#but I’m not goin out to bars to meet y’all not while we’re in a pandemilovato

[moongazingbeing]

dating apps when you’re demi are weird

#just gotta stop that shit lol #but I’m not goin out to bars to meet y’all not while we’re in a pandemilovato #also have bACK StREEts bACK alRIGHT stuck in my head #not that you asked

[cinnamontoastandtears]

random fic time

so, i got a request for a mcharrison teddy boy era first kiss, and putting aside how long it took me to write it, i also messed it up a little by turning it into a bit of an angst fest and making it way too plotty (must be riding my high from the other george/paul fic lmao) but i wanted to give this to y’all anyway so: here you go !!

(to the anon that requested the first kiss in the first place, dw, i’m going to write you another)

warning: drunkenness and a brief description of nausea

George stumbled up the steps with big thunks, feet heavy from the whiskey in his system, whiskey in his system because he’d been drinking alone.

Paul had been too busy with John to go out with him. Perfect John, with his perfect fucking hair, and his not-so-perfect guitar playing that even Paul, ever the perfectionist, seemed to love.

So George drank alone. And now he was coming back to the hotel alone, arms empty and mind clouded so he didn’t have to think about who he wished was in them. The view of their floor greeted him before he was ready to meet it and a groan left his lips.

He composed himself against the peeling wallpaper for a few minutes before steeling himself and trudging into the room he shared with Paul.

He found the slightly older man alone, surprisingly, strumming away on his guitar, fingers flashing and angry and not caring that they were making discordant sounds.

“Where’s John?” he muttered, letting the door slam behind him.

“With Stu,” Paul bit out, strumming hard again.

Oh. Right.

George had forgotten he wasn’t the only one that could be jealous. (Or something like that, it wasn’t that he was so jealous anyway, but-)

“Hmm,” George said, flopping down onto his bed. His stomach hated him for that, churning and sending a brief taste of bile to the back of his throat. “Guess you an’ I are one in the same then, eh?”

Paul stopped playing. George replayed his last words back over in his head, taking a minute to let it dawn on him. He shouldn’t have said that.

There came the sound of Paul moving his guitar to the side of the bed, and then more shuffling George’s deaf-from-a-crowded-bar ears couldn’t interpret. So late an hour, so complicated of feelings. His head felt like a brick.

Paul must have stood up in the lengthy amount of time it took George to figure all those sounds out (the shucking of a jacket and belt and shoes), for he was then standing over George’s bed, looking threatening as a shadow in the dark room.

“What do you mean?”

“What?”

“What did you mean, ‘we’re one in the same’?”

George knew. He knew what Paul meant, the question he was asking without even fuckin asking it, bitter with only half-wisdom on his side. (Paul was wise enough to figure himself out, not quite enough for other people. Though, of course, he was still a teenager, so there may have been lack of maturity involved as well.)

“Jus’…” George started, heaving his upper half from where it had finally rested comfortably on the lumpy mattress. “Jus’…”

He’d never been good at putting his feelings right. Never been good at explanations or confrontation or any of the shit you were supposed to be able to say to someone when you felt violated or when you wanted something. So maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the sheer-fucking-unfairness, but something deep inside made George gather all his feelings and spit them out of his mouth.

“You’re not the only one who gets to act jealous an’- an’ be a prick to everyone because of it. You do it too! Don’t be sittin’ there all stupid an’ angry and envious when you’re just as bad as John leavin’ with Stu to do god-knows-what. That’s not fuckin’ fair.”

George got the impression he sounded whiny, so he closed his mouth, not wanting to give Paul any reason to call him a child or immature or anything so harsh. (Barely nine months. Barely nine months and he felt entitled to treat him like that.)

“What…?” Paul’s face wasn’t clear to George even though he’d shifted and his feet were in between Paul’s feet and he was looking up at his face. This didn’t mean that he didn’t know the exact expression that was etched there.

Ticked brow, slanted mouth, bottom lip pulled slightly in. George had studied this face at length. He knew how it looked when confused.

“I’m here, fuckin’ off by myself while you’re out with John, givin’ each other a hand or some utter bullshite like that, leavin’ me alone. An’ that’s why it’s not fuckin’ fair for me to come home an’ you to be awake an’ upset an’ goin’ ‘what?’ like you don’t fuckin’ know exactly what.”

If George was the type of person who cried, he’d be in tears by now, he’d be ugly-crying and sniveling and shit and Paul probably would’ve backed away instead of doing what he did instead, which was to sink down next to George on the bed and sigh.

“I…” he started, then stopped. It almost made sense. Such an eloquent person, yet when the quiet one spoke up, all his words lost. “How do you feel about me then?” he asked instead, turning the burden of talking back to George.

The room was still dark, his head was still fogged, Paul’s shoulder brushed his and he shuddered. That should’ve said it all, really.

“What do you mean?” he asked, unintentionally mirroring Paul’s question from earlier.

“You’re jealous of me-“

“I’m jealous of John.”

“Oh. Well… right, well, jealous of him then.” Paul paused again like he was going to say something else. “For…?”

“For replacin’ me.”

“Oh.”

“Continue,” George offered, motioning with his hand.

“You’re jealous of John… for replacin’ you… an’ you’re angry at me for bein’—“ George wondered if he’d admit it, “—jealous of Stuart.” If George was a bit more sober he’d be impressed. “So I just wanna know what you think of me. Are you angry or do you wish that you were in John’s place, gettin’ to be with me like…”

George’s brain alerted him to a tone that hadn’t been in Paul’s voice before. Something almost flirtatious, walking a dangerous line between something he wanted and something he wasn’t sure he wanted. He’d always just wanted to be close to Paul. Who wouldn’t want that? But this close, what the way his hands reaching down into the gap between his and Paul’s thighs implied, this close he’d never thought of before. (And so what if that was a lie, it wasn’t like everyone was telling the truth tonight.)

“George?” Paul asked, letting George lace their fingers together.

“This is what I think of you,” he said, instead of answering the not-really-question, and put his other hand on Paul’s cheek.

“What—?”

“You known exactly what.” And George kissed him.

He hadn’t had many kisses in his life time, exactly, but enough to know when a kiss was good. Kissing Paul was good. Not right, something this taboo couldn’t possibly be right, but good nonetheless, heavenly somehow, Paul’s favorite—perfect.

Paul’s lips were soft and small and wet, and George couldn’t believe he was kissing them, that their lips were the ones meeting and not Paul and John’s like they always threatened to. Then Paul pulled away just a second to breathe, gasping and moaning just the tiniest bit, which sent George’s mind away, leaving him unprepared for when Paul dove in again.

George pushed him down into the mattress and Paul let him and Paul was letting him, and he was kissing back and…

They pulled away eventually and George rolled off of Paul’s chest, not wanting to crush him with his… well he didn’t weigh much so it might have been fine, but even still.

“That’s how I feel about you,” he managed to say, voice the tiniest bit wrecked from kissing for so long.

“I… me too… how I feel about you too,” Paul said, sounding like he was in a dream, somewhere far away.

This confused George. He’d only just figured out he felt for Paul this way, and didn’t he… didn’t John and Paul…

“What about John?”

“What about him?” Paul asked.

“Don’t you… how do you feel about him?”

George felt Paul turn toward him, so he turned too, and they were facing with each other and this was confrontation, a thing George wasn’t good at.

“I don’t… me an’ John are friends, Georgie. That’s it.”

“But you… but why…” There were several things that didn’t make sense about this. If Paul really liked him, wanted to kiss him and be with him, why did he spend all his time with John? Why did he ignore George, why was he only even here in their room because John was with Stuart?

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s still not fair,” George whispered, pretending that tears weren’t pricking his eyes. (And maybe he was the kind of person who cried.) “You can’t be tellin’ me you feel this way about me an’ then ignore me an’ be mopey when John’s gone. You can’t do that, Paul. What is that kinda shit?”

“I…” Paul started, then stopped again, losing his eloquence all over. “I don’ know…”

That wasn’t good enough. George said so and Paul’s eyebrows turned into each other and George wondered how he could save this friendship.

He didn’t have any time to think about that though because Paul kissed him again, and he wanted this, and this was what he wanted… wasn’t it?

“Paul…” George pulled away from the kiss. (How could something that felt so good be so bad and wrong and-)

“George, I don’ know how to explain myself. Maybe I was jus’ so scared that you were gonna reject me that I spent all my time with John to avoid that. But I promise, really, I promise, Geo, I don’ feel this way about John.”

The thing was, George wasn’t sure if he believed him. He wasn’t sure he was supposed to. But… Paul looked at him again, and the room was dark, and his eyes were shining, and they were alone.

So if they kissed a few more times or fell asleep in the same bed together, that would be enough right now. (And if John and Stuart came back the next morning, John’s collarbone littered with suspicious marks… Well, Paul wore them too, and George could lose a bit of the green in his eyes.)

#george harrison #paul mccartney #the beatles #beatles fanfiction #mcharrison #george/paul #angst #teddy boy era #first kiss #oh look i’ve written something

[babbushka]

Biting Dust - ch.4

Life ain’t too easy for a woman, ‘specially not a woman on the run like you. With a bounty on your head and gunpowder in your nose, you’ve grown adjusted to a life of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of civilization. That is, until you meet one particular man who’s got a face you’d only ever seen in your dreams – or on wanted posters. And when he offers you a proposition that sounds too good to be true, well. You don’t think your life will ever be the same again…

Outlaw!Kylo Ren x Reader

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

7k; cw Graphic descriptions of violence/gun violence/blood & injury 

                                              -----------------------

There’s a distinct energy in the air, gettin’ on up in the morning. Still surprised he ain’t shoot you dead yet, you give Kylo nothing more than a nod of acknowledgment, before goin’ about your business, wadin’ ankle-deep into the water. The water, crystalline and deep, light sparkling off the meandering currents like diamonds, you’re reminded of the way Kylo looked, when he was lookin’ at you.

Shaking your head, you sigh. Whatever had happened yesterday had happened, and it was in the past. Had you dreamed about it? About him? Had your visions been plagued with the look on his face as he came across your stomach? As he nearly sobbed for you, lickin’ at your pulse like some wild thing?

Of course.

Of course, but as much as you wanted to ride on that high of victory, that first test, that first challenge of trust, you knew that his turn would be a’comin’ real soon. You tip your face up to the sky, let the crisp blue of Arizona shine down on your closed eyes, seepin’ up the warmth.

You splash the sleep out of your face, and if Kylo’s watchin’ you real careful like, if somethin’s on his mind, he’s got the smarts to keep it to himself.

It’s silent, for a good part of the ride. Y’all had skipped breakfast, forgoin’ the previous day’s precedent of boiled coffee and a cigarette, instead wanting to keep moving. Always on the move, you were. It wasn’t always that way, but well, that’d been the way for so damn long now, that the time before feels like a dream. Feels like someone else’s memories playin’ in your head.

If only that was the case, you think dryly.

Kylo’s contemplative on his horse, for a real long while. You wonder what he might be thinkin’ about, if he’s thinkin’ about you. You had tried wakin’ up before him today, but it was to no avail. Did the man ever sleep? Surely he must’ve, he was only human after all. You catch his eye awkwardly, the both of y’all looking at each other and then looking away, embarrassed at bein’ caught.

It would seem as though that mutual embarrassment was Kylo’s sign to say something finally, breaking whatever tense mood this had become.

“So Cousin,” Kylo’s voice shocks you for some reason, almost like you had forgotten how deep it was, almost like you’d forgotten that another person could speak so clearly, so confidently to you. “What’s your name?”

He’s referring to the cover story, of course. You remember the way he so sharply denied answering for his age – or maybe was it bein’ a brother that he objected to? Either way, the venom that had stung still lingers in the back of your mind, so you find it best not to press the subject, and answer with the moniker you’ve come to use;

“Mary Elizabeth Sampson.” The words just sound right, rollin’ off the tongue. It was a normal name, nothin’ so outlandish like Angel Eyes. No, Miss Mary Elizabeth Sampson was a proper name, could be found in just about any school house – you immediately cut that train of thought off, instead deflecting, “What’s yours?”

“Benjamin Whitlocke.” Kylo tips his hat, and gives you a real cheeky smile, the kind that shows off his dimples and them crooked teeth as he winks, “But you can call me Benji.”

Sonofabitch is charming, you’ll give him that.

The ease at which Kylo spills the name from his lips relieves you. He was just like you, wasn’t he? On the run and undercover in more ways than one, always another name, another identity in his back pocket. Not that anyone would believe him if he went around introducin’ himself as Kylo Ren – that man was a legend.

This man is…well.

He’s charming.

You commit the name to memory, not that anyone is likely to ask. Folks tended to not ask about things like that, things like the who the when where why how, usually only the what. Still, it’s good to know, good to make sure y’all are on the same page, so you don’t go gettin’ yourselves shot on accident.

“Alright Benji, where’re we from?” You keep your face turned towards the horizon, towards the little town that you’ll be passin’ through. It’s coming up, just out there, just around the canyons. “And where’re goin’?”

“Genoa, Nevada. Right near the Carson River Valley, just shy of Reno.” Kylo’s quick with this one too, and you accept it as an acceptable answer. You had no problem adopting his story, somethin’ about it made you feel more at ease. You could trust yourself to not fuck it up – but trustin’ someone else? Not likely. Especially when Kylo gives you a glance with his good eye and asks, “And well, best to tell the truth ain’t it? Colorado?”

You had told that kind woman back at the inn that you’d be headin’ to Colorado, it didn’t seem worth it to lie once you’ve already told the truth. The truth is easy, don’t got nothin’ to hide if you’re tellin’ the truth.

“Sure is.” You eventually respond. When you ask the next question, you ain’t askin’ for any other reason than your own edification, “What’s the name of this lil’ town you’re sayin’ we’re comin’ up on?”

Kylo shrugs at that, and you shoot him a dirty glare. Immediately he puts his hands up to prevent you from throwin’ a fit about not knowin’ where the hell he’s taking you.

“Well I ain’t so sure what they call themselves on the map, but everyone I ever spoke to only knows it as Ragrock.” He explains, and you sigh, not likin’ that answer one bit.

“Ain’t never heard of Ragrock, are you sure it’ll be there?” You don’t recall such a name bein’ written on that map you’d taken, as a matter of fact you don’t recall a town bein’ out here this way anyway.

Don’t jump to conclusions, you think, as your finger itches for the trigger of your six-shooter that you’ve got right on your hip. Don’t jump, he could be telling the truth, he hasn’t done you wrong yet.

“I’m sure. It’s mighty small but it’s got what we need.” Kylo speaks confidently, making you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Oh yeah? And what exactly is it that we need?”

“Well now I don’t know about you, but I sure would like to stock up on some essential supplies,” Kylo licks across his teeth, breath still sour from morning. “Namely bullets. Some food and a good drink too while we’re at it, but mostly bullets.”

“How much shootin’ have you been doin’ to be fresh out?” You frown, and he rolls his eyes. For a second there, you think he’s about to laugh, but the most you get is a sharp huff out of his nose.

“Angel I’m never fresh out, believe me.” Patting his hip, you hear the telltale jangle of rounds secured to his belt. “I just don’t like gettin’ low, that’s all. And besides, I have a feelin’ we’re gonna need ‘em. We’ll keep a low profile and all, but Ragrock has a habit of bein’ a bitch sometimes.”

“Yesterday you said there were only three public buildings.” You point out, how much of a bitch could a small town like that be?

“I sure did.” He misses the point, “Bar, drug store, and jail.”

“Damn.” The word is out of your mouth before you even think it, and you immediately kick yourself.

Kylo does smile then, gives you a big knowing smile, and something about it soothes you just as much as it unnerves you. You had been half-jokin’ when you told him your name was Angel Eyes, and you had hoped he’d be inclined to accept it as a joke. No one had ever seen you, your face was never done right on the wanted posters, to him you had hoped you were just another woman out in the west.

But when he smiles at you like that, it makes you think he knows.

“Closest bank’s not gonna be until we cross over the border into Utah.” Kylo says real quiet, and you give yourself away by snappin’ your teeth shut, shootin’ him the dirtiest look you can muster.

“What do I care about banks for?” You’re too defensive, and you know that, but dammit you’re defensive anyway – especially because you are Angel Eyes and what if he’s a bounty hunter of some kind? What if he poses as Kylo Ren to get close to outlaws just like you and rake in the big bucks? What if -- ?

“Didn’t say that you did,” Kylo shrugs again, “Was just makin’ conversation is all. Anyway, we won’t be needin’ to worry about banks for a little while. I’ve got enough money on me.”

You have half a mind to halt Agnes right then and there, surprise taking the place of any paranoia.

“You do?” Frowning, you watch as he rifles through a little purse that he pulls out of a small pocket in his waistcoat.  

“Yep.” He shows you, lets you peer inside at the many bills folded neatly together, “Just about a hundred dollars between it all.”

You do stop Agnes then, halting her reins sharply in a way that makes her whinny in protest. Kylo stops Sam too, already confused about what he did wrong, about why you might be angry with him. That only makes you a little angrier.

“Where the fuck did you get that kind of money?” You demand, wondering why the hell he hadn’t said something before, why he had so little on his person if he had the money to afford better.

“Does it matter?” Kylo shrugs and you sigh with an exasperated roll of your eyes.

“Yeah it sure as shit matters! We can’t go ridin’ into a small town with that much money lookin’ like we do. They’ll suspect us straight off.” You groan.

You’re in your riding clothes once again, but you know that even when you change into your blue dress, neither of you will look rich enough to be carrying around one-hundred dollars. That was a very special class of person, a class of person neither of y’all happen to be. Anyone who saw would immediately peg y’all as thieves.

“Well it ain’t like I’m gonna walk in and flash some bills in everyone’s face.” Kylo mutters, expression souring, “Maybe I’m a gambler and got lucky over a deck of cards, they don’t need to know where it came from.”

The thought fills you with panic, with dread.

“Are you?” You’re askin’ before you even know that you’re doing it, voice gone hoarse from the memory of a long time ago, the memory of a poker table endin’ badly, the memory of a card game lost, fire and screaming and --

“No.” Kylo answers with enough passion and angry heat that you think maybe he’s got some bad memories too. You and Kylo stare real hard at one another, and eventually he puts the purse back in his little pocket and says real soft, “My daddy was, and that’s enough for me to never want to bet so much as a dime.”

As much as you hate admittin’ it – and though you’d never say it to his face – you find yourself likin’ Kylo a little bit more now. He nudges Sam with the heel of his boot, thinking that now that this face off has met its end, you can continue down towards the town.

                                             -----------------------

Squinting against the rippling heat waves of the summer sun, you notice that the town’s buildings are starting to appear as small pricks on the horizon, way out in the distance, shimmering like a mirage. Now’s as good a time as any, you figure, because if you get any closer they might send scouts to come investigate, and you’re not in any mood for an investigation.

“Hold on.” You say, and Kylo stops immediately. Sam huffs out a little chuff of annoyance, but Kylo ignores her.

“What’s the matter?” He’s got a sharp edge to his voice, his good eye immediately scanning around and around for danger.

“Ain’t nothin’ the matter, I just have to change, that’s all.” You explain, and it’s almost funny the way that Kylo’s shoulders drop, tension saggin’ away from them.

You hop off of Agnes altogether. Looking around, you realize very quickly that there’s nothing to change behind, nothing to give you cover. But then you wonder if it really matters, Kylo’s already seen you naked after all. You wonder if he’ll want to look again, if he’ll get his eyeful of you the way he had yesterday, but you find that as you start undressing, he’s got his eye trained just off to your right, respectful.

“Into that blue dress of yours, right?” He clears his throat, busying himself by fiddling with some tobacco and a piece of paper, rollin’ up a cigarette.

“One of us has to look civilized.” You tease him, “Make yourself useful and keep a lookout.”

He does something then, that makes you wonder just what the hell he’s playin’ at. Kylo guides Sam to come stand beside you, effectively sandwiching you between your horse and his, creatin’ a barrier from the outside world, a shield of sorts. You never would have expected such gentlemanly behavior from him – from anyone.

But here he is, protectin’ you from the hungry gaze of the sun and the sand, as you step out of the calf-tall boots you wear, unsnap the buckles of your suspenders which hold up the worn linen trousers that once were a rich black, but now have sun-bleached to an off-blue grey. You unbutton your shirt, long sleeves slippin’ off your arms and exposing your skin to the harsh rays of the sun for a few moments, and all the while, Kylo doesn’t look.

You’re wearin’ nothin’ but your corset and smock, and he doesn’t look.

“You know, when we cross into Utah, we’ll have to pass through Ruby City.” Kylo says instead of starin’ at your body, instead of tryin’ to get a glimpse. “That there’s a proper city, has a train station runnin’ through it and everything. It’s got all sorts of stores and things like that. Maybe you could let me buy you a new dress, let that blue one retire for a while.”

Switching your corset from the sturdy riding support-piece that you wear for something more fashionably structured, still he doesn’t look. The smock sits nicely off your shoulders, your decolletage and cleavage on full display as you snap the hooks and eyes of the corset into place, steppin’ into the petticoat that you’d just cleaned by the river.

“No.” You say easily, echoin’ a sentiment you’d give him before, “I don’t need you doin’ anything for me, I told you already – ”

You struggle for a minute, pullin’ the dress over your head. When it’s freshly washed like this sometimes it was a little stiff from dryin’ in the sun, and you have to wriggle it around to get it to sit properly.

“Well what if it ain’t a need but a want to do it?” Kylo’s hands startle you for a minute, as he leans down and helps set the seam of the yoke on your shoulders properly, “A gift from me to you.”

You tense up immediately, and he drops his hands, not wanting to offend or upset you.

“Ain’t never been a man who gives a gift without expectin’ somethin’ in return.” You reply quietly, a resolute shake of your head.

He’s quiet about that for a while, watching you now that you’re all covered up, watching as you do up all those buttons on your front, as you step into boots that are a little more lady-like, even though you despise that term.

He watches as you trade your wide brimmed hat for a bonnet, hair tucked neatly away instead of the way you usually let it be exposed and free.

“I’m not like them,” Kylo appraises you, fixes your bonnet a little so it ain’t crooked as you tie the ribbon underneath your chin, “Whoever it is that done hurt you so bad.”

“I don’t know that.” You point out, swingin’ your leg up over Agnes’ sadle and rollin’ the stiff joints of your shoulders. Your tone is light, not wantin’ to get into too much heavy right before headin’ into the town, “For all I know, you could be worse.”

“I’ll prove it to you, you’ll see.” Kylo smiles, and you almost want to accept that as a challenge, almost want to dare him, just to see if he would.

                                             -----------------------

Kylo wasn’t lying when he said the town was small. There it was, the single street town, in all its glory. Looking to the left, you can see the way the canyons split and wind alongside the river, houses and homesteads and farms dottin’ the red red earth. Looking to the right, you can see more houses still, but farther apart, nothin’ but cacti and tumbleweeds between them.

Along this single road are actually five buildings; the drugstore and a jail to the left, the saloon and a big fancy house to the right, and a church right down at the end of the road. Well, it wasn’t so much a road as it was a dirt path, but still. And because of how little there was, it was all spread out, takin’ up as much space as possible.

No one was around, but if all the noise from the saloon were anythin’ to go by, you’d reckon that the entire town of Ragrock had gathered there.

Given the placement of the sun up in the powder blue sky, it was fixin’ to be about lunchtime. And considerin’ neither you nor Kylo had had anythin’ to eat today, you’re just glad that the ovens would hopefully be workin’, and that you might use some of Kylo’s money for somethin’ hot and fresh.

“I’m going to pick up some things from the pharmacy, why don’t you go get us a table?” Kylo’s thinkin’ the same thing, and you shoot him a wary eyebrow.

“Do you think they’ll let me in?” You knew that in most places, women weren’t actually allowed inside saloons unless they were whores or ‘Shady Ladies’. And while you were certainly a Shady Lady, you didn’t need nobody knowin’ that.

“In a town this small, impropriety extends to the womenfolk, no need for worry.” Kylo waves your concern off, and you wonder whether to believe him or not.

“What’ll you have to drink?” You decide on takin’ him at face value, it hadn’t steered you wrong yet. Kylo lets out a little laugh at the question, and you roll your eyes, hatin’ how damn cocky he gets when he gets his way.

“Doubt there’ll be much of a choice, but if rum’s on the menu, you sign me up for a glass of that.” He licks across his teeth again, and you part ways for the time being.

There’s only one place to hitch the horses, and that’s damn near the other end of the town by the church. Must not be Sunday, you figure, since the building is empty. Keeping track of the days of the week was somethin’ that had been gettin’ harder and harder, and usually it was only times like these when you’re in a town, that you’re able to figure out when the hell on the calendar you are.

