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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

expanding the drunkenness scale

frat jj x reader

words: 2690

warnings: the norms (alcohol, cursing)

synopsis: you finally get to see past six drink jj

a/n: requested by an anon; once again i must warn to drink responsibly!!! also i just passed 100 followers, thank you all so much for the support, i only started this up a few weeks ago, so this is crazy to me!

So, you’ve seen the ramifications of six drink JJ, barely standing, barely speaking coherently. Nothing could’ve prepared you for more than six drink JJ. It was almost like he caught a second wind, and it kind of felt like chasing a child around, he was so unpredictable.

One afternoon, after you got off of work, you saw you had about 15 texts from JJ about attending a baseball game. It had already started, but you confirmed with him that he was still there and started to drive toward the field.

You showed your student ID to get in and then walked to the bottom of the reserved student section to look for JJ and whatever friends he was there with. Before you could find him, you heard a loud, “Baby!” and looked up to see him all the way across the section, standing and waving at you. People looked between the two of you, amused, and you blushed at the sudden attention, quickly making your way to him.

“You’re drunk already?” you asked incredulously as he wrapped you up in a hug, hand reaching down to your ass.

“We pre-gamed!” he told you excitedly as you tried to get him to sit down.

He leaned into you, arm wrapped loosely around your shoulder and you sighed, “Yes, I see that. Do you even know the score, bud?”

JJ shrugged, eyes not leaving your face, “It’s tied.”

You looked around him at the scoreboard to see your school winning 5-2. Snorting out a laugh, you patted his shoulder, “Not quite, but good try.”

JJ waved your words off before brightening up, “Oh hey, we’re having a party tonight, you should come.”

“I know you are, you told me last week.”

“Oh,” he looked confused as he took a swig of a beer you didn’t even realize he had before continuing, “well are you coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, J.”

“Good, I need my forever date with me,” he tapped your nose, almost missing and nailing you eye instead.

From behind you, one of the guys with JJ that you didn’t recognized made a whipping noise at JJ’s response and JJ flipped him off, not looking away from you.

“You’re being cheesy today,” you told him, slight blush on your cheeks.

“Only for you.”

He finished his beer, and you sighed internally as he started to slump into you, “Did you drive?”

JJ lifted his head from your neck and shook his head, mumbling something incoherently.

“What?”

“Bryce drove,” he told you, slurring a little.

“Right, well I drove, you wanna leave and go take a nap?”

He perked up at the word nap and nodded enthusiastically. JJ’s knees buckled when he stood and you tucked yourself under his arm to keep him upright.

“Whoops,” he slurred out, giggling while you struggled to get him to your car.

“Fucking frat boys,” you mumbled under your breath as he tripped again, almost dragging both of you to the ground. After his third stumble in two minutes, you snapped, “Pick your feet up.”

“I’m frat man, baby, not boy.”

“Frat child,” you corrected as you helped him into the passenger seat of your car. You queued up a bunch of songs he likes as you drove to the frat house because if he fell asleep in the car you definitely wouldn’t be able to get him inside. It worked, and you had to repeat the half carry, half drag process all the way to his room to deposit him on his bed.

You started to leave his room and he whined, “Where are you going?”

“I have to go get dressed and pick us up some alcohol before the party in like four hours.”

“Nooo, sleep with me, you have clothes here.”

“I have workout clothes here,” you corrected.

“They look hot,” he shrugged, holding his hands out as if to pull you back.

A nap did sound really enticing. You were tired from your early morning shift, so you gave in, “Fine, but you can’t chirp me for my outfit later.”

JJ held his pinky out to you, “Promise.”

You linked pinkies and laid down next to him. He held his arm out and you put your head on his bicep. JJ curled his arm around your shoulders and both of you fell asleep quickly.

Not setting an alarm was a mistake because you were woken up by music signaling that the party had started already. You checked your phone to see a text from JJ that he had gone with Pope to buy you guys some alcohol and wanted to let you sleep since you seemed so tired.

You sighed and walked over to his closet to find something decent to wear. There was at least one pair of blue jean shorts which made you feel a bit better, and you brushed your teeth before walking downstairs to find your boyfriend and join the party.

JJ was in the kitchen mixing himself a drink when you found him, and he jumped when you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. He quickly realized it was you and smiled, handing you the cup, “For you, milady.”

“Is it actually for me?”

“It is now.”

You took a sip, not knowing what to expect, and almost gagged when you tasted mostly vodka. He laughed at your betrayed face and held out the pitcher of lemonade to add some to your cup.

“Fuck, JJ, how drunk are you to already be drinking shit this strong?”

He furrowed his eyebrows while trying to come up with an answer, and shrugged, holding up three fingers, “I’ve had two drinks.”

You reached over to push one of his fingers back down, “There you go, two.”

“You’re so smart, babe,” he told you before yelling out, “I’m dating a genius!”

“Jesus, J,” you hissed, blushing as people in the kitchen stared at the two of you.

“The people need to know how elite you are.”

“They most definitely do not.”

JJ grinned mischievously before yelling out, “This girl is the greatest person in the world and I love her and no one can-“

You slapped a hand over his mouth, abruptly cutting him off and he licked your palm. With a grimace, you pinched his arm with your other hand, “That’s gross, J. Can I trust you to stop, now?”

He gently pushed your hand away before answering, “Probably not.”

And with that, JJ turned away to fix himself a drink. He grabbed your hand and pulled you into the living room where the beer pong tables were set up. There was an open end at the pairs table, so you and JJ took it to play against some two of the other guys who lived in the house.

“Hold my jacket, sweetheart, I don’t know how big this is gonna get,” he told you, stripping off his hoodie.

“I regret making you watch Footloose with me. I know that’s what you were going for there, but I hated it,” you told him seriously, and he just laughed loudly in response.

To say you were carrying the team was an understatement. JJ thought it would be fun to try out an arsenal of trick shots he’d been apparently hiding. The best one was when he attempted a softball pitch and pegged one of the other guys in the forehead. It landed in the cup and JJ cheered, throwing his arms around you in his excitement.

The other guys tried to argue that it didn’t count, but you glared at them until they glumly moved the cup to the side and re-racked the four remaining cups upon your request. They landed one of their shots and you knocked out three of the four, missing the last one.

“Dude,” JJ told them when he lined up to take his after they missed both of theirs, “we kicked your asses.”

“No thanks to you,” you threw in as JJ way overshot in his drunken state.

He grinned dopily at you and threw the last one, not even looking. Of course, it went in, and he leaned down to kiss you firmly.

They missed both of their redemption shots and you dragged JJ away before they could challenge you to a rematch. He finished his drink and you wordlessly handed him yours, still tasting too strongly of vodka for your liking.

JJ chugged the rest of it before setting your empty cups down. He dragged you to the backyard where the music was blasting and a crowd of drunk college students was dancing.

“Care to dance?” he asked, offering a hand.

You figured it was probably the best way to keep an eye on him, so you reluctantly followed him out into the crowd. What JJ meant by dance was holding your hands and jumping around, forcing you to jump with him, until he felt sick. He mumbled something about his tummy and bathroom and you let him go immediately, gently shoving him in the direction of the house.

JJ stumbled inside and you turned around to see Pope dancing nearby. You slid over to him and the two of you danced together for a few songs before you realized how long JJ had been gone and decided you should probably go check on him.

Pope slung an arm over your shoulder and walked with you inside, toward the bathroom. What you saw when you got there almost gave you an aneurism. JJ was sitting on the ground and John B was poised over him, electric razor in hand, clearly about to buzz JJ’s hair.

“Oh fuck,” Pope managed to get out between laughs at your facial expression. He hunched over, arms wrapped around his stomach, as JJ tried to scramble up.

“Maybank, I know you are not about to get your head shaved,” you told him, deadly serious voice, “I know I’m seeing this wrong.”

“No, babe, think about it. My head will feel so nice in the summer when it’s hot. It’s a win-win,” he explained earnestly.

You crossed your arms, “What’s the second win?”

He had no answer for that and instead tried to hug you. John B was slowly trying to get by you two without catching your attention and you poked his chest, “You know better, JB.”

John B shrugged, “To be fair, it was JJ’s idea.”

“When do we ever listen to drunk JJ?” you retorted, ignoring JJ’s defensive “hey!” in the background.

Pressing a kiss to your cheek, John B fully left the bathroom, dragging Pope with him. You looked at JJ and he grinned down at you, “So you’re saying I wouldn’t look good with no hair?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You are wild past six drinks, bud.”

It didn’t even seem that your words registered with him because immediately after you stopped talking, he snapped his fingers, “Hey, we should go get Whataburger.”

The thought of Whataburger fries was really tempting, so you told JJ, “Stay here, I need to go get my keys and wallet and I’ll drive.”

JJ nodded, seriously, and you jogged off, not actually trusting him to stay in place. You were pretty quick, but by the time you got back to the bathroom, JJ was gone. With a sigh, you tucked your wallet in your back pocket and resigned yourself to having to look for your boyfriend again.

Just like the first time you walked downstairs, he was in the kitchen fixing himself a drink. This time he saw you and loped over to you, drink spilling a little bit. He threw his hands up, even more sloshing out, and cheered, “Honey butter chicken biscuit time!”

“Yes it is, let’s go.”

When you cranked your car up, you were a little surprised to see it was 3 a.m. and JJ immediately plugged his phone up, pulling up a One Direction playlist which he shamelessly listened to pretty regularly.

He rolled his window down and leaned out as you drove down the street, screaming the lyrics to Drag Me Down. You knew he liked feeling the wind in his hair, so you sped a little bit, just for him. When you pulled into the Whataburger drive-thru, he got all the way back in and smiled over at you and said, “Baby, I feel so alive,” just as the song Alive started playing.

You gave him a blank look and ordered his food and a medium fry for yourself. JJ tore into the food almost immediately as you pulled back into the street to drive to the house. He seemed uninterested in joining the party again as he sat in the passenger seat, alternating between bites of the biscuit and sips of his probably mostly vodka drink.

After you parked, JJ stayed sitting as he slowly finished his food and drained the rest of his drink. You nudged him a few times with your elbow to get his attention, “You wanna go upstairs or you wanna rejoin the party.”

He put some serious thought into it before deciding, “Bed time.”

You grabbed your booksack out of the backseat and the two of you went straight upstairs to the bathroom. Locking the door, you made him brush his teeth and get ready for bed. He started to strip out of his clothes and you quickly batted his hands away from where he was tugging his shirt, “Stop it, babe, wait until we get back to your room.”

JJ winked, “Why wait? The door is locked.”

“We’re going to bed, not having sex,” you told him bluntly and swung the door open.

He sighed, grabbing your hand, and followed you down the hall to his room. Dramatically flopping onto the bed, JJ held his arms out to you, “Let’s sleep, I guess, since you don’t love me anymore.”

You rolled your eyes, “I still love you, but you can’t speak without slurring and I’m pretty sure you won’t even remember this conversation in the morning.”

“Probably not,” he admitted, burying his face into your chest. It only took about 45 seconds until he was snoring and you pressed a kiss to the top of his head fondly.

The next morning, you woke up around 10 and decided to sit at the desk he had shoved in the corner to work on a paper for your Child Psychology class. After about 45 minutes, you went downstairs to make some coffee for yourself and the rest of the house, and brought a steaming mug back upstairs to drink while finishing the last two pages of your paper.

You’d just finished editing and submitting it when JJ finally woke up around 1 p.m. He shuffled around a few times, pressing his face into a pillow with a groan.

Laughing softly, you walked over to the bed and sat down next to his head, running your hand through his hair a few times. He pushed his head into it with a slight whine, “My head hurts.”

“I bet it does, sweetheart,” you soothed.

He pouted up at you and you grabbed the medicine and water bottle you’d set up on his bedside table. Clumsily kissing your cheek, he took the medicine and slowly sipped at the water. After clearing his throat a few times, he broke the silence, “How much did I drink yesterday?”

“Well from what I know, you started pre-gaming at 9 a.m. so I imagine your blood is mostly alcohol today.”

“Brain is a little fuzzy,” he admitted.

“You want some coffee?” you asked, starting to stand.

He whined again and wrapped his arms around your waist before you could leave, “Stay.”

Sitting back down, you started stroking his hair again, “You sure, J? I can get you some food while I’m down there.”

“Later,” he mumbled, moving his head to your lap. After about five minutes of you playing with his hair, he was out like a light again, face smushed into the lower part of your stomach, drooling a little bit. You moved to lean back against the headboard and settled in, pulling up Netflix on your phone. Food could wait.

***

tagging: @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @katiaw2

if anyone else is interested in being tagged in frat jj stuff, let me know!

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fic #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank fluff #frat!jj #outer banks fic #outer banks #obx #sigma chi!jj

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anonymous0writer · 4 years

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2AM Love

Author: @anonymous0writer

Warnings: Swearing. Alcohol use. Inferences to sex.

Requested: Yes! Another songfic! :)

“Songfic request :: Let's Fall in Love for the Night by FINNEAS × JJ Maybank”

A/N: There will be SO MANY SONGFICS TO COME!! @lindzaylove sent me so many! I’m so excited! My master list is gonna burst! :) Also, the song is a little more upbeat than this, but I couldn’t help myself and the words sparked this, so yeah.

Requests are always open even though it’ll take me a hot sec. But please! I love them.

(Song lyrics are in italics)

Let's fall in love for the night And forget in the mornin'

The pattern was the same. Friends during the day. Lovers at night. At first, you were hurt, but then when night came rolling around, he make you forget the pain of the friend zone during the day. He was so good at kissing away your doubts and making you forget. And god, when his pale eyes landed on yours, you were lost.

His eyes held everything. The crashing oceans you surfed and went swimming in on the regular. They held the soft sky of a sunny day. And they washed away all your fears of the future, your worries, and your pain. No matter what, his eyes made everything fade out and it was just you. He made you feel on top of the world. When his eyes landed on your skin, you felt like the only one. The one that he wanted to love and worship. He made you feel like the only girl in the world.

He kissed and traced every crease and expanse of your smooth skin. Every bump and imperfection he smiled at like he loved it and it made you feel perfect. That you didn’t have any imperfections. You felt invisible when his eyes were heavy on you. And when he was loving you, he made you feel amazing. Pleasure exploded in every part of your body like fireworks on Fourth of July. His fingers digging into your hips, heightening your pleasure. He knew how to get you arching your back and eyes rolling back. And he knew every spot in your body, knew exactly what to do to you to get you moaning and whining in his sheets. To get you panting and sweat beading at your forehead. To get your eyes fluttering as you came down from your high, body collapsing in his bed, and fingers limp in his hair.

He knew your body like the back of your hand. And he knew your mind like no one else. In those late nights, he would watch you rapt. He listened while watching your mouth tilt up in a soft laugh when you told something funny, or the crease in your eyebrows when you tried to remember something on the tip of your tongue. He loved the way your eyes light up when you talked about your family, or one of the Pogues or something you loved. They shone so brightly, reflecting just how much you loved them so dearly. As you wove stories and memories in the dark room, he ran his finger tips along your skin, raising goosebumps. His lips would ghost yours, and whispered sweet words and pretty things.

Nights were the best. When it was just you and him. Nothing but you two. The world didn’t exist, as far as you knew, it was just you guys, and the beds. The darkness settled over you, embracing you. Your hands would be intertwined, gently at war to people the other. His other hand would be on the side of your waist, thumb flicking slowly across the bare skin. Your other hand would be curled into the edges of his hair at the nape of his neck, and your legs would be tangled with his. Sheets would cover you two, twisting and folding against your skin. You’d wake up in the morning, a mess of bare skin and thin sheets.

But mornings were the worst. You woke, a sinking feeling in your gut as you steeled yourself for the day. You wanted the nights to last forever, suspended in time. But your wish never came true. Not even when you wished apon a shooting star during one of the first nights.

Mornings made him a friend. Mornings cast him in an angelic light that you were forbidden to admire him in. The early light forced you in a cage that held you back from touching him and pressing loving kisses to his skin. Love wasn’t allowed during the day. But you desperately wanted it to be. You wanted to kiss him awake and let him make love to you in the early time.

But you learned the hard way. The first night was magical. Just as wonderful as every other time, but it was new. Exciting and magical. Forever cast in your mind as the perfect moment in your life. But the morning came, as it always did, harsh and sneaky. It grabbed you by the shoulders and woke you, making you face what you didn’t want to. But it always came, and every daybreak forced you into the cage.

After the night, he picked himself up, pulling on clothes and shielding his body from you. You were still sprawled in the bed, a frown etched into your mouth. You asked him breathlessly where he was going. He answered with,

“We have to keep this a secret.”

The words sparked a mischievous light in you. You’d never snuck around with a boy before, and you knew it’d be amazing with the blonde before you. But the light was snuffed out by the words still coming from his throat.

“This isn’t a relationship, Y/N. Just a onetime thing.”

But it was a pattern. You’d open the door the following evening, confused and ready for bed. But then your eyes landed on the well-built salt-lifer standing at your door. Your eyes widened, and you joined him in the hot night. You breathed his name, studying his frame.

“Maybe this can be a two time thing?” He asked, eyes rapt on you and body hovering over yours.

Your heart leapt and slammed against your rib cage, throwing your breathing into an uneven gallop. The memory of last night flashed through your mind and you arched your back and moved closer unconsciously. And JJ knew that. He saw the way your breathing shortened just a little and the way your shuffled forward and you peered up at him.

