#for all i care. i ain’t buying him jack fucking shit if he’s gonna act like this about it. i’ve got better things to concern myself with.
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Supernatural 15.16
What can I say? No, seriously, what can I say this was such a disappointment I just wanna salt it, burn it and forget it.
This is not what I wanted nor what we were told we were gonna get, the promo’s and the way it was promoted made it seem like this was gonna be a heavy brothers centered episode and we were gonna get to see flashbacks of Sam and Dean hunting solo together, without their dad, for the first time. It wasn’t.
This episode is snake oil. It was advertised in all the right ways to make us buy into it but it has no real substance or value.
The plot is simple: Sam and Dean have to investigate the death of an old, sort of friend they made in one of the motel’s they stayed at back when they were little and haven’t spoken to in over 20 years. And let’s talk about this real quick because at the beginning Sam and Dean don’t know they’re going to investigate their friends’ death they think they’re going to the funeral cause the victim’s sister, who was also a sort of friend of theirs back in the day, invited them to the funeral to guarantee that they would go which is so stupid, people miss funerals all the time especially when they’re the funerals of people who they only knew for a week over 20 years ago and didn’t keep in contact. So, the stupid starts early in this episode.
Back to the plot, the thing that Sam and Dean are hunting is something they had hunted and thought killed years ago back when they were the wee!chesters, and by “they” I mean….Dean and the girlie. I’m sorry you thought, we were gonna see young!Sam and Dean actually hunt together? No.
The four of them sort of work together to figure out where the thing might be hiding and Dean’s all ‘I’m handling this on my own’ and Sam’s like ‘I’m going with you’ and Dean’s like ‘no’ and the girls like ‘then i’m going with you’ and Dean’s all ‘no’ and so he goes off on his own but the girl follows him so it’s the girl and him hunting this thing down while Sam is stuck back in the motel on babysitting duty of the girls little brother which I’m sure the writer is patting herself on the back for because at the beginning in the first flashback Dean was all ‘I used to babysit you when I was your age’ so now Sam is stuck babysitting...get it? Get it? I think it’s supposed to be clever…...excuse me a minute
*clears throat* where was I? Oh yes, so anyways after some investigating and Dean finding a bunch of children’s corpses they arrive at the hotel in time to see the thing they’re hunting attacking Sam and the other kid and Dean’s all ‘Sam get out of the way’ and stabs the thing which makes it turn to dust so they think it’s dead which we all know it ain’t but let’s talk for a minute about the fact that Dean just walked to see a monster attacking his baby brother AND HE DOESN’T EVEN RUSH TO CHECK ON HIM WHEN THE THING IS DEAD!!!! Also, this thing was hunting kids that were around Sam’s age but Dean doesn’t seem to give a fuck.
So what was the thing Sam and Dean were hunting oh so many years ago when they did shit re-search even though we know that they knew how important research was but this writer doesn’t know how to write this characters in present time why would she be able to write young! them? Baba Yaga! But they still don’t know that they’ll find that out later in the episode, in like a 5min scene that really does not do this figure justice but neither does the rest of this episode as this writer doesn’t really care and treats Baby Yaga more like a traditional vengeful spirit.
For real though, it is a shame that this writer doesn’t care enough because Baba Yaga is a folklore figure with so much history they could have really done something interesting and scary; such a famous folklore figure and she was treated like a footnote.
But that’s what young!Sam and Dean were up to what about our Sam and Dean? Well, after they find out the truth that they’re there to investigate and not attend a funeral that happened a week before they go check what’s up at the motel since that’s where everything happened years ago and the dude died, Dean is feeling guilty af for so many reasons including that he had yet to tell Sam Jack was gonna die, at first Dean doesn’t believe it’s the same thing they had hunted but then he’s like ‘okay maybe it’s not as dead as I thought’ and leaves Sam and the girlie to do research while he has a scene with Billie where she tells him the end is coming and while that’s happening Sam finds out it’s the Baba Yaga and the girl gets attacked and then Dean returns and he and Sam go their separate ways to find her because of course the do and Dean gets attacked but Sam arrives and then they properly kill the monster.
Anyways, it all ends with their “friend” telling Dean for like the 20th time that he has changed and then they have a hug which gives us our final flashback where after him and the young girlie say goodbye to each other him and Sam are waiting for John to pick them up and Dean’s all ‘I don’t know about this college thing but we make a good team’ which would be great if we had actually seen them work as a team.
With the thing dead Sam and Dean make their way back home and Dean tells Sam the truth about Jack dying. We’ll come back to this scene.
And that’s the episode in a nutshell. It’s bad. It’s unforgivably bad. This is the mediocre, poor man’s version of Something Wicked.
It’s got no soul, with the exception of one scene it’s got no emotion. It stays at the surface level, we don’t truly get to see young!Sam and Dean work together, we don’t really get to see their dynamic with each other, we don’t learn anything new about them, Dean clearly didn’t like Sam thinking about college but it wasn’t really explored he was just an ass to Sam about it and then was all ‘we make a good team’ but like I said we didn’t truly get to see them be a team so it just falls flat, there weren’t really any proper scenes between the young brothers, Baba Yaga is not explored she’s more a footnote, we also don’t get to see adult Sam and Dean hunt together.
You compare it to other flashback episodes like Something Wicked, A Very Supernatural Christmas, Just My imagination to name a few, and you can’t. You can’t really compare it cause those episodes were well written and actually explored Sam and Dean’s emotions and their relationship. This episode is the worst flashback episode we have ever gotten and I wish it didn’t exist.
I wanna talk about the young!Sam and Dean actors real quick cause no shade to them but I didn’t like them one bit not just because of the way they were written but also because they don’t really embody Sam and Dean’s personalities in the way that their predecessors have, I look at them I don’t see Sam and Dean. Also, their acting? Not the best.
So, all around this is a failure as far as young!Sam and Dean.
There was one scene in this whole entire episode that had any sort of emotion: the final scene with Sam and Dean in the car where Dean tells Sam everything and about Jack dying and Sam is pissed off and they get into a fight. That’s the only scene where Sam and Dean got closest to acting and sounding like themselves and the only one that was worth something and I give full credit to Jared and Jensen for that because their acting in that moment was standing ovation worthy, they honestly almost made me cry. I think if this epi had been better written and emotions actually explored it would have managed to make me cry.
I don’t like that the epi finished with the boys fighting, even less that the one proper scene we got between them was a fight but it was the best scene of the episode and it should be watched if for no other reason than to see Jared and Jensen put on an amazing performance,
But that scene alone is not enough to save this episode.
The writer of this epi once recommended that you could put the first 2 seasons of this show on as background noise and maybe if she hadn’t done that and actually paid attention to the foundation of the show that paid her bills she wouldn’t have given us the mediocre version of Something Wicked or would have learned how to artfully weave the main plot of a season into a stand alone episode like Phantom Traveler did instead of sticking in a scene right in the middle for some exposition. As it is, you can use her episode as background noise.
Here’s the thing, you can make the argument that it’s not as bad as it could have been or as what we have gotten, or that we should expect the episodes to be bad because it’s all we’ve gotten, or that we should just be happy with what we get and listen you feel how you wanna feel about this episode and/or tell yourself what you need to make yourself feel better but that don’t work with me. I’m not going to thank the writers for taking a smaller shit on this show than they did last time, and expecting the episodes to suck doesn’t mean we don’t deserve better and that we shouldn’t be upset.
And I am upset. I am angry. I am sad. I am bitter. I am disappointed.
You know what stings most about this episode? What makes it cut differently than all the other shitty, insulting, disappointing episodes that have come before it? That this is the last time we’re going to see young!Sam and Dean. This was the last ever flashback episode. A badly written episode with barely any proper interaction between the young brothers, is the last time we’ll see young! Sam and Dean.
I so badly wish I could recommend this episode but the truth is that I can't. What I can recommend, and I highly do, is looking up the final scene and enjoying that beautifully acted, painful, brother moment. And then if you still want to watch young!Sam and Dean, just re-watch Something Wicked.
In conclusion,
#spn negative#this epi makes me so angry#fuck you dabb for greenlighting this epi#anti meghan fitzmartin#mine#opinion on supernatural#spn spoilers#spn 15.16#anti spn writers
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Imagine:
Erik sneaking into the readers phone buying her all the things she has saved on her wishlists (Amazon, Fashion Nova,) etc.
Sort of for the holidays. CUTE AND FLUFFY.
Erik was trying all day not to be sneaky with the shit but fuck it, Y/N was his baby; his everything so it was only fit to be a sneaky nigga for a second.
She works so damn hard. Such an independent black woman with an education. She never let Erik spoil her because she would always remind him that she could take care of it. And here she was, saving shit on her wishlist to purchase for later. Y/N knew Erik had bread. He didn’t understand why buying her anything she wanted had to be an issue.
“Hey Babe,” Erik was seated on the bed, back resting against the headboard.
“Yeah,” Y/N was busy scrubbing her face down with some exfoliating shit that Erik loved because it smelled like chocolate.
“What you want for Christmas.”
Y/N looked over at Erik with a soft smile, “whatever you can afford to get me, Erik. You know I don’t need you to buy me everything under the sun,”
“But if I could I’d by you the sun, shit, the whole fucking world,” That smile he loved was brighter and better than the last one she gave him. Y/N had him sprung; head over heels.
“Babe, stop making me all fluttery I’m tryna clean my face off.”
“Hurry up, I miss you,” Erik gave her an air kiss, “you’ve been in that bathroom too long, girl.”
“So damn needy,” she teases.
Y/N’s phone starts to ring, Erik teaching over to pick it up. With a loud groan, he tosses the phone next to him, allowing it to ring on purpose.
“Who is it?!” She walks out of the bathroom, reaching over the bed to grab her phone only to be pulled onto the bed and in Erik’s lap. She squeals, Erik placing kisses onto her wet cheek. She grabs his face, pulling his face away from hers so she could properly glare at him.
“So...this is your way of getting me on top of you, huh?”
“Anything to get you on me,” He places his lips on her neck, “you smell so fucking good girl I could eat you.”
She starts giggling from Erik’s tongue on her neck, squirming in his lap. She was creating a lot of damn friction. She was starting some shit Erik would gladly finish. Just looking at her with a T-shirt wrapped around her curly wet hair, his old military shirt on like a night gown, his name on a gold plated necklace around her neck, skin so soft and smelling tasty, she was his undoing.
Now, Erik has one arm around her waist, making her look down at him with his other hand on her chin. He rubbed his thumb there before placing a few soft, very tender kisses onto her lips.
“You never answered my question, what you want for Christmas?”
“Um,” she played with his fathers ring that hung from a gold chain on his neck, “Baby, I don’t know. You don’t have to get me anything. You always get me shit that I don’t need.”
“I’m getting you something, fuck that. If it gotta be a surprise then that’s what it’s gonna be.”
She kissed her teeth, “You spoil me too much.”
“You’re my little brat, I gotta spoil you.”
“Haha,” she sarcastically laughs, “whatever big head, buy me my sushi!!”
Y/N lifts from him, Erik smacking her ass while she walked away and out of the bedroom. With her gone, Erik quickly grabs her phone, entering it with no problem since he knew her passcode was his birthday. He found the Amazon app, going to her wishlist. She had a few items in there that she really wanted but didn’t purchase. Erik shook his head at that. He could have bought her all this shit.
She wanted a new sewing kit since she was always making sweaters and shit, Apple Watch Series 5, some Powerbeats for when she went to the gym he assumed, and a crock pot. Erik purchased ALL of that shit in one swift motion. He made sure his card info was linked to her Amazon account and he had Prime too so that was a plus. Erik looked up at the doorway of the bed room to make sure the coast was clear.
“Babe, what you doing?!” Erik yells.
“Making some brunch. You wanted French toast, right?!” She yells back. The sound of pots and pans confirmed it.
“Yeah...yeah I did. Thanks, baby!”
Erik went back to being sneaky. He pulled up her Fashion Nova app. This girl was a Fashion Nova Queen! She probably owned every pair of jeans they came out with. She always talked about wanted new dresses and she had a lot in her wishlist so Erik picked out however many he wanted to see her in. Sweater dresses, mini dresses, sun dresses, a few formal ones, bodycon dresses, any that Erik would love to see his woman in.
“Shit, she need some new lingerie too.”
He was getting real happy with the online shopping. Now, he was on the Savage Fenty site, buying Bodysuits and teddies, corsets and bustiers, Babydolls, garters, and a few sexy accessories like paddles and pasties. Thank God Erik knew what size his woman wore in everything. Doing this made him feel excited. He couldn’t wait to see how shocked she would be when all this shit arrived. Now he wanted to buy her some Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Gucci...
“Damn, she about to have a new wardrobe fucking with me,” Erik smiles to himself. Tossing her phone on the bed, Erik was now on his phone buying her some other shit that he wanted gift wrapped with pretty red bows for Christmas. He didn’t care how much money he dropped on his girl, that was his baby. Satisfied after about another 30 minutes, Erik finally gets up from the bed, walking into the kitchen to find his girl twerking with a spatula in her hand. He snuck up on her, dancing behind her while she dipped low.
“Erik!” She pushes him back with her ass, “Babe, you scared me.”
“Aww, I’m sorry,” Erik was in love with the little pout she gave him. He placed kisses from her cheek down to her shoulder.
“You forgive me?”
“For now,” Y/N flips the French toast, “What were you up to in there anyway? I hope you weren’t watching Disney Plus without me.”
“That’s a fucking betrayal, I would never do that shit to you.”
She gave him a look before rolling her eyes, “Mhm I saw you watching Nightmare Before Christmas!”
“We can watch it again with our food,” Erik reaches over to steal a piece of turkey bacon.
“It ain’t the same.”
He laughs at her overly dramatic response.
“Stop acting like that, girl.”
“No, because we were gonna watch that one together!”
“Listen, I already have something in the works for you so you won’t be mad we didn’t get to see Jack Skeleton bitch ass together.”
“Don’t talk about him, he’s cute.” She scrunched her nose at him in a teasing manner.
“So I’m not cute?”
“Your sexy as hell, but Jack is cute.”
This girl had him whipped. He kept kissing and holding onto her, so in love with her. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when all those things he bought for her arrives. Now, if only she let him buy her a Jeep.
#killmonger imagine#killmonger x reader#killmonger fanfiction#black panther killmonger#erik killmonger#nahimjustfeelingit-writes
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Ain’t this familiar
Jonny along with Ashes and Tim is send out to get screws for Brian on New Texas. First they run into little Jonny then Jack and then his father, it doesn’t bring back any good memories.
On AO3.
Ships: none
Warnings: implied/referenced abuse, mentioned alcoholism and slight self hatered. Tell me if I missed andything and be careful!
~~~~~~~~~~~
Jonny was in a bad mood.
No, that wasn’t true, if Jonny was in a bad mood he would be shouting, shooting and drinking, but none of the Mechanisms had seen or heard Jonny in three days. There was something wrong with him and all could make a pretty educated guess what it was about.
You see, they were on their way to New Texas, Jonnys planet of origin. They had to go there in order to fix a screw for Brian. Doc Carmilla had picked some up on New Taxes when she took Jonny and used them to built Brian later, but as they’d recently discovered this type of screw was only produced there and they were out. So they had to go.
Jonny would’ve been fine, he told himself to be cool about it, they’d visited other peoples home planets and the others had been fine, so why wouldn’t he be? They’d even managed to avoid Marius in his own time line.
He could manage.
He could, until he couldn't.
It had taken a day for the reality to set in. They were within his mortal life years and since Brian didn’t trust anyone else to time jump and they weren’t sure if the screws would be produced in another time they had to go there and NOW.
Jonny wasn’t prepared to go back there, he wasn’t. He’d told them all the story, but it hadn’t been the complete truth and he would see everyone again and alive. His dad, Jack. That was just too much and he didn’t know how to function.
He’d been lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, not doing much except letting the thoughts swirl around in his head until they spiraled.
In the end he snapped himself out of it by telling himself: you’re not letting them fuck you over again, the others will get suspicious and the last thing you want is more questions or not being allowed to come. You need to see everything for yourself, Marius is always going on about closure and stuff, it’ll be therapeutic. Just act normal.
Which is why he showed up the next day, showered and dressed. The others were shocked to see him, so he scowled at them and snapped: “What?”
Brian cleared his throat and replied: “Oh, uh, just surprised to see you. How are you feeling?”
Jonnys scowl deepened as he said: “I’m fine, nothing is going on.”
“That sounds like bullshit, Jonny.” Ashes told him.
“Well, I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Ashes.” Jonny snapped back at them.
They gave him a look, before saying: “And I did not ask for the attitude, seems like both of us don’t get what we asked for. Just because you’re in a bad mood doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole about it.”
If Jonny were any other person he would have apologized, but he wasn’t so instead he looked a bit guilty and said: “I know, just tense.” he saw them open their mouth and quickly added: “I wanna go. I have to go.”
They closed their mouth, but Brain said: “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” he snapped, then a bit calmer, “Yes, I don’t want you all out there without me, if any of you go I go. Besides, I know the way.”
He grinned at the last part, his mask fully forming again after everything. Luckily Brian seemed to get it and the others there didn’t comment either.
They arrived on New Texas the day after that.
Jonny had tried to be around the other as much as he could, just acting like himself to convince them he was really fine and up to it. If it was unconvincing no one had called him out on it yet and no one had tried to stop him.
Brian couldn’t move much and they didn’t need that much people to get fucking screws, so it was decided that Jonny would go along with Ashes and Tim, who would otherwise destroy the Aurora out of boredom.
The three of them stepped out on the desert planet and Jonny just stopped for a moment to take everything in. The same shacks that claimed they were homes, the same drunks asleep on the streets, the same kids in rags and the same dust flying through the air, everything was just the fucking same.
Ashes and Tim waited on him and he quickly caught up. He wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, so he hurried them over the fastest route to the blacksmith that made the screws. They wouldn't be spotted in the back way alleys, but Jonny didn’t give a fuck about that, so they went over the main road.
The small group got stares from everyone. They looked like they definitely didn’t belong here and folks around these parts didn’t take kindly to strangers, but they all had weapons in plain sight and they looked mad enough to use them, so they weren’t really stopped.
At least, not for a while.
Then a small boy came running up to them. He was around ten, had short light brown hair and shaggy clothes. Around his waist he had a broad belt with a flask and from his mouth hung a cigarette. In his hands he had a knife, but he didn’t hold it up as he blocked their way and demanded: “Who are y’all and what’re you doin’ here?”
A bit farther away a group kids was looking at him with a mix of awe and fear.
Jonny had forgotten how much of a little prick he’d been, how desperate for attention. He had no time to deal with himself, so he told the little fucker: “Go away, Jonathan, before I shoot ya and don’t you go thinkin’ I won’t.”
The kid frowned at that and hesitated, before saying: “I’ve never seen ya around, how’d ya know my name? Oh and it’s Jonny.”
Ashes and Tim were quiet as they looked between their First Mate and the kid. They’d never heard Jonny have anything but a British accent, but it seemed he’d slipped into his home accent without noticing.
It was also disconcerting how much the kid looked liked Jonny, but also didn’t.
The boy was Jonny but smaller, but he was too wary yet too naive to be their Jonny. He also didn’t care as much about his appearance or he just didn’t have the resources. Jonny took great pride in having nice clothes and stealing shiny jewelry, but it seemed his younger counterpart was content with the rags.
Meanwhile Jonny answered himself: “I think I’m gonna stick with Jonathan. Now scram.”
“No.” god little Jonny was even more pig headed than older Jonny.
They were gaining a crowd too, which wouldn’t be optimal, so Tim put a hand of Jonnys shoulder and said: “Jonny, I love a fight as much as the next person, but if we want to get out of here without fucking everything up, we need to move now.”
“Is your name Jonny too? Are you me? Is that why ya look like me?” kid Jonny inserted himself back into the conversation, “Also why’d ya have that weird accent?”
“God, you’re deceptive, why I ever believed my dad when he told me I was dumb, I’ll never know.” Jonny muttered to himself, before saying: “We ain’t from ‘round here and that’s enough for now, cause I’m done with ya.”
He had always been a small and scrawny, but Jonathan, little as he was, was even more so. Jonny could pick him up without problem and set him down out of their way, before walking away. He’d wanted to throw himself on the ground, but he didn’t want to give bystanders a reason to shoot them either.
Sadly, this did not deter the younger version him from trailing behind them, while asking questions. It had stopped being about impressing the other kids the moment this stranger knew his name.
Jonny ignored himself, but Tim and Ashes found it quite hilarious to see the mortal kid version of their crew mate. So when Jonathan asked: “Why’re y’all here?”
Ashes answered: “Buying some screws.”
“Why’re you doin’ that here though?” Jonathan asked, happy to get an answer.
“Because we need a specific type of screw that we can only get here.” Ashes said.
“Cool. Why’re y’all dressed so weird?” Jonathan pressed on.
Tim answered that one: “In my opinion it is you, who is weirdly dressed, but ignoring the phrasing. We’re dressed like this, because we’re not from around here. You don’t expect everyone to look like you, do you?”
The little kid though about it, before he said: “I dunno know. Ne’er seen anythin’ else.”
“You’ll get there.” Ashes told him.
“Stop giving him ideas, he’s already insufferable enough.” Jonny said, with his focus on Ashes and Tim the accent switched back. It was pretty weird.
Jonathan picked up on it too and asked: “Why’d ya accent get strange all o’ a sudden?”
They were almost at the smithy and he hoped the little shit wouldn’t be stupid enough to follow them in there, Jonny thought before he gave him a glare and replied: “That’s none of ya damn business.”
It seemed like he wasn’t, because the moment he noticed where they were going he stopped dead in his tracks. Jonny was happy to leave him there, but Ashes was suspicious of the sudden stop and asked: “What’s wrong, kid?”
Jonny rolled his eyes, but Jonathan just stammered: “Are y’all sure you gotta be there?”
Sharing a look with Tim Ashes nodded and asked Jonathan: “Yeah, why?”
“I ain’t wanna stop y’all or nothin’, but uncle Jack’s in there t’day and he don’t take kind to strangers interruptin’ him.” Jonathan told them.
Freezing with fear Jonny stayed quiet, but Tim curiously asked him: “Uncle Jack?”
Jonathan didn’t realize it wasn’t meant for him and answered: “Yeah, he takes care o’ me when dad looked too deep in the glass again, I can hide there when he starts hittin’, ya know. But he ain’t somebody ya wanna get on your bad side.”
That got Jonny looks from his companions, but he did not notice since internally his mind was scrambling for a plan of action. He couldn't send his friends in there alone, but he also didn’t want to be anywhere near the man.
Jack had been nice enough, until Jonny was old enough to pay back his fathers debt. It had all been manipulation to turn him into a willing murderer. He shuddered at the thought of those wondering hands he’d thought to be kind, but turned angry the moment he’d done something Jack hadn’t been pleased with.
He mentally checked in again, just in time to hear Ashes say: “We can handle a bit of a bastard, kid, we’re tougher than we look.”
Jonathan didn’t look convinced, but backed off and quickly ran away. Jonny couldn’t blame him, he wanted nothing more than to run after him. Jonathan was probably going to the dump where a small hole hid him when he didn’t want to be found.
But he couldn't, because he companions had already thrown open the door to the smithy and he had to rush after them into the lions den.
With the slam of the door the two men inside startled at the noise and Jonny was sure that if Jack was the type to get his hands dirty there would be a gun in his hands right now. The smith glared at them and said: “We’re closed.”
Jonny should probably speak right now, he had the accent so they were less likely to murder them if he spoke, but in order to speak he had to have functionally vocal cords. Instead Ashes answered: “Sign on the door begs to differ.”
“You ain’t from ‘round here.” the smith observed, “Go, y’all can come back later.”
Ashes was still staring them down, Jonny rooted to the floor next to them, but Tim was going past the racks until he’d found what they were looking for. He got up to the register and smiled: “We’re just taking these and then we’re gone and you can go back to your little secret special meeting, okay?”
Jack had stayed silent up until that point, but he wasn’t allowing such a thing, so when Tim was done he said: “You listen up, kid. We don’t take kindly to strangers ‘round here, so you can come back later like a good boy.”
He had obviously no idea, who he was talking to. Jonny had forgotten how proper Jack sounded compared to the rest of the town and hearing his voice again, made him instantly want to please Jack.
“We’ll go, no problem, sir. We’dn’t seen, ya know. My friends ain’t from ‘round ‘ere like ya guessed. I’ll set them straight. We don’t mean to bother y’all.” he said.
He was already clumsily backing away, happy with the pleased smile from Jack and ignoring the confused looks from Ashes and Tim. Before he could get out of there Jack stopped him: “You sound like you’re from ‘round here, but I haven’t seen you before.”
Jonny swallowed heavily and grimaced in an attempt to smile as he said: “It’s been ‘while.”
Jack hummed, it was his thinking hum. The hum he gave when he was deciding if you were worth anything or if whatever you had done deserved nothing but punishment. Jonny hated that hum.
He hated Tim even more when he said: “No, we’re not going. We just need this, it will be done in a second and everyone can go on their merry way. You’re all making this way more complicated than it has to.”
Mouth twisting into a thin white line, Jack gave the smithy a nod and the man pulled out his gun and shot Tim. Ashes sighed and went to pick up their idiot friend. They were mostly annoyed at Tim for making it violent, but overall didn’t seem to mind too much.
Jonny on the other hand did mind. His eyes had widened and he looked back to see in Jacks eyes that he had decided that they weren’t worth the air they were breathing. Panicking he helped Ashes get Tim out of the way, snatching the screw up as he told Jack: “‘M so sorry ‘bout ‘im, sir. He ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed, he sure didn’t mean it tha’ way.”
Jack ignored his apologies in favor of looking at Tim, he turned to Jonny deciding that he was the most likely to answer and asked: “Why’re you actin’ like that bastard is gonna stand up again?”
Looking between Jack and Tim, Jonny floundered for a second. He settled on shrugging and saying: “It’s just a flesh wound. This ain’t the worst this idiot went through.”
“He was shot through the head.” Jack told him, looking at him intently.
Jonny struggled about what to say next, but needn’t have bothered, since Tim was already coming to again. From where he was slung over Ashes shoulder he groaned and rubbed his head, before mumbling: “The asshole gave me a migraine.”
The smithy fainted and beside him Jacks eyes grew wide and he said: “That ain’t natural.”
“Ah, yeah, uhm, sorry ‘bout that. I’d’ve warned ya, but I don’t think you’d’ve believed me.” Jonny replied, “Anyway, it’s been an honor to see ya again, Jack, but we’re gonna have ta go.”
“How do you know my name?” Jack asked, but Jonny didn’t react, because he was already running away as fast as he could. Something that became even harder when Jack followed them out the smithy and yelled: “Stop them!”
There weren’t many people on the streets, but enough to be bothersome as they immediately did what Jack had asked of them.
They managed to dodge most of the fire and keep running with the hits they had taken, but before they could get out and to the Aurora Jonny got body slammed by a man and went down.
Ashes was about to shoot him in the head, but Jonny yelled: “Stop.”
He gave the man trying to choke him a better look. “This’ll give me a pretty pay.” his dad said.
Jonny could only look at the man, who had ruined his life in bafflement as he chocked him. He had forgotten the amount of gray hairs and the manic look in his eyes. Jonny did not like how familiar that sight was from the mirror.
“We don’t have time for this, Jonny.” Ashes said, kicking his dad of him and pulling Jonny up.
He went up willingly and was about to follow after Ashes when the sudden need to say something made him turn around. His dad was stumbling to his feet as Jonny said: “You’ve gotta listen to me, ‘kay. Look after ya boy, you gotta keep an eye on ‘em, promise me.”
“Why’d I promise you anythin’?” his dad asked him and he could smell the whiskey from here.
Deciding to just fuck it he said: “Because it’s me, dad. I ain’t from ‘round now and if you ain’t gonna look after me, you’re gonna loose me to Jack.”
“Why should I care if I loose that pest. That boy’s been nothin’ but trouble.” his dad told him, not even blinking at his harsh words.