Bein’ that it ain’t Sunday, your earlier suspicion is correct – everyone in the town is in this saloon. From the town elders to the children, boys and girls alike, everyone’s gathered together in the shade of the big wooden building. It’s only one story you notice, which means that there ain’t an inn or a place to sleep above it, which could pose somethin’ of a problem for you. You resolve to get chummy with the boss and see if he can’t suggest somewhere that you and Kylo might be able to rest your heads later on in the evening when the time comes.

The bar is nearly full up with customers laughin’ and talkin’ to one another, card game tables are set up on the floor, some folks winnin’ and some folks losing. There’s a three-person band up against the wall, a pianist a harmonica player, and a fiddle player, and the music instantly lets you know that this is an Irish town.

No rum then, sorry Kylo, you think with a bit of apprehension as you step foot through the swingin’ café doors. Unlike the saloon in the other town, no one pays you a lick of attention here. It ain’t until you make your way up to the bar as a matter of fact, that you start gettin’ eyes.

“Well hell-llo there honey.” A large portly man with a great big gold tooth right in the middle of his face gives you the once-over, “Are you lost?”

Your eye twitches ever so slightly at the petname, but you put on a cool face and bat your lashes, knowin’ just how to play this particular game.

“No sir, my cousin and I are just passin’ through.” You explain, lookin’ for someone who works there, “Might there be a spot open for us to have a drink and crust of bread?”

“For a face like that, you bet your ass there is.” The bartender, a man with slim sharp features stands up from wherever he was crouchin’ behind the bar counter. He wipes the counter with a fresh cloth before slingin’ the thing over his shoulder.

The bartender puts a plate of food in front of you, some buttered bread and nuts that you happily crunch down.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, that there’s a lady.” The portly man with the gold tooth points a finger in the bartender’s direction, makin’ you chuckle.

“Naw it’s alright, I ain’t so proper that a couple cuss words will do me any offense.” You wink at him, watchin’ as he gets off his stool at the bar, and offers it to you.

You sit on the stool in his place, and he leans up against his elbow on the counter. You try not to wrinkle your nose at how bad his breath smells, keepin’ up that pleasant smile.

“I’m Amos, why don’t you let me buy you a drink?” He asks, and your eyes flick to the doors with hesitation.

“That’d be mighty kind of you, thank you Amos.” Knowing to never ever refuse a drink or else risk gettin’ branded as disrespectful, you chew on your lip, “Although, I should probably wait for my cousin. He’s just over yonder at the drug store, but he’ll be right back when he’s done.”

“Well when he comes on in I’ll buy him a drink too!” Amos lets out a hearty laugh, slaps a couple coins down on the counter.

“I speak for the both of us when I say we appreciate the generosity immensely.” You smile, wondering what the fuck is taking Kylo so long.

“What’ll you have?” The bartender accepts the coins, pulls a big glass out from behind the counter and gestures to the three different barrel taps he’s got on hand.

“I ain’t picky.” You shake your head, not wantin’ to be fussy.

You’d had a taste of just about every kind of alcohol there was, from Pabst and Budweiser to home-distilled ‘shine. There wasn’t nothin’ you couldn’t swallow, even if you did prefer water above all else. The bartender fills up the glass with the frothy gold of some home brew, and knowin’ the norms, knowin’ how it’d be a sign of weakness to sip your drink, you throw back a big gulp, wipin’ a droplet or two away from your chin with the back of your hand, much to the cheers and applause around you.

“Damn! A woman who can hold her liquor deserves it, don’t you think, ‘Tidge?” Amos slaps the bar top, regardin’ you with another hearty chuckle.

“I sure do.” The bartender, ‘Tidge, gives you a freckled smile.

You look over your shoulder once again, and still no sign of Kylo.

Well, you think to yourself, if he’s going to take his sweet fuckin’ time, then you might as well get comfortable. Besides, couldn’t hurt to get on the town’s sweet side, in case you ever need to come moseying back through this way.

“I like that name, is it short for somethin’?” You turn your attention back towards the bartender, admiring his features.

He’s handsome, in a gangly sort of way. Those cheekbones could cut a man from how sharp they were, everything about him angular and severe, right down to his eyes, a swirling blue-green-grey that you couldn’t quite place. And then of course his hair, a bright orange with more yellow than red in it, you’re sure you’d be able to spot this man from just about anywhere in the town – maybe that’s why he was bartender.

“Armitage, but ain’t nobody calls me that unless I’m in trouble for somethin’, ya see.” He winks at you, his accent lilting and even as he wipes wipes wipes the counter and nonchalantly asks, “What might your name be?”

“Mary, and my cousin’s Benjamin.” You lie straight through your smiling teeth, and he smiles back.

He’s about to open his mouth to say something else, when another employee, a server of some kind, sticks his head out from a side door behind the counter and whistles for Armitage’s attention.

“Hey boss!” The server calls, “There’s a man out here askin’ about some cattle, says he wants to talk to you.”

At that, Armitage throws the towel down and groans, checkin’ the pocket-watch he pulls out of his vest.

“Aw shit,” He mutters to himself, callin’ back, “Tell Joey I’ll be right out! Pardon me Miss Mary, but business is business.”

You only nod, liftin’ your glass of half-drunk whiskey in response, and Armitage leaves.

The swingin’ doors of the saloon give way once again, and this time, finally, Kylo arrives. You can see him through the reflection of the tarnished silver mirror that sits up on the wall behind the bar, likely for reasons like this; so even the regulars at the bar can get a looksee at whoever happens to be comin’ and goin’.

You take another swig of your drink, watch through the silver as Kylo is stopped by a gentleman by the door.

“Hold on there partner, check your guns in.” The gentleman says, a hand on Kylo’s massive chest, stoppin’ him from walking in any further. “Thems the rules.”

You try to hide your grin at the fact that you had been so underestimated to not be stopped, but then again, Kylo was really askin’ for trouble just by walkin’ in, what with his naturally intimidating demeanor. You wonder if he’s going to fight the old man on that, but shockingly, he hands his pistol over without any hesitation.

“Whatever you say, sir.” Kylo gives a nod, before searching for you with a tentative, “Mary?”

“Over here Benji.” At the sound of your ‘name’, you turn and throw a hand up for Kylo to see.

“So this is the cousin, eh?” Amos slurps his beer loudly, as if sizing Kylo up and down, trying to figure out if that’s a fight he would win.

“Yep.” You reply, tryin’ your damn best to not regard Kylo with anything more than platonic interest as he weaves his way through the saloon.

Heat burns in your cheeks from how he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, even in that menacing scowl he’s got plastered to his face, he doesn’t once look away. To him, you could have been the only woman in the entire saloon, and for all he knew, you might as well be. Even without his gun, Kylo still looks like the most deadly man in the entire bar, just from sheer stature and attitude.

It’s a good look, not that you’d tell him that.

You don’t get a chance to tell him anything, because as soon as he comes and sidles up next to you, he slips an arm around your waist, protective – possessive, sizin’ Amos up and down in reutnr, a challenge of his own.  

“We were startin’ to think you didn’t exist.” Amos grunts into his glass.

“Here I am, in the flesh.” Kylo’s voice is deep, deadly. It sends a shiver up your spine, you can feel the crackle of tension radiating off of him, so to mitigate any potential disaster, you push a full glass of whiskey into his hand, makin’ Kylo smile softly at you and asking, “How much for the drinks…?”

“This kind gentleman here took care of them for us.” You nod carefully towards Amos, who is lookin’ a lot less friendly right about now, now that he’s got his eye on the way Kylo pulls your body a little closer to his.

“Oh, well in that case, your next one’s on me.” Kylo pulls out a coin, balances it on his thumb and flicks it up into the air.

Amos catches it with ease, and grunts out something that you think might be a thank you.

“Benji, is it?” Another man’s voice sounds from just behind the two of you, and both you and Kylo freeze up for a split second, before quickly recovering and tryin’ your best to act natural.

“Depends on who’s askin’.” Kylo responds, turnin’ to see who might be inquiring about him.

There’s a table just off to the side, four chairs, only three of them filled. A gruff lookin’ man with ruddy red hair and a freckled face cracks his knuckles, gestures to the empty chair across from him. You swallow, lookin’ at the pile of cards that have been left abandoned on the table.

“We’ve just lost a player, if you’d care to join.” The man says.

You knew enough to know that when a man offers somethin’ like that, it’s more of a dare. And there ain’t no faster way to get into a fight, than by shyin’ away from a dare. Kylo knows this too, and despite the conversation y’all had earlier about him not bein’ a gambler, he knows he can’t not play at least one hand.

“Alright, but just once.” He says as much, using your presence as an excuse, “Wouldn’t do to go leavin’ my cousin all by her lonesome.”

Giving him a very cautious look, you will him not to do anything stupid. Armitage will be back soon and hopefully he’ll bring some protein with him, and you can enjoy a proper lunch and inquire about a possible place to stay for the night. It would be bad, for anything to happen now.

Kylo walks over to the table, takes the seat.

“What’s this?” He points to the little pile of cards, and you get the uneasy feeling that something bad is going to happen anyway, despite your silent pleas.

“That’s the hand he left behind.” The gruff man smokes on a fat cigar, blows smoke out of his nose, sucks across blackened teeth.

Curiously, Kylo lifts the cards just enough to see somethin’ that he don’t like, and he immediately puts them back down on the table.

“I’d rather not take ‘em, if that’s alright. Deal me a new hand.” Kylo requests, and that, it would seem, was the wrong move to make.

You hold your breath, eyes boring into the back of Kylo’s skull, hand itchin’ for the gun you’ve got hidden on your person, the gun that you’d be willin’ to throw Kylo at a moment’s notice, should he need it.

“It ain’t alright.” The gruff man shakes his head, his eyes grey like steel as he regards the pile, “You seen ‘em, you play ‘em.”

“That don’t seem fair.” Kylo points out, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t give a shit about fair.” The man is unmoving, unwavering, not once breaking eye contact with him as he repeats, “You seen ‘em, you play ‘em.”

“And if’n I don’t?” Kylo asks.

The clinking sound of a holster buckle is what captures everyone’s attention, every single person in the saloon.

Amos, the card table, all the women and children, hell even that three-man band stop playin’, and all turn to look at him, at Kylo, who is now standin’ on the other side of the table, starin’ down the barrel of a gun.

The gruff man stands too, holds the gun level in one hand, holds the cigar in his other.

You itch to throw your gun to Kylo, itch to shoot the man dead yourself, but you don’t move a muscle.

Nobody in the entire saloon moves a single muscle.

“Now I don’t want this to get ugly, particularly not in front of my sweet cousin right over there, so I’m gonna give you a chance.” Kylo has the nerve to say, as he puts his hands up in good faith. He speaks lowly, quietly, so low that the saloon goes silent to hear him. “I’ll give you three seconds to go on over to that there desk and deposit your gun with the clerk at the door, which you shoulda done upon entering as is part of the rules of this here establishment.”

In response, the gruff man only pulls back the trigger, a mockin’ tone to his voice when he echoes Kylo’s earlier words of, “And if’n I don’t?”

You’re just about to lunge in and help him, when all of a sudden, Kylo lifts his leg and slams his boot down on the table, and before you can even shout to ask what the fuck he’s doing, you realize that the long wooden plank wasn’t secured down enough to be stable, and by kicking down on his end, the other end of the plank flies straight up, knockin’ the man’s hand upward, the barrel of the gun pointed right at his chin, the jolt of movement firin’ the trigger, bullet shootin’ straight up through the man’s head.

The crowd is stunned, speechless, watching in shock as the plank levels out on the table again, as Kylo kicks it down down down again, three more bullets flyin’ up through the man’s skull, blood spattering spraying onto the faces of the people in the general vicinity, screams and gasps at the hot hiss of red landin’ on their clothes.

Everyone is frozen, watches as the man’s body finally gives way to death, and thuds and thunks down to the floor.

The top of this man’s head is completely blown out, and Kylo doesn’t even so much as blink an eye, even now that he’s got blood on his own clothes.

“Y’all saw how I warned him?” Kylo barks out to the crowd, and they recoil more from this than they did from the shooting.

“We saw.” They reply nearly in unison.

“Anybody got anything they want to say about it?” Kylo dares, but when no response comes, “Good. Now where’s the fuckin’ bartender when you need him?”

Almost as if on cue, Armitage comes back through the side door, clapping away dirt from his palms.

All eyes shift to him, and Armitage has a look of confusion on his face for one second, one split second, before it morphs through devastation, to rage.

“Brian!” He calls out with the sort of anguish that makes you think Kylo picked the wrong gambler to kill.

“Oh shit.” You mutter under your breath, especially as Armitage jumps over the bar and rushes to the fallen man’s side.

“Which one of you sons of bitches killed my brother??” Armitage screams, so red in the face that you’re afraid he’s going to burst.

It’s then, that Armitage whirls around and gets an eyeful of Kylo – the kind of eyeful that means he knows that ain’t no Benjamin.

“Oh shit!” You hiss, hand slowly, carefully, creepin’ towards your gun.

“You!” Armitage seethes, leveling a bloodied finger in Kylo’s direction as he races back to the bar to grab a rifle, checks the chamber to make sure she’s fully loaded, and immediately fires a shot that blast through the wood of the table, sending the crowd shouting and screaming, racing out of the saloon to avoid bein’ struck. “I thought I told you to never step foot into this goddamn place again!”

Kylo makes a mad dash for you then, grabs you by the arm and yanks you back back back as Armitage reloads his double barrel.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you knew him?” You seethe, smacking at him, wanting to punch his fucking teeth out, wondering why he led you into the belly of a hornet’s nest.

The blast of bullets shatters the window above you, and you both duck your heads so as to not get struck by the falling glass.

“No time to explain, on my count, you make a run for the door and get the horses.” Kylo mutters, entirely too calm and collected, making you want to punch him even harder.

“Here take my gun – ” You offer him, but as another explosion sounds off a little too close to you this time, Kylo unveils two more guns of his own.

“Don’t need it,” Kylo grins, and for the first time, you see a sparkle in that blind eye of his. He scoffs, “What, you didn’t think I’d hand them all over, did you?”

You just widen your eyes at him, incredulous.

“Three, two -- run!” Kylo shouts, popping up over the makeshift barrier he’s yanked you behind, and immediately starts shooting, giving you the cover you need to make a bolt for it.

The band strikes up again, piano and fiddle and harmonica filling the emptiness of silence, punctuated by the sounds of struggle as a great big fights breaks out among the drunks and gamblers that Kylo has so offended.

It feels like a battleground, the way you dodge the bullets that zip past you. If you had made any friends in the time sittin’ at that bar, you’ve lost ‘em now, that much is clear. Amos has no reservation aimin’ straight for your heart, but your quick fingers pull your trigger before he can even manage, his dead body stumbling and tumbling like a bowling ball, knockin’ down the pins of his friends as they try to pin you with bullets of their own.

Run run running, you try to shove your way through the panic of the crowd who keeps scramblin’ like chickens with their heads cut off, screaming and hollerin’ from the way that bullets keep hittin’ and springin’ off metal and blasting into wood, holes riddlin’ the walls, lettin’ streams of sunlight in.

You shoot and shoot, punching and kicking your way through the crowd, knowing that behind you, Kylo can’t be too far.

You can tell because you can hear his grunting shouts, his adrenaline filled calls of rage as he too blasts bullets into the bodies of men, overturning barrels and tables, crashes and explosions going off behind you.

On the single street, you can see some of the townsfolk racing to the jail, and that sends a spike of terror down your back.

The jail meant one thing, and one thing only – the Sheriff.

Panic simmers and bubbles up through you, and you keep running, running towards the church where your horses have been passively entertaining themselves with a trough of water and a bucket of feed.

“Aggie! Sam!” You whistle for their attention, and at once, they turn their big heads to look at you.

Agnes braces herself for you to hoist yourself up onto her saddle, and you frantically undo the tie of their reins around the posts that they’ve been good enough to not wander away from. Holding Sam’s reins in your hands, you kick your heels into Agnes’ side, and great big plumes of dust and dirt kick up under the horses’ hooves as the great beasts immediately break into fast fast fast gallop.

Racing closer closer closer to the saloon, you can still see them fighting and shooting at one another on the inside.

“Come on, come on!” You’re screaming at Kylo from down the road, demanding that he hear you, that he get outside already, because you can’t slow these horses down once they’ve gotten like this, and you can’t turn back once you’ve passed the saloon, not with the commotion from behind, not with the way the Sheriff is now shootin’ at you, at your horses.

“God dammit get out here!” You scream again, lookin’ behind you, takin’ aim and shootin’ the Sheriff clean at the wrist, blowin’ his hand off, the gun explodin’ off with it, bullet ricocheting off one of the hangin’ signs, bouncin’ back and hittin’ the Sheriff in the chest.

You’re almost at the saloon, almost there, and Kylo still ain’t out front, heartbeat pounding pounding pounding in your chest as you approach the doors closer and closer, as you can hear the sound of gunfire and broken glass from inside – but then -- !

Then there he is!

You see him running through the saloon towards the front doors, and somehow, impossibly somehow, as you pass the doors, you throw Sam’s reins, and Kylo catches them, his long legs running alongside Sam’s breakneck pace, jumping up onto her without her slowing down one bit.

“Yes!!” You let out a triumphant shout of adrenaline, before whipping Agnes’s reins and urging her ever faster.

You and Kylo grin at one another, victors in this chance game with death, cheatin’ your lives once again, as you ride ride ride out into the desert, not lookin’ back to see if anyone follows.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren reader insert #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren au #outlaw au #wild west au #my writing #adam driver fanfiction #adcu #biting dust

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

New World CH. Nineteen

Title: Going to War

Words: 2375

Warnings: Strong language, sexual content (P in V sex), fighting

A/N: If you would like to request something, please do! Hope y’all enjoy

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New World Masterlist

Daryl Dixon Masterlist

The Walking Dead Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

The next morning, Sam, Rick, Carl, and Michonne went on a run. It was needed but it didn’t make you any less nervous. You flitted around the prison, trying to find things to distract you. You did the laundry, made lunch for everyone, and tidied up as much as you can. Whenever someone tried to help, you waved them off with a sweet smile.

 Almost six hours after they left, they got back home. Relief filled your entire being when Maggie came inside to give the news. Slumping against the wall, you let out a breath. The three of them came inside and they had a lot of bags with them. Eyes wide, you went to them.

 “You got a crib?” You said. Carl nodded and smiled.

 “We got two. We also got a pregnancy pillow for you.”

 “I found this too,” Sam said. He handed something to you and you looked down to see a picture of you, your brothers, and your dad.

 “Where did you find this?” You asked Sam.

 “One of the bars in town is a hunter bar. Recognized the name and found this. Thought you might want it.”

 “Thank you.” You threw your arms around Sam and tried to keep the tears at bay. Sam kissed the top of your head before pulling away.

 “I’m gonna go put the cribs away,” Sam said. He left and you walked over to Rick.

 “Everything go alright?” You asked him.

 “Ran into an old friend. He was hording all these guns. Managed to convince him to give us some.” He picked up a bag and winced. Frowning, you looked at his shoulder and saw his shirt bloodied.

 “Rick, are you hurt?”

 “It’s just a scratch.”

 “Doesn’t look like one. Let Hershel check it out? Please.”

 “Alright. Get the baby stuff? I know you want to help, but you shouldn’t carry anything heavy.”

 “Deal.” Rick kissed your cheek and you started moving bags into the cell block. Putting the items away, you saw Daryl sitting and coloring with Adeline. The sight made you smile and you bit your lip before walking over to them.

 “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” You asked Daryl.

 “Sure.” He looked at Ada and kissed her head. “I’ll be right back, princess. Mama wants ta talk ta me.”

 “Okay! Come back soon, daddy!” Her eyes never left the coloring book and you walked a little ways away before turning to Daryl.

 “Everythin’ okay?” He asked you. He was slightly worried and you bit your lip again.

 “I was just wondering if you were alright with Adeline calling you that,” you said softly. Daryl let out a breath and a chuckle

 “That what ya wanted ta talk ‘bout?”

 “Yes. I don’t know why she started saying it, but if it makes you uncomfortable—“

 “[Y/n], I don’t mind it, really.” Cupping your face, he kissed you softly.

 “You don’t?”

 “I don’t. If you’re alright with it, I don’t mind.” He looked at you and lowered his voice. “I’d love for her ta be my daughter. If that’s alright with ya.”

 Grabbing his face and kissing him, you poured all the love you had for him in that kiss.

 “God I love you,” you murmured. Looking at you, he picked you up and twirled you around. You giggled and Adeline clapped her hands.

 “Me next, daddy!” She said excitedly. Daryl set you down and ran over to scoop her up, spinning her around too. Her excited laughs echoed throughout the prison and when Daryl was done spinning her, he went over to kiss you again.

 ---

 The next two days went by with no problems and Andrea showed up again. The Governor wanted to meet up to make a deal. It was risky, but it had to happen. Something needed to be done and this was the only way to avoid all-out war with Woodbury. The meeting was tomorrow at noon, at the feed store an hour out. It was decided that Sam, Rick, Daryl, and Hershel would go. Both you and Dean wanted to join them, but you knew you couldn’t. Even if you weren’t pregnant, it was too dangerous and Dean had too much of a temper. So you pretended like everything was fine when in reality you felt sick.

 That night, you couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning, you tried to be as quiet and still as you could, but Daryl still woke up.

 “Will ya stop that?” He muttered. He pulled you closer, tightening his grip on you and you squeezed your eyes shut.

 “Sorry.”

 “’S wrong?”

 “I’m scared.”

 “Tomorra?”

 “Yes. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want any of you to go.” Your head was buried in the crook of his neck, words muffled. Waking up a little more, he glanced at you.

 “We’ll be fine. I’ll have your brother’s back and he’ll have mine.”

 “I know you can take care of yourself, but this Governor’s dangerous. He’s not going to want to make a truce. He wants us dead.”

 “Everythin’ will be okay. I promise.”

 Titling your head up, he kissed you. Kissing back, it got heated fast and before you knew it, Daryl was on top of you. His hips were rolling into yours but he was careful of your growing belly. Sitting up, he pulled you onto his lap and he took your shirt off slowly, running his hands over your sides, ghosting over the swell of your breasts. You were left in your panties while Daryl was still fully clothed.

 “Daryl,” you whispered.

 He shivered at your lust filled voice and mouthed at your neck. That made you whimper and move your hips. His jumped up and you gripped his shoulders. Daryl ripped off his shirt and laid you back down. Kissing down your stomach to the top of your panties, he pulled them down with his teeth and settled between your thighs.

 Kissing the inside of your thighs, he went up one side and then down the other, skipping past your dripping pussy. Whining again, he did the same thing.

 “Daryl, please,” you said, breathing fast. Damn your hormones for making you super horny.

 “Maybe some other night,” he said, breath ghosting over your cunt. He was being an absolute tease and you wanted him to just fuck you. So you rolled your hips up, his chin catching your clit. Keening, you tried to do it again, but he stopped you with his hands.

 “Nu-uh,” he said. “I want ta fuck ya with my cock. Ya can ride my face later.”

 “Please!” You whispered.

 Daryl quickly got rid of his pants and as soon as he was gone, he was back. Coaxing your legs around his waist, he pushed into you slowly. You both groaned and he started moving his hips slowly.

 He kept the pace slow, not listening to your quiet pleas for him to fuck you faster. His body was draped over yours. One arm was holding him up and his other hand was holding yours sweetly, your fingers tangled together. Daryl was kissing you sweetly and slowly, savoring the moment.

 “I love you,” you whispered in between kisses.

 “I love ya too.”

 Daryl kept going, still keeping the pace slow and you soon came undone. Your pussy clenched around his cock and after a minute, he spilled into you. Pulling out, Daryl rolled over and brought you close to him. His hands were on your belly and his face in your hair. Sighing softly, you focused on feeling him and you fell asleep soon after.

 ---

 Daryl woke you and Adeline up before they left and you got dressed before going down to the common area. You ran to your brother and tackled him in a hug, his arms going around you a second later.

 “Be safe,” you whispered. “Come back and bring them with you, okay?”

 “I will. First sign of trouble and we’re out.”

 “Good.” Sam kissed your head and you went to give Hershel a hug too. After him, you went to Daryl and he pulled you into a kiss. He was standing next to Merle and you could feel his eyes on you.

 “Daddy, don’t go!” Ada cried. She could read the room very well for a five year old and Daryl kissed her head.

 “I’ll be back soon, princess. Don’t ya worry. Ya be good for your mama, okay?”