So he took it as a yes and asked if he could come inside. You obliged, unable to refuse. You lead him quietly to your room, anticipation making you practically bolt into the room. Before you could close the door, his lips landed and planted themselves on your neck. You gasped and watched as one of his hands shut and locked the door before he pushed you forward. You landed on your bed, hair around you in a halo.

And the two time thing turned into three. Which bled into four and soon, you couldn’t remember how long it’d been going on. It’d been months, but the surfer had made it clear: friends until the sun falls.

Play me a song that you like You can bet I'll know every line

You giggled and stuck your hand out the window of the van, savoring the feeling of the wind brushing through your open fingers. It cooled you, and whipped past you, but you loved the feeling and let out a small whoop.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a head swivel your way, so you turned to meet their eyes. JJ’s hands gripped the steering wheel, but his eyes were locked with yours. And for a split second, you felt like the only girl in the world. And the feeling was spectacular- because it was during the day. And you weren’t allowed to feel this way during the day.

You grinned at him, and sang loudly to the song playing from the radio. You stopped when another voice cut through you and the rest of the Pogues singing. JJ was singing.

And he knew every line. He was singing it like a pro, taking the drops and rises of the song easily. You gaped as John B. whooped in the back. The rest of the Pogues freaked out, but it faded out as JJ sang the lyrics, keeping eye contact with you.

He sang to you, his voice rough and a little gruff, but it was your favorite sound. Your heart swelled. He was singing to you. But it didn’t last long because JJ’s eyes flicked back to the road and the song faded into another.

The the moment lingered in your mind for long after it happened. Because for the first time- even if it was for a second- that wasn’t a friend moment. The cage opened, letting you see what it was like to have JJ love you all the time.

I'm the boy that your boy hoped that you would avoid Don't waste your eyes on jealous guys, fuck that noise I know better than to call you mine

JJ lounged on the couch, a beer propped in his hand. His usually light eyes were dark as he watched you and the newest member of the group laugh. Your hand was pressed against his chest and you smiled so brightly that it blinded JJ.

Over the time of your nightly loving, JJ knew better than to call you his. And you knew better than to think he was yours. But seeing you be that flirty with someone else rubbed him the wrong way. He had gotten good at not catching feelings during the day, and not falling in love with you, but with sex and late night talks every night for at least three months came with attachment. And JJ was trying to push it away, but he studied the way your eyes danced to him and your smile brightened before turning back to the new boy.

Satisfaction sparked in JJ’s chest. Both of you knew better than to call each other theirs, but the attachment was still there. A small rope that was so fragile kept you connected. It was small, but it was there. And it was growing stronger each time you two connected.

You sat next to the blonde, laughing at his jokes and smiling at his words. From the corner of his eyes, JJ saw the tall boy glare lightly. He was jealous. Little did he know that you moaned JJ’s name every night. JJ took another swig of his drink, watching you intently. He was going to make sure that you didn’t worry about any body else beside him tonight. He would make sure you weren’t thinking of the wrong boy.

Even though that boy had his claim on you. And he had it two weeks ago. But JJ never stopped showing at your door and you never stopped letting him in. It was a natural, habitual thing. It would be foreign to stop. Even if you had a boy, and had him for a month. But the month with him was nothing compared to the few with JJ.

And that night, JJ made you forget. Like he always did. But now, he made you forget the name of the boy in the back of your mind. He kept going until you could barely form a thought and you were shaking.

I like to push my luck So take my hand, let's take a drive

JJ leaned over, whispering in your ear, his breath tickling your skin. He’d never done this. Never got this close. Not during the day. Not with your boy around. But he wasn’t, and neither was anyone else. You were alone. During the day, so you stayed friends and a normal distance apart, but JJ was breaking the rule he created.

Your lips parted as he suggested a drive and kissed your neck, lips hot against your cool skin. You gasped lightly as the boy curled his hands around you, nose pressed against the hollow of your neck. You shivered lightly, and agreed.

And soon you were driving. And sooner than that, you were loving during the day. His fingers dancing across your skin, lighting you up like no body else. His fingers touched and hit spots your boy could never. His skin slid against your sweaty skin. He made you scream his name, the sound quieted as he held his ring clad hand over your mouth as he pounded into you. But you back arched and he grunted in you ear.

And as you neared you high you understood. This was a goodbye. He would never break the rule. Or love you during the day. This beautiful connection of souls was a goodbye. A farewell to the months of pleasure and late night loving.

You stopped, laying next to each other, bodies sweating and aching for air. And before regaining your friendship status, you leaned over and whispered in his ear, your own breath curling into his ear and tickling him. His blue eyes crinkled a he smiled, and returned the words.

It was your first time in the day, but your last time. Both of you said silent goodbyes to your late night loving.

I know better I know better I know better than to ever call you mine

You were curled in your boys arms, head resting on his chest. His arms were loose around you, but his chin rested on you head and his fingers drew lazy circles on the small of your back. You shivered at the feeling, but it brought a memory back.

The memory of a certain blonde’s fingers doing the same exact thing. Your eyes roamed the room, passing over everyone until they landed on who you were looking for. The blue eyes seemed to understand as they locked with yours.

You seemed to remember the same exact moment that started your two am love.

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segafan37 · 3 years

Text

Shadamy Snippets: Pain, Pain, Go Away

[Amy's POV]

Wet. Cold. I'm wet and cold.

My teeth chattered, and my body shook from the freezing temperatures that seemed to only surround me. Despite my body's protests, I quickened my pace. The ominous sound of heel meeting tile echoed behind me, but I shook the fear away and kept moving.

I can't look back. I can't face it now. My only mission was to get to warmth... And far. Away. From her.

I slammed the door unintentionally, but I didn't care much. Leaning my back against the door, I sighed a breath of relief.

"What a day." I moaned.

I dully looked about my apartment, then eyed my reflection being displayed from the mirror at the end of the hall. My hair, clothes, face, and body were drenched. My schoolbag, which I just registered was being smothered under my grip, was just as wet. I relaxed my hand and took a peek inside it. Thankfully, its contents were dry.

I sighed, with another moan.

"I am never going to listen to the morning forecast, again!"

I slouched to the floor as the events leading up to my unfortunate state kept playing over and over in my mind.

~ FLASHBACK ~

After chatting it up with Shadow, I had decided to take the bus home. A light rain had begun to fall when I had entered the bus. I didn't think much of it though. I just took a seat next to a window and watched the rain descend.

As I sat further into my seat, a foul smell reached my nose. My face turned up, and I quickly covered it, not at all being discreet. I tried to search for the source of the stench and soon realized it was coming from the purple fabric that covered my chair!

I turned in my seat to study the fabric closer and saw a large outline of an old stain. I cringed. I had a good sniffer and accidentally got a whiff of it too.

It smelled like a mixture of rotten tuna fish and BO. EW!! I was horrified. More trauma occurred when I realized the ends of my hair had just rested on that spot.

Quickly, I collected my belongings and went to take a seat on the other side of the bus. I wrapped my hair up into a tight bun and gazed at my old seat. I shuddered in disgust.

I can't wait to get my own vehicle!

The rain turned into a heavy downpour, as I settled into my new quarters. My stop was three blocks away from my apartment. I had no umbrella or jacket, and I knew if I didn't hustle, I would be soaked to the bone. Once the bus came to my stop, I moved as fast as my legs would allow, but it wasn't enough to prevent my current state.

Since our elevator stopped working, I had to use the stairwell and walk up the many flights to my apartment floor. I shivered and grumbled all the way there, only stopping to give a gloomy "Hey" or an occasional "Hi" to passersbys.

My attitude quickly changed when I felt her presence. I kept myself at a steady pace, not daring to look down at the person a few flights behind me.

I could feel her eyes piercing into me and sending all kinds of negative emotions. I was relieved when I reached my floor and my apartment, which laid at the end of the hall. When I was just entering my home, I could hear the stairwell door opening.

~ END OF FLASHBACK ~

"Well, at least she can't hurt me in here." I resolved.

Wow. That was pathetic, but I didn't care. It was the only thing that was keeping me happy.

I clenched my teeth, trying to control my chattering. I still hadn't gotten warm yet. I wondered what would be the fastest way for me to get warm. I hugged myself and looked about my home as if the answer was hidden amongst my belongings.

Maybe I should make some tea and stand by the fireplace? On second thought, a mocha sounds better! But hot chocolate is faster... Or perhaps I should take a shower?

A faint sound of a door slamming a few apartments down came to my ears. From where I crouched, I could hear yelling. It was hard to make out, but I could just interpret some of their conversation.

"That's it! I want that woman out of this apartment!"

"Martha, what's wrong!?"

"I've had it with her, John! I'm calling Jasmine. She needs to go!"

I leaned the back of my head against my door and groaned, gazing up at the ceiling.

Seriously! Now, she's trying to get her cousin to throw me out!? How could she do this to me! Wasn't her tongue lashing enough!?

I closed my eyes, as the balls of my fists tightened. I wanted a memory wipe; to forget everything that had happened, but I couldn't stop thinking about that horrible woman!

I sighed. How could a day so good, turn so wrong!?

An unpleasant smell reached my nose, and I realized that it was coming from me.

Yeah, I'll go for the shower.

With a huff, I slipped off my boots and socks, leaving them at the entrance with my schoolbag, and headed towards my bedroom.

Water dripped off my face and clothes, as I stumbled through my bedroom door. My once tight bun was now lop-sided and unraveling, and a mixture of rain, sweat, and stinky feet fumed from my body. I was a complete mess! I moaned again.

My conscious noted that I was doing a lot of that lately, to which I replied with an eye roll and another moan.

Do you really think that doing that will help you? My conscious questioned. If anything, you should go talk to her and get some closure instead of moaning and -

"Fine! Alright, already!" I conceded, silencing my little voice, and walked away into my bathroom. "I'll talk with her. But later."

I turned on the shower, and heated vapors soon filled the room. Steam engulfed me, as warm droplets washed away my pain. I closed my eyes and inhaled the warm steam, as my mind slowly brought me back.

I could see myself standing on the stage greeted by a roaring applause. My friends' whoops and cheers above them all! The initial shock I had, when my friends told me of the live-stream video they did, and the crazy comments towards Sonic. There was also my chance encounter with Shadow and the lovely chat we had! He actually gave me a lot to think about...

I even had a peaceful moment on the bus listening to the rain, before I discovered the stench. A chuckle escaped my lips. That was kind of funny now that I think about it.

I opened my eyes, still daydreaming. The shower water reminded me of the raindrops that trailed down my passenger window. I could just hear them, beating against the roof of the bus.

I didn't mind the rain. Some people thought of it as a bad thing or a nuisance, but I liked it... if I didn't get caught in it.

These were good memories. The right ones to think about. Everything was perfect! Then the heavy downpour came and her along with it.

I thought of how she approached me. Her face showed nothing but self-righteousness and reproach, and her eyes were full of hatred towards me. But for what! I never did anything to her, except exist! She thinks I'm the villain in this story, but I'm not!

Our conversation was short, but her words pierced like a knife!

To think my husband and I thought you were a decent young lady! We trusted you, brought you into our home, fed you! Thinking that we were being hospitable to a sweet young lady. All the while, we were being tricked by your pretty little face!.. and sadly, your little plan worked. But we see you for who you are now... a cunning, deceitful, little temptress!

Excerpt from Shadamy fanfic “12 Years Later: A New Dawn”. YOu can read the rest of this chapter and more on Wattpad, DeviantArt, Quotev, or Webnovel.

#Shadamy #shadamy fanfic #shadamy fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #my fanfiction #Amy Rose #shadow the hedgehog #sonic couple #sonic the hedgehog #deviantart #webnovel #story snippet #Wattpad #quotev

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ilovefandoms102 · 4 years

Text

Part 14*

Summary: The Pogues go back to the Crain mansion to get the gold..what could possibly go wrong?

Taglist:

@ma10427 @lasnaro @certainstatesmantoadartisan @iamaunicorn4704 @riverdaleserpent04 @justcallmesams @sspidermanss @tangledinsparkles @jellyfishbeansontoast @hurricane-abigail @outerbongs @gviosca @eb15

Part 13 Part 15

Note: Hope you guys have enjoyed this series as much as I have writing it! It means the world to me when you guys message me about how much you like this story, I was so nervous to post it and didn’t expect to get so much positive feedback. Thank you so much to every single person who has read this!

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JJ and I headed back to the chateau, reluctantly of course. My brother decided tonight would be the night we went and retrieved the gold from the Crain mansion. He wouldn’t stop calling both JJ and I, so we had to cut our date shorter than either of us would have liked.

“What if all we find is the remains of Mr.Crain?” JJ asked, nervously biting his lip.

“Would you stop with that shit babe, Mrs. Crain did not kill her husband.” I said rolling my eyes at him.

“The only reason I’m even stepping foot near that place again is to get that gold.” JJ said.

“J, she’s not even going to know we’re there. She can’t hear or see.” I said, driving the boat to the dip by the chateau so JJ and I could drag up on the mainland.

“She’s bat shit crazy, probably has like spidey senses or some shit babe” JJ said, helping me to pull the boat up.

We walked into the chateau, my brother and Sarah sitting in the kitchen. I went into my room and changed into all black, tossing my old clothes in the hamper. I was a little chilly, so I threw on one of JJ’s sweatshirts.

“Pretty sure that’s mine” JJ said, coming in and throwing his stuff on his side of my room. He walked over closer to me, eyeing my outfit.

“Pretty sure I do the laundry around here so I have a right to wear what I want” I sassed back.

“You look hot in my clothes baby” he smiled, leaning down to kiss me. I chuckled, walking out of my room to the kitchen.

“So what’s the plan Bird?” I asked my brother.

I took out some things from around the kitchen to make stir fry. It being the cheapest thing I could buy and easy to make. I listened to John B, JJ and Sarah discussing the plan.

“We’ll have to create a pulley so that I can be lowered down to get the gold.” John B said.

“How are we supposed to get 250 pounds of gold out?” Sarah asked.

“No way should we get all of it at once” JJ said.

“Yeah, we need to just find one piece to take to someone and they can tell us how much it is. No reason to try and get it all if it’s not worth anything.” I said.

“Is it even safe to talk to anyone around here?” Sarah asked, irritating me with all her questions.

“I’m confused to why you’re still here?” I asked.

“Bubba, please” John B said, looking at me pleadingly.

“No John B, I’m not going to let some Kook tramp break your heart if this gold isn’t what everyone thinks it is.” I said, roughly placing things on the counter. I turned around to look at them. Sarah looking at the table and JJ giving me a ‘please stop’ look.

“She wants to help us, why is that not enough for you?” John B asked, he walked over to me and turned us to where our backs were facing JJ and Sarah.

“You are crazy if you think she’s not trying to set us up John Booker Routledge” I whispered.

“She’s not! I love her bubba, please just trust me. I promise you that is not her intentions.” he said.

“Birdie...” I sighed.

“Let me decide who is and isn’t good for me, please.” he said, gripping my hand.

“Alright...but I’m still kicking her ass if she fucks with you” I said, moving back to the stove to continue cooking.

“I love you” JJ said, coming up behind me and wrapping me in his arms.

“You love me because I’m feeding you Maybank,” I joked, playfully pushing him away.

I finished dinner and we sat and ate. We got the stuff we needed to take to the Crain mansion. We piled in the van, picking up Kie and Pope on the way there. I was driving with JJ in the passenger seat, he was a nervous wreck. We got to the mansion, getting the stuff together before John B stopped us all.

“I just want to say, thank you guys. It means a lot for you guys to be here.” he said looking at each of us.

“Of course” Kie said, laughing.

“Always” Pope said, doing a handshake with my brother. Sarah blushing and looking down.

“Alright are we done with the circle jerk?” JJ asked, throwing the rope over his shoulder.

“I’m only here because I feel obligated as your older sister” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Two minutes” John B huffed.

We made our way over the ledge and walked towards the middle of the yard. We started making our way towards the back side of the house when lights came on. We made a run by one of the trees and ducked under the taller bushes.

“So she has motion sensor lights” Pope said.

“Let’s throw a rock at them” JJ said, I looked over at him raising my brow.

“Are you dumb?” I asked sarcastically.

“What are we going to do about the light?” Kie asked.

“There’s and electrical box by the porch, I can just go up and turn it off” Sarah said. We all looked at her confused. “We used to come here and play hide and seek” she explained.

“No way, you’re not going up there” John B said.

“Can you chill, she’s going to the porch” I said.

“No” he said.

“Watch me” Sarah said.

“I’ll come with you” Kie said. I was glad she went because I’m sure my brother would have made me go if Kie hadn’t offered.

“Hey, be safe” John B said.

“We will” Kie said.

As they walked away I grabbed JJ’s face.

“Be safe” I said mocking JB.

“I’ll be so safe baby” he said, putting his hand on my cheek.

“Can you guys shut up” John B said irritably.

“But how will we be safe?” I asked jokingly. JJ, Pope, and I cracking up at ourselves. John B not finding it funny and heaving our stuff towards the back.

We entered the side of the house where the basement was, setting up our equipment. John B and I moving the planks where the well was while Pope and JJ set up the pulley.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked my brother.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, you just got out of the hospital. I can go down and you stay with the guys.” I said.

