halberds head-on.
As the battle went on, neither side seemed to truly win. Bones, ectoplasm, oil, and Clockwork bodies filled the room. Most of Ingrid’s crew had fallen, and she could only hope they were knocked out and not dead. She’d seen Bonnie Anne subdued with spark guns, Mormo stabbed through, Ratbeard and Hawkules fall taking down Rooke, and El Toro hurt by one of Bishop’s traps. Kane’s army was no different, however, for all that remained standing was he and Queen. As for Ingrid, Contessa and Kan Po remained — everyone else was hurt or…
Ingrid didn’t have time to think about it; she focused on the fight. If this truly was only half of Kane’s pawns, then he needed to die, or everyone’s sacrifices would be in vain. Catbeard would surely scold her for that, and she wouldn't want Gracie's genius to be stamped out.
Ingrid looked to her still standing friends. They nodded at each other, knowing what had to be done. Ingrid used one of her abilities, soulreaver. Giant skeletal hands held Queen down, spirits attacking her as Contessa and Kan Po charged forward. But, the eloquent creation refused to go down so easily. With her dying 'breath,' she brought down Contessa, running her blade through the abdomen of the unicorn rebel.
Ingrid felt her heart sink at the sight of it, yet she continued to fight. "Just like the old times, eh? Just the two of us, Kan Po."
He nodded. "Let us finish our journey, Dragonfly."
She took a deep breath, sending a mojo blast towards Kane, magical lightning leaving her finger-tips. But to her dismay, he teleported away, and that's when she felt herself being shoved to the ground. She looked up in horror as she watched Kane slice through Kan Po's chest, bits of the goat's blood staining her clothing. He kicked the man's body aside, standing over the shocked pirate, tears in her eyes.
"Kan…P…" was all she could mumble before her staff was knocked away.
"Now that that's settled, it seems I've won," Kane spoke, holding his blade above the teen. "You really should have joined me — you and I were born out of vengeance; I could've used your prowess. You defeated Deacon, Bishop, and Rooke. Why, you even took Bishop's staff as a trophy. Too bad you've become obsolete."
He brought down his blade to finish the job, but at the last moment, the witch grabbed Kan Po's staff, managing to block his attack and kick his weapon away. Before she was fully a Witchdoctor, she was a sickly runt who got by by fighting in the pits of Krokotopia — she could still fight. She was badly bruised and bleeding, but she killed herself to continue on. Her physical wounds would never match her emotional wounds.
She tackled Kane, spitting in his face. With venom, she spat, "I would never join you." She did her best to beat him with the staff, her mojo low. But it was no match, he was physically stronger than her, rather easily knocking it from her hands.
They tussled around in the heap of the dead and dying, but Kane overpowered her, freed himself from her grasp, and knocked her into one of the walls. The white-haired witch weakly attempted to get up, only to be kicked in the stomach and collapse. He grabbed her by the neck, violently shoving her into one of the crystal containers, broken glass penetrating her back as he tightened his grip, slowly suffocating her. She wanted to let out a scream, but couldn't breathe.
"Now, now, close your eyes and fall aslumber — eternally. I must perfect myself, then the Spiral. There is no place for people like you, so go ahead and die for me."
She felt her consciousness fading, her body slowly going into a state of shock. And in what she believed to be her final moments, she saw visions of her parents. She felt… Her mother's embrace, hearing a silent, yet sweet, "I love you" in her ear. Her father, however, she could not hear, and yet, she felt him just as strongly. His demonic will echoed through her — fight. She had to fight.
Her mother lost nearly everything she cared for, but she fought for what she wanted — demanded it. The deal Alison Voss made with the spirits, along with the sacrifices it took to bring back both husband and child, is the only reason why Ingrid Voss was alive. And in return, as the Witchdoctor had found along her journey, she was to face the leader of the Armada. Their stories were tied, and fates sealed, one way or another. Thus, she fought against her own body.
Her ruby eyes glew a deep red as she weakly brought Kane into her embrace, showing affection to the mind that never knew love.
"If you're trying to fight me, it won't work," he spat, "I'm almost done just let me-"
Her face was turning a deadly shade of blue, but she shook her head and cut him off, mumbling, "I… forgive… you…"
"Forgiveness I-" This time, he was cut off by his limbs locking against his will — his hubris was his undoing as Ingrid used her mojo and his against him. Even just a little drop was good enough for her.
"Let's… die… together…" she muttered, sending a powerful electric blast of mojo through the both of them. Her screams filled the room this time, pain running through her from electricity, burning, and broken glass.
"No...not like this. Not like this. I must not…!" he desperately exclaimed, as he fell backward, his systems overpowered by the surge in electricity. As he fell and died, his iron grip dissipated from Witchdoctor's throat.
Heavily wounded, she collapsed onto the ground and closed her eyes, a smile on her face — she won. She heard the silent, yet shaky breaths of her crewmates, and in her heart, she knew they would live. She knew she would live, for she was destined to grow old and see the Spiral change, and she would do it with them. They would sustain, thus she could rest.
#pirate101#pitty#p101#p101 fandom#p101 kane#pitty101#pirate101 fandom#pirate101 Oc#Pirate101 Fanfiction#Okay so I hurt my child a little bit#maybe a lot#but hey she's alive lol
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for the series ‘fic I think about all the time but I’ll never be able write’, I’m honoured to present you:
Band of Brothers’s High School Football (and I mean soccer!) Team AU
featuring:
- the team’s name is Currahee Easy of Toccoa High School (I don’t make the rules... I mean yes I do, but you know...) and they’re basically shit at playing football/soccer
- it’s not that they don’t have good individual players or don’t train hard enough, it’s that their coach, PE teacher Sobel, doesn’t know shit about tactics and theory and he’s just too much of a dick to admit it
- so the team trains hard everyday under every weather condition, but they still suck in championship games
- (it’s by then a well known thing in Toccoa High School)
- except this year is senior year for a big chunk of the team and most of them really really want to win at least one game before parting ways and going to college
- so some of them basically mutiny against Sobel and go beg Principal Sink for a new coach
- (he’s easily convinced after he sees the disgraceful row of defeats the team managed to string in the past three years) (it’s disgusting)
- he calls in his office the other PE teacher, Richard Winters (who’s in fact already the coach of the baseball team) and gives Winters the responsibility of coaching the football team as well
- thing is: right until that moment Dick Winters knows nothing about football, but he’s not a bitch about it so he buys a lot of books and watches a lot of youtube videos and drags his best-friend-and-maybe-also-more Lewis Nixon (history teacher at Toccoa) to a bunch of games to study
- he’s a good student because when he meets the team for the first time and they try some of the tactics out, they seem to work
- (he goes with basic 4-4-2 formation but his full backs are fast and both his side midfielders can shift to the attack on the occasion)
- so the championship starts and the boys are for once both physically and tactically ready (mentally not so much, but hey can you blame a rowdy team of 20 teenagers?)
- so the team is composed like this:
- D. Hoobler as the keeper (2nd keeper: D. Webster, although everyone is secretly glad he never plays because last time he did he was reading books during the game when the ball was on the other side of the field... at least on the bench he can read as much as he wants and pretend to be too precious and literate to play sports)
- “Buck” Compton and “Bull” Randleman as center backs (reserves: “Tab” Talbert and “Pat” Christenson)
- “Babe” Heffron and Frank Perconte as full backs (reserves: “Popeye” Wynn and A. Blithe)
- center midfielders: Joe Liebgott and Johnny Martin (reserve: D. Malarkey)
- side midfielders: “Shifty” Powers and “Skip” Muck (reserve: A. Penkala)
- forwards: Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye (reserves: “Chuck” Grant and P. O’Keefe)
- coach: R. Winters; coach’s alcoholic husband: L. Nixon; 2nd coach: C. Lipton; manager: H. Welsh; assistant and medic: “Doc” Roe; referee: R. Speirs
- (everyone is scared of the local referee as there are numerous rumors circulating about him, like the one that says he once stabbed a protesting player in the eye with the red card)
- Toccoa also has a student radio broadcast and the designated sportcaster is George Luz, so he also follows the team in away games (and having him around helps with the team’s morale)
- the first match is a draw, which is neither a good or a bad thing, but Winters is still kinda proud of the guys and buys ice cream for all of them and says inspirational things like “the best is yet to come”
- the second match is a whole struggle against the defending champions of the previous year, which makes the opposite team’s players a bit too arrogant and which causes yellow cards to fly around
- to the surprise of absolutely nobody Liebgott is the first to get a red card and gets sent out. To the surprise of everybody except his teammates, he’s double booked because he picks a fight not with the opposite team but with his own (specifically: Guarnere asking for more forward passes and Webster, still on the bench, for seemingly no reason at all). Luz announces that it’s probably the first time in the history of football that this happens (yay for a new embarrassing record for Currahee Easy!)
- Easy loses in the last minutes after a struggle to maintain the 0 - 0 and Lipton has to intervene before the whole team riots against the referee (not Speirs this time) who also gives a penalty to the opposite team in recovery time. It ends 2 - 0 for the defenders and in the brawl that follows the three final whistles Heffron loses a shoe, Toye gets a bloody nose and Liebgott sneaks out from the locker room just to throw a few punches
- they win the third match. The opposite team never shows up at Toccoa High School so it’s a forfeit win
- (rumors say the opponents didn’t want to attend not because they were scared of Easy, but because they were scared of Speirs, the designated referee for the game)
- after the sixth match they start to win for their own merits and everyone is ecstatic. The whole school gets involved (all thanks to Luz’s enthusiastic commentaries and sport-related news) and there’s suddenly an high attendance of audience at their games
- some of them even gets fans, like some guy starting to admire Guarnere’s technique and some girl suddenly making banners for Christenson or even Webster (though that must be less for athletic merits and more for aesthetic reasons, much to all the other player’s displeasure)(and Liebgott’s absolute rage, though no one gets exactly why)(c’mon guys...)
- they manage to end the championship at an average position in the chart and with enough points to access a row of head to head games
- the last match of the season is one of those direct clashes and becomes very important not only because it’s the last match ever for the senior students, but also because winning would mean getting an access to summer play-off
- everyone is super nervous
- coach Winters makes another one of his nice motivational speeches which leaves almost everyone near-tears (even the tough ones)(and especially Lew, who still gets free access to the locker room despite not being directly involved with the team)
- things turn bad real soon real fast because during the first half within minutes both Guarnere and Toye get a leg injury and need to be substituted by Grant and, to the whole team’s horror and desperation, sweet innocent O’Keefe
- Doc Roe gets helped by Lip and Welsh to get Bill and Joe out of the pitch and most of all to placate their rage and frustration (my poor boys...)