 “Okay,” Adeline sniffed.

 “Come back to me,” you breathed.

 “I will.”

 “Good.” He kissed you both again and then they left. Swallowing harshly, you turned around. It was going to be a long day.

 ---

 Thirty minutes after they left, you were feeding Judith while the others were getting weapons ready to go in case of attack. The clinking sound of the metal was oddly comforting to you.

 “Carl, come here,” Glen said. He handed Carl some ammo boxes. “You stash these at the loading dock, okay? Beth, put more up on the catwalk. If anyone gets pinned down we need to make sure that they have plenty of ammo. I’ll go work on the cage outside.”

 “What we should be doing is loadin’ some of this firepower in tha truck and goin’ ta pay a visit ta tha Governor,” Merle said. “We know where he is right now.”

 “You saying we should go there and kill him?” Glenn asked and you shook your head.

 “Yeah, I am.”

 “We told Rick and Daryl that we’d stay put,” Michonne said.

 “I’ve changed my mind, sweetheart. Being on tha sideline with my brother out there don’t sit right with me.”

 “The three of them are right in the middle of it,” Dean said.

 “If we went there, they could get hurt. We could get hurt. It’s a risk we shouldn’t take,” you said.

 “A thousand things could go wrong.” Glenn started walking away, the conversation over, when Merle spoke again.

 “And they will.”

 “My dad can take care of himself,” Carl said.

 “Sorry son, but your daddy’s head could be on a pike real soon.” Carl ignored him and you looked at Merle before walking back to the cell block.

 “Don’t say that to him,” Maggie said. Merle shrugged his shoulders.

 “It’s not the right move. Not now. Can’t take the risk of putting them in the crossfire. We’d all lose someone if it goes wrong, but think of [y/n]. She has literally the most to lose if it goes south. We’re staying here. That’s my decision and it’s final.” Glenn stormed out of the room and Merle looked pissed.

 He knew that Glenn was right and he hated it. He just couldn’t help but have this seething anger towards the governor. That son of a bitch promised him he could go out and search for Daryl, but it never happened. He made Merle do all of his dirty work and he got nothing out of it. Merle knew he was being unreasonable but he saw no other way around it.

 So he got a bag and started filling it up with guns.

 “Hey, you’re not going,” Glenn said. You heard that from the cell and put Judith down in her new crib before walking out, Dean following behind you.

 “What’s going on?” You asked.

 “Merle’s taking guns.”

 “I don’t need permission,” Merle said.

 “I can’t let you.”

 “Ya can’t stop me.”

 “If you’re gonna live here with us, it’s gonna be on our terms. If Michonne can do it, why can’t you?” Maggie said. Merle stopped and looked back at her.

 “’Cause it’s my brother out there, that’s why. What’s tha matter with y’all?” He stomped up the stairs and Glenn blocked his path.

 “I’m not gonna let you put them in danger,” Glenn said lowly.

 “Nut up already, boy. This guy cops a feel of your best friend and ya pussy out like this? Get outta my way.”

 “No.”

 “Get outta my way!” Merle yelled as he attacked Glenn. They fell down the stairs and when Merle pointed his knife at Glenn, Maggie tackled him and put him in a chokehold.

 “Get off!” She said. Merle raised his arm and Michonne grabbed it. You watched the scene unfold with wide eyes, Dean keeping close by. The fight ended when Beth grabbed a gun and shot it in the air. You all looked at her and when Judith started crying from the noise, you went to comfort her.

 “Let me go!” you heard Merle yell.

 “What happened?” Carol asked when she saw you.

 “Merle was trying to take some guns to go kill the Governor. How’s Judith?”

 “The shot just startled her. I got her to settle down. You should rest.”

 “I gotta make lunch,” you said with a shake of your head. “They should be back soon and they’ll be hungry.”

 “Let Beth take care of that. You’re already stressed out as it is and you need to rest.”

 “Fine. But if I’m not awake when they get back, wake me up?”

 “I will.” You nodded and walked up to your cell. You had forgotten how tiring it was to grow a human being and when you laid down, you almost immediately fell asleep.

 ---

 You had slept for an hour when you felt someone sit on the mattress next to you. A hand was brushing your hair back and you groaned, turning over so see Daryl.

 “Hey,” you whispered.

 “Hey.”

 “You just get back?”

 “Yeah. Carol told me ta wake ya up. Thought ya might want ta see me.”

 “I always want to see you. Is Sammy okay? What about Rick and Hershel?”

 “We’re all fine. No incidents.”

 “Good.”

 “C’mon. Rick wants ta talk ta all of us.”

 Stretching, you sat up before walking out of the cell and down the stairs. Everyone was in the cell block and you looked at Rick.

 “So I met this Governor. Sat with him for quite a while.”

 “Just tha two of ya?” Merle asked.

 “Yeah.”

 “Should’ve gone when we had the chance, bro,” Merle said to Glenn before walking to stand behind Carl.

 “He wants the prison,” Rick said after a moment. “He wants us gone. Dead. He wants us dead for what we did to Woodbury.”

 “We’re going to war.”

#New World #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #reader insert #The Walking Dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl x reader

[thegreatestofheck]

Little Village pt.6＊Outer Banks＊

find the first five parts on my masterlist here!

word count - 3.6k warnings - An inkling of swearing.  synopsis - June asks herself some important questions and goes to visit a friend with a surprise visitor.  tagging -  @apoguecalledjj @ijustreallylovethem @deathcompass @lolitstiana @ jxpiter-sxturn @parkerpetertingle @diverrdown a/n - Y’all getting some Rafe in this chapter, you’re welcome. Also, I heard some vying for JJ x June, so, I’ve given you a smidgen of that as well. You’re welcome again. Also, I just reached 400 followers which is absolutely mind boggling. Thank you all for your support! I hope you enjoy!! Stay safe, healthy, and groovy out there!

                                                                ***

June slept on the floor the first night she got home. Kie, Sarah, and John B all tried to coax her to bed once Eleanor was sound asleep in her home made crib. When it was clear that June wasn’t going anywhere, Pope and JJ pulled the mattress off her bed and brought it to her. 

“Are you going to be okay here?” John B asked quietly, putting a hand on June’s shoulder as she sat on her mattress, facing Eleanor’s crib. June put her hand over her brother’s and smiled. 

“I don’t think there’s anywhere I’d rather be,” she said softly. John B gave her shoulder a soft squeeze before leaving the nursery. 

June sat there, watching her baby through the bars of the crib with a smile on her face. She could feel exhaustion in her bones. She hadn’t slept a wink since that first night at the hospital. All of it was catching up to her now, but she didn’t want to close her eyes. She was afraid of missing a single second with Eleanor, even while she was sleeping. 

But even more, June was afraid that if she fell asleep, she would wake up and Eleanor would be gone. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. It wouldn’t even be the second. Or the third. 

June had lost her mother and then her father and she thought she had lost her brother too when the cops thought he had killed Sheriff Peterkin. In light of all of that, she couldn’t imagine losing Eleanor. She’d only had her for three days and the baby already had all of her heart. Losing her would be...

June blinked back tears. That was a horrible way to think about things. She didn’t want to be the girl that was afraid that everyone she loved would one day leave. Closing her eyes, she reminded herself of all the people who had never left her. 

JJ, who had been one of her best friends since she was in the fourth grade. Pope, who was always there to make her laugh and tell her random tidbits of information that she never knew she needed. Kie, who would not hesitate to come running if June needed her to. Sarah, who was never opposed to going on a shopping spree to get her mind off of anything and everything. 

And John B, her brother. Her brother, who had gone on a treasure hunt to fulfill their dad’s stupid legacy. Her brother, who held her as she cried after they listened to that audiotape that was only addressed to him. Her brother, who was framed for a murder that he didn’t commit and still came out on top. 

June reminded herself once she opened her eyes that not everyone leaves and that Eleanor would still be there when she woke up. Sucking in a deep breath, June lay down on her side, still watching Eleanor. 

Her eyes closed at some point and then she fell asleep. It was peaceful for all of two hours before Eleanor started to cry. She was crying for only a few seconds before June had her in her arms, but her little cries were heard throughout the house. Kie, Sarah, and John B all stumbled into the room still half asleep. 

“She’s fine,” June said, turning toward them with a smile. “Just hungry.”

John B’s cheeks went red and turned away from the room, walking back to his. But Kie and Sarah lingered, small smiles on their faces. 

“I want one,” Sarah cooed, walking forward. June gave a quiet laugh, bouncing ever so slightly to keep Eleanor calm. 

“Relish in Eleanor for a bit, Sare,” June said. “You’re a bit young to have one of your own.” 

“Says you,” Kie said with a laugh, leaning against the door. When the realization of what she said hit, her smile dropped and she looked up, her mouth falling open. “Jue, I didn’t mean-”

June laughed again and shook her head. 

“Don’t worry about it, Kie. I think my experience is enough to warn you not to get pregnant now,” June said, looking back at Sarah. “Especially not with my brother.” 

Sarah sighed, her gaze fixed on Eleanor. 

“You’re right,” she said finally. “I guess I’ll just have to take that baby as often as I can.”

June let them relish in Eleanor for a few moments before she looked up at them. 

“Alright you two, back to bed,” she said finally. “And don’t get up every time she cries. You have school tomorrow, you need sleep.” 

They both mumbled their agreement. 

“’Night Jue,” Kie said as she turned to shuffle back to the futon where Pope was passed out. 

“Nighty night,” said Sarah, giving a small wave. She closed the door behind her. 

June set Eleanor, who had already fallen back to sleep, in the crib before settling back on her mattress. 

Four weeks later, June was feeling absolutely over her head. She was getting maybe three hours of sleep a night and spending most of her days stressing over all the things there was to stress about. All of her friends were at school for most of the day, leaving her in an empty house with a baby she barely knew how to take care of. 

Sometimes, Ms. Lana or Mrs. Heyward would stop by for a chat or to watch Eleanor while June took a 20 minute nap. She was ever so grateful for them and all of their help, but June couldn’t help but feel like she was on the end of her line. 

Crying in the bathroom while Eleanor slept, June couldn’t help but feel like there was something she was doing wrong. Taking care of a baby on her own had seemed impossible before her baby was even born and now it seemed even more so. She needed to start working again soon, which meant finding someone to watch Eleanor during her shifts. June didn’t think she could part with her daughter, but she needed to start making money. 

It was all just too overwhelming for her and she didn’t know how to do it all. 

She was kneeling by the toilet, her endless sobs making her dry heave. But then she heard Eleanor crying from the other room, so she wiped her tears, sniffling, and stood. She would figure things out, she always did. 

                                                              ***

“Hey, J? Have you seen Eleanor’s-”

June froze in the middle of the living room, her gaze fixed on the couch. In the ten minutes it took June to get ready, he had fallen asleep. Holding Eleanor against his chest, the two snoozed peacefully. Both of his hands were on top of Eleanor, almost completely covering her body. She was making her usual quiet sleeping sounds and with every breath that JJ let out, he made a hushed “shh” sound, as if still trying to calm her down as she slept. 

June felt her heart seize in her chest at the sight of them. 

She had hoped that after Eleanor was born, that feeling she got when JJ was around would be gone too. It had been the hormones, that’s all, she tried to tell herself. But it had been almost two months since Eleanor was born. She had been working to get her body to look like it had before, but those feelings she had still remained.

It wasn’t right for her to feel this way about her brother’s best friend. He was a year younger than her and she had spent most of her life practically raising him. Just because he was older now didn’t change anything. What would John B say if he knew that she was feeling this way? He’d probably be disgusted. 

And it didn’t even matter anyway. JJ liked nothing more than being able to hook up with whatever girl he wanted and was never tied down to one person. June had little doubt that was going to change any time soon. He was a teenage boy, after all. He was allowed to do what he wanted. 

She wouldn’t lie and say that making breakfast for the random girls he brought home wasn’t irritating. But cleaning up after her little brother and his best friend was always irritating. June was starting to wonder if irritation was what she was really feeling. 

Seeing him holding her baby wasn’t making any of those complicated feelings go away. 

June put an amused smile on her face and crossed her arms. JJ startled awake when she cleared her throat, his blue eyes opened wide. He held onto Eleanor tighter as he tried to figure out exactly what happened. 

“Hi,” he said with a groan and a smile, taking a hand off of Eleanor’s small body to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “You ready to go?”

June nodded, not trusting her own voice. JJ nodded, tucking his arm underneath Eleanor and pushing himself up to a standing position. The baby in his arms made a few disgruntled sounds before settled back into her new position. 

“Come on, Little Pogue,” he said quietly, walking her over to her car seat. “We’re going on a little ride.” 

“Thanks for watching her while I got ready,” June said, walking toward them. JJ shrugged, not taking his eyes off of the little girl. 

“It was only ten minutes, Jue. No biggie.” He stood back, giving June room to crouch down and place a small, handmade a blanket over Eleanor. 

“Thank you all the same.” 

“Where you goin’ anyhow?” He asked, flopping back on the couch and placing his hat back on his head backward. June felt herself smile. 

“Sarah’s,” June said, picking Eleanor’s car seat off the ground. “Said Wheezie really wants to meet her, but Rose won’t let her come down here. ‘Sides, I thought it might be nice to get us both out of the house for a bit.” 

JJ plucked a magazine off the counter and started to flip through it. 

“Sounds fun.”

“Do your homework while I’m gone.” 

JJ rolled his eyes. And there it was again. The reminder that no matter how much he seemed to have matured in the the last few years, JJ was still a kid and June wasn’t sure why she was expecting him to act any less than that. 

“Thanks, mom.” 

June sighed, shifting the car seat. Two months and she still hadn’t really gotten the hang of carrying this thing. 

“See you, J.” 

“Byee.” 

It took a little bit of a struggle to get Eleanor into the car, but June managed it without waking her. The entire ride to Sarah’s, June tried to get the picture of JJ sleeping while holding Eleanor out of her head. 

Knocking on Sarah’s door, June held the now awake Eleanor in her arms. Sarah threw the front door open with a grin on her face. 

“June! Oh, Little Baby Pogue.” Sarah’s grin grew even wider somehow. “Come in, you two! Wheezie and Rose are so excited to meet Eleanor.” 

June stepped inside. It wasn’t the first time she had ever been in the Cameron residence, but she was surely amazed every time she stepped foot inside. She was sure she could fit the entire Chateau in just the living room. 

“She’s darling,” Rose said as they all sat in the living room. “You named her Eleanor?” 

“Yeah,” June said as Eleanor sat on her lap, staring at Wheezie and Rose who sat on the other couch. Sarah sat next to Eleanor, nervously tapping her heel against the ground. 

“Was there a reason for the name?” Wheezie asked, sliding to the ground so she could coo at Eleanor. June reddened, not really wanting to tell Rose that she had almost accidentally named her daughter after JJ’s dead mom. 

“Oh, you know, it just felt right,” she decided to say instead. 

“Hey, June?” Sarah put a hand on her shoulder. “I have to tell you something really quick.” 

“I’ll take Eleanor!” Wheezie said more than enthusiastically as she stood. June glanced at Sarah, hoping to see whether or not it was really that important. But from the look on Sarah’s face and the state of her nails, June could tell that it was. 

She was hesitant to leave Eleanor with a woman like Rose, but if she knew anything about Wheezie, June felt like her daughter would be safe in her hands. 

“What’s wrong?” June asked as Sarah pulled her to another room. 

“I should have told you this before you came and I’m so sorry I didn’t.” Sarah crossed her arms over her stomach, looking around askance. 

“Sarah, what is it?” June reached out and put a hand on Sarah’s arm, her eyebrows pinched together. The girl took in a deep breath, preparing herself for what she was about to say. 

“Rafe got out of rehab yesterday.” Of all the things that June was expecting Sarah to say, that wasn’t one of them. “And he came back home early this morning.” 

June’s eyes widened. She had just walked into a house with the boy who had shot and killed a woman because he was high and then pinned it on her brother, the boy who had beat up her best friends on multiple occasions, the boy who never once hesitated to call her names and tear her down. And she had brought her daughter with her. 

At the sound of a quiet cry from Eleanor, June rushed back into the living room, her heart already racing in her chest. 

And there he was, Rafe Cameron, standing in front of Wheezie as the young girl held Eleanor in her arms. 

“Get the hell away from her!” June crossed the room and snatched her baby out of Wheezie’s hands, shielding her from Rafe. 

There was a pained look in his eyes, a look that June had never expected to see on his face. But it wasn’t from the fact that June had taken her daughter back. 

“June, I need to apologize,” he said, taking a step closer to June. She narrowed her eyes and backed off, holding tighter to Eleanor. 

“I don’t want to hear shit from you, Cameron,” she seethed. Rafe breathed deeply, shutting his eyes for a moment. 

“Give him a chance,” Wheezie said, standing behind her older brother as Rose held onto her shoulders. 

“A chance? He framed my brother for a crime he didn’t commit and beat all three of my friend’s half to death!” 

Rafe cringed, as if hearing her words cut him like actual daggers. For the moment, she didn’t care. 

“I did some fucked up shit, June,” he said. She was appalled to see tears in his eyes. “And I regret all of those things.” 

“Beating Pope up with a golf club? Choking Kie out? Beating the shit out of JJ for no reason? Shooting Sheriff Peterkin? Letting the police think that my brother had killed her? He almost died for that!” 

“So did my sister.” June expected his words to be explosive like they always were, but he spoke quietly, calmly, the tears never once leaving his eyes. “I almost got my baby sister killed and...I hurt you and your friends and I am sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me.” 

June let out a heavy sigh through her nose. She was never really the type to hold grudges. In her experience, that just made one wrinkle faster. Forgiveness was the only way to keep bitterness out of her heart. 

But she remembered that feeling of waking up and JJ telling her that John B was on the run from the police. She remembered Sheriff Shoupe telling her that her brother and Sarah had died. She remembered cleaning Pope and Kie and JJ up after she brought them home. She remembered having no time to mourn her brother because her three other friends needed her. 

Yet, John B did end up coming home. He and Sarah made it back safely. JJ and Pope and Kie healed up perfectly fine. In the end, everyone was safe and everyone was happy. Rafe had done his part, going to rehab, getting clean, trying to be better. Here he was, apologizing even. 

Slowly, June nodded and began to relax. 

“Thank you.” Her voice was quiet as she spoke. “And I...I’ll try to forgive you. For whatever it’s worth.”

A smile broke out on his face. He quickly blinked his tears away and ran a hand through his messy hair. 

“She’s beautiful, by the way,” Rafe said, nodding toward Eleanor. June glanced down at her daughter, amazed to find her gaze fixed on the boy in front of her, a smile on her little face. 

“Thank you.” 

“Is she...JJ’s?”

June was taken aback, ice running through her veins. 

“What?” She scowled and shook her head. “No. Of course not.”

“I didn’t mean to....shit....I just thought-”

“June, why don’t I get you some lemonade, yeah?” Sarah said from behind. June eyed Rafe carefully before nodding. Sarah put a hand on June’s elbow and lead her toward the kitchen. 

“Why would he think that JJ is Eleanor’s father?” June asked, sitting at the counter as Sarah poured her a glass. The other girl shrugged. 

“You and JJ have always been close.” 

“No closer than I am with Kie or Pope,” she huffed to herself, bouncing her knee to keep Eleanor entertained. 

“Well....”

“What does that mean?”

“I dunno, June.” Sarah pushed the glass across the counter top toward her friend before lowering herself into a seat. “The two of you just seem...close. Closer. Besides, I don’t think anyone would expect Kie or Pope to be Eleanor’s baby daddy.” 

June glowered at her lemonade glass, unsure as to why she felt so defensive all of the sudden. Maybe it was those complicated hormones that she was still experiencing from the pregnancy. 

“Whatever. Let’s talk about something else.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you about Rafe. It’s been a busy morning,” Sarah said, twirling the liquid around the bottom of her glass. June was grateful for the subject change, even if it didn’t shift to her favorite topic. 

“I understand. I was just shocked is all.”

“Thank you for understanding. And thank you for not flipping out and killing him or something,” Sarah said with a small smile. June found herself laughing. 

“I definitely thought about it.” 

Sarah let herself give a little laugh before her smile faltered and it fell. Tears gathered in the girl’s eyes and she tried to hide them by taking a drink. 

“After everything he did....” Sarah shook her head, swallowing a lump in her throat. “I didn’t think I ever wanted to see him again. But he’s still my brother and despite everything, I still love him, you know?”

June sort of understood the feeling. Neither of her parents had ever killed anyone, but they both did things that no parent should ever do and June still loved them. If her mother or Big John came waltzing back through the Chateau doors, June knew she would never be able to turn them away. 

“I understand, Sarah.”

“I’m worried about what John B will say when I tell him.” Her hands started to shake. “I don’t want to ruin what we have, but I can’t just turn my brother away when he needs me.”

“Just tell him what you feel, Sarah. He’ll understand. It might take him some time, but he’ll come around.” June reached out and put a hand over Sarah’s to steady them. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass.” 

A smile quirked at the edges of Sarah’s lips. 

“Question,” Sarah said, forcing herself to smile as she took another sip of her lemonade. “You’re always taking care of other people, June, but who takes care of you?”

The way Sarah asked it, the question seemed to be innocent enough. But it caught June off guard. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t think about it much. She took care of others and they took care of her in return, didn’t they? They all rallied around her when she got pregnant, doing more than she could have ever asked. 

“You guys do,” she said, trying to keep her glass out of reach of Eleanor’s grabby hands. Sarah sighed. 

“When was the last time you told one of us what was really on your mind?” Sarah asked, pushing a little farther than June was used to. She gave a small shrug, hiding behind a drink. “Rafe mentioning JJ clearly made you upset. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Why?”

June could feel irritation starting to brew in her chest. But there was the question again; was it really irritation at all? Sarah was just trying to help, even if it felt like she was rubbing salt in an old wound. 

“I’ve just got more important things to be thinking about,” she said finally. Sarah watched June carefully before deciding that it was clear she didn’t want to be pushed any further. 

“Alright,” Sarah said with a sigh. “Are you comfortable coming back to the living room? I can tell Rafe to go upstairs.” 

June shook her head slowly. 

“I should probably go,” she said before downing the rest of her lemonade. “It’s almost this little girl’s nap time. But I’ll come back.” 

Sarah stood, helping June out of her chair and leading her toward the front door. 

“I’m glad you came,” Sarah said as she hugged June. “Despite everything.” 

June looked into the living room and saw Rafe, Wheezie, and Rose all staring at her. All she could muster was a small wave. 

“I’ll see you at the Chateau soon, right?” June asked. Sarah smiled. 

“Of course.” She placed a small kiss against Eleanor’s head. “Bye, Little Lovebug.” 

Eleanor laughed and reached for Sarah, who pressed one last kiss against her palm. 

“Bye, Sare.”

“See ya, June.” 

#outer banks #outer banks imagine #obx #obx imagine #john b routledge #john b obx #john b outer banks #little village #jj maybank #jj x oc #jj fluff #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj imagine #kie carrera #kie outer banks #kie obx #pope heyward #pope outer banks #pope obx #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #sarah cameron #sarah outer banks #sarah obx #jj x john b's sister

[fuyupeach]

in the works - chapter 10 [ preview ]

hello, everyone!! i know it’s been a while since i’ve updated ITW but thank you for you patience! i’ve been typing away for this chapter and it’ll probably be longer than usual!! i decided to give y’all a little preview in the meantime! enjoy :D

“I’ll be honest, there are a lot more people here than I expected,” You start as the four of you enter the museum Yusuke had given you tickets to. As you walk next to Ann and follow Yusuke, you wave to Ryuji before looking forward again. The art wasn’t bad, but they all seemed random, not cohesive at all. You never were one for museums though, so you didn’t really think you could speak too much on the paintings in detail. They just… gave off a weird vibe.

Ann stops in front of you, taking you out of your thoughts. “I didn’t know there were so many types of Japanese art.” She was definitely more entranced by these paintings than you were. 

“Usually one concentrates on their own style. However, Sensei creates this all by himself. He’s special.” Yusuke comments. You had to wonder if that really was true. There’d have to be some similarity that would make it easy to tell what was actually Madarame’s art, right? How did he get so famous?

Coincidentally enough, Madarame walks up to the three of you, greeting Yusuke. You stayed quiet as he spoke from the side, scrutinizing him. You let Ann do the talking for you. Although he gave a nice demeanor, something just really didn’t feel right to you, Ann’s endless compliments towards Madarame furthering that feeling. Ann turns around again, eyes widening once more. “Oh, this is it! The painting I wanted to see in person.”