“Bubba, I’ll be fine” he said, now adjusting the rope and harness.

JJ, Pope, and I lowered John B down into the well.

“Please, for the love of God, don’t drop me” John B said.

“No promises” I mumbled.

We were struggling hard, trying to adjust to get a good system going. JJ slipping, the rope losing slack and causing me to fall from having to grip the rope tighter.

“JJ!”I yelled.

“I told you not to drop me!” John B yelled.

“Beggars can’t be choosers” I yelled back.

We lowered the rope more, still struggling since the rope was super thin and my brother wasn’t exactly the lightest human.

“Ok, I’m at the bottom” John B said.

“What do you see bub?” I asked.

“Is Mr. Crain down there?” JJ asked, earning a smack on the head from me.

“BUBBA PULL ME UP! JJ! POPE!” John B screamed all of the sudden.

We all jumped into action, pulling as fast as we could.

“Hold on Birdie!” I yelled.

“What’s going on John B?” Pope asked.

“Wait, wait!” John B said.

“What is it?” JJ asked.

“I found something hold on” he said.

Then, Sarah and Kie come barreling down the stairs. They looked terrified, like they had seen a ghost. Kie running to hug Pope, and Sarah coming to grab my arm, holding on to me. We heard John B talking but none of us could make out what he was saying.

“What is he saying?” Kie asked.

“We need to go!” Sarah yelled.

We all started pulling John B up, a gunshot ringing out and breaking the pulley. We all fell forward, losing the rope.

“John B climb up!” Pope yelled.

We saw Mrs. Crain with a shotgun, she rang out another shot all of us ducking. JJ grabbed me and ducked us in a corner, Pope joining us while Kie and Sarah went to the opposite of where we were. She shot the gun again, all of us darting out the door and to the van.

“She’s blind as fuck how is she wielding a shotgun?!” JJ shouted, tugging on my hand as we ran.

“That bitch can’t aim that’s for sure.” I said, laughing.

JJ jumped into the drivers seat with me being the passenger this time. The rest of the crew following behind, throwing themselves in the van. JJ took off, all of us looking behind for my brother. And sure, enough he comes running, throwing himself in.

“What the hell just happened?” Sarah asked.

“Why are we always getting shot at?!” Pope asked, throwing his arms out.

“JB you smell like straight up asshole” I said, scrunching my nose up.

“I did it” he said, holding up a gold bar.

“No fucking way!” I shouted.

“You did not!” JJ said, looking back at John B.

“Oh my God guys, we’re gonna be rich!” Kie exclaimed.

“Full Kook!” Pope yelled.

We whooped and hollered the whole way down the road back to the chateau. JJ grabbed my hand and kissed it, his excitement warming my heart. We got back in one piece, Sarah cleaning the van where John B was. I took the liberty of hosing him.

“You got me messed up if you think you’re about to take one step in my house.” I said, forcing him to stand by the hose.

“Bubs come on” John B sighed.

I sprayed him thoroughly, JJ bringing him a towel. He stripped down to his underwear, tying the towel by his waste and threw me his wet clothes. I hung them on the porch before walking back inside. I closed the door in my room before looking back at JJ. He smiled so wide before running at me to pick me up and spun me around. I squealed, hugging him tight, and throwing my legs around his waist.

“We’re gonna be rich baby” JJ said, looking up at me.

“It’s all real now J, I can’t believe we actually have it” I said, leaning my forehead against his. He fell back on the bed with me on top of him.

“I’m building us a big ass house, right on the beach.” JJ said, running his fingertips up and down my arms.

“My only request is that we also have a huge pool, and a hot tub” I said, smiling down at him.

“I’ll get you whatever you want baby” he said, sitting up to kiss me.

I smiled into his kiss, putting both my hands on his cheeks. His hands going underneath my shirt. I shuddered at the contrast of his warm hands and his cold rings. He began to kiss down my neck, I tilted my head back to give him more space.

“And you know the first thing we’re going to do after I build our house sweets?” he asked, his breath hitting my neck.

“What’s that my love?” I panted, threading my fingers in his hair.

“I’m gonna fuck you on every surface of that house” he growled, biting my neck and sucking at the spot. I gasped, moaning into his ear.

“Properly christening it yeah?” I asked, pulling his head back so I could give him the same treatment.

I bit my mark into his neck, licking up his neck. He grasped at my hips and flipped us over. We tore our clothes off, JJ rolling on a condom before thrusting hard inside me. I moaned loudly, throwing a hand over my mouth when I remembered my brother and Sarah were still here.

“Shhh baby” JJ laughed, leaning down to cover his mouth with mine.

JJ moved at a steady pace at first, thrusting in and out. I moved my legs higher on his waist, getting him to hit that special spot. I threw my head back, dragging my nails down his back. He moaned in my mouth, causing him to thrust faster.

“JJ, baby, please, I need to cum” I pleaded.

JJ obliged, flipping me over on my stomach. Hoisting me up so I was on all fours, he grabbed my hips and started pounding into me. I yelped, throwing my head down to bite at the sheets. He reached under to rub at my clit, I could feel my orgasm coming.

“JJ” I whimpered.

JJ grabbed my hair, pulling my head back to kiss me before starting to pound harder inside me. Silent screams escaped as my mouth hung open and no sounds came out. I screamed his name into my sheets as I collapsed on my bed, JJ being the only thing holding me up. I came hard, feeling JJ growing twitchy before he slammed inside me and stilled.

We went in the bathroom to shower, JJ sitting on the counter afterwords while I did my night routine. We went back into my room, collapsing on the bed. I laid on my back, JJ putting his head on my chest and snuggling into me.

“I love you baby” he mumbled sleepily.

“I love you honey bear” I whispered.

We both fell into a peaceful sleep huddled in each others arms.

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littlemessyjessi · 3 years

Text

Torn: Remus Lupin Story: PS OC: Chapter One: Sordid Sorting

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Remus Lupin Imagine Turned Story

Re-Written and Edit of an old story of mine I had on Mibba that deserved some more love and attention, lol.

Remus Lupin x Vega Black (OC, OFC, PLUS SIZE OC, PLUS SIZE OFC)

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“Yet when books have been read and reread, it boils down to the horse, his human companion, and what goes on between them.” ― Walter Farley

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This Chapter’s Song: “River” - Leon Bridges

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Vega was eleven when she first met Remus.

She incredibly nervous at the time seeing as how it was her very first year at Hogwarts.

Her aunt and uncle had heavily warned her about getting into any house other than Slytherin....as if she had some kind of control over that kind of thing.

Sirius, her older cousin, who was more like a brother to be honest, had simply wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"It'll be fine, V. I swear it. No matter what house you get in. It'll be fine. Maybe you'll even be a Gryffindor, like me." he had told her with that infamous smirk of his.

Twelve years old and full of pride over his house.

But Vega was not convinced.

She'd been home when they'd received the news of which house Sirius had been placed in....and well, it hadn't been good.

She remembered very clearly that she'd grabbed Regulus and they'd ran off to hide until the storm blew over.

If you were present when Orion or Walburga Black were angry....well, you'd likely become a target.

After her parents had died when she was seven, she’d been placed in the care of her closest relatives and that happened to be her Uncle Orion and his family.

She’d left behind her beloved country roads and enchanting woods of Tennessee in America and was relocated in London.

She was expected to go to Hogwarts rather than Ilvermorny.

She was expected to be a respectable pureblood and get sorted into the only reasonable house.

Needless to say, she was terrified.

At that particular moment in time, they were racing down the tracks on the Hogwarts express.

To calm her nerves, Sirius had offered to have her sit with him and his friends in their compartment.

She was first introduced to James.

A boy with impossibly messy black hair, glasses and a permanent smirk...almost identical to her brothers.

Next was a small boy named Peter with impossibly blue eyes that were a tad unsettling to her just due to the nature of how piercing they were.

He looked friendly enough and if Sirius liked him she was sure she would too.

Lastly, was Remus.

Oh, Remus.

He was tall and lanky with very pale skin and light brown hair.

Vega could distinctly see a few scars across his face and on his hands but due to his clothes all else was hidden.

But he had the most beautiful green eyes but curiously enough there seemed to be a very faint golden brown ring around them.

She wouldn't have noticed had she not been so taken with him.

He was much quieter than the others but still quite nice.

Remus John Lupin.

Her very first crush.

Remus would've died from mortification at that time if anyone knew but....he found her quite pretty.

She was a year younger, yes.

And she was also Sirius little cousin, this was true.

One that he’d spent the better part of last year talking about to his new friends.

“Oh, you’ll love Vega, mates.” he could remember him telling them. “She’s a little shy at first but she’s actually from America. A cowgirl.”

Remus doubted if she was actually a cowgirl since Sirius had a way of being dramatic.

But she was so pretty.

She and Sirius resembled each other a lot with their thick black hair and big striking grey eyes but her features were softer than his.

She was much quieter with Sirius, although not impolite.

Sirius, whether he liked to admit it or not, had had the same good etiquette beat into him that she had and it often gave him a sort of casual elegance.

Little Vega sat stiff backed, mouth shut and eyes trained determined on her book.

She found reading to be easier.

She could focus on the words there and not on what she might say wrong that could potentially anger her parents.

Books were just by far much easier.

This intrigued Remus.

He had asked her so softly.

"What are you reading?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice, even as soft as it had been.

"Oh, um, it's-uh." she stammered.

"Oh that's The Black Stallion." he smiled. "It's a great book. My mum read it to me when I was little. It's a great muggle book."

Fear struck through her.

"Oh, I- please don't tell Aunt Walburga. I just- It looked so interesting and I wanted to know about the horse." Vega rambled as tears filled her grey eyes.

Sirius gave a hard forced smile to his friends before he grabbed his cousin and yanked her out of the compartment.

"Vega! Calm down! Bloody hell!" he snapped.

Tears were spilling, "I'm sorry, Sirius! I'm sorry! I didn't meant to get you in trouble with your friends! Now, Aunt and Uncle will be furious! I'm sorry!"

Sirius placed his hands on the side of her face.

"Vega, V, look at me. Look. at. me." he said holding her in place and willing her big, frightened eyes to focus on him. "It's fine. No one will tell mum and dad. These are my friends. Remus was just making conversation. His mother is actually a muggle."

He added the last bit with a little smile towards her.

She'd been so frightened.

She sniffled before she hugged her book closer to her for a moment.

"Come on. Come back inside." he said trying to lighten the mood.

She shook her head sending the black tendrils everywhere.

"No." she said. "Those are your friends. I...I'll go sit with someone else."

"V, come on." he said.

But she'd already whipped around and was dashing away.

Sirius shook his head as he entered the compartment.

"I'm sorry, Sirius. Really, I didn't mean to upset her. I didn't think-" Remus began his apology.

Sirius waved him off, "It's fine, mate. V's just....she's a little skiddish is all. Our family can be a bit much sometimes. She just doesn't want to get in trouble."

There was a collective nod around the room.

It wasn't a huge secret that Sirius didn't have the greatest home life...but he was good at hiding it.

Seeing Vega be absolutely petrified by pure conversation....made it all too real for the twelve year olds in the compartment.

The four of them played cards for a bit longer until they train stopped and everyone filed off.

Remus caught glimpse of the silky, black hair glinting in the night and those two big grey orbs that looked like moons themselves.

They landed on him and he could even see her flush red...even in this poor lighting.

He smiled at her kindly and gave a little wave to which she returned...hesitantly before she was bustled along into the boat with the other first years.

He joined his friends and soon they were seated at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall listening to Dumbledore and waiting for the Sorting ceremony to begin.

Vega almost hid behind some of the first year boys as she entered the Great Hall and her cousin Narcissa smacked into her pushing her way to the front.

She’d willingly let her take the spotlight and hide amongst the others but it wasn't for long before someone spotted her and the whispered began.

"It's the Black girl!"

"That's Sirius' little sister!"

“No that’s his cousin! The one who’s parents were killed!”

"Bet she'll get into Slytherin!"

"Maybe Gryffindor!"

"I bet she's evil!"

"She looks just like him!"

“Did you hear about her father being a-”

She shook her head to try and drown them out and before she knew it...

"Vega Equuleus Black." came the crisp words from the professor.

She gulped and took careful steps up to the stool before carefully settling down on it.

The giant hat was placed upon her head and...

"RAVENCLAW!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Big, grey eyes snapped open in fear and shock.

She could distinctly see Sirius and his friends whooping and hollering on her behalf while her cousins at the Slytherin table looked less than pleased.

If she hadn't been in front of all those people....she would've cried.

Because she knew.

She knew that when Orion and Walburga found out....and she went home for holiday....there would be no escaping it.

They would be angry and she WOULD be punished.

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Chapter Two

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Hello my lovelies! Here is another rewrite of a previous work of mine that I had on Mibba! I did a bit of reworking on the character, her name and her backstory because I just felt like she deserved more! I would love to know what you think of little Vega!

So please comment, reblog with thoughts and/or smash the ask box! I do so love hearing from you my loves!

Love,

Kenny

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Love, Kenny

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#remus lupin #remus john lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin story #remus lupin x plus size #remus lupin x ps #remus lupin x vega black #vega black #vega equuleus black #sirius black cousin #marauders #maruader era #young remus lupin #ps oc #plus size oc #ps ofc #plus size ofc

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simonrriley · 3 years

Text

gay bus as incorrect quotes

author’s note: referring to myself in the third person hurt me but im lazy i stole half of these from an old post of mine and the other half from incorrect quote accounts whoops also! gay bus the name of the group of me, @and-shes-calling-a-cab (beef), @lxwkey-as-hell (emerson) and @trans-witch-cauldron (knife) tags: @luv-ya-hun, @and-shes-calling-a-cab, @lxwkey-as-hell, @piper-koko-barnes-rogers, @trans-witch-cauldron, @thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit, @acesayshi

beef: what are you doing in the furnace? emerson: yummy - beef: hey guys this door just opens beef: nevermind remi is in the way - emerson: door stuck emerson: why is door stuck - beef, quietly: oh we need the hatchet to break down the tree remi, louder: we need the hatchet to break down the tree beef: oh that was your own idea? that’s crazy - beef, reading a comment: tell remi to say minecon in a funny voice remi: MiNECoNNN beef: that was…not funny - remi: iM gONNa rEpaIR mY WEApOn emerson: you said that…remember that in the future - beef: yo we gotta cast some iron and such emerson: that’s fire bro beef: well, it will be fire once we have fire - remi: i wanna connect knuckle with face so bad beef: connect four with ugandan knuckles - beef: falls and lands on him remi: get off get off get off get off sweaty tryhard sweaty tryhard sweaty tryhard beef: wheeze - emerson as dumb shit happens in the background: you guys need to figure it out i actually have to go fuckin lay down right i don’t know if i can psychically fucking sit here- - beef: you guys are making a soup right now and it’s a really bad tasting souuuup - remi: bruh bruh bruuuuh bruuuuuuh bruuuuuuuuuuuuh beef: stop revving your motor dude remi: burger king - remi: the ghost, the ghost, the ghostbusters remi: only have one number in my phone and it is the ghostbusters emerson: what’s their number? remi: 3 - remi, as they get onto an elevator: 100% of elevator related deaths happen on the elevator - remi: what's wrong beef? beef: i cant change the fuckin language back remi: what language is it in? beef: its BAVARIAN - emerson: donate 100 dollars ill kill thomas, thats not me killing him thats the water - remi: just click the one that says english beef: i did! and it crashes :( - emerson: why is remi on the roof beef: he likes to be tall - remi: I just want to be with emerson 23/7 beef: Why not 24? remi: Snack breaks - beef: I’ll tell you the one thing that always lasts forever emerson: Friendship? remi: Herpes - knife: Why aren’t there friend pick up lines? Like pick up lines to make friends? emerson: Hey that’s a cute outfit. You know where it would look better? On nobody else because you’re a beautiful individual! :) remi: Be my friend or I’ll set your entire family on fire. - remi: Holy shit, is that a fucking gremlin? emerson: ...Honey, that’s thomas remi: ...Whatever. Nobody feed that thing after midnight. - beef: The suspense is killing me! emerson: Good. Die. - knife: Why’s remi crying omg the floor? beef: He’s drunk knife: And? beef: He saw a picture of emerson's husband knife: ...But he’s emerson's husband beef: I fucking know - beef: with heart shaped sunglasses on what up losers remi: I love the elton john cosplay beef: peace sign - knife: excuse me remi when exactly did you lose your soul remi: um summer camp - remi: do you think I'm smart beef: oh that's what we're gonna do today we're gonna fight - remi: are you sober knife: no aquarius - all of us: it’s fricken bats. i love halloween - remi: i’m washing me and my clothes, bitch beef: he drunk as fuck remi: i’m washing me and my clothes - emerson: I'm at a loss of words beef: despite emerson being at a "loss of words" he still managed to scream at me for thirty minutes - knife: I'm the baddest bitch here remi: SPIDER!! knife: jumping 10 feet in the air where?! - knife: eats a berry beef: DUDE SPIT THAT OUT ITS POISONOUS knife: death is a construct man - remi: no one loves me beef: love you rem remi: shut up - remi n knife: sometimes I like to lay on the floor and pretend I'm a lizard. - beef: I'm gonna eat some sonic. you want some? emerson: what? no! you know hes not real beef: I meant the fast food place - remi: here is my list of people I would take a bullet for beef: well who's on it remi: josh katz beef: and? remi: oh that's it, it just has his name written forty three times - remi: would you guys still be my friend if I was a worm emerson: yes remi I would take you in my pocket to discover the world beef: I would feed you to the birds - remi: one of these days I'm just gonna say 'fuck it' and. knife: and what? remi: I actually havent got that far yet but maybe a shower, I dont know. - beef, annoyed: I think I’d make a good joyfriend knife, angry: You’d make a GREAT joyfriend! beef, angry: Yeah? Well I think whoever ends up with you is going to be damn lucky! knife: Yeah? Well not as lucky as whoever ends up with you! emerson: What am I looking at? remi, bored: They’re angry flirting again - beef, glancing in the trash: remington! I thought you only brought the energy drink pack this morning? remi, on the couch vibrating through dimensions looking one sip of coffee away from a stroke: I did - remi: you’d do anything for me right? emerson: yeah...? what do you need remi: please say mother emerson: ? remi: please emerson, sighing: mother- remi and beef: MARYYY IVE BEEN BAADDDDD - remi: why dose it look like you just got up like twenty minutes ago? beef: because I did - remi: if I die I'm gonna have special instructions for my body to be delivered to your house emerson: if?

