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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

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Already Gone || MV1 {4}

Pairing: Max Verstappen x spy!fem!reader Summary: Try as you might, you can’t stay away from Max for too long. Warnings: criminal activities, implied smut WC: 2.8k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five

It was official, you were insane. That had to be the reason why you found your way back to Monaco.

The last month had seemed more like a year and every single day had dragged out as you tried to keep yourself distracted by moving from place to place. But nothing worked. Max consumed your waking thoughts and invaded your dreams.

Your freefall through Europe had started in Norway since it had been the first flight leaving the country after you finally retrieved your go bag from the safe house in Camden Town. You tried not to look back as you searched for a place to start over, forcing yourself to move forward even though your legs felt like lead.

Sweden came next, then Denmark, but neither country had what you were looking for either so you crossed into Germany. The luxury apartment in Cologne had everything you needed to have a fresh start as a nobody and you should have been comfortable, but it too didn’t feel like home. So you had locked it up and got back in your car, hitting the highway and letting fate decide where you ended up.

You mindlessly walked with your head down to shelter your phone from the rain that drizzled upon the cobbled streets, your thumb swiping through the hundred of pictures you had taken with Max. You had only stopped in the random city because you could no longer ignore your rumbling stomach but when you saw the country flag hanging from a war memorial statue you froze.

You looked around, paying more attention to your surroundings and not the memories the photos held, as you struggled to remember even passing through the Netherlands before reaching Belgium. Everywhere you turned you saw signs you had missed, the city name surrounding you: Hasselt.

How did you end up here?

Max was the answer. You were a victim of your own mind and it had been leading you back to him this entire time. But this still wouldn’t be enough. You didn’t want to be where he was born, you wanted to be where he was.

You wanted to make things right. You needed to make things right.

So there you were, walking along the private street lined with perfectly trimmed hedges towards a wrought iron gate that would never stop you from reaching his door. But the man stationed in front of it might.

“Shit,” you cursed as you turned down the driveway of his neighbour. You hadn’t factored in that he may have been given a protective detail as a result of your actions. It didn’t change your end goal though, merely the plans of getting there.

It had been a few years since you last scaled a fence but you managed to pull yourself up the one on the back boundary and not break a leg when you jumped down the other side. It would have been much easier to sneak around at night but you weren’t patient enough to wait that long but you did keep to the shadows as you reached the house and tested the backdoor.

You hardly breathed when the latch clicked and the handle turned. The sound seemed too loud in the quiet suburb and you froze as you waited to hear the shouts of alarm, but they never came. All you heard was the loud purring of Achilles as he padded across the kitchen floor to brush against your legs.

“Look at you, you’ve gotten so big,” you whispered as you picked him up and snuggled him to your chest, a weight lifting from your conscience knowing Max had kept his promise. “I missed you too.”

You placed him back on the floor with one last scratch behind his ears before silently rounding the corner and ducking past the front window and tiptoeing up the stairs. You had spent too many nights in this house to count, made too many memories, to just walk through it without feeling the ache that came from missing it.

You skipped the stair that always creaked and stepped to straighten the picture of him and his mom on the wall. It was your fault it was on a lean, your shoulder had knocked it one night when you fell asleep on the couch and Max had carried you up to bed.

The only thing that had changed in the house was the door to the storage room that now had a gaping hole in it. Questions flooded your head at the possibilities ranging from Max lashing out in a fit of rage and putting his fist through it to a more worrying thought of someone else doing the damage. Was that why he had security? Did someone attack him?

Your hands shook at the thought and you clenched them into fists as you swore you would find out what happened, and make sure they paid.

The anger that had quickly filled you evaporated the instant you heard his voice and your feet carried you towards the sound you had missed dearly.

You watched him for a minute from the side door to the corner office, taking in the exhaustion that saturated him from his wild hair and dark bags under his eyes to the unkempt beard he was sporting.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled to one of the Red Line racers and the lifeless tone cut through the excitement you had felt when you spotted him in his simulator, his eyes focused on the screens in front of him.

“When did you become the liar?”

Max’s hands tore his headset off as he spun to find you, an apparition he could hardly believe was standing in his home. Time slowed as you stared at each other and the very air seemed to freeze as you connected with those blue eyes that had haunted your nights. No photo could ever quite capture the true shade of azure they were, you had relied upon your memory but even that did not do them justice.

“Hi.” You broke the silence and the moment in time was shattered, sense coming back to Max as he pulled the power plug from his simulator to cut the live stream before jumping to his feet.

“How did you get in here, Y/N?” he asked, looking out the window that overlooked the front yard to see the security guard still stationed at the gate.

You shrugged and looked down at your feet. “The backdoor was unlocked.”

“I have so many questions.”

You had expected as much as you went to the adjoining room and took a seat on the edge of his bed while he leaned against the set of drawers.

“I can’t promise answers to everything, but I won’t lie to you, Max,” you swore as you buried your hands in your pockets.

“That’s more than I thought I would get,” he muttered before taking a deep breath and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Fine, an easy one to start with. Would a locked door have stopped you?”

Your shoulders bounced with a laugh. Reaching the back of your head, you pulled a long hair pin out and eyed the curved hook that you held out to him. “Not a standard one at least.”

He shook his head but didn’t seem surprised by the answer. “How did you learn that? How did you become…whatever you are?”

“That’s not as easy to answer,” you admitted as you pushed the pin back into your hair. “There was this foster mum, a particularly nasty woman. She liked the money the state gave her but not so much the kids. She would lock us in the attic and as the oldest it was up to me to sneak out and steal food, clothes, money. Turns out I was pretty good at it.”

“Fucking hell,” Max said quietly as his hands fell at his sides and you saw the pity in his eyes. You didn’t want pity.

“It is what it is. My turn for a question,” you said as you pointed to the hallway. “What the fuck happened to the door?”

“What? Oh, that,” he said as a small smile appeared on his face, instantly making your heart feel lighter. “Achilles got trapped in there and I had to break him out, poor little guy must have been terrified.” The smile disappeared as he realised that had probably been how you felt as a child and he swallowed deeply before crossing the room and sitting beside you on the bed.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he confessed as he rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. “Why did you come back?”

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you too.” You reached into your pocket and pulled out the small thumb drive you had prepared on your journey to Monaco. “This is everything you need to destroy Ferrari,” you said as you placed it into his hand and closed his fingers around it.

“What is this?” he asked as you spotted a dress between the almost closed doors to the wardrobe. You rose to your feet and opened it wider to see your clothes that had been left at his place on numerous occasions hung neatly beside his. “Y/N, what is this?”

You trailed your fingers over the thick motorcycle jacket he would wear, the one you would rest our helmet on as you tucked in behind him to shelter from the wind on a ride. “Correspondence, payments, data reports, everything to prove what they hired me for,” your voice almost failed as emotion thickened your throat, “and my testimony.”

The air shifter as Max stood up and you turned to see his brows pinched together. “But that would mean…”

“I’m done running, Max.”

“So that’s it? You’re done?” he shouted as he raked his hands through his hair. “You’re giving up and happy to spend the rest of your life in prison?”