- despite the injuries and early substitutions, Shifty manages to score an outside the box stunning volley for the 1 - 0 that makes everyone in the audience literally freaks out
- the opponents equalize right at the end of first half with a goal following a contested free kick right outside Easy’s penalty area
- the second half ends on a draw despite the team’s best efforts in maintaining their shape and positions as well as their nerves (and everyone is extremely proud of them, but most of all surprised by Liebgott)(considering he’s not even being supervised by Martin, who had been substituted by Malark at some point)
- after the first extra time Dick is already thinking about the penalties: to the sudden shock of everyone present at the game (and the delight of his hardcore fangirls), Hoob gets substituted with Webster
- (all of Easy, as one man, think they’re doomed)
- the penalties are a matter of even more nerves and sweat and tears, but the five kickers get chosen (Grant, Buck, Skip, Heffron and Shifty) and after that, everything is in their preferred foot (and in Web’s hands)
- Web saves the first penalty and the whole school gasps in disbelief
- (while Dick and Lip share a knowing smile on the bench)
- Grant scores, Buck scores, Skip’s shot unfortunately gets saved and they’re back to equality
- no one speaks (Luz included!), no one even blinks
- Babe manages to score a stunning lob penalty that has the whole field freaking out again
- (Bill from the bench points at him and screams: ‘That’s my boy!’ jumping on his uninjured leg)
- Shifty scores with cynical precision (and Winters almost sobs out loud)
- as Webster takes his position between the posts, silence falls again all around the pitch and tension is so thick it feels like it could be cut with a knife
- right before the opponents fifth kicker positions the ball on the penalty spot, everyone takes a deep breath and holds it for seemingly endless minutes
- Webster saves
- everyone screams
- chaos is everywhere
- Lieb kisses Web on the mouth
- someone cries
- (probably Web’s fangirls)
- (and also mama!Lip since he’s so proud of his boys)
- after that everything is a blur of celebrations and tears and hugs and also other less celebrated kisses (but Babe gets one from Doc and Dick gets several ones from Lew and, to be fair, no one is really that surprised)
- Luz loses his voice at some point and completely forgets being on air on the school’s radio as he runs down to the field to celebrate with the team (which results in long minutes of radio silence he’d be scolded for the next day)(and, for what is worth, he does not give a single fuck)
- Easy chases coach Winters across the field and lift him in the air to celebrate, then they do the same for Lip and Welsh and (surprisingly?) Nixon
- (Doc Roe refuses and hides behind Babe and Bill and everyone loves him too much to force him anyway)
- more chaos ensues and rumors say the celebrations went on for weeks
- (also some rumors say referee Speirs took part to the celebrations as 2nd coach Lipton’s date, but no one present ever confirmed or denied that)
...and that’s basically it. Sorry for any mistake: I typed this all in one go and my football terminology is strictly Italian-based (just as much as my football enthusiasm lol) so I may have got something wrong.
Thanks a bunch to my sister @gaiayukari85 for having helped with the plot (as often happens when we create silly stories)
#headcanon#fanfiction#band of brothers#easy company#high school football team AU#winnix#webgott#baberoe#spierton#richard winters#lewis nixon#ronald speirs#carwood lipton#david webster#joe toye#joe liebgott#bill guarnere#don malarkey#shifty powers#eugene roe#babe heffron#george luz#...basically the whole gang is here#fic I will never write#gaiayukari85#soccer#it's called football
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Keep the Key within Reach (1/1)
Summary: It all starts when Geoff comes up with one of his harebrained schemes, some so-called brilliant idea for a heist and they all come to the realization they don't have the manpower to pull it off successfully.
AO3
It all starts when Geoff comes up with one of his harebrained schemes, some so-called brilliant idea for a heist and they all come to the realization they don't have the manpower to pull it off successfully.
Jack suggests pulling someone from the B Team, but they're dealing with territory squabbles at the moment and don't have people to spare.
Michael suggests they go down there and help them settle the territory squabbles and then borrow someone from B Team, but Geoff shuts that idea down real quick. Claims it's a learning experience for them, a chance for them to spread their wings and fly, like B Team is made up of wide-eyed newbies who don't know shit about Los Santos.
Ray shrugs and slumps forward, head resting on his forearms while he waits for the rest of them to get through the pointless arguing and settle on a solution.
Gavin, however.
That little fucker goes all squirrelly, fingers fidgeting with the earpiece of those obnoxiously gaudy sunglasses he loves so much. He stops that when he notices Michael watching him, and places his hands on the table. A few moments later his fingers are tapping out a beat while Gavin bites his lip, eyes roving around the room.
“For fuck's sake, Gav,” Michael bursts out, annoyed and a little worried about how nervous he is. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
Gavin's eyes dart to Michael, and he lets out this noise that he must think is a laugh, because he has this forced smile on his face. Stiff and unwieldy and ill-fitting.
“Michael boi!” Gavin titters, hands waving. “It's, nothing, nothing at all. Just a bit too much Red Bull this morning. Jitters and all, yeah?”
Right, sure. Except Gavin hadn't had any Red Bull that morning because he ran out the day before. Hadn't bothered to go out and get more because he figured one of the others would restock it for him before too long, so why go to the trouble himself when he can just sit back and let someone else do it?
“Gavin.”
Geoff and the others are looking their way now, and even Ray's lifted his head enough to squint at them.
“Gavin?”
Michael gets a dirty look from Gavin which is more like having a tiny, fluffy kitten annoyed at you than anything else.
“It's, uh.” Gavin looks around the room at them before sighing, shoulders slumping. “I know someone who could help us?”
Geoff's expression goes from wondering if he should be concerned about Gavin's sudden bout of nervousness to definitely concerned when Gavin makes it a question instead of a statement.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Gavin shrugs, trying for a smile again and managing to make it partway.
"He might not pick up when I call, is what it means, isn't it,” Gavin says, and that's.
Well, it means he's not talking about Dan because God knows he'd come running the moment Gavin opened his mouth to ask. But Dan's dealing with shit in England at the moment, something Gavin's been losing sleep over as he keeps an eye on things. Worried about Dan even though he's perfectly capable of handling a little trouble on his own, but also.
It's kind of typical for Gavin.
Smart as hell, but still real fucking dumb.
People tend to either love him or hate him, because he has this ability to be the most annoying asshole in the entire fucking world when he sets his mind to it. Stubborn as fuck and he clearly wasn't paying attention in class the day they covered how to be an actual human being instead of a piece of shit.
Which sounds like Michael leans more towards the hating Gavin side of things, but for some fucking reason he doesn't. Thinks Gavin's a goddamn miracle some days, even.
Geoff sighs, eyes on Gavin as he leans back in his chair at the head of the table.
“We don't have a lot of options available to us with such a short window of opportunity,” he says. “Call your guy, Gavin. Make him the usual offer, and we'll go from there.”
Gavin holds Geoff's gaze for a moment before giving a sharp nod and fleeing – because that's clearly what he's doing – from the room.
Michael starts to follow him because this kind of behavior from Gavin is genuinely worrying.
“Michael,” Geoff says, the tone in his voice bringing Michael to a halt, hand on the back of his chair. “Keep an eye on him.”
Michael rolls his eyes because that's what he does.
“Sure thing, Boss,” he says, throws a bit of fawning underling in there just to see the way Geoff's eye twitches. “I'll get right on that, Sir!”
Jack's grinning, Ray's laughing quietly into his arms and Michael, oh he's definitely laughing too, because giving Geoff shit is so damn satisfying.
“Get the fuck out,” Geoff snaps, tossing a pen at Ray. “All of you assholes, out.”
========
Wonder of wonders, Gavin's guy accepts his call, and Michael plants himself right next to Gavin while they negotiate.
He's expecting Gavin to go all out with this.
Switch from being the Gavin who walks around the penthouse in old t-shirts and battered Converse and deliberately sabotages Michael when they play co-op to the smooth, confident asshole who only wears designer. Don't even think about coming near him with some no-name off the rack shit, but he doesn't, and that's real fucking interesting, isn't it.
Gavin has his back turned to Michael, shoulders hunched as he talks, feeling his way through the conversation like he's not the one with all the cards this time around.
Michael frowns as he realizes the part of the conversation he can hear sounds a lot like Gavin trying to convince one of them to go along with some idiotic request of his. Trying to annoy Michael into another food-related bet, or double-dog daring Ray to a shooting challenge even though Gavin has to know he's going to lose every fucking time.
And just like every other time Gavin goes after one of them like this, he manages to wear his guy down. Get an agreement out of him that he'll meet with them to discuss the possibility of agreeing to work with them for a cut of the heist. And that makes Michael curious because Gavin only does shit like this, agrees to go along with someone making him play this game if he thinks they're worth the hassle.
“You'll meet with us?” Gavin asks, sounding surprised, and then he makes an indignant sound, sputtering and squawking and Michael can't help but think he actually wants to meet the guy who can get a reaction from Gavin like that.
========
When Michael said he wanted to meet the guy who got Gavin so fucking flustered he wasn't using actual words anymore, this isn't what he meant.
The worst part, the actual worst part is they're not even supposed to meet with Gavin's guy for another two days.
They're nowhere near where the meet's supposed to take place, are just out getting food for everyone back a the penthouse, and Gavin goes and disappears on him. Gets a phone call and walks around the back of the building to take it, promising Michael he'll just be a few minutes at most, don't worry so much, Michael.
But Michael worries, okay.
He worries a whole hell of a lot about Gavin because he's the kind of guy who thinks common sense is just someone being unreasonable. Who takes risks and stupid chances without thinking about it. Just goes and does it and it gives Michael a fucking heart attack every goddamn time.
And when Gavin's not back after a few minutes, after ten, fifteen, Michael gets worried.
He gets worried, and a little annoyed, and that goes to a little angry real fast after that. Has Michael getting out of his car and slamming the door, checking his gun - just in case, because you never know in Los Santos – and creeping around the edge of the building.
Sees some guy, big fucker, with Gavin pinned against the building, and that's it. That's fucking it.
“You want to back off there, asshole?” Michael asks, voice cold and hard, hands steady where he's aiming his gun at the fucker who's got Gavin backed up against a wall. “Nice and easy, buddy.”
There's a busted light on the side of the building, one that flickers intermittently a few doors down. Real atmospheric for Los Santos, or any horror movie ever made.
Michael sees Gavin's head turn towards him, and the guy. Michael sees him move closer to Gavin, pressing him up against the wall until he's flattened against it, and then glances over his shoulder at Michael like he's just interrupted a pleasant conversation at a cocktail party.
“The fuck, dude,” Michael says, because the guy's wearing a fucking skull mask. “Are you stupid or something? You know the Vagabond hates copycats, right?”
There was a thing a few months back with some stupid motherfucker running around in a cheap knockoff of the Vagabond's mask. Pulling jobs and doing a shitty impersonation, and no one had been surprised when the real thing stepped in and made a warning of the copycat. Sent a message no one could possibly misinterpret.
So for this moron to -
Gavin makes this cross between one of his squawks and what passes for laughter with him, the high, squeaky kind that means he's dying over there, something's so damn funny.
And the guy.
Look.
People in Los Santos are weird. Michael knows and accepts that everyone in this godforsaken city is a goddamn freak. Makes life easier, really.
And sometimes that means you run into your fair share of people who have a thing for masks, which in turn means you either get a handle on how to read someone wearing one or you risk getting a bullet in uncomfortable places. (Or, you know. You just get dead real fucking fast.)
So Michael reads the way the guy's taken aback, shocked. Sees the way he blanks out when he glances down at the hand Gavin rests on his shoulder because the moron's laughing so damn hard he can barely stand.
The fact that guy doesn't do anything, like say break Gavin's goddamned hand for touching him after the little scene Michael walked in on makes Michael think he's missed something here.
Michael waits for Gavin's laughter to die down. Breathy little gasps as he leans on the guy who was just threatening him moments ago like it's no big deal, really, Michael, now put that gun down, yeah?
“Michael, Michael,” Gavin says, still a little breathless. “This is the Vagabond, Michael.”
The guy, the Vagabond, if what Gavin's saying is true, crosses his arms and looks at Michael.
It might have come across as intimidating, if there wasn't a skinny British fuck hanging off him wiping tears from his eyes and looking so damn amused still.
“You know the Vagabond,” Michael says, slow and measured. “You. Gavin Free, well-known piece of shit and perpetual pain in my ass. You know the goddamned Vagabond.”
Gavin shoots Michael a wounded look. Makes the usual noises of protest when Michael calls him on being a piece of shit like he thinks he isn't one, and says, “Well, yeah.”
Just goes and says “Well, yeah” like he might if Michael had asked him if he liked tea, or cats, or breathing.
Fucking “Well, yeah”.
Goddamn, Michael hates Gavin so much sometimes.
========
Michael can't help checking the rear-view what feels like ever ten seconds on the ride back to the penthouse. Can't stop watching for the sleek black car following them a few lengths back before it peels off and he loses it in the ebb and flow of traffic.
“He's not so bad, really,” Gavin says, catching him at it again. “Honestly, Michael.”
Michael's eyes snap over to Gavin, who has this look on his face Michael doesn't like.