#incorrect quotes #gay bus #my homies #long post

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Night At The Opera

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Friendship Characters: Scott, Penelope, Parker, Tracy Family

So this one took forever and is my longest single contribution to @gumnut-logic‘s irrelief so far (’Toffee’ will end up longer but that’s a multichap and this is not). We’re using @darkestwolfx‘s prompt “Any characters (but maybe including Scott) – going to the opera” this time, although there’s not much opera actually in this, whoops.

Thanks to Nutty for helping me out with things to see in Sydney - any errors are my own lack of research, laziness, and the excuse “it’s 40 years in the future, things might have changed” - and how timezones work. I also seem to have transplanted TOS!Penelope’s personality into her TAG counterpart because it fit better, oops.

Surely an invitation to the opera was better suited for Virgil? Or one of his other brothers? No? Okay, then. Wait, what do you mean he had to wear a suit?

Despite reassurances to the contrary, Scott was still fairly sure there’d been a mistake. The invitation may have come from one Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, a woman who most certainly did not make mistakes, but why a ticket to the opera would come for him rather than, say, Virgil – or even Gordon, if he was reading the air between the pair of them correctly – was utterly beyond him. Hell, it was the sort of thing he’d expect her to drag John to, for a bit of social time with no requirement to talk. An opera theatre was not exactly where you’d expect to find Scott Tracy.

An air show was more his speed, preferably as one of the performers. Not sitting in a secluded box for people of importance and expected to sit still and quietly for several hours. In a suit.

“Scott, are you ready?” Grandma rapped on his bedroom door loudly and he jumped, almost dropping the tie he was fidgeting with. “Lady Penelope’s almost here!”

He was almost ready. A crisp sharp grey suit had been dredged out of the dark part of his wardrobe – the area where clothes he disliked hid away, and all suits registered highly on the ‘disliked’ list – and pulled on with extreme reluctance. Cufflinks, silver with diamond studs and in the shape of small planes, had been begrudgingly pulled out of hiding, and additional gel had been called upon to slick his hair back entirely, rather than its usual half wind-swept style.

It all felt stifling, and once the tie went around his neck it would all be complete. The man looking back at him in the mirror was stiff, and it was only years of scoldings from Grandma that stopped him scuffing his shiny shoes on the floor, just to break the perfect gentleman look. Scott was a perfect gentleman, thank you very much. He didn’t need to dress up all fancy for that.

But Lady Penelope had insisted, and when Lady Creighton-Ward insisted, there was very little anyone could do to stop her. Just ask John.

His door hissed open, and he jumped as his grandmother entered the room, her eyes raking him up and down.

“Grandma!” he yelped, scurrying back a step or two and tugging at his jacket sleeves again, just to make sure they were absolutely perfect. The big Three-Oh might be looming in his not too distant future, and he might be the interim commander of International Rescue, but his grandmother could always reduce him to feeling like a child with his hand in the cookie jar with nothing more than a simple look. “What if I was still getting changed?”

She shrugged at him, unconcerned. “I used to change your diapers, kid. It’s nothing new.” She’d also dragged him, battered and bleeding and barely conscious, out of his uniform less than a week prior. He still had the stitches and bandages from the worst wounds, carefully hidden beneath the suit.

Neither of them mentioned that one.

“But I’d say it’s a good thing I came in,” she continued, striding forwards and plucking the tie out of his hands. “You can’t wear this one.” This one was a simple navy tie, plain and unassuming, and therefore Scott’s favourite – if he had a favourite tie. He didn’t. “Honestly, child, you know the man should complement the Lady’s attire.”

She rummaged through his collection, and years of experience led him to back off and just let her do what she wanted. When Grandma got an idea into her head, there was little chance of dissuading her.

“I’m not going as her date,” he protested, though, just to make it clear. As a friend, perhaps, work colleague at worst, but he’d seen the aftermath of Gordon’s jealousy after the charity auction and had no desire to be on the receiving end of it himself. Teasing younger brothers was all well and good until they retaliated with goop and other questionable substances at inopportune moments. John avoided the worst of it by virtue of being on Thunderbird Five, and not even Gordon was willing to ruin his entire rare stays Earthside. As a permanent resident of Tracy Island, Scott had no such escape, and he was fairly sure being the eldest brother meant anything went in their resident prankster’s eyes.

“You’re escorting her, and no grandson of mine will be embarrassing us or her by wearing the wrong colour tie,” Grandma rebuked, finally pulling out a light blue tie and approaching him with it. The height difference was no obstacle to the formidable woman as she slipped it around his neck and tied it with a flourish into a Windsor. “There.” She patted his jacket lapels down before stepping back.

“Lady Penelope’s here,” Virgil said, poking his head in through the door. “Gordon’s drooling worse than Sherbet, just so you know.”

A not insignificant part of Scott had hoped his brothers would be out on a mission when his ‘h’escort’ arrived. The raised eyebrow from Virgil and betrayed pout of Gordon had been bad enough when the tickets had arrived the previous day, and had only increased when Scott had immediately contacted their London Agent to point out the mistake, to be told there was no mistake, Scott, and we’ll be collecting you at four pm tomorrow.

For once, the world was silent, and all four brothers were there, if one holographically, to observe as he somewhat stiffly made his way into the den, where Lady Penelope was waiting in a stunning pale blue evening dress – the exact same colour as his tie; clearly someone had been co-ordinating behind the scenes, and that someone was probably Grandma – and a matching bouquet of lace and faux flowers atop her head that Scott didn’t think deserved the name of ‘hat’, but women’s fashion had never been his strong point.

Gordon was, as Virgil had said, almost entirely oblivious to anything in the room except the blonde woman, although sadly not oblivious enough to miss Scott’s matching tie. Amber eyes narrowed at him and Scott offered them an apologetic smile.

“Scott!” Perfectly manicured fingers caught his arm, Lady Penelope gracefully linking their arms together in a way that made it look like he was in control. It was an illusion – he wasn’t. Gordon’s eyes narrowed further, and Scott made a mental note to attempt to talk him down from whatever revenge he was no doubt plotting as soon as he got back. “You look amazing, dear,” she continued. ��Boys, I’ll be borrowing your brother for the evening.”

“By all means.” Virgil was grinning broadly. “You two have fun.”

“Oh, we plan to, Virgil,” Lady Penelope reassured him. “Don’t wait up for him; I’ll bring him back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Scott hadn’t heard that before, and from the strangled noise Gordon made, he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been told that little detail. “But…”

“The performance doesn’t finish until midnight,” Lady Penelope informed him. “I’ve made all the arrangements for the overnight stay, and we’ll have you back here by this time tomorrow.”

“But-”

“No buts, young man,” Grandma cut in, her hand coming to his elbow. Between them, the two women started to steer him down towards the hangar, where Parker and FAB1 were no doubt waiting. “Go and enjoy your downtime.”

Downtime. The thing he’d been on since that mission. That thing he would still be on until Grandma and Virgil decided the stitches could be removed and that he was ready for duty again. Suddenly things started slotting into place.

“See you tomorrow, Scott!” Alan called cheerfully, echoed by Virgil. Gordon made a noise that sounded more like a grunt than words, and Scott decided the best thing to do would be to ignore it as he was led downstairs.

“h’All the bags are packed, M’Lady,” Parker greeted them as he held the door open. Sherbet yipped at them from the back seat. “Shut up, you.” Manners drilled into him by his grandmother indicated that Scott should assist Lady Penelope into the car first, but before he could even make a move, she was slipping off of his arm and sidling all the way across the back seat, scooping Sherbet up in the same fluid movement. “h’After you, Mister Scott, sir.”

With a nod to Parker, and stooping just enough for Grandma to kiss his cheek lightly in farewell, he folded himself into the remaining seat and pulled his seatbelt on.

FAB1 was not a usual Tracy ride. Scott wasn’t familiar with the car like he was their fleet of transportation – both Thunderbirds and regular craft – and had rarely had the opportunity to travel in the pink Rolls-Royce. Much of that was down to his preference to pilot himself places, rather than be a passenger, and being trapped in a suit normally didn’t stop him firmly placing himself in the pilot’s seat of whatever plane was being used.

Grounded for injury as he was, however, the option of piloting had been forcibly removed by the family medics, leaving him with no choice but to recline in the back seat as Lady Penelope gave the order for them to leave the island. Palm trees didn’t show the car the same respect as Thunderbird Two, and stayed rigidly upright as they passed between them, FAB1’s flight mode engaging with plenty of time to spare before they ran out of runway.

The car was, for obvious reasons, not as fast as his usual rides. Even the regular aircraft they kept for official non-IR business went faster than Parker was currently going, and Scott quickly found the expanse of water passing below them monotonous. No doubt Gordon would find it fascinating, if he could tear his eyes away from Lady Penelope, but Gordon wasn’t here and water wasn’t Scott’s preferred view.

“Are you sure you didn’t mean Virgil or Gordon?” he asked, glancing over at the woman beside him.

“Quite sure,” she confirmed. Sherbet let out another yip and jumped onto his lap, demanding to be petted. Scott acquiesced, running a hand over short coarse fur to the pug’s obvious pleasure. “I’m aware that the opera house is not your usual preference, but your family agreed that a change of scene would be good for you.”

“Even Gordon?” he asked, and was surprised to see a hint of colour in her cheeks.

“Gordon was not involved in the discussion,” she admitted. “It was mainly your Grandmother and John, although I believe Virgil also had some input.”

Why did that not surprise Scott in the slightest?

“Of course it was,” he sighed.

“How are your injuries?” she inquired, and he winced.

“Healing,” he evaded. She didn’t press further, not that she needed to. No doubt Grandma had filled her in on exactly what injuries he had and therefore situations to avoid until they were healed. As it happened, sitting down for extended periods of time was one of the few things he could do under her instruction. No doubt the opera would fit the bill precisely.

Small talk was not Scott’s preference, but Lady Penelope was a master of the art. Coaxed into discussions about his brothers and the newest GDF fliers, the journey to Sydney passed quickly. The fact that it was four pm when they arrived might have thrown Scott at one point, but jetting all over the world daily had long since dulled him to timezone changes and, thankfully, jet lag.

“I’ve secured reservations for dinner in our hotel,” Lady Penelope informed him as FAB1 gently set down on tarmac and folded in her wings, returning to the usual form of a regular, if expensive car. “The performance begins at nine, but the doors open at seven thirty.”

“You really have this all planned out, don’t you?” he asked, thoroughly unsurprised. She smiled and gestured towards the opera house, now visible as they headed towards it.

“’Ere we are, M’Lady, Mr Scott,” Parker said, pulling FAB1 to a gentle stop outside a hotel. It was suitably lavish for Lady Penelope’s accommodations, no doubt five star with a three star restaurant nestled inside. Diamond-studded cufflinks fit right in, and Scott viewed it with some trepidation as Parker opened the door for him. Cars were not designed for long-legged Tracys to be in for any length of time – one of the many reasons Scott adored Thunderbird One was her unlimited legroom on longer flights – and it took him a moment to straighten fully, by which time Lady Penelope had materialised on his arm.

“Shall we?” He sent a glance back at where Parker was opening FAB1’s deceptively large boot to reveal their overnight bags. “Parker will take care of the bags, Scott,” Lady Penelope assured him, and without waiting for a reply began to steer him into the building.

The interior matched the exterior, marking this as a hotel clearly aimed at the upper class upon their visits to the Opera House. Holograms gave him a changing view of the Opera House itself through the years, its iconic silhouette particularly striking in dusk views in Scott’s opinion. Undeterred by the lavish interior, Lady Penelope whisked him through to the desk, where Parker had already materialised, bags in tow, to claim both room keys.

It was easy to forget, with Parker’s h’attitude and ‘misspent youth’, that he was perfectly competent in his primary role as butler and chauffeur to the Creighton-Ward estate. Watching him in what should be an arena far outside his status – one that felt far outside Scott’s, despite the fact that he was, in fact, a multi-billionaire – never ceased to amaze Scott, who was content to let the Brits whisk him through the foyer, through some glass elevators and into a large suite with too many chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Through one open room he caught sight of a king sized bed.

Lady Penelope didn’t bother asking him if it was good enough for him – she had, once upon a time, but Scott was fairly sure she’d got fed up of being told the various rooms she found for them were excessive and now just swept them up in the extravagance and expected them to appreciate it, or at least have the good grace not to comment unprompted. Scott had learnt that lesson, too.

Still the suite was a far cry from sharing a bedroom with two brothers in a small house in Kansas, and while Scott was getting used to being dragged to such places, he still preferred to stay more down to earth. Not having to share with a brother was enough for him (sure, he loved his brothers, but personal space was nice, too).

He was abandoned with his luggage – luggage he had not packed, so he had no idea what was in it and prayed that the person responsible had packed something comfortable and not just another suit – while Parker showed Lady Penelope to her own quarters next door. Parker had told him not to touch his luggage and that he would be back soon to unpack for him, but Scott had never had a butler and no intentions of starting now.

His stitches pulled worryingly as he picked the case up and he froze. Tearing stitches and bleeding through bandages was always a nuisance, but in the stuffy suit he’d been coerced into, it would be an utter nightmare.

“h’I told you not to, Mr Scott.” Suddenly Parker was there, whisking the case out of his grip and making a beeline for the bedroom. “Your gran would ‘ave my ‘ead h’if you tore your stitches ‘ere. M’Lady, too.” Scott winced and followed him.

“At least let me unpack my own clothes,” he said, jumping in as the case opened and Parker started to pull clothes out of it – oh joy, another suit. Why? It was only one evening!

“You ‘ave h’one ‘our h’until the restaurant reservation,” Parker informed him, subtly blocking his attempts to get at his own clothes. “M’Lady h’expects you to take a walk h’around the garden with ‘er.” The older man had Scott hustled out of his own quarters before he even realised what was happening.

Lady Penelope emerged from her room at the same time, and Scott had known her far too long to even entertain the notion that it was coincidental. He didn’t bother to comment on it, allowing her manicured talons to curl around his bicep once more as she left her room key with Parker – who had never even let Scott touch his – and swept back towards the elevator, Tracy firmly in tow.

“The gardens are delightful at this time of year,” she informed him as though this was his first time in Sydney. Admittedly, it wasn’t a place he’d visited much, and when he had been there, the scenery was usually the last thing on his mind. “We shall visit them properly tomorrow, but a short stroll will do us both wonders after our journey.”

Not one to turn down fresh air at any point, Scott was willing to step outside the rear entrance of the hotel – just as grand as the front – onto neatly manicured lawns. Beyond them, the botanical garden loomed, with its trees in full bloom. Neither of them wore shoes designed for walking on grass – or far at all, in the case of Lady Penelope’s heels, although Scott knew she could do a lot more in them than appearances implied – so they restrained themselves to the paths.

It was certainly easier terrain than Tracy Island boasted. The rocky, volcanic island had been chosen precisely for being remote and inhospitable, allowing them to train in secrecy, but it lent itself less well to the walking injured. Not that Scott considered himself walking wounded, but Grandma and Virgil both did, and restricted his permitted movements accordingly. To that end, he admitted it was good to get away from the island and the worried smothering of his family for a few hours.

The company certainly didn’t hurt, either. Scott had a lot of respect for Lady Penelope, but thanks to their respective lines of work and commitment, rarely got to spend any time with her. There was also the constant worry of the paparazzi and rumours of more than just friendship flying, what with them both being filthy rich heirs and famous (even if Scott was technically not an heir anymore), but if Lady Penelope had proposed the visit, then that angle was certainly being taken care of. Kayo had been suspiciously absent over the last couple of days with no real reason given, and Scott chose to believe she was working some magic somewhere. After all, if his sister was on the case, nothing unwanted would be leaked – and even if it somehow got past her, there was John ready with a digital nuke.

He’d pulled that one before, more than once. It had proven very useful, even if its legality wasn’t even debatable and the GDF were turning an obliging blind eye to the fact that sometimes information just vanished. Or they plain hadn’t noticed; that was also possible, although Scott liked to think Colonel Casey was a little more observant than that.