“I’m not happy about any of this,” you shot back as you took a step closer and tipped your head back to look him in the eyes. “But I can’t live with the guilt of knowing I ruined your dream.”

“My dream was to be world champion, and I already won that twice,” he stated as he opened his hand, letting the thumb drive clatter on the floor. “I don’t care if I lose every race this year, liefje, I’m not going to lose you again.”

The drive crunched under his heel as he destroyed the evidence his team needed before he pulled you into his arms. Your head fell forward as relief crashed into you and your fingers desperately clung to the back of his shirt as you held him close.

“I thought you would hate me,” you whispered as your tears wet his shirt.

“I wanted to. I tried to, but,” he breathed into your hair as his arms encircled your wait. “Ik hou van jou.”

You had lost all hope of hearing those words on his lips again so it took a moment to process that had really said them to you, but the instant your brain caught up so did your body. You were already rising on your toes as you threw your arms around his neck and crashed your lips with a sound of delight.

“I love you too,” you promised between the gasping breaths you took as his kiss trailed down your neck and he guided you backwards.

Your legs hit the bed as he pulled your shirt off and it fell from his hands as his eyes darkened while they drank in the sight before him. The dutch you had learned from him was limited but you recognised the word for beautiful before his lips were on your skin where they belonged once again.

“What happens now?”

Your head was resting on Max’s chest, one leg draped over his as you listened to his heartbeat. You had been lost to the sensation of his fingers running up and down your spine that you didn’t comprehend the question until his touch disappeared.

“I suppose I should have a chat with your boss.” His eyebrows lifted at your suggestion and you chuckled as you trailed your fingertips over the soft curls below his navel, the blond hair catching the afternoon sun that spilled into the room. “I’m out of a job and a girl needs to eat, maybe I can put my skills to some good use?”

“No,” he shook his head adamantly. “No more secret agent spy shit. You don’t have to do that anymore, I’ll take care of you.”

You smiled against his warm skin as you pressed a kiss to the centre of his chest and peered up at him. “I was thinking more along the lines of security work, keeping the secrets safe instead of stealing them. Atonement for my sins.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure Christian will want you in a mile radius of the factory, or England,” he laughed and the sound only fed your smile.

“I can be pretty convincing.” You slipped out of his embrace and grabbed your clothes from the floor as he sat up and made to follow. “Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?” He frowned as you pulled your jeans on and threw your shirt on next as you left the room.

“To talk to the moron at the gate!”

“Woah, hold on,” Max called as he rushed out of the bed, a heavy thud and a curse telling you he caught himself up in the tangle of bedsheets. “Y/N!”

“He had one job, Max, one job.” You skipped down the stairs and his feet hit the landing at the top. “Anyone bastard could have snuck past and gotten into your house.”

You threw the door open and broke into a sprint as Max raced to catch up, his shout alerting the guard to your presence.

“You!” you growled as you pointed a finger at the man.

“You!” he shouted in alarm at the same time, his hand reaching for the phone on his hip.

“Stop, both of you!” Max demanded as he caught you around the waist and planted you behind at his still shirtless back. “Paolo, she’s not a threat.”

“Debatable,” you muttered as you crossed your arms. “I’m not a threat to you, but he clearly isn’t doing a great job at protecting you. Here, give me that,” you didn’t wait for an answer as you swiped the phone off Paolo, Christian’s number already on speed dial and connecting.

“Paolo, everything alright?” Christian answered.

“I’ve gone by many names, but Paolo isn’t one,” you said with a smile before you heard a door shut loudly in the background and the sound of leather creaking as he sat down on his office chair.

“What is it you want?”

“This isn’t just about me, the question is what do we both want?” You looked at Max as he stood stoically between you and the angry security guard, the dominance in his stance making you hot and bothered all over again. “I’m looking right at him, Mr Horner. So I suggest you pick up the beautiful fountain pen your lovely wife gave you for your anniversary, walk over to the planner on the wall behind you and find the time to meet with me.”

“Put Max on the phone,” Christian demanded quietly.

An offended scoff escaped your throat at the request. “I haven’t hurt him, I’m trying to help you keep him safe. I’ve already proven that the people you hire to protect him aren’t up to par.”

“Put him on the phone.”

“Fine. Tell him when and where you want to meet.”

You tossed the phone to Max and walked back inside the house, climbing straight back into the sheets that were still warm and smelled like him. It was the feeling of being wrapped in a cocoon of safety and the sense of home you had been searching for since you were a child. It had been right here.

It was the soft sigh that had you blinking your sleepy eyes open to see him leaning in the doorway, a playful smile on his lips. “You’re insane.” He pushed off the door jamb and pulled back the sheets to join you under the blankets, your bodies moulding together like two puzzle pieces.

“Says the man that goes 200 mph in a tin can.”

“We must both be insane,” he chuckled as he kissed your temple, “because we’re heading to the UK in the morning.”

You smiled and looked up at him, seeing your reflection in his eyes like glancing into a perfectly serene lake, endless depths hidden within them. You took his hand and traced the life line that slashed across his palm before following the love line that branched off it. You had danced your way over moral lines your entire life but now you had found the lines you wouldn’t cross.

“I told you I could be convincing.”

Click here for post five.

Tagging: @octaviareina @omgsuperstarg @mvclff1 @alwaysclassyeagle @icantcomeupwithamusicalname-blog @laneyspaulding19

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #f1 rpf #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic

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morallyinept · 8 months

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A list of all my favourite FRANCISCO MORALES Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 3

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Weekends With Frankie Series - @wildemaven

Odd Couple - @idolatrybarbie

Fuck It, I Love You - @psychedelic-ink

Tango - @pimosworld

Highway Honey - @missredherring

A Fond Farewell Series - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Dark!Frankie

To Get Away From It All - @stardustandskycrystals

Not Leaving You Again - @flightlessangelwings Featuring Santiago Garcia

No Eres Tu Soy Yo - @iamasaddie Dark!Frankie

After Rain - @thelightsandtheroses

Francisco's Wife - @absurdthirst Featuring Marcus Pike

As Long As I Want - @fettuccin-e

Tag Teaming - @fettuccin-e Featuring Santiago Garcia

I Like The Way You Series - @undercoverpena FWB!Frankie

No Panties Is A Problem - @blackfemalenerd

The Chain - @lulutaylorsimaginarium

Stargazing - @secretelephanttattoo

Forest Ranger Franke Series - @the-ginger-hedge-witch

Stages Of Growth - @legendary-pink-dot

Throttled Control - @wildemaven

Give Up The Bagel, You Should Have Called & Let Me Wash Your Hair - @nerdieforpedro

In Another Life - @chronically-ghosted

Kiss City Part 1 & Part 2 - @washy0uaway

Gold Rush - @juletheghoul Sheriff!Frankie

Ring Toss - @morallyinept

Mine Series - @modernperplexity

Frankie To The Rescue & Swimming Lessons With Catfish - @avastrasposts

The Day Frankie Both Loves & Loathes The Kitchen Counter - @undercoverpena

You Hired A Cleaning Lady, Mr Morales? - @beskarandblasters Sub!Frankie

Breathless - @joelmillers-whore

Kinktober Spanking - @palioom

The World Tipped On It's Side Series - @idolatrybarbie StuntPilot!Frankie

Liminality Series - @something-tofightfor

Into It - @criticallyacclaimedstranger Werewolf!Frankie

Turbulence - @rhoorl

Frankie Masterlist - @tropes-and-tales

An Honest Man Series - @imalrightllama

Mouthfuls Of You Series - @frenchiereading

#francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier frankie #frankie morales smut #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #jett's fic recs #fic recs

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seat-safety-switch · 10 months

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Brakes are a safety item, now? Let me tell you about safety. Nearly one hundred percent of cars that crash are using the brakes in the moments leading up to impact. That sounds pretty dangerous to me.