It's the one he got a few weeks back when he was trying to coax a stray out from a broken supply crate when a contact bailed on them, and they were waiting on word from Geoff on how to proceed. Soft and gentle, and having that turned on him right now is not doing great things for Michael.
“Oh, okay,” Michael says, light and breezy. “So this guy, the one who has a reputation for making people very, very dead in all kinds of ways, that guy, right? The fact that he had you backed up against a wall, that's all hunky dory, is it?”
Michael's ready for Gavin to protest, say Michael's overreacting the way he's always saying everyone's overreacting when he puts himself into stupidly dangerous situations, but no.
Gavin mangles his words and then fucking clams up, and while Michael can't actually see him blush, he knows Gavin. Knows how he gets when things like feelings come into play, especially the kind that would -
“Oh my fucking God,” Michael says, numb and horrified and feeling like maybe he wants to laugh. Or cry. Or laugh until he cries. “Oh my God. Gavin.”
“Look,” Gavin says, and he's flustered again, hands flailing a bit as he scrambles to find the words he wants to explain this. “It's not like that, Michael, it's - “
“You have a thing,” Michael says, remembering all the times they've gone out drinking, to clubs, together. The kind of guys Gavin would find himself drawn to, little smile on his face as his mind wandered off to its happy place with guys who could pin him to walls. “You have a thing.”
And really, Michael's fine with that normally. Thinks it's oddly appropriate that Gavin would find people who could snap him in half attractive, because he's that kind of idiot, but this.
“You have a thing and the Vagabond is your type and I am not telling Geoff about this,” Michael says, because fuck that. No way is he going to have that talk with Geoff who looks at Gavin a little (lot) like he's his idiot son, thanks.
Gavin makes a half-hearted protest, says, “It's not like that, Michael, really.”
There's something in his voice that has Michael looking at him again, something small and quiet – not sad, fuck him - not sad.
He's not going to get involved if it turns out Gavin is fucking pining for the Vagabond or something, which, why.
First of all, the guy's a psycho. And second of all, no.
Just.
No.
But there's Gavin, gone quiet next to him. None of his usual energy lighting him up from the inside out, watching traffic blur past with this look on his face.
“Goddamn, dude,” Michael says, because only Gavin. “What the hell is your life?”
========
The food's cold when they get back to the penthouse.
Geoff makes note of that loudly and at length and doesn't realize anything's off for a few minutes. But when Gavin doesn't pull his usual bullshit, doesn't bite back, he does. Stops pawing at the takeout containers and looks at Gavin, long and searching, before he turns to Michael.
“What happened?”
Michael runs a hand down his face and throws a look at Gavin, who stares back.
Fuck, of course he's going to make Michael tell the story, of course he is.
“We ran into Gavin's guy,” Michael says, almost stumbling over that last part. “Guess he wanted to talk over some shit with Gavin before the meet. Iron out some details, boring shit.”
Geoff's eyes narrow, and he passes the food over to Jack who drags a reluctant Ray along with him into the kitchen to set about re-heating it.
They ignore the little hissed argument between the two, like they won't be able to watch everything from there with the way the penthouse is set up, but Michael guesses it's the principle of the thing or something. Who fucking knows with Ray?
“And?”
Michael sighs, kicking at Gavin's ankle when he fidgets.
He'd thought about it, the last leg off the ride back. What to tell Geoff about that unexpected meeting in the alley. How much to tell him before it started bordering on being a bad decision, because God knows Geoff would have found out eventually.
Geoff makes it his business to know what goes on in Los Santos because not knowing can be dangerous in this city. He makes it his business to know what goes on with his crew, because again, that can be dangerous when they all have shit they'd rather forget, ghosts that won't stay buried.
It makes Michael wonder, a little, how the hell Gavin's managed to keep this a secret because Geoff is goddamned persistent when he wants to be.
Geoff's watching them, patient as hell, and Michael bites back another sigh because that would be a mistake. Have Geoff get all worried about this, about them. The way Gavin is so damn quiet now, letting Michael take the lead. Letting him decide if he's going to tell Geoff that Gavin has a connection to the Vagabond or not, and goddamn, this is not what Michael wants to be doing right now, making that choice.
It's pretty fucking obvious Gavin isn't ready to drop that little bombshell, even though he kick-started things by offering to call him in for the heist, but.
Fuck.
There are things Michael just doesn't keep from Geoff, for a lot of reasons.
The safety of the crew, loyalty, friendship. That kind of shit, and he's walking a fine line here, splitting hairs and all that, because there's Gavin to consider. This pain in his ass that Michael made the mistake of getting close to, letting him in, and now there's no going back from that even if he wanted to.
Besides, he knows Gavin. Knows how seriously he takes the crew's safety, that he wouldn't have contacted the Vagabond about a job if he was a danger to them. (Himself, though, that's still iffy, because it's Gavin, and he does dumb things all the damn time.)
“And he's an asshole,” Michael says with a shrug. “But he seems to know what he's doing.”
Which, you know. Massive understatement.
At least he doesn't have to worry about looking out for Gavin's guy outside the usual. Won't have to wonder if he'll know what he's doing, can hold his own when shit goes down.
Geoff just stares at him. It's so painfully obvious Michael isn't telling him everything, but he doesn't say anything. Trusting Michael to have the crew's best interests at heart, and it's like a knife right there, twisting away because for all the shit he gives Geoff, he owes him so fucking much.
But there's Gavin right beside him, and that's -
Christ, this fucking crew. They've gotten to him bad, and he's let them because what else was he going to do? They're so fucking stupid, it's a miracle they're still alive. Someone needs to keep an eye on them, and Jack's got his hands full with Geoff alone. Forgets to watch his own back sometimes.
Geoff sighs, like he can't believe he ever thought it was a good idea recruiting Gavin and Michael, and heads towards the kitchen yelling about the food even though Jack and Ray are literally five feet away from them.
Michael rolls his eyes and reaches behind him to snag Gavin's arm and follows Geoff. Definitely ignores Ray when he mouths, smooth, and gives them a thumbs up.
========
“I need you to explain this to me,” Michael says, with what may not be the best timing, but in his defense Gavin has been avoiding him like a motherfucker the last few days. “And don't pretend like you have no idea what I'm on about, Gavin.”
Gavin's a wily little shit, always finding reasons to be out of the penthouse when Michael's there, off running errands with Jack or going with Geoff to see to some little disagreement that necessitates Geoff's presence to settle. Conveniently enough, there's always something that keeps them from getting a moment to talk privately, and now -
Now they're waiting to meet with Gavin's guy, with the fucking Vagabond, and Michael is just going to go ahead and ask these kinds of question, because why the fuck not, right?
“This may not be the best time for that, Michael,” Gavin chides - chides - him. “We need to make a good impression. Be professional and all.”
Michael pointedly does not look over at Gavin, because if he did there's a good chance he might start yelling.
The Fakes are many things, but professional isn't really at the top of that list. A fact all of Los Santos knows very well.
“All right,” Michael says, in what must be too reasonable of a tone because Gavin fidgets beside him. “Sure, Gavin. Let's do that.”
Michael pulls out that obedient hired muscle (good little soldier) skin he hasn't needed to wear in years just to fuck with Gavin.
And true to form, Michael manages to fuck with his own head in the process, because working for Geoff, being part of the Fake AH Crew has made him forget how much it feels like a collar around his neck again, tight and constricting and choking him. Turning him into just one more attack dog among many. Good for killing people and acting as cannon fodder and not much else. Fucking expendable.
But Michael's committed to this because of Gavin and his everything, and he just deals with it the way he had to for years before Geoff Ramsey fucking ambled into his life. Besides, he knows it's making Gavin uncomfortable, the way it always does when Michael plays this role these days.
They stand around in stony silence for several minutes, Gavin casting him nervous glances until he breaks.
“He, ah,” Gavin says, scratches at his chin as he looks away from Michael. Frowns, as if he doesn't know how to say what he wants to, can't find the right words, and then just blurts out, “He was hired to kill me a while back? Before I joined the crew?”
Michael freezes as the words register. Turns ever so slowly to look at Gavin who has this awkward smile on his face, like hey, Michael, hey, it's all good now, yeah?
“What.”
Gavin laughs, that nervous one that shows up when he's trying to lie to them, hiding shit that usually means he's in the kind of trouble likely to get him killed.
“Remember that time we went swimming?” he asks, apropos of nothing. “That scar I showed you?”
First of all, Michael likes that Gavin calls it that. Calls it “swimming”, like they didn't go off a waterfall to escape the cops on a heist once. Second of all, he's not as amused by Gavin putting it like that, saying he "showed" Michael that scar because Gavin had almost drowned, all right? Michael had had to administer CPR and then there was the whole rigmarole of getting back to civilization that was like something out of a shitty buddy-cop movie where they bonded and shit, but.
Like the rest of them, Gavin has his share of scars.
Little ones, mid-sized ones. Ones that should have killed him, but being the stubborn fuck he is, didn't.
And of course Michael remembers the scar he's talking about. Big ugly one that looked like something you'd get from being shot, from someone looking to make it hurt.
“Are you telling me,” Michael says, fingers curling into his palms. “Gavin. Are you telling me he gave you that?”
Gavin's head snaps around at that, eyes wide behind those stupid sunglasses of his. “What? No, oh, no. No, no, no, Michael, no!”
More nervous laughter, and then Gavin gestures to where Michael knows there's a nasty scar from a knife just a little higher up than the gunshot scar. “He gave me that one.”
Oh, well then, Michael thinks, an odd sort of calm settling over him. That's so much better, isn't it.
“The fuck is wrong with you? He was hired to kill you - and clearly almost did - because that scar, you stupid fuck, that scar is not a tiny little paper cut the way you always make it sound, and you have a thing for him?”
Gavin stares at him, this little furrow between his eyes like he honestly doesn't get why Michael might be a bit concerned here, might be worried Gavin's out of his goddamned mind.
“He apologized?”
“Gavin,” Michael sighs, not even sure where to start with this. “You're a goddamn idiot.”
Gavin makes a wounded noise, like he can't believe Michael would ever say something like that, and Michael's about to say something more about that - because seriously - but then they hear a car pulling up outside.
“That's him,” Gavin says, like it could be anyone else, and gives Michael an entreating look. “Michael - “
“Professional, right,” Michael says, hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear it, Gavin.”
Gavin eyes, him, looking suspicious, a bit wary like he thinks – knows – Michael's fucking with him but not sure enough to call him on it.
Which, you know. Great for Michael.
They both look towards the door when someone knocks, once, twice, and it swings open to reveal the Vagabond on the other side.
Beside him, Gavin takes a deep breath and steps forward, and Michael settles back to watch.
========
The Vagabond doesn't give much away.
Watching him now, Michael's finding him a hell of a lot harder to read than he was in that alley, and that's a curious thing, isn't it.
Gavin doesn't seem bothered by that, or if he is doesn't let it show. Just launches into the usual offer the Fakes tender to freelancers. Like the Vagabond is just another hired gun and not one of the most feared men in Los Santos, and then leans back to look up at him.
“Well?”
No fear to him, just this amusement. The same kind he'd have if he was talking to anyone else in the crew. Someone that odd little brain of his has categorized as safe or just less likely to kill him because Gavin is, at the heart of things, an idiot.
The Vagabond looks down at Gavin, and Michael feels this moment of intense worry, because.
It's like.
Fuck, it's like Godzilla stopping to look down at some tiny, inconsequential human, wondering if it's worth the effort to step around it or just make it go squish.
And then the fucker looks right at Michael.
“Your little guard dog going to shoot me if I say no?”
Michael doesn't bristle at that, no. Not at the sly amusement in the asshole's voice, or the slight tilt of his head like he's daring Michael to fucking try.
No, Michael doesn't so much as twitch because he's heard shit like that a million times before from two-bit thugs to the fuckers they deal with now. Some guy in a stupid mask is nothing compared to that, even if he has a reputation like the Vagabond's.