Yusuke walks slowly up to Ann, quiet as she describes the painting. As he sends you both in a different direction, you can’t help but look back at the painting Ann had wanted to see. Had Yusuke painted it? Maybe the plagiarism rumors were true.

As you meet back with the others and Ryuji reads a post from the PhanSite only confirms your suspicions. 

“If this is real, it’ll be a huge scandal.” Ryuji looks back down at his phone. 

“I think it might be,” You agree, leaning against the metal bar behind you. “I can’t explain it but the whole museum and Madarame felt off. Even Yusuke.”

“I wonder if Kitagawa-kun posted this.” Ann speculates. “I mean, he is a pupil of his.”

“In that case,” Morgana says, “It’s possible the Madarame we heard about in Mementos is referring to the same one.”

“We should check to see if his name shows up.” You suggest. You didn’t have the app on your phone yourself, but you didn’t see what checking would hurt.

Instead, you all agree to stop by Yusuke’s house tomorrow, seeing that he had given you and Ann his contact info.

---

“Phantom thieves goin’ by train…” Ryuji sighs. “This ain’t any different from how I get home from school, y’know.”

“You don’t need to mention the fact that we’re the phantom thieves all the time, y’know.” You kick Ryuji’s ankle lightly as you sit next to Ann on the train, keeping your voice low. “Don’t forget we’re in public.” Ryuji sighs again, nodding.

“The train is the fastest way to go-- plus, we can bring pets on here.” Ann says.

“Hey, who are you calling a pet!?” Morgana pipes up from Akira’s bag. 

“You.” You answer flatly. 

“Dude, be quiet! We didn’t pay the pet fare.” Ryuji hushes him.

“I’m the one guiding you to your destination! You should be calling me “Master”!”

“You didn’t give us the address, Yusuke did.” You answer, temple pulsing in irritation. “And I don’t see you controlling the damn train. Now sit down, and shut up. You’re literally in cat form right now.” God, Morgana really knew how to push your nerves.

A chuckle leaves everyone else’s mouth as a little girl runs up, asking about the cat that was currently in Akira’s bag. Seeing him button mash Morgana’s head was definitely the highlight of your trip.

You all soon find out that Madarame’s palace did indeed exist, moving on to set a plan in motion.

---

“I can’t think of what they’ll owe us after this, but it’ll be damn good.” You say standing next to Ann, sweating under the many layers of clothes you had to wear. At least the cold weather from the rain was the least of your worries.

“Tell me about it…” Ann mutters before knocking on the door, albeit with some difficulty. You catch her before she falls over. 

You definitely weren’t a fan of having to be nude for Yusuke’s painting, but you trusted that it wouldn’t ever get to that point. You couldn’t help them in the palace without a persona, so if there was anything you could do now, this was it. They had explained to you that there was a door in Madarame’s palace that needed to be opened in the real world first before they could do anything in the Metaverse. Thus, you and Ann would have to take Yusuke up on his offer in order to find it and have Madarame see. 

You remember Ryuji’s text from last night, it being enough to urge you forward.

Let us know if any weird shit goes down and we’ll be there to back you up ASAP.

“To think you’d really come… I assumed you were lying when you contacted me.” Yusuke talks as he sets up his supplies, back facing you both. You had to admit this was pretty funny.

“I’m sorry it was so sudden.” Ann shakes her head. You follow suit to avoid suspicion.

“Yes, we hope you don’t mind.” You add. 

“Oh, it’s not a problem.” Yusuke replies, “But, as I told you yesterday, Sensei will be returning in about twenty or thirty minutes. So, um… I’m sorry if that causes some anxiety on your part.”

“That’s why I’m here today, dammit.” Ann trails off irritatedly. 

“What was that..?” Yusuke turns around.

You scramble for an excuse, arms waving in front of you. “No! If anything, the stress is on you for only having thirty minutes to work, right?” You subtly elbow Ann.

“...By the way…” Yusuke looks away before looking back at you. “Have you two.. gained some weight?”

“Not at all!” You chirp. 

“You think so..? I weigh the same as always… Maybe I’m bloated today?” Ann’s eyes widen in innocence.

#ryuji sakamoto x reader #peach writes

[shaekingshitup]

Family Reunion

A/N: I had this idea in the shower last night. There’s more but my dinner is ready so I guess this just became more than a one shot. I really just made up this title before I posted it. I might come back and add pictures later. okay byeee

Warnings: none. I mean like lite cursing? 

WC: 999 gang gang 

“Okay, Khadijah is there anything else that we need to buy?” Antoinette asked. Khadijah looked over the list and shook her head. 

“No I think that we’ve gotten everything on the list that you made.” she responded. 

“Okay good now-”

Khadijah's phone rang and cut off her sister. “Oh shit. Speak of the devil,” she said answering the phone, “Hey, cuz what’s up?” 

Antoinette waited as her sister held her conversation with Courtney. She wondered if her ears were burning. If they were, they probably hadn’t stopped ever since she’d gotten engaged. 

“Okay see you soon,” Khadijah finished the call. 

Antoinette narrowed her eyes.“What do you mean “see you soon?”  

“Court is headed over to talk final party details. Her ears must have been ringin,” Khadijah laughed. Antoinette smiled at her older sister. She loved that they thought alike sometimes. 

“When is she gonna get here?” 

“They’re about 10 minutes out,” Khadijah answered. 

“Damn. That means I gotta make two long ass trips out to the end of the driveway. For her and my damn food.” Antoinette whined. “Wait, what do you mean they?”

“Oh my bad. Erik is coming too.”

“Oh yeah the fiancee that got me in this trouble to begin with,” Anotinette groaned. 

“Look if you don’t want to do this.. “ Khadijah trailed off and Antoinette let her. She wanted to hear the rest of that sentence. “I don’t really want to finish that. Please don’t say you don’t want to do this. I need you! You got all the party plannin skills lil sis,” she pleaded. 

“Yeah whateva. I already committed. Plus, it’s at my house! I can’t call off their party 2 days before. Now if I would have had this brilliant idea yesterday, hmmph! Then, we’d be talkin!” she teased.

“Are you upset with Court? I mean it makes sense Ant. She knows we live together and she only invited me to be in her wedding party? I’d be a little bitter too.”

“Nah..,” Antoinette thought about it, “  I honestly just think all of this shit is weird. We’re not close with her at all. Even back when I was on social media, I don’t think I followed her or kept up with her life. We were thick as thieves as kids but I haven’t had a real conversation with her since undergrad. So, I wasn’t expecting to be a bridesmaid. I didn’t even know she had a man! I just think it’s odd that out of nowhere she’s resurfacing and trying to reconnect.”

“Aye good love hits everybody different,” Khadijah said.

“Let me go put on a damn bra and shorts that cover my ass before they get here.” Antoinette said rising from her seat on the couch. She walked towards her bedroom and yelled back at her sister, “THE SHIT I DO FOR YOU DEEJ! I BETTER END UP IN THAT NOVEL YOU WRITIN! MAKE ME A SUPERNATURAL QUEEN!” 

“I WILL MAKE YOU THE QUEEN OF GETTIN ON MY DAMN NERVES!” Khadijah called back. Antoinette didn’t even look back at her sister. She just stuck her middle finger in the air and proceeded to her room. When she came out, she adorned a whole new outfit, she’d fluffed her hair and applied a lil lip gloss too. 

“Bitch, where are you goin?” Khadijah asked. 

“This is the first time we’ve seen Court in God knows how long. I have no need to flex because,” she gestured to her home and body, “we good where we at over here. Buuut, I atleast don’t want our reunion to have me lookin like a couch potato. You had to go to work and get ready. I’ve just been ready to finish this last season of Avatar the Last Airbender again. So, excuse me if I figured I’d make myself more presentable”  

“The fact that anyone got you to wear a bra on a day where you don’t have to meet with clients is a mystery to me,” Khadijah said. Ant stuck her tongue out  at her sister and went into the kitchen when there was a knock at the door. 

“I didn’t have to walk out to the gate to let them in? They may be my new favorite couple.” Ant said. Khadijah went to greet the new favs. 

“Hey y’all!” Khadijah called out. 

“Where the hell is my wine? I know this hoe did not finish my imported wine and said nothin” Antoinette thought. She was so wrapped up in her search that she hadn’t realized that her guests were already entering the kitchen. She reached for another bottle that would do and popped her head up from behind her bar. 

Everything happened at once. Or at least it felt that way to Antoinette

“Oh my goodness!” screamed Courtney as she flitted towards Antoinette who was looking past Courtney at the man standing there. Her heart stopped. Everything stopped. She let go of her hold on the bottle and it tumbled to the floor in slow motion until it met the granite floor and created a sea of red at her feet. Courtney halted not wanting to cut herself. Khadijah went to grab some paper towels. 

“Ant, you good?” Khadijah asked her sister who hadn’t moved out of the wreckage. Antoinette looked down and closed her eyes briefly.

“Fuck, yeah. I’m good. Sorry y’all,” she said as she went to grab a brown and a dust pan. “How about you two go have a seat on the couch while we take care of this? We’ll be right there.”

Antoinette helped her sister clean up the mess she’d made and before they could re-enter the living room Khadijah took one more hard look at her sister. “You sure you good?”

“Yup. You go ahead. Let me grab some waters.” Ant stuck her head in the freezer to cool down. 

There’s no way this is real. This isn’t happening. He’s dead. That’s- This. This isn’t real. 

She tried to convince herself it was true. 

--

Tags:  @twistedcharismaaa @mygirlrenee @glittermakesmesmile @sarcastic-sunshines @chaneajoyyy @shewrites02 @ghostfacekill-monger @raysunshine78 @shewritestheblues @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade  @fd-writes @eyeknowmywrites @thadelightfulone

#erik x oc #Erik Killmonger #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik x reader #black panther fanfiction

[artificialqueens]

Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 6 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n: hi hello hey. how did this happen? I actually wrote this way quicker than I expected. thank u so much for ur patience during the rewrites fam, hopefully i won’t have to do any more!!!! so so so hope u like the new chapter :)))))

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

11th October 2020

As it turns out, Vanessa meets Monique and Akeria for lunch earlier than she’d expected. Okay, it’s at her flat instead of a cafe and it’s dinner instead of lunch, the three of them all easily agreeing to go back to Vanessa’s after the pro dance rehearsal on Sunday evening. Akeria had wanted to go to The Ivy but Vanessa had decided to make pernil in the slow cooker that morning after a facetime with her Tia had made her particularly homesick, and there was enough for the three of them anyway. Monique had been glad of the fact that they would be safe from any rogue journalists at Vanessa’s, and Vanessa had laughed and objected to the idea that any journalists would be interested in what was going on in their lives anyway.

Then again, that hadn’t appeared to be the case last year when everything kicked off with-

“V!” Akeria shouts over to her and interrupts her from the dreamlike state in which she’s fluffing up the rice. “You got any more wine?”

Vanessa laughs at her friend as she tips the pan over three bowls consecutively. “You’re rehearsin’ tomorrow morning, calm the fuck down.”

“Aw, let a bitch live! I did good last night, I deserve to celebrate.”

Vanessa thinks about how Akeria ended up fourth on the leaderboard with Asia and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, rub it in, girl. It’s fourth place, not Vicks.”

“Stop bein’ salty,” Akeria scolds her as Vanessa carries their dinner over to the huge sofa they’ve chosen to sit on instead of her tiny dining table. “You had a couple bum weeks, so what? This week’ll be the one.”

Vanessa wants to point out that it was really only one bum week and the other she was undermarked for, but she doesn’t. She lets it drop and instead turns her attention to Monique. “Right, bitch, let’s break bread and spill tea. What’s goin’ on?”

As Monique lets out a heavy sigh while she stabs at her food, Akeria claps her hands together and threatens to spill her dinner. “Yes! Thank God you said it, ‘cause I didn’t want to seem rude, but that’s the reason we’re all here, right?”

“God, I beg you both shut up,” Monique groans. “Okay so…me and Monet. You know we did that Waltz, right? And it was very…romantic, very intense.”

Vanessa and Akeria bob their heads like nodding dogs in response. Monique gives another heavy sigh and Vanessa is on the edge of her seat. “Well, it was like…our last full run before we finished up on Thursday. An’ we were both very much like…well, final run, let’s just give it all our energy. And it just got so intense, like, all the eye contact and the moments where we were all like…close, the bit where she picks me up and spins me-”

“Oh my God…did you kiss?” Akeria blurts out excitedly. Monique rubs both her temples with her hands.

“Akeria,” she raises her eyebrows. “We had sex.”

Vanessa lets out a scream. Akeria almost spills the entire bowl of pernil over herself as she reacts, waving her arms about so much Vanessa thinks she might give herself whiplash. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…WHAT?!”

“You cannot tell a single fucking soul on God’s green earth!” Monique groans, and Vanessa still isn’t sure if she’s over the information she’s just been given.

“HOW?!” Vanessa screeches out, ignoring Monique’s plea but promising her internally.

“It was my own damn fault-”

“FAULT?! How is this in any way a negative situation?” Akeria teases her friend with a shit-eating grin on her face.

Monique pouts in self-pity as she carries on with her sentence. “I kissed her. At the very end. I just got so caught up in everything, Jesus, I don’t know.”

“Tell me it was like the musical where there’s all the fuckin’ horn section and everything goin’ off in the background,” Vanessa butts in, remembering when she saw The Bodyguard on the West End last year. Monique knows the exact bit in I Have Nothing she’s talking about, because she nods her head.

“It was exactly that part.”

Vanessa lets out a cry identical to Akeria’s. She’s picturing the scene in her head and it sounds like the most romantic kiss that’s ever happened to anyone outside of a fictional setting. “M’nique, that’s adorable, oh my God.”

“What happened after? Well, she obviously liked it,” Akeria shrugs, and Vanessa splutters a laugh. Monique looks vaguely like a babysitter that has to deal with a pair of five year old twins.

“She just kissed me back before I could even break away out of fuckin’ embarrassment. She was just holding me and kissing me for what seemed like ages…and then when I had to get air I was panicking and apologising and she…oh my God. She asked me if she could take me home.”

Akeria raises her eyebrows. “Damn. I have got flutters.”

“So you went back to hers? OH my God. You’ve been to Monet X Change’s house,” Vanessa gasps, impressed. Akeria gives a snort of disbelief, turns to look at her.

“She’s been inside her fuckin’ pussy, never mind her house!!”

They both howl, and Monique rolls her eyes before apparently admitting to herself that what Akeria had said was funny after all and giggling.

Akeria leans forward with intrigue. “And did you…have a nice time?”

Monique now can’t wipe the smile off her face as she puts both hands to her cheeks, an attempt to cover her blush. “Yes. We both did. It was a very nice time.”

“So what’s the problem?” Akeria asks her, blasé and black and white as ever. Monique gives a sigh of exasperation.

“Because we’ve not…spoken about it, we’ve not addressed it!”

“It didn’t seem awkward last night, you did a great job!” Vanessa frowns, spearing a chunk of pulled pork. Monique lets out a tiny helpless whine.

“Yeah, that’s because…” she begins, then trails off. Vanessa knows what she’s going to say already, but Monique finishes her sentence before she can properly connect the dots. “We did it two more times before the actual dance.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Akeria shouts through a mouthful of dinner. “This ain’t fair! How come a God-fearing, good lil’ Christian girl like you can get laid three times in the space of three days an’ I get nothing?”

“Jeez Keeks that’s so far off the mark. Christian? Uh-huh. Good? No way,” Vanessa teases. Monique, for perhaps the twelfth time this evening, looks as if she’s severely regretting telling her friends anything at all, so Vanessa decides to be helpful. “When’d you bang again, then? Thursday night was the first. You stay over?”

“Yeah. We did it again the next morning and then in the studio on Friday.”

“IN the studio!” Akeria screeches. Vanessa wonders if she should apologise to her neighbours the next day. She, herself, has had sex quieter than Akeria’s screeching. “You are nasty as fuck!”

Monique has the good grace to attempt to look embarrassed before a proud smile takes over. “It was Monet’s idea. She told me she couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

“Well she’s nasty too. Y’all are well suited,” Akeria shrugs, and the three of them laugh.

“So why’re you pressed?” Vanessa asks her friend. She draws from her own experience as she follows up. “You in your feelings?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know!” Monique gives an anguished cry, dramatic as ever. “I just want to get to know her a lil’ more. I don’t want her to think I just wanna sleep with her because she’s Monet X Change, y’know? Like sure, I have a crush on her, but it’s not like I ever had sleep-with-my-dream-girl on my bucket list.”

“Maybe on your fuck-it list,” Akeria supplies unhelpfully.

“Why don’t you ask her out?” Vanessa shrugs. It seems so simple when she’s giving it as advice but if anyone had suggested that as a solution to her feelings for Brooke she would’ve laughed them all the way to Oxford Circus.

Monique gives Vanessa a long-suffering stare. “We both know it ain’t that simple, V.”

“Well, why don’t you tell her what you’ve just told us?”

This time Monique pulls a face. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. Monet don’t seem like the type to catch feelings, though.”

“You don’t seem like the type to catch feelings. Shit, you don’t catch feelings,” Akeria reminds her, Vanessa giving a laugh as she remembers every time Monique has had to pry girls off of her at a bar.

“Shut up. To be honest I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’m glad to have vented about it,” Monique shrugs in resignation, takes a sip of her wine. “Anyway Kiki, what’s the story with Miss Asia? Thought you were gonna sweep her off her feet an’ show her your Hitachi or whatever line usually works for you.”

Vanessa snorts as Akeria gives a smirk. “I wish. Nah, we get along great but we’re honestly just better as friends. It’s almost like all the hours spent rehearsing with our bodies pressed up against each other kinda ruined the magic a lil’. She’s great though. Could set her up with you, though, Vanj?”

In any other context, Vanessa would have a smart remark. However, the thought of being set up with someone else when Brooke Lynn seems to fill her every waking thought these days isn’t a desirable one, so she opens her mouth. “Well, uh…I mean, obviously Asia’s cute, but I’m not really…y’know-”

“Oh my God,” Monique cuts in, trying and failing to suppress a laugh. “You’re crushin’ on Brooke Lynn. You are! Oh my God, Kiki, look at that blush.”

Vanessa frantically shakes her head, willing the blood to flow away from her face. “No! No, it ain’t a crush. Shut up.”

“You’ve gone so red. Jeez. I’d hate to see the colour you go when you are in your feelings, then,” Akeria laughs.

“She is so in her feelings! C’mon, deny it, bitch. Try an’ deny it.”

“Jesus Christ will you both shut up!” Vanessa exhales with exasperation, now highly regretting the amount she’d wound Monique up. “Fine! Fine…it’s not a crush, but I just find the girl attractive, an’ it’s nice gettin’ to know her, is all.”

“That’s literally a crush,” Akeria stares incredulously at her. Vanessa rolls her eyes to the ceiling and aquiesces.

“…fine, maybe it’s a crush, god damn.”

The two girls opposite her explode. Vanessa stuffs more pernil and rice into her mouth with a feeling of resignation.

“Don’t tell me you two’ve been bangin’ mid-rehearsals as well?”

Vanessa breathes a laugh. “Stop it. No, just a couple hugs in the corridor after our dances. We went out for lunch together last week.”

Monique gasps. “You went on a date?”

“That’s not a date, Mo, shut up.”

“It is a date! You took a girl you like out for lunch, how’s that not a date?”

“Because she wasn’t aware it was a date. And neither was I! It was honestly the furthest thing from a date. It was a fuckin’…raisin.”

The three girls giggle, and in the conversational lull something occurs to Vanessa. “The only other thing is, uh…well, both weeks we did our dance for the judges, after we finished, she, uh…she kissed me.”

There’s another bomb of screaming from the girls that detonates in Vanessa’s living room. World War Two hasn’t got shit on Akeria and Monique.

“What?!”

Vanessa shrugs. “I mean it ain’t a massive fuckin’ makeout sesh, obviously! It’s just a lil’ cheek kiss, top-of-the-head kiss, that sorta thing. You can see her doin’ it, the camera got it both times.”

(There’s a fan account on Instagram dedicated to her and Brooke’s Strictly journey, and it’s posted the footage of the kiss Brooke gave her last night. Vanessa will not admit to the girls that she has watched it too many times for it to be explained away as normal.)

“So she likes you back,” Akeria states, as if it’s a fact and not something Vanessa’s been wondering about at random intervals throughout the day every day for the past week or so.

“We don’t know that.”

Akeria’s face turns scheming. She’s clearly got an idea. “Well, why don’t you choreograph a big sexy rhumba or something where you gotta grind up on her an’ get all nasty an’ shit? That’ll speed things along.”

Monique points her fork at Akeria in agreement. “Yes! ‘Cuz Jan and Jackie did that in, like, week 1, and they’re already fuckin’.”

Vanessa screws her face up. “Jan and Jackie ain’t sleeping with each other, shut up.”

“Oh my God, girl, I beg you buy a pair of glasses,” Akeria rolls her eyes, causing Monique to let out a laugh.

“Yeah, they absolutely are.”

Vanessa shoves another mouthful of dinner in. She’s hungry, and it doesn’t help when she’s trying to talk and eat. “Well, Strictly curse aside, it’s our Jive week this week, so that’s operation sexy dance out the window for at least another seven days.”

“Ugh. That’s annoyin’,” Akeria consoles her. After that, talk immediately turns to movie week and dances, and the conversation has moved on.

But it’s nice now that she’s admitted her crush on Brooke Lynn to Akeria and Monique. She’s got her girls to vent to when Brooke gives her a smile that comes with an extra added twinkle in her eye that sets Vanessa’s insides on fire, or to squeal to when Brooke brings her a coffee from the cafe they’d visited for brunch last week “just because”. She can’t take her eye off the prize too much though, even in the excitement of movie week. They’re doing their Jive to Runaway Baby from the Madagascar franchise (Brooke insists it’s niche and Vanessa insists it’s not) where they’re dressed as animals breaking out of huge cage props and “running away”. It’s not going to be as iconic as Plastique and Scarlet’s Dirty Dancing-themed Salsa, nor will it be as hot as Crystal and Gigi’s Rhumba (to License to Kill, no less), but it’s theirs, and it’s fun, and it’s hilarious watching Brooke get to grips with the insane amount of kicks needed for a Jive to be a Jive.

“My feet feel like they’re going to fall off,” she groans, lying flat on the floor after a particularly intense Wednesday rehearsal. Vanessa hides a laugh behind her hands, sneakily pulls out her phone to film her.

“What?”

“I said my feet feel like they’re about to fall off,” Brooke repeats louder, for the unknown benefit of the camera.

“You ain’t much of a soldier, are you?” Vanessa scoffs affectionately. Brooke sits up on her elbows, noticing Vanessa’s phone.

“Are you filming this? You’re filming this,” Brooke asks and then confirms without Vanessa even having to say anything. “Well to anyone that follows Vanessa, I’d just like to say that this is human exploitation and you should not be supporting this.”

Vanessa howls with laughter, tries to ignore how good her name sounds in Brooke’s mouth. “She loves me really.”

“I love her really,” Brooke rolls her eyes, and Vanessa’s heart jumps at the words even though they’re part of a joke.

She stops filming, posts the video to her feed and leaves it as they keep practising. When they stop for lunch and they’re sitting scrolling, Vanessa’s eyes widen at the comment Monique has left, her friend taking her stirring to new levels:

moheart: you two are so cute omg branjie 5 ever xxxxx

As Vanessa’s contemplating using the cables that line the floors of Elstree Studios as garotting wire when she sees Monique at the show on Saturday, she taps on the comment’s likes (it’s got 85 so far). Her heart stops when she sees the familiar blue tick of bhytes at the top of the list. Vanessa darts her eyes Brooke’s way as if her face gives anything away, and of course it doesn’t. Brooke’s scrolling casually as if she hadn’t liked a thing, and it manages to mess even more with Vanessa’s head. Vanessa enjoys the feeling though, this experience of having a crush on a cute girl again. She is so used to healing (she’s had to do it for the best part of a year now), and it’s nice to have butterflies in her stomach instead of an endless churning ocean.

Her feelings for Brooke aren’t helped by Cheryl and her ridiculous quiz on It Takes Two on Thursday night after their rehearsal. Okay, Vanessa supposes- every couple has done one, so it’s not exactly as if they’re being singled out. But when they finish their usual interview (how they felt regarding last week’s comments, how rehearsals are going, how they feel about the week ahead) and Cheryl pulls out two sets of glittery pink paddles (one saying me and the other saying her) with an excited grin on her face, Vanessa does a bad job of masking her horror.

“Oh my God. Cheryl, what is this?”