Even though there have been centuries of advancement in the field of brakes, it still ultimately boils down to one thing. You are using one slightly soft rock to stop a larger, harder rock from turning. Back in the day, they could do this approximately once. Any successive attempt to stop would be met with a "not today, bud," but more polite, English, and cut off at the end by plowing through a hedge, bank, or tire wall.

Improvements abounded, however, and the modern hydraulic disc brake system has advanced stopping power that the ancient racecars of even a decade ago would be shitting their pants to have. Everyone on my commute knows this. And they're so proud of their brakes that they use them all the time. Merging. Driving in the left lane. Going downhill. Going uphill. A quinceañera. There is simply no traffic occasion that doesn't merit a stiff jab of the whoa pedal, buying them just enough time for their brains to start working again before lapsing back into the microwaving-a-potato 60hz hum of modern life.

As for me, I've never taken brakes for granted. Once you've done enough sketchy shit to make sure they still work – and especially once you've had a few blown lines or ejected shoes at highway speed – you want to avoid using the hill outside the Mayor's house as your emergency braking system if at all possible. This is only aided by the fact that my car's engine is not exactly capable of Ferrari-like acceleration, unless that Ferrari is currently parked. Like the astronauts of Apollo 13, I need to save all the momentum that I can get, or I won't get to work on time. Or ever.

So the next time you push down the middle pedal (it is the middle pedal in your car, right?) say a silent thanks to the inventor of brakes, whoever it is, and then get ready to cuss out the guy in front of you for slamming on his brakes for no goddamn reason it's fucking dry as a bone and sunny you idiot are you slowing down for ducks or some shit learn to read the road signs do not use big words.

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 6 months

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John the Apostle | Thunder Blues | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: “Are you serious right now?"

Requested: Yes

When the younger Son of Thunder is upset that he has to stay behind in Capernaum to wait for Simon, you comfort him, reassuring that Jesus knows best.

The Apostles have gathered at Jesus’ behest. Sitting next to John, you watch both Andrew and Philip as they reveal that their ministry has brought more harm than good in the Decapolis.

Jesus, across from the two, nods in understanding as they conclude their rather distressing story.

“Aha… And… What was your strategy to clarify it?”

Philip takes a sharp breath. “Well, we uh… We told, uhm…”

“We-We-We tried to… Uh, to tell one of Your parables.” Andrew stutters. It is clear that both of them feel embarrassed.

“Parables! Good!” Jesus praises, “That’s what I would have done.”

“Which parable?”

Philip clears his throat. “The… The Banquet.”

“You know, the one where guests give excuses not to come and so, everyone else gets invited.”

Next to you, John huffs in disbelief. “You chose the Banquet?” You put a hand on his arm, trying to push him back into his seat, trying to not escalate the situation. You know that the two feel humiliated enough as is by coming clean about their troubled mission.

“People get upset by that one.” Nathanael adds.

“Of course they do.” Jesus hums, but there is no hint of accusation in His voice.

Andrew lets out an anxious noise: “Well, if it makes you feel any better, we first considered the Wheat and the Tares but… We thought better of it.”

“I already told you,” Jesus patiently explains, “Some people wouldn’t understand that parable.”

“I’m not even sure I understand the Wheat and the Tares.” Thomas adds. You give him an understanding look.

Jesus lets out a soft chuckle and winks. “Give it time.”

Philip sighs. “The problem is that they did understand the parable and it caused fights in the street–”

“Rioting.” Andrew emphasises. “Between Jews and Gentiles.”

Jesus lets out a soft hum as Philip carries on. “Leander has told us it’s getting worse every day. The prominent Hellenistic priest has changed his ways, which is good, but… When he abdicated his duties as priest and leader, others tried to fill the void, and so projects are going undone and people are just angry, and blaming each other for everything.”

Next to you, John has a concerned look over his features. You put a hand on his arm and gently squeeze, at which he smiles a bit wistfully at you.

“It led to stealing,” Andrew says, “Fights in the streets… Many people are actually leaving their homes to escape the violence.” The final part of his sentence is a whisper. You can sense the shame he feels.

Big James stands with his arms crossed. “That’s the violence You suggest sending us into?”

Brief silence fills the room as all eyes turn to Jesus. “What part of the parable caused this fight to break out?”

“The people outside the city.” Philip answers. “The ones on the highways and the hedges, the last to be invited and the last to accept the invitation.”

Jesus draws a sharp breath. “That’s what I suspected.”

John leans forward. “Speaking of which - the highways and the hedges - does that actually refer to Gentiles?”

A deep sigh leaves the Messiah. “He who has ears to hear, let him hear. We leave in the morning. Everyone go home and gather your things. We take to the highways and hedges before dawn.”

The Disciples go to stand, and next to you, John still looks worried. As Jesus speaks to comfort Philip and Andrew, you whisper in John’s direction.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just… Thinking.” he mutters. “How this might affect our ministry. What it might mean for us. If we must fight, then so be it. We’ve got strong men on our side who would be strong and capable in battle. I’m certain we’ll be able to snuff out this riot before it escalates even further.”

Before you can reply that you don’t feel like the Messiah is aiming at such an approach, Jesus gets up from His seat, grabbing a few empty cups. “John, may I have a word?”

John picks up his head and looks up at his Teacher. “Yes, Rabbi.” He gives you a small smile as he gets up, and you nod at him.

“Good luck, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Of course. Shalom, (Y/n), have a good night.”

“Sleep well, John. Shalom shalom.”

As you watch him head after Jesus, Who is currently rinsing out the cups, you let out a sigh. Being John’s childhood friend, you know better than anyone of his oftentimes brash nature out of sheer passion and dedication.

The soft look in Jesus’ eyes, however, ensures you that He will take care of things. You smile at Him and stand to leave the house and find your own instead, giving Him a nod in greeting.

He mirrors it and turns to John, giving the former fisherman a special task.

The next morning, you’re sitting at Matthew’s old place, spending some time with Mary and Tamar as they work on their small business.

“Perhaps you should stay behind with us.” Tamar muses, “Help us out here.”

You shift and shake your head, smiling. “And miss out on all the tension? Hm, I’ve got a feeling that this is going to be a pivotal moment. The last thing I want is to be left out.”

As other followers of Jesus come trickling in, you check your belongings one final time - an extra tunic, a full waterskin, and another pair of sandals. On the bottom of your bag sits a stale piece of bread, so you toss it out.