Gavin, though.
Straightens out of that little slouch of his, voice hard, cold. Ramsey's Golden Boy through and through.
“I should like it if you didn't talk about him like that, Vagabond.”
And that's the thing.
Michael's got a reputation in Los Santos for being one of Ramsey's bitches, junkyard dog mean and good with explosives - and maybe (absolutely) there's a touch of arsonist in him - but the Vagabond.
Christ.
So Michael sees the Vagabond react this time. Little flinch, head turning away for a long moment before he glances at Michael. Lowers his head to look at Gavin who hasn't moved a muscle.
Still too damn close to the Vagabond for Michael's taste, but this is Gavin and he knows what he's doing.
(...Probably.)
“You know my rate,” the Vagabond says finally, but it's a reminder, not a warning. “And any - “
Gavin smiles, this crooked little thing, and the Golden Boy melts away bit by bit until he's just Gavin again.
“You'll have have to negotiate with him when it comes to any shiny new weapons we might find,” Gavin says, tipping his head in Michael's direction. “Might want to think about that, yeah?”
The Vagabond looks at Michael for a long, long moment, and says, like some kid being forced to apologize by his parents for being a complete asshole, “Sorry.”
Gavin sighs, long and heavy, a thing he picked up from Geoff, and mutters, “Oh, nicely done, Vagabond. Very sincere, that.”
There's something in the way the Vagabond looks at Gavin at that, something almost fond that has Michael wondering at it.
“I try,” the Vagabond says, and that is definitely amusement in his voice right there.
========
Gavin's oddly quiet on the ride back to the penthouse, playing with the earpiece of his sunglasses before hooking them onto the collar of his shirt. Hums along with the radio for a bit before sighing and glancing at Michael.
“Sorry, boi,” he says, soft, serious.
Michael looks at him, eyebrows raised because he doesn't know what Gavin's talking about. Still, Gavin doesn't actually apologize in words like this unless it's something important to him, so.
“For what?”
Gavin makes a face, like he thinks Michael's playing with him, winding him up or who the hell knows, and then stares at Michael.
“For, you know,” he says, gesturing vaguely behind them. “What the Vagabond said.”
Michael feels a smile steal across his face because Gavin is definitely a piece of shit, something Michael will always point out because he needs to know, but.
Michael likes him like that. The irritating little fucker who sees nothing wrong with half the shit he does, and then turns around does something like this. Worries about his crew over stupid shit, things they brush off because they know it doesn't matter in the end.
“Eh, it's fine,” Michael says, and smacks Gavin's shoulder when he looks like he wants to argue, which. “Seriously, Gav. Not the first time I've heard something like that. You know that.”
Not the first time, won't be the last, and Michael couldn't give less of a shit about what people think of him these days.
When he was younger, full of untempered anger, frustration, that threatened to choke him every breathing moment, fuck yeah, but that was a long time ago. Before he found constructive outlets for his anger, that frustration.
Found people worth reining that side of him in for, getting a firm grip on all that shit and focusing it where it needed to go to make the most of it.
Gavin doesn't look convinced, appeased, whatever the hell, so Michael whips the wheel to the right, forcing the asshole in the tricked out Patriot next to them to veer off the side of the road and into a ditch.
Satisfactory on two fronts there. The first because the asshole was riding his ass for the past few miles and has been flipping him off for the last half-mile, and the second when Gavin lets out a startled squawk and grabs for the dashboard.
“Michael! Why would you do that, Michael?!”
Michael smirks, gunning it when a cop car's lights go on, siren starting up as it makes a u-turn and heads right for them.
“Sorry, Gav, no time to talk. Busy here,” Michael yells, pressing the accelerator down and slipping past the soccer mom van in front of them with ease, Gavin's shrieking lovely background music to the start of the police chase.
========
Geoff's not impressed with them.
“Really? I send you two chucklefucks out to meet with Gavin's buddy, and you end up on the news in a high-speed police chase?”
Michael gives Geoff a look of wide-eyed innocence, trying not to smirk at Gavin who looks a little more windblown than usual.
“I thought they were going after the guy next to us.”
Geoff drops his face into his hands and sighs. The same one Gavin learned from him that's all about how incredibly terrible his life is and how no one could possibly understand, no one.
“At least tell me your buddy's on board, Gavin,” Geoff mutters, voice muffled.
Michael walks away while Gavin's talking around the subject, and high-fives Ray who's leaning in the doorway shamelessly eavesdropping
========
The day the Vagabond shows up at the penthouse is one that's going to stick with Michael for a long time, if only for Geoff's reaction.
There aren't a lot of things that will crack Geoff's Kingpin mask. Will shock him into being the asshole they all know and love, but apparently the Vagabond showing up at the penthouse when Geoff has no reason to expect him is one of them.
“Dude,” Ray says, eyes narrowing as the Vagabond follows Gavin into the penthouse's living room.“I have the weirdest boner right now.”
Michael elbows him, leans in to whisper, “First boner's always the weirdest one, Ray. I'm so proud of you, you're growing up so fast.”
Ray snorts, flashing Michael a small smile before nodding his head towards the looming specter of death dithering over whether or not to cross his arms for that maximum intimidation factor.
The Vagabond gives them a little head nod, and then Gavin's putting a hand on his arm to get his attention. Again, like back in the alley there's no breaking of Gavin's sticky little fingers for it.
“Huh,” Ray says, something in his voice pulling Michael's attention back to him “That's interesting.”
Michael shrugs, not really sure what to say. “I'm still trying to figure it out myself,” he admits, because seriously, he doesn't get it.
He's well aware of the way Gavin has of growing on people (assuming he doesn't make mortal enemies of them) much like a fungus. Knows Gavin managed to Stockholm Syndrome the rest of the crew years ago, has them wrapped around his little finger all nice and neat, but this is the Vagabond, isn't it.
According to the rumors he's nothing but murderous intent and maliciousness given human form, which. You know. Metal as fuck.
“How long before he kills us all horribly?” Ray asks, like he's asking if Michael thinks it's going to rain later, or if they should use one C4 charge or two to blow a safe.
“He's, uh.” Michael won't say the guy's fine, exactly, just. “I doubt he's going to kill us all before he gets paid.”
There, completely reassuring and not at all based on solid fact in any way.
Watching the Vagabond with his head bent down to listen to something Gavin's saying, Michael realizes he's going on a lot of faith here.
Faith in Gavin, that the Fakes aren't going to add to the guy's reputation. Turn into a new set of rumors circulating around Los Santos involving their brutal deaths at the hands of the Vagabond.
“Oh,” Ray says, and it's pretty obvious he doesn't believe Michael, but that faith thing, you know. Gotta have it in your crew or you end up like every other sad bastard in this town forever looking over your shoulder waiting for someone to stick a knife in your back. “Sweet.”
Michael shrugs, eyes sliding left when he hears Geoff and Jack open the door to the heist room, and leans forward to get a better look at their faces when they realize who Gavin's guy actually is.
“Five bucks says Geoff shits himself,” Ray whispers, and when Michael looks over, sees him flashing a handful of crumpled one dollar bills like the high roller he is.
“Sucker's bet,” Michael says, forcing his face into neutral lines when Geoff steps into the room and his gaze lands on the emo goth kid standing next to Gavin.
For a split second the mask of the Fake AH Crew's Kingpin slips, and it's just Geoff staring at the Vagabond. Eyes widening slightly, hand slipping towards his gun before he catches himself. Before Jack pointedly clears his throat, looking a little shocked around the eyes himself
“Well, fuck me,” Geoff says, eyes narrowing as he looks to Gavin, who is all laid-back calm on the surface. Hands in his pockets as he grins back at him, and something of a nervous wreck under it all, because Gavin. “Gavin didn't tell us you were his guy.”
The Vagabond shifts, head coming around to regard Geoff.
“I'm not,” he says, and there's a bit of a reminder in it, that the Vagabond doesn't belong to anyone, but feel free to try, see how far it gets you. “But he mentioned you were looking for people. Said the reward would be worth it.”
Geoff tilts his head to the side, gaze flickering between the Vagabond and Gavin, cutting over to Michael who looks back steadily, and snorts.
“It will,” he says, walking over to the whiteboard, gesturing at the map of Los Santos at the top. “As long as we don't fuck this up.”
“Dude,” Ray whispers, leaning close. “Ten says we do.”
========
“Bet you're wishing you'd let Gavin's call go to voicemail now, aren't you,” Michael asks. Taking a petty sort of satisfaction at the way the Vagabond's just staring at the whiteboard covered in Geoff's handwriting with little notes from the others tacked on here and there.
Also, drawings of dicks.
A lot of those, really.
Michael still doesn't like the guy, doesn't trust him, really, but Gavin seems to. Plus, he hasn't killed all of them yet after the clusterfuck of a briefing from Geoff, so bonus points for that.
There's also the fact Michael promised Gavin he'd be a professional about this. Not let his personal concerns about working with a guy who was hired to off Gavin (and boy howdy did he fuck that one up good, let the little shit live to spread chaos and confusion everywhere he goes), get in the way.
So, yeah.
Michael's not looking to be buddy-buddy with the guy, here. It's more like he's planning on keeping an eye on him in case he decides the bounties on their heads would make for a better payday than what this heist will net him, whatever hold Gavin has on him be damned.
Plus, the poor bastard's just survived his first heist briefing with them. Learned what it is they're going after and how, and there's bound to be some fallout from that.
It's just the two them left in the heist room, now. Geoff and Jack having dragged Gavin away to have a little discussion with him about not keeping secrets like knowing the Vagabond from the crew, with Ray tagging along to watch.
The Vagabond looks at him.
“The fuck,” he says, sounding like he still doesn't know what he's gotten himself into, even now.
Michael shrugs, reaching out to snag the sticky note pad and scribbles a dick. All veiny and hairy and disgusting and slaps it onto the whiteboard over the little Polaroid of Gavin, right over his stupid face.
“Welcome to the Fake AH Crew for the duration of the heist,” he says. “Save your regrets for later, or you know. Drink to forget. Geoff's got a fully stocked bar out there. Your choice.”
The Vagabond shakes his head, and says, in this honestly kind of pathetic tone of voice, “I don't drink.”
Michael eyes him sympathetically, and says, “Dude, sucks to be you.”
The Vagabond scowls at him – it's fucking obvious even with the dumb mask – and moves to stand, something huffy, sulky about it, and Michael -
“Shit, shit. Wait, no,” he says, holding his hands up before the big baby can walk off and brood somewhere like a fucking idiot.
The Vagabond stops, head tilted to the side, and the thing is, Michael doesn't know what to do now.
Doesn't really want to invite the guy down to the shooting gallery to let off some steam for obvious reasons. The kind that involve the two of them being alone in an enclosed space with easy access to all kinds of weapons when it's clear the Vagabond doesn't like him. Doesn't want to invite him to a do a lot of things Michael usually does when shit gets to be too much, really, because weapons play a large part in most of them.
(Michael's a simple guy, okay. Shooting things is incredibly therapeutic for him sometimes. Other times blowing shit up is pretty fucking great too.)
Looking around for ideas, Michael's eyes land back on the whiteboard and the little army of dicks from the ones done in dry-erase marker to Michael's sticky note addition.
“Uh. Here?” Michael says, and pushes the sticky notes and a pen over to the Vagabond. “Art therapy or some shit.”
Goddamn, Michael's an idiot.
Also, so much for professionalism.
The Vagabond looks at the sticky notes, all pale green with the Fake AH Crew logo on them. Fucking ridiculous, and so unbelievably pointless, but also so, so great because they have merch.
And then the Vagabond sighs, and picks up the pen and starts to draw, which.
Michael was kind of expecting him to walk out, find someplace to brood and be a melodramatic asshole. Definitely wasn't expecting him to go along with this stupidity, but.