“Welcome to…Mrs and Mrs!” Cheryl announces with a small flourish, and the film crew give a cheer. Brooke snorts beside her, just as dumbfounded. Cheryl continues. “Okay, Brooke and Vanessa, I’m going to ask you both a series of questions and you’ll need to hold up your paddle to show me who you think is the best fit as the answer- you, or your partner. Every time you both give me the same answer, you get a point. For example, if I asked you…who sweats the most in rehearsals?”

Vanessa rushes to hold up the paddle that says her and as soon as she’s done it she cranes her neck to look at the one Brooke’s held up. She squeals when she sees me staring back at her, a blush appearing on Brooke’s face as she giggles.

“I sweat! I’m very sweaty! I never wear grey in rehearsals!” Brooke pouts in anguish, and Vanessa gives a laugh. She leans into her in a show of sympathy, trying to ignore the way her pulse races as she catches the scent of her perfume. It’s not the Flash that she wears at the weekends, but it’s still just as intoxicating.

“Not sure we needed that much detail, love, but you get the idea! You’d get a point, because you both said Brooke,” Cheryl pokes fun at Brooke, before her gaze snaps back to the camera, all charisma and TV-presenter-smile. “Okay, your score to beat is five, that was set by Gigi and Crystal on Monday’s show and none of the other girls have beaten it so far! Ladies- are you ready?”

Vanessa raises her eyebrows, tries not to look at Brooke who she knows will be smiling like an idiot. “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Okay. Let’s play…Mrs and Mrs!” Cheryl announces dramatically, and immediately holds up a set of glittery cards that the questions are written on. “Question one- who’s the most patient?”

Vanessa laughs and she can feel Brooke being set off beside her. She’s held up her, and Vanessa’s held up me.

“She’s so laid-back she’s horizontal!” Brooke laughs, and Vanessa swats her. She melts a little as Brooke’s gaze turns affectionate. “It’s why she’s such a good teacher. I’ve said it before, but I’m really lucky.”

Cheryl moves on before Vanessa can react to the compliment. “Who’s the best dancer?”

Vanessa hears Brooke scoff. Sure enough, Brooke has once again held up the her paddle, and Vanessa has voted for herself too. Brooke laughs as she looks at Vanessa’s paddles. “Of course it’s her! Has any celebrity voted for themself?!”

“Willam and Yvie both did!” Cheryl giggles, and Brooke rolls her eyes so much that her body tilts back with them. “Okay, next question- who is the better cook?”

Vanessa holds up me, and Brooke’s held up her. It definitely shouldn’t make Vanessa feel as good as it does.

“Brooke is like the kinda person who would struggle to keep a cactus alive, never mind her own damn self,” Vanessa laughs, and Brooke laughs along, agreeing rather than being offended.

“And Vanessa should go on Celebrity Masterchef one year. I swear to God.”

Vanessa looks at Brooke and smiles, happy for the compliment. She’s sure she’s not imagining that Brooke leans into her a tiny bit.

“Three points so far ladies, you’re on a roll!” Cheryl comments, impressed. “Who is more of a perfectionist?”

Vanessa fumbles with the paddles in her haste to hold up her. Brooke has indeed also voted for herself.

“She will make, like, one mistake and she’ll make us run the entire thing through until she gets it right,” Vanessa explains, Brooke giggling beside her in embarrassment. “I thought it was meant to be me that worked her hard, not the other way!”

Cheryl laughs from her interviewer’s chair. She reaches the next card and her eyebrows fly up her face. “Ooh, one for your massive egos here- who’s the most attractive?”

Vanessa’s heart gives a little jump and her brain thinks almost a hundred thoughts at once. She could play things off and vote for herself (because ultimately, she’s well aware of the fact she’s cute, she’s got a mirror), but part of her wants to see how Brooke will react to the compliment. Deciding all this in the space of about two seconds, Vanessa holds up the her paddle. To her surprise and poorly-concealed joy, Brooke is also holding up the her paddle. Vanessa’s trying to hide her smile and Brooke’s expression suggests she’s doing the same.

“I mean, I’m not gonna be big-headed,” Vanessa plays it off. Cheryl is looking at the both of them with a little scheming smile on her face.

“Well, nice to see that the first time you drop a point is because you’re both just too busy trying to compliment each other, in’t that sweet!” she grins. Vanessa wishes she had one of Cheryl’s cards to fan the blush away from her face. As Cheryl moves on to her next card, her mouth drops open. “Oh, right, this one’s a good ‘un. Who is most likely to have a crush on someone in the cast?”

Fuck. Vanessa can feel Brooke giving similar amounts of hesitation beside her, and the two of them share an awkward glance and a laugh. Without really knowing what she’s doing, Vanessa slowly holds up the paddle that says me. She’s almost scared to look at Brooke’s, but she leans forward anyway. Staring back at her from the paddle is the exact same word as the one she herself had held up- Brooke has also said me.

Cheryl gives a reaction much as if she’s reporting on breaking world news. “Ooh, now that’s interesting! You’ve both said yourselves. Any reason? Do we actually have any crushes flying around the studio?”

Vanessa holds a tight, awkward grimace on her face, hoping she can avoid the question. She almost feels her soul leave her body when Brooke crosses her legs and sits straight. “You might think that, I couldn’t possibly comment.”

As Cheryl appears to stave off an aneurism, Vanessa cuts in with the best way of diffusing the situation she could manage. “Aw, you know I gotta crush on you, Cheryl, stop pretendin’ like you don’t know!”

Cheryl howls with laughter, turns to the camera and appeals to her wife who’s presumably sitting at home. “Blu, babe, don’t listen to her!”

Vanessa joins in with the laughter, suddenly willing the interview to be over.

“Okay Brooke and Vanessa, at the end of Mrs and Mrs, you have scored…four!”

The production team claps them, and Brooke turns to Vanessa to hi-five her. Vanessa accepts with a laugh. Cheryl shuffles her cards and turns to the camera.

“Well they might not’ve won Mrs and Mrs but they’re still gonna be dancing on Saturday- Brooke and Vanessa, everybody!”

There’s another clap, and their interview is finished. Thank God.

It’s only when they’re walking back outside afterwards after a little bit of small-talk about their plans for the rest of the evening that Brooke quirks a bashful smile at her. “So, uh…you think you’re more likely to get a crush on someone in the cast than me? Does this mean you’ve got one on somebody?”

Vanessa suddenly feels as if she might vomit up her own heart. She plays it off, narrows her eyes at Brooke. “Alright, Cheryl, damn! I thought the interview was over. Jeez.”

Brooke gives a small laugh. They’re walking close, and every time Brooke’s body brushes against hers Vanessa swears she sees sparks flying off them both. “Just asking. I said myself, remember?”

Vanessa already feels ever so slightly giddy, so she takes the risk. She cocks her head at Brooke as she walks. “Alright, since you wanna talk about crushes so much. Who’ve you gotta crush on?”

“I asked first,” Brooke shrugs easily, stopping as they both reach the doors to the exit. Vanessa lets out an exasperated laugh.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, we are full-grown adult women.”

Brooke splutters a giggle as she leans on the door and opens it, the freezing cold air smacking Vanessa across the face. They both leave the building and Brooke stands still, her face wearing a hopeful expression. The wind is whipping her long blonde hair over her shoulders.

Damn, she looks so beautiful.

“So you’re not telling, then?” Brooke smirks. Vanessa thinks about it. She thinks about what Brooke’s honest to God reaction would be if she actually turned around and said yeah, I’ve got a crush on you. The thought of doing so almost makes her laugh.

“Well I’m not a fifteen year old high schooler, so no. Sorry to disappoint,” Vanessa smirks back at her. Maybe this is flirting. She’s not even mad about it. Thinking again, she cocks her head curiously as she shoves her hands in the pockets of her huge hoodie that she’s pulled over her interview outfit. “You gonna tell me?”

Brooke’s smile is still there, still cheeky. “No.”

“But you’ve got one.”

“I never said that,” Brooke shrugs easily. For a moment they’re both standing biting back smiles at each other, and Vanessa feels as if she’s caught in some form of stalemate. It’s Brooke that breaks it first, because of course it is, and she brushes some hair out of her face as she shrugs at Vanessa again. “Well, have a good night, anyway! See you tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Yeah, you too. Get home safe,” Vanessa says, the two of them sharing the usual friendly wave that comes with their goodbye. In spite of herself, Vanessa watches Brooke turn on her heel and walk in the opposite direction to her. Just as she’s about to start making her own way home, Brooke pauses, turning to look back over her shoulder.

The pair of them share one last bashful smile before they make their way back home and it feels as if Vanessa floats home on a cloud.

Saturday rolls around quickly, and Brooke has managed to transform herself from having feet made of concrete blocks to someone with featherlight ankles, so Vanessa is confident that they’ll score well tonight. She’s not really got scoring or the judges at the front of her mind, though, because movie week is entirely too much fun. It feels as if she’s at Universal studios as she walks through costume and hair and makeup, everyone dressed up in variations of movie characters. The best by far, though, is Jaida and Yvie’s. Any part of Jaida that isn’t clad in a grey leotard and skirt is painted entirely in grey body paint, with her hands in black gloves. Her hair has been expertly twirled into two long “ears” on the top of her head, and makeup has painted a blotted white stripe down the centre of her face. Yvie is wearing an orange and black striped morph suit, on top of which costume have given her a little red and white striped waistcoat with a buckle, a red cape, and, of course, a pair of boots to dance in.

And her face is painted like a cat.

“I’m going to see that in my nightmares this week,” Scarlet pipes up from across the green room, looking every inch the iconic Baby in her pink dress and glittery silver heels.

“More like your dreams,” Yvie winks at her, and Scarlet laughs, presumably to offset the pink blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah Scarlet, don’t you want her pussy?” Willam joins in from where she’s getting her hair swept into a low ponytail. Her costume is nowhere near as extravagant, but it’s classy nonetheless- a fitted tuxedo suit for her stint as a spy as part of her and Phi Phi’s dance to 4 Minutes. Courtney laughs from her position sitting on the dressing table beside her. Even though she and Blair were voted out last week, Courtney’s role as a pro means she’s still part of the show’s group dances. It’s something that Vanessa thinks Willam is particularly grateful for (she’s seen the hand-holding when they think no one is looking). Courtney starts singing Livin’ La Vida Loca under her breath absent-mindedly.

“Hey, listen, at least neither of us are Shrek,” Jaida consoles Yvie, who doesn’t look as if she needs much consoling.

“You guys, Courtney’s right there,” Willam pipes up again, the girls laughing as Courtney swipes at her playfully. Willam flinches in her chair, much to the irritation of the hair stylist.

The costumes aren’t all ridiculous, though. There’s a murmur of admiration when Gigi and Crystal emerge from wardrobe in skin-tight floor-length velvet gowns (one red, one black), each with a huge slit up the side. Akeria whispers something to Vanessa about Crystal stealing her idea of a big sexy rhumba, and Vanessa tries to laugh from her current position in the hairstylist’s chair but the two thick plaits they’re weaving her mane of brown locks into makes it difficult. She can’t help but let out a gasp when Jan and Jackie emerge from their costume fitting, though, and neither can the rest of the girls: Jackie is dressed in black leggings and a red waistcoat and tails, covered in shining gold brocade and black detailing. It’s Jan, though, who takes Vanessa’s breath away. She looks like a muted version of Lily James’ Cinderella in a gorgeous, floaty powder blue dress which hits her calves, little dimantés and tiny butterflies stitched into the light fabric.

“Janet, holy hell! It’s Strictly, this ain’t fashion week!” Jaida cries, sticking her tongue out at the end to let her friend know she’s joking. Jan gives a shy laugh, sweeps her immaculately curled blonde hair over her shoulders.

“Yeah, all you’re missing is a tiara,” Scarlet agrees enthusiastically.

“Hey, I thought we were meant to be showing off our celebrities!” Akeria pipes up with a raised eyebrow. Before Jan can reply, Jackie takes her hand and smiles.

“I’m happy to let this one steal the show for this week. She looks gorgeous, she deserves to be in the spotlight,” she shrugs. Vanessa doesn’t miss the look Jan gives her partner or the way she squeezes Jackie’s hand. She thinks back to what Monique had said at dinner on Sunday. Maybe something is happening between those two after all.

“Vanessa! You’re up please, fitting,” one of the costume girls calls out for her, and Vanessa obediently dashes towards the room in question. Brooke’s been squirrelled away in her own dressing room having to do some prep work for her filming the next morning, so when Vanessa sees her in her own costume, it’s not what she expects. She can’t find the words to describe how Brooke looks.

“Don’t…say…anything,” Brooke warns her, but it’s too late- the laugh is already coming out of Vanessa’s body before she can stop it, and it turns into a howl when Brooke grabs her tail- her stripy, white and black tail- and gives a twirl. She is dressed entirely as a lemur.

It’s not long until Brooke is spluttering a laugh herself. “Don’t tell me this isn’t the hottest you’ve ever seen me look.”

Vanessa’s cheeks hurt from laughing. “I don’t think I can keep my hands off you, boo, I’m gonna be honest.”

“Well luckily you’ll be wearing the exact same thing in about five minutes,” Brooke quips back at her, and Vanessa pouts and groans. She doesn’t really mind though. Mad, extravagant costumes are a staple of Strictly movie week, and she’s just happy she gets to experience it with a partner this year.

Soon enough the show is starting, and Vanessa watches the first dance from the Divinatorium with her hand entwined in Brooke’s. Neither of them mention the contact- it’s apparently just another secret. That and both of their crushes. Willam and Phi Phi are first and it seems as if Willam’s technique is a little better after her somewhat dismal scores in the weeks prior. Monique’s told Vanessa she’s seen Willam getting extra lessons from Courtney during her lunch breaks, so she suspects that’s what is making the difference. It seems to have paid off, and they get a score of twenty five altogether. After they see that dance, they can’t stay to watch Aja and Farrah as they’re on third, so while Farrah lives her Disney princess fantasy waltzing to Someday My Prince Will Come, Vanessa is marking the steps with Brooke backstage.

“This is gonna be a good week. I can feel it,” Brooke smiles at her, and Vanessa believes it. They’ve coped way better with the Jive than they did with the Paso, so she’s eager to show the judges what they can really do. Farrah and Aja get their critiques and their scores (a disappointing 17), and just like that, Brooke and Vanessa’s VT is playing and their massive cages are being rolled out onto the stage. There’s a distance between them in their two separate props, but Vanessa knows that Brooke’s feeling confident and so, in turn, does she.

“Dancing the Jive…Brooke Lynn Hytes and Vanessa Mateo!”

The electric guitar slices through the quiet of the room and with it sends an electric shock through Vanessa’s veins as she starts to dance. Her eyes are focussed on the audience, ever the professional, but she hopes Brooke is coping as well as she’s done in rehearsals. As soon as it comes to the part of the music where they “break down” the door of their cages and land into hold with each other, Vanessa can’t help it when the fake performance smile on her face turns into a real one as she faces Brooke (whose face, like hers, is painted like a lemur, complete with bright yellow eyeshadow). Brooke’s face is concentrating hard, and Vanessa knows she’s nailing all the steps as they reach the section where they figure-eight their ankles then change and do the same with their other foot.

“See I ain’t try’na hurt you, baby, no, no, no, I just wanna work you, baby…”

There’s not a whole lot of the dance spent in hold as it’s essentially a test of their synchronicity, Vanessa doing the rightfootflick, leftfootflick, flick, flick, flick, PIVOT and hoping Brooke’s doing the same beside her. But it’s fast and it’s fun and she knows her choreo is good and fuck it, they’re both dressed as lemurs, so they’ve got a fighting chance of doing a decent job this week. Brooke takes her hand and spins her round all while doing the most complex footwork Vanessa’s taught anyone before, and her face is showing it. Vanessa knows she’ll get pulled up for letting her concentration show, but everything else, technically, has gone really well so far, which is just as well as Laganja is standing up to take in every single inch of the footwork.

“Your poor little heart will end up alone, ‘cause God knows I’m a rolling stone, so you better run, run, runaway, runaway baby…”

On cue, Brooke slides herself down on the floor then jumps up, and Vanessa puts her hand on her shoulder right on the final beat. The audience erupts, the clapping envelops them, and Vanessa can’t help but freak out a little. This is the first dance they’ve done where she really feels they completely nailed every single part of it, and she’s punching the air as Brooke picks her up by her waist, spinning her round and round on the ballroom floor. When she puts her down, Brooke pulls her into another hug, and Vanessa can feel the kiss she plants on the top of her head. It’s strong and insistent and Vanessa wishes it had been pressed to her lips, but she supposes she can’t wish for everything all at once.

Vanessa barely even takes in Michelle’s interview with Brooke, she’s simply too happy. As Michelle asks the judges what they thought, Vanessa hopes and prays their comments will reflect the dance they completed.

And they do.

Vanessa listens to them all in a happy haze- the words “immaculate footwork”, “light and precise”, “turned a corner”, and “breakthrough” all pop like fireworks in her head, and she can’t help but squeeze Brooke’s hand every time the judges give them a new compliment.

“Just one very little thing,” Shangela says at the end of her critiques. “You were concentrating so hard on that, and rightly so because it’s hard! But I’d love to see more of the chemistry you have with Vanessa, because you’ve got about two minutes to tell a story out there, and to see you both connecting with each other would be lovely!”

Vanessa tries to suppress a smile at her comments, and Brooke nods affirmingly at Shangela’s words. The incredible feedback is ringing in her ears so much that she hardly knows what she even says to Divina when they both run up to the Divinatorium after their dance is done, and when it pans to the judges for their scores Vanessa can feel her own hand unbearably sweaty in Brooke’s.

“Will the judges please reveal their scores. Bianca Del Rio.”

Vanessa sees the paddle that she holds up and screams. “Seven!”

She’s so busy squealing and hugging Brooke in her delight that she almost misses the next few scores.

“Kennedy Davenport.”

“Eight!”

Vanessa’s jaw drops so far open she’s momentarily scared she’s dislocated it. This changes everything. This is night and day to the scores they’ve had previously.

“Shangela Wadely.”

“Seven!”

“Laganja Estranja.”

“Eight!”

Vanessa can hear the other couples cheering and clapping for them both and she can feel a bunch of hands patting her on the back, but all she can focus on is Brooke’s heartbeat through her chest. She is euphoric. There’s no feeling like it.

“That’s a score of thirty!” Divina tells them, and when Vanessa pulls away she can see that Brooke is crying happy tears. The sight almost makes her want to start crying too. Divina pulls a sympathetic face. “Brooke, you’re clearly happy!”

“I am! I’ve just said from the start that I don’t want to let Vanessa down, and finally we’ve done really really well!” she sniffs, and Vanessa pouts and squeezes her waist. Thirty. Their score was thirty. Thirty out of forty. They’ve only dropped ten marks and it’s week three.

This is good.

As Divina carries on interviewing them both, Vanessa feels her concentration drift away. She’s remembering Shangela’s comments about chemistry. Next week is their Salsa week. Vanessa remembers her conversation with Akeria, and operation sexy dance, and in that moment she decides to make it her mission for the week to show the judges just how much chemistry she and Brooke have.

#rpdr fanfiction #ortega #bet you look good on the dancefloor #strictly au #lesbian au #branjie #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #monique heart #monet x change #akeria davenport #cheryl hole #jaida essence hall #willam belli #courtney act #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #background momo #background scyvie #background jankie #background witney

[izzy-b-hands]

Loyalty

No idea where this came from, or why. Was sitting here bemoaning that I didn’t know what to write and nothing was coming, and then THIS!

This is set in the Modern AU, though there’s nothing in particular to designate it that other than my saying so and that’s how it played out in my head as I wrote lol. In a particular version of the Modern AU where they live in the same city in Texas as Florence and Burgie.

TW for allusions to suicide and PTSD, though nothing is mentioned real explicitly.

Fic title comes from the Kendrick Lamar song, because he’s all I was listening to while I wrote this, and I figure the word fits the sort of idea/theme in this in a weird way. Particularly the line ‘all we ask is trust’ because trust is definitely a Topic in this one. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“He’s worried about you.” 

Snafu shrugged. “He shouldn’t bother.” 

Burgie sighed and dropped down onto the bar stool beside him. “You gotta stop this shit. The hell scared you now?” 

“The fuck do you mean?” 

Burgie damn near growled, mean, and he usually didn’t get that way with friends unless he was drinking, but he hadn’t touched the beer Snafu had ordered for him as soon as he saw him walk in. 

“You know very well ‘the fuck’ I mean, Merriell. You claim you want to be close, you want to be a good boyfriend, maybe even his husband someday? Then you gotta get over this gettin’ scared shit you do. Last time, you freaked out because he wanted you to go to some university function with him, and he went alone, and left early and called me in tears. Time before that, he tried to set up a nice vacation for y’all, that you both needed and deserved. You got scared he’d somehow fall in love with someone in that city that he’d meet, and claimed work wouldn’t give you the time off, and he knew that shit wasn’t true, and that hurt. So what is it this time?” 

“Like he doesn’t do the same shit to me.” 

Burgie sighed deeply. “I’m not saying he doesn’t. He does, and I need to talk to him about that too-” 

“Then go do it! If you’re so concerned with making this relationship your problem.” 

“Goddamn it, Merriell!” Burgie’s fist slammed the counter, and Snafu and half the club near them jumped a foot. “Shut the fuck up for two minutes, no more snide fucking come backs, and let me tell you what I see if you two dumb fucks break up for good.” 

He set his beer on the counter, and stared at Burgie. His friend’s face was red, his mouth twisted in a frown so angry it hurt to look at. Burgie had never been truly mad at him or Eugene, ever. 

“Before you two got together, y’all were messes. I know, cuz I’m the dumb ass that picked up every time one of you would call me, sobbing and scared and alone, which made me scared for you. And I knew if y’all got back together, it would be something like it was during the war, something good; two rocks adrift in a sea that can drift together and find shore, or break apart and let the surf wear them to nothing. Together, you both find shore. Apart...” 

Burgie sighed. “That’s why I urged y’all to meet up again. I knew I’d be attending funerals if I didn’t, and I can’t take another one. Another service revolver that should have been taken away but wasn’t, and another mother asking me if I’ll come over and help clean the wall in her boy’s room because the father can’t stomach it and she can’t bear to do it alone.” 

“My parents are dead.” 

“So then I’d be cleaning your bedroom wall alone,” Burgie replied. “I won’t do it, Merriell. For you or Sledge. You’re both better and smarter than you’ve been acting, in general and with each other.” 

“It isn’t that easy-” 

“You think I don’t fuckin’ know that? What the fuck do you think Florence and I talk about in therapy when we do our sessions together? We go over that shit, what scares us, what we worry about with each other, and you know what we find out every time?” 

Snafu shrugged.

“That our fears are irrational, borne of trauma and confusion and other things in our lives we hadn’t come to terms with yet. I’m not saying therapy would solve everything, but I gave Sledge the number for ours. She does Skype sessions, though they cost a bit more, in case y’all ever move like you keep talkin’ about. It might be worth it for you both.” 

He shrugged again, and bore holes into his beer as he stared at it. 

“I know you don’t wanna break up with Sledge, and I know he doesn’t wanna break up with you. You wanna know why?” 

The tears burned at the corners of his eyes, and he couldn’t respond. 

“Because neither of y’all ever pack a bag, or even take your fucking wallet with you. You didn’t this time, did you? Just a few twenties to pay for the drinks, right?” 

Snafu pulled the two twenties and fifty out of his jeans pocket and showed it to him, then put it back. 

“See? And then one or both of y’all call me and ask me to talk to one or both of y’all, and I come by to help you, and as soon as you both sit and talk through what weird shit is in your heads, you feel better and things go back to normal. You just gotta do that with each other, without me. Or with the therapist, but definitely gotta learn to do it without a third party too. It isn’t actually difficult, exactly. It’s just...being vulnerable.” 

“What if he doesn’t like me like that?” 

Burgie’s eyes softened, and the frown disappeared. “Why wouldn’t he?” 

Snafu shrugged. “I don’t like me like that. It feels weird to cry in front of him.” 

“But you did during the war. I know, I watched it happen.” 

“That was different.” 

“Why?” Burgie stressed, leaning towards him, taking one his hands in his. “Or did you just not think about it because of where you were?” 

It was like a light bulb flickering in his head. “...yeah. I guess so.” 

“Okay. So what makes you feel like anyone could see you at home with him, talking shit out and crying if you need to?” 

“I...I don’t know.” 

Burgie nodded. “That’s okay. You can figure that out later. You got time. You just can’t let it take over your head, y’know? Or let those nonsense fears that you know won’t ever be true or come to pass take control. You gotta focus on what you know is true. Tell me.” 

“What?” 

“Bout you and Eugene. What’s true, about you two.” 