Behind them Tim and Ashes shot at other pursuers. Jonny took a shaky breath as he remembered why he’d never felt bad about killing his father. He gave the man a steel cold gaze and said: “Good luck dyin’ then.”
And decked him in the face, letting him collapse onto the dirt with a smack, before running out of there as he tried to keep the tears in. He didn’t stop walking, not when they reached the Aurora, not when Marius asked if they’d succeeded, not when he felt the Aurora shuddered as she took off. He only stopped in his room where he crawled under the blankets and curled up into a ball.
Back at the entrance the others looked at Ashes and Tim. Both shook their heads sadly and Ashes said: “It’s probably best not to bring this up.”
“What happened then?” Brain asked.
“We had a bit of a run in with a few people.” Tim answered, “Jack, little Jonny, his dad.”
Some of the others cringed in sympathy, they could imagine how that went down, especially under the circumstances they’d returned.
“The only good thing was Jonny with a New Texas accent, but I don’t even get to make fun of him about that later.” Tim told them.
Everyone jumped on the chance of a new topic and Raphaella asked: “Oh, what then? What did he say? Can you do an impression?”
Tim thought about everything he’d heard Jonny said, before badly impersonating: “We’ll go, no problem, sir. We’dn’t seen, ya know. My friends ain’t from ‘round ‘ere like ya guessed. I’ll set them straight. We don’t mean to bother y’all.”
No one asked for the context and all just laughed when Ashes added: “‘m so sorry ‘bout ‘im, sir. He ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed, he sure didn’t mean it tha’ way.”
And after that it was never brought up again. Jonny joined them again a week later, giving them suspicious looks that fell away when he realized that no one was going to mention the red eyes and the smeared makeup as he got some new bottles from the kitchen.
They just sailed on to the next planet, wreaking havoc like always.
#RR writing#jonny d'ville#gunpowder tim#ashes o'reilly#one eyed jack#jonnys dad#young jonny#tw: abuse#tw: alcholism#tw: allusions to abuse
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A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 56)
Brandywine Drop
Arthur and reader have some much needed respite away from the crumbling gang. We also meet a familiar face! Warning for some animal death/hunting-ish.
Tagging @emily-strange ❤
(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)
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We set up a campsite with Arthur's tent at Brandywine Drop, a short distance away from the huge waterfall and as far from the train tracks and trail as possible. We were set up under the cover of a patch of trees with a clearing big enough for us to set up a little fire. It was evening time once we were settled, with Rayna chewing on some wild carrots I'd pulled up for her, and Arthur heating up some cans by the fire for us. It was a little late to find something to hunt for meat so it'd be a light and bland supper, but it didn't matter. I played with Rayna's mane while she ate, listening to the peaceful sounds around me; it was a wonderful place. The constant shhh of the waterfall put me at ease, coupled with the familiar crackling licks of the fire and the sound of birds singing a final song before they found a place to roost for the night, it made the tension in my shoulders fall away as I stood there by my horse and my love. This is how life is meant to be, I thought.
I suddenly remembered the letter in my pocket from that morning, and looked over my shoulder at Arthur. He was prodding at the contents of a can with a fork, trying to stir the congealed substance to heat it evenly. I reached inside my pocket and retrieved the letter, looking down at it for a moment before walking over to him. I held it out to him silently, and he glanced at it before meeting my eyes.
"This came for you this morning," I told him. He took the letter from me and looked at the writing on the front. I could tell by the slight shift in his eyes that he knew who it was from. "It feels like there's something inside," I added.
Arthur tore open the letter and knocked it against his palm. I was correct in my guess that it was a ring, it fell into his hand and he stared at it for a while before unfolding the letter. He tilted it towards the fire to get some better light to read it with and I wandered away, back to Rayna, to give him some privacy. He didn't need me standing over him as he processed whatever she'd written.
I scratched Rayna under her chin and kissed her nose, whispering to her soft words of affection. She'd been neglected a little bit by myself over the past week or so, and she needed some love. I didn't want her thinking that Kieran was her new papa or something, considering the time he put in making sure that she and the other animals were happy.
Barely a minute passed and I heard the sound of folding paper. I looked over my shoulder and Arthur was staring at the ring again, a mild frown on his face. He must've been hurting but I didn't know how to comfort him. How does one comfort a lover who is hurting over a previous one? It was an odd situation.
"I don't really know the right customs when it comes to these things… but I feel like it'd be in bad taste to–" he began, then stopped and met my eyes. "She's giving me this back because she thinks it'll help her forget about me, I think," he clarified, holding the ring up to me.
My heart did something funny when I saw him like he was; happening to be on one knee as he crouched by the fire, now showing me a ring. The mental leap I made made me ache with some kind of longing. I pushed it away, for the time being.
"She put in her letter that maybe I should give it to someone else. Maybe even you," he continued. "I feel that's a little… odd. Considering I bought it for her all those years back. But I guess… do you want it?" He asked, a slight shrug coming with his words. I couldn't help but laugh.
"No," I breathed, shaking my head but grinning. I walked back over to him, bending over and cupping his face, tilting it so I could kiss him. "I don't want Mary's old ring. But thank you."
"I thought as much," he murmured, tucking the ring away in his satchel, "I thought I'd ask in case you thought it was pretty, or something, but it wouldn't be special," he shrugged.
"Special?" I repeated, a little unsure of what he meant.
"It was her… you know I asked her to marry me," he said very quietly, looking away from me. I nodded even though he wouldn't see it. He took a breath and met my eyes again, "I plan on buying you a ring of your own when that happens," he said, his tone light and casual, yet making my entire body burst with tingles and adrenaline.
"When that happens?" I repeated, choking the words out. Arthur's face seemed to pale as he realised what he'd said.
"If, when, I don't– you know what I– shit, I didn't mean anything by that. That was just a slip of the tongue. I just meant I… I wouldn't propose to someone with the same ring I did with someone else, it was just a general statement, I wasn't–" oh, he was panicking. I snickered and pressed my fingers to his mouth.
"It's okay. I understand," I nodded.
"I guess I… I love you and I can't imagine not loving you, that just slipped out like it was a normal thing to say," he justified, his eyes comically wide. I shook my head in amusement and carefully lowered myself down to sit next to him on the ground. I wondered how I'd get up again but that was a problem for later.
"It's alright. I'm not gonna take that too seriously," I sighed, leaning into his side. "This is an odd situation and you were just trying to say the right thing."
"Perhaps I'll… I'll sell it," he shrugged his shoulders.
"Maybe you could give it to John?" I suggested. "Perhaps one day he and Abigail could have a use for it, you know?"
"You think?"
"Abigail loves him. They're working things out, it seems. Aren't they?"
"Yeah, they are," he nodded, sitting down properly on his backside and wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "Maybe you're right. If he's got any sense he'll marry that woman. He ain't ever gonna find someone else who'll put up with him," he snorted.
"I think that would be sweet, if you gave it to him. That way, someone gets to use the ring and it ain't odd… plus I get my own ring, when the time comes," I smirked mischievously. "I like sapphires, by the way."
"Sapphires," he chuckled breathily, "noted. You know, that bracelet Penelope gave to me was sapphires."
"It was?"
"I still got it, you want it?" He asked. I chuckled and shook my head.
"The money's more important," I said.
"Well, she said it would be worth some," he nodded.
"My mama had a beautiful necklace with a sapphire in it, had to sell it, though. I always begged her to wear it," I told him, fondly recalling it. "Was only allowed to once, I remember," I lifted one finger.
"When was that?"
"My tenth birthday, we went to the park in Saint Denis, I was dressed up in my best frock. Mama said now that I was in double figures she needed to see if I was grown up enough to wear such a special necklace. I was so scared of losing it all day that I never asked to wear it again," I laughed, and Arthur chuckled too. "Couple years later we sold it, keeping a roof over our heads was more important, you know?" I added, and Arthur nodded.
"I suppose, lookin' for silver linings and all, at least we ain't gotta worry about losing no roof, living how we do," he sighed.
I nodded slowly. "And I think I prefer having no fixed abode. Don't know for sure why, but I like this," I gestured around us. "Always have. Much more now I ain't alone."
Arthur scrubbed his hand up and down my arm and then shifted forwards to retrieve the cans from the fire. He used a pair of sticks as pincers to lift them out carefully, placing them on the ground in front of us. He sighed down at our dinner.
"How we splitting this, you want beans or peas, or shall we have half and half each?" He asked.
"Half and half?" I shrugged.
"Alright, here you go," he handed me a spoon from his satchel and I started on my half of the peas while he went at the beans. It was certainly no banquet but it was something warm to fill our bellies.
"So, Colm's dead, I tried to throttle Micah… what a day this has been. Sadie told me that you and Dutch had a disagreement at the saloon earlier," I delicately broached the subject.
"That why you went and spoke to him?" He asked. Aw, shit.
"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged. I sensed him looking at me. "I just didn't want him treating you like crap because of me, so I went and told him that it's just me who wants us to leave."
"That ain't true," he protested.
"Yeah, I know. But it's simpler if Dutch thinks that."
"He ain't gonna be good to you, he thinks you're against him like that," he warned, and I shrugged carelessly. And I really didn't care. Dutch could fuck himself, to be frank.
"Whatever, just let me take the load off of you. You don't need him doubting you, you've got enough to worry about," I muttered, shaking my head and shovelling some more peas into my mouth. "I'm more interested in how you're feeling. He must've upset you."
"Just felt like he was throwing the past twenty years back in my face. I figure I've spent so long earning his trust and proving myself to him, and all it takes is me wanting the best for the woman I love for him to tell me that I ain't loyal. Maybe I ain't loyal to him no more, I don't know," he shrugged his shoulders, "if I'm not, that's only because he's been acting crazy."
"If he wants everyone to blindly trust him, no matter what, he's gotta do better," I shrugged. "I don't trust him to have everyone's best interests at heart. If it was me running this gang, I'd've given John a bunch of money and told him to get lost with Abigail and Jack by now. The poor kid got kidnapped and he's been shot at in his own home at least twice," I used the term 'home' very lightly, but it was true nonetheless.
"We could probably afford to do it, too. John's brought in plenty of work, ain't like he hasn't earned his cut," Arthur mused under his breath, a bean falling off of his fork down his shirt when he paused before putting it in his mouth. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over the mark it left.
I looked down into my can. "I do understand why you can't leave, when I think about these things," I told him quietly. "I don't think I could live with myself either, if we ran off and left everyone else in this mess."
Arthur met eyes when I looked up at him. He didn't say anything but I saw him relax a bit, read relief in his eyes. I could tell it put him at ease to learn that I was on a similar page to him. We ate for a while longer and then swapped cans, and finished off the last of the peas and beans between us.
"How's your leg?" He asked, leaning back on one elbow, head tilting towards the sky where the stars were out.
"Getting there. You saw me walking without my cane today. That weren't on purpose, I forgot it, but maybe I don't need it no more," I replied, leaning back on my hands and looking down at my outstretched legs before joining him in looking at the sky.
"Just be careful, princess," he whispered. There was a stretch of silence before he spoke again, "I'm still hungry after that. Maybe I'll go out in the morning and get us some proper food," he said, and I chuckled.
"You ain't got no more food?"
"I got some biscuits, not many though. Prob'ly not enough for two," he told me. I reached over and patted his belly.
"I won't ask for none," I assured him with a grin.
"You sure? I'd feel bad eating them in front of you," he said.
"I had some chocolate earlier, and I never shared it with you. Go for it."
"Where'd you get chocolate?" He asked, sitting up and retrieving the snack from his satchel.
"Pearson gave it to me, bless him."
"Pearson never gives me chocolate," he muttered to himself and I snorted, shaking my head.
It was quiet save for the crunching of Arthur's biscuits, and I leaned back, lying on the ground so I could watch the stars again. I felt sleepy and at peace. It was so good to be alone with Arthur, just quietly enjoying his company, completely alone for the first time in weeks. I wore an easy smile and released a content sigh, prompting Arthur to look at me.
"That's more like it. It's real good seeing you smile," he commented, brushing the biscuit crumbs from his short beard.
"It's just nice here. So peaceful," I noted, and he looked around and nodded.
"I keep thinking I can hear Karen yelling, drunk, or Micah winding somebody up. Mind's playing tricks on me, it's just the waterfall," he said, shaking his head.
"You sure? They ain't found us, have they?" I joked, making a show of looking around. Arthur laughed and laid down next to me, rolling over to half lean over me. He held himself up with his hand beside me, leaning down to kiss my forehead, then the tip of my nose.
"You look so pretty when you're happy. Not that you ain't pretty all the time, but when you're like this… makes me wanna wrap you up in my arms and keep you there," he said in a low, rumbling tone. I cupped his face and connected our mouths for a slow, open-mouthed kiss.
It went on for some time, we lost ourselves in it indulgently, always letting the background of our surroundings slip away when we kissed like that. I could do it for hours. It might've been one of my favourite things to do with him. Arthur shifted so his elbow held him up and his free hand could go to my waist, his thumb rubbing the spot back and forth, his fingers squeezing in my shirt. I was hazy with adoration in moments, bringing one hand to his torso where I wrapped it around his suspender.
When we broke away for air, Arthur's voice was gravelly and deep, almost a mere vibration in my ears.
"This is making me want you too much. Since the other day my thoughts ain't been anything close to pure–" he began, hearing himself and chuckling. "Sorry. I can't stop thinking about it. I wanna take you, out here, so I can watch your face while I make you feel good."
"I'm still– my monthly ain't finished," I whispered, though I was immediately turned on.
"I ain't squeamish," he said without missing a beat and I gasped and barked out a shocked laugh, smacking him lightly on the arm. He parted from me a bit so he could see my face properly.
"Arthur! That's so…" I laughed, shaking my head, not knowing what to say. "Dirty! In more than one sense."
"I'm sorry, I'm getting carried away again. You do that to me," he said, his cheeks reddening.
"It's okay. I just think– what a mess," I snickered, feeling my own face heat up with embarrassment. Arthur breathed a laugh too and laid down on his back next to me.
"You're probably right," he sighed. "It was worth a shot."
"Dirty boy," I muttered in faux-reprimand.
"Only since I met you," he retorted accusingly.
"I was a virgin when I met you, remember that?"
"What're you insinuating, that I'm the one who's turnin' you dirty?" He smirked at me and I chuckled.
"I don't know. Either way I'm not complaining."
"Mm, me neither."
His hand brushed against mine and he linked our pinky fingers. We were quiet for some time, and I was the one to tentatively break the silence.
"Mm, you know, if we were to go inside that tent…" I began, trailing off quietly.
"Yes?" His voice rose in pitch playfully.
"I might not be able to offer you the full fun and games, but I've got a perfectly serviceable pair of hands," I squeaked. He hummed a sultry laugh.
"Miss Jemima," he breathed, shaking his head in false disapproval.
"Is that a refusal?" I questioned. Arthur laughed breathily and rolled over onto his front enough to push himself to his knees. I watched him from my spot on the ground with a wide smile on my face.
"Sweetheart, I'm in no fit state to refuse anything from you. Come on," he jerked his head playfully towards the tent and I snickered, sitting up and shuffling along with him inside.
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I awoke to an empty bedroll beside me. I noticed the little piece of paper laying atop it quick enough not to panic over Arthur's absence, and plucked it up to read it.
Gone hunting for some breakfast, back soon. Won't go far.
Love, Arthur
I folded the note and slipped it away in my satchel, its sentimental value manifesting itself in an instant despite being something so simple. It had the memories of such a beautiful place and a peaceful night attached to it, of course.
I scooted out of the tent; the fire was going strong, Arthur had obviously tended to it before he left so I'd wake up to some warmth. It wasn't the warmest climate this far north. I warmed myself there for a few moments before tackling the act of getting to my feet. It was trickier than it looked without the ability to bend my leg as far as I needed to, but I got there in the end and headed away from our campsite into the woods to take care of some morning business. Then I headed towards the water to clean up a bit and splash some water on my face. The place looked different in the daylight, with the vivid violet snowdrops dotting the foliage and the sun glinting off the churned up surface of the water by the waterfall.
I looked out across the river to the other side, taking in the trees that surrounded me. Movement caught my eye between them, all the way across the other side of the water. I stepped a little way to the left so I could see better, and spotted two figures in the trees. A gunshot made me jump, but it sounded like a varmint rifle so I wasn't too alarmed. I'd used one enough over the years to recognise its particular sound; less full-bodied than most rifles and almost a little hollow sounding.
I squinted and leaned forwards, trying to make out the figures. I was certain one of them was Arthur, recognising his blue shirt, but he was with someone else. A woman. From all the way across the river she looked a bit like Abigail, but there was no reason why she would be out here.
I decided to investigate. I glanced back at our campsite and ensured that nothing valuable was left unattended, and whistled for Rayna who immediately closed the space between us. I used my good leg in her stirrup to lift myself onto her, side-saddle, and clicked at her to get moving. I crossed the water at the shallowest point, Rayna's big hooves thu-dunking and splashing through noisily. I followed the path around into the part shrouded by trees, hearing their voices as I got closer.
"Get ahold of its legs, have a firm grip, give it a hard pull. Straight down," Arthur was explaining. I didn't want to creep up on them but I also felt strange shouting out, so I waited until I was close enough for them to notice.
Arthur turned, his face brightening with a smile once he saw me. The woman hadn't noticed, focusing on skinning the rabbit in her hands. She tore the skin off in one clean pull, a technique I'd never had much success with myself, but she seemed to do okay.
"Darlin', you're up," Arthur greeted.
"I saw you from across the water," I said, suddenly feeling a little odd about having sought him out. I hoped he didn't think I didn't trust him.
"Oh, hello there," the woman said when she noticed my arrival. I smiled at her as Arthur approached and helped me down off of Rayna, his hands on my waist as I slid off ensuring that I wouldn't land too hard on my feet and hurt myself.
"Hi," I replied, taking in her appearance. She looked slim and tired, her skin a little sallow and dirtied with mud. Her smile was weak behind her politeness, but she was pretty.
"This is Mrs. Balfour, she lives in a house just up there," Arthur introduced her, pointing up the path. "I came across her when I was looking for game."
"Charlotte," she nodded, reaching her hand out towards me, then spotting the rabbit blood on it and thinking better of it, "you must be Mr. Morgan's partner. My sincerest apologies, it's my fault you're having to wait for your breakfast," she chuckled weakly.
"Oh, not at all," I shook my head.
"He was helping me find some food, he taught me how to skin this rabbit," she said, holding up the animal. "My… my husband passed, and I've been struggling ever since. Well, we were struggling before he died but that's a different story," she shook her head, looking off in the direction of her home.
"I'm so sorry," I frowned. She gave me a small, grateful smile.
"I haven't eaten in days, but this will keep me going. Thank you so much," she turned to Arthur.
"Don't mention it," he said, gesturing with his hand for her to start heading back. "Let us walk you back."
I tagged along with them, sounding for Rayna to follow and taking hold of her reins.
"Did your husband do all the hunting?" I gently asked, concerned about her lack of knowledge when living so far out of civilisation.
"Tried to. Neither of us were any good, as I said to Arthur, we were City folk," she sighed, "just looking for some new escape. I don't know the first thing about hunting, can't even fire a gun properly."
Arthur and I glanced at each other, sharing the same look of worry.
"You should probably learn… no use me teaching you how to skin an animal if you can't catch any," Arthur suggested and she nodded her head, looking down at her feet.
Rayna suddenly dug her feet in, pulling on the slack of the reins, whinnying in distress. A moment later there was a gasp from Charlotte and then a choir of wailing howls from above. My blood ran cold, I'd never heard that sound so close and I swivelled to see three wolves up on the slope, looking right at us. I froze in place, my legs going numb as Rayna tore the reins from my slack hand and understandably bolted in the other direction, a second before the wolves pounced forwards.
Instinct sent my hand to my holster, pulling free my revolver and fumbling to pull back the hammer. This was why sidearms stayed loaded. A series of gunshots sounded before I fired, I watched one wolf slam into the ground and slide down, a second wounded. I aimed at the third and shot, missing a couple of times before finally landing a shot in the animal's chest, sending it down before unloading the remainder of my shots into it for good measure while Arthur finished off the others.
There were a few moments of still silence once the wolves were finished. Adrenaline made my hands throb and my head pound; I turned to look at Charlotte and Arthur with wide eyes.
"I would be dead now, if it weren't for you two," she breathed, shaking her head and shoving her hand into her hair, "I'm completely hopeless."
I shook my head, "you just need to practice shooting. I had to learn on my own years ago, I just kept trying. It gets easier, becomes second nature almost, aiming right," I told her in a tone I hoped would reassure her.
"Okay," she sighed and nodded, and we carried on towards her home.
I fell back a little to walk with Arthur, and spoke to him quietly. "Perhaps we could help her. Teach her how to shoot properly," I suggested.
"I was thinking the same thing," he nodded. "She just needs to eat right now but we could come back in a few days."
I nodded in agreement, then we reached the house. It was a pretty spot, right near the waterfall, neatly tucked away between trees and cliffs. Quiet and picturesque. I would've envied her if she wasn't so alone and struggling.
"I would invite you in, but I'm dead on my feet," she told us, breathing a little laugh. "But please, if you two are ever out this way again, do come and visit."
"Of course," I said, and Arthur nodded too.
"It was nice meeting you both."
"You too, you take care ma'am," Arthur tipped his hat at her and I dipped my head politely.
"Thank you, for this," she looked at Arthur sincerely and Arthur awkwardly shifted on his feet.
"Ain't no trouble," he shook his head.
"It's the kindest thing anyone's done for us since we… I appreciate it, a lot," she told him. "Enjoy the rest of your trip."
"Thank you," Arthur nodded, then Charlotte closed the door.
Arthur and I looked at each other then headed away.
"That was good of you," I told him, hooking my hand over the arm he offered. "You're a sweet man."
"I just did what anyone would've done. She was starving," he shook his head dismissively but I didn't let him get away with it. I reached up to kiss his cheek.
"It was a kind thing, I'm proud of you," I said, smiling up at him, "this is why I love you."
He met my eyes, his own softening and warming.
We reached the wolves and paused. "I guess this can be breakfast," I said.
"I suppose. And lunch, and dinner…" he chuckled, "better than letting it go to waste."
And so we set to work skinning and butchering the wolves. The pelts weren't in great shape, torn up by bullet holes evident of a panic, but they'd still come in useful around camp for extra warmth when the temperature dropped, as it occasionally did at the new camp. I stocked Rayna's back with the three pelts while Arthur finished cutting the usable meat from the animals, wrapping them up and distributing them between our satchels and the saddlebags. When we were done we took a moment to wash our hands in the river, cleaning away the blood and grease before mounting up together and heading back towards our campsite.
#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#fanfiction#arthur morgan x reader#atink#arthur morgan x female reader#reader insert#rdr2 fanfic
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but still i find you there, next to me
Warnings: None -- couple f-bombs
Spoilers for 15x01
Word Count: 2.1K
A/N: I'm back on my bullshit with episode codas. Welcome to the end, amiright? Title is a lyric from Next to Me by Imagine Dragons
Read on Ao3
“Hey, go easy on him.”
“What?” The line between Dean’s brow is deeper than ever as he snaps his head in Sam’s direction. He finds his brother watching him intently as he steps off the curb. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”
“Cas,” Sam says with a huff.
“You-- shut up, Sam.”
Sam looks away and pauses a beat. Then, “No. Y’know what, Dean? No. I’m not gonna shut up.”
Dean stops in his tracks and Sam nearly barrels into him. He doesn’t give a shit that they’re standing in the middle of the street. He gives a shit about his brother poking around in business that isn’t his; putting his nose where it doesn’t belong. “‘Scuse me?” Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s getting into, and Dean’s really not in the fucking mood to deal with it.
Sam’s mouth thins out, and he huffs through his nose. Dean has half a mind to poke the festering bullet wound in Sam’s shoulder as payback for this conversation. “You think Cas wanted any of this to happen? You think Cas thought--”
“No, he didn’t think,” Dean snaps, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “He never does.”
Scoffing, Sam presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “That’s funny coming from you.”
Dean shifts his stance and tips his head to the side. “You got a problem?”
“Yeah, I do. Cas is family, Dean. You’ve said it yourself a million times. And he cared about Jack more than any of us. He cared about mom. He’s grieving, too. And-and-and the first sign of trouble, you’re willing to just write him off like he means nothing? I saw you when he died, Dean. I kept my distance, and kept my mouth shut, but I saw you. This,” he gestures generally, somewhere behind Dean, “this whole cold-shoulder act… you’re not doing anyone any good.”
“Sam--”
“I’m not done.” Dean’s jaw twitches, but he stays silent. “Whether you like to admit it or not, we need him. You,” Sam pokes Dean’s chest, and Dean wants to break his finger, “need him. You always do. What happened with Jack-- with-with mom? It wasn’t his fault. You wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at Chuck. Or all the monsters and ghosts we’re about to face. But not him.”
Sam doesn’t give him a chance to retort before he shoulders past Dean and trudges up the steps toward the school. Dean feels heat creeping up his neck, and he huffs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck.” As if the last two days haven’t been trying enough, now he’s got Sam on his case about Cas. And Cas… fuck. Fuck!
He sucks in a breath and grunts to himself, like he’s working up to something before he heads up the steps toward the school doors. Everything is a goddamn clusterfuck, and he can’t tell which way is up.
The sheriff accosts him before the door’s even closed, and Dean rattles of some instructions to keep the locals busy for a while. Buy him some time to figure things out. The sheriff heads back toward the gymnasium and Dean heads for the all outside the admin office, and he catches Cas’s eyes as Cas turns the corner, looking perturbed. Cas, for what it’s worth, looks away, seeming to give Dean the space he wants. Or, at the very least, Dean thinks he wants.
Dean has half a mind to let it go, let Cas walk right on by, but as their shoulders nearly brush each other, Dean scrubs a hand over his mouth and swears to himself. He stops a few paces away and closes his eyes. “Cas.” He’s not even sure Cas hears him until Dean hears the quiet clacking of his soles on the tile stop. Dean drops his hand and turns, finding Cas watching him, one eyebrow raised expectantly.
“Shit,” Dean mutters. He looks around, shifting his weight, and finally tilts his head toward the empty hallway to his left. “Can we talk?”
“About what?”
Well, fuck. Cas is in one of those moods. The stubborn kind. The kind that reminds Dean of when they first met, and it settles an ache in his chest, weighing heavy on his heart. “You-- about--” He huffs, clears his throat, and wipes a hand over his mouth. Beyond the double doors behind Cas, he hears the squeaking of shoes on the gym’s linoleum floor; the quiet hum of voices engaged in various conversations, no doubt lobbing questions at Sam, the sheriff, and his staff. With a grunt, his eyes shift back to Cas’s irritated face, and he tries again. “Can we just talk?”
Cas’s mouth is set in a firm line, and he stares at Dean a beat too long for comfort. Finally, he sighs, as if put out by the inconvenience of Dean’s existence, and steps past Dean into the deserted hallway. Dean waits a moment, lifts his eyes to the ceiling to compose himself, and follows. Cas is waiting silently beside a door labeled ‘Art -- Room 401’ and he’s watching Dean closely.
Dean turns, kicking his toe against an empty locker. It echoes down the hallway, and he raps his knuckles against the cool metal. He’s stalling. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. It doesn’t sound much like words; more a jumbled mess of letters like ‘msrrr’. Cas certainly notices.
“What?”
With a huff of exasperation, Dean whirls around on his heel to look at Cas directly. “I’m sorry,” he sais, more forceful than intended. Cas looks taken aback, and Dean’s face softens. “I-- The kid…” He heaves a breath, pushing his hands in the pockets of his FBI windbreaker as he looks down at his feet. He toes at a scuff mark and tries to collect his thoughts; tries his best to rearrange the Scrabble pieces in his mind into a coherent statement. “I know,” he starts slowly, his gaze still fixed on his shoes. Why are apologies so goddamn hard? “I know you’re havin’ a rough time with the kid. ‘N’ I’m sorry.”
He hears Cas sigh, and he doesn’t even have to look up to know the look he’s getting: Cas’s head tilted to the side, his brows drawn together, his lips curved in a frown. “Dean.”