The guy knows Gavin. Seems to actually be fond of him to the point he hasn't killed him yet. Doesn't warn him off when Gavin leans into his space, or touches him, and that says a lot about him right there, doesn't it.
========
There are dicks everywhere. It's amazing.
Also, a little disturbing because Michael never saw the Vagabond go around tucking little sticky notes with dicks drawn on them away in random spots when he was at the penthouse last. Lost sight of him for maybe five, six minutes tops when Geoff asked to talk to him, and yet in that small amount of time has managed to create utter chaos.
It's been an interesting week, to be sure. In between prepping for the heist setups and dealing with daily business they've been finding little sticky notes covered in drawings of dicks everywhere.
Geoff was apoplectic after finding one tucked into the pages of the newest book he's reading, which was in his room. Jack may or may not be dying each time someone lets out an outraged shriek signaling another dick has been found, these helpless wheezing noises leaking out of him. Gavin clearly snapped somewhere along the way at the way dicks just keep popping up every time he turns around, screeching about a dick fairy, and Ray?
God, Michael loves Ray so much because the asshole is planning on making a scrapbook.
He goes around carefully rescuing the sticky notes from the others and hides them away in a box he dug up from somewhere, and has a little shopping list in his phone for scrapbooking supplies he's going to need.
At the moment they're waiting on the Vagabond to arrive so they can head off for one of the setups, and Geoff is on a rant about making whoever decided to paper the penthouse with dicks pay when he catches them.
Michael's the only one who notices when the penthouse buzzer sounds, so he skirts around Geoff and the others to let the Vagabond in. Looks up at him and cocks an eyebrow as some of what Geoff's yelling about reaches them, and the man lets out a little huff of amusement.
“Yeah, glad to see you think this is so fucking funny, buddy,” Michael says stepping back to let him inside. “You haven't had to deal with these assholes all week long.”
The Vagabond shrugs, oozing amusement as he follows Michael.
Gavin looks over, eyes narrowing as he spots the Vagabond. Marches right up to him and slaps his hand in the center of his chest, leaving a sticky note dick there as he crosses his arms and scowls up at him.
“You,” he says, trying to keep up the pretense of anger, but there's a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth and Michael just knows he's wearing those fucking sunglasses to hide the amusement in his eyes.
From the corner of his eye, Michael sees the others sit up a little. Sees Geoff twitch, taking a half-step toward Gavin and the Vagabond before he stops himself. Really looks.
Sees the way the Vagabond is looking down at Gavin, and for all he looks like he could fucking snap him in half with his bare hands, he doesn't.
Just plucks that damn sticky note off his chest and look at it, says, “Me,” in a mild tone of voice, agreeable, even.
Gavin heaves another one of those heavy little sighs, smile winning out in the end.
“All right, all right,” Geoff calls out, turning wide eyes on Michael where Gavin and the Vagabond can't see. “Time to get the show on the road.”
Michael rolls his eyes and strolls over to where Gavin's hissing something at the Vagabond, and snags his sleeve on the way out.
“Talk about it in the car,” he says, “we're working on a timetable here, Gav.”
========
Sometimes when Geoff gets an idea in his head, it sticks. Turns into something close to an obsession, and when that happens it stops being a problem for Geoff and starts being a problem for the crew.
Which, you know. Fucking awesome.
Michael adjusts the headset he's wearing, glancing at the Vagabond who's somehow managing to loom even while folded up in the seat across from him in the back of their borrowed surveillance van.
The FIB won't miss it for a few days yet, thanks to a little mix-up with the paperwork while they sent it in for a tuneup and the motor pool mechanics are backed up. Shame, really.
“Don't fuck with the settings,” Michael says, as he catches the Vagabond about to fuck with the settings on a piece of equipment not in use at the moment. “They're a bitch to put back.”
The FIB are a higher caliber of idiot than the average LSPD officer, and the way luck runs for the Fakes, someone will notice. Get all curious and shit. Notice discrepancies and start asking questions, comparing stories, and realize something's not right.
The Vagabond stares at Michael, and pulls his hand back looking like a kid who's been told no and isn't all that thrilled about it. Michael raises an eyebrow at him, because fucking really? But the Vagabond just adjusts his headset.
He's not wearing the mask, but it's not like the fucking face paint is any better. Makes him look like a really shitty clown in the the dark like this.
Michael doesn't roll his eyes because he's being professional, and focuses back on what Gavin's doing.
At the moment he's charming his way past the receptionist, playing up his accent and British-ness. Voice dipping a little lower, deeper, because he knows full-well the effect it has on people even if he plays dumb about it around the crew.
Michael snorts when they hear the poor receptionist giggle, Gavin making his excuses because he's got business to deal with, but maybe later, eh, love? And then Gavin's right where he wants to be, because of course he is.
Gets his sticky little fingers on someone's keycard and into the office with the files they need for Geoff's stupid fucking heist with a satisfied little sigh.
“I'm in,” he says, and Michael shakes his head as Gavin laughs, so goddamned pleased with himself because he loves shitty movies with shitty actors pretending to be hackers. Thinks it's fucking hilarious.
“Just get the files and get out of there, you fuck,” Michael says, sharing a look with the Vagabond.
Gavin hmms, amused, and Michael doesn't relax. Not yet, because shit goes wrong and they're not in a good position to help if Gavin runs into trouble.
The Vagabond growls.
Actually fucking growls, and Gavin tuts, says, absently, really not really thinking about what he's saying, ”Just a little bit longer, I've almost got it. Stop being a worrywart, love,” and Michael's brain stutters to a grinding halt, because.
The words came out all soft and fond, so very different from the way Michael's heard Gavin talk to the Vagabond since he called him up just over a week ago.
There are feelings tied up in the words, and only an idiot would miss it.
The thing about Gavin is that he's shit at hiding that kind of thing when he's not thinking about it. When he's not putting up a front, acting like a piece of shit. There are times he looks at Geoff like he's the best goddamn thing in the world. Hell, he looks at all of them like that from time to time completely unashamed of it, and it's hell on the heart, seeing it out in the open like that.
Michael chances a look at the Vagabond, and sees the way his eyes have widened slightly, startled. Sees him look at Michael before they narrow, go cold and distant again, and Michael is having problems breathing because holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
Things make a little more sense, now. What with the Vagabond not breaking Gavin's fingers every time the idiot goes to touch his arm, or lean on him, or fucking poke him like that's not asking to be horribly murdered.
Michael had just assumed Gavin had worn the poor fucker down over time, made him resigned to a life where Gavin Free exists. Where said asshole makes himself at home in your personal space because, again, asshole.
But this.
This is like.
Christ, this is like some messed up rom/com, and Michael cannot believe his goddamn luck. Cannot believe he's done something so horrible, so fucking unforgivable in a past life that he has to watch this shit happen with his own two eyes.
========
Gavin is ecstatic after their success in acquiring the files. Laughing like the idiot he is and hanging off the Vagabond and Michael's brain has yet to reboot.
Because.
The Vagabond is letting Gavin hang off him. Gavin's arm around his shoulders, head tipped towards him as he grins and says something to the creepy bastard that, thankfully, Michael is too far away to hear.
He's.
Okay, the Vagabond isn't relaxed, but he's lost that tense, ready-to-murder-everyone-in-sight look to him he had when he stalked into the penthouse that first time. Wary of the entire situation but still putting his trust in Gavin.
“Huh,” Ray says, stuffing fries in his face. “Interesting.”
Michael drags his attention away from the two idiots being idiots at each other, and looks at Ray.
At Ray who smiles at Michael and holds out his fries. “Want some?”
========
Michael pays closer attention to the Vagabond after that...experience in the surveillance van.
Before he was on the lookout for signs he was going to slaughter them all in their sleep, or you know, whatever, but now.
Now he's on the lookout for fucking feelings from him. Trying to see if he thinks Gavin is the bees knees, and oh, God, what is his life?
“Something wrong?”
Michael resists the urge to drop his face in his hands because no, and shrugs.
“You're not wearing your mask,” he says instead, because it's true and a hell of a lot better than straight-out asking him if he like-likes Gavin.
The Vagabond looks at him, like he knows that's not what has Michael distracted and off-balance, but lets it go because he's not a complete asshole, unlike other people Michael could name. (Gavin fucking Free.)
“It's hot and uncomfortable,” he says, waving a hand at his face, which is reasonable because the weather here in Los Santos can't make wearing the damn thing fun. “I don't see the need to wear it around your crew anymore.”
And that's.
Setting aside the thing where he's only been working with them for a couple of weeks now, has been to the penthouse a handful of times for briefings and a setup or two, it hasn't been that long. Michael always got the impression the Vagabond wore the mask to put distance between himself and the people who hire him. To protect his identity, because that's fucking priceless in their world, that kind of anonymity.
But then the guy came waltzing in earlier today without the stupid thing on. Just the garish, fucking terrifying face paint and a smirk at the double-takes it'd gotten from Michael and the others.
Smirk softening into something like a fond smile when Gavin walked up to him and scrutinized the pattern like it was a painting hanging up in a museum he was thinking of stealing. Hand on his chin with his head tilted to the side, playful little smile on his face and honestly, honestly.
Michael looks at the Vagabond, at the faint smile he's got on his face like he's just so amused about this all, the way Michael keeps an eye on him, because.
There's definitely an ominous undertone to that little declaration, but Michael's convinced the guy's doing it just to fuck with them now. Playing on his reputation to pull it off.
And then -
“Also, it fucks with my pores.”
Michael honestly doesn't know what to say to that. Just stares at the goddamned Vagabond who looks back. Level and calm, and laughing at Michael, swear to fucking God.
And Michael, okay. He grew up knowing a lot of people who went around slathering shit on their faces before bed that made them look like something out of a B-grade monster movie, people who had entire routines for shit like that.
He knows about that shit, got suckered into being a guinea pig more times than he cares to think about. Listened to the pros and cons of this thing versus that one, the benefits and really, that kind of knowledge usually doesn't come into play in his life all that often these days.
“Yeah? I bet the fucking face paint isn't doing them any favors,” Michael says, because this is his life now, talking skincare with the fucking Vagabond while they wait for Gavin to find the needle in the haystack in the files he got.
The Vagabond blinks at him, clearly not expecting Michael to bite, and then he smiles. This tiny little thing that's honestly a little creepy still, the way the face paint sits on the Vagabond's face.
“It's not,” the Vagabond admits, spreading his hands like what can you do? And shrugs. “But it's a damn sight better than the mask, so.”
Michael squints at him, but aside from a bewildered sort of amusement at the fact they're discussing his pores, he seems to be serious.
Michael's life has never been more bizarre.
========
“You seem to be getting along better now,” Gavin says, something a little singsong in his voice that has Michael rolling his eyes.
The Vagabond left a few hours ago when it became clear Gavin wasn't making much headway into the files, and now it's the two of them hanging out in Gavin's little office or whatever he's calling it these days.
Geoff and the others are out handling the remaining setups for the heist, acquiring vehicles and necessary weapons and armor and the penthouse is too quiet without them there.
“I swear to God, Gav. You pull out an 'I told you so' and I'm gonna kill you.”
Gavin smirks, but wisely keeps his mouth shut, and Michael.
Michael watches Gavin, hunched over his computers in a way that means he'll be bitching about a sore back when he's done. Complaining up a storm at the way his everything hurts and on and on and on, but Michael's seen him go at something like this for longer. Seen him running on nothing but fumes, and still pushing himself harder without a goddamn word of complaint.
He'll take the endless bitching over that any day, over seeing Gavin with that underlying fear of failing the crew, the desperation he's seen in the past. Will humor the fucker and get him an ice pack or a heating pad or whatever demands he makes because it's a million times more bearable than the alternative. When shit's gone really wrong and they're relying on him to pull off some kind of miracle and Gavin is so painfully aware of it.
Gavin hums, so fucking amused, and Michael.