“Jesus is here,” Nathanael loudly announces, “Time to go!”

Everyone moves to the door, momentarily gathering outside the building, where Jesus is patiently waiting for everyone. You follow the group as one of the final people to leave, putting the strap of your bag over your shoulder, getting ready to leave.

Before exiting the building, however, you halt on the threshold, turning to look inside the house one last time. Upon noticing John pouting as he is leaned against the wall, you frown slightly.

“Hey, John. What is going on? Come on, we have to go.”

He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest even tighter. “I’m fine, (Y/n). You wouldn’t get it.”

Planting a hand on your hip, you approach him. “What are you on about? By the way, where is your bag?”

John clicks his tongue, barely looking at you, muttering something under his breath that you cannot quite understand.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

He sighs. “Jesus wants me to stay here in Capernaum so I could wait for Simon.”

“He still hasn’t showed up, then?”

John lets out an exasperated sound. “No, he obviously hasn’t! Which is what frustrates me so much!”

“Why?”

“Because I want to come, too!” He looks at you with an expression that is nothing short of frustrated. “Everyone is getting to go out there with Jesus and witness perhaps a massive turning point in this ministry, and I get waiting duty! I want to go, too! I am also part of this group! He calls me beloved, so I must be important enough to see it too, right? I can’t stand it.”

You watch him for a long moment, slightly narrowing your eyes in thought. “Are you serious right now?" you question, although there is no reproach in your tone.

John grows restless under your scrutiny, exhaling sharply.

“What, are you going to judge me for that?”

Pursing your lips, you hum. “John, son of Zebedee. This is not about you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he snaps.

In spite of his anger, you remain calm. “I’ve known you forever, John. You’re always so keen on staying in the loop of things, which is a great trait to have. You are inquisitive, passionate, eager to learn. I admire that about you, my friend.”

His expression softens. “Huh, thank you for your kind words. But what does that have to do with anything?”

You step closer, putting a hand on his arm to comfort him. “Jesus loves you. He loves all of us. This entire ministry, however, does not revolve around us. About what we see, or about what we do, or about what He does for us. It is about what He does for them.” You nod at the door behind you, “For the world out there. For those who are weary, and wounded, and in need of healing.”

You pause, sighing.

“I know that it is difficult to possibly not be there when something pivotal happens, but it is not a given that we get to witness every single thing that will happen for the glory of Adonai. Besides, a lot has to happen behind the scenes. If Jesus did not need you to be here to wait for Simon, He wouldn’t have asked you to.”

“Jesus said that the success of this mission depends on Simon.”

You smile. “See, there you have it. Jesus can use you in many ways, even if you are not directly at His side.”

John lets out a sigh and lowers his gaze. Regretful about his outburst, he folds his hands in front of him. “I know.”

“Our plans do not always match up with His plans, but you trust Him regardless, hm?”

“I do. More than anything.”

Nodding, you pat his shoulder in a friendly manner. “Then we should not always rely on our own understanding of a situation. You might not be satisfied that you have to wait now, but in the long run, that feeling will make sense, and you will be glad that you indeed waited for Simon.”

The wry smile on John’s face makes place for a brighter one. He tilts his face back up, smiling.

“I hadn’t thought of it this way yet, (Y/n). Thank you for your perspective, that was very meaningful, and I can now see the value a bit better of Jesus asking me to stay behind.” He sighs, his smile slightly shrinking. “Although I am still a bit upset, how can I not be? You guys are going to get to the Decapolis! I wish I could be there right with you!”

“But Simon is necessary for the success of this trip, according to Jesus. Trust Him in this, too. Completely, okay?”

John sighs and nods. “Okay.” he says, exhaling. “Okay.”

You smile, stepping away from him. “Good.” you say, “I will see you soon, okay?”

He hums in acknowledgement and gives you a small wave, appearing way more positive now. “Thank you for your words. Safe travels, (Y/n). We will see each other before we know it.”

Nodding kindly, you agree to what he said and head after the others, finding them just outside the house. Big James puffs out his cheeks as he sees you and lets air escape slowly, knowing that you had to deal with a pouting John. However, you give him a small smile in turn.

“Things will be alright with John,” you reassure his older brother, “He just needed another perspective on things to see that the task Jesus gave him is valuable in and of itself.”

“That is good to hear, (Y/n),” Big James states as you walk together into the outskirts of the village, following the group of Disciples. “Plus,” he adds, “It means we won’t have to deal with his nagging for a few hours at least.”

Chuckling, you shake your head, knowing that John feels useless regardless of the importance of his task, and bump a fist against James’ shoulder.

“Tch, as if you nag less than he does. That you two haven’t physically chatted my ears off at this point is a miracle to say the least.”

James rolls his eyes, but cannot fight the grin that spreads over his face.

“Fine, it means you won’t have to deal with half of the nagging.”

#the chosen #reader insert #the chosen x reader #x reader #angel studios #chosen x reader #the chosen john x reader #john the apostle

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wisteriagoesvroom · 2 months

Note

GAX POLITICS AU!!!!! this reminds me of my rob jetten x jesse klaver tiktok phase lol like gax would be like them but with more hate and say gex at questionable places💥🫵

no but like exactly!! before this week i didn’t know what a resse was and now im like.. omg… ur all cooking… amazing how we all see the vision…. all in our heads just hallucinating gax politics AUs in various countries but the vibes are almost identical. god i love fandom lol

the question is: ghey seggs in which questionable places. i raise you

1. reference library

2. empty parliament floor

3. highway gas station in middle of nowhere belgium

4. garden hedge at a soirée

5. cupboard of restaurant where their bosses just had a Tense Off-book Negotiation

6. at max’s surprisingly decent and well looked after apartment (max kicks the cats out of the room)

7. in a meeting room after a press con

8. after one of them hand-delivers important papers to the other… hand job, obviously

9. as election results roll in and they’re both half hard and half listening 🫡

10. when max impulsively jokes that they spend so much time together they should probably just elope or something. and george is like don’t be stupid our schedules don’t even allow that now pass me the goddamned sustenance stroopwafel and tell me what your minister is playing at with this regulatory question

in case y’all are wondering wtf im talking about…

#wiz.askbox #Gax #party with the Gax-ers #Gax politics AU

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adgp35 · 2 months

Text

Nancy Drew in California Dreaming, Part 4

Geoff Summers, breathing hard as he stood on the sidewalk glaring at Nancy, looked to his left and then to his right. Nancy could see that the young man had no intention of discussing the forged and stolen art with her or with anyone else. She noted with satisfaction however that to Summers’ right were the densely hedged gardens belonging to Bradley’s Bohemian well-to-do, and to his left was the busy highway, filling up now with rush hour traffic. The girl sleuth smiled smugly at the increasingly desperate looking man. “You can’t escape, Mr Summers,” the young woman told him, “so you may as well talk to me.”