“I shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you.” He’s surprised with himself, admitting he’s wrong. Maybe the world really is ending. “I just… You-- he killed-- he… Mom’s gone. Again. And there ain’t no reset button, y’know?” His voice dips, and he clears his throat to try to hide the shakiness. “All my life, I wanted her back. ‘N’ I had her. ‘N’ then I didn’t, ‘n’ I--”
“Dean.” Dean sniffs, and Cas continues. He hears the footsteps as Cas approaches. Feels the warmth of his closeness. “You have every right to be upset to lose your mother.” Cas’s hand is on his shoulder. “But, Dean, I lost someone, too.”
“I know, man, I know.” He tilts his head and lifts his eyes from the floor to Cas’s eyes.
“We’ve all made mistakes. I ignored the signs when I should have said something--”
Sam was right about this, Dean decides. They’re all at fault. But Cas is the easiest to lash out at. He always is. It’s not fair of him, he knows. If anything, he should be kinder to Cas than he is, but… it seems it’s easier for Dean than admitting the truth: Dean is not only wrong, but a coward. “Nah.” He cuts Cas off with a shake of his head, and he reaches out to grab a fistfull of trenchcoat. “We all saw it. But we--”
“Hoped.”
The corner of Dean’s mouth turns up. “Yeah. Hoped. Not mucha that goin’ around these days, but, I dunno.” Cas’s hands shifts to the base of Dean’s neck. “This is all so fucked, Cas. I mean, the end, y’know? I told Sammy I liked the odds -- him ‘n’ me against Hell, but I gotta be honest with you, I’m not seein’ a way outta this.”
Cas’s thumb brushes the space below Dean’s ear and he leans closer. “We’ll figure it out, Dean. We will find a way. We always do. All of us. Me, you, Sam--”
“Team Free Will,” Dean huffs.
Cas smiles -- actually fucking smiles. “Yes. Team Free Will. Seems felicitous now more than ever.”
Blinking, Dean exhales quickly. He doesn’t know what felicitous means, but he thinks he gets the gist of it. “Yeah.” His thumb brushes one of Cas’s lapels. “Listen, I know it’s rough, seein’ that asshole ridin’ around in Jack, but--”
“You need him, I know.”
“We need him, Cas. We’ll take care of it, sooner or later, but for now--”
“For the greater good. I’m aware.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
Cas tilts his head, and Dean feels that ache of affection. “What?”
“That you were dead to me.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, as if his own words bring him physical pain. “I could never--” he sucks in a breath that he releases through his nose like he’s trying to keep from getting sick. “I didn’t mean it, Cas.”
Cas is quiet for a beat, and then, “of course, Dean. I know.”
“No.” Dean opens his eyes. “No, I need you to hear it. I’d never wish that. God, losin’ you nearly fuckin’ broke me. I need you to really understand that I--”
“I know, Dean,” Cas says again. His thumb strokes the hinge of Dean’s jaw. “I know.”
The deep line between his brows smoothes out just a little, and he licks his lips as he leans back against the lockers, pulling Cas closer. “C’mere.” The halls are still deserted, and he wants to take advantage of the brief moment they have alone. He thinks, end of the world, right? Fuck it. He wrangles his other hand out of his pocket and grasps the back of Cas’s head, pressing their foreheads together when he’s close enough. He doesn’t give Cas to speak first. “Just-- shut up.” These moments are usually reserved for complete solitude -- Sam snoozing away down the hall or in the other motel room; nights in the Impala when Sam’s off doing research. Moments just for each other, under the cover of secrecy. Not in the hallway of a high school with a whole town worth of people a coupla hundred feet away.
“I didn’t say anything.” Cas’s free hand palms Dean’s hip.
“You were gonna. Just--just don’t.” He closes his eyes and breathes in deep. Cas always smells so good, it’s always been hard to ignore when they’re not alone. Like an oncoming storm in summer. Something almost indescribable. It’s distinct. It puts him on edge and calms him all at once.
“I wasn’t.” Dean doesn’t open his eyes, but he can hear the smile in Cas’s voice.
Tipping his head, his lips brush against Cas’s, and he inhales slowly. Cas’s lips part, moving against Dean’s, and he swallows a groan. His fingers curl in Cas’s hair, the tip of his tongue meeting Cas’s. It’s a nice distraction from the universe crumbling around them. He focuses on the feeling, on the taste, on--
A slow clap echoes through the hall and they part, both turning toward the sound. Dean stands up straight, his face set in a look that could burn a hole through the sun. Belphegor stands at the apex of the corridors, watching them with a smirk. “I had a feeling there wouldn’t be trouble in paradise for long,” he quips. “The famous love story is too good to end!”
“I-- what?” Dean snaps.
“Oh, Dean Winchester and his Angel.” Belphegor speaks so matter-of-factly and cheerfully, Dean wants to put his fist right through his face. “It’s everyone’s favorite soap downstairs!” He leans forward like he’s letting them in on a secret, pushing his hands into his jacket pocket. “We might be demons, but we’re not averse to a little romance, y’know. We like to have something to root for!”
Dean growls and stalks toward the gymnasium, and settles for shoulder-checking Belphegor as he passes. “Shut up. Cas, let’s go.”
He hears Cas’s footsteps, and Belphegor behind him, “Don’t want to keep the hubby waiting-- Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean turns to find Cas gripping him by the shirt, his angel blade once again pressed to his throat.
“Cas, let him go. We talked about this. Let-- hey. Let him go.” Cas finally does as Dean asks and releases Belphegor with a shove.
“When this is over,” Cas turns to Dean as they step away from the abomination and head for the gymnasium together, “I will make him pay.”
“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. But just-- y-- not yet, okay? Not yet.”
Cas straightens his trenchcoat and huffs. “Fine.”
Dean reaches out before they reach the double doors and straightens Cas’s lapel. “Y’know, for what it’s worth… I don’t think your coat is stupid.” He offers a nod, turns, and disappears through the doors, with a new resolve to fix this insanity and, once again, stop the goddamn apocalypse.
#destiel#destiel fanfic#destiel fic#destiel coda#deancas#deancas fanfic#deancas fic#deancas coda#established destiel#established relationship#episode coda#spn 15x01 coda#spn 15x01 spoilers#dean and castiel#castiel and dean#dean x castiel#dean x cas#sam ships it#belphegor ships it#belphegor#spn 15x01 back and to the future coda#15x01 coda#15x01 spoilers#otp: i need you#otp: profound bond#otp: a more profound bond#otp: mornin' sunshine#otp: i love you#my writing#angst and some fluff
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Abandoned Trollcops/Problem Sleuth fic
i’m bored so i’m posting this old trollcops concept i wrote a couple years ago
i meant to have it be this big sprawling thing, including all the trolls and the beta kids and team sleuth and the crew, but it was way too big for me, so all i ended up writing was the first three chapters--basically, the intros for sleuth, pickle and ace.
i don’t plan to return to it. i still can’t get my head around the whole thing. but i like what i wrote, and maybe you might like it too? so here u go.
Chapter One
Spending any amount of time with Spades Slick is dangerous at best, you knew that. You also knew that you were making things worse by spending so much time with him, but you were counting on bruises and stab wounds, not this.
The interrogation room is sickeningly bright. The lights make it impossible to know what time it is outside. You know it was close to sunrise when they brought you in, but you’re not sure how long you’ve been here. Even the ticking of a clock would be a welcome reprieve from this boredom. You wish they’d just throw the book at you already.
The door finally opens, creaking a little as it does so. Apparently the Alternia Police Department can’t even afford a can of WD-40. Two officers walk in. You recognize them from your various interactions with the police in the past few years--Sergeants Terezi Pyrope and Sollux Captor. Sergeant Pyrope pulls up a chair and sits down at the table across from you, lacing her fingers together. You can’t read her expression through her opaque red glasses. You’ve heard that she’s blind, but she seems to stare right through you.
“Problem Thleuth.” Sergeant Captor reads from your file, standing behind his partner. “Thirty-five yearth old. Prothpitian. Failed out of polithe academy at age twenty-four. Ith that right?”
“I wouldn’t say failed,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “I jus’ didn’t like how y’all--I mean. I wasn’t a fan ‘f the bureaucracy.”
“Is that so,” Terezi says.
You nod.
“So you dropped out and became a private investigator,” she says. “Is that right?”
“You know the answer to that,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Don’t pretend like we’re strangers.”
The silence that breaks out is painful. You run a hand through your hair, quietly wondering if your hat is okay, wherever they’ve taken it. Why the hell did they take your hat? What sort of monsters would mess with a man’s hat? This sort of shit is why you could never cut it as a cop.
“You’re charged with being an accessory to arson,” Pyrope tells you.
“Do me a favor ‘n arrest th’ guy who actually did th’ arson-ing,” you mutter.
“The alleged perpetrator is one Thpades Thlick,” Captor says, reading the file. “Damn, man. Thpades, really?”
“I ain’t an accessory t’ nothin’ that asshole does,” you say, slamming a hand on the table. “I was tryin’a stop that goddamn arson!”
“We have multiple witnethheth who thay they thaw you making out with the thuthpect before the fire broke out,” Captor says.
You wilt under their stares.
“I was tryin’a distract ‘im,” you say, weakly. “He’s a dangerous customer, after all. ‘S the ol’ honey pot maneuver, y’know?”
“It didn’t work,” Pyrope says, grinning her sharp-toothed grin.
“N--no,” you admit.
Sergeant Captor hands Pyrope the file, and she makes a show of flipping through it. It’s a pointless gesture since you know damn well she can’t read it. You try to look at what’s written on the pages, but she pulls the file away so she can give it a good long sniff. You slump over, leaning your arms on the table, thinking about how fucked you are, and what you’re going to do to Slick to get back at him for this. They’ll put you away for ages for this, you just know it. The APD have never been fans of yours, and you’re sure they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to put you away.
You jump when Pyrope snaps the folder shut. She puts it down on the table, sliding it to the edge.
“I’m going to admit,” she says, slowly. “That, considering your history of making trouble, we took this opportunity to get a warrant to search your office.”
“You--you what?!”
“Well, the thusthpect is thtill on the looth,” Captor explains, and you wonder if you punch him hard enough if he’ll stop with that goddamn lisp. “We had to check and thee if there were any clueth ath to hith whereaboutth.”
“And what did you find, huh?” You’re raging mad now, and you aren’t bothering to hide it. “A whole bunch of jack shit. Or are you going to charge me with possession of a deadly writing implement or something?”
The two of them stare at you for a moment, and then Pyrope pulls a photo from her jacket. She places it in front of you. It shows your evidence wall, a large corkboard you’ve set up in your office to collect clues in the murder you’re investigating.
“So, what? You gonna charge me with murderin’ th’ District Attorney now?”
Pyrope and Captor look at each other, then back at you.
“We’ve been investigating the DA’s death too,” Pyrope says. “But we haven’t turned up a thing.”
“And here you are,” Captor adds. “With evidenthe we never even thought to look for.”
You grin a little. “Oh darlin’s, are you jealous?”
“We know Kingpin was behind it,” Pyrope says, and her voice is uncharacteristically devoid of humor. “Like he’s behind every other high-profile murder in this city. I’m sick of him making a mockery of this force.”
“Stop bein’ such a joke, then.”
She stands up, slamming her hands on the table. “Take this seriously!”
You raise your eyebrows and wait for her to get to the point.
“We’re willing to offer you a deal,” she says. “We’ll ignore this latest… indiscretion, and you’ll help us put Kingpin behind bars.”
You laugh.
You can’t believe they’re actually coming to you for help. How many times have they impeded your investigations? How many times have they told you to buzz off, leave this to the real cops? How many times have they told judges not to accept your evidence, or straight up confiscated your evidence and claimed they found it themselves? And now they want you to help them?
“Sorry, sorry,” you say, still chuckling. “I musta misheard. Y’ couldn’t possibly be askin’ for my help. I mean, I ain’t a cop or nothin’. I ain’t got no authority.”
“Don’t be a jackathh,” Captor snaps.
“This is in your best interest,” Pyrope says. “You are, after all, still under arrest.”
She does sorta have you, there.
---
You have your hat back when Sergeant Captor takes you outside, to the back of the department. The sun has definitely risen by now, and you’re treated to all the sounds of the city waking up.
“Thith whole thing ith completely off the record,” Captor tells you as he closes the door behind him. “Honethtly, I think it’th dumb ath hell, but at leatht if you get into trouble, nobody’ll blame uth.”
“As long as I don’t trail it back to you,” you add.
“Obviouthlly,” Captor says. He pulls out his phone and types into it. “But we need one of ourth with you. Making thure you’re not fucking up too bad.”
“I’d really prefer we skipped that part,” you say, fixing your hair and trying to find just that right angle at which to wear your hat. “I don’t need no cops following me everywhere. It’ll slow me down.”
“Think of it like exthtra security,” Captor says, still typing into his phone.
The door opens and a short troll walks over, hands shoved in his pockets. He isn’t wearing a uniform, save for a badge he has hanging on a lanyard over a ratty red hoodie. He approaches you and Captor, then squints at you.
“I know you,” he says.
“I get around,” you reply.
“You’re that drunk fucknut that’s always making a scene in Crew territory.”
“Guilty as charged. Y’all’re jus’ gettin’ me on ev’rythin’ t’day!” You nudge Captor. “Sorry officer, looks like y’ gotta charge me for another crime.”
Captor groans and rolls his eyes. He slaps the newcomer on the back and mutters, “Good fucking luck,” before heading back inside.
You wait for the door to click shut before you say, brightly as you can manage, “The name’s Problem Sleuth. Solicitations for my services are--”
“I’m sorry, do I look like someone who gives a fuck?”
You drop the friendly act. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Vantas,” He says. “Karkat Vantas. I’m the undercover guy. I figure I got stuck with this because they figured I could tell the Captain I’m investigating you.”
“‘N I’m sure she’ll buy it,” you add.
“Yeah.” He sniffs, and looks you over in more detail. “I don’t think I’m the only one they’re gonna hand you. I know for sure they said they’re putting my partner, Nepeta, on this case too.”
You rub your face. “Great. Good. More cops, beautiful.”
He asks for your phone, and you exchange numbers. You then tell him to find something else to do with his day, because you’re going home and going the fuck to bed. This investigation can wait until tomorrow.
---
It’s well after 8am by the time you get home, and all you want to do is sleep for ten years. Pickle and Ace will bitch about you not being at the office, but you can’t bring yourself to care. They’re already going to bitch when they hear about this new arrangement, so what’s a little more?
Unfortunately when you walk in, you find Spades Slick rummaging through your refrigerator.
You toss your keys onto the table and sit down. He turns around, cold pizza hanging out of his mouth, and slams the fridge door shut behind him.
“I figured they’d have ya’ in th’ slammer a few weeks,” he explains through a mouthful of pizza. “So y’ wouldn’t mind if I ate yer food ‘fore it went bad.”
“Y’ couldn’t possibly post bail for me?”
“Fuck no. Who do y’ think y’ are, my Crew?” He moves his mug of coffee from the counter to the kitchen table, and then sits down across from you. “So who’d y’ call. Th’ stickbug? Did ‘e hafta give up his booze fund for th’ month?”
“No, nothin’ like that,” you say, reaching over and taking the coffee. Obviously sleep isn’t happening anytime soon, so what the hell. “They let me off.”
There’s a loud clatter as Slick’s chair falls over, and a knife is at your throat. It always amazes you how fast he is. You raise your hands in a conciliatory manner as he snarls at you.
“You fuckin’ snitched, didn’t you?”
“Slick, my most precious of darlin’s,” you say. “I would snitch on you all day, ev’ry day. But that ain’t what happened.”
“Bullshit!” The knife presses harder against your neck, and you feel blood beading along the blade. “Th’ APD don’ jus’ let people go, ‘specially not when they been with me. Th’ fuck did you do?”
“They hired me.”
He looks at you like you just sprouted a second head. He doesn’t move the knife at all.
You go on. “They’re investigatin’ Kingpin. They wanted my help.”
He finally pulls the knife away, but he doesn’t sit back down. “Great. Jus’ what I need.”
“Yeah, Slick,” you say, sipping the coffee. You’re not surprised that it tastes like shit. Slick probably isn’t used to brewing his own. That’s what he has lackeys for. “It’s exactly what you need. You want Kingpin outta th’ way? Jus’ let me ‘n the cops handle it.”
“Kingpin’s mine,” he growls.
“‘Scuse you.” You put the mug down. “‘M sorry, but did you know th’ stiff we found last week? No. Fuck no, y’ didn’t, ‘cause he was th’ law, ‘n he was my fuckin’ friend, not yours. Kingpin’s mine. He owns this fuckin’ apartment, my fuckin’ office, he’s got me by th’ balls without even tryin’ ‘n he murdered th’ DA ‘n none’f that’s got anythin’ t’ do with you.”
Slick narrows his eye at you, before pocketing his knife and stealing the mug back. He chugs the coffee down.
“Fuck you,” he says, slamming the mug back onto the table. “I’ll do it my fuckin’ self.”
“Right,” you say as Slick grabs his jacket and makes for the door. “So I guess I’ll see ya’ tomorrow, then?”
He grunts in response, and slams the door behind him as he leaves.
You know he’ll be back. Partly because you know he can’t resist making your life miserable--the two of you have been caught up in your fucked up little dance for too long, and he’s not about to give that up--but also partly because you know he can’t take down Kingpin on his own. He’s tried for months to do things his way, to just murder his rival crime boss, but Kingpin is careful, and he’s elusive. In the end, the best way to go about bringing him down is to turn the city against him, to get the law on your side. If you can get an arrest warrant on him you can have the whole of the city’s resources helping you track him down. You could freeze his assets, plaster his face on every bulletin board in town. You’ll leave him no place to hide.
You’re going to do it. Your name is Problem Sleuth, and you are going to bring down Mobster Kingpin’s criminal empire.
The APD are definitely going to steal the credit when it’s all said and done, though, and that fact makes you sick to your stomach.
Chapter Two
> Be Pickle Inspector.
You feel as though you’re being punished for Sleuth’s poor life choices.
Nepeta Leijon is a new hire at the APD. She, and her friend Karkat, used to be common criminals. Pickpockets, for the most part, although you remember seeing a few other items on their rap sheet. You’d encountered them once or twice. Never up close--their crimes were never complicated enough to necessitate your intervention--but they’d show up sometimes as witnesses.
Uncooperative witnesses.
You were aware of their being hired. Something about the APD seeing them as valuable assets for undercover investigations. You see the logic, but you’ve never been a fan of undercover operations. You stand out too much. You’re too tall, too gaunt, too recognizable. Your preferred method has always been surveillance. You set up cameras and wiretaps all over the city, in all the seedier bars and meeting spaces. Nothing escapes your omniscient ogle.
Nothing except Kingpin. He’s careful. He doesn’t discuss anything important on the phone, least of all the phones in any of his businesses. You can’t figure out where he lives or where he holds any of his most secret of meetings. Even if you could, he always has too many guards patrolling his places, making it impossible for you to sneak in and plant anything.
It was infuriating before, but now with the death of the DA it’s got you on the end of your rope. And now they want you to babysit this rookie cop? How the hell are you supposed to get anything done?
You asked Sleuth what he did to invite this upon you, but he won’t tell you. You suspect Slick was involved. Slick is always involved these days.
You have a solution to this problem, though. Well, not to the Sleuth-Slick problem, there’s no solving that, but the Nepeta problem was easy: let her work on transcribing your recordings so the two of you can finish them twice as fast. It leaves you with just enough free time to make tea and doodle in the margins of your notes.
You’re halfway through a wonderful drawing of a horse wearing a bonnet when your phone rings. You have specific ringtones for every person who calls you often enough, and you put your head in your hands when you hear this one. Nepeta notices, and watches you as you sigh and answer the phone.
“I’m busy enough,” you whine into the receiver.
“That’s a shame,” says the smooth, dark voice of Diamonds Droog. “And here I had something I thought you’d be interested in.”
“What is it?” you ask.
“Meet me on the corner of 34th and Feldings,” he says.
“D--do I have to?” you say, clicking your pen. “Can’t you just, just tell me? On the phone? Like a normal person? I p-promise the line’s secure.”
“34th and Feldings,” he says again. “Now.”
He hangs up. You put your phone down, put your head on your desk, and groan loudly. Why is this your life? All you wanted to do today was transcribe audio logs and not interact with anybody. You even packed a lunch so you wouldn’t have to go out and talk to any fast food workers.
Without your realizing it, Nepeta has picked up your phone and unlocked it. You make a mental note to change the passkey and not let her see you input it next time. “Diamonds Dickhead?” She makes an exaggeratedly surprised face, and puts your phone back on the desk. “Is that who I think it is?”
You stand up and fix your tie. “I have to go out.”
“Oh! Let me get my coat.”
“No.” You grab your own coat, put it on, and start buttoning it. You make a deliberate effort to put the buttons in the right holes, and you’re secretly glad you haven’t had much to drink yet today. “S--stay here and, and keep transcribing.”
“I’m paws-itively sure that’s super important,” she says, putting extra emphasis on her pun. You’ve noticed that she likes cat puns. In less infuriating circumstances, you’d think it was cute. “But I’m not here to help you so much as to watch you.”
You smooth your hair out and put your hat on. “That’s a terrible idea. N-no, you should just stay here, and not tell a soul I went out. U--unless I don’t come back. Then tell Sleuth. Understood?”
She grins a catlike grin and says, “Nope!”
Droog is never going to let you hear the end of this.
---
34th street is where his tailor is, so Diamonds Droog didn’t have to go out of his way to meet you. It is also clear on the other side of town relative to your office, so you had to go especially out of your way to meet him.
This is par for the course, and you make an effort not to look exhausted when you get there.
He’s waiting for you on a street bench outside his tailor’s, smoking one of his expensive cigarettes. You approach him, but don’t look at him directly. You stand behind the bench, facing away from him, pretending to read a bulletin board. Nepeta follows along, but she sneaks a few glances at Droog when she thinks you aren’t looking.
He breathes out a long puff of smoke before speaking. “Is the detective business so bad that you had to take up babysitting?”
“I n--needed the second job to, to support my tea habit,” you respond.
“That’s a funny way to say whiskey.”
“Oh, no. I steal that all from m-my boss. You see, he has a wealthy patron with a vested interest in, in keeping him too drunk to make good decisions.” You lean back onto the bench, crossing your arms. “I’m s-sure you don’t know anything about that.”
“I’m sure I don’t. Can she leave?”
“I don’t know.” You look down at Nepeta. “C-can you leave?”
“I can, yeah,” she says.
“A--are you going to?”
She shakes her head.
“Sorry,” you say to Droog. “It’s a, a long story.”
He pauses and takes another drag from his cigarette. He taps some ash out on the ground, then reaches into his jacket pocket. You have just enough time to hope that he isn’t pulling out a weapon with which to kill the witness you’ve brought along, before he pulls out a couple of photographs. He passes them to you. They all depict various old-looking artifacts. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen some of these in the museum.
“All of these have gone missing in the past month,” Droog explains. “Obvious signs of a break-in, but no evidence pointing to a culprit.”
“D--do you think Kingpin was involved?”
“Absolutely.”
You scrutinize the photos further, and notice that all the artifacts share a theme. Every one of them either depicts a horrorterror, or symbols associated with said terrors. “This, um. It looks like your sort of thing.”
“Hardly,” he says. “The four of us get our magic from the Terrors, but we don’t need trinkets like this to channel Their powers. They give it to us freely.” He illustrates this by producing a small purple flame in his hand. “Kingpin, though. He’s Prospitian, like you. He doesn’t have the connection to the Terrors that we Dersites have.”
You think about that as you pocket the photos. “Do you think he’s trying to make a pact with the Terrors?”
“Perhaps,” he says, extinguishing the flame. “It’s possible he’s seen what we can do and wants that power for himself. I doubt he’ll be successful.”
You wonder whether it would be possible for a Prospitian to make a pact with the dark gods. You’re almost tempted to let Kingpin try, just to get an answer. It’s not your best idea. If nothing else, these robberies give you one more thread you can follow in your attempts to get any charge at all to stick to him.
“I’ll look into this,” you tell him. “Call me if--if you hear anything.”
“As usual,” he says, before standing up.
He smooths out his suit, throws his cigarette to the ground and snubs it out with his heel. Without once looking at you, he strolls away. Nepeta waits until he’s out of earshot before she says, “You know, Mister Detective, you don’t act much like a detective.”
“H--how’s that?”
“All the wiretapping, and purr-tive meetings with shady guys,” she says. “You’re more like a spy.”
You let out a small laugh. “Don’t say that one to the others. They’ll start coming up with spy names for me.”
“Pickle Inspector’s okay for a spy name,” she says. You start walking, and she follows you. She has to trot a little to match your walking stride. “Spies don’t put ‘spy’ right in the name! It’s too conspicuous.”
You’re enjoying this flight of fancy, despite yourself. “I’ll need to imagine up some clever gadgets, to uh, to get me out of pinches.”
“And you’ll need a car,” she says. “A fancy one, that turns into a submeowrine.”
“And a, a dangerous love interest,” you add.
“Oh? You don’t have that already?” She grins up at you. “You and Diamonds Dickhead had an awful lot of chemistry. You aren’t caliginous?”
“What?” You shove your hands in your pockets and look towards the street. “No. Obviously not. Th-th-that’s just, just gross, ew.”
She giggles, and you don’t like the knowing look she gives you. You reach into your jacket, produce a flask, and take a long gulp. It doesn’t help your mood any. It just reminds you of the last time Droog caught you drinking in the middle of the day, and had the audacity to call you “pathetic”, as if lots of people don’t drink before noon on a weekday.
She’s still giving you that look. Fuck.
“A--anyway, the, the case,” you stutter, trying to get back on the subject of work.
“I know somebody,” she says. “That might help.”
“Who?”
She shrugs. “Old friend of mine. She knows all sorts of things about old stuff like what got stolen.”
“That would be, it’d be really useful,” you say.
“I’ll call her when she gets off work,” Nepeta says, adjusting her hat. “In the meantime we can get back to listening to your wiretaps. The part I was on was pretty juicy.”
You’re relieved she’s so easily given up the subject of Droog and gotten back to the task at hand. She might, despite your initial misgivings, be useful to have around.
“I’ve also started a shipping chart for everyone you’re surveilling,” she adds.
After she explains to you what a shipping chart is, you are simultaneously horrified, and intrigued at the new avenues this gives you when cataloguing and interpreting your data.
Chapter three.
> Be Ace Dick.
Once upon a time, you were a police detective. You like to give Sleuth shit over his lack of occupational experience, but he seems to think that his two weeks of police academy are all he could need. For someone who brags about his charisma, he really doesn’t understand the importance of making connections.
You haven’t been working on the Kingpin case with Sleuth and Pickles. You think they’re out of their league. Kingpin’s ruled this city since Sleuth and Pickles were still in grade school, they didn’t stand a chance. So while they ran around on their fool’s errand, you were out hitting the pavement, solving more sensible cases and keeping the agency afloat. Sergeant Pyrope was a rookie when you left the force, but she remembers you. Whenever you have a case that requires some APD know-how, you hit her up. There’s a little diner next door to the station that’s popular with the coppers, and that’s where she meets you to give you the low-down on some two-bit drug dealer who skipped out on a debt.
You buy her a second coffee once she’s said her piece and you’ve finished writing it all down. Then you tuck your notepad back into your coat pocket and say, “So I heard y’ gave Sleuth a job.”
She shrugs, grinning. “It should be worth a laugh. He always says he can do better than us, so let’s see it!”
You shake your head. “Here ‘m always tryin’ to tell him to stay off that case, and you’re just eggin’ him on.”
“So you’re not going to help?” she asks, before taking a sip of coffee.
“Hell no,” you say. “I quit the force to get away from that malarkey. You at least payin’ him?”
She laughs. “Do you think he’s going to ask?”
“He damn well will, because I’m goin’ to tell him to,” you say, jabbing a finger at her. She can’t see the gesture but she usually can tell that you’re doing one. You’re not sure if she hears the movement or somehow smells it. You don’t know how her weird sense of smell works. “We got rent to pay, missy. If he’s runnin’ around chasin’ Kingpin he isn’t doing other cases.”