Their hour in the comfortably warm Sydney sun passed quickly. Scott wasn’t the best at keeping track of time, relying on John for that when it was important, but Lady Penelope seemed to have a built-in pocket watch because they wandered into the restaurant at precisely one minute to five to be seated by a waiter in a sharp pressed suit who held out a seat for Lady Penelope and himself before Scott could even grasp the back of his own chair. Scott prided himself on his quick reflexes; serving staff were truly in a class of their own. His injuries weren’t slowing him that much, although he ruefully noticed that after an hour’s easy stroll the act of sitting down was appreciated by his body.

Maybe he did need the break from rescues, not that he’d be admitting that to anyone any time soon. Sharp blue eyes followed his every moment, but Lady Penelope had enough tact to keep her observations to herself, so Scott wasn’t unduly concerned about her.

Eating at a three star restaurant was far from Scott’s usual fare, and he left handling the waiter entirely to Lady Penelope. The idea that they’d be attending the opera later that evening didn’t phase him in the slightest as he offered them a shorter menu that would allow plenty of time for the final course to settle before they made their way towards the Opera House, and while Scott hoped that three star did not mean food arranged in an overly fancy manner but with very little actually on the plate – there was a lot of him to feed, especially in comparison to the delicate form of the Lady opposite him – he agreed with Lady Penelope’s assertion that that would be perfect, thank you.

It took some dredging up of strict lessons on dining etiquette when he was younger and Dad was making his first millions from the depths of his memory, but Scott was quite pleased with himself for not committing a faux pas during the meal. The portions had been small, as he’d feared, but still filling enough that he thought he could probably survive an evening of opera. Which, now that it had sunk in that it really was him going and not one of his brothers, didn’t seem all that terrible an idea. After all, he could appreciate good music – it was impossible to live with Virgil and not, although Alan was doing a good job at it, but that was teenagers for you – he just rarely had time to.

Time was something he had been rather forcibly given, courtesy of a rescue that had felt perfectly successful to Scott – no-one died, after all – barring an inconvenient injury that had him just coming out of forced bedrest. His family were rather unfortunately more influenced by the so-called ‘cost’ of the rescue – a fair bit of Scott’s blood, an unexpected nap for a few hours and a dozen stitches – than the success. So maybe he’d given them a fright when he’d collapsed out of his ‘bird and narrowly missed getting splattered on his own ‘bird’s hangar floor when he didn’t quite land square on the extended access ramp (apparently – he didn’t remember that bit but John was insistent), but that was nearly a week ago and he was fine now.

Well, near enough, he mentally amended as he stood up from the table and his stitches tugged threateningly again.

“Come on, dear,” Lady Penelope tutted, once more scooping his bicep into her grip and guiding him out of the room and… back upstairs? “We’re a little behind schedule, so you’ll have to get changed quickly. Parker should have your new outfit laid out for you already.”

“Get changed?” Scott looked down at his crisp suit. “Why?”

“We’re two of the richest people in Sydney right now,” she said, as though that should mean something. “Being seen in public in the same outfit twice just won’t do. Don’t worry, I’m sure Mrs Tracy has found something you’ll be comfortable in.”

Suits and comfortable were two words that did not go together, but Lady Penelope was a force to be reckoned with and subtly manhandled him into his own suite before vanishing into her own, neighbouring suite.

“There you h’are!” Parker exclaimed, ushering him forwards. To Scott’s chagrin, there was indeed another suit laid out for him. “h’I’m under h’orders from your gran to check your stitches, so h’off with those.” He gestured at the suit Scott was still wearing, and he cringed.

“Do we have to go through all this fuss, Parker?” he asked.

“h’Oh yes, Mr Scott. ‘Er Ladyship’s changing ‘er dress and h’I wouldn’t want to be the h’one to make M’Lady look bad by not wearing the right clothes, h’if you catch my drift.”

Scott did catch his drift. That didn’t mean he liked it, but both Lady Penelope and his grandmother were terrifying women when they wanted to be, and upsetting them would lead to nothing good.

There was some glee in getting rid of the tie, too, even if it was only going to be replaced by a black bow tie, by the looks of it.

According to tradition, stereotypes, and everything else, women took forever to get ready. But by the time Parker was satisfied his stitches were as they should be and got him into the new suit – a light blue waistcoat over a white shirt underneath the navy jacket, and matching trousers – Lady Penelope was waiting for him. Her dress was almost the same colour as before, but in a different cut and with a different assortment of lace and fabric perching on top of perfectly coiffed blonde curls.

“You look fantastic, dear,” she informed him as he escaped Parker and his lint brush. “Are we ready?” A matching clutch purse occupied one of her hands, but the other resumed its default position of curling around his bicep and guided him back towards the elevator.

Even amongst other ridiculously rich people in their suits, Scott felt overdressed as he pretended to escort Lady Penelope, who was very much actually escorting him, to the doorway as Parker vanished, only to reappear in FAB1 by the time they left the building. Scott had no idea how the man did it, but it was a relief to slip into the pink car and away from any watching eyes. He was conscious that he wasn’t at his best, and had no real desire to advertise to the world that the interim commander of International Rescue was injured. The suit did its job well and hid the bandaging, but Scott couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that everyone looking at him could see.

At least at the opera no-one would be looking at him.

Getting into the Opera House, however, required once again walking in front of crowds. A pink car drew attention, even in front of a spectacular building like the Sydney Opera House, and as Parker assisted first Scott, and then Lady Penelope out there was the tell-tale flash of photography. Scott hoped Kayo and John were on top of that.

“h’I shall be ‘ere when you come h’out, M’Lady, Mr Scott,” Parker said as Lady Penelope once again positioned herself on Scott’s arm.

“Thank you, Parker,” she said.

“He’s not coming in?” Scott asked, surprised, as they made their way inside. Behind them, FAB1 drove away.

“The opera isn’t Parker’s style,” she answered, flashing their tickets at the assistant, who promptly called for someone to lead them to their box. “He’ll find his own entertainment for a few hours.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know.” Scott knew a conversation end when he heard one; whatever her butler was up to, Lady Penelope knew and had no intentions of sharing. Then again, considering Parker’s so-called ‘misspent youth’, ignorance was probably a good idea. Having four younger brothers had taught Scott the value of plausible deniability long ago.

They were ushered into a small box, high above the stage, with enough room for four people to seat comfortably. Only two chairs had been set up, however, leaving Scott with the relief that he wouldn’t be sat with strangers for several hours. Lady Penelope chose her seat, sitting down elegantly and looking entirely at ease in the velvet-lined chair, with her no doubt several-thousand-pound dress (Scott had no idea if it was actually a British dress) arrayed around her without so much as a crease wrong.

In comparison, Scott felt decidedly ill at ease as he sank into the surprisingly comfortable chair in his own far too expensive suit, leaning back until he found a position where the stitches didn’t complain. The box had ample leg room even for a man over six foot in height, and Scott took full advantage of the fact that the box was almost impossible to see into, even if anyone wanted to people-watch instead of opera-watch, to stretch out his long legs.

There wasn’t even as much as a tut from his companion, and in slight surprise he looked over to her to see a smile gracing her face.

“You may as well be comfortable,” she agreed, although she remained prim in her posture.

“What about you?” he asked, and she laughed lightly.

“I’ve been taking posture lessons since before I could walk,” she reminded him. “This is perfectly comfortable for me, but thank you for your concern.” Pacified, Scott relaxed and turned his attention to the stage below them.

It was empty, the show still not due to start for another hour, according to the holographic interface on the inside of their box, ticking down the minutes until the show began. 00:59:01 ticked down to 00:59:00 and then so on, counting it down to the second.

It had been a long time since Scott had last been to the opera, or any stage performance – was it normal to have the timing of the start down to the second?

“Not everywhere,” Lady Penelope told him when he asked. “But Sydney Opera House is one of the best in the world, and when you’re the best, the timing is expected to be precise.” Scott could respect that; enough air show routines had been down to the millisecond for him to appreciate the importance. He just hadn’t expected to find it in an opera.

Lady Penelope picked up a pair of what looked like miniature binoculars and raised them to her eye delicately.

“Shall we see who’s in the crowd tonight?” she mused, training the lenses at the not-box seating below.

“Using binoculars?” Scott asked, glancing down to see many men in stuffy suits and women in fancy dresses. “Really?”

“Opera glasses, Scott, they’re called opera glasses. And of course. They have fantastic levels of magnification. Oh, that poor woman – whoever told her salmon and lemon work together like that?”

Scott blinked, lost at the sudden change in conversation.

“I thought you were supposed to put lemon on fish?” he asked, only for Lady Penelope to turn her head and stare at him for a moment, before shaking her head lightly.

“The colours, Scott, not the food. See that woman sat in the third row?”

He squinted, and she tutted before handing him the binoculars – opera glasses. Reluctantly he raised them to his eyes and peered through.

“The one dressed in pink and yellow?” he asked, finally locating someone who might have fit the vague description.

“The colours are salmon and lemon,” Lady Penelope corrected. “But yes, her. See how the lemon overpowers the salmon? It makes her complexion look quite ill. I dare say she’s wearing the wrong undertone foundation as well.”

“The wrong what?” He supposed the woman in question did look a little off colour.

“Undertone foundation,” she repeated. “The undertone of the foundation is important; using the wrong one ensures that even if you have the perfect hue, it won’t match your complexion properly.”

“If you say so,” he said dubiously, beyond relieved that Kayo barely wore any make-up to his knowledge, and didn’t expect him to know anything about it anyway. Then again, knowing Kayo her lipstick – lipgloss? Lip-thing – was probably modelled after that one Batman villain’s and was toxic.

“I do,” she said, shooting him a quick smile. “Your turn.”

“What?”

“Pick someone,” she explained, gesturing at the ever-increasing numbers finding their way to seats below. “We’re people watching.”

Scott gaped at her.

“Isn’t that supposed to be rude?” he asked, gesturing at the opera glasses they both held.

“Everyone does it.” She brushed his complaints off. “See, in the box opposite; the light just glinted off of their opera glasses.”

“But why?”

“It’s interesting,” she smiled. “And also good practice.”

Good practice for what, Scott managed to stop himself from asking, finally remembering that he was at an opera house with one of the best spies in the world. “So I just… pick someone?” he asked instead, beginning to scan the crowds with more intent.

“Anyone,” she confirmed, just as his gaze was caught by a teenage boy who clearly didn’t want to be there. He reminded Scott of Alan, for all that this teenager was a redhead and shorter than his brother. Lady Penelope laughed when he mentioned it, before finding him with her own opera glasses and agreeing.

People watching was surprisingly fun, once Scott got the hang of it, and found himself caught out when the lights dimmed and the stage was lit in spotlight. The holographic countdown declared 00:00:28 when he glanced at it, and following Lady Penelope’s lead he focused his opera glasses on the stage, where at precisely nine pm, the show began.

And at precisely midnight, three hours of singing and a short interlude where refreshments had been offered (and devoured by a hungry Tracy), the final note cut off, accompanied by the lights, plunging the entire room into darkness. The applause was genuine, if at a polite volume, echoing through the darkened arena. Scott was more than happy to join in, having enjoyed the performance more than he’d expected.

It was even worth being stuffed into a suit for several long hours, although he’d keep that part quiet from his brothers. He had something of a reputation to uphold, after all, and as much as he’d enjoyed it, it was probably still more Virgil’s thing.

The main lights slowly brightened, and Scott stretched his legs out. Even with the leg room, the lack of actually moving had stiffened his muscles up somewhat.

“So how long do we stay here?” he asked, looking at Lady Penelope only to find her already on her feet.

“No longer than necessary,” she quipped, holding a hand out to him. “How are you feeling?” It was only the second time she’d referenced his injury all day, and Scott found that after the opera he was feeling slightly more charitable towards it being mentioned. No doubt an anticipated reaction from the short woman with him.

“I’m not designed to sit still for several hours,” he shrugged, accepting her hand and hauling himself to his feet, ignoring the familiar twinge of a healing wound.

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” she agreed. “But you enjoyed the evening?” He smiled down at her as her hand once again found his bicep.

“More than I thought I would,” he admitted. “Thank you for this.”

“What are friends for?”

Parker was waiting for them, as promised, when they left the building, draping a thin fur coat over Lady Penelope’s shoulders as they were exposed to the slightly cooler midnight air.

“Thank you, Parker,” she said, gliding effortlessly into the back of her car and picking up a sleeping Sherbet – who Scott had seen surprisingly little of since their arrival in Australia, now that he thought about it. “I trust you had a successful evening?”

“h’Oh yes, M’Lady,” Parker responded gleefully as Scott got in and shut the door behind him. “Most successful.”

“Successful?” Scott asked, and Parker laughed.

“Those ‘ooligans down at the casino never knew what ‘it ‘em, Mr Scott, sir. H’It’s h’always worth taking them folk down a peg h’or two, h’if you catch my drift.”

So Parker had been cheating cheaters out of their scammed earnings while they were gone. Scott supposed that wasn’t surprising; Parker made no real secret that his underground skills remained sharp – indeed, all of the Tracys could cheat their way around cards, in no small part thanks to tricks taught to them by the butler himself.

“Well, it’s been a long day, especially with all those timezone changes, so I think I’ll turn in for the night when we get back to the hotel,” Lady Penelope said. “I’d like to see the botanical gardens properly and I did promise to get you back to your brothers by four pm Tracy Island time tomorrow, so that will mean an early start, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t mind getting up early,” Scott assured her as they arrived, and she smiled.

“Then I’ll see you for a seven o’clock breakfast?”

“Do I have to wear a suit?” She laughed.

“I’ll have Parker pick a less formal one out for you,” she promised, and Scott groaned. “Sorry, dear, but this hotel has standards, and your usual attire doesn’t quite cut it.”

Parker caught up with them before they even reached the elevator, FAB1 parked away safely for the night, and Scott wondered if he and Lady Penelope were that slow, or if Parker was that fast.

“Seven am,” Lady Penelope repeated as they reached his room, and Scott agreed. Parker opened the door for him with a “h’I’ll see you h’in a moment, M’Lady”, and followed him inside.

“h’Another stitches check, h’I’m h’afraid, Mr Scott,” he said, and Scott rolled his eyes but submitted to it with minimal protest, glad to get out of the formal clothes and, once Parker was well and truly dismissed for the night, a third suit glaring at him accusingly from where the butler had laid it out, finally into something properly comfortable for bed.

Crossing timezones tended not to bother him after so long in International Rescue, but without the adrenaline rush of a rescue he found himself wearier than he would usually be at midnight. He glanced at his communicator, which he’d discovered packed in the bottom of his case, and debated calling John for a chat before remembering the time difference. Even if John probably wasn’t asleep, Scott should not be encouraging bad sleeping habits in his brothers. The same went for the rest of them, and he had no idea where Kayo was, so contacting his family was dismissed for the moment and he sank into the soft mattress of the huge bed gratefully, only for a spike of pain to warn him that if he wanted to sleep through the night, he should take the next dose of painkillers – also packed without his knowledge, most likely by Grandma or Virgil.

Pills were thrown back with an accompaniment of Australian spring water from the minibar, and then he crawled back into bed. Sleep claimed him almost immediately.

The next morning came quickly, Scott’s internal clock disturbing him at six. He didn’t need an hour to get ready for breakfast, even if getting ready included pulling on another suit, but going back to sleep would be an exercise in futility if he wanted to be on time for breakfast.

Spying his communicator again, the timezone now worked in his favour. Six am in Sydney was a more sociable hour on Tracy Island, and he’d hooked up a line to Thunderbird Five before he’d finished considering doing it.

“Morning, Scott,” John greeted him immediately. “How was last night?”

“I could have done without the suits,” Scott admitted, rolling over onto his back. “But it wasn’t bad.” John, a brother well versed in the pains of being chosen as Lady Penelope’s arm decoration, gifted him a small smile.

“I know the feeling,” he agreed. “Are you still in bed?”

“Yup.” Scott popped the ‘p’ and made a show of stretching out, even if John could only see his head and shoulders. “Big bed. Nice bed. Comfy bed. I have an hour ‘til breakfast. There’s time.”

“Scott Tracy being lazy; I never thought I’d see the day,” John commented, and Scott scowled at him.

“I have to wear another suit for breakfast, John. For breakfast!”

“So you’re procrastinating getting dressed by calling me,” his brother surmised.

“Can’t I check on how my brothers are doing?” he asked maybe a little defensively, raising an eyebrow.

“You could, except you haven’t asked yet.” Pesky smart younger brothers.

“I’m asking now.” John raised an eyebrow at him in return, but humoured him.

“Everyone’s fine; they had a late-night rescue but that went fine, no injuries. Does mean they’re all still in bed, though.”

“Even Gordon?” It was a very tired squid that didn’t surface with the sun, regardless of what time he went to bed.

“Even Gordon, luckily for you.”

Scott blinked.

“Luckily for me?”

“The usual rumours aren’t flying around, but there are still pictures of the two of you going to the opera last night on the net. The less time between him seeing those, and seeing you, the less time he has to scheme.” Scott groaned.

“Can’t you just get rid of them?” he asked.

“It looks more suspicious if I delete everything regarding the two of you,” John told him. “All of the captions refer to you as friends or work colleagues, though. Kayo and I made sure of that.”