“Go to hell, witch!” Summers suddenly exclaimed and with that, he turned around and ran off, back down the street the way he had come. Nancy, momentarily nonplussed, watched him flee in some surprise, but the girl detective soon rallied her thoughts and set off in pursuit. “Stop!” she called out after him. “You’re only making it worse for yourself! You haven’t a chance!” But Geoff took no notice, and continued to run down the boulevard, with the red-haired girl close behind.

To be continued.

AI image created via Microsoft Bing

#strong woman #nancy drew #girl detectives #adventures #mystery stories

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weird-al-song-tourney · 1 year

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Are there any songs that you think its a missed opportunity for Al to have not parodied yet?

Well honeslty I'd love for all the artists that rejected him to have yknow...not been a bunch of sticks in the mud. >:[

But honeslty I'm surprised songs like "Call Me Maybe" , "Despacito", "Gangam Style" or other songs that yknow got...crazy ass popular didn't get weird Al'd. Not that I super WANT that but I think he'd do great with em.

One song I think he could do is like, how have we not heard him parody Take On Me? Or something like Livin' On A Prayer (Squidward On A Chair fills the void tho)

This is a personal one bc the song happens to be very important to me but I'd love to see Weird Al do a parody of All Star by Smash Mouth. It's iconic meme status these days combined with Weird Al's style would be amazing. Heck even other Smash Mouth songs too like Walkin' On The Sun.

Or maybe parody something like Don't Fear The Reaper, but that's one I mention because my dad & I bonded over that song a lot.

Oh man & y'know what? I'd LOVE if Weird Al did a style parody of Ben Folds! That'd be a sight to behold.... (shoutouts to over the hedge btw)

I also would LOVE to see him do an AC/DC Parody one day. As a fan of both I wish he'd have done a parody of like Highway to Hell or Thunderstruck. I mean come on he'd nail it. 💅

If anyone else has any ideas of what you think he should parody please reply or put your ideas in the tags. I'd love to hear it!!!!! Because my musical taste cannot do this question enough justice singlehandedly.

#mod toasty #weird al tournament #weird al #weird al yankovic #al yankovic

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bluecoolr · 2 years

Text

You Ain't Goin' Nowhere

Darrell arrives in Ambrose. [Part 1/5]

Links to Part 2 3 4 5

Warnings: the girls being teeth-rottingly sweet to newcomer, Lester being an excited rambling cutie, Bo being Bo, and jealous!Vincent

A/N: When I have all the parts ready, I'll be putting links on each post. I'm just really excited and wanted to post this. Also the title has no business being that threatening since I took it from a Byrds song...

Featuring the Sinclairs, Jason Vorhees, RZ Michael Myers and the ocs of @rottent33th (Ellie) @slaasherslut (Ava) @kalid-raven (Alia) @the-pinstriped-hood (Percy) @cries-in-latino (Red) and @angxlslasher (Merry). I hope y'all don't mind!

Sunlight woke Darrell the next morning. There was a dull pain in his neck where his backpack had been the night before. Stirring, he groaned and opened his eyes.

He was greeted by the sight of a large, dark snout. A moment of panic arrested him, until he remembered where he was. In a field. By the highway. The curious quadruped before him was not a razorback, but a cow. She chewed noisily as she inspected him.

"Down, Bessie." Darrell patted her head. She flicked her floppy ears and grazed on the grass right by him.

Darrell sat up from his makeshift bed. He used a liberal amount of water from his canteen to rinse his mouth and wash his face. Reaching deeper into his pack, he pulled out a scrupulously rationed breakfast of potato chips and a chicken sandwich.

Funny. He tried so hard to shake off the Marine in him, but here he was - acting like one again.

Well, minus the potato chips, he thought.

Bessie snuffled at the little ziploc bag, eager to have a taste. Darrell reached in, crushed a handful of chips, and fed it to her. Once he was done, he bid farewell to his new friend and straddled his bike.

"On my way now," he told his non-cattle friends through text.

Do a wheelie.

Darrell smiled involuntarily and asked Red, "Got bail money? 🤨"

Wheelie you fucking coward.

He did two on the empty highway. Just for fun.

The way to Ambrose was long and winding. Too long, he remarked, eyeing the fuel gauge. He cursed inwardly and, with the same breath, begged heaven to let him have enough to get there.

"Ack! Where's God when you need 'im?" he grumbled as his dirt bike stuttered.

He set the bike on its stand and scratched his head. No soul for miles. No help in sight. Guess he was going to have to push his defeated steed along. He went on for about thirty minutes or so, with the punishing Louisiana sun and the 40-ish pounds on his back bearing down on him.

Panting now, he turned from the Interstate to the byroad Ellie had told him to take. Trees hedged him from either side. The ground was a mixture of silt and dust. It made his throat scratchy.

Darrell became aware of an approaching vehicle from the thrum of an engine and the clatter of tools behind him.

"You need a hand, man?" asked the driver as he let his truck go idle.

Darrell looked through the open driver's side window and regarded the stranger politely. He was grimy and slightly flushed, no doubt from the exertion of a day's early work.

Darrell cleared his throat. "No... I need gas, actually."

The stranger cracked a pleased smile. "Well it's your lucky day! I got some gas right here."

He giddily rummaged about in the cab and retrieved a beat up looking gallon jug. The stranger stepped out and wordlessly urged Darrell to bring his bike forward.

"Please, if it ain't too much. I just need enough to get to Ambrose."

For a moment, the stranger, almost miserly, held back the jug. "Why're ya goin' to Ambrose?" he asked, face cloudy with suspicion.

"Visitin' some friends. M'overdue, s'matter o' fact. Was supposed to get there last night."

Realization twinkled dimly in the stranger's brown eyes. "Say… ya name ain't Darrell by any chance, is it?"

"Yessir, it is."

The stranger eased and flashed him a toothy grin. "Now, ain't it a small world," he cried. "I've heard loads about you from the girls."

Darrell rubbed the nape of his neck. He smiled. "Did ya?"

"Yeah! Boy, you've got everybody standing watch. Tell ya what," said the stranger, "Help me haul your bike into the back. I'll give you a lift."

"Aw, shucks… I-"

The stranger waved him quiet. The gas sloshed in the jug. "No ifs. No buts. No coconuts." He gestured to his truck. "Get."

Darrell stammered thanks and apologies for the trouble. The stranger moved the litter of animal carcasses.They loaded the bike onto the truck, shut the tailgate, and carried on.

"Sorry. What cha say your name was?"

The stranger chuckled. "Lester."

They shook hands as the truck went on its jittery way. Lester was kind to offer Darrell a rag to mop his sweat with. Darrell dragged the cloth over himself and wiped each of his fingers clean.

A strong feeling of liking for the traveler stirred in Lester. That rag was filthy. He had hesitated to hand it over, but Darrell had grabbed it without question.

"You can get gas at the station in Ambrose. Bo, m'brother, runs it."

Darrell shamefully looked at his boots. "Sorry 'bout the dust."

Lester gave another chuckle, his glance straying to Darrell's feet. "S'alright," he assured him, "Truck's had worse than that, f'ya know what I mean." He jerked his head toward the window behind them.

"Good I picked ya up or else you'd be trudging in that for 15 miles more."