“We’ll have to set up a collection,” she says. “I’ll put a little can in the break room. ‘Pay Mister Candy Corn’s rent’.”
Detective Vriska Serket walks over, whacking your hat off your head as she passes you to sit next to Terezi. “Can’t be too much, right? Doesn’t he live in a cardboard box?”
“That sounds right,” Terezi says. “But in this city that’s what, 500 bucks a month?”
“Depends on how new the box is, probably,” Vriska responds.
Terezi nods. “Either way, Kingpin owns it so it is absolutely drafty and leaks in the rain.”
“I’m not opposed to makin’ jabs at my dumbass not-boss,” you say as you straighten your hat out. “But I’m serious. You’re payin’ him. And Pickles too, if you got him involved.”
“We do,” Terezi says. “He’s got poor Nepeta bored to tears.”
“That’s a lie,” Vriska says, taking Terezi’s coffee and putting it in front of herself. “She started writing fanfiction about those counterfeiters on seventieth street. I’m going to try and convince her to submit it as evidence.”
“While that is hilarious, don’t. The Captain doesn’t need to know about any of this.” Terezi takes her coffee back and chugs down the remainder before Vriska can make another attempt. She coughs.
“Now there’s an idea,” you say. “If you don’t pay up, I’ll go let Captain Peixes know what you’ve been up to.”
“Why Ace,” Terezi says, leaning forward. “Are you threatening me?”
“Might be.”
“Maybe if the Captain finds out she’ll get embarrassed enough to put me on the case,” Vriska says.
“Gettin’ tired of solvin’ murders?” you ask.
She throws her arms up in the air. “The only interesting crimes are the mob ones! All the regular crimes are just dumb shit, there’s usually a witness or a camera or something, there’s no challenge!”
“I thought you liked racking up wins,” Terezi said.
“I fucking love racking up wins,” Vriska says. “But I want ones worth my time. Kingpin’s the biggest baddie there is, I gotta get in on that.”
“Maybe you should let her follow Sleuth instead of that angry kid,” you say to Terezi.
She snickers. “No, I’d give her to Tootsie Roll Frankenstein.”
Vriska slaps the table. “You think you’re kidding around but I’d love having that guy work for me! He’ll do all the tedious boring shit so I have more time to pound pavement and beat in faces.”
“I’m glad you appreciate Pickles’ special sort of appeal.” You stand up, straightening out your suit. “Thanks for the tip, Pyrope. Now please stop takin’ advantage of my teammates.”
She salutes at you, and it’s dripping with irony. “No, I don’t think I will. You’re welcome to come get taken advantage of, though!”
“Fat chance,” you scoff, getting out your wallet. You pull out a few bills, enough to pay for your coffee and Terezi’s, and drop them on the table. “Take care of yourselves, ladies.”
“Tell Sleuth if he gets evicted I just got a washing machine and he might fit in the box if he gets on all fours!” Vriska calls as you leave the diner. You hear the two girls snickering behind you.
They laugh, but you know the APD’s pay is shit. You do much better for yourself working as a private dick. The lack of benefits are a kick in the nuts, but at least you don’t have to deal with all the paperwork and politics, and every now and then you got a client who paid you a ridiculous sum for some dumbass thing. Sleuth could do as well as you. He’s certainly got the sleuthing skills for it. He just keeps wasting his time worrying too much about justice and too little about the real world.
You figure he’ll learn eventually. Kids like him always do.
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Tales From The DishWasher, Part 1
In a small town, on the north end of main street, on the same side as the dollar store and local ice cream shop, there's a restaurant that is one of the more popular dine in places in town. On the front side, there's a large sign made out of an maroon awning that shades the outdoor tables and chairs for those that want to eat outside or smoke.
On the back side, there's a sign painted on a metal maroon wall with the restaurants name. There's also a lable on the side of the walls that tell you if the doors are for the kitchen or the entrance. If you were to walk in from the back entrance you might wanna make sure your not walking in through the kitchen door. We've had an array of customers that walked in and ended up with a bag of trash falling onto them. One guy even tried suing us because salsa got on his brand new white jeans. Look, even if he didn't see the sign, the door is obviously a kitchen door.
Now if you walked into the actual back entrance, you'd see a small array of arcade machines that were more then likely made in the 90's. The audio from the games faded from years of dust and play time.There's also a small stand of gumball and candy machines, one of the ones where you can get a temporary tattoo for 50 cents each.
A few footsteps and a turn to the right, you'd see the vast open area. Booths to the immediate right and left, a bar on the slightly farther left, tables all scattered around with more booths on the right and left against the walls.
The kitchen area, which would be left at the arcade machines, has a few different sections. The left of where you walk in is the front line cooks area, a grill, friar and a freezer along the front and back as well as countertops with storage cabinets for lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and other toppings or side foods.
On the right of the entrance is the dishwashers station. A shelf and carts for the servers to sit the dirty dishes on, and a big sink with a sprayer and a few different soap options on the wall. There's of course, the washing machine that's usually used just for sanitation purposes.
Behind the dishwasher station is the shelves where the majority of the dishes that aren't plates or bowls are kept. Most of the kitchen employees keep their stuff there so it's out of the way. And finally, behind the front line cooks, are the back line cooks area as well as the walk in cooler and freezer.
In the dishwasher area is where I work. I spend most of my shifts there and only leaving to put away dishes or use the bathroom or even get a drink. Not everything's normal here though, most of the eventful things happening at night when it's just me and whoever is the main cook that night, and the closing bartender.
We've dealt with a pack of stray dogs that live in the old car wash station across from the dumpster. Their friendly though thankfully, begging me for pets and belly rubs after every shift as well as treats. All of them are a mixed breed between a husky and a wolf. I've taken the liberty of naming them all.
There's Yogi, the big grey and brown male who got his name from how much he looks like a bear. Luna, a blue-ish grey and white one, who got her name from the moon shaped crescent spot on her back. Waffle, a all black one with blue eyes, who got his name by sniffing out the waffle's in my bag one day. Then there's Crash, who's red orange-ish fur makes him look similar to the famous video game character.
There's a few pups too that I haven't named yet because I haven't had time to witness their personalities. Luna, the assumed to be mother of the pups, keeps them in the old storage room of the car wash. I've re done the storage room a bit to give them a bed and a few other things to help her take care of them.
I'm thankful that no animal control or pound people have taken them yet. If they tried, I wouldn't hesitate to take them home to keep them safe. The only reason I'm not taking them home now is because they are used to this place and I don't wanna make them uncomfortable. But believe me, the moment I feel like they are danger whether it be animal control, or them needing a vet visit, they'd be in my custody in no time.
And then there's the mysterious bar truck driver, a trucker who is always at the bar, no matter how early we open. The only time he's not there is when we're closed. He's always wearing a hat, flannel, and some form of camo. He drinks so many combinations of alcohol during his visits, it's a miracle he never passes out or hadn't died of alcohol poisoning. He knows all the words to all the songs on the digital bluetooth jukebox. If you ask him, he'll stop drinking long enough to sing a long to a full song of your choice if you buy him a drink.
And then there's the mysterious puddle of water surrounding the water softener and the pump. The puddle almost always fills the area where the tile is broken. No matter what we do, the puddle never goes away, and is a murky grey color. Sometimes it won't be as much water, but we could be closed for a week and the puddle will still be there. It doesn't help that some water that sprays off from the sink or gets spilled can add to the puddle.
I guess what I'm saying is, weird things happen at the patio restaurant in town. Mostly at night. Weird stuff has been happening even before I started working there. I remember a week before my first shift, there was an incident where all the liquors and vodkas to make mixed drinks were stolen, broken, or empty, as well as ate a whole gallon of ice cream. The whole situation could have easily been blamed on one of the bartenders or other employees at the time, but they were closed that day.
T-Dog, the main front line cook that I close with most of the time, thinks that the bar trucker pick pocketed the key and the security alarm code when we closed early one night. That would make sense, since they closed early the night before and he could've needed to make up for a days loss worth of drinks.
If you ask him, T-Dog always has a somewhat reasonable explanation to any weird thing that happens there. "That puddle isn't mysterious.." He told me after I had accidentally stepped in it again and almost fell over.
"The water softener is leaking, but since we run water so much with the sinks, washers, and bathrooms, the leak doesn't have a big impact. You think the owners would fix this shit, but since it's not causing any problems, they ain't touching it just to save them some fucking money." I always made an effort to hear out his explanations. They may or may not be true but it's way better than my theory about the bar trucker peeing on the broken tile. But my theory would explain the weird smell that happens over there, no matter how much we clean over there.
T-Dog isn't the only cook I close with. Some nights it's Danny, or Jack. Jack tends to ignore the weird things happening here. But he's also the cook that doesn't make me do everything I need to do before giving me the okay to leave.
And I know he doesn't do it because Tobias, Toby for short, is the opening cook in the mornings has told me multiple times whenever something doesn't get done. I see Toby once a week when I actually work a morning shift. He's one of the not so serious cooks, and jokes around every now and then. There was one time where acted like he was gonna knock over my drink.
What's kinda funny, about Toby being the not so serious guy around here, he doesn't believe any of the weird things that I've told him about. He thinks it's rumours to get more customers in.
"Shane, that bar trucker is only here for entertainment purposes. We don't have a stage so he just sits and takes his drinks at night to keep the drunks entertained." He explained. Well.. There was one night that Toby closed for the first time. He learned the hard way that the weird things really do happen here that night.
It was around ten thirty, and we were working on finishing our stuff up for the night when we heard a loud crash come from the cooler. "The fuck was that?" He asked. I shrugged.
"Maybe Alex is still cleaning his stuff up." I replied. He shook his head.
"No.. I saw Alex leave almost an hour ago. There's something back there." I finished taking care of the next load of dishes that needed to go in the washer, before following Toby to the walk in cooler. He was carrying a broom to defend us incase there was something that could attack us or scare it away.
We opened the door slowly to see, not one, not two, but three possums in the cooler. They were snacking on our most recent batch of precooked fish sticks. They looked up at us like a kid who had just got caught sneaking out. Toby went to swing the broom to get the mammals out of there, but as he did one of then jumped on the shelves, knocking down the large ice paddle.
It smacked into Toby and made him fall back. When he landed, the force of the fall against one of the shelves, causing a case of beer to fall onto him. Glass shattered, making him covered in glass shards, beer, and blood. Most of them in his legs and chest.
"Gah!" He cried out as he went to pulling some of the glass pieces. I rushed to the shelf where we keep the first aid kit, handing it to him but he smacked at out of my hands.
"Call an ambulance Shane! A first aid kit ain't gonna fix this shit." He yelled with a look of frustration on his face. I sighed and went to the area where the phone was and dialed the number for the station. When I had explained the situation, the man on the other end sounded genuinely confused.
"You said a Possum snuck into your walk in cooler, and made a ice paddle fall onto your co worker, which caused a case of beer to break onto him??" She asked to confirm what I said.
"Umm yeah that's what happened."
"But how would a Possum get into the cooler?" Possums usually never bothered with the busier end of town."
"I have no idea, but that's what happened!" She let out a sigh.
"And which restaurant in town was this again?" Now it was my turn to sigh.
"Darbie's Patio on Main Street..."
"Ooh that place!" She said, realizing who she was dealing with.
"Please hold." She said. I assumed she forwarded the call to the department that takes care of our cases. As much weird shit that happens here, the department has given us a specific branch and a officer to take care of us.
"Hello, this officer Mark here. Who is this?" He asked in his professional cop voice. Mark was the officer assigned to us, being close friends with the owners. Him and the owners have probably seen more weird shit than I have my whole life.
"Hey Mark, it's Shane Redfield from Darbies Patio. There was an accident with a few possums in the cooler, and now Toby is covered in glass shards." I briefly explained.
"Hang tight, I'll be there with an ambulance in five minutes or less. If there's any big chucks of glass in him, do not let him take it out. If he bleeds out before he can get to the hospital, that's bad news." I thanked him, hung up the phone and stayed with Toby while we waited. The bartender brought us both a drink. He took a long sip before looking back at me.
"Hey Shane?"
"Yeah?"
"..Does weird shit like this happen all the time...?"
To be... Continued
#tales from the dishwasher#tftgs fan blog#dishwasher shane#darbies patio#shane redfield#shane from darbies
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Coffee Caramel Flan (JayTim Fic for Fictober)
Prompt number: 25 .“I could really eat something.”
Fandom : DCU/Batman. No powers AU
Rating: General Audience
Warnings/Tags: None/ Angst, Fluff,
Summary : Tim is sick and became an even pickier eater. Jason is determined to make Tim eat. But, of course, things aren't as simple as that.
Word count : 4k
Click link to read on AO3
Click keep reading to read on tumblr~
+++++++
“Can’t you just eat a spoonful?”
“How about no.”
“Oh c’mon. I’m literally running out of food recipes.”
“I can’t today.”
“What is it? Too bland? Too salty?”
“Just drop it, Jason,” Tim finally snapped, his eyes look apologetic before he looks away.
The room fell quiet, though it never really is. The news has been playing all night long from their upstairs neighbor, and a recording of 60’s retro music quietly hums from the room next door. The fan on top of them whines as they blow a barely-there wind, signs of old age. Their apartment is as tidy as a dead beat one can. Random stuff for the coming garage sale are tidily packed but taking the corners to resides. It’s not much, but it’s home sweet home.
Days like these are often for Jason. Especially when Tim is sick, he’s a picky eater, just like now.
“What about some flan with coffee caramel, you liked those,” Jason attempt to coax Tim to eat one last time. When the small frame finally turns towards him, Jason felt like a medal of honor is blessed upon him.
“I thought the dishes are a bitch, so you only make those once a month,” Tim whispered sheepishly, hiding half of his face under the thin wool blanket.
The skin above Tim’s bony his joints is blooming red, as well as his sickly nose and teary eyes. Tim has never been this sick before, but then again, there are times where Jason had thought so too and Tim always healed. There’s no need to worry, Jason said to himself over and over again. He can take care of Tim, he’s the only one who can.
“I’m desperate,” Jason says to the empty air. Blinking his haze away, he looks back to Tim who knits his eyebrows together, “At this point, I’m ready to make anything as long as you eat and get well soon.”
The little 18-year-old melts, and whenever Jason sees Tim that way, he fell in love all over again.
“I love you, Jason,” Tim says as he sits up and lands a kiss on Jason’s cheek, not wanting to pass the cold.
Jason frames the heart-shaped face in his calloused hands. Tim’s pretty face graced with that pretty smile, it’s almost sinful how Jason is allowed to touch him.
Never a day passed by that Jason doesn’t feel blessed that Tim’s here, that Tim chooses to stay with him.
“I love you too, Timmy.”
++++
“How’s your runaway?”
“Tim’s not running from home. His parents knew exactly where he is and my address, and never bother to pick him up,” Jason put a cigarette between his lips and open his hand to his nosy friend to give his lighter back.
After lighting up his own, Roy hands it. “Gotta admit, I didn’t expect Tim to last long staying in your place for...” Roy drags in, and huffs a white puff of some to the warm sunset sky how long has it been?”
“... Six months,” Jason said after puffing the lit cigarette and takes a long drag from the filter.
“Dang, he can live without his golden toilet?”
Jason smacked the back of his redhead, “Shut up, he’s tougher than you think.”
As he smacked Roy’s head, his image seems to blur. He thought it’s the smoke, but it seems to disappear, or maybe the sun, but it’s cloudy right now. Whatever caused it, when focus came back, Roy has a different demeanor.
“Sure, your Tim is.”
“The fuck is that suppose to mean?”
Roy smirks and pushes the wall with his back, “You know what I meant, coo-coo brain. I’ll see you tomorrow when you’re better.” The redhead disappears around the corner leafing ribbons of white from the burning cig.
Jason doesn’t let what Roy said get to him. Cigarettes help. After the third one is finished, he goes back to kitchen duty.
+++++
“Tim? I’m home!” Jason declared as he locks the door behind him. When he steps in, the room is empty.
Tim is not in the kitchen or lounging on the sofa, not even in his bed where he’s supposed to be resting, and there’s no voice in the shower.
Before he starts to panic, his eyes catch a piece of paper by the nightstand.
‘Starting to miss my phone. I’ll be back in a flash. And don’t worry! I feel better :)’
Relief wash over him and the tension on his shoulder melts away. Some of it at least. He can’t believe how much Tim’s presence influenced him in these past few months. The sun is still out and he doesn’t know when Tim left and how long has it been since he did.
His therapist says it’s okay to feel on edge for little things. That there is nothing as such, and he can always act on it as long as it makes his restlessness goes down.
The knock on his neighbor’s door is a bit harder. Miss Mary has a hearing problem, hence why her 60’s music always sounds too loud. It never bothered Jason though, sometimes Jason and Tim even danced to it.
“Miss Mary?” Jason called when he hears no steps and only a sound of sax from a recorder.
After a few seconds, the door opens, a lady with big cloudy green eyes looks up at him from the little opening of the door. The chains hold the door to a certain gap.
“Oh, Jason sweetie,” she melted into a smile, putting tension on her sagging skin. She closed the door, undoing the chain and opens the door wide, “How can I help you? Would you like to come in?”
“It’s not necessary Mary, I just want to ask if Tim went out.”
“That boy? Yes, he told me you’ll come. Told you not to worry,” Mary slaps him on the biceps, “Is he okay? Where are his parents?”
“Don’t worry, he just has a bit of cold.”
“My eyes might be bad, but that boy is as healthy as a horse! What are you talking about?”
“You’re right Mary.”
Jason jumps with hairs standing up.
Tim giggles triumphantly from behind him.
“Jesus Tim, scared the bones outta me. Got your phone?” Tim lifts his phone up. “What did your parents say when they see you?”
“Didn’t say anything because I didn’t see them. Only the maid is there.” Tim shrugs.
“Where are they? How can parents not be home?” Miss Mary asked.
Tim and Jason look at each other before Tim finally reservedly smiles, “They’re out of town for work.”
“When will your parents be back honey?”
“They won’t be back for a long time.”
“Oh, you must be lonely.”
“No, I’m not. I got Jason with me.” Tim steps closer and links his arm around Jason’s waist and leans his pretty little head on Jason’s shoulder. Suddenly a volcano burst inside his chest and a bunch of hearts geyser out of it.
“Oh, aren’t you the sweetest!” Mary smacks Jason’s bicep again. It’s something Mary does, Jason is whatever about it.
Jason put his arm around Tim’s and squeeze firmly feeling the chill on Tim’s damp cloths and Tim’s warm hand on his back.
“Alright, thanks Mary, I’m gonna take Tim to bed now, good evening.”
“You too love!” and she closes the door.
“Wait, to bed? The sun is still up!” Tim whined.
“You’re warmer than yesterday.”
“Really? But I feel totally fine!”
“You’re still sick, and did you eat the lunch I left?”
Tim looks away guiltily, and Jason sighed, “I’ll make you some chicken soup, it’ll be easy to eat.”
“Yeah, I think I could eat that.” Tim lets go of his hand and looks at Jason.
There’s a coldness in his eyes, never before that Jason sees him like that, it chills him to the bone. Not quite in anger, but the rapid change sends shivers down crawling at the back of his neck. It still looks like Tim, but Jason doesn’t know this part of him, and Jason’s not sure what to make out of it.
“I’m not sick, I’m not your mom.”
It feels like that’s the last thing Jason remembers that day. The morning after, Jason wakes up without Tim, and no note left behind.
+++++
Jason tried Tim’s phone but there’s no reply. Jason tried to wait a day but Tim hasn’t come back still. Two days passed by, Tim must’ve been back to his house. But then again, Jason knows Tim, he’d rather die than goes back there. What does that make Jason that Tim would rather go back to his parents than talk things out with Jason?
Last time Jason meets with Tim’s parents ended up with a restraining order. No, not on Jason, but on Tim’s parents. Long story. Now, Jason is in front of the Drake’s resident with no shame or anger stopping him.
The first one to show is Mr. Drake, he looks nothing like Tim. His face looks just as long as his neck and just too narrow. Under his dark green robe is a white and blue pajamas, seems like Jason just disturbed his break time.
“You,” the old man spat, “What do you want?”
Jason lets his face twitch, but not show his distaste, “Tim, is he here?”
“What are you talking about? Tim is-”
“Honey,” called a woman from the doorstep, she too is in a robe. A blue satin one that reaches her mid-calf and her hand clench above her heart.
She approaches with a slow and careful pace, “Jason, Tim is sick,” she says the most obvious thing with caution.
“Yes! I was taking care of him in my apartment and then he just vanished. Did he come here? Is he still sick? Do you care about him now after he’s sick to death?” Jason pointedly glares at the old man who glares back at the same intensity.
“See here you lunatic-”
“Jack!” Mrs. Drake scolds, and Mister Drake glares at her too, but a single shake of the head from her subdues him. “Tim is out buying groceries. Wait here Jason, I’ll call him,” she said then promptly walks inside her house, so does Mister Drake after giving Jason a stink eye.
Then what’s left is Jason leaning onto the gate. Looking at the road and the residential area, makes Jason's skin crawl. This place gave him unpleasant memories.
He waited until the sky is getting dark. While he waits, his mind rotates to the possibilities that the Drake might’ve been lying to him. Well color him with shit, ain’t he dumb.
Just as he’s about to grab a rock and throw it to one of the windows, a white van parked right in front of the Drake’s sidewalk. A bunch of men came out of the van’s sliding door, wearing high-collared all whites like nurses. One of them grabbed Jason’s by the arm, and it shocked Jason when he couldn’t yank his arm away.
“Let go of me!” Jason growled, but none of the men responded. The one on him is trying to subdue him while the other is carefully approaching.
“Who the fuck are you guys? Get away from me!” Jason screams this time, trying to desperately run away. The nurse pulls him with a force that throws him off balance, and his arms quickly locked behind him.
“ARGH!” Jason screamed as a sharp pain shoot from the back of his neck. His blurry vision catches one of the nurses with a syringe.
As he looks up, Janet and Jack Drake are looking down from one of the windows. Even so, as Jason’s consciousness slips away, his last wish was to see Tim popped into view in one of those windows. Tim doesn’t.
+++++++
Jason woke up wearing a baby blue shirt and matching knee-length shorts. Only after a few seconds staring at it that he recognizes it’s a patient's uniform. He was about to run away if the familiar woman isn’t the second thing he sees.
“Wh- Miss Mary? What... what are you doing here?”
Miss Mary serves her usual kind smile. Like the room, her clothes are white and clean. Tidy like it’s just been ironed and proper like an office worker. She wears an id card on her shirt’s pocket on her right. ‘Marilyn Pepper. Head Nurse’.
Jason looks around, it doesn’t look like a hospital. Beside his bed is another bed, and beside that is a lot more beds in this one big room tidily rowed with two-meter space from each other.
“Jason, I’m going to tell you something you might not believe,” Miss Mary says softly as she sits down on the edge of Jason’s bed. “This is a mental institution, and you’ve been here for a few years now.”
Her words punch the air out of Jason’s lungs. His head shakes as he starts to feel uneasy in his own skin.
“You’re... no, I was in my apartment yesterday, I was... I was with Tim!” Jason jumps out of his bed, “I don’t have time for this, I’m leaving,” then he storms out of the room.
The halls seem like it goes on and on, both ended with a double door. The place is too clean for comfort, too sterile to even possibly exist. A few nurses walking back and forth with a writing board on their hands. Their eyes straight ahead as they walk, as if Jason is not there.
In the end, he chooses one door and proceeds cautiously. A tap on his shoulder makes him turn vehemently. A young nurse with a familiar face is taken back as she moves her hand away. Jason doesn’t know who she is, only the gut feeling that he does.
“Yo, Jason you okay?” the blonde tips her head to the side.
Her voice sends chills down his spine and Jason runs away. She tried to stop him, but he ran away.
He feels like a mouse in a maze with no way out. Trapped upon unfamiliar hallways that never ends. his head starts to feel light. The beating of his heart pumps with rapid breathing.
Another door feels like the other, but this one doesn’t lead him to another hallway. It’s a large room with sofas, chess tables and people doing their own thing. The soft retro music of the ’60s hits him the most, for a blink there he can see his apartment with this music played behind the wall. The right side of the wall is all glass and looks out to a green grass flooring with swings and a mighty tree in the middle where a few people sit by a plaid carpet.
It feels like the room spins around. A few eyes are on him before they go one with their business. Most of them are using the same clothes as Jason.
This is, a mental institute, that means they’re patients, and that means so does Jason? But he’s not crazy... he’s not! He doesn’t belong here.
“Whoa whoa whoa you’re like a merry go round there, stop spinning,” says a familiar voice. A pair of hand hed his shoulder and in front of him is Roy, wearing the same uniform as his.
“Okay, you know where you are?” Roy asked.
“Miss... Miss Mary said it’s a mental institute,” Jason says meekly, holding onto Roy, the last thread he knows is real.
“That’s right, let’s go outside okay?” Roy wraps an arm around his shoulders and Jason is disarray enough to follow.
The breeze smells of the cold air of spring. It cools down his frayed senses enough to makes sense that some things don’t. There’s a wooden chair where some people sit together and talk, two grown adults are by the swings, laughing like toddlers. The pretty and clean place is surrounded by a tall metal fence. Thick and sturdy as star-shaped spikes rowed at the tip. From the gap between the fence, he can see the city that seems on the lower ground and further away from where he is.
“Am I dreaming?” Jason steps closer to the gate, reaching towards the faraway city that has been his home.
“Nah, this’ pretty real,” Roy replied nonchalantly. “Do you remember when you get here?”
“I think I was taken yesterday. Tim went missing so I came to his house, just to see of he’s there and nothing happens. Then I guess his parents called the nurses.”
“Ok, the nurses part was right. You somehow escaped, you went missing for a while. But you’ve been in this institution for –get ready– five years.”
Jason whips around with blown wide eyes, “You’re fucking insane!”
“Well, we both are, that’s why we’re here.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” Jason screamed, all the people in the yard looks at him and some even stand up as they inch away. “Tim is sick, he needs me! If I’m not there he could’ve... he could’ve died, I can’t handle that again.”
Roy shifts his eyes to the glass door and around before walking cautiously towards Jason, “Okay, calm down buddy.”
“No!” Jason storms past Roy.
“Jason just please wait a minute!” Roy holds on to Jason’s wrist but Jason easily brushed him off.
Behind the glass door is darker than the outside. Just before Jason opened the glass door, he takes a look at himself in the dark glass door that shows every detail of his face there. It’s almost like Jason is seeing someone else through the glass. He hated how he knows it him, the age that does a number to his face, and cruelly makes him look like the father he resents.
He steps even closer, putting his finger on the glass and trace all the points on his face that he detested. How deep his eyes sunken into the sockets on his skull. The fine lines beginning to form under his eyes. Chapped lips that split apart so bad that it’s slightly bleeding. Has it really been 5 years? Because he looked like time passes way beyond that. The longer he stares onto his reflection, the more his anger shimmers down and replaced with terror.
He looked just like his sickly mother before she died. It’s still a mystery why she never got better. Jason did everything right. When Tim fell sick, the dread of his mother’s death haunts him again. Mistakes of the past are a teacher for your future, but Jason’s past can’t teach him anything if Jason doesn’t know what he did wrong. All he knew was he doesn’t want to make the same mistake, to let Tim have the same fate as his mother because of his failure.
“Oh, that’s what happened,” Jason whispered under his breath.
He sees Roy coming from behind him at the corner of his eyes, but he can’t look away from his face just yet. He tried to remember what he did to Tim. What made him ended up here.
The glass door slides open, the first one to show is Miss Mary, then in front of Jason, is Tim.
Now as tall as him. His body filled up a little since he last remembers and a face that’s just as youthful as he was 5 years ago. His hair is trimmed and let down, not as long but the short hair makes him look more mature than the boyish teen Jason remembered. He’s wearing fit ankle-length trousers with patterned baby blue button-up with oxford shoes. Unlike the skater boy Tim Jason used to.
Somehow, seeing Tim in front of him forces the reality down his throat.