“...I love him. He loves me.” 

Burgie nodded again, encouragingly.

“He makes me feel safe, and I do the same for him. We can both sleep without nightmares when we’re together. I don’t worry about anyone breaking in to kill us as much when he’s beside me at night. He likes to read to me, and I like to hear him read, even his stupid textbooks that are boring as shit. I like the chores he doesn’t, and vice versa so we always have an easy time keepin’ the apartment clean. He buys fresh flowers for me, but knows to keep ‘em in the high vase mounted on the wall where the cat can’t get ‘em, so she won’t eat ‘em and get sick. And I make sure he takes breaks when he studies, otherwise he won’t eat or move and that’s not good for him, and I know he knows that, but he gets goin’, ya know? And-” 

Burgie’s hug was warm and soft and made the tears finally fall. 

“Let’s get you home, and go talk to Eugene, okay? He needs to hear all that, and I know he’s got a bunch of the same sort of stuff to tell you.” 

“You think that therapist has openings sooner rather than later?” 

“She let me set up the first appointment for y’all, though you gotta fill out a bunch of paperwork that day so they can finish gettin’ you set up in their system. But I got y’all in next week.” 

The tears fell all the way back home, in the passenger seat of Burgie’s truck, and fell even harder like a summer storm when Eugene met him on the sidewalk of the apartment building property, running out to hug him so hard it took his breath away.

“I’m sorry.” 

“So am I.” 

“I’m ready to do better. For both of us,” his voice shook as he let his head rest on Eugene’s shoulder. 

“Me too.” 

The scent of the tulips Eugene had bought him greeted them as they walked inside to their apartment, Burgie right behind them, and it smelled like spring and freshness and a new start. 

Tulips would be a good wedding flower, for later. For a spring wedding, when they were ready and healthier and happy and doing better overall. He’d make sure the church (for Eugene, with his religious family) was full of them. 

He couldn’t wait for it all, the work towards better as hard as it would be, and the wedding. 

They were going to be okay. 

#text post #LeeH writes #Sledgefu #idk where this came from just all of sudden my brain was like HERE IT IS GOGOGOG OBITCHWRRIIITTTEEEE #and here we are lol

[chuckling-chemist]

Everybody Needs Somebody

((They say a picture’s worth 1000 words so I wrote 3750 because I can’t draw and then rushed the gag itself. Also probably the only thing I’ve really written of all this that I’m posting, be it here or anywhere, since my interpretation of the ball being at a swanky hotel was incorrect, but also everything else is only like....debatably relevant? All 1.5 other pieces, that is. idk, might another short piece or two but this one was certainly a vanity project written in the early hours of the morning in post-Stardew Valley Christmas hazes that is only getting posted to make myself feel better, for some sense of “welp did the thing I said I was going to write 6 months ago and here it is” type of thing.

Anyway there’s a lot of silly references in here so kudos if you pick them all out))

Joilet tapped his foot impatiently from behind their practice room. He hadn’t meandered much around the crowd of the ball -- ignoring the current charges against him, high class crowds weren’t his scene -- but current security was still enough to make him worry. Brownblood host or not, he knew enough have true highbloods stalking around as guards. Bouncers who Joilet’s certain were watching him and recognized him the last time he did a sweep of the temporary hivestem. After their performance, Joilet and Akroid were going to have to peel out immediately.

At least they were paid upfront this time upon meeting him in person the night prior. In cash.

Though, to be fair, the Blue Brothers shouldn’t have been paid. A friend of theirs in similar line of work, a brownblood named Elliah Fagane, performed last sweep and she was slated to perform again. She was perfect for the job, a good little songbird who kept complaints she had about anything to herself and was the perfect paragon of elegance and grace -- lowblood or not. The Blue Brothers, meanwhile, were two midbloods (Joilet was a stocky cobaltblood while Akroid was a lanky tealblood) who both had a penchant for getting into trouble. Under normal circumstances, the two of them alone -- much less the whole band -- would ever be asked to perform for a traditional socialite of any caste. But, they needed the money and so Joilet was able to pull a quick favor from her to have her drop her spot while simultaneously recommending them as adequate replacements. He accepted, playing as if he knew who the two of them were the whole time. He told them how much of a fan he was of their “country and western band”, how Elliah “just wasn’t the sound he wanted”, and how excited he was to get some “representation of their own people’s music, in a more palatable fashion” in the setist. 

He was partly right: once they performed a cover of Stand By Your Rail at a dive bar, pretending to be an actual western band. He’s pretty sure this guy wasn’t aware of that, but an attempt was made. At least.

Their tight, uniform appearance also helped matters. Despite the different castes and heights, Joilet and Akroid looked the part of a two person midblood group with a backup lowblood band. Same black sunglasses that cover up half their face, same black fedora hooked onto their respective short horn (Joilet’s left horn, Akroid’s right), same unruly hair covered up by said hat, same black suit and skinny black tie. Sure, Joilet’s other horn broke off during his stint in prison while Akroid’s just hooked off again and Joilet’s sideburns were unkempt, but otherwise? Perfectly uniform. If the host had any questions of their legitimacy, they were quickly quelled after seeing the two of them in person the other night and, to Joilet, that spoke just as much as their actual skill level.

Joilet glanced over to Akroid. Damn teal looked as unflappable as ever behind those dark sunglasses. It was him who got them in this whole situation in the first place. Akroid, the idiot who picked him up from the big hive at the start of the perigee with a pipe dream of getting the band back together. The idiot who resisted arrest for public intoxication from the drones all because he was a former felon himself, starting them on this stupid honkbird chase in a desparate bid for cash. Akroid, the idiot who helped get his ass out of prison in the first place, all due to whatever strange desire for the other’s companionship they developed over the sweeps.

Fuck him.

Akroid must have caught his gaze because he gave a short smile and a thumbs up. “We’re doing good,” he said. “Remember, we’re on a mission from God.”

Right. The mission from God. Joilet found himself relaxing almost instantly. He distinctly remembered the out of body experience he had upon visiting one of those criminal infested freeports before departing; where, if he hadn’t talked to the God (Joilet didn’t believe the clowns held any sort of stranglehold on the concept of godhood), he certainly talked to a god. If nothing else, they made it this far without a single hiccup they couldn’t solve in their plans. It’s hard to believe someone’s not looking out for you when you escape a chase by driving through a busy mall and still make it out on top. Without their current employer hearing any of it.

“And what if God lets y’all get caught again?” their saxophonist, Marini, asked. He was a skinnier rustblood, long curly hair that went down to his mid back and oddly pointy teeth for such a red caste. “Leavin’ us high and dry again like when Joilet got hit.”

“We’ll be fine,” Akroid said. He shifted the sleeve of his suit, pausing in his speech to check the time on his watch. “Just follow our lead and look like nothin’s wrong.” 

The rustblood let out a huff with a brief shake of his head, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he asked, “How much longer do we have anyway?”

“Ten minutes,” Joilet answered. “We got ten minutes.”

“Well good.” He removed his saxophone off the neckstrap and set it on the stand. “I drank way too much Faygo. Gotta piss.”

“Then go piss!” Akroid’s stone face cracked into a distinct scowl. “Geeze, you don’t gotta announce everything. Just get back before we perform.”

Their drummer, another rustblood by the name of Barkay, stood up as well. He looked about the same age as Joilet, with curly hair partially that was obscured by his dark green visor. Barkay looked about as respectable as anyone of his caste could, with a dark red dress shirt and black tie.

“I’m goin’ with him.”

Joilet blinked harshly behind his sunglasses. “Okay? It’s the damn ablutionblock. Do what you need to.”

They apparently didn’t need to be told twice. The two trolls were out the door before Joilet had a chance to add anything else.

“You’d think his bulge was on fire,” Joilet finally said. His gaze swept around the rest of the band rapidly. They were quiet. Somber. Hell, if he didn’t know any better he’d have mistaken the lot of them going off to war, not performing for big money at some fancy gala-thing. “You think he’s gonna bail?”

“Marini? Nah. He was the only guy we didn’t have to pester who was workin’ at that diner. Been itchin’ to rip on that sax.” Akroid smirked wryly. “And doin’ it here? In front of all those rich pricks? I’d worry more ‘bout yourself. You gonna choke?”

Joilet snorted. “ ‘Course not. We’re in too deep.”

“Didn’t seem like that a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah well….” Joilet trailed off. Akroid wasn’t wrong. Joilet had panicked. It seemed like every jackass out to get them were outside waiting for them. And Akroid, bastard he was, simply reminding him that those jackasses hadn’t got them during the rest of the sweep brought him back. 

Not like he’d admit it out loud.

“Had a moment of panic’s all. Then I remembered this kid’s probably being a nervous wiggler about staffing with his first year. Nothin’ else.”

“Uh-huh.” Akroid’s smirk widened a bit, giving Joilet the sudden urge to punch it right off his face. But not now. They were too close to their goal.

They stood in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before a new figure came out from the curtain, an indigoblood with short, cropped hair in a suit matching his caste walking next to Manini and Barkay. That was the guy who’d be ushering them on, sure, but he’s almost certain it hadn’t been ten minutes. Did something happen?

He glanced back over to Akroid, who just shrugged. Figures.

“Are you ready?” the indigoblood asked. He had some smile plastered on his face in some attempt to be friendly, but it didn’t look friendly. The offset, sharp teeth broken off at odd angles gave off a distinct predatory vibe.

“I dunno, did they get their break?” Joilet said.

Barkay grinned, giving the two trolls a thumbs up as he walked seat. “I got what needed done. No worries.”

The indigoblood’s face split wider, if that were even possible. He beckoned Joilet and Akroid with an open hand, unmoving until the two of them actually started following him through the narrow hallway. “Excellent. Let’s get moving then. Your stage is set, guests are waiting...you wouldn’t want to disappoint such eager crowds I’m sure. They could get aggressive.”

Joilet refrained from mentioning he passed time in prison by performing old classics, and just how dangerous some of those trolls were. Hell, he even learned a few new songs thanks to an actual country musician of a brownblood involving being stuck in prison. Aggressive wasn’t a problem. It was authority. 

“Got it.”

“Good.” He stopped in front of a door, giving them a nod. “You can go ahead and enter through the door. Hopefully you don’t need any final warmups?”

“We’ll be fine,” Joilet said.

The indigoblood nodded. “If you’re certain. I shall return at the end of your set.” He opened up the door. “Best of luck.”

The two of them exchanged a look. “We don’t need luck,” Akroid said before disappearing through the door.

Joilet followed suit, giving the inidgoblood a curt nod of acknowledgement before adding, “We’re on a mission from God.” 

As he walked through the door, he was immediately greeted with a dark blue curtain in front of them with a short opening to the left of them where he could catch the smallest glimpse of the piano on a raised platform. Nothing else. The piano obscured most of the view of the crowd beyond them. He imagined it was exactly the same on the other side.

It was a small exit. But it would be perfect for escaping out.

He wondered if Akroid was thinking the same thing. Probably. There was no way to tell, no way to properly read his expressionless face their last moment of respite before their performance and subsequent frantic escape before anyone did a serious background check about who they were. Still, there was a twinge in his gut that his partner in crime agreed.

When they exchanged one final nod in solitude and took their places in front of two microphones, Joilet had a feeling he was right.

As soon as he made it, he did another quick scan of the room. It was blue. Blue tablecloths covered the guest and dessert tables. Blue curtains shuttered the ball off from the outside world. Blue lights in the punch bowl made the ice snowflake sculpture inside look blue. And if it wasn’t blue, it was white. White tree sculptures adorned with white lights twisted around each marble pillar. Vases of white flowers topped every table. A white rug ran down the center of the ballroom. Small, white lights dotted an otherwise dark ceiling to give the loose impression of stars or snowflakes down onto the dance floor.

Even the trolls did nothing to break it up. If the dress didn’t match the owner’s blood color, it was a distinct blue or white with sparkles or shimmers. White lacing and white boas perfectly match the white boots and white dresses. The flashes of gray due to the high cut of many of the dress slits managed to break up the coloration more than anyone matching caste color. 

Thankfully, the heavy blue-white combination made the distinct pinks, purples and blacks of those on their tail easy to spot. And oh boy, were they available -- even more so than earlier. Joilet wouldn’t be surprised if their host figured out about them at some point, but not early enough to cancel and reschedule so he let these brutes in instead. Burly indigo and purplebloods in suits stood along the edges, away from the crowds with their arms crossed in rapt concentration of the two of them. Standing next to the dessert table were a series of inidgobloods all dressed in formalized cowboy outfits, complete with stetsons, glaring at them -- the very same western group the Blue Brothers once impersonated. A few particularly annoying “seadweller master race” types in colorful gowns and military pinks stood in the back next to cobalts in military regalia, quite possibly from some local, non-drone law enforcement they managed to pick up to defend themselves. On the other side of the cobalts were a few subjuggalators who definitely were full into the “highblooded landdweller supremacy” in full face paint and religious purple clown robes. Both were groups the Blue Brothers have antagonized, whether it be intentionally with the seadwellers (they deserved it), or accidentally (turns out subjuggalators don’t like lower castes hearing the voice of their god, whatever god answered Joilet and Akroid notwithstanding). It was, however, the first time Joilet’s ever seen the two work together for a common goal. Traditionally the two groups go at it worse than a bad kismesis. He was almost proud that they were able to perform such a feat, though he wasn’t sure if the pride was directed at the supremacy groups or himself for bringing them together.

He let out a slow breath. Only one thing to do at this point. Start.

“One. Two. One, two, three, four.”

The band kicked off with the sound of upbeat horns while the two trolls gave a short dance around the mics for a few bars. After which, while the intro kept repeating, Akroid grabbed his micrphone and said, “We’re so happy to see so many of you lovely trolls here tonight. We would especially like to welcome the esteemed members of Kilran’s hired law enforcement who have chosen to join us at the 12th Perigee Ball here tonight. We hope you all enjoy the show and hope you remember that no matter who you are and what you do to live to try and survive, there’s still some things that make us all the same. You, me, them--” Akroid looked directly toward the back of the room toward the cobaltbloods assisting the supremacists with a disappointed shrug “--everybody. Everybody.”

And from there, it was Joilet’s turn. With the second mic in hand he started singing their opener, Everybody Needs Somebody to Love. It was a speedy tune, possibly a little too fast for what their host was intending, but they sounded perfect and that’s all that mattered. The band’s hits fell right within the pauses in Joilet’s vocals, and Akroid knew exactly when to come in to accent with his deep baritone. Each transition into the next part of the song was smooth, from pointing to various people in the crowd at the you, you, you, to Akroid seamlessly whipping out his harmonica to accent Joilet’s singing the pre-chorus.

There were a few scattered cheers of appreciation, but for the most part these people weren’t dancing. Only one way to change that.

As they gave a pause in vocals to allow for a harmonica solo, Joilet started through a complicated dance twisting around the band members, ducking and weaving through saxophones and trombones while he turned this way and that. It was finished with a cartwheel across the front end of the stage, landing him right in front of the microphone for the next verse.

It was the opening some of the trolls -- lower castes mostly, but he caught flashes of higherbloods in the mix -- needed. The dance floor segment had all sorts of trolls, be it single or paired off in some fashion, dancing in whichever way they fancied. Akroid must have led them into a rhythmic clap too, judging by the trolls unwilling to dance instead clapping and even chanting at every repeat of you, you, you. He caught the leader giving them a death glare. Joilet ignored it.

At the next verse, Joilet swung on his heel back toward the band. He pushed his outstretched arms down toward the floor in an overemphasized quiet down for the crowd, and every instrument dipped off except for a cymbal hat to keep time and the grooving bass guitar.

It was Akroid’s time again. He moved right toward center stage, mic in hand and announced, “You know people when you do find those special trolls for any quadrant, you gotta hold that ‘rail, hold that ‘sprit, love him, squeeze him, love her, please her. Signify your feelings with every gentle caress or angry glare. Because it’s so important to have that special somebody! To hold. To kiss. To miss! To please and squeeze!”

Akroid dropped into a kneel on the stage, as if enraptured with his statement, as Joilet finished out with the chorus. He didn’t stand back up until the harmonica came back in. He rejoined Joilet in the back for the end, and the two mimicked each other dancing on the balls of their feet as the band played out.

When the last note struck, the two of them landed simultaneously on one knee, head down with their hand holding the brim of their hats.

Two songs left. Then they bolt. They could do this.

Their performance of Soul Man was just as energetic. This song was pretty much entirely Joilet’s, so he let Akroid dance around the stage now. He could catch the other troll jumping up and down, legs moving so loosely and briskly they may as well be jelly. He only cut in for parts of the chorus, letting that deep baritone accent Joilet’s raspy vocals.

In only a few short minutes Soul Man ended and their final song, Sweet Home Gusthollow opened with swift guitar licks in a short solo. As the rest of the band kicked in and Joilet sang out the first few bars, Akroid raised his hands up to lead those listening in a clap. Barkay joined in as well. He raised his own drumsticks high above his head, tapping off the beats until those in the crowd kept time on their own.

As the first verse ended, Akroid took hold of Joilet’s mic. “Six and three is nine. Nine and nine is eighteen. Look there pupa partner and see what I’ve seen.” He nudged Joilet and pointed toward the cobalt in the back standing between the supremacists. Shit. Another look and Joilet realized he knew that troll. He was one of the wardens of the prison he was released from. But he also noticed at his angle, with the growing crowd of dancers and listeners, they might be able to slip away. After all, the stage wasn’t raised. The only reason he could still see the warden was thanks to the gaps down the main walkway.

The two of them waved confidently at him as they continued through the chorus. Even with the distance, he noticed the cobaltblood drag a thumb across his neck.

It struck Joilet numb for a few seconds. Good to know where he stands, he supposes. 

The two finished out the chorus with a flourish, letting the band take over. Joilet turned over to Akroid, offering out his hands to dance. The other troll accepted, and the two pranced right off the stage and into the crowd, swinging around as Marini moved center stage to crank out a solo. With the focus off them, they were able to swing right back onto the stage and through the small opening to the area behind the stage. He could still hear the band, but it was muffled. 

“You think that creep’s waitin’ for us back here?” Akroid asked. 

“I sure fucking hope not. Could do without running from his slimy ass too.”

Joilet whipped open the door, ready to run from whoever Kilrun left to deal with them back here. What they were greeted with instead was a troll leaning on the nearby wall wearing a tight, long sleeved red dress that pooled onto the floor. Yellow and orange flowers, though Joilet wasn’t sure what kind, outlined her skirt. A large, black wide brimmed hat wrapped outlined in string lights covered her whole face. When the door closed, they looked up, revealing a noticeable pair of fins and tyrian pink eyes. 

A fuschiablood.

“So...you must be the two trolls I was informed of.” She gave the two a grin filled with those sharp seadweller teeth, just as predatory as the indigoblood earlier, but for some reason it didn’t feel directed toward either of them. “Ran into your two bandmates earlier. He gave me a heads up you might be headed back this way before you run off.”

“Who the hell’re you?” Joilet asked.

“Call me Mayola. You two pissed off those buncha entitled rich fucks who think they’re better than everyone else right?”

Joilet and Akroid glanced at each other in silence. “What about it?”

“I’d like to bring you and your band on for Sandyhorn’s next festival. You two would make a great fit.” She pulled a thick envelope, quite obviously stuffed thick with cash, out of seemingly nowhere and handed it to Joilet. “Consider this a down payment. You’ll get the rest when I see ya there.”

Joilet thumbed through the money, eyeing her. This was a lot. More than he they could’ve gotten from this gig alone. “Yeah sure. Sounds like a deal.”

“Hey, just one problem.” Akroid jutted his thumb out toward the direction of the ball beyond them. “All those goons seem to have caught on our tail and we can’t perform unless we get outta here without goin’ to prison.”

Her face brightened. “Oh well that’s an easy one. Here, follow me.” She pushed herself off the wall and sauntered toward the door, that red dress almost appearing to shimmer in the dim lighting. With a quick motion of her wrist, she opened the door into the back of the stage. Only a few further steps in, and she leaned down and pulled at a small hitch in the floor. A trapdoor immediately popped up without a sound.  “Found this out the other day when I couldn’t sleep. Should lead outside without a hitch, though you might have to go through some sewers.” 

She looked up at them, eyes wild and filled with pride, catching the two troll’s equally bewildered and ecstatic expressions. “You’re brilliant!” Akroid exclaimed. “Amazing! Fantastic! Wonder--”

She held up a hand. “Save your praises for later. For now...just think of me as today’s savior.”

#my writing #fanfiction #should i tag any characters? #the only regular one only has a few lines #....eh tagging barely works on tumblr anyway

[bourbonboredom]

Silver Lining Chapter 11

If you’re ever gonna find a silver lining, it’s gotta be a cloudy day

A ClydexReader fanfic

Word Count: 4,168

Warnings: none

Silver Lining Masterlist

Tag List: @oh-adam  @kyloren-supreme-ben   @xis23@elsablackswift   @ladygrey03 @grey-reylo-solo  @givemelifeorgiveme  @attorneyl @ayatimascd @redhairedfeistynerd

Celebrating committing a heist isn't something Clyde really knew how to do, but him and his partners in crime eventually settled on a round of shots. Everyone came to Duck Tape to cheers in the most discreet may possible. Jimmy and his new girlfriend came in from out of state, Mellie came from the salon and the Bang brothers trudged in from their various homes. The bar was fairly busy that night, and no one was paying much attention to the small group.

Clyde went around the bar giving everyone shots, and he meant everyone. He gave out free shots to everyone in the establishment with the help his girlfriend. People across the bar shouted their thanks to him for the round. He noticed one lone patron sitting at the far end of the bar. Her glass was empty and she was staring straight at him.

“Another especiál for the lady?”

“Yes, but make it a double, it’s bad luck to toast on your own,”

“That it is” he said with a little smile, he poured two shots and sent one her way. They smiled at one another and toasted.

“I’d remember if i’d seen you around before,” he said

“I’m not from around here, but i think ill stick around for a while,” she said, leaning her body over the bar while looking him up and down.

He felt a little flustered, he wasn't used to women flirting with him so openly. He nodded in her direction and walked away.

“Your face is all red, are you okay?” his girlfriend asked as he approached her at the other end of the bar.

“I think that woman was flirtin’ with me,” he said nervously, not knowing how his girlfriend would react to that statement.

“Aw look at you, I’ve never seen your face turn that color before,” she cooed, “She probably was, you're cuter than you give yourself credit for,”

“A-and you’re okay with that? Customers flirtin’ with me?”

“I mean, you’re still coming home with me, right?” he nodded in response, “Then it’s all good. We’re bartenders, people love to flirt with people who give them drinks, its part of the job,”

“Thank you darlin’,”

“I think she’s waving you over again, go get her,” she said, sending him off with a hand squeeze.

“She’s probably gonna ask for a blood moon, it’s that time of night,”

“Wait, you know her?”

“Yeah, she came here a couple times while you were in jail. She works for the FBI. One time she came in asking about that hillbilly heist that happened back in May, but I didn't know much about all that, so we shot the breeze. She asked about who owned the bar and stuff,”

“Did you just say she’s an FBI agent?” his voice dropped and he gripped her hand.

“Yeah, but it looks like she's off duty right now,”

“What did she ask you about?”

“Just what I had heard, mostly. And then where you were and if anyone was helping me out with the bar, if I had the funds to keep it going while you were away. It was pretty friendly stuff, I think she was just concerned that I was running the bar by myself. Why is something wrong?”

“If she asks anything else just stay as neutral as possible,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze as a very intense level.

“Clyde, you’re acting funny,” she whispered, studying his face.

“Everything is fine, don’t worry, just don’t talk to her,”

“You’re not telling me something. Are you in trouble?”

“I’ll tell you later, just please don’t so anything until I talk to you,” he pleaded, letting her hand go and walking back over to the woman. She smiled as she handed him her empty glass.

He stole a peak back at his girlfriend, who’s brow was slightly furrowed as she gawked at him. She eventually just shook her head and went back to serving the other end of the bar. The guilt weighed heavy on his chest. He didn’t want to keep anything from her, the woman he was sharing his life with. But he couldn’t talk about it Not right now.

———————————

The bar was officially closed a few hours later. The woman had left around 11:00pm, and the rest of the patrons petered out after. All that was left was Jimmy, Mellie, his girlfriend and himself. His siblings weren't aware of the current tension in the room between the two of them. He would steal glances at her throughout the night, she would refuse to meet his gaze every time. She worked quickly and quietly to clean the bar, avoiding any small talk.

“I’m gonna tell her,” he said to his siblings as she left the room to go restock napkins.