"Preciate it, really." Darrell smiled. He was brushing dust off his pants. "Been walkin' for about half o' that 'fore ya found me."

Darrell was quite remarkable to look at, Lester decided.

His hair was the first thing you'd notice: Teal blue and long. The way it tumbled down his shoulders in wisps reminded him of paint, pulled out by water in bright, rippling clouds when you dip your brush into the glass.

There was a silver ring that pierced his plump, pale pink lower lip, and he seemed to have a habit of nibbling on it. He was also very tall. Taller than Bo or Vincent. Almost as tall as Michael. (Really, he didn't think there was anyone taller than that fella.)

His broad chest stretched the fabric of his shirt. His thighs were doing the same to his jeans.

He was handsome, Lester would give him that.

He was also sporting a knife on his right shoe.

Two kinds of bells rang in Lester's mind; An alarm to beware of this stranger, as he wasn't sure of his intentions, and another that told him to hurry and show him his own knife. After all, he had been polite. Hadn't been mean or fussy.

Lester was itching to pull out the bowie when Darrell cheerfully turned the conversation toward matters that concerned him - How had his day been? His work, the weather, the town, the girls? - things he was glad to talk about.

Before he knew it, he saw the wash-out up ahead.

"Think you'll make it?" inquired Darrell, his hand on the dash.

"Just have to flip the hubs into four-wheel."

He didn't have to ask. Darrell hopped out and got to work on the wheels on his side. The beat up truck rattled over the stones, the men inside shared a laugh. "Felt m'brain rattle in m'skull like a bean in a can!" Lester cried as he tried to shake himself right.

Gravel gave way to asphalt and they entered the town. Lester pointed out the gas station just at the end of Main Street. When Darrell asked for the grocer's, he did some quick thinking and said, "There's Flannery's back where we came, but don't cha go in there. F'Joe Flannery sees ya and gabs, you'd be in there all day. If ya need anythin', I'm sure Ellie would be happy to get it for ya. She's an amazing cook. There's Bo!"

His older brother gave the truck a cursory glance, and, with practiced charm, greeted their guest.

"You shoulda called in," said Bo, obligingly filling the dirt bike's tank with gas from the pump."Would've picked you up myself."

Lester had wandered off and was now coming back with the hose. He was aiming it at the bike. He turned the nozzle and a sudden jet of water blasted out of the end, splashing Bo and Darrell's shoes.

Noticing the scathing glare Bo gave him, Lester lowered the hose and apologized. "I got blood and gunk all over your wheels," he told Darrell.

"No! It's fine. It'll wash off." Turning to Bo, he declared, "Wouldn't have made it without him. He's a lifesaver." He extended one large hand and patted Lester's shoulder.

It prompted Lester to step in and swing his arm over Darrell's shoulders. He was awful pleased with himself. It didn't matter that he had to stand on his tippy-toes.

"Sure." Bo said dismissively. "You came down here all the way from where? Devil's Prick?"

"Yessir."

"How's it there? Heard it's haunted."

Darrell laughed. "By hicks like me."

While they spoke, they were blithely unaware of Ava and Percy scuttling from the Sinclair house, down Main Street, to Ellie's house. They had heard Lester's truck and spotted the tall man at the station.

They came running back, now with Ellie in tow, one hand hiking up her dress skirt and the other clutching a lime green frog.

When she screamed "DARRELL!", the three men leapt clean off the ground. Lester's fingers instinctively tightened on Darrell's jacket, and he had to clutch his chest to make sure his heart wasn't going to give.

Ellie shoved the frog into Lester's hands and braced her arms around Darrell's torso. "You made it! I was so worried when you didn't arrive last night!"

"I-I know, Ellie… I'm sorry."

She gave him a light squeeze. "Shh! No! Don't apologize. Now, I want you to meet my sisters."

She passed Darrell around for the girls to fawn over, which they did despite his shyness. "I'm covered in God knows what. I probably smell like a dog in the sun."

"That's two of us, then. I've been out in the garden."

"Alia and Michael are back there too," Percy said. "They'll be delighted to meet you!"

Ava looped her arm with Darrell's and started to lead him to the house Ellie shared with Vincent. "Come on! Jason and Merry are set up not far from there."

All three women began to chatter, making Darrell throw his head from side to side.

"That boy's gonna end up like a bruised fruit by sundown!" Bo chided. His warning fell on deaf ears.

He saw his twin in the distance - shoulders tense and visibly uneasy. Bo knew that look. He was sizing Darrell up, suddenly unhappy about the attention he was getting from Ellie.

Psst!

Vincent snapped out of it and met Bo's gaze. With a frown, Bo wordlessly told him to be nice. Try to get along for godsake.

Vincent, hunching as if to get away from a whip, buried his hands in his pockets and trailed after the girls.

"Here. Hold this."

Lester was holding out the frog.

"No," Bo said flatly - body poised to bolt.

"Ok."

Lester set the frog down on the ground and trotted after the girls. It stayed put, locked in a standoff with Bo.

He picked up the hose. Aimed and blasted the frog away. Then, he wheeled Darrell's bike into the garage.

#darrell todd #slasher oc #friends oc #house of wax fanfiction #slashers x oc #ellie mason #ava walker #percy jones #alia fowl #merry ross #damon red herring #red herring #lester sinclair #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #jason vorhees #rz michael myers #bluecoolr.txt #Spotify

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hopetorun · 11 months

Note

for the ship kiss meme, number 28 for matthew and leon, please 😘

a kiss as a lie

Matthew drives the three hours up highway 2 because unpleasant as a fractured hand is, it’s nothing on a high ankle sprain. The road rolls by, less familiar the farther he gets from Calgary but still somehow basically the same. His hand throbs where he’s clenching the wheel too tight, and somewhere in the outskirts of Edmonton he has to pull over and peel the brace off to stretch it.

It’s a long time to listen to himself think, especially since he’s trying not to do that too much right now. Too many moving pieces to make any decisions. Johnny hedged when Matthew talked to him two days ago. Dad equivocated when Matthew asked for his opinion. He didn’t even bother to ask anyone else, but Mom had some input anyway, maybe the most helpful of the bunch—there’s no objectively correct answer, so Matthew just has to pick what he wants.

Leon lets him in, limping obviously. There’s a pair of crutches leaned up against the wall by the kitchen that Matthew looks at and then decides to ignore. The silence is heavy, Matthew not asking about his ankle and Leon not offering anything to fill the space around it.

“Sorry about the sweep,” Matthew says finally.

Leon shrugs. He steps into Matthew’s space and kisses him, and Matthew melts into it immediately. That’s what he’s here for, after all.

It’s good, being kissed like this. Getting his hands on Leon’s skin and Leon’s mouth on his neck. Leon touches him carefully, even though Matthew’s not the one who’s limping through his own house, and kisses him with an edge of desperation, and murmurs Matthew’s name when Matthew presses into him.

After, Leon tucks his face into Matthew’s neck. “Only three months until the preseason.”

There’s always Flames-Oilers in the preseason. Matthew just doesn’t know if he’ll be playing in those games yet. He nods anyway, chin knocking against Leon’s forehead once, and then he nudges Leon’s head up.