“Jason, are you okay?” Tim asked with worried doe eyes. It’s unreal to hear Tim’s voice sounds lower now, but what breaks Jason the most is how Tim is also cautious of him.
“What did I do to you?” Jason’s question drops the temperature a few degrees. He can see Tim shrunk his shoulder as he slightly leans back.
“Please tell me, Tim,” Jason begged, “Don’t I deserve that?”
“No!” Tim scolds, freezing Jason on the spot, “You deserve to be well and happy and if forgetting what happened is all that it takes then... then it’s fine.”
Tim’s eyes glassed over with tears and he wipes them before they escape.
“How can I learn from my mistake if I don’t know what that mistake is? I need you to tell me, Tim... Timmy.” Jason called his nickname and Tim just look away, breaking his heart into shards, “Why are you so scared of me?”
Tim finally looks up, with gritted teeth and eyebrows digging close to his eyes, “I’m not! I just want you back, Jason. I want to wake up next to you again, and have your coffee and eat your cooking when you didn’t think I’m sick! I missed you! And If forgetting what happened is all it takes...” Tim’s voice trails to nothing, this time his tears free fall down to his jaw.
Jason for once left breathless and ashamed, seeing Tim in tears, he never makes him cry like this. But in the 5 years that left his memory, how many have those tears had shed behind him.
“You’ll remember Jason, this isn’t the first time this happened. You always prefer me to be honest, so, I have to tell you, this is the longest memory loss episode, hence I needed Tim to come.” Miss Mary comforted.
“Why did I forget?”
“We still don’t know. You have triggers whenever you’re left alone or when you touched someone that’s a bit warmer than usual, but how bad it affects you can lead to memory loss.”
Tim looks reluctant, but Miss Marry rubs his back, “It’s okay Tim, he’s getting better, it needs to be done.”
Then Tim finally nods, looking up to Jason and slip his arms between Jason’s torso and wrap him into a clinging hug. Jason immediately hugs him back. Just yesterday he hugged this body, but it felt like it’s been so long since he does.
Tim hold his hand and pull him towards the tree, “This is our favorite spot.” Then he sits down, which Jason follows suit. The yard looks a bit empty now. Whatever Jason did in the past, the patients seem to be wary of them. Fun.
“You’ve come here quite often then huh?” Jason mused.
“Yeah, to visit you.”
“Did you put me here?”
“No, you did.”
Jason smiled at himself, “Good.” Whatever insanity he was drowned in, he’s glad he had the sanity to put himself here.
Jason and Tim sitting under the tree’s shade, suddenly lost for words.
“I’m sorry,” Jason said after a long pause.
“Don’t be. None of this is your fault.”
“Will you tell me what I did to you now?”
Tim pursed his lips, playing with his fingers before he finally admits, “You lock me in your room, thinking I was sick. At one point you overdose me with cold medicine.”
The cold air blows but it’s not the reason why Jason has chills on his skin. Suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t be this close to Tim. As he was about to scoot away, Tim lay his head on his shoulder.
“Don’t,” he silently scold.
“What?”
“You’re not broken, just troubled.”
Jason knows that but it hurts that he hears it, but it helps that Tim’s here. How many times has this happened. How many times Tim have to come here for Jason.
“I’m a danger to you.”
“You’ve been getting better, I swear, and I’m so proud of you.” Tim retracts, putting his hands on each of Jason’s face.
It takes his breath away how pretty when Tim smiles. Tim leans closer and presses his lips on his. Chaste and gentle, it powers Jason’s heart to shoot out of his rib cage. Tim stands on his knees, and tuck Jason’s head to the crook of his neck, and wrap his shoulder. Jason holds onto the back of Tim’s waist and they hold onto each other like they’ve finally found each other.
“I’m going to get better,” Jason declared to the sky above and Tim in his arms, as a reminder to where he’ll return.
“I know baby,” Tim kisses the root of his hair. “Hey, I’m hungry.”
Jason smiled, “Am I really hearing you say that or is that my fucked up brain?”
“I’m really hungry!” Tim chuckled.
“I can make you something, I remember this place have a kitchen I can borrow. Want some eggs? I’ll make you coffee caramel flan if you do the dishes.”
“For those flans? Anything.”
#fictober19#jaytim#jaytim fanfic#jaytim fanfiction#emocel's#lord help me with creating anything else that angty fluff#jason todd fanfiction#tim drake fanfiction
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Rumble (1/2)
mmmm greasers and socs we stan
also its like 1:40 so uh yah be gentle ik my writing ain’t thriving rn
warnings: homophobic slurs, heated make out seshes, uhhh knives/stabbing, bad 1 am writing im sorry
ship: sprace
word count: 2600
-
Electricity coursed through Race’s veins as Spot reached up, tangling his fingers in his blonde curls and tilting his head, deepening the kiss even further. Race hummed, tightening his grip on Spot’s waist and pushing him further against the wall, smirking against Spot’s lips when the breath of a moan escaped him.
It was thrilling, the leather of his own jacket combating the blue boiled wool of Spot’s letterman one. They weren’t supposed to be doing this, the long standing rivalry between the Greasers and the Socs holding strong. But Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins had never been known to stick to the status quo.
It had started as a heated fling. Adrenaline riding high after a particularly intense rumble one evening led them to Race’s dingy bedroom, where they had spent the night on his mattress, words scarce and breaths heavy. They’d played around like that for a while, stealing kisses when no one was looking, holding teasing eye contact across classrooms. It drove Race crazy, though. He wanted more, his passion for Spot giving way to love, care for the Soc worming its way into his stomach and seizing hold of his heart.
This internal conflict, however, was quickly resolved when Spot had pulled him into the boy’s restroom between periods, leading him into a stall and kissing him gentler Race could have imagined. He’d whispered his love onto Race’s lips, insisting that they become something closer than what they were.
Race had agreed, but they had a reputation to uphold. For as long as anyone could remember, they hated each other. A childhood bond breaking awfully when Spot’s dad got a decent job and moved their family to the other side of town, instilling a jarring pretentiousness within Spot and damaging his friendship with Race.
So, although the hateful feelings had ceased, the snide remarks and nasty sneers remained ever present when they were in public. It was a painful mask to wear, biting names at each other and digging into known insecurities for the sake of their act. It worked, though, because no one suspected a thing.
Race ducked his head down, pressing a bruising kiss to Spot’s neck, allowing his teeth to graze the skin. He began to suck a hickey into the sensitive area, but stopped when Spot nudged him away.
“Mm, the last one just faded,” he breathed, watching Race through lidded eyes.
Race just smiled, “All the more reason to leave another,” he kissed Spot briefly, reaching around to grasp Spot’s ass, squeezing it playfully, “gotta let everyone know you’re unavailable.”
Spot narrowed his eyes, though there was no hint of malice in them, “Fine, but if you’re gonna leave one, go lower. Bumlets noticed last time.”
Race swallowed, alarm spreading through his veins, “Did he ask you anythin’? What’d ya tell ‘im?”
“Relax,” Spot said, easily, playing with the curls at the nape of Race’s neck, sending a jolt down his spine, “Told ‘im I made out with Sarah Jacobs.”
Race’s eyes widened momentarily before he cracked a grin, a laugh forcing its way out of his stomach, “Sarah Jacobs? That David kid’s sis?”
“That’s the one.”
Race snickered, “Did Bumlets buy it?”
Spot shrugged, “Guess so, he was off my ass after that.”
Race whistled, “Does Sarah know you two apparently made out?”
“I told her I needed a cover,” Spot said, looking mildly uncomfortable, “But I didn’t say what for.”
“Did she ask?”
Spot shook his head, “Just went with it.”
“Good friend,” Race said, nodding approvingly. His eyes flicked down to Spot’s lips, “Now where were we?”
Spot laughed, leaning in to kiss him, “So eager.”
“Yeah well,” Race fisted Spot’s jacket, tearing it off his shoulders and making Spot gasp, “You’re irresistible.”
Race left their little escapade with Spot’s jacket still held loosely in his grip and a bounce in his step. The sun was completely set by the time he ventured back to his neighborhood, wandering down the street freely until he came up to his house.
“Where were ya?”
Race froze, the blood draining from his face as he turned to the side, shoving Spot’s jacket behind his back. Seated on the rickety armchair that had always resided on the front porch was Race’s brother, Albert, arms crossed at his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and a pair of their other brother, Jack’s, old pajama pants hung casually on his hips. It was obvious that he was about to go to bed.
“And what did you just try to hide from me?” Albert pushed, raising his eyebrows and nodding to Race’s arm, which was still behind his back.
“Mind your own business,” Race snarled, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.
Albert studied him for a moment, his gaze landing on Race’s hair, “Why is your hair all fucked- oh my god,” his expression changed from one of skepticism to pure shock, “You’re hookin’ up with someone, ain’t ya?”
Race spluttered for a moment, feeling his blush deepen, “No,” he sounded entirely unconvincing.
Albert smiled, hopping up with way too much fervor for Race’s liking, “You are! Who is she?”
Race grit his teeth, eyes shifting away from Albert. He couldn’t lie to him- he’d never been able to- but he couldn’t tell the truth either.
“No one,” he mumbled, “‘M goin’ ta bed.”
He hurried inside, briefly glancing down the hallway to where he could see Jack reading on their ratty sofa, before bounding up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door, locking it behind him and slumping down on his matress, kicking off his shoes along the way. He wriggled out of his jacket and jeans and pulled his blankets up to his chest, tucking Spot’s jacket under his head, breathing in the comforting and familiar smell.
He allowed it to lull him to sleep, calming his nerves as he was pulled under.
XXX
“Higgins, where’d ya get those jeans?” Race set his jaw, fighting the urge to smile as Spot’s voice entered his auditory, “Did your mother buy them for you? Oh wait,” Spot clicked his tongue, “Guess she can’t now that she’s what, six feet under? If you could even afford to get her properly buried.”
Race turned towards him, noting the apologetic undertone in his voice, “Nah, got them from your parent’s closet when I was visiting your mom last week,” he leaned against his locker, “I must say, she’s really brilliant when she’s-”
Spot lunged forward, slamming him against the locker and biting his lip to keep from laughing, “Don’t you dare speak about my mother like that, Higgins,” he growled. Race had to give him credit, his acting was brilliant.
“Or what?” Race countered, reluctantly shoving him back and taking note of the small crowd that had circled around them. Spot pretended to flounder for a moment and Race took the opportunity, “You Socs are honest pussies when it comes to fights,” he scoffed, “Suck my dick, Conlon.”
Spot’s eyes flashed and he grabbed Race���s ear, yanking him down to his level and whispering, “Better meet me out behind the school after last period,” he pulled away, raising his voice once more, “And that’s a promise, Higgins,” the crowd around them hooted, obviously expecting some sort of threat to be fulfilled, “Watch your back.”
Race watched him leave with his posse, letting his guard down. Faux fights with Spot always instilled some sort of excitement in him, the lie a fast wave to ride.
The school day crept by painfully. Race sat restlessly in his classes, bouncing his leg vigorously as he watched the clock tick excruciatingly slow. He was out of his seat, backpack slung haphazardly on his back the moment the bell rang, He walked faster than strictly necessary to the back of the school, where Spot was already waiting. A cigarette hung lazily from his lips and he looked up as Race approached, plucking it from his mouth and holding it out in a silent offer.
Race took it blindly, pulling a deep drag before chucking it to the ground and stepping on it as he moved forward, pinning Spot to the wall and pressing their mouths together. The taste of the cigarette melded between them, adding a certain heat to their already intense session. Spot gasped against his lips, whining when Race reached down, unzipping his fly and unbuttoning his khakis.
“Aye, Conlon, there you-”
Spot drove Race away from him, fumbling to fix his pants as Hotshot approached, looking both confused and furious.
“What, are you two fucking or something?” He barked, rounding on Spot, “Thought you wanted nothing to do with this Greaser scum.”
Spot seemed to regain his composure, “I don’t,” he said, voice low, “He came onto me, I was just about to beat the shit out of his faggot ass.”
Race winced, mentally forcing himself to remember Spot was pretending.
Hotshot frowned, nose scrunched in disgust, “Yeah? Kinda looked like you were enjoying it.”
Spot rolled his eyes, attempting to shoulder past Hotshot, “Whatever.”
Hotshot grabbed his bicep, holding him in place, “You two really wanna prove your little rendezvous wasn’t what it looked like? Be at the lot tonight at sundown. Shouldn’t matter what happens if these little fairy flings are fake.”
Hotshot threw Spot to the ground, spitting next to him before leaving. Race watched him go, making sure he was out of sight before reaching down a hand to help Spot up. Spot shook his head, his chest heaving as he hoisted himself to his feet.
“We could run,” Race said, “Leave before tonight.” He was trembling, certain that his face matched Spot’s pale expression.
Spot looked like he was having some sort of aneurysm as he backed away, “No, I, uh-” he sounded breathless, scared, “I gotta go, I’ll see you...tonight, yeah, uh. Be there,” he finally looked at Race, “Please.”
Race shook his head, dumbfounded, “Spot, we don’t have ta-”
But Spot was gone, footsteps echoing as he ran in the opposite direction.
XXX
Race sat on his mattress, nausea turning in his stomach as he watched the sky change through his window. There was probably homework he could be doing, but what did it matter if he was just going to be killed this evening. Rumbles were unpredictable; a nasty throttle of blood and animosity. It was rare that anyone actually died, but that didn’t stop the worst possible outcome from crawling into his brain.
These things were huge, large sums of both sides turning up for each one. Race usually liked them to a degree, finding the exhilarating atmosphere entertaining, but that was when he wasn’t the center of the conflict. Now, it was just sickening.
“Aye, if you’re coming to the rumble, we should get goin’ now.” Jack peeked his head into his room.
Race forced himself to look at his older brother, trying to smile as convincingly as he could. He hadn’t told Jack and Albert that he was a key contender in the rumble, just that there was one. Though, in hindsight, he should’ve refrained from talking about it at all- not that it would have stopped them from finding out. Word gets around fast.
“Yeah, uh, yeah,” Race said, clearing his throat and scooting forward to pull on his shoes, “Al comin?”
“You know the kid,” Jack leaned against his doorframe, holding out Race’s jacket for him, “Could never pass up the chance ta watch a fight.”
Race choked out a laugh, though it sounded more like a whimper, “Yeah,” he flinched as his voice cracked.
Albert was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs, shoes tied and jean jacket on, “C’mon guys, the sun’s settin’!” he exclaimed, reaching out and pulling Race out the door, “It’s gonna start soon.”
With each step Race took towards the lot, it felt like he was approaching his doom. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with Spot and find comfort in their closeness, but he couldn’t have that now. Besides, Spot was clearly mortified, there was no way he was up for cuddling right now.
The mass of people in the lot was visible even from a distance, already divided seamlessly into two sides. The three boys approached, naturally fusing into the side that housed the Greasers, blending in with the hoard of rowdy looking boys. Race’s eyes scanned the other group, immediately finding Spot at the head of the crowd, clad in his favorite red sweater. He was jeering at someone from the Greasers, though Race could sense the apprehension emanating from him.
He tried to blend in, staying purposefully towards the back, but it was no use. He made piercing eye contact with Hotshot and felt the blood drain from his face as the Soc’s face morphed into one of triumph. He shoved his way to the middle of the split and held his fingers to his mouth, whistling loudly enough to gain everyone’s attention. Race looked back at Spot, who was staring at Hotshot, lips parted slightly.
“We’re gathered here this fine evening,” Hotshot began, his tone innocent, but eyes fiery, “Because I had the pleasure of witnessing something extraordinary,” he had everyone’s apt attention now, “See, I was walking after school, looking for our favorite shorty here,” he yanked Spot out of the crowd and Spot grimaced, looking like he wanted to disappear, “When I found him behind the school,” he paused for affect, “Pants unbuttoned and tongue down the throat of-” Murmurs were already rippling through the crowd, “Racetrack fucking Higgins.”
Race shut his eyes as he felt every head turn towards him. Somewhere to his left, he could hear Albert mumble, ‘what the fuck’, along with a few confused hoots from other people. He wanted to run. He wanted to grab Spot and skip town and pretend that none of this was happening- that they were okay. But his feet were glued to the spot.
“Now, I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding,” Hotshot spoke again, “Seeing as it is common knowledge that these two cannot stand each other,” Race gasped as someone pushed him to the middle, “I’m sure this little debacle can be cleared up.”
Race opened his eyes, sucking in a breath when he realized how close he was to Hotshot and Spot.
“You two hate each other, yes?” Hotshot hissed, leaning in close to him.
Race nodded vigorously.
“Prove it, then,” Hotshot jabbed, producing a switchblade from his back pocket, “Stab him.”
Race choked, “Stab Spot? You want me to stab your best friend?”
Hotshot laughed, “He’s not my best friend,” he said, “Not as long as he’s okay with kissing on other men,” he pressed the knife into Race’s hand, “Now go.”
Race stared at the blade, turning it over in shaking hands before flipping it open. He could feel the crowd watching him with baited breath and he spared a glance at Spot, who was watching him with desperation written on his face. Race focused his eyes, making a split second decision.
He lunged forward, tackling Spot away from Hotshot and pinning him to the ground, driving his knee into his side. He flipped open the knife and held it between them, watching as Spot’s expression calmed.
“I love you,” Spot murmured, breaths evening out, “Do what you have to, it’s okay.”
Race drank in his expression, bathing in the warmth of his rich brown eyes and cherishing the beauty in his hard features.
“I love you, too,” He muttered back, “I’m sorry.”
He took a deep breath, plunging the blade into his own stomach.
-
nnng yeah im gonna write a pt 2 dw dw we’re not jus leavin it there
thanks for reading, chiefs
hmu to be added to my tag
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#newsies#newsies fic#bad writing lmao#sprace#spot conlon#racetrack higgins#albert dasilva#jack kelly#greaser au#hnnng ngnalskdfj#oof#yeah#ok
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The Lily Farm - Chapter 34
AO3 | Masterpost
Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes
Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.
Chapter 34: Safety and Other Dreams
Mary Beth stood at the window in their room at the B&B, looking out at all the possibilities. She’d gotten a little tired and left the party without telling anyone but Abigail. Arthur had been talking to Hosea and looked happy. She was certain that it was just because the day had been long, her feeling tired. In truth, though, she was very ready for things to go back to normal. For once, she found herself almost wanting to return to Shady Belle. She knew that was backwards, but it was how home had manifested itself in her mind. The place where everybody was, and where everything was the same. Like an anchor that she hated, but an anchor nonetheless. Mary Beth had lived a life that was always changing. She was in a constant scramble for the thing that never wavered. As she looked out the window at the long, blue lawn, she realized that home was for now a traveling suitcase, and despite this, she did not have to worry. Because she was not alone. She was comforted by the little life taking up residence inside her, and for Arthur. She had begun to feel mixed up by what it would mean to leave the gang that loved her, but it was gonna be okay. She took a deep breath. She heard the door open behind her, and she looked back and there he was.
“Hey there,” he said. He came into the room.
She turned all the way around and leaned against the windowsill and smiled when she saw him. He closed the door, took off his shiny coat from Dutch and tossed it over the brass bed post. Underneath was just him in his white dress shirt, which was still tucked in but a little rumpled and a pair of light leather suspenders wearing thin. He was his big warm self, unchanged, and familiar to her. For the jacket was lovely, she thought, but it was very flashy, and that was not him. His hair was long by now, down to his shoulders, and she had hardly noticed before this moment. He looked windswept and soft with the liquor but just a little. He took off his gloves and set them on the bed.
"You snuck away,” he said.
“I was just tired,” said Mary Beth. “And you and Hosea was talking—I didn’t want to disturb. I snuck away.”
He was smiling. He came over to her at the window and took her right into his arms. He sighed big and huge all around her. She was so relieved now and all the things that had worried her at the window had gone. “Let’s just be in love and go to sleep,” said Arthur, a little cheeky. “What do you think, Mrs. Morgan?”
She blushed. “You like my dress, Mr. Morgan?”
“I do,” he said, getting a look at her. “Abigail and Lizette did a very good job. You look beautiful.”
She grabbed his face then and kissed him good. She had changed course and was suddenly far too happy for sleeping now. It took him by surprise but as usual he gave in to her.
“You have made an honest man out of an outlaw, Mary Beth,” he said, undoing her braid, piece by piece. “I am not sure how I can properly thank you.”
“I can think of some ways,” she said.
She was very glad to have married her best friend.
Meanwhile, downstairs, the party was winding down. John and Hosea were sitting at the kitchen table with Abigail, playing hearts, and Hamish had dozed off on an arm chair in the corner next to the piano. The Reverend and the Mother Superior, as well as Jack, had retired to sleep an hour before, and Lizette was sweeping up and dusting and watering the plants, wearing one of her pretty French aprons with the bobbin lace that she had brought from Nice. Abigail tried multiple times to offer her assistance in cleaning up, but Lizette would have nothing of it.
Out on the porch, Dutch had taken up with his cigar, surveying. It was so dark out here, like being back in Wyoming. He had spent a lot of his life living everywhere, and trying to forget some places, but never Wyoming. Wyoming was where he had found Arthur, when Arthur had been just some long-haired blot-on-the-town teenager, playing cards in the back of a smoky Jackson tavern, caught with two aces up his sleeve and about twenty seconds from being beaten to death by a mining foreman named Spud. It was where he had picked up Susan. She had been a saloon girl in Casper, looking like some sort of washed up beauty queen, offering herself for a price that he found to be unsuitable. She knew how to work Dutch from the moment they met, and he did not buy her—was not prone to buying women, as he preferred that they desire him in return, and so he brought her home, and he protected her. She groomed up young Arthur and taught him how to sit straight, how to appear upstanding and how to use his natural gentlemanly demeanor to charm people into giving him the things that he wanted. Montana had been the death of Eliza and Colorado had been Annabelle. Bessie was Texas. Those states were all dead to Dutch. But nobody had died in Wyoming. Only love had been found. He longed to return but the journey west had been corrupted at some point. He was trying to remember why. He knew that he was losing everything and everybody dear to him, but he just kept fucking up anyway as if losing was his new normal.
“A fine evening, isn’t it?” said Lawrence Winterson. He came out onto the porch with his pipe, looking for quiet. The pipe had already been packed and lit. On instinct, Dutch nodded in an upstanding fashion. He knew how to act and seem better than other people. It was how he'd been born.
"Absolutely," said Dutch. "Join me, won't you?"
They smoked for a while, staring out at the reverie. Sometimes, you could see one of the hounds, come up to sniff the grass and then disappear back into the tree line. The world was filled with the sounds of deer and loons and coyotes and then the deep silence of the lonely back country that was the east Heartlands. At some point, Dutch cleared his throat. He turned to Lawrence, keeping his respectful posture, but in truth, he was highly suspicious and had been since the moment he arrived. “I would like to thank you, kind friend,” he said, “for hosting this gathering, and for extending your welcome and your home to us. Most of all, for taking in Arthur like this, especially despite what he is.”
Lawrence looked at Dutch, blinking from behind his spectacles. They gave him the look of a scholar, most certainly the doctor that he was. “What he is? You mean, an outlaw?"
Dutch laughed to himself, studying his cigar. “That is what I mean, yes. We ain't used to mixing in, you know, with civilized folk. The few times we have, we've ended up burned, or knee-deep in shit."
“Oh,” said Lawrence, wising up. He adjusted his glasses, looking back out to the lawn. “Yes. Well, I'm not sure what you consider civilized. I run a legal business, yes, but I have, at times, entertained customers who may or may not run completely in line with the law. I am neither stupid nor one to cast idle judgment, Mr. van der Linde. This is, after all, the Heartlands. We still tend to walk a rather fine line here. I'm sure you've been to Valentine. You know what I mean. And in any case, whether you're a noble banker in St. Denis or a country doctor who boards outlaws and provides the occasional safe haven for prostitutes and runaways, we're all sinners."
"Is that right?"
"It is."
Dutch took a deep breath. He puffed off the cigar, blew a single smoke ring into the air. "You say you regularly board outlaws and prostitutes, runaways, Mr. Winterson?"
"Regularly? No," said Lawrence, smiling. "But I have not been known to turn away people in need, regardless of their means at birth or social standing."
"That's very noble of you," said Dutch. "And a doctor to boot. You are, indeed, a role model, Mr. Winterson."
Lawrence chucked at this. He ran a hand through his hair, light and graying. He went up to the porch railing and leaned against it on his forearms. "I see we are playing a game," he said, glancing back at Dutch. "I am not one to beat around the bush. You can trust me, Mr. van der Linde."
"How do I know that?" said Dutch, taking a step toward him. His boots were heavy, and his spurs rang like bells. He smoked. He lowered his voice. "I've got a price on my head, Mr. Winterson. As does everybody here. Save for the holy people, of course, Mr. Sinclair I expect, and little Jack. Even Mary Beth and Abigail, they're wanted somewhere. Arthur may be the strong, silent, and trusting type, but I, sir, am not. This is my family, and I am trying to get them to safety. I cannot afford to entertain the untrustworthy."
Lawrence sighed. He nodded, looking back at to the yard. "That is understandable," he said. "After all, I heard you are a great shepherd. John and Arthur both speak highly of you. It's true that I know who you are. That I recognized your name from the New Hanover Gazette immediately. But I must assure you, this is about Arthur. My wife and I care for him and Mary Beth. We truly do. We would never betray their trust. Ever."
"And I am supposed to just take you at your word?" said Dutch.
"No," said Lawrence. "But, it's all I've got, if you'll hear me out. Arthur mentioned to me that your father was in the Army of the Potomac. That he died in Gettysburg. Is that true?"
Dutch studied him closely. "It is."
"I was in the Army of the Potomac," said Lawrence, looking at him. "I was a surgeon, but I killed dozens of men when they broke our position and stormed our tents on Cemetery Hill. There were also men I could not save who I anesthetized into death. I could have fought beside your father. I could have watched him die, treated him, and I wouldn't have even known. There were thousands of us. I was one of the lucky ones. But I do know that whenever I come across another survivor like myself, like Mr. Sinclair for example, I am driven to loyalty. Your father died for a cause that I, too, would have died for. I don't care what you've done. Mr. van der Linde. I am not a moral paragon. I know what Arthur is capable of. I even know about Mary Beth. As long as we're square, you and me, I would never betray you or your people. Not for anything. Do you understand?"
Dutch's cigar had gone cold. He looked down, gave it up, tossed it over the porch railing and into the weeds. He hooks his thumbs over his belt, looked at his boots. "Yes, sir. I believe I do."
"Good," said Lawrence. "Because as I said before, I do care about Arthur. He came to us sort of like a bird with a broken wing. We never had children of our own. It's easy to get attached. Do you have any children of your own, Mr. van der Linde?"
Dutch gave him a stern look, but in the old man's eyes, he got lost and felt broken and for a moment understood why Arthur came here. “No," he said, unsure of why he was confessing such things, but he was. "I had a woman once. She was having my baby, but she died. That was it for me."
This seemed to sadden Lawrence considerably. He straightened up off the railing and placed his hands in his pockets, turning to Dutch, full of body language that communicated his sincerest condolences. "That is a terrible albatross," he said. "I am sorry, Mr. van der Linde."
Dutch said nothing. He felt a deep pressure building inside of him. It was like rage, but it wasn't. "Thank you."
"Anyway," said Lawrence, sort of smiling. He had an unfailing focus. "I should turn in. I hope we can part tomorrow with an understanding between us. You're safe here."
Dutch nodded, looking away. "Yes," he said. "I think we're square, Mr. Winterson." They shook hands.
Lawrence turned to go inside then. He clasped Dutch on the shoulder, lightly. "I should go check on our guest," he said. "The one not here for the wedding."
"You do that," said Dutch.
Lawrence was gone.