He watches Gavin, and wants to ask how the hell he managed to survive the Vagabond, a guy who has a reputation for being ruthless, merciless. Supposedly has a hundred percent success rate, but if what Gavin's said is true, that's a fucking lie, isn't it.
And thank, God, or Gavin wouldn't be here. Wouldn't be the fucker who makes all of their lives that much more difficult. (Better.)
“Michael?”
Michael wants to ask, but he knows Gavin won't give him a straight answer. Will talk around it for hours, until he's blue in the face and Michael gives the fuck up because he always does this. Dances around the subject when it has to do with his past, and Michael gets that, he does. They all have things they'd rather not share for one reason or another.
The only reason Gavin's told him anything at all is because he likes Michael, trusts him, and that means a hell of a lot when it comes to Gavin. Everything, really.
“Come on,” Michael says, grabbing the back of Gavin's computer chair and dragging him to the door. “You've been at this for hours, take a break and get something to eat before you pass out again.”
Gavin sputters at that, but hikes his feet up out of the way as Michael goes from dragging him out of the room to pushing him. Maybe goes a little faster than is strictly advisable, but hey, they're the kind of people who like to live dangerously, what with being fucking criminals and all.
“I didn't pass out!” Gavin cries, indignant. “I mean, not really, Michael. There were - “
Michael tunes him out, grinning a little meanly when he “accidentally” bumps the chair on the edge of the door frame. Watches Gavin tumbling off the chair onto his face, and says, “Oops,” while Gavin rolls around laughing like a complete moron.
========
“Michael,” Geoff says in the tone of voice of a broken man. “What the fuck.”
Michael looks up from where he's stirring a little jar of goop he's put together with the Vagabond sitting opposite him and an interested look on his face under the face paint.
“Proper skincare,” Michael says, waving a hand at the smaller jars and containers laid out on the table. “It's important, Geoff.”
Geoff stares at Michael, long and hard, and then switches his gaze to the Vagabond, who's watching things unfold placidly.
He's become something of a fixture around the penthouse lately. Geoff sending him off to deal with little problems that flare up while they prepare for the heist since he's there anyway, and the Vagabond agreeing easily enough as long as he gets paid.
Jack sitting down with him to talk about cars, bikes, the two of them slipping out while Geoff isn't looking for a quick little race somewhere. Ray dropping down beside him when he's watching television to talk shop, talk guns. Taking him out to one of the spots just outside Los Santos where he likes to get some sniping practice. Gavin fucking poking at him with his goddamn questions and dares and just overall oddities, and now this, Michael supposes.
Which, you know. Would really do his reputation wonders if word ever got out.
Geoff sighs, resigned to his horrible, soul-sucking life and walks away without another word.
“He do that a lot?” the Vagabond asks, poking at one of the little jars dubiously.
And Michael.
He shrugs, and only barely stops himself from swatting the fucker's hand away from the shit he put together for him.
“Stop it, and yeah, kind of,” Michael says. “He knows he fucked up big time when he recruited us, so you know.”
Michael says it like it's just a fact of life. That Geoff made the biggest mistake off his life when he decided they were it for him, the right people for his crew, and now has to deal with the consequences of his horrible decisions and all that shit.
“Did he, now,” the Vagabond says, giving Michael a look.
Michael grins, a crooked little thing. “Well, I mean,” he says, like it's nothing, “fucker's stuck with us now, so I'd say yeah.”
========
Michael may or may not have forgotten how fucking terrifying the Vagabond is in between watching the awful rom/com playing out in front of him and sharing skincare tips with the guy. Watching him with the rest of the crew, seeing the way he's slowly getting drawn in the same way they all did.
He's seen the Vagabond in action, once or twice before, but only from a distance.
This, right now?
Tiny bit closer, hell of a lot louder and bloodier and holy fucking shit, this isn't even part of the heist.
Just a fucking ambush by the idiots pushing into B Team's territory, some small-time gang who thought they had the perfect opportunity to hit the Fakes. Make them hurt when they heard Mogar and the Vagabond were up to shit. Taking care of the last setup, and then these fuckers had shown up while they were on their way back.
“Still alive over there?” The Vagabond yells, voice rough because he's been snarling a hell of a lot of threats, doing that evil genius laugh and generally acting like a fucking madman.
Michael drops a guy trying to sneak up on him, and flashes the Vagabond a thumbs up. “Fucking peachy!”
That actually gets a laugh out of him, the stupid, dorky one, and Michael gets to see one of the assholes trying to kill them do a double-take at it before the Vagabond turns around and shoots him, still laughing.
Goddamn terrifying.
========
Geoff gets on the phone with B Team when he sees the state Michael and the Vagabond are in when they get back to the penthouse. Voice hard and cold, Kingpin changing the shape of the world.
If Michael knows anything, it's that B Team's going to finish that fucking territory squabble by the end of the night, one way or another of they'll have to answer to the Kingpin.
“Fuck you,” Michael grumbles, ignoring Jack's little amused huff as he treats the bullet graze on Michael's shoulder, eyeing the cut on his cheek from some asshole who'd had a knife.
Out of the corner of his eye he can see Gavin fussing over the Vagabond, hovering. When he looks up it's to see Jack watching him with an openly amused smile because it's become so incredibly obvious shit's going on with those two. (Geoff's still in denial, but hey, whatever gets him through the day, right?)
Michael had watched him flitting between them when they first got back, hands twisting nervously before he'd shoved him towards the Vagabond, told Gavin to make sure he wasn't fucking bleeding out or something while Jack looked Michael over.
“No seriously. Fuck you, Jack,” Michael says, “I swear to God, do not.”
But Jack's Jack, and just hums, says, “There's a betting pool, you want in?”
Michael sighs, turning his head to the side so Jack can take care of that cut, and watches Gavin's face go all soft and gooey as the Vagabond says something to him. Feels his own twist, cut stinging like a bitch as it does.
“Fuck. Fuck, yeah, okay,” Michael says, “I'm in.”
========
After weeks of careful preparation, the day of the heist finally arrives.
Michael watches the Vagabond check and double-check Gavin's body armor, and looks away when he brings his head close to say something to Gavin, when Gavin instinctively leans closer. Catches Ray watching, and scowls at the look on his face, so fucking certain he's going to win the betting pool.
“Hey, asshole,” Michael says, and Ray smirks, when Michael checks to make sure he's got his body armor on right.
Ignores the fucker's laugh, and his, “Does this mean we're going steady now?” as he pulls the straps a little tighter than necessary and gives Ray a smile that shows a little too much teeth.
Geoff and Jack are being fussy old mother-hens at each other, years of friendship and bullshit and the two of them being giant fucking idiots at work.
It's still stupid, this heist, might be the thing that actually gets them all killed (and goddamn, what a story that'd make) but like hell if he isn't looking forward to this.
========
The first part of the heist goes down without a hitch. Stupidly easy in the end, as they make use of Gavin's hard work on the files.
Watch through security camera feeds as Gavin waltzes up to a beautiful blonde woman coming through airport security and pulls her into a hug, old friends meeting again after a long time apart. Chatting with her as they make their way outside where Ray's waiting, the woman's bodyguards watching everyone around them closely.
Blonde musclebound guy and someone with dark hair, lean and wiry, smile bright and fixed and legitimately unsettling.
”Muscles first,” Ray says, and a moment later color blooms in the middle of the musclebound guy's chest.
He seems shocked, looking down at himself before he starts to fall even as the other bodyguard and Gavin bundle her out of harm's way. Gavin doesn't look back as the second bodyguard falls with a strangled sound, hand dipping into her purse for a moment before he hands her off to the security guards who come running to see what the commotion's about.
“Nice,” the Vagabond says, eyes meeting Michael's.
Michael shrugs, shutting the laptop down and sliding into the driver's seat of the delivery van they're using as the getaway vehicle. Fingers tapping on the steering wheel as they wait for Gavin.
“We get things right from time to time,” he says, all casual and nonchalant as the Vagabond snorts.
A few minutes later the back door of the van opens and Gavin throws himself inside, laughing like an idiot as he waves something at them.
“Got it!” he says, and Michael pulls out of the parking spot on the lowest level of the parking garage and they drive away, passing panicked people and stopped traffic.
See flashing lights in the distance, and Michael grins, sharp and bright as a sleek motorcycle speeds past. Rider in a purple hoodie bent low over the handlebars.
========
They're playing a dangerous game, here. Fucking with a big crew from back east, dodging cops and support services and goddamn FIB agents as the heist spreads outward into Los Santos.
“Okay, so,” Gavin says, typing furiously as he brings up files and camera feeds and God knows what else on his laptop after connecting it to the phone he lifted off the blonde woman at the airport and cracking her password.
“The target's going to be by the docks to pick up the package soon. Word's probably gotten to him about the attack at the airport by now. Good news is that we've got the name of the cargo ship and the dock number it's moored at, bad news is, they know we know.”
Michael shares a look with the Vagabond.
Shit goes wrong, and if the target knows about the attack they might alter their plans. Might not want to present such a tempting target, out there in the open on the docks.
“Anyone have eyes on them?”
Ray's on his way, faster than them on his bike, and Geoff's there already. Jack's got line of sight on the docks from his position. All of them give negatives and Michael looks up at the rearview, sees Gavin looking back with a worried frown.
“You think he'd bail?”
Gavin bites his lip, turning back to his laptop like it holds the answers they're looking for.
“I don't,” he starts, uncertain and annoyed by it, and then shakes his head and meets Michael's eyes. “No. He'll be ready for us, though. Won't make it easy.”
No, he won't, Michael knows. Crafty fucker, and vicious too when his people are involved.
“So we're fucked, is what you're saying,” Michael says, and laughs, because that's beyond an understatement right there, is what that is.
Gavin laughs, pulling of his headset as he smiles, wide and wild and reckless.
Beside him, the Vagabond laughs, dark, menacing, creepy as fuck and weirdly enough, reassuring now.
“Sounds perfect.”
========
Jack's the one who spots the target, pulling up in a fucking limo of all things. Armored as fuck and a goddamned turret gleaming dark and deadly in the afternoon sunlight.
”Turret's unmanned,” Jack says, healthy dose of suspicion in his voice. ”Could be a trap.”
Could be.
Could be.
Michael snorts, checking his gun as they wait for Geoff to give the word to move. The Vagabond's across from him, Gavin's bony elbows somehow finding the gaps in his body armor as he leans against Michael.
“You think?” Ray pipes up, unruffled as always even though he's on his own out there, high up watching their backs.
”Mmm, little bit,” Jack offers, and the grin is clear in his voice. ”Call it a gut feeling.”
”All right, all right,” Geoff breaks in, feigning annoyance. ”Stop the chatter you guys.”
Surprisingly, they do.
For about five seconds, and then Gavin starts in on something or other that Jack takes offense to. Then Ray chimes in with unhelpful comments that manage to make the situation worse, so of course Geoff has to add his two cents in until he realizes what he's done. After that, it's just yelling and insults and no goddamn sense to any of it.
Michael looks at the Vagabond, who has this expression on his face. It's this mix of unimpressed and disapproving. Says, “Does anyone in this crew know what radio discipline is?”
Michael laughs, because good God, no.
“You've been with us this long and haven't figured that out yet? Dude, come on.”
========
Fifteen minutes later the target gets out of the car, along with his bodyguards. Walks up the ramp of a cargo ship and Geoff gives the word to go.
They pile out of the delivery van, Michael making sure Gavin sticks close as the Vagabond takes out the limo driver. Things almost end right there for the three of them as some fucker pops up at the limo's turret like a fucking gopher while they focus on someone taking potshots at them from the cargo ship.
Michael's already bringing his gun around, the Vagabond a split second faster, but Ray beats them to the punch.
“Shit,” Gavin hisses, eyes a little wide as the guy slumps down, splash of vivid color spilling down the side of the limo as they sweep past it. “Shit.”
”You're welcome,” Ray says, smug and satisfied as he continues to lay down cover fire.