“Yeah,” he says softly, a simple statement of fact. Not a promise. Not anything.

He kisses Leon before either of them can say anything else.

#my fic #ask meme #matthew and leon #i love to break things and only loosely imagine in my head how they will be fixed in 50-70k i'm not going to write #fic by daisysusan

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j-august · 7 months

Text

June was dying among the roses, the hedges were darkening to a duller green; the blatancy of red brick sprawled along the highway was a reminder that the present builds inexorably over the empty fields of the past.

Dorothy L. Sayers, Gaudy Night

#quote #quotation #Dorothy L Sayers #Gaudy Night #June #roses #summer #highway #brick #present #past

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coldresolve · 1 year

Text

The Dash Dilemma, pt.i // The Accident

AO3 / Masterlist / Next (coming soon)

Patrons of the small town bar are huddled among trash cans, hedges, and benches. Their good-natured jeers and laughter echo far down into the dark parking lot, rolling off the still cars before the sound is flung back to them.

Dash stands on the curb, shoulders hunched against the surprisingly chill April air, swaying a little as he fumbles with a set of keys. Pressing the remote unlock button, his flickering eyes scan the lot until he sees the yellow blinking lights of his black Chevy Corsica and heads in that direction, careful not to let his dizziness show in how he walks.

In all honesty, he hadn’t intended to get drunk tonight, but the bar had been so alive, the company, the music, even the odd dancers clearing out a small floor among the tables to let themselves be strung along. Dash’s lips still tingle with the kiss he stole from another patron, a woman he spent forty odd minutes blatantly flirting with before she so much as let him touch her.

His head is still buzzing with the chase as he gets into his car, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth, and shifts into gear. He immediately turns on the radio, humming along to the tune of the same shitty pop country song they’ve played for months now. Tonight, the repetition doesn’t bother him. He’s in a giddy mood, self-satisfied and terribly, terribly complacent.

He should’ve called a cab.

Dash drives down the town’s main road, streetlights illuminating the long-since sleeping town in a faintly yellow glow. He drives past the sleeping suburbs, past the large aluminum factory that keeps the town afloat; past the small stadium, which really isn’t more than a relatively unkept football field and some sparse, decrepit stands; past the trailer park and the airstrip. A sad song comes on the radio, and he huffs, shutting it off. He’s pretty sure he isn’t swerving too badly, but still, just to be on the safe side, he decides to alter his route home to avoid having to drive on the highway.

So his trip takes him along small country roads devoid of other drivers, past brown fields and forests that have yet to truly start budding light green. The steady hum of the engine would’ve lulled Dash into sleepiness, if he hadn’t been there already, in his drunken state. As it is, he’s already intermittently yawning, thoughts circling the warm bed at his destination, just waiting for him to sink in.

He pulls up to the side of the road to piss at one point, wholly allowing himself to be swallowed up by the sheer silence of the countryside. Miles away, a flock of deer moan, or the howl of a fox pierces the night, or grasshoppers and other critters sing and click away; but apart from the wind, these are the only ambient sounds. No cars, no honking, no bustling of traffic, no chaotic murmur of a crowd, no sirens in the distance. Shaking off the last few drops, Dash zips his pants back up with a satisfied sigh and heads back to his car to resume his venture. His movements are a little bit sluggish, and his gaze tends to drift, but other than that, he feels relatively sober.

Back on the road, Dash carefully maneuvers his way past potholes and sharp turns in the hilly terrain. Insects illuminated by the headlights fly by the windshield like large specks of dust floating in the air. The tall grass on the side of the road swaying in the wind elicit the thought of waves cascading on the surface of the ocean.

The funny thing about it is that Dash actually very clearly sees the man walking on the side of the road. He sees the brown leather jacket and the blue jeans, he sees the reflective patches on the back of the man’s running shoes. He sees the brown hair.

He just doesn’t react. As if the signal from sight to action takes a little too long to register.

And so the man is swept off his feet by the Chevy’s front bumper, and his upper body slams into the hood, head cracking the windshield before he tumbles over the roof.

It’s only then that Dash slams the brakes as hard as he possibly can, tires screeching as rubber is wound down on the asphalt. The car finally comes to a grinding halt that nearly sends Dash’s head smashing into the steering wheel, and he sits there, panting for breath, staring out his cracked windshield. His heart is galloping away in his chest, blood roaring in his ears from the sudden flood of adrenaline through his system. Somewhere in his motor, metal clicks as it rapidly cools down.

Swallowing down nausea, Dash looks in the rear view mirror, and sees the unmistakable form of the man lying crumpled in the middle of the road. The heap of a person doesn’t disappear no matter how many times Dash blinks. He shudders, biting off a curse and turning around fully in his seat to look out the rear windshield for himself. This isn’t happening. But the body is still there. It’s form is outlined by the cool moonlight, casting a pitch black shadow on the asphalt. It’s still there, and it isn’t moving.

“God no,” Dash mutters, clicking off his seatbelt with one hand as he shifts the car into park with the other. He exits the car quickly, but comes to a halt just outside, clutching the driver’s side door hard with both hands as he looks at the crumpled stranger.

Debris litters the street, shards of glass which crack under Dash’s shoes. Not far from the body, he sees the shattered remnants of a phone, and then a shoe that must’ve fallen off in the crash. He approaches the stranger slowly, with careful footsteps. There’s a twinge of a metallic smell in the air, and Dash is pretty sure it’s the smell of blood.

“Hello?” he tries.

No response.

The body is facing away from him, one arm sprawled out behind the back, hand lax. Brown hair is stained with red, glistening slightly in the moonlight. The leather jacket shows signs of tearing in places, it’s skin scratched up by stones in the road. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but he’s pretty damn sure the stranger isn’t breathing.

Dash gently pushes at his back with the tip of his shoe.

No reaction.

He bites back a scream, walking away from the body, grasping both hands in his hair, gritting his teeth against the sob that threatens to tear through his chest. “This can’t be happening,” he hisses out loud, tears springing in his eyes, “I did not just kill somebody. Fucking God…”

Desperately trying to get his roaring emotions back under control, Dash crouches down in the middle of the road, breathing ragged, whining intermittently as another wave of horror tears through him.

There’s a low moan. Barely audible.

Dash freezes, a new wave of ice running down his back. He stares at the body with wide eyes, barely breathing, waiting for the sound to reappear.

And then, after a while, there it is again. A breath that hitches in a dry throat, followed by a pained sort of sound, low in the chest.

Dash stares at the moonlit silhouette for a long time, until he carefully makes his way over to it. Steeling himself for what he might be about to see, he takes a deep breath, gritting his teeth, and turns the stranger over onto his back.

The guy isn’t dead, but he looks well on his way there. His face is relatively intact, although there’s clear road rash on the side of his jaw and along one cheekbone. Trailing from his temple and down behind one ear, there is a large gash deep enough to expose the man’s skull in places. Where tears in the man’s clothing have revealed bare skin, Dash can see more road rash as well as intermittent, deep gashes in the flesh were larger bits of gravel have cut through. The man’s right arm bends strangely, Dash notices with a squeamish lurch of his stomach, and likewise, one foot faces the wrong way.