They rode back to Shady Belle in shifts. Dutch went first, then Hosea with John and Abigail the next day. Hamish stayed. The Reverend and the Mother Superior took the train. Arthur and Mary Beth waited until everybody was gone, enjoyed a couple of quiet days with the Wintersons and Hamish in the Heartlands. They went back three days after the wedding, rode straight to Shady Belle, stopping only once to rest. When they arrived, it was evening. Miss Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson had prepared the camp with booze and colorful streamers and music. Everybody was happy and using the occasion as an excuse to get wildly drunk and sit around the fire singing and laughing and confessing to one another their deepest, darkest fears and desires. They congratulated Arthur and Mary Beth. There were no fights. Micah wasn't there. Even the gators stayed away that night. Arthur and Mary Beth were thankful, but they really were not wanting for much. By the mid-evening, when the sun had gone down and the frogs and crickets came out, Susan could tell, and so she corralled them both, took them upstairs to Arthur’s room where she had prepared for them a small but important surprise.
“We rustled you up a bigger bed,” she said, showing them how she and the girls had fixed up the room a little bit, cleaned and brought up Mary Beth’s chest of clothes and all of her earthly possessions. “We thought you might be appreciative, as that thing you were sleeping on before, Mr. Morgan, weren’t room enough for the damn dog let alone a married man and woman. So there you go.”
It was so soft of Miss Grimshaw, sweet, almost enough to reduce Mary Beth’s unfailing fear that she may skin her alive. They were thankful. Tilly had also painted a picture of a flower garden for them, using pigment paints she had bought in St. Denis. It was clumsy but made beautiful use of color and light. “I thought it could be like a window,” she said. “Make it seem like you’re looking out at something more romantic than the swamps for a change.”
“It’s so pretty,” said Mary Beth, picking the unframed canvas up off the windowsill. “You should do more of these, Till. You could sell them in town for a good price.”
Tilly waved her off. “Do you know how hard that was? I ain’t doing that for anyone I don’t love as much as you two. Now, enjoy.”
They were overcome. They shut in very early that night. For they had an excuse to do so.
The next morning, Mary Beth slept in. Arthur went to find coffee, and then he went and sat down next to Sadie on the porch to drink it. She had been up for hours, it seemed, and was cleaning her guns, wearing her hat, as usual.
“Mrs. Adler,” said Arthur. “How are you today.”
“Hey, Arthur,” she said, smiling. “I should be asking you the same thing.”
“I am fine. Thank you.”
“Well, congratulations,” said Sadie. “We didn't have much chance to talk last night. But I’m—I’m happy for you. It’s a blessing, what you got. Don't fuck it up.”
Arthur smiled, then looked upon her seriously. She seemed very tired and alone. He sought to change the subject. “I heard you and Charles been out on some recreational errands involving O’Driscolls,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Is that right?”
She laughed to herself, sarcastically. “I guess you could call it that. Errands.”
“How many you killed.”
“Dozens,” she said. “Maybe more, just in the past two weeks alone. Since Colm got his, they been turning up in all corners. Last we found them they’d been holed up in the Roanoke Valley. Nothing but cannibals and monsters up there. A few less now. We got em good.”
Arthur looked out at the camp. Jack was walking around with John, talking about something, gesticulating with his hands and holding a book. John seemed to be listening very closely, though he looked a trifle confused as to what the hell Jack was saying. Arthur smiled to see it. “Well I hope you’re being careful,” he said. “And I hope you’re laying off Kieran. You know he could’ve turned us in back at Lone Mule, but he didn't. He was tortured, and yet he stayed quiet. That means something.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Sadie. “I know. A woman can learn.”
“Yes, she can.”
“Charles don’t make mistakes,” she said, looking up at Arthur. “He’s like you. He’s a good partner. But I trust you won’t be coming with us anytime soon, daddy.”
Arthur was amused by this. “Nope. No O'Driscoll hunting for me. I’ve had my ass handed to me by that lot more than once. I have officially retired from the business of blood feuds. You give them my best though, won’t you?”
“If your best is a bullet to the head, then I sure will.”
Arthur laughed. He finished his coffee.
“So how does it feel?” said Sadie. “Being married.”
“You would know,” said Arthur. “How did you feel, when you got married?”
She stared at him, a mixture of emptiness and pain, but also surprise. She seemed happy that somebody was thinking of it, remembering what she had been before, not walking on eggshells for once. “I felt safe,” she said, nodding, setting the gun down on her lap. “For the first time in my whole life.”
Arthur nodded in solidarity. “Yeah, me, too,” he said. He patted her on the shoulder and got up to leave. “Well, I best be getting on.”
"Okay, Arthur."
He got up, dusted off his jeans. It was in the moment that he was beckoned by Hosea from the doorway.
"Arthur,” he said, holding a rolled up newspaper, seeming rushed.
"What is it?"
“Can we talk?” he said. “Upstairs on the balcony. As soon as you're able.”
Arthur nodded. Hosea greeted Sadie then went inside.
“What’s that all about?” said Sadie.
Arthur took a cigarette from his front pocket, still staring at the door. He lit it and smoked. “I’m not sure,” he said. “But I can guess."
"Care to share?"
"Maybe later. See you, Mrs. Adler.”
“It’s just Sadie,” she said, smiling. “You don’t have to call me that no more. We’s friends.”
Arthur nodded. “Okay, Sadie. You have a good day now. And no dying. You hear?”
“I ain’t afraid of dying.”
“Yeah,” said Arthur, smoking. “I know you ain’t. But we need you here.”
This baffled her.
Upstairs, Arthur found Hosea leaning on the bannister, looking down at the bounty of hungover outlaws and all of his happy children. He coughed once when Arthur arrived, turned around and placed his hands in his pockets. “Good morning, Arthur,” he said. “How are you feeling today.”
“About the same as any other day,” said Arthur. “Except I no longer sleep alone, by law.”
Hosea found this amusing. “A humble outlook. That’s good. Being a husband suits you, Arthur. I always thought it would.”
“Well, I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you,” said Arthur. “Now what’s this about?”
“It’s about that poker game, on the river boat,” said Hosea. “You remember we talked about this, some weeks back?”
Arthur sighed. He’d had a feeling. “I do,” he said. He released a bit of smoke from his lungs and then walked out to the balcony and looked down at all the water and the muck and the trees. “What’s the story.”
“Well, we’ve got a development,” said Hosea.
“And?"
"And you’re in,” he said. “Josiah secured you an invitation.”
“It’s just poker?” said Arthur. “If it’s just poker, I can do poker.”
“Indeed. Count the cards at your discretion. I’d advise against sleight of hand, though. You can’t get caught doing math in your head, but you can get caught with an ace up your sleeve.”
Arthur nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
“There’s a catch,” said Hosea.
Arthur gave him a look, leaned into the balcony, feeling undue annoyance. “What kind of catch.”
"A stipulation of sorts. You have to bring Mary Beth.”
“What?”
“The invitation was extended by Angelo Bronte,” said Hosea. “You have to be Tacitus Kilgore and his wife Marie. It’s both of you, or neither. That’s the only way you’re getting in.”
Arthur just stared at him. He caught himself almost laughing at this, for the situation seemed to fly up and out of his control in an instant. “You’re goddam serious.”
“Yes, I am. She won’t be the only woman there,” said Hosea. “I’ve looked into it. There’s a whole salon of wives and mistresses who accompany their men to these sorts of things. Of course they don’t take part in the gambling. That would be uncouth. They drink and mingle elegantly in an adjacent ballroom. It’s all very aristocratic, I assure you.”
“You’re out of your damn mind, Hosea.”
“I know it sounds that way, but the take will be big, Arthur. I’ve got Dutch against the ropes on leaving the south. We get a couple more big takes, we can be out of here for good. We can go north, and you and Mary Beth, John and Abbie can finally get the hell out of here, live your lives.”
“North?” said Arthur. “What the hell happened to Tahiti?”
“That’s in the wind,” said Hosea. “I told you. I been working on Dutch. He’s listening.”
“And this don’t seem at all suspicious to you,” said Arthur. “Angelo Bronte inviting me, a known outlaw, and my new wife to play cards on a riverboat. You don’t think that sounds like a trap?”
“Of course I do,” said Hosea, wiping his forehead with a red handkerchief. “And though I don’t think it is a trap, the remote possibility that it could be is exactly why, Arthur, I have some work-arounds I want to discuss with you."
"Work-arounds?" said Arthur. "Such as."
"Changing the location, for example," said Hosea. He took out a cigarette. Arthur lit it for him out of habit. He smoked. "To ensure we can control what goes down. And I’ve got some...guarantees we can utilize, involving a few Texas Rangers I know, traveling in the area."
“Texas Rangers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hold on,” said Arthur. He leaned in, lowered his voice, trying hard not to get angry at the old man. “Before you go on any further, Hosea, about guarantees and work-arounds and so forth, what on god’s green earth makes you think I’d even consider this. Mary Beth is pregnant.”
“I know.”
“Then you know my feelings about bringing her on jobs.”
“I do,” said Hosea. “And Dutch warned me on the matter. I just thought maybe I could convince you otherwise this time.”
“You. You’re trying to convince me otherwise?”
“Yes.”
Arthur shook his head out. He was almost laughing. It was flipping him upside-down.
“Arthur, just hear me out," said Hosea. "I would never willingly put you or Mary Beth in danger.”
“I won’t do it. I won’t take her.”
“You won’t take me where?” said Mary Beth. She was standing in the doorway, dressed for the day with her hair braided to one side. She was a mild sight, holding a book in one hand and an empty basket in the other.
“Mary Beth,” said Arthur.
“Hi,” she said, looking concerned. She came into the room. “What are you two talking about?”
Arthur took a deep breath. He lowered his eyes. Hosea smiled and straightened up, putting on his best show. “I’ll let you two discuss,” he said. He greeted Mary Beth and then bid them both farewell on his way out the door, still smoking. He coughed some. They listened to his footsteps on the stairs as he went away.
Arthur had both of his hands in his pockets now. He was staring down at the floor, shaking his head.
“Arthur?” said Mary Beth. “What’s going on?”
He glanced up at her. She was pretty there, put together for the day in her usual manner. He had wanted to take her away, not bring her back. But here he was again, going in circles, never realizing until it was too late. And he knew what she was gonna say.
“Is this about the river boat?” she said.
He nodded. “Yes."
He was clenching his jaw, his head hurting. He tried to imagine what their honeymoon would have been like in another life where they were both not accustomed to living so recklessly.
#red dead redemption 2#rdr2#arthur morgan#mary beth gaskill#rdr2 fanfic#arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill#dutch van der linde#hosea matthews#tilly jackson#sadie adler#susan grimshaw#ch ch ch changes#things are on the horizon#:)#the lily farm
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Jack Marston x f!reader: Cleaning up nicely. Word count ~2000
Prompt 38: "Only in front of you do I want to look this cool always." (Note: This prompts wording is awkward, and "cool" was not used as slang in the early 20th century from what I understand, so I am changing it to " Only for you do I want to look this good.")
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You got him. After a bloody battle with his men, you chased this bastard in to the caves of Nekoti Rock, and tackled him to the ground. As you were hogtying him and preparing to pick him up, you hear a voice behind you.
“ Well, shit, ya beat me to him.”
You were used to men trying to steal your bounties from you, so without thinking, you turn around and pull your revolver on him. “Unless you want to be tied up too, I suggest you get the fuck away from me!”
“Woah, miss!”, He chuckled nervously, putting his hands up, “ as fun as that sounds, I ain't gonna take him from you, you got him fair and square!” Although a bit scared, Jack also couldn't help being attracted by the combination of your beauty and your boldness.
As you calmed down, you noticed that it was Jack Marston, the son of the famous John Marston. He had a reputation for trying to be a stoic, tough guy, but you saw him for the first time acting nervous and making jokes. It was cute, in a way.
“Sorry, Mr. Marston,” you sighed in relief, “I'm so used to having men try to take from me, that it's my first response.”
“Don't I know it,” he nods. He is not surprised that she knows who he is, given the legacy his family left behind, "and you can call me Jack. You're like my ma was, a woman living in a mans world. My pa taught me to admire that sort of fearlessness in a woman.”
You blushed and looked away, “ W-Well, I mean, your pa was a smart man. I sure can look after myself, with no man to protect me.”
“Oh, I doubt don’t it,” he responds, with a wink and a smile. He was not normally so confident around women, but being held at gunpoint made him feel like he had nothing to lose, and he could feel some chemistry between the two of you after that. You were flustered yourself, for once. You usually had your guard up, but something about Jack made you feel safe.
“Oh, get a room!” The bounty shouts, agitated that he’s been caught and is still lying there.
Jack responds by kicking him in the head. “Hey, I'm talking to the lady here!”, which causes you to giggle. “Well, I ain't much of a lady, but I appreciate the sentiment. Now come on, I gotta get this son of a bitch to Blackwater jail”.
As you were putting the guy on your horse, you fell over as you heard a loud growl, and the horses ran away in fear. You were caught off guard when you saw a large grizzly running towards you.
“Miss!” Jack shouted, and without a second thought, dived in front of you to protect you. Quickly, he pulled out his buffalo rifle and killed it with a single shot to the head. You both breathed heavily, holding each other tight in panic over what had just happened. “You okay Miss?”
“Yeah...I'm okay. Thank you.” The two of you break apart, and Jack takes your hand and lifts you up. He looks down at the ground, somberly. “If only Pa could see me now,” he sighs. You put your hand on his shoulder and smile, “I'm sure he would be proud….” then switching to teasing, “although I'm sorry to say, you couldn't tell him you killed the legendary Umas, because I got him first.”
“Show off,” he smirks, gently nudging your shoulder, “come on, let's get out of here, I’ll ride with you to Blackwater.” Jack picks up the bounty, who is still cursing them out, while you retrieve the horses. He puts the bounty on the back of your horse and the two of you ride to Blackwater in silence, ignoring the angry man that's hogtied behind you.
The two of you arrive at Blackwater jail, and the marshal gives you $400. You give $200 to Jack.
“here,” you offer, putting the money in his hand, “I think you earned this for saving my life”.
“Well, it was my pleasure, Miss, uh...”
“ Y/N”, you reply, “ call me ‘Y/N’”
“Well, Y/N”, he smiles, “how ‘bout I buy us a drink to celebrate?” You laugh at his offer, “you mean with the money I gave you?”
“So is that a yes?” Jack jokingly asks, putting his arm out for you to take. You roll your eyes, link your arm with his, and walk over to the saloon together. “Maybe just one or two drinks”, you answer. You were both dirty, and you were covered in blood, but at that point neither of your particularly cared. However, you knew that it rarely stops at one or two, and next thing you know you've both had five shots of whiskey.
A couple of hours go by, and you are just loving this man’s company. He tells you stories about his adventures with his pa, with bounty hunting, about his time in a gang when he was a boy. You wonder if he would have told you any of this were he not drunk, but damm, was he interesting. You tell him stories about your own life, your own experiences, what made you decide to become a bounty hunter.
“Well, damn,” he says with a lustful look in his eyes, “you're a hell of a woman, y/n."
That look he gave you was just too much for you. Without even thinking, you cup his face in your hands and kiss his lips with intense passion. He jumps back, surprised at first, then closes his eyes and eagerly kisses you back, resting his hands on your shoulders. You pull apart for a second, look at each other with fire in your eyes.
“Well then,” Jack chuckles. You jump into his lap, and wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in for another deep kiss. It was so passionate, fiery, and just amazing. It was how you always wanted to be kissed. You feel him getting hard against you. He pulls away from you and leans his forehead against yours. “How about we go somewhere more private?” You nod, and he scoops you up and carries you to his room upstairs. You are already wet from anticipation.
When you get upstairs, he throws you on the bed and undresses you slowly, leaving kisses all over you as he makes it lower down your body. After taking off his clothes, he turns you on your stomach and gives you a sharp smack on the ass, causing you to yelp. You were not prepared for that.
“That was for pointing a gun at me!" he scolds, giving you another smack. “Now, I'm going to take charge.”
“Only because I'm letting you, Mr. Marston.” you sass back, and arch your back so he can fuck you from behind. You decided to let your guard down and do what he wants with you, for once, you let a man be in charge. Again, only because you let him.
He grabs your hips and enters you from the back. He thrusts back and forth roughly for a few minutes, which you had no idea you would enjoy so much. “Fuck,” you whine, “I'm close’.
Jack suddenly pulls out, turns you on your back, and renters you from the front.
“I want to see you cum,” he taunts. You claw his hands into his back and start to scream. “FUCK”. He covers your mouth while continuing to fuck you. “Ya want everyone to hear us?” You continue to scream with his hand muffled over your mouth as you feel your orgasm wash over you. You feel at peace as he remains inside you. “my turn…” he whispers in your ear. You kiss him deeply, and then he pulls out and cums all over the bed, moaning quietly as he does it. You lay next to each other, both on your backs, sweating.
“well, ain't that something” you laugh, as you snuggle up into his chest.
“I guess so,” he replies with a content smile on his face. “that was the most fun I've had in some time.” He wraps his arm around you, pecks you on the lips, and drifts off to sleep. You kiss his cheek and fall asleep soon after.
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You both wake up the next morning, still wrapped around each other. You only remember parts of what happened after you started drinking, and he doesn't remember much of anything. That was okay, though. You both felt calm and safe. Jack admittedly was a little confused at first, but you just laughed to yourself.
“It looks like we had quite a night, didn't we, Jack?” you tease.
Jack was blushing, somewhat embarrassed. “yeah...uh, I guess we did.” He surprised himself. It was not the first time he woke up next to a woman after a night of drinking, but it was the first time that he had no regrets, and actually wanted to see the woman again.
You rest his head on his chest and snuggle in closer. “listen, whether you remember what happened last night or not, I hope it is isn't the last time we see each other, because I really do like you.” You chose to be upfront about your feelings, because you did not want him to think you were not interested after he potentially remembered nothing.
Jack was shocked. He couldn't believe this. He gave into his feelings and held her tight, “I think...I think I want to see you again too. But can I take you out for dinner and a movie next time, you know, like a gentleman?”
You laugh and smile, “Yes, I would love that. A real date with Jack Marston. Ain't I a lucky girl.” He smiles back and you give each other a quick kiss.
The two of you get dressed, and have breakfast downstairs. He then rides with you back to your cabin at Manzanita Post. “Tomorrow at 6 pm? I'll come and pick you up.”
“It would be your pleasure” you tease.
“See you then, madam.” He kisses your hand and rides off on his horse.
You were both so nervous, even though you neither of you were likely to admit it. You knew you did not need a man, and you did not have to be pretty for anyone, but you wanted this man, and you wanted to be pretty for him. You took a bath, styled your hair, put on some lipstick, and a silk green dress. You rarely wore dresses these days, as they weren’t practical for bounty hunting. People would tell you that you would never find a husband when you dress and act the way you do, but you did not give a shit, because you lived for adventure before you lived for some idea of what your life should be. Still, there was something about Jack that made you want to try looking like a lady, if only for him.
On the other side, Jack had stopped caring about his appearance after all of the shit he went through. He knew though that he was going on an actual date, and for the first time in a while, felt that he needed to dress to impress. He went to Blackwater to get a haircut and a shave. He put on an elegant suit that his father used to own. He always felt lucky when wearing it, like he could cheat at poker and not get caught.
At 5:30 pm, he got on his horse and rode off to Manzanita Post to pick up his date. You came outside and he was stunned by how well you cleaned up. You were beautiful before, but he was so flattered that you put in this much effort for him. Likewise, you couldn't believe how handsome he was when he took care of his appearance. You held each others hands, and looked into each others eyes.
“Wow,” he took a deep breath, “you're so beautiful.” You can't help but blush.
“Only for you do I look this good,” you chuckle. “ Don’t let that get to your head, though. From the way it looks, I'd say you put in all this effort just for me too.
“You're right about that, Miss Y/N” he smiles, lifts up your chin and gently kisses your lips. “Oh, is it okay for me to kiss you before the date starts?”
You roll your eyes and gently nudge his arm. “I didn't know there were rules for this kind of thing, Marston”. You both laugh, as he took your hand and helped you climb onto his horse. You loved how he was so rough in the bedroom, yet such a sweetheart otherwise. You wrap your arms around his waist tightly and lean your head on his shoulder as you ride into Blackwater for the evening.
#jack marston x reader#jack marston#i cant believe i wrote this#john marston#my post#jack marston x f!reader#fluff
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Secret Heist Chapter 1
WARNING: MATURE LANGUAGE, CONTENT, AHEAD
Background: Remy and Anna LeBeau began planning a large-scale heist, including several magical item stashes.
One last member. That's all the Cajun needed for his heist. Anna was easy to convince, considering they were married. Wade took chimichangas and tacos down in Acapulco to join. For Logan, it was enough that Wade hadn't joined before then, plus a lot of whiskey. As for Dr. Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, the knowledge of magical artifacts won him over. Standing outside an Irish pub, right in the heart of Dublin, Remy LeBeau could hear the man he wanted. Bullseye, one of the few men to have never missed their mark. The pub emanated Celtic Punk, the smell of dark beer and whiskey melded with fried fish and chips around the kitchen. Right inside, the atmosphere was apparent right away. A lot of wood detail could be seen, a rowdy sing-along going on. It reminded Remy a lot of home, back in New Orleans. The nights in the jazz clubs, blues bars, and pubs with his queen of hearts by his side. This was different though. This was business. Ordering a whiskey from the barkeep, the Cajun could feel the odd glances he was receiving, just from his accent. Looking around, he saw what he needed: a dart board. Walking over, he saw the man he needed, wearing a black leather trench coat.
“Ya mind if ah join ya for a game?” There was one sure thing that would catch his eye, and that was a demonstration of skill. “You don't look like much, lad, you sure you can keep up?” Bullseye’s response was cocky, his Irish heritage coming through. His build was just an inch shorter than the Ragin Cajun, but he was stockier. “Ah sure think ah can. An, if ah win, you gotta hear me out.” “Alright, yer on. And if I win, you buy me a round.” Lester handed the newcomer a set of darts, a smug grin on his face. Throwing a dart, the origin of the man's name was apparent. “Lemme see what ya got, lad.” “Well, ah wouldn't want ta show off, but,” the Cajun shrugged as he lobbed a dart at the board, hitting the bullseye,”ya asked fer it.” “How in the world?” Bullseye looked at Remy closer, noticing his red and black eyes, and that grin that was too charming for anyone's good. “You, you are Remy LeBeau, aren't you? I surrender this game, I'm buying you a couple rounds as we talk.” “Sounds good, mon brave, ah will grab a table.” Gambit watched the man as he grabbed a couple pints and a bottle of whiskey, sitting at the only empty table left. As soon as Bullseye was seated, Remy poured them each a glass of the liquor, attempting to establish some sort of common ground to work from. “Ah have an offer for ya, a job. Six person crew, equal cuts. Ah wanna hit dem hard, an get out right quick. Ah heard you was good wit weapons, and you have larceny in ya blood. Ah coul use a man like you.” “Wait, you're tellin me, that the most famous thief in the world, the King of Thieves at that, wants me, for a job? Tell me where to sign up. I would be honored, I am honored.” The newest member of Remy's little party was genuine in his statement, being able to work with a man of Gambit's caliber, being hand chosen by the man himself. Of course he would do it, especially since Remy doesn't hit small targets, his cut would be quite generous. “Glad ta hear, come to New Orleans, right in da French Quarter, you'll find a bar dat ah own. We all gon meet dere. One week.” Remy downed the whiskey, chasing it with a swig off his beer. He had a dream team now, the perfect balance of smarts, muscle, and weapons.
----------------------------------------------
“Sugah, you are lookin kinda nervous, come sit down.” Anna Marie, the woman who had stolen the heart of Remy LeBeau long ago, tried to comfort her husband, pouring him a glass of bourbon. “Remy, have a drink, you'll loosen up a bit.” The Cajun did just that. He sat down next to his Chere, and sipped on the drink she poured him. “Anna, what if Logan walks on out? He don't know ah got Wade in here.” He knew the history between the two, and yet he wanted them both anyway. They were both good at what they did, even if it was bad. “Someone say Wade?” The Merc bust through the doors, a bowling shirt over his suit. “Hey, you, yeah, the person reading this. I sure hope Logan doesn't try to kill me again, he didn't even give me a happy ending last time! The nerve.” “Wade, what you babblin bout over dere?” The King of Thieves inquired, knowing well about his constant interactions with the voices in his head. “What? Oh, I was talking to them, Remy ol pal. I was just telling-” Logan charged in, cutting Wade off. “Wade, the hell you doin here? LeBeau, you best have a damn good explanation for this.” The man may be short, but damn was he terrifying. Just his appearance was enough, let alone those adamantium claws in his hands. “Yes, it is nice to see you again, Logan. Tell me, how's the weather down there?” Wade mouthed off, just at the wrong time. Logan shish kabobed him, cutting him off from saying anything else. “Shut yer mouth, Wade, I like you best when you shut the hell up.” The Wolverine sheathed his claws, releasing Wade. Fuck he hated that mouth, but he wasn't going to sew it shut like that one terrible movie nobody talks about. “Fellas, come on, drinks on da house.” The Cajun handed them both a whiskey, that warm, charming grin playing on his lips. “Let's jus say ya both are pretty, an leave it at dat?” “Aww, thanks Remington, I knew you liked for-wait, were you hitting on me? Oh, you bad boy.” “Wade, I swear, I will slice your damn jaw off if you don't shut up.” “What's the magic word?” “Fuck you.” “Close enough, Wolvie. I'll keep my two cents to myself.” Turning slightly, Wade hid his mouth with his hand. “No I won't, I'll just give it to you guys. Yeah, you beautiful nerdy people reading this.” “Looks like we jus waitin for Stephen an Lester. How you been Logan? It's been awhile.” “Lester? Do you mean Bullseye? Remy, buddy, please tell me you didn't. Are you planning on there being bodies?” Wade acted with mock surprise, even covering his masked cheeks with his hands. “Yes, ah do mean him. An if I wasn't expectin bodies, ah wouldn't have brought you on, ah would've brought Murdock.” Logan lit his cigar, puffing on it as he drank his whiskey, pouring himself more to tolerate the old, musty avocado. “You know I'm with ya, Remy. Just tell us what the plan is.” “We gotta wait a bit, Logan. Not everybody is here.” Remy leaned back, holding a hand out to his darling wife. She came over, sitting on his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Besides, we still gotta agree on what y'all are doin.” A portal opened up in the bar, and the Sorcerer Supreme entered, wearing his Defenders uniform. He had a smile on his face, looking at the four of them already gathered. “I do hope I'm not late, Remy. Something came up in the library.” “Ah, Stephen! Ya ain't late at all, mon brave, not one bit.” Giving a flourish of his hand, the mastermind signaled for the newcomer to sit down. A server brought out a tea kettle on a tray with a cup and sugar, specially made for the doctor. “Ah, thank you kindly. Are we waiting for anyone else?”
As if on cue, the final member of the team walked into the bar, dressed in a flattering black suit. Bullseye, the man who had gone toe to toe with Daredevil on so many occasions, had been given a new focus. “LeBeau, you didn't tell me Wade would be here. Not that I'm complainin, he's good.” “Lester, hey buddy. How's Fisk been treating you? Last I heard, you had died.” Wade reached for his boot pistol, trying to pass it off as if he had an itch. “Wade, it's been too long. We've been due for a drink or some coffee for a while, haven't we?” “I think we've been due for jack shit, you tried killing me! Without a happy ending!” “Oh Wade, that was business, nothing more.” Bullseye took a seat, graciously taking the pint of beer he was handed. He sipped it, savoring the flavor of it. “Mmmmmm, Guinness. LeBeau, you sure know how to treat an Irishman.” Clearing his throat, Remy got right down to business. While Rogue handed out folders holding the details, Gambit stood up, addressing his crew. “As ah am sure y'all know, dere is a collection of items in England, hosted by a nobleman. We gon take da whole thing. We get in, we get out, none of us get hurt. As far as da guards go, dey are expendable, so do as ya wish wit dem. Y'all's folders have da rest of what y'all need to know. Dere are also blueprints of the building we will be hitting. Study up, we gon meet back up tomorrow. Get on upstairs, grab a room, get some rest. Y'all gonna need it.” While the men all went upstairs, a bus boy came around, cleaning the glasses off the table. He came back, after taking the dishes to the kitchen, and wiped it down, a sad look on his face. Remy noticed it, and placed a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. “Everythin alright, Bubba?” “Oh, uh, yessir!” Bubba replied rather quickly, before continuing. “Well, if ahm bein honest, ah sure am worried bout my mama, she ain't doin too well.” “Oh dear, we can't have that, not at all. Take dis, go take care your mother, take a few days off.” He handed the man a wad of cash, sending him on his way. Catching the look from his wife, Remy chuckled with a shrug. “What? His mama ain't been doin too good.” “Remy, what am ah gonna do wit you?” Anna placed her hands on her hips, a mock quizzical look plastered on her face. It was that wry smile that gave her away. “Well, ah think ya know what you gon do wit me, chere.” That playful grin was on Remy's face, she knew it all too well, yet not well enough.