“Thanks.” Well, it was better than nothing, he supposed. His eyes fell on the suit Parker had laid out for him the previous evening and he groaned. “I’d better get up,” he grumbled, glaring at it. “I’m supposed to be meeting her at seven for breakfast and I want a shower first.”

“Watch your stitches.”

“Yes, Virgil.”

John chuckled. “See you later, big brother.” His hologram vanished, and Scott set aside the communicator before reluctantly leaving the bed and heading for the ensuite.

Showering with stitches was always a nuisance; they were old enough to get slightly damp without consequences, but it was still annoying to have to mind them. Still, the wound was getting better and Scott was cautiously optimistic that he’d be allowed back on duty soon – he’d have cleared himself a few days ago, but Grandma and Virgil called had that ‘nonsense’ when he’d suggested it.

Dried off, he left the room with a fluffy towel around his waist to find Parker standing there, already perfectly dressed for the day.

“Morning, Mr Scott,” he said, seemingly unfazed by the fact that Scott was wearing nothing but a towel. “h’I’ve been h’asked to check your stitches h’again before you get dressed.” Scott snatched at his underwear and beat a hasty retreat back into the ensuite to pull them on.

“Give me a minute, Parker!”

From the timing, he heavily suspected this occasion to be John’s fault, and made a mental note to complain at him later.

Parker’s presence did not vanish after the stitches check, the butler instead insisting on helping Scott with his suit and tie – a pale pink one, this time, not that Scott had known he owned one in that colour – and piling on the hair gel when Scott attempted to return to his usual style.

“Aren’t you supposed to be Lady Penelope’s butler?” Scott asked as the man wrestled the comb away from him and made him sit.

“’er Ladyship h’is less of h’a disaster when h’it comes to dressing ‘erself for the h’occasion,” Parker retorted, and Scott groaned.

“You’re not exactly aristocrat class yourself, either,” he pointed out, slumping forwards until a light jab in the back made him straighten up.

“h’I learnt from the best, Mr Scott,” the older man retorted. “h’And you should respect your h’elders.”

“Right, sorry.” There was a large mirror on the wall opposite, and Scott watched his transformation back into the perfect rich gentleman with a small amount of despair as Parker added one last dollop of hair gel, combed it in, and pronounced himself satisfied.

The clock proclaimed 06:57, and with no small amount of gratitude to his father for not employing an army of servants and putting him through that rigmarole every day, despite reaching billionaire status, Scott left his room to meet up with Lady Penelope – dressed in a pale pink to match his tie, as Scott had suspected – for breakfast.

It had always been drilled into Scott that breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and it was clear that the Australians agreed. Unlike the previous evening of small plates of food arranged artistically, breakfast was a far more hearty affair, much to the delight of Scott’s stomach. Lady Penelope offered an amused smile as he dug in.

“A change from your grandmother’s cooking?” she asked, daintily picking at her smaller breakfast.

“Definitely,” he agreed, and they both laughed. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“Nothing much, I’m afraid,” she said. “The time difference between here and your home works against us this time, so we’ll only have time to visit the gardens before we have to leave.”

“Do I have to get changed again?” he asked, and she smiled.

“No, I think we can spare you the trauma of a fourth suit,” she laughed, and Scott relaxed, finishing off his plate with gusto and draining his coffee. “Shall we go?”

“What about our rooms?” he asked. “Don’t we need to check out?”

“Parker has that all in hand,” she assured him. “I just need to collect Bertie from him, and then I’ll be ready for our walk.”

“Sherbet’s coming with us?” Scott asked, somewhat surprised. After the lapdog’s absence from everything the day before, he’d expected him to remain in Parker’s care.

“Of course,” Lady Penelope told him, correcting his assumption. “Bertie loves going out for walks.”

Well, Scott had no particular issue with the small dog, so he had no complaints about the additional companion as Parker materialised outside the restaurant, dog in arms and ready to be handed over to his mistress.

“We’ll be back by midday,” Lady Penelope informed him as she took her dog, Sherbet making contented little noises as he settled into her arms. “If you could arrange a packed lunch for our journey back that would be appreciated.”

“Yes, M’Lady. h’Enjoy your walk.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will. Shall we, Scott?” With her arms full of dog, there was no subtle grip on his arm, but Scott remembered the way out of the hotel well enough from the previous day, and it took very little time for them to leave the building and end up back in the manicured lawns of the hotel’s garden.

Unlike the previous day, they didn’t stick to the lawns, but headed towards the trees and other fantastic flora visible in the botanical gardens themselves. Unsurprisingly, despite the relative earliness of the day, there were already some people milling around, admiring the flowers. An unspoken agreement had the pair avoiding them, seeking somewhere more quiet after the previous evening.

The gardens were huge, however, and it was simple enough to slip past the other admirers of nature to find a quieter area.

“A nice change from your usual atmosphere,” Lady Penelope observed, and Scott laughed, thinking of noisy brothers and roaring engines.

“Less chaos, for sure,” he agreed, “a few less rocks, too.” While Tracy Island had some greenery, it was at its heart a volcanic outcrop – great for challenging exploring but not so much for casual strolls to admire nature.

If he didn’t know Lady Penelope as well as he did, he might have thought that she was picking her route at random through the large area. High heels did nothing to stop the woman from finding the less even paths amongst the trees and higher shrubs, and while she was not walking with purpose, she was steering him slowly in a single direction.

Their eventual destination, after an hour or so of very casual walking, turned out to be a carved seat, overlooking the harbour. Lady Penelope sat herself down on it gracefully, gesturing for Scott to join her. Sherbet yapped as he did so, wriggling out of his owner’s grip and landing on Scott’s lap, looking up at him expectantly. Relaxing back against the sandstone, he scratched the dog behind the ears.

Underneath the shade of the trees, protected from the Australian sun, it was easy to relax and watch the ships manoeuvring in and out of the harbour. Scott couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d just sat and watched the world go by – usually, he was having to chase after it in a Thunderbird as disasters struck, or there was the endless paperwork to juggle. With both Thunderbird and paperwork strictly forbidden and out of reach, and a very determined Lady beside him, he’d been left with very little choice and found it was actually quite peaceful.

Was this what John saw, when he got a break from calls? Maybe he should ask him about that at some point. Birds sang overhead, and a light breeze ruffled the leaves above him, although not quite strong enough to free his hair from its heavily gelled confines. For the first time in a long time, Scott just let himself exist in the moment.

“As lovely as it is here, we must be heading back.” Lady Penelope’s voice broke the silence suddenly, and Scott was startled to discover more than an hour had passed. “I would like to keep my promise to your family, so we do need to leave Sydney by midday.”

Scott could just imagine the fuss if he wasn’t back by then – not because they didn’t completely trust Lady Penelope and Parker, but because the pair had a reputation for arriving where they said, when they said. It would take more than having a single Tracy guest to delay them. A delay would be concerning, to say the least.

Still, it was with some reluctance that he found his feet again, brushing his back off and hiding a wince as painkillers decided they’d done their duty and had worn off at some point while he was distracted. Blue eyes focused on him, but Lady Penelope didn’t comment. She did, however, scoop Sherbet up with only one arm, linking her other through with his. Scott knew better than to refuse the silent aid, if only because it was Lady Penelope, and let her guide him back towards the direction of the hotel and the waiting Parker.

It was just before midday when they arrived, Penelope sliding into the car before Scott joined her.

“h’I h’obtained some sandwiches for you, M’Lady, Mr Scott,” Parker informed them as he lowered the travel table in the back of the driver’s seat and placed the paper plates laden with said sandwiches on it. “There are drinks h’in the cup ‘olders. h’I ‘ope that’ll do?”

“Indeed they will, thank you, Parker,” Lady Penelope assured him.

“Mr Scott, h’I took the liberty h’of putting your painkillers and some water h’in the door,” he continued, and Scott spotted them.

“Thanks,” he said, and reluctantly fished them out as the car began to move, trundling through the streets before the wings engaged and they lifted into the air.

Parker was no stranger to the appetite of the Tracy family – or the lack of cooking ability exhibited by their grandmother – and the sandwiches turned out to be numerous enough to keep Scott quite content as they flew over the ocean, back towards Tracy Island and the brothers that were no doubt waiting for him, provided they weren’t out on another rescue.

Sure enough, Thunderbird Two was still happily in her hangar when FAB1 trundled in at precisely four o’clock, according to the communicator Scott had strapped back to his wrist, uncaring of whether or not it belonged there while he was in a suit.

Also there was Virgil, who left his tools at the sight of them and hollered a call of “they’re back!” into his comm as he jogged over to the car. Gordon immediately tore into view, clearly having been waiting as much as doing maintenance on Module Four, and in an echo of twenty four hours previous immediately zeroed in on Scott’s tie, which matched Lady Penelope’s current dress perfectly.

“Lady Penelope, you look amazing!” he gushed, almost knocking Scott out of the way in his haste to help the woman out of the car. Sherbet yipped at him and the aquanaut flinched backwards, to Scott’s amusement.

“How are you?” Virgil asked Scott, drawing his attention to his dark haired brother as worried brown eyes looked him up and down.

“I’m fine, Virgil,” he assured him. “You can ask Parker if you don’t believe me.” Virgil had an annoying habit of never believing the words ‘I’m fine’, for some reason.

“Parker?” his brother immediately asked, and Scott sighed, drifting away as the questions about his health started again. An entire day of not being treated like a patient had been a welcome break. Unfortunately, that put him in Gordon’s line of sight, as Kayo materialised and headed straight for Lady Penelope, elbowing the blond out of the way.

Amber eyes looked him up and down in an echo of Virgil’s, only there was less worry and more scrutiny in the gaze before Gordon locked eyes with him.

“Gordon-” he started, hoping to head off whatever storm was headed his way, but Gordon interrupted him with a raised hand.

“Uh, uh.”

And then he was tackled in a hug, Gordon’s arms carefully avoiding his stitches.

“Gordon?”

“I’m still not happy you got to go and I didn’t,” his brother grumbled. “But you look better than you have all week, so it was obviously for a good cause.”

“I- thanks?”

“But the next date is mine,” Gordon added, glowering up at him. “Got it?”

“That’s not my call to make,” Scott admitted, as much as he’d like to say ‘yes’ just to get Gordon off his case. “The only one who gets to decide that is her.”

They both looked across at where the two women were discussing something in hushed tones, the words “Sydney”, “arrested”, and “GDF” floating into earshot. For some reason, that seemed to cheer Gordon up, as he released Scott and took a step back.

“Yeah, well, you look ridiculous.” Parker’s carefully crafted hairstyle was mussed up, and Gordon made a face at the amount of gel that came off onto his hands, wiping them vigorously on his shorts. “Gross. Go get yourself back to normal and stop looking like a pampered billionaire.”

Scott grinned at him. “But Gordon, didn’t you know? I am a pampered billionaire.”

Gordon whacked his arm. “Go. Change. Don’t worry about the luggage – Virgil’s already got that.” Scott whirled around and sure enough, his case was being carried towards the stairs by his brother.

“Seriously?” he sighed, leaving his younger brother to his failed attempts to get Lady Penelope’s attention away from Kayo and jogging to catch up with Virgil. “I can carry my own bag.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re going to,” Virgil retorted, moving it out of reach when Scott tried to reclaim it. “Go take the elevator up.” Scott matched him, step for step, and Virgil stopped, grumbling under his breath, before turning and heading back down. “Fine, we’ll both take the elevator. Come on.”

Admitting defeat, he followed, leaning against the wall as it carried them up to the den.

“Where’s Alan?” he asked, noticing a lack of his youngest brother.

“Freighter ran into some trouble just out of orbit,” Virgil shrugged. “Brains went with him, and John’s joined them with the exo-suit. They should be finished soon.”

“Why didn’t Kayo go?” he wondered, and Virgil laughed.

“Turns out Lady Penelope had some other business in Sydney as well as going to the opera,” he said. “Kayo’s been handling the fall out while you two had a nice walk in the park and gave Lady P. an alibi.”

Scott stared at him, making no move to get out of the elevator when it arrived.

“You mean I was playing distraction in a spy mission the whole time?”

“Seems that way, bro,” Virgil grinned, taking hold of his elbow and guiding him out, towards the final set of stairs. “Judging by the papers, you made a fantastic one. They’re full of conspiracy theories why you two were at the opera last night, although John’s culled the worst offenders.”

Scott sighed and picked at his bejewelled cufflinks morosely.

“No wonder they were so determined that I wear overpriced suits,” he moaned. “Get me out of this thing; I’ve had enough.”

Virgil laughed again, pushing his way inside Scott’s room and putting the case down on the floor.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said even as Scott all but ripped the tie away from his neck, letting the expensive pink material fall to the floor. “See you in the den when you’re done.”

“Sure.”

It took very little time to get the offending clothes off, and his usual, comfy attire on. His hair was a lost cause that required washing to get all of the gel out, however, so Scott just left it in its Gordon-ruffled state to be dealt with later, especially as the unmistakable sound of Thunderbird Three roared through the house; a glance out of his window showed him the large rocket returning to her silo, youngest brother presumably on board.

What he hadn’t been expecting, as he made his way back down to the den to find everyone gathered there, was the third person on board.

“You look better,” John said bluntly, crossing the room and putting a hand on his shoulder, surveying him critically like two of their younger brothers already had. “I thought as much this morning, but holograms can be deceiving.”

“This morning?” he heard Gordon ask, but Alan chose that moment to leap at his two eldest brothers and hug them both, John’s recoil coming too late to escape.

“How was it?” the youngest asked excitedly. “Did you see the bridge? Was the Opera House all lit up?”

Scott didn’t get a chance to answer before John cut in.

“Get off, Alan.”

However, their youngest brother was like a limpet when he wanted to be, and with Scott not particularly trying very hard to escape, John’s struggles were fruitless, much to the amusement of everyone else in the room.

“Dog pile!” Gordon yelled suddenly, and Scott joined the laughter as Virgil got willingly dragged in, the four youngest brothers making a ring around the eldest.

“Guys!” John complained, but there was no real bite to his tone.

“Well, isn’t that just a picture,” Grandma commented. “Kayo, be a dear and take a photo of my grandsons.”

“Already done.” She flicked it up onto a holoprojector, and after a few moments the five boys disentangled enough to see it. Four of them were laughing, with the fifth wearing a reluctant smile. It was a total mess, with limbs everywhere and Gordon in danger of falling over where he was half-clinging to Virgil’s back. Alan wasn’t even facing the camera, a bright blob of blond shielding most of his face from view.

“That’s awful,” John said, at the same moment Lady Penelope asked Kayo for a copy.

The two long term friends looked at each other, one frowning, the other openly amused, before John shook his head and extracted himself entirely from the crowd of brothers. Scott watched the exchange, amused, before realising his brother was heading back towards the hangars.

“John, where are you going?” he asked.

“Back to the office, and sanity,” the redhead retorted.

“You don’t even want some cake?” Lady Penelope asked. “It’s chocolate.”

Cake? “When did we get cake?” Scott asked, turning away from where John had paused to look at her, still dressed in her posh pink dress.

“h’I did, Mr Scott,” Parker waved. “While you were h’out on your walk this morning. M’Lady h’asked that h’I pick h’up the cake she h’ordered yesterday.”

“It’s in the kitchen, ready to be eaten,” Grandma interjected, and Scott blinked as his three youngest brothers vanished in a stampede, Kayo already long gone.

“Fine, I’ll stay for the cake.” John’s reluctance was entirely put-on, in Scott’s opinion. “Come on, Scott, or the vultures will have eaten it all before we get there.”

Scott laughed, and hauled himself back out of the sofa.

“Race you!”

As he and John tore down the stairs, both slowed down by injury or gravity, he heard more laughter from the den, and the click of another photograph being taken.

#irrelief #irrelief2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #lady penelope creighton-ward #aloysius parker #grandma tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #kayo kyrano #thunderfluff

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heroofpenamstan · 4 years

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RELATIONSHIP ASK MEME: JACOB SEED + JOANNE BURTON

( Tagged by @f0xyboxes and @mackie-hattwie (was just about to tag you in this, as well!); thank you so much! x gonna tag anyone that wants to do it, but still going to throw out some blogs because I know they may or may not have some amazing OCs: @shallow-gravy, @ariestals, @jacobseeds-mainhoe, @hawkfurze, @sammystark, @iamnotyourmusebitch, @shellibisshe, @foofygoldfish

Full template here because I skipped a section whoops;

Warning: crossed out text contains sensitive content! Also, very lengthy and quite smutty at times! Too long for my own good, tbh. )

DISAGREEMENTS:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Joanne; her bark is sharp and loud, uncontainable when irked. Jacob’s grave tone is enough to make anyone wary without him having to raise his volume.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Jo. Always Jo. Jacob’s smile always promises to bring her back to him, regardless if she does go or not.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Unsurprisingly, Jacob. Some slights against his siblings are just too large to be buried in the shallows, so he steps down periodically. Joanne feels his absence like a bucket of freezing water, leaving her cold for days.

Who trashes the house? You’d think it’s Jo with her tendency to pop off and shatter a glass or five, but the shelf barely hanging on a bent hinge is all Jacob.