Dash looks away, swallowing down the urge to vomit.

What’s he supposed to do?

Is he supposed to take the stranger to the hospital? He’s dying, isn’t he? The speed with which Dash hit him is sure to have caused internal bleeding, brain swelling, all sorts of fatal injuries beyond the scope of what Dash can see. He would be charged with manslaughter and they’d call up witnesses from the bar and prove he drove under the influence. Isn’t that a life sentence?

And he can’t just flee the scene. Once they found the body, investigators would find Dash by the damage to his car. That’s still a life sentence.

Eyes wild, Dash looks at the stranger for a long, long time.

The decision doesn’t come to him quickly, but once the idea has found purchase in his mind, it settles, like a heavy stone in his gut. It comes reluctantly, like a dog fighting the leash, and it does not fill him with pride.

He has to steel himself for the unpleasant task. Jaw set, he takes a deep breath and walks back towards his car. Settling in the driver’s seat and throwing the gear into reverse, he drives back until the trunk is no more than a few feet away from the body. He gets out, takes a deep breath, opens the trunk. Spies down either side of the country road, but as long as he can see, he’s alone for miles.

Dash walks up to the guy, then hesitates.

“You’ll come with me,” he mutters solemnly. He’s not sure why, it’s not like the guy is conscious to hear him. It just feels right. “I’ll, ah, I’ll set you up nice and cozy in my garage, so you don’t have to die on the road. And then, when you’re dead, I’ll bury you somewhere nice.” It sounds so, so wrong. “I’m really sorry about all this,” he adds, wincing at himself.

With nothing further to say, Dash gets to work hauling the body up, hooking his arms under the arms of the stranger. Dead weight is heavy, and the stench of blood is nearly enough to make Dash gag, but he manages to maneuver the broken man into the trunk of his car torso first, pulling up the legs afterwards.

He gathers up the most incriminating pieces of debris – the shattered phone and the shoe – and throws them into the trunk, too, before he shuts it. He can’t help but feel relieved that that part of the ordeal is over, and that the stranger’s broken body is out of sight.

At least for now.

Masterlist / Next (coming soon)

#writing #the dash dilemma #dash #carter

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blorbologist · 1 year

Text

Cat’s Cradle - Chapter 2?

Guess this is a thing now!

Part 1

Tuna doesn’t work.

It’s premium stuff - intended for Percy’s sandwich of the day, sacrificed instead on a paper plate and left ten feet from his crouched form. No amount of tsktsktsk or wafting the oils around seem to draw her attention - not in her usual feeding spot, or near any cranny Percy suspects she could wedge herself into.

He spots her, briefly. An hour in, a second from standing and texting Vex that he was on his way back inside.

She’s a brown and white blob on the other side of the road, peering at him from a rickety fence. Percy’s heart sinks - drivers inbound from the highway usually breeze through the stop, here, with poor visibility thanks to some wild hedges. It’s a dangerous crossing for a little cat.

Less so for him - he follows Curio as slowly as he dares, plate of tuna in hand.

As soon as he steps off the sidewalk she’s gone, leaping into the yard. Percy watches the space for a moment, breathing in cold air through his nose. It stings. He puts down the offering near where she had perched before turning back.

He’s not quite ready to trespass just yet.

Vex, it turns out, is more than happy to trespass, though she laments it would likely be useless.

“We need a trap for her,” she sighs. The forge has allowed her to shed her flannel, leaving her in a white tanktop.

It’s warm enough Percy can blame the redness of his cheeks on it as he sheds the chill moment by moment.

The kittens have begun to mewl. All five wiggle and wail - an improvement over how quiet they had been before, as far as Percy’s concerned.

He’s tried to avoid looking at them, truthfully. In glimpses he has seen them all to be dark-furred, but one that’s stark white.

(Five has been, in his mind, a number meant for them. It’s one-Julius, two-Vesper, three-four-Whitney-Oliver, five-Ludwig. It’s every open space when he says he has a sister and Cass notes she has a brother.)

One of the kittens practically yowls. It sounds a little too close to a baby’s cry for comfort.

“Could we use them as bait?” he asks. “Don’t most mammals come running if their young raise a ruckus?”

Vex hums, tilting her head. “Not a terrible idea - but we don’t have anything to catch her in. It’s too cold to keep them outside for that long,” she worries.

Movement from the slipper basket. Vex darts out just in time to catch one of the kittens, cresting the edge with another scream. “Got you!”

Wiggling to sit comfortably cross-legged, she brings it close to hold with both hands. Percy peers over her shoulder - it’s a dark blue-grey, the drying fuzz now sticking up in every direction. It can’t quite hold its head up, so much as shuffle it from side to side, sniffing.

It then -

“Is it trying to hiss at you?” Percy whispers. Indeed, the little mouth is open in a pink gape, puffing air at Vex’s hand.

Vex’s eyes flit to his. “So intimidating,” she whispers back. The kitten downright spits - the both snicker at the display.

“I know, dears,” she coos. “It’s so scary. It’s so very scary without your mom, huh?”

It mrr’s back - a sort of rumbling whimper as it noses at her fingers and the fabric of her top.

“What do we do?” Percy murmurs. “I could drive them to the shelter-”

“No,” Vex says sharply. She lowers her voice again. Percy is fairly sure kittens are deaf at this age - this one certainly did not react. “No - they don’t intake new animals on Sundays.”

Abruptly, a kitten is carefully slid into Percy’s lap. He blinks at it. He’s certain it would blink back if it were not blind. He directs the next few blinks at Vex, who is standing with the wince of one whose leg fell asleep.

“I’ll get some formula for these guys,” she says. “At least to keep them fed overnight - I doubt we’ll catch their mother before they’re really hungry.”

“I could-”

“Darling, you just froze your ass off for over an hour trying to get her.” Vex winks, and Percy decides he agrees with her assessment. “You warm up with the babies.”

Percy sighs indulgently. The kitten in his hands does its best to burrow into his sweater - it’s not quite soft so much as fluffy. A curious distinction.

“I should have a hundred in my wallet,” he calls as Vex gathers her things. “You’re not paying for this mess.”

Vex, lacing up her boots, shoots him a look. “Percival, formula is ten, twenty bucks. At most.”

He snorts. “So grab anything that catches your attention with the remainder. I trust you to spend it better than I could. Least I can give you for dropping everything to help.”

The kitten’s begun to try suckling on his thumb, which is - he isn’t sure how to feel about it. He does know how to feel about the tiny claws beginning to knead his hand, though. Which - ow, how can something less than a day old hurt?

“You certainly know how to treat a girl,” Vex teases.

She lingers a moment at the door, fussing with her gloves and scarf. “For what it’s worth, I would have helped you - you and the little darlings - without bribery, darling.”

Percy smiles. “I know.”

The kitten pauses when he shifts, to catch the moment she leaves. It resumes, then, with a little, little purr.

#cat's cradle au #critical role fic #critical role fanfiction #critical role #campaign 1 #perc'ahlia #percahlia #percy de rolo #percival de rolo

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