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What are your thoughts regarding Elon Musk?
A great question. Long story short, I alternate between wanting to love Elon Musk as one of the few venture capitalists on Earth with a fucking brain, and wanting to drown him in a scummy pond for being such a fucking West-coast weenie retard.
Elon’s Genius
Waitbutwhy.com got a series of exclusive interviews with Elon, and while the star-struck explorations of the author might be of questionable objectivity, he did a great job of summarizing how Elon thinks. And the single most important thing about Elon was expressed in a verbatim quote from the man himself:
Like look at Galileo. He engineered the telescope—that’s what allowed him to see that Jupiter had moons. The limiting factor, if you will, is the engineering. And if you want to advance civilization, you must address the limiting factor. Therefore, you must address the engineering.
Yeah. You’re sitting there saying “no shit, Sherlock, who doesn’t understand that?” But the shit some journalists say will just blow your fucking mind. Yes, this is an actual journalist, in one of the few semi-respectable, mostly-sane publications left on earth (by dint of catering to people who have to make sums add up at the end of the day,) saying that Trump should make space-based solar power satellites a priority. Not talking it up as a nice theoretical tech, not wondering about it, but pushing this as a serious short-term policy priority.
Incidentally, this is how Elon Musk feels about that bullshit. Yes. Being a sane, intelligent human fucking being, he’s capable of understanding basic opportunity costs, and since he’s aware that hair-brained pie-in-the-literal-sky schemes must be constrained by the actual ability to fucking build this shit (i.e. engineering,) he’s capable of stopping long enough to realize that building and orbiting a vast fleet of satellites designed to blast the Earth with microwave lasers is fucking retarded compared to just building more solar panels right here on Earth.
This ties into the second massive, massive thing that makes Elon Musk unique - he’s a venture capitalist that knows what the fuck a BUSINESS CASE is. Despite being a save-the-world-I-want-to-build-unicorns idealist, he actually understands the basic principles of economics and markets. To wit, nobody’s going to give him eleventy trillion dollars for free to do decades of R&D to realize his Big Dream, so it has to fund itself, and furthermore, major advances in technology and the human condition don’t spring from individual genius companies, but from entire industries. This nice diagram produced by Waitbutwhy’s eloquently fawning author expresses the same with more colored boxes and less exasperated fucking invective, if that’s your thing.
What you’re looking at - especially the box at the very bottom that says SUSTAINABLE FUCKING BUSINESS MODEL - is the concept that any gormless asshole on the street can grasp (business gotta make money) but the multi-millionaire masters of the universe that gave Juicero ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY MOTHERFUCKING MILLION DOLLARS TO BUILD A WI-FI ENABLED JUICER COULDN’T FIGURE OUT.
Yeah. Some of his businesses don’t make money, like Tesla. They release glowing reports that retards eat up, while anyone who worked in the actual 100+ year old auto industry look at these sillicon valley nerds who think they know fucking everything after a few years of research and just wait for the inevitable explosion. (Despite their cheery PR, people who know what they’re looking at see nothing but trouble in their business. To say nothing of how the Ultimate Dream of Everyone Driving Electric is flawed by the basic resource limitations of PLANET FUCKING EARTH. And then there’s shady shit. When they discovered that the established automakers have hundreds of acres and tens of millions of dollars worth of suspension torture-testing facilities for a goddamn reason, instead of repairing their janky suspensions under warranty, they offered to pay half the repair cost if the customer would sign a fucking nondisclosure agreement. Tucker Torpedo this motherfucker ain’t, is all I’m saying.)
But ya know what? I can forgive that, because SpaceX. SpaceX forgives a lot. And there is a business case there - there’s enough rich virtue signalling fuckheads to support a small car company, at the very least - so the premise itself isn’t just pissing up a suspension bridge cable on a bridge to nowhere, like most venture capital bullshit. Even the Hyperloop isn’t that bad, because even though it’s fucking retarded, Elon’s probably only looking at it because of his “Boring Company” project. He looked at the ongoing clusterfucked abortion of a high-speed rail line that California’s doggedly carrying to term, and correctly surmised that digging fucking tunnels the length of a huge earthquake zone would be cheaper, in the long run, than trying to navigate the political clusterfuck of buying contiguous right-of-way for the whole damn length. A tunnel is a tube, and as long as it’s a tube, you may as well use the damn Hyperloop thingy, right? There is thinking, there. A brain, is working. And hey, at one point SpaceX was an idea just like this - the Great Ones of industry often leave a trail of dead and dying projects behind them while the One Great Success just climbs higher and higher. It’s worth it, and it’s why Trump’s “six bankruptcies” don’t mean jack shit compared to his dozens and dozens of successful businesses.
And yet - despite that amazing presence of a god damned brain in his skull - he still manages to go full fucking retard sometimes to a degree that makes me want to catch his tongue with a vise-grip to make the stupid noises stop.
Elon’s dumb-fuck bullshit
This slashdot article neatly sums up the problem. The short version is that lots of very rich people in Sillicon Valley were going around acting very serious about the possibility that our entire world and universe is just a huge computer simulation and we gotta try to break out of it somehow.
Billionaires. These people are fucking billionaires. And this is how they spend their time. This quote from Business Insider sums up the reason why:
The piece doesn’t give any clue as to who those two billionaires are – although it’s easy to hazard a few guesses at who they might be, like Musk himself or Altman’s friend Peter Thiel – but it’s fascinating to see how seriously people are taking this theory. According to Musk, it’s the most popular topic of conversation right now.
“The most popular topic of conversation right now.” If ever you doubted that there’s a vast wealth discrepency in the United States, look no further - not only is the West Coast rolling in economic opportunity for the right people - especially with the right connections - but there’s so many multi-zillionares out there that their entire social circle can consist of nothing but. This is some zany philosophical fad that caught on and percolated around, like memes and fads do, via usual social interaction - except for these people, their friends consist mainly or only of multimillionare tech CEOs.
And that, in a nutshell, is why obviously intelligent people who’s words can make stock prices in multiple huge companies employing many thousands of people do a damn jig feel no reservations at all about saying things in public that make them sound like fucking idiots. When you contemplate the sheer distance between the world of us ordinary humans and these privileged Coastal Gods, it’s enough to fill you with an almost instinctive rage. As a good seal-clubbing communist-hating rabid frothing conservative bigot bastard from Soviet Mordor, I wouldn’t give a shit if these Masters of Industry at least bore passing resemblance to the Randian ideal. I’d be down with that. Even if their huge underwater cities did spring a leak and a massacre or two, that’s life, you know?
But this shit? This!? No. I draw the fucking line here, pal. There’s some floof-ass hair-brained bullshit I’m not going to stomach.
But entirely aside from my impassioned-downtrodden-country-boy-rage-at-the-coasties-grapes-of-ree, there is the simple fact that people idolize, hero-worship and generally LISTEN to this man, and that imparts some level of responsibility on him to not say fucking stupid shit. The reason I’ve resisted making a Paetron for so long (aside from my crippling depression, self-doubt and general talent for self-sabotage) is that it’d impinge, ever so slightly, on my total freedom to say any stupid shit I want, because I’m not beholden to anyone, at all, to sound sane or coherent. (My fiction writing is a testament to this.) So I’m keenly aware of the decorum and care a public speaker ought to have - it relates directly to how big an impact his words are liable to have on people, and for Musk, that’s a lot.
Elon’s latest shtick - which is also popular with all his millionaire friends - is screaming and crying about how AI is going to replace all of us. Well, no, that’s just the luddite screeching of Sillicon Valley in general now, Musk is actually claiming that AI will rise up and fucking kill us or some bullshit. His newest company, OpenAI, has a great business model and all - developing mind-machine interfaces, which is a thing and will be a much bigger thing in short order - but he’s still going around telling everyone that AI is some evil terrible scary thing, and that’s causing actual goddamn harm. It’s all fine and good to loathe “science deniers” if they’re arguing against climate change, food pasteurization, the Health Dangers of GMO Crops and childhood vaccinations, but when it’s bullshit like the health effects of radio waves and the coming AI apocalypse, suddenly these fucking geeks are all ears. And here they have a successful CEO who’s Made Science Things Fly and has half the world sucking him off repeating this chicken-little fear-mongering bullshit. In ten to twenty years the anti-vaccers are gonna be screaming NO AI NO DRIVERLESS WHATEVERS REEEEE AND IT’S GOING TO BE THE FAULT OF PEOPLE LIKE ELON FUCKING MUSK.
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A Bottle of Jack
A/n- This fic was written for @impalaimagining’s Cheesy Pickup Line Challenge. My prompt was “Roses are red, pickles are green. I like your legs and what’s in between.” It was also written for @ravengirl94’s 1.5k challenge. My prompt for her was “I’m too sober for this.” Both are bolded in the story. This is unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine alone. I hope y’all like it!
I'm also tagging a few extra people I think would like this. If you wish to not be tagged in things like this, it won't hurt my feelings if you tell me so.
Warnings: Swearing, smut adjacent (no explicit smut, but I would NOT consider it SFW) fluff, teensy bit of angst if you look at just the right time, switching POVs.
Word count: 3,034 (this one kind of got away from me)
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
EDIT: 'Keep Reading' link inserted.
Y/N's POV
You, Dean, and Sam always went to some grungy bar scene to celebrate a successful hunt. More often than not, you ended up being the one who quit after 3 beers to make sure you all got back to whatever motel you were staying at safely. You thought tonight would be no different, so you sat up at the bar, watching Dean hustle some guys at pool and Sam hitting on one of the waitresses. She bore a striking resemblance to Jess, and you didn’t have the heart to tear him away so you could talk about your feelings.
Dean was a flirt. He flirted with anything that had long tan legs and a pair of boobs, which included you. But he never seemed to want to take things further. He kissed you once, when he was shit-face drunk. It was after a hunt gone bad, and you had gotten really hurt. A rougarou had sliced your stomach open and if it weren’t for Dean literally holding you together until Cas got there, you wouldn’t have made it. He pushed you away again after his lips left yours that night, and when he never brought it up the next morning, you figured he either didn’t remember or thought it was a mistake. So you left it alone.
Sam, on the other hand, he encouraged your emotions. He thought his brother cared for you, but was afraid of losing you like so many others he once loved. So he pushed you away to protect you and himself. He couldn’t bring himself to let his walls down and let you in. But Sam pushed you keep trying. You both deserve to be happy, and happy together, he said. You wanted to believe him, but sitting here watching Dean eye the girls standing around him, it was hard.
Sighing, you signaled the bartender for a refill. As she went to take the bottle away, you asked her if she could leave it.
“My boss ain’t here tonight, so I guess it’s alright. Just don’t start any trouble, or I’ll tell the cops you stole it when they show up for you.”
“Don’t worry, I just want to keep to myself tonight,” you informed her with a sad tone.
She gave you a curt nod as she walked away, clearly happy that she didn’t have to wait on you anymore.
You decided in that moment, sitting there watching Dean teach some bimbo to play pool, that you were going to get drunk. The motel was close enough you could just walk back. Chances are you’d have to walk back anyways. You usually did on the nights that both the brothers got lucky. But you didn’t want to think about Dean anymore, you just wanted to be numb.
You didn’t bother nursing the alcohol. You just kept pouring drink after drink. After a while, Sam came to let you know he was going home with the Jessica Moore look-alike.
“S’fine Sammy,” you slurred at him. “Haves fun.” You turned back to your bottle, looking at it with lidded eyes.
“Whoa…what the hell Y/N? You’re not driving, right?”
“I’s gonna walk. I know where’m going.”
“Okaaay… Just…just wait here for a second, okay?”
You wordlessly waved him off as you went back to drinking away all your emotions.
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Dean's POV
Sam walked over to me. “Do you have any idea what the fuck you’re doing to Y/N? She’s over there drinking herself into oblivion because you can’t be a man for two god damn minutes and tell her how you feel. Instead, you’re forcing her to watch while you get wasted and go home with some ditzy bitch! Man up and go tell her, now, or I’ll tell her for you, and I won’t stop her when she kicks your ass into next week for it, or worse; when she walks out on us because you’re too much of a coward to say something. Go fix this Dean!”
I looked at Sam like a deer in headlights.
“Dean don’t you dare tell me I haven’t tried to tell you about all this before. You don’t get to play dumb and act all innocent here. That poor woman is slowly killing herself, because she thinks you’re happy this way. I don’t know how much more of this she can take, or how much more I can take standing by and watching her do this to herself. She fucking loves you man, and you’re killing her. Please, at least get her back to the motel and let her sleep it off. Now, I’m going home with Allie over there, so fix this tonight while I’m not around. I’ll see you in the morning. Take care of her, Dean.” Sam’s voice dropped at the end, making him sound a little more threatening than he usually did.
I rubbed a hand down my face as I sighed. Sam was right; I was being an ass to Y/N because I was a coward. I was too afraid of losing her, but I would lose her anyways if things continued like this. She would walk right out of my life because I was hurting her. Sighing once again, I made my way over to Y/N at the bar, ignoring the protests of what’s-her-face over at the pool table.
Y/N just about fell off her barstool by the time I reached her. I shot a hand out to steady her on her feet, but she scowled and wrenched her arm away.
“Hey honey…how ya doing?”
She turned around and her face softened when she realized it was me.
“Hiya handsome. Buy me a drink?” she slurred as she stumbled against my chest. “I like your face. I wanna kiss it. Can I kiss your face Deano?”
I groaned. “I’m too sober for this.” I ran a hand down his face and collected myself for a moment. “Come on Y/N. Let’s go back to the motel. You need water and sleep.”
I took her by the arm but quickly changed tactics when she swayed around. I placed my arm around her waist and led her out the door. As I helped her into the Impala, she leaned over and hurled onto the pavement. I jumped out of the way just in time to save my boots.
“Okay you make sure you get all that out now, sweetheart! There’s no puking in Baby!”
She sat back up after a minute. “Do you have any water?”
“We’ll get you some when we get to the motel.”
“I just wanna… I gotta…” She moved across the bench seat and placed her head on my shoulder. She hummed, “better,” and then shut her eyes.
A few minutes later, I was pulling Baby into the parking spot in front of Y/N’s motel room. Normally she shared with him and Sam, but every now and then they had the extra money to spring her a room of her own room. As I helped her out of the car, she threw herself against my chest.
“You’re so pretty Dean. Got a pretty face. I just wanna smush it and kiss it. I gotta touch it.” She reached her hand out to stroke my face, but I caught her by the wrist.
“Whoa whoa whoa. Let’s just… Let’s get you inside and we’ll talk about it over some water. You need so much water…”
As I sat her down on one of the beds, she started giggling uncontrollably.
“What’s so damn funny?”
She took a gasping breath, trying to control herself. “Do you have a map? I’m getting lost in your eyes.”
I laughed so hard I almost fell over. “Cheesy pickup lines? Really Y/N? That’s my bid. Try all you want, but that’s not gonna work on me.”
“I was feeling a little off tonight, but you definitely turned me on.”
I just shook my head and sighed as I sat down next to her. She pulled me down to lie on the bed with her.
“Are you an orphanage? Cause I wanna give you kids.”
Dean let out a groan.
“You look cold. Want to use me as a blanket?”
I growled and screwed my eyes shut for a moment, willing my erection to go away. I opened my eyes when the sound of soft snoring drifted to my ears. She had passed out, thank Chuck.
I sent Sam a text message before I decided to take a cold shower.
Sam, she was too drunk for me to say anything tonight. She couldn’t even stand upright. I’m staying in her room for the night and will tell her first thing in the morning, so long as she is sober. I want this to be something she remembers. –D
I took a shower, finally calming myself enought to go lay with her, and checked my phone on the way to the bed..
You better. My threat still stands, Dean; I will if you don’t. And you won’t like that outcome.
I rolled my eyes, too tired to come up with some witty response. I pulled on a t-shirt and crawled into bed next to Y/N. Before I could even reach to turn of the lamp on the bedside table, she had rolled over and snuggled into my side with her head buried in my neck. I could smell the rosemary and mint shampoo she uses, and the rose scented body wash she loves so much. I ran my hand through her hair almost involuntarily, and she roused for a split second. She picked her head up and looked at me with unfocused eyes and a sparkling smile. She pushed her face back down into my neck, and I felt her inhale deeply.
So quiet I almost missed it, she murmured, “I love you Dean Winchester. Please don’t leave me.”
In that moment, my heart broke. She has lost so many people, and she thought she would lose me too. Pressing a kiss to her head, I softly whispered, “I’ll never leave you, Y/N. I love you too much to ever leave. I’ll always be here for you, I promise.”
I quickly fell asleep, listening to the even breathing from Y/N. I didn’t even think about how things would play out in the morning. I just knew I would tell her how I felt all this time. Even though I don’t deserve her, she deserved to know.
-----
Y/N's POV
You slowly came to your senses as you took stock of the scene around you. Sunlight was filtering in through the dingy curtains on the opposite side of the room. Your head was pounding and your throat burned. Between the taste in your mouth and your burning throat, you knew you had puked last night. But normally when you get that wasted, you don’t sleep that well. And you certainly don’t curl up under the covers of your bed. You don’t even make it to the bed half the time…
As you braced your hand under you to sit up, you froze. There was someone beneath you. Very cautiously, you turned your head to see who it was.
“Dean? What are you doing in my bed?! Oh my god I swear whatever it was I said last night, I’m sure I didn’t mean it. You know how I get when I’m drunk! I’m so sorry Dean. God I can never do anything right, I always screw everything up! And now I’ve gone and screwed up our friendship! Just say the word and I’ll pack my things and go. I’ll hotwire a car until I can get back to mine at the bunker. I don’t wanna-”
Dean pressed his lips to yours and wrapped his hand around the back of your neck as you melted into his chest once more. Finally he broke away, but didn’t take his hands off you. He kept you firmly planted against his body.
“You’re not going anywhere. I’ve been a fool, Y/N. I was too scared to say anything to you about my feelings, because I couldn’t handle it if you ran off, if I ruined this. I mean, you’re my brother’s best friend, and you’re what keeps us from falling apart, sometimes literally. I don’t know how to function without you, so I didn’t say anything. God, Y/N, I love you. I love you more than I can put into words. You are the best thing to ever walk into my life, and I’m never letting you walk out. I know you love me too, because you said it last night. You also said some other things, but if you don’t remember them I won’t dredge it up. I like drunk Y/N though. She’s hilarious and so adorable!”
As Dean snorted with laughter, memories came flooding back to you. You felt your face pale slightly.
“Did I really… Did I try pickup lines on you?” you asked in horror.
Dean could only nod his confirmation; he was laughing too hard and having trouble breathing. You whacked his chest.
“It’s not funny Dean! This is so embarrassing…” you sat up and faced away from Dean as you hung your head in your hands.
“It’s not embarrassing.” He sat up and pulled you between his legs, your back against his chest. He pressed hot open-mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder while his hands found their way under the hem of your tank top. “Do you have any idea the things you did to me last night? I had to take a cold shower before I could get anywhere near you again. And feel what you’ve done to me this morning already?” He grabbed your hips and pressed your ass against his already hard cock.
You let out an involuntary moan at the contact. Part of you was in shock, not really believing that Dean could want you this way. Another part of you was so in love with this man holding you. And yet another part of you was so hungover, you were bordering on still drunk.
“Dean… wait, please stop.” He immediately released you, almost like you had burned him. You knew how it must look, so before he could react the wrong way, you spun around to kneel between his legs and wrap your arms around his neck. You regretted the fast movement almost instantaneously. You braced yourself against his chest as your head dropped to his shoulder with a rather loud groan.
“I want this. Please don’t take this the wrong way. I stink, I feel like I drank an entire bottle of Jack, and all I want is to shower and get greasy diner food to cure this hangover. Then we can have all the sex we want. But I want to enjoy it, and I certainly don’t want our first time to be interrupted by my churning stomach. So can I get cleaned up and we go get food?”
“God you’re perfect. Let’s get you in the shower and then we’ll go get Sammy and find some grub. And just for the record, you did drink a whole bottle of Jack.”
Since you were still so unsteady on your feet, Dean decided to shower with you. For ‘safety’ purposes, he said. As he was helping you wash your hair, you leaned against his body and felt his hardness pressed against your ass once more.
“Hey Dean?” you asked.
“Yeah baby?”
“Roses are red, pickles are green. I like your legs and what’s in between.” You said as you reached your hand back between your bodies and grabbed him as he let out a gasp.
Neither one of you could keep your hands off the other and, well, things happened anyways. Glorious things happened, and you were secretly glad you were so hungover.
You both were getting dressed when there was a knock on the door. You were more clothed than Dean at that point, so you went to answer it. You were wearing one of Dean’s t-shirt’s and a pair of your cute undies. You cracked the door and Sam stood there holding coffee.
“Hey Y/N. How’s the head? You were pretty far gone last night…” he cackled.
“I’m fine Sammy. Now give me my damn coffee!” you grumped as you snatched the outstretched cup from his hand.
“Hey have you seen Dean this morning? Baby is here, but I can’t find him.”
You smirked. Either he was playing dumb, or he honestly hadn’t taken note of your appearance. “Come in Sam.”
You swayed back into the room and Dean grabbed you around the waist as Sam closed the door. He looked at the two of you and grinned. “It’s about damn time!” he yelled. “Oh my god you two were driving me insane with the whining and the pining and the obliviousness! I seriously thought I was gonna rip all my hair out before this happened.”
Dean piped up, “well, if it wasn’t for Miss I’m-gonna-drink-the-whole-bar here, it may not have happened at all.”
You blushed in embarrassment as the boys laughed at you and you pushed Dean’s hands off you.
“Hey Sam, did you know that cheesy pickup lines work on your brother just as well as the bimbos he uses them on?”
They both froze. Dean stared at you with his mouth wide open, while Sam’s eyes darted back and forth, trying to discern if you were serious.
“You mean…”
“Yup,” you said, cutting Sam off while you yanked your shorts and Converse on.
Seconds later, he burst into laughter once again. His whole face scrunched up as he clutched at his stomach and pointed at Dean. “OH-oh my god dude. She bagged you with those pickup lines!”
“Shut up Sammy!” he said with a beet red face. “I thought you wanted to go find greasy diner food Y/N?”
You skipped over to him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I do. I just wanted to get back at you for teasing me first.”
“Oh sweetheart. You have no idea what you’ve started!” he called after you as you skipped out to the Impala, leaving him and the still laughing Sammy behind. Everything was finally right with you and Dean, and you didn’t really care what pranks he pulled on you. As long as you had him, nothing else mattered.
Dean Tags:
@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester
Extra tags:
@whispersandwhiskerburn
@katymacsupernatural
@leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid
@queen-of-deans-booty
Feedback is welcome and much appreciated!
#Cheesy Pickup Line Challenge#ravengirl's 1.5k challenge#Dean Winchester x Reader#smut adjacent#really cheesy fluff
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songs that would have been really big while jack + kent were in juniors -- or at least in high school -- and that make me feel way too emo:
you and me by lifehouse (there’s a 100% chance that kent hardcore associated this song with jack)
beverly hills by weezer...... PLEASE.....
my humps. like. if you don’t think that kent dedicated this song to jack’s ass, idk what to tell u.
jack might pretend to be completely unaware of pop culture, but he also sang the entirety of jesse mccartney’s beautiful soul to kent one time. he just wanted to see kent blush, but he kind of meant every word.
one of the first times they kissed was after a party where they’d been looking at each other with gut-churning levels of sexual tension as rihanna’s sos blared around them
lips of an angel by hinder 😞 😞
when stickwitu by the pussycat dolls comes on the car radio, kent turns the volume WAY up but says nothing
speaking of car radios, jack will always hate the song jesus take the wheel bc every time it came on when kent was driving, kent would close his eyes, put his hands in the air, and dramatically sing along for 5 seconds or so while jack had to steer from the passenger seat. [kent: lmao u should have seen your face. jack: we could have died kenny. also jack: and your eyes were closed how could you even see my face..]
kent flirts so hard with jack at parties whenever beep by the pussycat dolls is playing. totally as a “””joke.””” jack really likes that song.
when kent remembers that he should probably flirt with girls once in a while (he’s gay as hell so sometimes he forgets) there’s something about the song buy u a drank that gives him that extra push. jack really hates that song.
GIRLFRIEND BY AVRIL LAVIGNE 🙌🙌
kent trying to teach jack the soulja boy dance.......
kent LOVES miley’s see you again; he’s always singing it with this dorky flirtatious energy that jack thinks is really cute. (after he beats jack at one-on-one, kent makes up his own lyrics, leading up to: “i can’t wait... to beat you again” and that actually really pisses jack off, oops)
don’t talk to me ever about how cheesy kent gets when he listens to avril’s keep holding on, esp. when he’s worried about jack’s anxiety/using but doesn’t really Get It
jack never told kent this, but the great escape by boys like girls always made him think about running away together, at least for the weekend
speaking of jack being cheesy, it’s 7 AM and they’re spooning in kent’s bed; kent’s phone starts playing music for his alarm but it’s actually the weekend, so kent falls back asleep and lets the music keep playing. when the song switches to love story, jack feels indescribably soft, and he stares at kent’s face, nuzzling his nose into kent’s shoulder and smelling him even though he knows it’s weird.
kent is ready to go (in BED) when shut up and drive is playing. jack doesn’t really understand why, but he’s not gonna complain or anything.
on that note..... justin timberlake’s lovestoned 🔥🔥🔥 (fire here representing jack when kent gets going)
jack will always feel an irritated fondness for bleeding love; kent would always purposely annoy him by singing it in a wispy high-pitched voice
kent knows all the words to no air by jordin sparks. (cries to it later, but that’s a different story)
jack really does fall in love when kent’s dancing to forever by chris br*wn at a party
OKAY so kent “seriously” (lol) promises jack that he’ll learn to play guitar just so he can play jason mraz’s i’m yours for him, and he borrows a teammate’s guitar and just starts strumming with the most ridiculously bad, random chords; jack joins in by supplying the vocals, except he only knows 1/5 of the words. they both remain completely straight-faced the whole time & their teammates die laughing
sometimes kent gets really mad at jack and is too angry to even say anything when jack acts like he doesn’t care, so he just blasts hot n cold to make a Point
jack really doesn’t get it.... “oh there’s that song kent likes. he sure likes that song”
once in awhile kent changes jack’s morning alarm to the numa numa song. kent wakes up early JUST so he can watch jack’s face when he’s woken to the sound of “my a-hee, my a-ha, my a-hoo, my a-ha-ha” and he CACKLES
i can’t even put into words how obnoxious they are when got money comes on
one time when kent falls down during practice and takes a little longer than usual to get up, jack skates over. kent looks up and says, “do - do - do you got a first aid kit handy?” and jack just gives him a Disgusted Look but damaged becomes a meme for sure
jack thinks in the ayer is the stupidest song in the world (kent loves it, obviously; he thinks flo rida is a “musical genius”) and sometimes when a completely different song comes on in the car, he taps kent on the shoulder, gets his attention, and says, “oh hot damn, this is my jam” in a conversational tone. little shit.
kent feels warm and soft when he hears one step at a time.
i will literally cry if i think too hard about crush by david archuleta and the Feelings it inspired in both kent AND jack before they got together (although lets be real, jack only knew this song in the first place bc of kent)
the first time kent hears teardrops on my guitar, before he and jack were together, he briefly considers feeling sad about jack, but decides that’s too pathetic. (unfortunately, this resolution doesn’t stay in place after the draft.)
kent thinks it’s funny to make the gasping/sexual sounds from britney’s piece of me when he’s alone with jack -- like, plopping down on his lap, leaning in, and just making those noises in his ear. jack thinks it’s funny until kent starts trying this during sex. (jack: ....oh hot damn, this is my jam. kent: ok truce)
sometimes when jack keeps talking to kent and asking him to hang out, kent starts singing “why you so obsessed with me??” to make their friends laugh, and it’s a joke, but it hurts jack’s feelings
jack unironically loves gavin degraw...... the 10th time kent walks in on him listening to in love with a girl, he needs to lie down and do some serious thinking about his taste in guys
poker face..... POKER FACE... i can’t even begin to describe how much kent loves this song, or how much jack loves the way it makes kent get a lil frisky
jack can never tell kent that he likes the song right round, because he’s already too committed to disliking flo rida
gives you hell........... ouch
jack always smiles when he hears down by jay sean, mostly because he’ll never be able to hear the lil wayne rap without remembering kent rapping along in the locker room
kent is always listening to britney’s circus. jack hates it unreasonably and glares at him until kent changes the song. (this only works half the time. the other half, kent just turns it up)
jack has probably heard kent yell “TELL YOUR BOYFRIEND, IF HE SAYS HE’S GOT BEEF, THAT I’M A VEGETARIAN AND I AIN’T FUCKING SCARED OF HIM” like 93 times
fire burning is playing at a party. the whole team is dancing & kent manages to get jack on the dance floor. his dancing is atrocious and he knows it, but he can see that kent is trying to hide how turned on he is, and that’s all that really matters.
jack actually knows every word to taylor swift’s you belong with me, just because kent was OBSESSED with it for 2 months straight. he will literally never be able to hear the song without seeing kent’s smiles and stupid fake drum solos in the car.
kent tries to get jack to have sex with him to the song lovegame, but jack can’t stop laughing every time he hears “disco stick” so that’s a no-go
(kent likes the song waking up in vegas even though it makes him feel kinda sad for no particular reason)
they have an ongoing “debate” about how kent hates country and jack likes it. when kent earnestly makes a case for tswift’s our song being THEIR song, jack makes fun of him for liking a country song instead of taking him seriously, and while kent might roll his eyes and play it off as no big deal, that hurts his feelings more than he will ever admit.
in their hotel room at 1:30 AM. one time by justin bieber is playing. kent is lying on his back, singing along and doing a stupid lil dance where he moves his arms and legs around in the air without sitting up. jack is staring at him and feels like he’ll just fall over, so he interrupts kent’s singing by kneeling over him and pressing their lips together. (this is actually their first kiss and it’s not like they’d be able to tell anyone about it in the first place, but they REALLY won’t tell anyone it was to a justin bieber song)
#this is so long god damn#check please#jackparse#pimms#me making a jp post: there are dozens of us!! dozens!!!!!