Michael grins at that, mouth opening to tell Ray to go fuck himself, but then Gavin almost misses the fucking ramp because he's staring back at the limo.
He manages to grab him at the last moment and and gives him a little shake. “Focus, Gav. We've got this, okay? We're good. Just a little longer.”
Gavin nods, eyes flicking over to where the Vagabond's keeping watch.
“Sorry, boi,” he says, quiet, subdued, and Michael gives him another little shake, so fucking fond of the fucker.
Gavin's seen some shit in his life before joining up with Geoff, told Michael about some of it in the small hours of the morning when things like that are easier to talk about. He's seen some shit since then too, since joining the crew, but he always pushes through to get the job done, and that's something worth all the respect in the world.
“Just a little longer, and we're gonna be rich, Gav.”
Gavin makes a face, about to argue that they're already rich, but Michael doesn't give him the chance. Just starts up the ramp and slips between the shipping containers trusting Geoff and Ray to handle the target as they make for the package.
========
Turns out, the target was more than ready for them. Dropped a whole hell of a lot of his people around the cargo ship. Sharp-eyed fuckers who manage to clip Gavin in the leg after one of them gets a solid shot on the Vagabond, body armor doing its job as he lumbers to his feet just as Michael gets the guy who almost took them out.
“He good?” Michael asks, directing the question to Gavin because he's gotten to know the Vagabond well enough by now to know he's not going to give a reliable answer.
Especially after that shootout where he'd failed to mention he'd been hit, had been bleeding slowly but steadily the whole drive back to the penthouse.
Gavin sounds a little strained when he answers, but there's no fear in his voice. “He's fine,” Gavin says, relief bleeding through loud and clear. “Bloody armor saved him.”
Michael nods, catches the Vagabond's eye when Gavin moves to reclaim his dropped gun and almost falls.
The Vagabond huffs, pulling Gavin's arm over his shoulder as they make their slow, halting way deeper through the maze of shipping containers.
“Christ, have you put on weight?”
Michael grins at the indignant sputtering behind him, the hissed argument at his back.
========
The original plan was for Gavin to secure the package while Michael and the Vagabond created a diversion for the others to get away.
Now though, that plan's changed a little.
“Michael, my leg's not that bad,” Gavin's saying, worried, hand gripping Michael's sleeve. “I can - “
Michael looks at Gavin, who's trying not to be so obvious about how heavily he's leaning against the Vagabond, but Michael knows him.
“It's not just you, Gavin,” Michael says, calm, reasonable. “Tall, dark, and scary took a hit too.”
The Vagabond's eyes narrow, but he doesn't say anything as he glances down at Gavin.
“Michael - “
“Hey, hey,” Michael says, eyeing the padlock chained to the doors of the shipping container they've been looking for. “It's not a big deal, Gavin. I can handle these idiots.”
Gavin doesn't look impressed, and to tell the truth Michael isn't really feeling it himself, but they're running out of time, here. Baddies crawling all over the cargo ship, Geoff closing in on the target and Jack waiting on them with Ray doing what he can from his sniper's nest. All of this going on, and Gavin knows it just as well as he does.
Michael moves out of the way when Gavin sighs, shuffling forward with the Vagabond helping him to get at the lock. Pulls out his lock-picks and goes to town, muttering to himself about how stupid Michael is.
Gavin gets the lock open with impressive speed, and backs up while the Vagabond pulls the chains away and opens the doors to the shipping container.
“Goddamn that's beautiful,” Michael says, sharing a grin with Gavin who looks a little like he's in love. “What do you think, Gav?”
Gavin laughs, limping forward to run a hand over the sleek curve of a sports car sitting pretty in the shipping container. One of a kind and worth a hell of a lot of money, and all theirs, if they pull this off.
“Okay, so - “
”Target's down!” Geoff's yells, sounding like he's running for his fucking life. ”Tell me you have the package!”
“We're standing right in front of it, Geoff.”
They don't get to hear whatever Geoff's reply is to that bit of news, because they can hear gunfire in the distance, running feet close by and their time is definitely up.
“Come on, move, move!” Michael yells, herding Gavin towards the car as someone drops down a few feet away from them and opens fire.
Michael takes cover inside the shipping container and yanks the doors closed as Gavin pulls out a flashlight, sees the the Vagabond undoing the straps keeping the car locked in place.
Gavin's got this look on his face, when Michael turns around, so fucking stubborn and defiant and worried under it all, and it's kind of killing Michael a little.
“Change of plans,” Michael says, brisk, no-nonsense. “You get this car to the rendezvous point, and we'll catch up with you later.”
“Michael.”
“Just don't fucking crash the car, okay?” Michael says, because Gavin? Not the best driver under good conditions.
Gavin's eyes narrow, and for a moment Michael thinks he's going to continue arguing all the way to the bitter fucking end, but he just sighs. Turns to the Vagabond who's been watching silently this whole time, and pokes him hard and without a shred of mercy where he took a bullet.
“Don't do anything stupid,” Gavin says, fucking poking an injured Vagabond like he has no idea what a hypocrite he's being right now.
Except, you know, the part where they both have feelings for one another and Michael hopes to fucking God they don't do thing where they finally kiss right before the heroic sacrifice bullshit, which this definitely is not, no.
“Hey, idiots,” Michael snaps, because they're just gazing longingly into each other's eyes at the moment or some shit, and it's awkward as fuck for Michael. “Get a move on before more of them find us.”
Gavin jerks away from the Vagabond and limps his way over to the driver's side door and slips inside. Michael watches him reach up to pluck the keys from the sun visor, and start the car. Throaty roar of its overpowered engine deafening in the confines of the shipping container.
Michael jerks his head at the Vagabond who seems a little dazed after that bit of eye-fucking, which you know, perfect for what they're about to get themselves into.
“Come on, buddy,” Michael says, taking up position to one side of the doors, the Vagabond mirroring him after a slight hesitation as he casts a look back at Gavin behind the wheel of the car.
There's just enough space for Gavin to get the car past them. God willing the ramp's still down, or Gavin's going to have to hope for the best, that the car can make the jump.
“You can do this, Gavin!” Michael yells, and Gavin gives him a skeptical look as he revs the car's engine, which.
Fuck it, good enough.
Michael looks a the Vagabond, holds up three fingers and drops them one by one until he forms a fist. A beat later, they shove the shipping container doors wide and the car rockets out of it like a bat out of hell.
========
When shit goes wrong for the Fake AH Crew, it goes wrong in spectacular ways.
Michael and the Vagabond watch Gavin make his escape and start in on theirs with single-minded determination. Shooting their way clear, but they're vastly outnumbered and there's a kind of frenzy in the eyes of the fuckers they come up against now that their boss is dead, like they're all too happy to make the people behind it pay for it.
Geoff goes down first, swearing like a pirate as he takes some of the bastards with him from the sound of it. They hear Ray's startled, ”Oh, fuck me,” and a gunshot before his comm cuts out. Then someone gets the drop on Michael and the Vagabond, empties half a magazine into the Vagabond's back before he finally falls.
Michael spins around, snarling and ready to take all the fuckers on, and someone nails him in the leg and he drops to his knees as someone else hits him in the chest, breath punched out of him. Sees someone walking towards him, slow and steady, steps measured. Sound of their footsteps ringing on the cargo ships deck as they stop in front of him and pull Michael's gun from his hand.
Tsks.
“You assholes think you're so fucking smart, don't you.”
It's the blonde woman from the airport, nothing kind or sweet or gentle in her face now. Just a hardness, cold and unforgiving as she leans in, whispers, “You're not going to win this one, fucker.”
She looks down on Michael like he's something she'd scrape off the bottom of her shoe, and waves at the people ranged around them, bristling with weapons.
“Take him below deck, make sure he's comfortable.”
Michael tries to struggle free as he feels hands close on his arms, dragging him to his feet, and freezes when the blonde moves to stand over the Vagabond. Sees the way his chest is rising and falling, shallow breaths.
Her eyes cut to Michael, and she smirks, like she thinks they've won this, and says, "Bring his friend too.”
========
Michael's been staring at the same fucking wall for what feels like hours before the Vagabond moves from the crumpled heap the baddies left him in.
“On a scale from one to ten - ten being completely fucked - where would you say we are right now?”
There's a pained wheeze to the Vagabond's words as he sits up, so very slowly, and turns his head to look at Michael. “In your honest opinion, I mean.”
Michael looks at him, waves a hand at the room they've been locked in. “Well, the décor could use some work, but other than that, everything's great. Peachy, even.”
The Vagabond moves to put his back against the wall opposite Michael, making little pained noises as he does.
“You're going to need to write the company who makes that shit a thank-you letter when this is all over,” Michael says, watching him. “I'm kind of surprised you lived.”
Michael doesn't think about Geoff, or Ray, or Jack, or even fucking Gavin, because he doesn't know if the idiot made it off the cargo ship. If he got got on the road before he could make it to the rendezvous point.
“Me too,” the Vagabond says, looking down at himself. The guy's fucking riddled.
“Not our best work,” Michael admits.
The Vagabond sighs, breath catching a little as he winces. “Or mine.”
And.
Michael's timing isn't really the best, he knows this, admits it willingly, but.
Michael looks at the Vagabond, this guy who runs around Los Santos in a dumb skull mask and face paint that the entire city is terrified of. Who knows Gavin, fucking let him live after being hired to kill him some time back, and now has a Thing for Gavin. Which has earned a capital 't'.
A Thing which happens to be mutual, and fuck Michael's life for that.
Michael looks at the Vagabond, who's slowly been sucked into the crew and never really seemed to fight it. Just went along with it like dealing with their combined idiocy was something he could live with.
“Gavin told me you were hired to kill him once,” Michael says, figures why not because this could be it, last chance for them to have this conversation.
The Vagabond goes so very, very still at that. Hardly seeming to breathe as he looks over at Michael.
“I was.”
Michael nods because he wasn't expecting the guy to lie about it, not at this point, and says, “Didn't kill him, though.”
There's a long, long moment of silence after that. Heavy, weighted, and then the Vagabond shifts, rests his head against the wall he's leaning against and stares up at the ceiling.
“No,” he says, this tired sort of amusement in his voice. “I didn't.”
And, see, Michael would really love to get that fucking story out of at least one of these idiots some day, but there's something in the Vagabond's voice that makes him stop before he asks after it further. Figures it's something that's not meant for him, not when Gavin came out of it having caught feelings for the Vagabond, and vice versa.
But.
“He also told me you gave him that knife scar on his chest.”
Michael's never claimed to be a saint, and that fucking scar, okay.
He may have seen the way the Vagabond is around Gavin now, the way he lets Gavin push him around. Lets Gavin poke and prod him with absolutely no fear to him at all, trusting the Vagabond's safe, but that fucking scar.
One of the ones that should have killed him all that time ago, but because this is Gavin – stupid, stubborn fuck that he is – it didn't.
The Vagabond winces, eyes closing. Says, “I did do that, yes.”
No excuse or rationalization, which.
Good, because Michael doesn't think he'd ever be in the mood to hear it.
A few minutes later, the Vagabond chuckles and says, “He hit me with a car as payback, if that makes you feel any better about it.”
Michael thinks about what a shitty driver Gavin is. The fact that he'd been able to hit someone like the Vagabond and not fuck it up. Then he thinks back to a few hours earlier and the way the Vagabond had hesitated before Gavin made his escape. (He did escape, he absolutely did.)
“Well to be honest,” Michael says, and laughs, because fucking Gavin. “With Gavin driving, I'm not as surprised that you survived that.”
========
Another hour goes by before the door opens, light from outside spilling in, and Michael looks up to see the asshole responsible for this entire mess.
“Michael, Michael, Michael,” he says, all heavy disapproval with that look on his face and the head shaking and his everything. “I thought you were smarter than this.”
Michael will give him that one, because he is, actually. Or he used to be, back before he'd ever heard of Geoff Ramsey and the crew he was building out in Los Santos. Now though, years down the road spent with Geoff and the idiots he recruited? Not so much.