Do either of them get physical? They get into brawls, but only when severely wronged by one another. Being who they are—dysfunctional assholes to the core, but equal in their prowess—the scraps and bruises blooming on their skin prove to be sufficient payback, enabling them to carry on with whatever the fuck is brewing between them.

How often do they argue/disagree? Initially, their differing worldviews and methods and everything they stood for caused uncontrollable rifts. Now? They know better than to spend their restricted time together conflicting about unchangeable facts that would get them riled.

Who is the first to apologize? Most often Joanne; she always gets at Jacob for his operation and tactics. Yet, when Jacob points out her mirrored misconduct, she concedes, albeit reluctantly. Jacob, on the other hand, is unapologetic for his actions; means to achieve an end—stop fucking glaring at me, Jo—

SEX

Who is on top/bottom? It’s a tumble down the hill for these two. Sometimes Jacob relishes in her heat and her weight sinking down on him, other times it’s Jo clutching at his scarred shoulders and wrapping her bruised legs about his waist. They switch and adapt most often than pick a preference.

Any kinks? Choking and spanking; nothing too severe, though they do get pretty hot and heavy and rough.

Who has the strangest desires? Not really odd, but Jacob craves Jo’s caresses and kisses at his scars at his most vulnerable sometimes. Joanne never holds it against him, nor comments.

Who’s dominant in bed? Both of them are clashing alphas, and it’s a constant battle to get the other to submit. However, because they do regard one another as equals, neither has a single qualm with being pinned down and ravished.

Is head ever in the equation? Most often.

If so, who is better at performing it? Surprisingly, (or not) Jacob. Jo always praises his fingers and his tongue and ravels at the scrap of his beard against her sensitive flesh.

Ever had sex in public? For them, public sex is usually safer than in Jo’s abode on Dutch’s (camera-filled) Island, or the Peggie-infested walls of Jacob’s holds that may or may not whisper back to the Father. Although, there once was an incident in a cage and a recruit walking in on something particularly gnarly that made both of them reconsider—Jo still hasn’t found out what had happened to the young trooper after that.

Who moans the most? Joanne doesn’t know how to sock it during a fight, a spat, or when Jacob traces her neck with an eager mouth.

Who leaves the most marks? Jacob. He likes seeing her pretty skin marked up by his teeth and his tongue; Jo, admittedly, can’t recognize her own claim that doesn’t involve sharp nails running along the expanse of his back.

Who is the more experienced of the two? They’re on the same page, give or take. Jacob has numerous years over her. However, Joanne’s troubled past of drug-fueled mistakes stemming from a young age quickly catches up on him.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Jo can count on a single hand the amount of times her and Jacob made love. It has always been their primal urges that meshed them together, or the hate burning at her chest, the desire brewing in his eyes. Yet, sometimes, he’s soft and she glows; Jo might even mumble something she isn’t supposed to, and that would spur Jacob on further.

How long do they usually last? It depends on where they are and how long someone would note their absence. When he is able, Jacob drags it out for as long as he can, wanting to see his little soldier crumble and cry for him. But, more often than not, it’s a rough, quick spur that leaves them both snarling and kneading.

Rough or soft? Rough; nearly always rough.

Is protection used? Joanne thanks the day implants came into play. (In the past, there was always a possibility of her hurling the pill back up her esophagus once the withdrawals set in, but now, with the Collapse right around the corner, she’ll be safe for the next years to come, much to Jacob’s delight.)

Does it ever get boring? No. They always have an ever-burning drive for one another, albeit not the most healthy—but it’s always there.

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? The aforementioned cage can’t be topped; nothing will change Jo’s mind.

FAMILY

Do they plan on having children/or have children? Jacob thinks himself too old and too unsuitable for children of his own. Y’know, you remind me of the Old Man sometimes, John had said, only once—in a light manner, at that—but Jacob had shut the thought of his own kids at that exact moment, if he hadn’t before. He has his Judges and he has John, and that’s enough. Joanne herself thinks herself too irresponsible in that regard. She doesn’t fancy bringing another life into a fallen world once the Collapse hits, focusing on the Ryes if she ever gets a longing for children, only to be reminded just why it would be a bad idea in the first place.

If so, how many children do they want/have? —

AFFECTION

Who likes to cuddle? Joanne. On the rare occasions her and Jacob share a bed, she cuddles up against him subconsciously. She wakes up with her head tucked at his neck.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Jacob, usually. He’s not exactly subtle, but he’s no fool, either. He knows how to time his touches as to not get caught out in the open.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themselves? Jo would say it’s Jacob, but he would argue. (He has receipts in the form of crescent moons perched on his shoulders, after all.)

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? Jacob isn’t one to cuddle, but when it comes down to it, he doesn’t mind losing circulation in his shoulder if Jo curls into him like that.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity? As simple as it sounds, talking is their favorite past time. Just connecting with another person who’s been chewed up by the world is therapeutic for both of them, especially with them having to sneak about and not getting to do much of anything else. Also, sparring with each other, once Jacob changes tactics.

Where is their favourite place to cuddle? Jacob’s cot, against a sturdy tree trunk, a boat once or twice.

How often do they get time to themselves? Never. Never, ever; especially Jacob, having to train his flock vigorously for the Collapse.

SLEEPING

Who snores? Joanne; she tends to sleep on her side for it, paranoia of choking and suffocating clouding her brain yet, from the time her nostrils were clogged with Naloxone and and her lungs constricting and her heart stopping— Jacob bumps her if he hears her snore, pulling her to his chest, turning her on her shoulder if needs be.

If both do, who snores the loudest? —

Do they share a bed or sleep separately? If they get to spend the night with one another, they share.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? They start off a bit further off, but cozy up to each other if one or both get nightmares of times still fresh in mind.

What do they wear to bed? Usually, they simply wear the clothes they had on during the day in various states of undress, for if they are sleeping outside of Jacob’s private lodgings, either or both may need to scramble out in a haste.

Are either of them insomniacs? Jacob; Jo is an actual log. ( “I don’t think you sleeping in for that long is good for ya’, pup.” Joanne can only snort: “So is napping for three hours a night, but I’m not gonna start.” )

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Joanne has pledged to never take any kind of drug if she wasn’t in mortal peril or doesn’t have her hands tied, resorting to herbal remedies to lessen the weariness. Jacob, too, shares this sentiment, but refuses Jo’s minty shit, fuck.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Joanne hooks her leg across Jacob like a lifeline. He doesn’t complain.

Who wakes up with bed hair? Jacob; the Herald has a face-full of braids, too.

Who wakes up first? Jacob. Joanne hates the early morning shift when he rises from bed.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? Not prepares, per se, but Jacob does drop something pre-made or snack-y on her lap when she starts to stir.

What is their favourite sleeping position? They definitely tend to spoon ( Jo likes being the big spoon, tracing the scars littering Jacob’s torso. ) Joanne sometimes snuggles into Jacob while he’s laying on his back, too.

Do they set an alarm each night? Jacob has a strong internal clock, waking himself up at the slightest creak, so he doesn’t usually have a need for an alarm. To Jo, Jacob is the alarm clock; be it him pulling the curtains, pulling the sheets, or pulling her closer to him in the morning when their time is running out and they have to part ways.

Who has nightmares? Both of them. Jacob dreams of a raised hand and a child's wail, of a flaming barn and violent shouts. Most times, he hears Miller’s laugh, and that haunts him more than the carcass he reduced him to. Phantom gun shots make him jolt in bed as if shot, and Jo reminds him that you’re dreaming and it’s okay; I got you. On the flip side, Jacob sometimes wakes to the sound of Joanne nearly death rattling. It unsettles him, makes him wonder how she must feel when he is the one trying to spring to life as she does when he shakes at her, telling her to breathe. She always does, in the end, but it leaves her shaking and clutching at him for support.

Can a television be found in their bedroom? “Can you please turn off the monitor, at least for now?” Jacob pushes her swatting hands away with a huff. “No can do, Jo.” ( He has six more hanging in his room, besides the aforementioned. )

Who has ridiculous dreams? Joanne had once shared one of her dreams with Jacob, and the ingrained look he gave her prevented her from sharing any more of them.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Joanne may as well be making snow-angels if it wasn’t for Jacob caging her in.

Who makes the bed? Jacob, with a deep, resigned sigh fixes the bundled up sheets once Jo decides to finally step—fall—out of his bed.

What time is bed time? In the early AMs.

Any routines/rituals before bed? Joanne tries to take care of her hair as much as she can, what with the mud and grime and blood Hope County rubs into her scalp and her braids on the daily. Jacob double-checks everything before going to sleep, from looking at security footage to radioing his Chosen to confirm one thing or another.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Joanne by far; Jacob actually smiles when she throws a pillow at him.

WORK

Who is the busiest? On average: Jacob. Yet, oftentimes, Joanne gets sent on lengthy errands that take up half of her week.

Who rakes in the highest income? Jacob can dip his hand into the Cult’s fund, if he so wished, without much complain from John.

Are any of them unemployed? Technically speaking—both of them.

Who takes the most sick days? Jacob and Joanne don’t really know what it means to slow down if they have duties they must uphold, cold or flu be damned.

What are their jobs? Jacob runs the cult’s security, whilst Joanne is waiting for the second to leave the County and turn in her badge for good; helping out a Resistance by doing unlawful things is too much of an anchor for her mental health.

Who sucks up to their boss? Joanne, at first, when she finally lands the job she never thought she’d get, what with her history of drug abuse ( that had been painted way prettier than it actually was for the sake of entering the Academy. ) But once the Reaping began, Joanne felt less and less inclined to participate in all the bloodshed while still having her badge, oftentimes even ignoring direct orders from the Sheriff himself. And, Jacob—well. He doesn’t suck up to Joseph, but he does follow his orders obediently—unless they involve Joanne; he likes to detour.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Joanne; she doesn’t comprehend how Jacob, preoccupied as he always seems to be, is able to be where he needs to be as punctually as he is.

Who stresses the most? Jo is easily aggravated, and some minor inconveniences makes her loose it. Jacob just tuts at her nature, finding it more amusing than irritating most of the time.

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Jacob doesn’t enjoy it as much as he sees it as a necessary sacrifices to perform his duties, while Jo grows to despise her job, for the people of Hope County expect her to gun down and demolish Peggies at the drop of a hat unprovoked, just because she’s the Junior Deputy. ( Apparently, that means she is in her right to snap a neck of an unsuspecting Peggie, according to some members of the Resistance. Jo would argue with that fiercely. )

Are they financially stable? Yes.

HOME

( Going to skip since they don’t live together. )

MISCELLANEOUS

Is money a problem? For Jacob, money hasn’t been a problem since his brothers resurfaced. For Jo, however, money has never stopped being an issue, not after her funds have been drained by her addiction for so many years.

How many cars do they own? Jacob can have a pick of any of the vehicles the cult has to offer. Joanne, running along the same lines, but with more stealing and hijacking involved, owns an ATV she has had to fix up more times than she could count, an RHIB she stole from one of the coastal guards and keeps in the Silver Lake Boathouse, and a car Dutch had provided her with that she uses to blare all her top hits from.

What’s their song? NFWMB by Hozier (lmao)

Do they live in the city or in the country? County.

Do they own their home or do they rent? Jacob owns several properties to his name ( Thanks, John ) and Jo has made Johnson’s Lookout Tower her home—with a lot of cleaning and refurbishing involved.

Do they enjoy their surroundings? Both of them love the outdoors, and Hope County has a lot to offer in that regard.

What do they do when they’re away from each other? Joanne assists people in need most of the time. Otherwise, she indulges herself in the freedom she has to roam about however she likes, be it cruising through the Henbane or chilling about Dutch’s Island, scouring the patch of land for supplies. Jacob performs his role as one of Joseph’s Heralds, training his soldiers, sniffing out the Whitetails, attending his brother’s sermons in order to keep an eye on him, planning and mapping out how to go about when Joseph’s supposed prophecy will come into fruition.

Where did they first meet? The catastrophic Church arrest wasn’t the first time they’ve laid eyes on one another, interestingly enough. Joanne has had a run-in with John Seed near his barely-finished ranch at the beginning of the summer, an affair of a volatile Peggie disrupting the peace in Holland Valley, and the lawyer having to jump in to save the nervous man’s hide. In the driver’s seat of John’s white pick-up, blue eyes stared intently at the interaction between his brother and the new Deputy, cataloging her features and her manner, the way her jaw seldom relaxes when John places a friendly tattooed hand upon her shoulder, the teasing roll of her title evoking nothing but an irritated brow to rise. Seeing as how the situation has been defused and dragged out, Jacob Seed had leaned his head out the rolled-down window, barking at John to get a move on since Joseph is waiting. The heavy gaze of the Junior Deputy still sears at his skin as he shifts back into drive.

Who spends the most money when out shopping? Both of them don’t tend to burn money, only focusing on necessities and some odd trinkets here and there.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Jo had flashed her ( stolen ) helicopter in front of one of Jacob’s outpost, and it took everything in him to cease fire on the chopper.

Any mental issues? Jacob has PTSD, including some other disorders here and there, laying just beneath the surface. Jo has unresolved trauma of her own, among other things caused by long-term drug use.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Joanne will crack up every single time the composed soldier loses his footing. Every. Single. Time. And get payback for it.

Who’s terrified of bugs? Neither.

Who kills the spiders around the house? The spiders and these two live in harmony; it just can’t be helped when you live on the countryside.

Do they have any fears for their future? Loads, although Jacob is more at peace with the inevitable. Jo, on the other hand, frets about her future outside the county, about the off-chance Joseph is right, about whether or not her and Jacob could last, will last. About what would happen if people from both sides find out about their affair.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Joanne; she can cook up a storm when she’s in the mood.

Who pays the bills? None of them, at the moment, do.

Who’s the tallest? Jacob, by nearly a whole foot.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? After some time, Jo finds that Jacob has no shame whatsoever; and for good reason,

Who wanders around in their underwear? Both of them do, Joanne more often than not.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? Up Where We Belong by Joe Cocker is simply belted out as Joanne rows through her shooting assailants, trying to ignore the sickening squelches of the run-over bodies by positively screaming where the eagLES CRY—

What do they tease each other about? These two assholes hold nothing back, their teasing coming out as pure, unadulterated jabs. About Jacob’s scars or Joanne’s anger issues and impulses. His hair and her fevered face. His demeanor and her short height.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Jacob knows that Joanne doesn’t really have many insecurities about her appearance, but sometimes, he just can’t help but wonder about what sort of thought process occurred in that head of hers to wear that.

Who crushed first? Jacob. It took Jo a little while, but it wasn’t long until she was positively consumed by him.

Any alcohol or substance related problems? Joanne has had a severe drug addiction since she was fifteen; joining the police force seemed like an ideal way to go straight and help rehabilitate people suffering from the same things she has. Currently, she’s been clean for two years, excluding a few times with Sharky that involved Oregano here and there. Jacob, on the other hand, had tipped into the bottle a few times after his discharge, but has since forsaken drinking himself into oblivion since his rough period.

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Joanne—there’s no doubt about it.

Who swears the most? They both swear equally as much, but Jacob makes it sound classy, somehow.

( I am so, so sorry if someone actually read through this ugly monstrosity. I just wanted to establish some of their details for myself, hence, this fucking fanfic-sized ask. )

#tag meme #oc: get to know jo #deputy joanne burton #jacob seed x joanne burton #lengthy and boring and self-indulgent #far cry 5 oc #female deputy #my stuff #otp: dark rabbit & red wolf

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chyrstis · 4 years

Text

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 1/10

I’ve held out for a while now, thinking it’d be silly to post this here after finishing edits to this on AO3 back in February (and having an older version of this already up at the FC5 Holiday Exchange), but I think the only thing that was being silly was me. Because extra edits were badly needed, I’d love to add this to my FC5 masterlist, and to anyone that read the original and powered through the whole thing in one go back in December? Kudos to you, because it was always meant to be posted chapter by chapter here instead.

So, without further adieu, here’s Ch. 1 of 10 of the romantic comedy I didn’t plan on writing for them, but am very glad I did. ...Just with 100% more accidental arson and singing fish involved.

And also, many, many thanks to @finefeatheredgamer for being the lovely person to prompt this over at the Exchange to begin with. <3

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 4.1K

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

---

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

-----------

Hurk was his bro. His blood. One hell of a stand up guy, and the person Sharky knew would have his back no matter what.

The one he could depend on no matter what for damn near anything, and the only one right now that he could say to, with his whole heart, “I love you, man, but you can piss up a fucking rope” for getting him into his mess to begin with.

And okay, maybe he was being a bit harsh about it. And maybe he’d wanted the excuse to do it to begin with, but Hurk had dangled the opportunity so perfectly in front of him. Framed it so beautifully, there was no way he was going to say no to it, no matter what.

Especially not with both drinks and two smoking hot women involved. He’d hit a real dry spell, and the temptation to get lucky hit hard.

So, when beers at the Spread Eagle turned into beers down by the river, Sharky had agreed immediately. And when beers at the river turned into the possibility of beers on the river, he’d agreed to that too.

But he didn’t have a boat. Hurk didn’t either.

Maybe they could’ve winged it by borrowing one from the Marina. They would’ve been skinned alive the next morning after his aunt found out about it, but after mulling it over for a few, Hurk had a better idea.

In his words, a better, sexier idea. 'Cause nothing said sexy like a little speedboat ride and some roguish repatriation. Also Hurk’s words, though Sharky was sure on some level that wasn’t supposed to be pronounced like that either.