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Unfinished Trollcops thing
I remembered I had this thing, and figured I’d post it because it’s good, but it is never going to get finished.
I had this idea that I wanted to write a big Trollcops AU fic, from Team Sleuth’s perspective, but it sort of collapsed under its own weight. I wanted to include all the trolls, plus the kids, PLUS Team Sleuth (including the girls), the Crew, Kingpin.... I couldn’t find things for all these characters to actually contribute, and also, I’m not great at writing all the trolls!!
But I did write the first three chapters, which were the introductions for Sleuth, Pickle and Ace respectively, so here u go. Abandoned Trollcops fic.
Chapter One
Spending any amount of time with Spades Slick is dangerous at best, you knew that. You also knew that you were making things worse by spending so much time with him, but you were counting on bruises and stab wounds, not this.
The interrogation room is sickeningly bright. The lights make it impossible to know what time it is outside. You know it was close to sunrise when they brought you in, but you’re not sure how long you’ve been here. Even the ticking of a clock would be a welcome reprieve from this boredom. You wish they’d just throw the book at you already.
The door finally opens, creaking a little as it does so. Apparently the Alternia Police Department can’t even afford a can of WD-40. Two officers walk in. You recognize them from your various interactions with the police in the past few years--Sergeants Terezi Pyrope and Sollux Captor. Sergeant Pyrope pulls up a chair and sits down at the table across from you, lacing her fingers together. You can’t read her expression through her opaque red glasses. You’ve heard that she’s blind, but she seems to stare right through you.
“Problem Thleuth.” Sergeant Captor reads from your file, standing behind his partner. “Thirty-five yearth old. Prothpitian. Failed out of polithe academy at age twenty-four. Ith that right?”
“I wouldn’t say failed,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “I jus’ didn’t like how y’all--I mean. I wasn’t a fan ‘f the bureaucracy.”
“Is that so,” Terezi says.
You nod.
“So you dropped out and became a private investigator,” she says. “Is that right?”
“You know the answer to that,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Don’t pretend like we’re strangers.”
The silence that breaks out is painful. You run a hand through your hair, quietly wondering if your hat is okay, wherever they’ve taken it. Why the hell did they take your hat? What sort of monsters would mess with a man’s hat? This sort of shit is why you could never cut it as a cop.
“You’re charged with being an accessory to arson,” Pyrope tells you.
“Do me a favor ‘n arrest th’ guy who actually did th’ arson-ing,” you mutter.
“The alleged perpetrator is one Thpades Thlick,” Captor says, reading the file. “Damn, man. Thpades, really?”
“I ain’t an accessory t’ nothin’ that asshole does,” you say, slamming a hand on the table. “I was tryin’a stop that goddamn arson!”
“We have multiple witnethheth who thay they thaw you making out with the thuthpect before the fire broke out,” Captor says.
You wilt under their stares.
“I was tryin’a distract ‘im,” you say, weakly. “He’s a dangerous customer, after all. ‘S the ol’ honey pot maneuver, y’know?”
“It didn’t work,” Pyrope says, grinning her sharp-toothed grin.
“N--no,” you admit.
Sergeant Captor hands Pyrope the file, and she makes a show of flipping through it. It’s a pointless gesture since you know damn well she can’t read it. You try to look at what’s written on the pages, but she pulls the file away so she can give it a good long sniff. You slump over, leaning your arms on the table, thinking about how fucked you are, and what you’re going to do to Slick to get back at him for this. They’ll put you away for ages for this, you just know it. The APD have never been fans of yours, and you’re sure they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to put you away.
You jump when Pyrope snaps the folder shut. She puts it down on the table, sliding it to the edge.
“I’m going to admit,” she says, slowly. “That, considering your history of making trouble, we took this opportunity to get a warrant to search your office.”
“You--you what?!”
“Well, the thusthpect is thtill on the looth,” Captor explains, and you wonder if you punch him hard enough if he’ll stop with that goddamn lisp. “We had to check and thee if there were any clueth ath to hith whereaboutth.”
“And what did you find, huh?” You’re raging mad now, and you aren’t bothering to hide it. “A whole bunch of jack shit. Or are you going to charge me with possession of a deadly writing implement or something?”
The two of them stare at you for a moment, and then Pyrope pulls a photo from her jacket. She places it in front of you. It shows your evidence wall, a large corkboard you’ve set up in your office to collect clues in the murder you’re investigating.
“So, what? You gonna charge me with murderin’ th’ District Attorney now?”
Pyrope and Captor look at each other, then back at you.
“We’ve been investigating the DA’s death too,” Pyrope says. “But we haven’t turned up a thing.”
“And here you are,” Captor adds. “With evidenthe we never even thought to look for.”
You grin a little. “Oh darlin’s, are you jealous?”
“We know Kingpin was behind it,” Pyrope says, and her voice is uncharacteristically devoid of humor. “Like he’s behind every other high-profile murder in this city. I’m sick of him making a mockery of this force.”
“Stop bein’ such a joke, then.”
She stands up, slamming her hands on the table. “Take this seriously!”
You raise your eyebrows and wait for her to get to the point.
“We’re willing to offer you a deal,” she says. “We’ll ignore this latest… indiscretion, and you’ll help us put Kingpin behind bars.”
You laugh.
You can’t believe they’re actually coming to you for help. How many times have they impeded your investigations? How many times have they told you to buzz off, leave this to the real cops? How many times have they told judges not to accept your evidence, or straight up confiscated your evidence and claimed they found it themselves? And now they want you to help them?
“Sorry, sorry,” you say, still chuckling. “I musta misheard. Y’ couldn’t possibly be askin’ for my help. I mean, I ain’t a cop or nothin’. I ain’t got no authority.”
“Don’t be a jackathh,” Captor snaps.
“This is in your best interest,” Pyrope says. “You are, after all, still under arrest.”
She does sorta have you, there.
---
You have your hat back when Sergeant Captor takes you outside, to the back of the department. The sun has definitely risen by now, and you’re treated to all the sounds of the city waking up.
“Thith whole thing ith completely off the record,” Captor tells you as he closes the door behind him. “Honethtly, I think it’th dumb ath hell, but at leatht if you get into trouble, nobody’ll blame uth.”
“As long as I don’t trail it back to you,” you add.
“Obviouthlly,” Captor says. He pulls out his phone and types into it. “But we need one of ourth with you. Making thure you’re not fucking up too bad.”
“I’d really prefer we skipped that part,” you say, fixing your hair and trying to find just that right angle at which to wear your hat. “I don’t need no cops following me everywhere. It’ll slow me down.”
“Think of it like exthtra security,” Captor says, still typing into his phone.
The door opens and a short troll walks over, hands shoved in his pockets. He isn’t wearing a uniform, save for a badge he has hanging on a lanyard over a ratty red hoodie. He approaches you and Captor, then squints at you.
“I know you,” he says.
“I get around,” you reply.
“You’re that drunk fucknut that’s always making a scene in Crew territory.”
“Guilty as charged. Y’all’re jus’ gettin’ me on ev’rythin’ t’day!” You nudge Captor. “Sorry officer, looks like y’ gotta charge me for another crime.”
Captor groans and rolls his eyes. He slaps the newcomer on the back and mutters, “Good fucking luck,” before heading back inside.
You wait for the door to click shut before you say, brightly as you can manage, “The name’s Problem Sleuth. Solicitations for my services are--”
“I’m sorry, do I look like someone who gives a fuck?”
You drop the friendly act. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Vantas,” He says. “Karkat Vantas. I’m the undercover guy. I figure I got stuck with this because they figured I could tell the Captain I’m investigating you.”
“‘N I’m sure she’ll buy it,” you add.
“Yeah.” He sniffs, and looks you over in more detail. “I don’t think I’m the only one they’re gonna hand you. I know for sure they said they’re putting my partner, Nepeta, on this case too.”
You rub your face. “Great. Good. More cops, beautiful.”
He asks for your phone, and you exchange numbers. You then tell him to find something else to do with his day, because you’re going home and going the fuck to bed. This investigation can wait until tomorrow.
---
It’s well after 8am by the time you get home, and all you want to do is sleep for ten years. Pickle and Ace will bitch about you not being at the office, but you can’t bring yourself to care. They’re already going to bitch when they hear about this new arrangement, so what’s a little more?
Unfortunately when you walk in, you find Spades Slick rummaging through your refrigerator.
You toss your keys onto the table and sit down. He turns around, cold pizza hanging out of his mouth, and slams the fridge door shut behind him.
“I figured they’d have ya’ in th’ slammer a few weeks,” he explains through a mouthful of pizza. “So y’ wouldn’t mind if I ate yer food ‘fore it went bad.”
“Y’ couldn’t possibly post bail for me?”
“Fuck no. Who do y’ think y’ are, my Crew?” He moves his mug of coffee from the counter to the kitchen table, and then sits down across from you. “So who’d y’ call. Th’ stickbug? Did ‘e hafta give up his booze fund for th’ month?”
“No, nothin’ like that,” you say, reaching over and taking the coffee. Obviously sleep isn’t happening anytime soon, so what the hell. “They let me off.”
There’s a loud clatter as Slick’s chair falls over, and a knife is at your throat. It always amazes you how fast he is. You raise your hands in a conciliatory manner as he snarls at you.
“You fuckin’ snitched, didn’t you?”
“Slick, my most precious of darlin’s,” you say. “I would snitch on you all day, ev’ry day. But that ain’t what happened.”
“Bullshit!” The knife presses harder against your neck, and you feel blood beading along the blade. “Th’ APD don’ jus’ let people go, ‘specially not when they been with me. Th’ fuck did you do?”
“They hired me.”
He looks at you like you just sprouted a second head. He doesn’t move the knife at all.
You go on. “They’re investigatin’ Kingpin. They wanted my help.”
He finally pulls the knife away, but he doesn’t sit back down. “Great. Jus’ what I need.”
“Yeah, Slick,” you say, sipping the coffee. You’re not surprised that it tastes like shit. Slick probably isn’t used to brewing his own. That’s what he has lackeys for. “It’s exactly what you need. You want Kingpin outta th’ way? Jus’ let me ‘n the cops handle it.”
“Kingpin’s mine,” he growls.
“‘Scuse you.” You put the mug down. “‘M sorry, but did you know th’ stiff we found last week? No. Fuck no, y’ didn’t, ‘cause he was th’ law, ‘n he was my fuckin’ friend, not yours. Kingpin’s mine. He owns this fuckin’ apartment, my fuckin’ office, he’s got me by th’ balls without even tryin’ ‘n he murdered th’ DA ‘n none’f that’s got anythin’ t’ do with you.”
Slick narrows his eye at you, before pocketing his knife and stealing the mug back. He chugs the coffee down.
“Fuck you,” he says, slamming the mug back onto the table. “I’ll do it my fuckin’ self.”
“Right,” you say as Slick grabs his jacket and makes for the door. “So I guess I’ll see ya’ tomorrow, then?”
He grunts in response, and slams the door behind him as he leaves.
You know he’ll be back. Partly because you know he can’t resist making your life miserable--the two of you have been caught up in your fucked up little dance for too long, and he’s not about to give that up--but also partly because you know he can’t take down Kingpin on his own. He’s tried for months to do things his way, to just murder his rival crime boss, but Kingpin is careful, and he’s elusive. In the end, the best way to go about bringing him down is to turn the city against him, to get the law on your side. If you can get an arrest warrant on him you can have the whole of the city’s resources helping you track him down. You could freeze his assets, plaster his face on every bulletin board in town. You’ll leave him no place to hide.
You’re going to do it. Your name is Problem Sleuth, and you are going to bring down Mobster Kingpin’s criminal empire.
The APD are definitely going to steal the credit when it’s all said and done, though, and that fact makes you sick to your stomach.
---
Chapter Two
> Be Pickle Inspector.
You feel as though you’re being punished for Sleuth’s poor life choices.
Nepeta Leijon is a new hire at the APD. She, and her friend Karkat, used to be common criminals. Pickpockets, for the most part, although you remember seeing a few other items on their rap sheet. You’d encountered them once or twice. Never up close--their crimes were never complicated enough to necessitate your intervention--but they’d show up sometimes as witnesses.
Uncooperative witnesses.
You were aware of their being hired. Something about the APD seeing them as valuable assets for undercover investigations. You see the logic, but you’ve never been a fan of undercover operations. You stand out too much. You’re too tall, too gaunt, too recognizable. Your preferred method has always been surveillance. You set up cameras and wiretaps all over the city, in all the seedier bars and meeting spaces. Nothing escapes your omniscient ogle.
Nothing except Kingpin. He’s careful. He doesn’t discuss anything important on the phone, least of all the phones in any of his businesses. You can’t figure out where he lives or where he holds any of his most secret of meetings. Even if you could, he always has too many guards patrolling his places, making it impossible for you to sneak in and plant anything.
It was infuriating before, but now with the death of the DA it’s got you on the end of your rope. And now they want you to babysit this rookie cop? How the hell are you supposed to get anything done?
You asked Sleuth what he did to invite this upon you, but he won’t tell you. You suspect Slick was involved. Slick is always involved these days.
You have a solution to this problem, though. Well, not to the Sleuth-Slick problem, there’s no solving that, but the Nepeta problem was easy: let her work on transcribing your recordings so the two of you can finish them twice as fast. It leaves you with just enough free time to make tea and doodle in the margins of your notes.
You’re halfway through a wonderful drawing of a horse wearing a bonnet when your phone rings. You have specific ringtones for every person who calls you often enough, and you put your head in your hands when you hear this one. Nepeta notices, and watches you as you sigh and answer the phone.
“I’m busy enough,” you whine into the receiver.
“That’s a shame,” says the smooth, dark voice of Diamonds Droog. “And here I had something I thought you’d be interested in.”
“What is it?” you ask.
“Meet me on the corner of 34th and Feldings,” he says.
“D--do I have to?” you say, clicking your pen. “Can’t you just, just tell me? On the phone? Like a normal person? I p-promise the line’s secure.”
“34th and Feldings,” he says again. “Now.”
He hangs up. You put your phone down, put your head on your desk, and groan loudly. Why is this your life? All you wanted to do today was transcribe audio logs and not interact with anybody. You even packed a lunch so you wouldn’t have to go out and talk to any fast food workers.
Without your realizing it, Nepeta has picked up your phone and unlocked it. You make a mental note to change the passkey and not let her see you input it next time. “Diamonds Dickhead?” She makes an exaggeratedly surprised face, and puts your phone back on the desk. “Is that who I think it is?”
You stand up and fix your tie. “I have to go out.”
“Oh! Let me get my coat.”
“No.” You grab your own coat, put it on, and start buttoning it. You make a deliberate effort to put the buttons in the right holes, and you’re secretly glad you haven’t had much to drink yet today. “S--stay here and, and keep transcribing.”
“I’m paws-itively sure that’s super important,” she says, putting extra emphasis on her pun. You’ve noticed that she likes cat puns. In less infuriating circumstances, you’d think it was cute. “But I’m not here to help you so much as to watch you.”
You smooth your hair out and put your hat on. “That’s a terrible idea. N-no, you should just stay here, and not tell a soul I went out. U--unless I don’t come back. Then tell Sleuth. Understood?”
She grins a catlike grin and says, “Nope!”
Droog is never going to let you hear the end of this.
---
34th street is where his tailor is, so Diamonds Droog didn’t have to go out of his way to meet you. It is also clear on the other side of town relative to your office, so you had to go especially out of your way to meet him.
This is par for the course, and you make an effort not to look exhausted when you get there.
He’s waiting for you on a street bench outside his tailor’s, smoking one of his expensive cigarettes. You approach him, but don’t look at him directly. You stand behind the bench, facing away from him, pretending to read a bulletin board. Nepeta follows along, but she sneaks a few glances at Droog when she thinks you aren’t looking.
He breathes out a long puff of smoke before speaking. “Is the detective business so bad that you had to take up babysitting?”
“I n--needed the second job to, to support my tea habit,” you respond.
“That’s a funny way to say whiskey.”
“Oh, no. I steal that all from m-my boss. You see, he has a wealthy patron with a vested interest in, in keeping him too drunk to make good decisions.” You lean back onto the bench, crossing your arms. “I’m s-sure you don’t know anything about that.”
“I’m sure I don’t. Can she leave?”
“I don’t know.” You look down at Nepeta. “C-can you leave?”
“I can, yeah,” she says.
“A--are you going to?”
She shakes her head.
“Sorry,” you say to Droog. “It’s a, a long story.”
He pauses and takes another drag from his cigarette. He taps some ash out on the ground, then reaches into his jacket pocket. You have just enough time to hope that he isn’t pulling out a weapon with which to kill the witness you’ve brought along, before he pulls out a couple of photographs. He passes them to you. They all depict various old-looking artifacts. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen some of these in the museum.
“All of these have gone missing in the past month,” Droog explains. “Obvious signs of a break-in, but no evidence pointing to a culprit.”
“D--do you think Kingpin was involved?”
“Absolutely.”
You scrutinize the photos further, and notice that all the artifacts share a theme. Every one of them either depicts a horrorterror, or symbols associated with said terrors. “This, um. It looks like your sort of thing.”
“Hardly,” he says. “The four of us get our magic from the Terrors, but we don’t need trinkets like this to channel Their powers. They give it to us freely.” He illustrates this by producing a small purple flame in his hand. “Kingpin, though. He’s Prospitian, like you. He doesn’t have the connection to the Terrors that we Dersites have.”
You think about that as you pocket the photos. “Do you think he’s trying to make a pact with the Terrors?”
“Perhaps,” he says, extinguishing the flame. “It’s possible he’s seen what we can do and wants that power for himself. I doubt he’ll be successful.”
You wonder whether it would be possible for a Prospitian to make a pact with the dark gods. You’re almost tempted to let Kingpin try, just to get an answer. It’s not your best idea. If nothing else, these robberies give you one more thread you can follow in your attempts to get any charge at all to stick to him.
“I’ll look into this,” you tell him. “Call me if--if you hear anything.”
“As usual,” he says, before standing up.
He smooths out his suit, throws his cigarette to the ground and snubs it out with his heel. Without once looking at you, he strolls away. Nepeta waits until he’s out of earshot before she says, “You know, Mister Detective, you don’t act much like a detective.”
“H--how’s that?”
“All the wiretapping, and purr-tive meetings with shady guys,” she says. “You’re more like a spy.”
You let out a small laugh. “Don’t say that one to the others. They’ll start coming up with spy names for me.”
“Pickle Inspector’s okay for a spy name,” she says. You start walking, and she follows you. She has to trot a little to match your walking stride. “Spies don’t put ‘spy’ right in the name! It’s too conspicuous.”
You’re enjoying this flight of fancy, despite yourself. “I’ll need to imagine up some clever gadgets, to uh, to get me out of pinches.”
“And you’ll need a car,” she says. “A fancy one, that turns into a submeowrine.”
“And a, a dangerous love interest,” you add.
“Oh? You don’t have that already?” She grins up at you. “You and Diamonds Dickhead had an awful lot of chemistry. You aren’t caliginous?”
“What?” You shove your hands in your pockets and look towards the street. “No. Obviously not. Th-th-that’s just, just gross, ew.”
She giggles, and you don’t like the knowing look she gives you. You reach into your jacket, produce a flask, and take a long gulp. It doesn’t help your mood any. It just reminds you of the last time Droog caught you drinking in the middle of the day, and had the audacity to call you “pathetic”, as if lots of people don’t drink before noon on a weekday.
She’s still giving you that look. Fuck.
“A--anyway, the, the case,” you stutter, trying to get back on the subject of work.
“I know somebody,” she says. “That might help.”
“Who?”
She shrugs. “Old friend of mine. She knows all sorts of things about old stuff like what got stolen.”
“That would be, it’d be really useful,” you say.
“I’ll call her when she gets off work,” Nepeta says, adjusting her hat. “In the meantime we can get back to listening to your wiretaps. The part I was on was pretty juicy.”
You’re relieved she’s so easily given up the subject of Droog and gotten back to the task at hand. She might, despite your initial misgivings, be useful to have around.
“I’ve also started a shipping chart for everyone you’re surveilling,” she adds.
After she explains to you what a shipping chart is, you are simultaneously horrified, and intrigued at the new avenues this gives you when cataloguing and interpreting your data.
---
Chapter three.
> Be Ace Dick.
Once upon a time, you were a police detective. You like to give Sleuth shit over his lack of occupational experience, but he seems to think that his two weeks of police academy are all he could need. For someone who brags about his charisma, he really doesn’t understand the importance of making connections.
You haven’t been working on the Kingpin case with Sleuth and Pickles. You think they’re out of their league. Kingpin’s ruled this city since Sleuth and Pickles were still in grade school, they didn’t stand a chance. So while they ran around on their fool’s errand, you were out hitting the pavement, solving more sensible cases and keeping the agency afloat. Sergeant Pyrope was a rookie when you left the force, but she remembers you. Whenever you have a case that requires some APD know-how, you hit her up. There’s a little diner next door to the station that’s popular with the coppers, and that’s where she meets you to give you the low-down on some two-bit drug dealer who skipped out on a debt.
You buy her a second coffee once she’s said her piece and you’ve finished writing it all down. Then you tuck your notepad back into your coat pocket and say, “So I heard y’ gave Sleuth a job.”
She shrugs, grinning. “It should be worth a laugh. He always says he can do better than us, so let’s see it!”
You shake your head. “Here ‘m always tryin’ to tell him to stay off that case, and you’re just eggin’ him on.”
“So you’re not going to help?” she asks, before taking a sip of coffee.
“Hell no,” you say. “I quit the force to get away from that malarkey. You at least payin’ him?”
She laughs. “Do you think he’s going to ask?”
“He damn well will, because I’m goin’ to tell him to,” you say, jabbing a finger at her. She can’t see the gesture but she usually can tell that you’re doing one. You’re not sure if she hears the movement or somehow smells it. You don’t know how her weird sense of smell works. “We got rent to pay, missy. If he’s runnin’ around chasin’ Kingpin he isn’t doing other cases.”
“We’ll have to set up a collection,” she says. “I’ll put a little can in the break room. ‘Pay Mister Candy Corn’s rent’.”
Detective Vriska Serket walks over, whacking your hat off your head as she passes you to sit next to Terezi. “Can’t be too much, right? Doesn’t he live in a cardboard box?”
“That sounds right,” Terezi says. “But in this city that’s what, 500 bucks a month?”
“Depends on how new the box is, probably,” Vriska responds.
Terezi nods. “Either way, Kingpin owns it so it is absolutely drafty and leaks in the rain.”
“I’m not opposed to makin’ jabs at my dumbass not-boss,” you say as you straighten your hat out. “But I’m serious. You’re payin’ him. And Pickles too, if you got him involved.”
“We do,” Terezi says. “He’s got poor Nepeta bored to tears.”
“That’s a lie,” Vriska says, taking Terezi’s coffee and putting it in front of herself. “She started writing fanfiction about those counterfeiters on seventieth street. I’m going to try and convince her to submit it as evidence.”
“While that is hilarious, don’t. The Captain doesn’t need to know about any of this.” Terezi takes her coffee back and chugs down the remainder before Vriska can make another attempt. She coughs.
“Now there’s an idea,” you say. “If you don’t pay up, I’ll go let Captain Peixes know what you’ve been up to.”
“Why Ace,” Terezi says, leaning forward. “Are you threatening me?”
“Might be.”
“Maybe if the Captain finds out she’ll get embarrassed enough to put me on the case,” Vriska says.
“Gettin’ tired of solvin’ murders?” you ask.
She throws her arms up in the air. “The only interesting crimes are the mob ones! All the regular crimes are just dumb shit, there’s usually a witness or a camera or something, there’s no challenge!”
“I thought you liked racking up wins,” Terezi said.
“I fucking love racking up wins,” Vriska says. “But I want ones worth my time. Kingpin’s the biggest baddie there is, I gotta get in on that.”
“Maybe you should let her follow Sleuth instead of that angry kid,” you say to Terezi.
She snickers. “No, I’d give her to Tootsie Roll Frankenstein.”
Vriska slaps the table. “You think you’re kidding around but I’d love having that guy work for me! He’ll do all the tedious boring shit so I have more time to pound pavement and beat in faces.”
“I’m glad you appreciate Pickles’ special sort of appeal.” You stand up, straightening out your suit. “Thanks for the tip, Pyrope. Now please stop takin’ advantage of my teammates.”
She salutes at you, and it’s dripping with irony. “No, I don’t think I will. You’re welcome to come get taken advantage of, though!”
“Fat chance,” you scoff, getting out your wallet. You pull out a few bills, enough to pay for your coffee and Terezi’s, and drop them on the table. “Take care of yourselves, ladies.”
“Tell Sleuth if he gets evicted I just got a washing machine and he might fit in the box if he gets on all fours!” Vriska calls as you leave the diner. You hear the two girls snickering behind you.
They laugh, but you know the APD’s pay is shit. You do much better for yourself working as a private dick. The lack of benefits are a kick in the nuts, but at least you don’t have to deal with all the paperwork and politics, and every now and then you got a client who paid you a ridiculous sum for some dumbass thing. Sleuth could do as well as you. He’s certainly got the sleuthing skills for it. He just keeps wasting his time worrying too much about justice and too little about the real world.
You figure he’ll learn eventually. Kids like him always do.
(i can’t remember if this ace chapter was even finished but EYY THERE U GO)
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