“You’re gonna tell her what?” Jimmy asked slowly

“About the heist. She told me that woman who was sitting across the bar from y’all is an FBI agent. She came in a few months ago asking all sorts of questions about me and the bar. She’s getting dragged into this, I gotta tell her,”

“Now, I dont think thats a good idea—“

“She won’t tell no one,” Mellie spoke over her brother, “Besides, if that woman is gonna be poking around, we could use another set of ears,”

Jimmy looked unconvinced.

“What are we gonna do if she slips up?” he asks.

“We had the Bang brothers in on this and you’re worried about her slipping up?” Mellie reasoned.

“She’d got a point,” Clyde mumbled.

“I don’t believe y’all. If we get caught, we’re goin’ away to jail for forever,” Jimmy’s brow furrowed as he spoke.

“She won’t tell no one,” Clyde spoke with certainty. He needed to do this. He stared down his brother, who was returning the intense eye contact.

“She won’t do anything to endanger Clyde,” Mellie reassured.

Jimmy was silent for a moment, his jaw shifting as he ground his teeth. Clyde knew that look, he wasn’t happy with younger siblings. But Clyde was going to back down. This was important to him. She was important to him. He took another look at his brother, his expression remaining firm. Jimmy rolled his eyes after a few moments, he knew he wasn't going to win this fight against his little brother. He shook his head and waved his hand, Clyde could do what he wanted.

She came back in to the room with a box of napkins and they quickly dispersed.

“I’ll be ready to go in ten if you’re all done too,” she said, making eye contact with him for the first time in hours.

He nodded and motioned to his siblings that it was time to leave. They got up and said their goodbyes, leaving the two alone.

As promised, Clyde and her locked up and got into her car ten minutes later. She turned the key and her car sprang to life in the darkness of the night. They drove down the road to her house. It was dead quiet for the first few minutes. Clyde didn't know what to say to her, and she certainly wasn't talking. Just as he was about to open his mouth and begin to explain, she spoke.

“So when were you planning on telling me that you were part of the hillbilly heist?” He froze.

“What makes you say that?” he asked slowly, trying to figure out how she pieced that together in just a few hours.

“Well, after you started acting strange after I brought up the FBI lady, I thought about the kinds of questions she asked me. She had a lot of questions about how you landed in jail, and how I was getting the money to run Duck Tape. Then she asked me what I thought about that robbery, and I didn't know much about it at the time. Hell, they gave the money back, there wasn't much to say. And you were in jail, hours away from Speedway. It never even crossed my mind that you could be involved.

But then I started thinking about that money you gave to my ex. That was a lot Clyde, more than just savings. So I peaked around the storage room and found a few stacks of bills hidden away in a box of straws on the shelf you thought I couldn't reach,”

She took her eyes off the road for a minute to get a good look at her boyfriend. He shifted uncomfortably in her gaze, having trouble making direct eye contact.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said simply, “It was before we were together, and Jimmy wanted to keep it in the family after we did,”

“I can understand that,” she had her eyes back on the road.

“I didn’t even know Jimmy had kept any of the money, I thought all of it was on that truck they found. He didn’t tell me until I got out of jail. And we only got our hands on it a few weeks ago. It’s complicated,”

“I’m sure it is, especially if the FBI hasn't figured it out by now,”

“You didn’t tell her anything, right?”

“Of course not,” she furrowed her brow “I’m not gonna tell anyone,”

He knew she wouldn’t, but it was still relief to hear her say it.

“Thank you darlin’,” he said quietly.

They pulled into the driveway, and she turned off the engine, leaving them in the darkness. He looked over at her, their eyes adjusting in the dark.

“I love you, no matter what crazy thing you got into,” she assured him. She grabbed his hand, which dwarfed hers as she brought it to her lips for a quick kiss.

“I love you too,” he said, those three words carrying more meaning than he could say in a thousand others.

“Let’s go inside and talk this out, we need a united front if you want that lady to stop poking around,”

———————————

The “United Front” took the form of a meeting. Everyone who was involved in the heist needed to meet up and figure this out. The main problem of this was meeting just about anywhere in Boone County would draw a lot of suspicion. They didn’t know anything about this agent or who she may have in on this, and they were a large group. They would have to find a place where they could talk in peace.

Meeting at a diner in Kingsport, Tennessee in the middle of the night had been Jimmy's idea. It was far enough away that they wouldn't have to worry about being tailed, and the diner was open all night. They would take separate cars and come in at slightly different times, just to make sure.

Jimmy and Mellie were already there by the time Clyde and her had arrived. It was nearly midnight, Clyde let the new hires take over that night. He knew the lady didn't typically come in on that day so she wouldn't be around the ask questions. He was thankful for the night off, but would much rather spend it at home with her instead of driving three hours to plot.

They slid into the booth with the rest of the Logan siblings, promptly ordering coffee in order to stay awake. This was gonna be a long night.

"Where're the Bang brothers?" Clyde asked.

"Late as always," Mellie grumbled, picking at a plate of fries.

"They'd better be here soon, we got work to do," Jimmy looked exhausted, still wearing his work clothes.

The Bang brothers walked in about ten minutes later, making their way over to the table loudly.

"Quiet down, you're supposed to be discreet," Jimmy hissed as they said into the booth.

"You had us drive 3 damn hours, I ain't taking no lip," Joe shot back.

“It’s better than being in jail again and you know it. Did y'all park separate? Away from the building?" Jimmy asked.

The younger brothers looked at each others, slightly dumbstruck.

"We just parked in the lot," a collective groan came from the rest of the table.

"Get to movin' your cars, you're gonna screw us," Joe made one of the brothers get up and move the car. He turned his attention ruin back to the table, finally noticing there was an extra person.

"Now I'd remember if someone as pretty as you was mixed up in all this," he smiled, his piercing blue eyes cutting right through her.

"She's Clyde's girlfriend," Jimmy said plainly.

"We'll good for you for datin' up," Joe teased the younger Logan brother. She simply put her hand on top of his prosthetic one, staring back at the man.

"He's datin' just where he needs to be," she said defensively, giving him a little squeeze.

"Well that still don't explain what you’re doing here," his voice became firmer.

"She's involved, she knows about the cauliflower plan," Clyde said, finding his voice. If looks could kill, Joe Bang just made the diner into a war zone.

"You mean to tell me," he leaned over the table, voice dangerously low, "that you Logans have been involving outsiders in this?"

"She wasn't told, she figured it out," Mellie defended her. "And someone else, who could put us all away, is closin’ in on us and she’s got information that can keep us outta cuffs. So shut your mouth and listen to her,"

"This just don't seem discreet is all," Joe continued.

"I'm keepin my mouth shut, I'm not here to cause trouble," she said, not liking this man who was questioning her.

"I'm sure you are sweetheart, but this smells like trouble,"

"Not anymore trouble than what your brothers have been kicking up. Going around town spending too much money," Mellie shot

"Hey!" A brother says as he re-enters the diner, just in time to hear her.

“We're spending our money accordion-ly" the other said from his seat next to Joe.

"It's accordingly, and no you're not. People are noticing, they aren't supposed to notice anything different," Mellie pointed a long manicured nail his way.

"Can we just get to the point?" Jimmy silenced everyone with a look. "Clyde, fill everyone in before they start going for each others throats,"

"There's been a lady spending a lot of time at the bar recently," Clyde started, turning his prosthetic hand upward so she could lace her fingers with his. "This one works at the bar with me, she told me the lady was an FBI agent who asked a lot of questions while I was in jail,"

"I thought the FBI was done pokin around," Joe raised an eyebrow

"So did we. But she's been sticking around, askin’ all sorts of questions," Clyde continued. "I've been trying to keep things outta that topic. My girl’s been helping me with that. But we needs to get this woman off our tail,"

"Agreed," Jimmy and Mellie said simultaneously.

"And you're certain she's FBI?" Joe asked her, staring her down once more.

"Positive. She flashed her badge the first time she came in," she answered, returning the stare.

"What we need is a plan. We gotta keep a consistent story. If someone asks you where you were during the heist, make somethin' up and stick with it. And make sure your cut of the money is good and hid. And no more spendin'!" Jimmy pointed at the younger Bang brothers who began to protest but were stopped by a wave of Joe's hand.

"All is agreed. We'll keep an eye out for the lady agent. And we'll steer clear of your bar. How're y'all plannin’ to get rid of her?"

"Were not sure," Clyde admitted.

"Were just kinda waiting for her to realize she's got nothin," she piped up. "She's gotta hit a dead end at some point,"

Right?

————-

The plan was pretty simple, play dumb. They’d act like nothing was wrong, going about their days like the FBI agent trying to turn the Logan family in for grand larceny wasn’t a threat. Jimmy, Mellie and the other accomplices were notified of the agent’s activity when she came in to the bar. Millie mentioned the woman came into the salon for a haircut, and that she was able to answer anything she’d asked at least half-truthfully. Jimmy thought he saw her poking about North Carolina but she never approached him directly. Her main target seemed to be Duck Tape and Clyde.

She came in every few days, always ordered the same drink, always sat in the same spot. Clyde and his girlfriend switched out being her bartender, she seemed interested enough in both of them. Lots of questions passed off as casual chit-chat, and lots of requests to drink with her, but the two were always on guard. Any questions about Clyde’s life were answered as truthfully and as neutrally as possible. But as the weeks passed, he began feeling more and more worn down.

“She’s gotta know something we don’t, why else would she still be here?” he whispered to her in the storage room. They were retrieving extra glasses and getting a chance to sneak away and talk.

“I think she’s just fishing at this point, she keeps asking the same shit over and over,” she said, taking a crate of clean glasses in her arms.

“And she keeps touchin’ me now, I think she thinks flirtin’ with me will help,” he was exasperated, three weeks of constantly having his guard up was draining.

“I know sweetheart, I think she’ll give up soon. After I caught her snooping around the back that one time when she told us she was looking for the bathroom, she started coming back less. And we took the cash you hid here back to my place, theres nothing here for her,”

“I hope you're right,” he turned to leave the storage room.

“Hey,” she called, setting the crate down for a moment. He walked back over to her, and she pulled him down into a quick kiss. “You look nice today,”.

“Helps when I have someone to roll up my sleeves all proper,” he smiled, kissing her back. He let his hands slide down to the curve of her ass.

“We’ve got work to do, save that for later,” she moved away from his grasp, picking up the extra glasses and exiting the storage closet with a smile. He chuckled at her and followed.

The FBI woman was still in her seat at the bar, the rest of the space was scarcely filled by the weeknight patrons. She was nursing her tequila, rolling the liquid around in her glass. His girl went to the other side of the bar to stock glasses, as Clyde tended to his customers.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked her as he made his rounds.

“You can get yourself a drink, on me,” she smiled, sliding some bills over the counter.

“You’re too kind but I really shouldn’t ma’am, I’m working,”

“Working too hard, take a break. The other bartender’s got this, right?” she called over to her, who gave a tight smile and finished stacking the glasses.

Clyde looked over to her to gauge her reaction. She raised her eyebrow and nodded her head, giving him the go-ahead. They had talked about how he should just play along with whatever she wanted. And if that woman thought a single drink would suddenly get him to tell all his secrets, she’d clearly never spent a night drinking with the Logan family. He poured himself a drink and slid it to the other side of the bar, walking around the counter to sit with her.

“So how long did it take for you to learn to make drinks with one hand?” she asked with a coy smile on her face.

“It was a lot of trial and error, took maybe a few months? It’s a little easier with my current hand, my last one was just plastic,”

“When did you get an upgrade?”

“The VA sent me this almost half a year ago at this point,” he thought about how fast time had passed since then.

“Oh? What was the occasion? They don’t seem to just hand out something like that— no pun intended,”

He felt a chill down his spine. He realized he might have walked into a trap. Jimmy had gone through paperwork and a good chunk of cash to get him his current prosthesis. Cash they shouldn't have had in the first place.

“It was part of some research program,” he said. “The VA said I would be a good candidate for a Myoelectric prosthesis, I go to Richmond every few months and they run tests on me,” It wasn't a complete lie, he did go out of state every few months to have it checked on.

“Well its sounds like you must be pretty exceptional then,” she watched as he sipped his drink.

“I wouldn't say so,”

“You’re selling yourself short,” she said, “I think you don’t give yourself enough credit,”

He felt a blush creep up his neck, he still wasn't used to being hit on, even after this lady’s persistence.

“W-well, thank you,” he managed to stutter out.

“I’m about to head on out for the night. I’ve been staying just down the road. If you want, you could come with me?” her hand wandered to his thigh.

His whole body froze as her hand squeezed the top of his thigh. It was the boldest thing she had tried yet, and he wasn't sure how to be polite about it.

“I-I’m sorry ma’am, but I don’t go home with customers,”

“Now Clyde, I’d like to think that you think I’m a little more than just a customer,” she ran her hand up and down the denim.

“I-I gotta stay and take care of the bar,”

“Oh, your coworker can cover for the rest of the night,” she nodded over to her.

He was afraid to see her expression. His hair shielded a good portion of his view of her, but he could see that she was aware of what was going on.

“Ma’am, thank you for the offer, but I gotta decline,” he removed her hand and got up from his seat.

“Suit yourself. Just know I’ll keep the offer open,” she winked as she gathered her purse and coat. Her heels clacked against the wooden floor as she left the bar.

Clyde stood their slightly stunned as she left. Had that actually just happened? As he willed himself to move behind the bar again, he came face to face with her. She looked angry.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I—she asked me to go home with her. I said no, I swear,” His words tumbled out quickly, rushing to reassure her that he would never cheat on her.

“Oh! Oh god, I'm so sorry, I’m not mad at you,” Her gaze softened and reached out and gave his arm a squeeze “I’m mad at her, I think she was trying to get you to open up to her by sleeping with you,”

“I think you’re right,” he chewed on his lip “You know I would never do that to you, right? Go home with someone else? Even if it means getting caught,”

“Well, I dont think it’ll come down to that, but thank you. I wouldn't do that to you either,” She took his hands in hers, examining the difference of the metal and flesh.

“I think she was trying to get me drunk too, she’s always buying me drinks when she comes around,”

“Mhm, I’ve noticed. She’s clearly never drank with any Logan before,” she said, earning a small laugh out of him.

“So we’re alright? You know she came on to me and not the other way around?”

“I know Clyde, I trust you,” she tugged him closer by his hands, “Though if we’re being honest, I did feel a little bit jealous when I saw her hand on your thigh,”

“I’m sorry darlin’, I froze up,”

“No, it’s okay,” she went on her toes so she could whisper in his ear, “That feeling went away pretty quickly when I remembered that’s the same part of the bar that you bent me over and fucked me on,”

He felt his face instantly grow red again.

“Is that so, darlin’?” he untangled his hands from hers and let them drop to her hips.

“Mhm, so I dont think there’s much to worry about. Though I may have a surprise for you at home,” She said quietly, making sure no one was looking at them as she ran a hand up his clothed length. She could feel him begin to harden under her touch.

“Oh? What kind of surprise?” His hands tightened on her hips, but she moved out of his grasp.

“Now, you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” she teased as she walked away.

This was gonna be a long night.

#logan lucky #clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x oc #clyde logan/reader #clyde logan/oc #masterlist #happy friday #silverliningmasterlist

[one-of-us-blog]

Licence to Kill (1989)

Today Drew is forced to watch and recap 1989’s Licence to Kill, the sixteenth James Bond adventure. Bond’s goin’ rogue, baby! When a drug lord almost kills his good friend Felix Leiter, Bond takes it personally and sets out to get revenge. Will Bond need to dig two graves before setting off on this quest for vengeance?

Keep reading to find out…

Eli, it was so great to hear how much you enjoyed both parts of “Seems Like Old Times”! I agree that it was wonderful to see Dorothy again, and I’m really glad this was a positive experience for you. I’m also glad that we had some real talk about James Bond Jr., because you really saved me from falling into a rabbit hole. I had some big ambitions about tackling the whole series, but after watching those first ten episode I had the wind taken out of my sails in a major way. I love some cheesy cartoons as much as the next guy, but the idea of covering all 60 or so episodes of that show made me dread making a new post every time I thought about it. I feel like a bit of a failure for not being able to power through the whole series, but you giving me permission to abandon that little side project took a lot of weight off my shoulders. Now I’m ready to finish off the rest of the Bond movies, so let’s get to it!

Buttocks tight!

Screenplay by Michael G. Wilson & Richard Maibaum, film directed by John Glen

Bond and his good friend Felix Leiter (David Hedison) (I can’t believe we’re getting two movies in a row with Leiter in it, and this Leiter even looks a bit familiar!) are on their way to Leiter’s wedding (I wonder how Gordo will feel about his new stepmom?) when they’re snatched up by some dorks from the DEA. Turns out Leiter has moved on from the CIA and taken up a post at the DEA, and now his new friends want his help in rounding up a drug lord and all around loony Frank Sanchez (Robert Davi). Leiter only lets Bond come along as an observer, but this is Bond so naturally he’s got to get involved and also make the moves on Sanchez’s shaken and abused girlfriend Lupe (Talisa Soto). We get a brief aerial chase and we see Bond grapple down to hook Sanchez’s plane to the DEA helicopter, and with the drug lord successfully snagged Leiter and Bond are both able to parachute down to the wedding. We get a genuinely funny sight gag of some kids lifting up Leiter and Bond’s parachutes like they’re trains on wedding dresses and then we jump right into this movie’s title sequence.

Miss Gladys Knight herself belts out “Licence to Kill”, which is a solid bop, as we get some shots letting us know that a casino is going to be involved in this plot somehow. Were you worried that we wouldn’t get some silhouettes of naked ladies dancing around? Well rest easy, because the ladies are back and the same as ever.

To just about everyone’s shock, the bit we saw before the title sequence wasn’t inconsequential to the actual plot of the movie and we rejoin Sanchez as he’s being interrogated by DEA officers. Sanchez tries to bribe his way to freedom, but it seems Officer Killifer (Everett McGill), who shares a name with my sexy teen serial killer OC, can’t be bought. We jump back to that whole wedding thing, and Bond and Della (Priscilla Barnes), Leiter’s new bride, share several kisses because that’s the kind of friend to Leiter that Bond is. Bond goes to Leiter’s office and finds him talking shop with Pam Bouvier (Carey Lowell). Bond chides Leiter for working while there’s a part going outside, but Leiter’s a real dweeb and would rather talk about Sanchez than get wasted at his own reception. Killifer shows up because I guess this is more important than cracking Sanchez, and that reminds me that I really need to get to work on finishing the ending for Killifer Krisch and the Case of Maul Madness (in which Killifer visits her local mall and gets into a competition with her rival Tuffany to see who can kill the most people before closing time). Killifer leaves immediately because everything he came to tell Leiter could have been said via a telephone call and Leiter goes out to finally cut the cake.

Killifer teleports back to the DEA so he can help transport Sanchez to jail or wherever, only it seems our beloved Killifer was not as innocent as he seemed (a similarly shocking revelation took place in Killifer Krisch and the Christmas Eve-il, in which Killifer reveals to her friends Tanja and Briff that it was, in fact, she who mutilated that Salvation Army Santa) as he immediately crashes Sanchez’s transport into the ocean and has a team of scuba diving friends of his scoop the drug lord up and doggy paddle him to safety. Bond is finally leaving Leiter and Della so they can get on with their honeymoon, and Della inadvertently stirs up some bad memories by tossing Bond her garter and pointing out the gross belief that a man who catches a bride’s garter will be the next one to be married. After Bond leaves Leiter lets Della in on the whole Tracy situation which I’d honestly kind of forgotten about at this point.

Leiter and Della prepare to leave, but they’re ambushed by Sanchez’s men. Sanchez’s henchman Milton Krest (Anthony Zerbe) wants to kill Killifer and make a break for it (a similar almost-double cross took place in Killifer Krisch and the Game of Truth or Die, in which Killifer’s friend Clairna attempts to sell Killifer out in order to survive the deadly sleepover they find themselves trapped at), but Sanchez is a man of his word and won’t leave without paying Killifer the money he’s owed. Sanchez’s personal henchman Dario (Benicio del Toro in the roll no one saw coming) lets him know Leiter has arrived and Sanchez goes to greet his friend from the DEA. Della is nowhere to be seen, and Dario implies that she’s been raped and killed. Sanchez arranges for Leiter to be eaten by a shark, and we see his leg ripped off. These movies sure are fun!

Bond’s at the airport and about to leave when he finds out about Sanchez’s escape. He arrives at Leiter’s bungalow and finds Della’s dead body waiting for him. He finds Leiter horribly mangled and barely alive. Leiter’s friend Sharkey calls and Bond tells him to get help for Leiter. Leiter’s in the hospital and Sharkey’s spirit bond with his namesake lets him know that it was a shark that got Leiter. A DEA agent arrives and says their case on Sanchez is somehow caput since Sanchez had all of Leiter’s notes destroyed, but Bond says he and Sharkey will take care of this themselves. Sharkey takes Bond to Krest’s aquarium and Bond knows Killifer is lurking around. That night Bond and Sharkey (by which I mean just Bond) break into the aquarium after almost getting attacked by an inflatable shark pool toy.

Bond finds drugs hidden in some maggots that were being fed to fish, then locks a guard in the maggot pit so he can be eaten alive (a similarly gruesome death took place in Killifer Krisch and the MRSA-cre of St. Joseph Hospital, which won both a Bram Stoker Award and a Hugo). Another guard starts shooting at Bond, which results in some tanks getting smashed and some fish who ain’t never done nothin’ to nobody dying. Bond kills the guard by yanking him into a tank with an electric eel and electrocuting him, because why not get goofy from time to time? Killifer arrives and holds Bond at gunpoint and prepares to feed him to the shark that bit off most of Leiter. Sharkey manages to pop up like a whack-a-mole and knock Killifer off balance, and Bond seals the deal by tossing Bond into the tank where he’s chowed down on by the shark. I haven’t been this shocked by a character’s early death since Tuffany got killed off in Killifer Krisch and the Battle for the Gore-eria! The DEA is unhappy about Bond taking matters into his own hands, and Bond is taken to see M and his army of cats.

M tells Bond to drop the Leiter vendetta, so Bond quits. As we all know, Bond absolutely loves revenge and doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it at all. M revokes Bond’s license to kill and demands him to turn over his weapon, but instead he beats up M’s goons and flees. Aw, shit, y’all, Bond’s gone rogue! We get a disgusting scene with Krest gearing up to rape Lupe on a boat when he’s interrupted by some goon telling him their sonar is picking up something moving toward them. Krest says it’s just a manta ray, but it’s actually Bond in a manta ray fursuit. Bond manages to infiltrate Krest’s ship and finds more drogas stashed onboard. He holds a knife to Lupe’s throat and makes her lie to Krest when he comes to ask her if she saw anyone sneak aboard. Bond sees that Sharkey’s been killed by Krest’s men, and now he’s feeling like going roguer than rogue. He kills the guy that killed Sharkey with a harpoon and steals the man’s scuba gear as Krest tries to get a drug deal over with. Bond foils the deal by tearing open the bags of drugs underwater before they can get back to Krest (and presumably gets a bunch of fish high af in the process) and then after some waterskiing antics manages to get onto the plane that delivered the drugs, kill the two men onboard and fly away with about five mil.

Bond heads back to Leiter’s house and finds a disk that Sanchez’s men missed. It holds a list of informants, and the only one on the list who isn’t dead is Pam Bouvier. Bouvier had a meeting scheduled with Leiter, and Bond goes in his place. Bond barely has time to sit down before Dario arrives and joins them at their table. Bouvier plans ahead and has had a shotgun in her lap this whole time, which makes Bond’s pistol look a little inadequate. How’d she get into the bar carrying a shotgun, one might ask? Who cares! A barfight breaks out and Bouvier shoots a hole in the wall so Bond can shimmy out into a speedboat. Dario shoots Bouvier in the back as she joins Bond, but she’s wearing a bullet proof vest under her tank top. Bond condescends to Bouvier about almost getting herself killed, and she correctly points out that she saved his life back there. If there’s one thing Bong hates it’s a capable woman who doesn’t need him to save her, so he’s pretty miffed. The boat runs out of gas and Bond tells Bouvier that he’s going after Sanchez. Bouvier was an Army pilot, so he hires her to fly him into Sanchez’s compound. The two haggle over money and then have sex for no damn reason (a similarly unnecessary sex scene took place in Killifer Krisch’s Fifty Shades of Gray Matter, but in my defense the whole Fifty Shades thing was in full swing at the time and my publisher was really breathing down my dick to get something hot on the market).