John had a boat.

John Seed had both a boat and a boathouse. Rich assholes like that always wanted to flash their cash in the most high-profile ways possible, and for whatever reason having his own personal goddamn plane wasn’t enough. He had to have a boat too.

Surely he wouldn’t miss it for a night. And Hurk’s promise to slip him two-hundred bucks on top of that? Really just made the idea all the sweeter.

Things sped up after that. Blurred and blended into the kinds of things he’d see in an action movie, what with him being the sexy hero going behind enemy lines as a means of infiltrating it – and he’d even streaked some mud across his face to seal it.

But somewhere between snagging the fancy speedboat, riding it out, and getting not one but two kisses of gratitude, he’d let himself get sloppy. And on the way back afterwards, with more beers under his belt, and a decent hard on from some over the clothes action, he’d misjudged a few things.

Not the least of which involved just how close of a fit it was to park and settle the boat. It was a square peg meant for a square hole, but he couldn’t see it that way. Not right now, especially not while belting out words to what he’d think a collab between ABBA and the Bee Gees would sound like.

That’s where things blurred again. Grew unclear and muddied as he tried to keep the boat steady. His head pounded as he misjudged the distance - or was it speed? Both were likely - of his approach, as he leapt into action again, this time wondering if his call to Willis his way out was the right one.

Cold water rushed up to meet him, knocking sense into him just long enough to start paddling, but he bobbed down low. Felt things go black, as like an idiot he gulped down a lung and a half full of water as he fought against it.

That’s when he felt hands grab him. A force dragging him up and out of the cold only for the ground to rush up and smack him in the face.

Hacking it out, he blinked down at the pebbles underneath his hands, his face all but numb at this point as water continued to dribble out of his mouth. That had been close. All too close, he’d realized, still sloshed, but aware enough of the person crouching next to him.

So, he babbled out what he hoped was thanks. Followed it up with more thanks after that, and when he flipped over to maybe even throw a hug or a hearty handshake their way, he froze.

Because he wasn’t ready for the kind of cold fury waiting for him. He also wasn’t ready for John Seed to be the one wearing it either; the kind that he was sure meant he was about to be murdered on the spot.

In that moment, not even two-hundred dollars richer for it, he knew he’d fucked up, but as to how much? He couldn’t say. That was for the morning to tell him, provided he’d make it there.

And right now his odds weren’t looking all that great.

---

Pounding. Endless pounding went off, shaking him out of the comfortable space he’d settled into.

The sound echoed again, making him shift around to muffle it. Pulling the blanket around him, he sighed at the silence only to tense when it was broken again.

“Motherfucking balls, man,” Sharky groaned.

So, he wasn’t dead, just felt like it. That he wasn’t, was a relief as he pried his eyes open. The pulsing, pounding pressure building in his head, not so much. Crawling over to the bed’s edge, he pushed himself up and nearly tumbled to the floor.

Knocking. That’s what the sound was.

Leaving his room, he dragged his feet as he walked over to the door, and jumped when his foot came into contact with something ice cold. Not bothering to check, he shook it off, swearing loudly only to notice it was a pair of jeans. Damp, and just as wet as the hoodie draped over the kitchen table.

When had he- Pointing at it, then at the jeans, he scratched at his head as he stood in the kitchen. Skinny dipping gone wrong, maybe? Gone right? He’d have company if that were the case, but it didn’t stop him from hoping.

He raised an eyebrow, only to start when the knocking began again. “Hold your fucking horses! Seriously, I’m coming.”

Dragging on a nearby pair of pants, he popped his head up in front of the peephole and took a look.

It was John.

John Seed.

That couldn’t have been right. He rubbed at his eyes and peered through again. “The fuck?”

Nope, John was still there, arms crossed as he waited, and he checked his watch before going for the door. Knocking with a heavy hand, the door was almost rattling, and Sharky stepped back.

Something was up. Something that he couldn’t remember right off the bat, and if it put John of all people on his doorstep, it had to be serious.

But he hadn’t pissed off anyone bad enough to put a lawyer on his porch. Or had he? Maybe the F.A.N.G. Center was finally sick of taking his calls and decided to slap him for it. Or hell, his Moonflower disco party never had that many admirers. That could’ve gone south too.

Not remembering sucked, but it was a Tuesday. Probably found a way to piss off somebody in the county without even trying that much.

Yanking the door open, he regarded the man waiting on the other side with a bleary look. It was bright outside, the clear blue of the sky hurting his eyes as he blinked against it, and felt his headache start to pulse as he narrowed his eyes into a squint.

“Charlemagne Victor Boshaw.” The smile John wore was cold as he stared him down. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

He scratched his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he waited for John to continue. When he didn’t, and was actually seeming to want some kind of feedback from him, he grunted out a short, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, I was afraid of that. Considering how impaired you were late last night, and considering the great lengths I had to go to keep you from drowning on my property, it seems it’s up to me to enlighten you on what exactly happened.”

Drowning?

He did remember water. Coughing out enough to make him feel a little sick on recalling it. The part before that, when he was whooping it up, and kissing the hell out of his date, was a lot nicer to focus on, and he let his eyes slip shut as he leaned against the doorframe.

Yeah, that was much better. Better than the light searing into his eyes, and better than the asshole camped out on his doorstep.

“Boshaw.”

He cracked open an eye. Squinted right at John’s pinched, irritated face, and considered closing the door on him. “What?”

“You don’t understand the true extent of any of this, do you?”

“Nah, that’s what the whole enlightening thing’s for. Shit, Johnson, where the hell have you been?” he threw out, hating how the pounding in his head was only intensifying. “So if you could get the hell on with it, I could go back to spending my day how I want to. In bed, curled up and doing nothing, not out here listening to you tell me how I…” Sharky let the words trail off. “How I what now?”

“How you owe me,” John hissed, baring his teeth as the temperature in his tone dropped ten degrees and counting. “You. Owe. Me. For a boat. For a boathouse, and for an assortment of damages all tying back to your little alcohol-soaked ride through my property.”

Saying each word through clenched teeth, John paused, drew in a breath through his nose as he closed his eyes, then settled back into the same smile he’d initially greeted him with.

“Then when caught, you panicked, confessed, and forged an agreement with me to fix it. Is that ringing any bells now?”

“Look, look, look, I get it. This looks bad, right?” Sharky held up his hands, still coughing out leftover traces of water, and tried backing away from him. “Just let me say my piece, okay? Let me say it, and get it out there, and we can go back to-“

“Back to what?” John asked, his voice smooth as he stayed on him. “Back to the smoke? The fire? The wreck I bothered to drag you out of?”

“Yeah, yeah, all of that.”

“Oh, good. Because I’m still waiting. Still wondering why of all things, you haven’t given me a single reason at all not to do what anyone else would’ve already done in my position. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Tell me.”

“I, uh, I don’t know about-“

He snarled as he crossed the distance between them. “Tell me!”

Sharky paled.

Some of it was coming back in batches, none of it painting a good picture at all. And the longer he focused in on that period of time, the more he felt inclined to drop everything and book it towards the woods. At least then he’d have some kind of a fighting chance. John didn’t look like a runner, but if he did head after him he’d make sure to wing him with a branch or two along the way.

He wet his lips, and let out a long breath. “Okay, so say I did.”

“You did.”

“Okay, so…say I did all of it.”

“You did!” John repeated, his voice rising. “How can I make this any clearer to you? We are here to talk recompense. What you rightfully owe me for, and more importantly, what you’ve promised given the alternative. Or should I repeat myself, yet again, but this time using language that you’re guaranteed to understand?”

Now, Sharky had tried to ignore it before. Maybe even give him the benefit of the doubt, but he’d put up with his fair share of people talking down to him like an idiot, and like hell was John going to get in a shot as well.

“Yo, I was trying to be civil here. Civil and about as respectful as I can get seeing as I’m here, wearing actual pants, and listening to you spouting nothing but shit at me. And I get it! Something was broken that shouldn’t have been taken to begin with, but you’re talking deals that I don’t remember agreeing to, and I don’t like being told I’m a fucking moron on top of that!”

“Fine.” John pursed his lips, losing some of his anger, but not all of it. “You’ve made your point, and…maybe I did speak out of line.”

”You did. No maybes there, dude.”

“But that still doesn’t settle any of the business between us. So, here’s my offer. What I outlined to you last night, and to which you enthusiastically agreed to.”

Sharky bit back the knee-jerk response that he wanted to give, and crossed his arms. “So? Spit it out.”

“You will repair it. Rebuild the damaged boathouse with materials I will supply you with, and under my supervision. This will ensure that the work will be completed, done to my standards and specifications, and to also ensure no further damage will be done.”

“Your standards?”

“That’s correct,” John said, with a glint in his eye. “If it’s not to the quality I ask for, you will tear it down and start over. From scratch.”

“Hey, now. You back it the fuck up, 'cause last time I checked you’re not the fucking boss of me.”

“On the contrary. Yes, I am,” John replied, holding up his cell phone. “And If you don’t want any of this getting back to the local authorities, you will take this deal. Now listen closely, because there will be no second offer, and I’m already being generous.”

Keeping as calm as he possibly could, the voice on the phone outlined this in painstaking detail. Too much detail for a drunk man to take in and consider, but just enough for it to be played back to him while sober.

Including the last detail. One that had John’s expression settle into that of pure satisfaction.

“And you agree to do this? To-“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll do it. Whatever you want, building this shit up, building another big-ass boat to cart both you and your bullshit to fucking Aruba, I’ll do it. Just don’t send me to jail, man. Me and the po-po just don’t mix, and…shit, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything,” John repeated, ending the recording. “And looking at the damages done, the cost to avoid a sentence can be upwards of fifty-thousand dollars. That’s no small fee to have to shoulder, and unless you have that to give me, I think you’re better off taking this.”

He was fucked. Fucked beyond question, all because he’d had the piss-poor sense to believe Hurk’s boast that Sharky could commit Grand Theft Boat while sloshed just past his maximum.

Leading to the current dilemma.

Not wanting to go to jail was always at the top of his list. So was having the ability to light shit on fire. Going to jail interfered with both of those things directly, and as much as he could fight or run from it, John had two big things going for him.

One, he was a lawyer.

Two, he had money.

If he wanted to sink him, he’d send him straight down to the bottom of the ocean’s largest, deepest trench without any hesitation.

Clenching his teeth, then unclenching them, the smile he gave him was more of a grimace. “Uh, so…about that whole helping shit.”

“Let’s establish some ground rules, shall we?”

John raised his chin as he gestured towards the door, and Sharky groaned. Stepping to the side to let him in, John stalked on past, and he nearly fell off the front step.

He was going to need a cigarette.

Lots of them.

---

“This should be simple. Straightforward,” John told him as Sharky sat across from him with a cigarette and a roaring headache.

He was to be on the property two times a week.

Each time he would text him in advance making sure that John was available first, then once the time was agreed on, would expect him there promptly.

No work would be done alone. He would pick John up, then take him down to the boathouse to supervise. From there, he would work – some bare minimum that John rattled off, and he half-tuned out – and would drive John back up before heading out for the day.

And then would repeat it again, and again, and again until John was satisfied.

“So, as I said, simple. Easy enough for anyone to follow,” John stated, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

Already on cigarette number two, Sharky let his head sink into his hand. Passed on enough of a response to satisfy John for now, and had to agree to an actual starting date to even get him out of the door.

He was on cigarette number five when he called up Hurk. Spent a good ten minutes trying to get some kind of answers out of him about the rest of the night while also yelling about the shit he’d royally stepped in by messing with John to begin with.

But Hurk talked him down. Helped him to see this for what it was.

One, not a jail sentence. He could still get out of this, even if it looked like John had all but boxed him into doing a shit-ton of labor for free.

Two, he’d done enough odd jobs to be able to swing this. Had built and burnt down a million sheds in his lifetime, so what was building another one going to hurt?

And three, if all else failed, Hurk was set and ready to see about lighting up another part of John’s place just to give him a means of escape. What was a bro if not the kind ready to throw himself into the line of danger so his cousin could exit stage left?

He could give him that. Even if more fire wasn’t the solution to the problem for once. Much as he needed it, and loved it, it wasn’t going to get him out of this.

Sighing heavily, he let Hurk go and went back to bed.

The next day, however, he pulled his shit together and readied himself for what was going to be the beginning of a very long and painful process.

John’s specific list of guidelines chafed bad, like a pair of jeans that were just the wrong side of too tight, but he couldn’t take them off or return them. He just had to deal, and hope that sitting down or bending over wouldn’t lead to the kind of blowout he’d get run out or yelled at over.

So, he played by the rules. Hated every second of it as he jabbed at his phone and gave John the shortest messages he could manage. Then picked him up and tried to grin and bear it as John tapped at his watch while giving his ride the hairy eyeball, and Sharky proceeded to take them both down to the boathouse.

Seeing it during the day painted the whole thing in a different light. From what he’d relayed to Hurk in a delirious call the night of the accident there had been a whole hell of a lot of smoke and fire. Boatloads - pun intended - as he took in the charred shell of the building.

Guess that extra fuel Hurk told him he’d jacked but didn’t toss did more harm than good. Who knew what he’d planned on using it for, but he was lucky he hadn’t been toast himself.

That did mean his work was cut out for him, however. Tearing the whole thing down and rebuilding it was going to be a pain, and John guided him over to the picnic table nearby to go over the blueprints he’d brought from his house.

Spread out, he followed the dimensions outlined, and where he would need to start once the foundation was set. Saw it broken down into smaller pieces, smaller sections, and having it all stripped down like this helped him see it for what it was. Doable, and not even half as complicated as he thought it’d be. Yeah, it was going to be intense, but wouldn’t be impossible.

Now, his version of things allowed for some leeway. That would help to speed things up along the way, but that was where John came in. He said that there would be no ‘cutting corners’ and ‘eyeballing it’ like he was sure Sharky might do.

“This requires care. Precision. Delicacy.”

John kept on going, rattling off a few more things he was in need of here, and Sharky barely held off from pretending to jerk off in the middle of it. But John eventually cut him loose, telling him to get a feel for the area, and pointed him towards the boathouse.

It had been calling to him, in a way, and he let curiosity finally guide him there.

Walking inside, Sharky let out a low whistle.

He’d done a real number on it. Sidestepping the remains of the support beam overhead, he peeked up at the blue sky above him, and took in the blackened wood and ruined equipment. Trying to play guess who with the burned odds and ends was looking to be a game for another day, but while some parts of the building were well past trashed, other items were surprisingly okay.

Like the photographs hanging on the walls.

Both focused on nature – and he liked nature shit; skulls, antlers, pictures, the whole nine yards – but the fish on display didn’t look like they’d been caught. Not by John, or by any of his family, and they felt more out of place than anything else.

At least that’s what he thought until he turned, and saw it. Saw the big, beautiful, borderline majestic fish hanging on the wall, and burst out laughing.

He was still laughing when John finally joined him. “What could be so-“ John’s voice trailed off, and the resigned groan that followed only made him laugh harder.

Swiping at his eyes to wipe the tears away, Sharky framed the singing fish with his hands. “Big Mouth Billy is hanging right on your wall. Here. On your wall.”

“And?”

“And? Dude, that’s like the best shit ever! I haven’t seen one of these since I was like, this tall,” Sharky said, holding his hand to his knee. “Like, I thought they’d stopped selling them.”

“They should’ve.”

“But they didn’t, and that’s pretty damn great if I may say so myself. You’ve gotta tell me who gave you this to begin with. Broseph?”

John sighed, his mouth twisting as he remained silent.

“Ol’ Jake-n-bake then? Dude’s pretty serious, but maybe he gave you this to be nice. Or funny. Shit, maybe both.”

“You had it right the first time,” he admitted, eyeing first him, then it with distaste.

Joseph Seed’s doing? The thought of that made a wide grin break out on his face. “Well, shit. Guess I need to thank him then. Otherwise, I think it’d get pretty lonely out here.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re not gonna sit there and talk my ear off the whole time, so I was thinking I’d need to start talking to myself just to make shit interesting, but Bill here’ll be a fucking hoot once you get him started.”

The offended look that crossed John’s face shifted straight to horror when Sharky waved his hand in front of the fish’s sensor. To his delight, it sprang to life, singing enthusiastically, and when Sharky joined in, John visibly clenched his teeth.

“Still works too! Come on, it’s catchy.”

Picking up on the tune only to mangle it further, John kept on staring at him the entire time. Through one full cycle of it as Sharky snapped his fingers, through a few of his claps, and through at least one hop.

Still, nothing. “Seriously? Feeling none of the magic of that little guy?” Sharky shook his head, giving him a disappointed glance. “Shit, better go one more round to be sure. Maybe that’ll help, and you can join in whenever you like.”

John turned on his heel and promptly left.

Eyeing the bass, he gave one of its fins a small fistbump, only to nearly knock it off of the wall.

Maybe he’d be able to get through this after all.

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw #john seed #john seed/sharky boshaw #with the snippet I posted yesterday referring back to this it's only fair to post the actual story #just in easier to read chunks at a time #and if I can finish up the other fic soon after posting Ch. 5 even better #FC5 fanfiction #fanfiction #fic: I won't ask for much #fic series: we could make a home out of this

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