“You've got something there,” Michael says, little bit of a smirk on his face as the guy looks down, sees a splotch of color on his chest. “Wouldn't want that to stain.”
And this guy, right. This asshole has a nice face, friendly looking. The kind that would draw people to him just for that alone, but then he'll smile, big and wide and genuine and everyone around him is a goner. He's managed to get some of the most dangerous people in the country on his side that way, pulled in a few from around the world too.
The guy laughs, little bark of sound that rolls into this happy, warm laughter that's infectious. Makes you want to laugh yourself, be in on the joke, and Michael. He's not immune, per se, but he's got other things on his mind right now.
“Oh, you guys,” the guy says, leaning back against the table bolted to the floor a few feet from them. “You almost had it this time, you know? So close.”
Bullshit.
“Oh, no,” Michael says, getting to his feet. “No, you don't, you fucker. We got you.”
Michael pushes forward, past the Vagabond who sits there watching, waiting. Pushes right up to the guy, pokes him in the chest. Right over that stain, so very vibrant and still wet.
“Geoff fucking smoked you, you asshole. Gav got the car, Geoff smoked you – we got you.”
The guy grins, teeth behind it as he pushes Michael's hand away, so fucking amused.
“Geoff took a shot to the head, Ray didn't have anyone watching his back, and you - “ the guy stops, glances at the Vagabond watching them. “You had the goddamned Vagabond and you still got taken out. How the fuck do you think you won anything here?”
That's the question, isn't it.
How the fuck do the Fakes win this one when they're down a Kingpin and a Brownman. Golden Boy and Beardo in the wind somewhere, and Mogar and the Vagabond held captive by this smug asshole.
How the fuck, indeed.
“How's Barbara?” Michael asks, head cocked to the side. “Haven't seen her since her appearance up top.”
Michael takes a step forward.
“Where's Miles? He should have popped in by now, don't you think? Done his little song and dance about how fucked we are?”
Another step, finger jabbing the guy in the chest again just for shits and giggles.
“Where the fuck are your people, Burnie?”
Michael knows Burnie, knows he likes to put on a bit of a show for this shit, but he left them twisting for too damn long this time. Long enough for Michael to wonder if he's been dealing with trouble.
The kind that owns this city.
There's also the way Burnie's not his usual put-together self. Came in looking a little winded, a little desperate around the eyes. Too fast to shut the door on the flunkies trailing along behind him.
Burnie's eyes narrow, and as if on cue, the cargo ship's PA system crackles to life, and someone sings out, loud and this side of smug, ”What's up, bitches?”
Michael snorts, lets his smirk grow as Lindsay keeps on going, sounds of gunfire and yelling behind her. Something that sounds suspiciously like an explosion, because those just happen when the Fakes run loose.
Lindsay keeps talking, confident and so in control of shit, mentions the ship's been boarded by members of the Fake AH Crew, and then some unintelligible pirate bullshit that Michael honestly tunes out because why.
“Sorry,” Michael says, innocently. “You were about to say something?”
Burnie groans, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Mutters something that sounds a hell of a lot like, Goddamned annoying, sneaky bastards.
“Admit it,” Michael says. “You fucking got got, Burnie. We win.”
Burnie lowers his hand and looks at Michael, eyes sharp. Looks down at the Vagabond who hasn't said a damn word this whole time, apparently content to let Michael take the lead here.
“How the hell did you get him in on this?” Burnie asks, genuinely baffled.
Michael shrugs, lets his voice go all casual as he says, “Gavin called him in.”
Lets that sink in for a moment, sees the surprise flit across Burnie's face along with disbelief and this tired sort of resignation because fucking Gavin.
So fucking stupid until he's not, and then he's fucking amazing. Brilliant as all hell and this knack for getting dangerous fuckers like the Vagabond at his back.
Burnie sighs, and looks down at his shirt, the bright green paint covering it right over his heart.
The door opens behind him, and Geoff and Ray mosey on in, disturbing flash of red bright and vivid on the side of Geoff's head, and a mess of it all over Ray's front.
Burnie looks over at Geoff, the smugly satisfied smirk on his face, and says, “I really liked this shirt, you fuckers.”
========
Sometimes when Geoff gets an idea in his head, it sticks. Turns into something close to an obsession, and when that happens it stops being a problem for Geoff and starts being a problem for the crew.
So when Geoff hears Burnie's coming to Los Santos to oversee the arrival of one of his cars, this beauty of a machine - sleek lines that speak of speed and power behind it - one of a kind because she's been built to his specifications, he gets this look on his face.
There's history there, between Geoff and Burnie, the kind that comes from years of knowing someone. Being in a crew with them that starts from nothing and turns into an empire that has a long reach. That spawned the Fake AH Crew when Geoff split off from the Roosters and headed west to Los Santos.
The kind that has Geoff calling them together and planning a heist, setting Burnie as the target and that fucking car as the reward.
He's not stupid though, isn't about to set them up against the Roosters who won't know it's them until it's too late, face-to-face and paintball pellets against live rounds, so he calls Burnie up. Sets up a bet, a wager, to sweeten the pot for them. Test Burnie's people up against his, and Burnie.
Well, Burnie's known Geoff for a long time and that says something, doesn't it. So Burnie says yes, and Geoff starts planning, setting up a heist. When he calls them together, they realize they don't have the manpower with B Team dealing with territory squabbles, and that's when Gavin calls the Vagabond in.
Calls him in, and when the Vagabond comes to the penthouse and sits through the briefing, he raises his hand and waits until Geoff points at him and says, “You realize I kill people for a living. This doesn't look like killing people. Unless - “
“No killing anyone,” Geoff interrupts, hands flailing a bit. “Jesus Christ, do not fucking kill anyone, or we're all fucking dead.”
The Vagabond quiets down after that, and lets Geoff continue explaining the heist.
They have a month, give or take, before Burnie's set to arrive in Los Santos, and only one day to get their hands on the car before they lose their window of opportunity.
He wants Gavin to fuck with the FIB a little, get them a surveillance van so Michael and the Vagabond can keep in contact with Gavin as he gets his hands on flight arrival plans. Geoff will take Jack and Ray to secure the heist vehicles, and on and on until the day Barbara and Burnie are set to arrive in Los Santos.
Again, Michael and the Vagabond with Gavin as he meets Barbara and her bodyguards at the airport, Ray up high to take Blaine and Aaron out while Gavin nicks her phone in the confusion. Gets back to the delivery van they'll use to get out of the airport unnoticed and send the information on the cargo ship Burnie's car is coming in on to the others, who'll meet them there.
From there it's supposed to be easy enough to get in and get the car while Geoff takes out Burnie, Ray providing cover fire, but this is Burnie and shit goes wrong.
(Thank Christ for that little ambush that forced Geoff into giving B Team the order to end the territory squabbles. Put those fuckers down hard for thinking they could come after the Fakes like that, or they would have lost this one without their support.)
========
There's a little party afterwards, because of course there is.
Geoff flaunting their victory over Burnie, who rolls his eyes and lets Geoff have this win even though half the crew “died”.
But Geoff insists on calling it a victory even though they went with one his harebrained schemes, because they got the car and Geoff got Burnie and nothing ever really makes sense in this crew anyway.
Gavin's over laughing with Barbara, sly little smirk on his face as she mock-scowls at him while Blaine and Aaron listen to whatever bullshit Gavin's telling them.
“This has been a weird experience for me,” the Vagabond says, coming up to stand by Michael. Eyes wandering over the gathered people, Roosters and Fakes mingling like this is any other party somewhere. “And believe me when I say I've seen some weird shit over the years.”
Michael smiles at him, maybe a little buzzed, says, “Not enough killing for you?”
The Vagabond rolls his eyes, and Michael laughs because yeah, okay. Gavin was right, the guy isn't that bad. Weirdly creepy at times, but he's kind of a dork and a bit of a spaz, which means he fits in perfectly with the crew. Also, he's obviously head over fucking heels for Gavin, so that's another thing.
“We do pull actual heists from time to time,” Michael feels the need to point out. “Real bullets and everything.”
They do, but not as often as they used to.
Don't need to anymore now that Los Santos is theirs, but every once in a while there's a tempting target and they get the itch for it again. The excitement and challenge of a heist. Geoff will sit down with the rest of them and plan and plan and plan. Go over every last detail a hundred times at least, cover every possibly angle, way it could blow up in their faces until they've got it down. Contingency plan after contingency plan and more backups after that.
Better planned by far than this little fiasco, that's for fucking sure.
The Vagabond hums, corner of his mouth ticking up into a small smile. “So I've heard,” he says, tipping his head towards Gavin. “He's been telling me about some of the ones the crew's pulled in the past.”
Michael glances at the Vagabond, feels himself smile because the big idiot keeps saying shit like that, “the crew” instead of “your crew”, and hasn't noticed yet.
He knows the Vagabond has plans to go out to Ray's little spot outside Los Santos with him in a few days to see which one of them is the better sniper, friendly little bet going on there. Knows Jack wants to see what Burnie's new car can do while they still have it, test it against the Vagabond's Zentorno. Knows Geoff has a whole slew of jobs lined up waiting until this heist was over that the Vagabond would be perfect for. Michael's waiting on a friend from back east to send him the recipe for a facial mask the moron might like, and that's something Michael will never, ever understand because what the fuck is his life anymore, and also -
That whole thing with Gavin, and the way they look at each other. The fact the others have caught on (only an idiot wouldn't, which explains why the Vagabond and Gavin are so fucking clueless about this) and started a fucking betting pool. Even Geoff's given up on pretending nothing's going on there, and put his money in.
“Yeah?” Michel says, grinning when Burnie walks up to Gavin, fond smile on his face because Gavin was his before he was Geoff's, and there's history there too. “You going to stick around to see what a real heist is like?”
Michael asks, of course, because he has a shit-ton of money riding on these two idiots figuring their shit out. Not because he gives a damn about their happiness or any sappy shit like that, no.
Really.
The Vagabond laughs, and says, “I'll think about it.”
Michael looks at him, at this weirdo in a leather jacket who's decided to forego his dumb mask in favor of face paint around all of them. Standing next to him as relaxed as Michael's ever seen him, even with all these unknown people around them, potential threats. This idiot who's watching Gavin with a soft expression, faint little smile on his face and has the gall to say, “I'll think about it”, like he thinks he's fooling anyone right now.
========
Fucking Lindsay wins the betting pool, which. How.
She wasn't around to see them making eyes at each other, to see Gavin fussing over the Vagabond when he got hurt in the ambush. Wasn't there for the horrifyingly touching reunion scene after the - technically -successful heist.
“The fuck, Lindsay?”
And Lindsay, she smirks and pats Michael's cheek and says, “Suck it, bitch,” because she's always had a way with words, that one.
Michael watches her walk away, chortling to herself as she counts her winnings, and shakes his head. Glances at Ray as he sidles up to him, this soft little smile on his face as he looks out towards the penthouse balcony.
“Gets you right here, doesn't it,” he asks, thumping a hand against his chest. “Kind of like heartburn.”
Michael snorts, eyes finding Gavin and the Vagabond, goddamned Ryan, standing out in the rain like the idiots they are. A little bloody after a run-in with rival gang members, but still in one piece and looking like they finally sorted their shit out, what with the face-sucking going on out there and all.
“Shut up, Ray,” Michael says, but there's this stupid warm little feeling in his chest, because their lives are fucking dangerous and the only way to make it worth anything is to grab what happiness you can wherever you find it.
Ray grins, bumping his shoulder against Michael's, and Michael looks at him, thinks, yeah, okay, and lets Ray nudge him toward the television and the game system he's got set up for a round of multiplayer.
First Impressions
#fahc#fahc fic#freewood#vagrant fic#i have no impulse control#i finally finished this dumb thing!!!1!#omg yay#jfc#/o\#The Wisest Advice
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