Back in MI6, M chides Moneypenny for making typos or something and Moneypenny puts in a call to Q Branch. Bond and Bouvier arrive in Isthmus. Bond wants Bouvier to split now that she’s flown him in, but she insists on staying and getting revenge on Sanchez. Bond deposits the stolen drug money in a bank owned by Sanchez, and later he and Bouvier visit a casino also owned by Sanchez. I knew a casino was going to turn up sooner or later, but then again casinos have been on my mind ever since I finished Killifer Krisch and the Game of Texas Stab’em, in which Killifer, Briff and Tanja visit Las Vegas only to find themselves playing for their lives as the stakes get higher and higher. Anyway, Sanchez is busy being creepy with Lupe and smooching his pet iguana when he’s informed that Bond is betting a ton of money in the casino.

Sanchez sends Lupe in to take over as Bond’s dealer. Lupe recognizes Bond, and she tells him it would be best for him if he left. Bond demands that Lupe take him to Sanchez, and he ignores her protests and drags her into an elevator while Bouvier gets drunk at the bar. Bond is allowed to meet with Sanchez and tries to get himself hired as an assassin. Bond is sent away and he and Bouvier return to the hotel, where Bond is informed that his uncle is waiting for him. Turns out his uncle is none other than Q, who tells him he’s here at Moneypenny’s request. Q has all sorts of gadgets, including a Polaroid which fires a laser and takes X-ray images of both people and pictures of people.

Q poses as Bond’s chauffer and Bond leaves Bouvier at the bar once again as he poses as a waiter to get close to Sanchez. Sanchez is meeting with an international conglomerate of drug dealers, and one of them, Kwang (Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa), insists on being shown to Sanchez’s drug production facility. Bond plans to use some Q Branch explosive toothpaste to break Sanchez’s bulletproof office windows. Bond tells Q to get lost prepares to snipe Sanchez after blowing the windows. He spots Bouvier seemingly making a deal with one of Sanchez’s men and panics. He blows the windows, but before he can take the shot he’s ambushed by two masked martial artists who knock him out and drag him to a cabin in the woods. Turns out they work for Kwang, who’s a member of the Hong Kong Police here to infiltrate Sanchez’s business. They’re joined by Fallon, an MI6 agent sent to arrest Bond.

Fallon and Kwang prepare to knock out Bond so he can be taken back to London, but Sanchez’s men have followed them and fire on the shack with a gotdamn tank. Kwang, his sidekicks and Fallon are all killed while just trying to do their jobs, but Bond survives. Bond wakes up in the heart of Sanchez’s base, and Bond says Kwang and Fallon were trying to arrest him for being an assassin or whatever. Sanchez assumes they were responsible for his windows being exploded last night, and he sends Bond and Lupe off for a tour. Lupe tells Bond he should stay put, but then she helps him escape by distracting some guards long enough for him to sneak onto a speedboat. Q and Bouvier are just chilling at the hotel when Bond bursts in, tosses Bouvier onto the bed, climbs on top of her and shoves a gun in her face while asking if she’s working for Sanchez. Bouvier explains she was trying to set up a sting in Sanchez’s office, and Bond blew all that to hell by being the big dummy he is.

Bond makes a plan involving Bouvier, Lupe and Q. He withdraws all of his money from bank and then his crack team infiltrates Krest’s ship and frames Krest for the theft of the drug money by planting the money on the ship. The money is found and Sanchez kills Krest by locking him in a decompression chamber and ramping up the pressure. Bond tells Bouvier and Q to get lost for the hundredth time and goes off on his own to get back to Sanchez’s compound before Sanchez notices he’s missing. Now that Krest is gone there’s an opening in Sanchez’s inner circle, so he invites Bond in. After Sanchez leaves Lupe lets herself in and she and Bond have sex. The next day Lupe goes to Bouvier and Q and tells them Bond needs to get the heck out of there, which is surprising to Bouvier as she assumed Bond had left the country. Lupe lets slip that she and Bond banged one out last night, and I haven’t seen a character feel so betrayed since Killifer discovered the truth behind Briff’s parentage in Killifer Krisch and the Die-NA Test of Doom.

Bouvier is pissed that Bond slept with another woman, because she’s a normal human being and that’s how you feel about that sort of thing. Q tells her that’s just how it is on this bitch of an Earth, and they plan to help Bond. Bond is taken to Sanchez drug lab, and Bond barely escapes being recognized by Dario. Bouvier plane is being worked on, so she has to hitchhike to the religious compound façade located over Sanchez’s lab. Bouvier tricks the fake cult leader working as Sanchez’s middleman into letting her tour the facility, while in the lab the process of smuggling cocaine out by dissolving it in gasoline is explained. I have seen science this faulty since Killifer went on vacation to Transylvania and wound up in a game of cat-and-mouse with a mad scientist in Killifer Krisch and the Clones of Dr. Funkenstein!

Bouvier pulls a gun on the fake cult leader and locks him up. Dario recognizes Bond, so Bond causes a distraction by lighting the lab on fire and making a break for it. He gets caught by Dario and Dario tells Sanchez Bond is an informant and Bond gets strapped to a conveyer belt headed for an in industrial shredder. Bouvier manages to sneak into the facility as it’s headed toward meltdown and shoots Dario before he can knock Bond down into the shredder. Bond tugs Dario down into the shredder instead, and we get a shot of Dario’s legs being torn apart that would make the biggest Killifer Krisch fan blush. Bouvier saves Bond for the hundredth time and the two barely escape the facility before it bows. Bouvier steals a golf cart so she and Bond can pursue Sanchez at break-neck speed. They make it to a plane Bouvier stole earlier and Bond hijacks Sanchez’s tanker full of cocaína-flavored gasoline.

Bond uses his tanker to crash a different tanker, which then gets accidentally blown up by one of Sanchez’s men with a rocket launcher. I haven’t come across vehicular mayhem like this since Killifer snuck into a monster truck derby in Killifer Krisch: Fury Road! Bond’s tanker gets its tires blown out, but luckily Bouvier arrives to spray Sanchez’s men with a cloud of Roundup. Bond’s tanker falls off a cliff, crashing into a bunch of other tankers and causing them all to blow up. Sanchez drives off in the last remaining tanker with Bond in hot pursuit. Bond puts his truck on cruise control and manages to climb onto Sanchez’s tanker. Bond turns on the tanker’s spout, causing all of the cocaine gas to spill out. Sanchez blows a hole in Bouvier’s plane’s tail with a rocket launcher, and she has to make an emergency landing. I haven’t experienced aerial drama like this since Killifer had to fight for her life against a talking bear while visiting the seaside town of Cape Suzette in Killifer Krisch: TaleSpin!

Bond and Sanchez fight while the tanker drives off a cliff. Both men are badly injured, but Sanchez gets to his feet and prepares to kill Bond with a machete. Bond stalls long enough to get a lighter that Leiter and Della gave him after their wedding (that’s right, the married couple gave this dude a gift at their wedding!) and uses it set the gasoline-soaked Sanchez ablaze. We watch a man roast alive for a minute or so while Bond scurries away and the burning Sanchez causes the last tanker to explode. Bouvier arrives in yet another truck and she drives Bond to safety.

Bond calls the one-legged Leiter, who’s conscious now I guess, and Leiter seems to be completely done grieving for his one-day bride. Bond and Leiter both presumably bond over both having wives who didn’t survive long enough for them to reach their honeymoons, then Leiter lets Bond know M has a job for him. Bond’s not interested and hangs up on his mutilated friend. There’s a big party at Sanchez’s house and Lupe puts the moves on Bond. Bond tells her to go jump off a cliff and jumps into a pool near Bouvier. He pulls Bouvier into the pool, ruining her gown, while Lupe, Lupe’s new man who’s the president or something and Q look on. Bond and Bouvier screw in the pool while an apparently sentient fish statue watches them.

The End

~~~~~

Phew, that was exhausting! Jumping from people getting limbs ripped off by sharks, torn to pieces by a shredder or roasting alive to goofy truck stunts practically gave me whiplash! I really liked Bouvier, but I wish Bond hadn’t been such a dick to her. It was fun to see so much of Q in this movie, but I wish he’d actually had a reason for being there. I know Bond going rogue is a pretty common thing nowadays, but I think this was the first time that happened so that was fun. I think this movie took itself way too seriously most of the time, and it made up for its own lack of dramatic tension with an excess of explosions and goofy stunts. Giving Bond a personal motive for going after a villain is an interesting idea, but making Sanchez a glorified drug dealer makes him seem kind of lame compared to villains who wanted to start a nuclear war or flood the planet. The treatment of Della was completely disgusting and unnecessary, and it set a pretty gross tone that never quite went away.

Overall, I give Licence to Kill QQ½ on the Five Q Scale.

Up next Eli will be covering the next two episodes of The Golden Palace, “Just a Gigolo” and “Marriage on the Rocks, with a Twist”, and after that I’ll check back in with my recap of the next James Bond romp, GoldenEye.

Until then, as always, thank you for reading, thank you for exploding and thank you for being One of Us!

#james bond #One of us #007

[stranger-bucky-things]

She’s a Rockstar (Part 2)

Summary: Y/N works in a small diner in a small town in West Virginia. She’s got a heavy load on her plate and to top it all off she has a more than unpleasant encounter with none other than Sebastian Stan. 

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: So this is part 2 to a new series that I will *hopefully* be regularly updating. I hope you all like it and I appreciate any feedback or comment. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. xoxo

Part 1

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You stepped in to the diner right on time. Carla looked up and smiled at the sight of you.

“Good morning Y/N. How are things?” She inquired, genuinely interested in your life.

“Oh not so bad, Sebastian keeps throwing up so I think I’ll have to take him to the vet. Do you think I could work a couple more shifts or maybe longer shifts? I’m scraping the barrel as is but a vet bill on top of that?” You let out an exasperated sigh. ���That would just top the cake,” you chuckled.

“Y/N hunny, you’re going to work yourself to death!” Carla stated. “If you need money I can lend you some,” Carla said.

“Oh god no. Thank you Carla but I’ll be fine. If not here, I’ll pick up some shifts at the bar or the shelter.” Carla shook her head and walked over to you wrapping her arms around your frame.

“I don’t know how you do it Y/N, you amaze me,” Carla said with adoration in her eyes. You gave her a sad smile and shrugged it off as you moved to grab your apron and notepad, getting ready to start your day. The bell chimed signalling that someone entered the diner. You looked at the door and groaned. Once again the two men sat in your section. You sighed and made your way over to their table.

“Morning, what can I get you?” Your voice lacked it’s usual enthusiasm. You just couldn’t deal with Sebastian today. “Coffee and pie again Chris?” He smiled and nodded. “Coffee for you?” You addressed Sebastian. He gave you a small smile and nodded. Unlike you usually did, you did not return the smile. You walked away to get them their coffees and paused at the counter to take a much needed breath. Carla was right. You didn’t even know how you did it. 

Today was just not a good day for you. You had woken up to the sound of your phone ringing at 3 am only to find out that once again, your mothers cancer was spreading and then Sebastian threw up on your blanket. Once you woke up you realized how soon your bills were due and you weren’t sure if you could pay them this month. You closed your eyes and tried to wish away the negative thoughts and replace them with positive things but each day it was getting harder and harder for you, and now you had to look Sebastian in the face and remember how awful he made you feel yesterday. You wordlessly brought them their coffee and walked back to the counter to sit down.

“Are you sure everything is okay Y/N?” Carla snapped you out of your thoughts and you immediately placed a smile on your face. As fake as it was, a smile is still a smile.

“Yea, thanks Carla. I’m good.” The door chimed and in walked Sherry with who you assumed to be her son. “Good morning Sherry! How are you doing today?” The man was attractive. Definitely older than you but still attractive, he had kind eyes.

“Oh I’m good darling. I want you to meet my son Andrew! This is Y/N, the girl I was telling you about,” Sherry spoke to her son. He nodded and reached out a hand to shake.

“Nice to finally meet you Y/N, I’ve heard many great things.” You shook his hand and gave him a warm smile.

“It’s nice to meet you Andrew!” He seemed nice enough, you thought.

——————————————

“Seb man, you fucked up. Look at her. She’s not doing so good and I wouldn’t be surprised if you had anything to do with it,” Chris scolded Sebastian. Sebastian rolled his eyes and looked at you.

“She’s fuckin’ fine. Look, she’s talking to some guy. This was a dumb idea, let’s just go,” Sebastian grumbled.

“Chris, nice to see you again,” Carla commented, taking a seat beside Chris.

“How’s Y/N Carla?” She quirked an eyebrow at him and looked at the two boys.

“Well Chris hunny, I ain’t gonna lie to ya. She’s not doin’ so good. She’s got a lot goin’ on right now and he,” she gave Sebastian a look, “isn’t helping,” Carla said, a hint of anger lacing her words. Sebastian’s heart deflated. “But Sherry’s introducing her to her son, maybe that’ll help Y/N. Knowing Y/N though she’ll turn him down real quick,” Carla theorized eyeing the interaction between Y/N and Andrew.

“So she doesn’t have a boyfriend?” Sebastian stated more than he asked. Carla gave him a disapproving look and shook her head.

“Nope. Such a sweet girl, we get loads of boys in here hoping to win her over but she turns ‘em all down. She’s got too much on her plate for a boy. At least that’s what she says.” Sebastian nodded, noticing just how uncomfortable Y/N looked.

——————————————————

“The usual then Sherry?” you turned your attention to the older woman who had taken a spot at her usual table. “And can I get you anything?” She asked, addressing Andrew.

“Just a coffee, thanks Y/N,” his deep voice spoke. You nodded and made your way to the back to give the chef Sherry’s usual order and poured the woman and her son each a cup of coffee. The place soon began to get packed, the usual tenants pouring in a taking a seat at their usual tables.

“Morning Y/N!” Charles called. You smiled and waved at the kind old man. Eventually you bit the bullet and made your way over to Chris and Sebastian. You sighed and gave yourself a quick mental pep talk as you reached their table.

“Can I get you boys anything else? More coffee? The bill?” You avoided Sebastian gaze, afraid he would be as rude as he was yesterday and you just didn’t need that today.

“Listen Y/N, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Sebastian spoke. You froze and your eyes went wide for a moment.

“For what?” You asked nonchalantly, pretending that he hadn’t almost ruined your day yesterday. “Nothing to apologize for. Anyway, anything else for you guys?” You quickly changed the topic of conversation. Sebastian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“God, don’t make this hard Y/N. I’m sorry for yesterday.” Sebastian was getting frustrated.

“It’s fine. Anyway, Do you want something else or not? I’ve got a lot of tables to get to,” you said with an unusual edge to your voice. He shook his head and let out a long breath.

“No, we’re good. Just the bill then.” Sebastian gave up, sending an annoyed look to Chris.

“Can you blame her man?” Chris quirked an eyebrow as he shovelled another bite of pie in to his mouth. “You can’t expect her to forgive just ‘cause you’re Sebastian Stan. She doesn’t give a shit that you’re in movies.”

“Yea well whatever…”

——————————————————————————

Y/N stepped in to the bar, giving Dave a quick wave and a smile to accompany it.

“Dave can I have more shifts?” You asked, desperation in your voice.

“Y/N, you’re going to work yourself to death.”

“Yea… that’s what Carla said too,” you laughed. You grabbed your apron and got to work cleaning tables. You started humming Take Me Home, Country Road by John Denver quietly while you distracted your running thoughts with cleaning tables. “So Sebastian came in to the diner again today,” you said to Dave.

“Shit. Really? What did he say? What happened?”

“Well he apologized. I said it was fine, didn’t really matter anyway, and then he got mad again. That man is a basket case, I swear Dave. Do they look familiar to you?” You asked Dave. He nodded and scratched his beard while thinking of who they could be. “They look so freakin’ familiar but I have no clue where the heck I could know them from!” Dave just shrugged and returned to whatever he was doing.

Time had flown by at the bar and you were just over halfway done your shift. The bar had gotten rowdy due to it being a Saturday and the patrons were playing pool, drinking, and having fun. You smirked as you saw a group of younger men heading towards the table.

“Hey Dave, how much do you think I could get from those boys over there? Two, maybe three hundred?” You grinned to let Dave know you were taking a break to go kick some ass at pool.

“You go get ‘em tiger,” Dave laughed. You made your way over to the table making sure to bat your eyelashes and flash a cute smile.

“Hey boys, mind if I play a round? I’m not very good but I like to play anyway and y’all look more than capable of teaching me a few things,” you shamelessly flirted. They all nodded and you smiled. “How’s about we play for a little cash, I’ve got some extra and why not,” you suggested. They all mumbled in agreement, making their bets on who was gonna win. The first to go up against you was young, cute, and had a nice smile but you really just wanted their money. Logistically they all bet on their friend and after letting him sink a couple balls you took control and sank all your balls in just two turns. They stared at you wide eyed, unsure of what to do. In the first round you made an impressive $250 from the five men standing around you. You shrugged and looked at them innocently as if this wasn’t what you did most nights. “Beginners luck I guess? Anyone up for another round?” Instead of each betting $50 for their friend like before they bet $25 on this new guy.

Once again you dominated the game and soon enough you were collecting cash all around. You smiled and looked at them.

“You’re good hunny, you that good with anything else?” One of them smiled, instantly making you uncomfortable as he winked at you. He slowly walked towards you as you slowly backed up.

“Uhm… No not that I can think of. I should get going anyway, nice playing with you boys.” You went to turn around and walk away when you felt a hand clasp around your wrist. You looked up from your wrist to the eyes of the disgusting man in front of you. “P-please let me go,” you stuttered quietly.

“See sweet cheeks, I wasn’t really asking. You hustled us for a whole lot of money there and see? We don’t really think that’s fair,” he sneered.

“Hey man, you need to back off,” a man behind you said. You snapped your head back to look at the mystery man. Sebastian?

“Sebastian?” You stared at him, absolutely astounded. The man pulled you towards him and you saw Dave jump over the counter and rush towards you.

“Get your fucking hands off her and get the fuck out of my bar. If you ever step foot in here again I’ll let Y/N rip off your damn balls.” Dave’s voice dropped down in to a menacing whisper and he defended you. The man let your wrist go and walked out of the bar, scoffing at you. You wrapped your arms tightly around Dave and nestled your face in to his broad chest.

“Thank you so much Dave, I love you so much. Gosh that was spooky. Hey, I’ll be at the bar in a second, I just have to talk to him for a second.” Dave nodded and made his way over to the bar. You turned to look at Sebastian. “Why are you here? I thought you hated me, thought I was annoying and too happy,” you replayed his words. He exhaled deeply and ran his hands over his face.

“Look Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t really mean to say anything, I was just having a shitty day and I took it out on you and that wasn’t fair so I’m sorry.”

“Nope. Wasn’t fair at all, and I was having a shitty day too, doesn’t mean I can go around being rude to people. I mean, it’s not as if you called me a fucking coke head or something,” you said sarcastically, reminding him of his own hurtful words. He stared at you for a second, thinking of what to say. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming himself down.

“Look Y/N, you’re a really nice girl and I would like to restart. Hi, My name is Sebastian,” he said as he reached out to shake your hand. You eyed him cautiously and slowly put your hand in his to firmly shake.

“Hi Sebastian, I’m Y/N,” you said, a smile creeping up to your lips. He smiled a kind smile, much different to what you had seen before.

“Can I buy you a drink Y/N?” You nodded and lead him to the bar.

“Hey Dave, two whiskeys, and give us the good stuff. You know, the really expensive one, he’s buying,” you said to Dave, adding a wink.

“Sure thing Y/N,” Dave replied with a grin.

“Hmm, really milkin’ it aren’t you?” His tone was playful and the idea of starting from new with him started to grow on you.

“Well Mr. Stan, you’re not quite off the hook yet, you really hurt me,” you said, not as playful as he had been. He nodded in understanding and took a sip of the whiskey. “What are you doing here anyway? This is literally in the middle of nowhere,” you laughed.

“Alright so you legitimately don’t know who I am?” Sebastian confirmed. You nodded and shot him a confused look. “Okay. So Chris and I are famous, not to sound cocky, so we’ve been in a lot of movies, and when you’re at our level you have press coming at you like hungry piranhas and we got in to a bit of a ‘scandal’,” he said as he put air quotes when he said scandal. “None of it was true but try convincing the paparazzi that you’re innocent. So anyway, our publicists and managers thought it would best to relocate for a while, stay out of the limelight, y’know. When Chris had mentioned this small town he spent his summers in they immediately agreed, saying it would be best for us.” You nodded slowly, taking in all of the new information.

“Well, welcome to Charles Town, West Virginia.”

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan fanfiction #Chris Evans #Chris Evans fanfiction #Chris Evans fanfic #Chris Evans series #Chris Evans imagine #sebastian stan series #chris evans smut #captain america #steve rogers #bucky barnes #winter soldier

[samingtonwilson]

9 Things Couples Do - Jim Kirk

Summary: People do funny, stupid, cute, and sad things when they’re in love.

Warnings: language, a bit fluffy

A/N: everyone, i love jim kirk. i hope this is as good as it was in my head and better than i actually think its mediocre ass turned out (i am sick, though, so who knows). it’s such a long fic, y’all.

One

Jim assumed your favorite ice cream flavor was strawberry and you didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. Especially not when he was looking at you in the way he was.

Impacted by the width and intensity of his smile, his eyes were narrowed and illuminated. He looked softer that way— less authoritative, less like the Captain Kirk the crew served under— he looked like the Jim you’d fallen for.

When the girl behind the counter looked at you with an eyebrow raised in question, you gave her a half-shrug you made sure was hidden from Jim. “Just one scoop, please.”

“One?” Jim asked, turning a little to look at you. He snorted and rolled the blue eyes that could have lit up the entire old-school San Francisco parlor. “Baby. And here I thought you had a gut of steel.”

“It’s not polite to comment on what metal you think makes-up the gut of your significant other.”

He snorted again, his fingertips shoving you with a force your weakened legs didn’t have the strength to withstand. He caught you before you could stumble a few inches to the right, immediately clasping his hand in yours. “Still tired from the…” he cleared his throat, “walk?”

The girl behind the counter giggled loud enough to force your teeth into your tongue, your cheeks and the tops of your ears burning instantly. You squeezed Jim’s hand so a wince left his lips and he snatched it back from yours. “I’m tired from the actual walk here. It’s uphill. And I do have a gut of steel— a roomy gut of steel, roomier than yours.”

Jim titled his head and took his gaze from yours to meet that of the girl busying herself with your strawberry ice cream and Jim’s chocolate with peanut butter swirled throughout. He smiled at her. “Did that sound like a challenge to you? Did you hear me being challenged by the person that is supposed to love me, to uplift me?”

“I do love you,” you mumbled before you looked at the girl and took the cone she offered you. “He’s dramatic— excuse him, please.”

You looked down at the already melting pink mess, then back up at Jim. You quirked a single eyebrow. “But let’s say I was challenging you— that I’m betting you my gut’s roomier than yours. What’s that entail?”

“Whoever finishes the most ice cream in twenty minutes.”

“That’s a long ass time, Jim. We just had dinner—”

“Ten minutes. No cones, just cups and spoons— cones take too long to finish.”

“The usual stakes or do you wanna modify them?”

“The usual stakes,” he said with a single nod. He was smirking so openly and cockily. It bugged you.

“We’ll tip you generously,” you told the girl who was now staring at the two of you with eyes the size and shape of saucers. “You just have to keep up, okay? Two servings ahead of us each time just to be safe. No stopping even when I look like my brain has frozen itself into a coma.”

Jim clapped his hands together. “This is what you trained for!”

“I-I haven’t really trained,” she said. She sounded nervous— a wise girl to be nervous, you thought.

You and Jim looked at one another, shrugged, and beckoned her to begin scooping.

Two

There was something about the way you were sitting beside Jim— one of your shoulders against his chest so his nose could drag across your skin and bury itself in your hair easily.

There was something about the way you smelled— the perfume only lightly dusted over your skin overpowered by the smell of his shampoo in your hair as you’d just run out that morning.

And there was definitely something about the way his jeans were growing tighter by the second— your hand placed on his thigh so your fingernails scraped absentminded patterns against the fabric, moving up and up.

He lifted himself from the booth bench discreetly, trying to adjust himself with the utmost caution. He coughed to cover the squeaking of the vinyl, skimming his fingertip over the rim of his nearly empty glass.

His movement didn’t escape you, though.

You looked over your shoulder and tilted your head. “Something wrong?”

He looked over your features. He traced the slope of your nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow, the width of your eyes— all with his gaze. He let himself focus on your lips for a few seconds.

He could’ve slapped himself for that mistake. All he could do was picture your lips moving against his until they grew darker, picture your lips trailing across his jaw and your teeth biting the skin of his neck, picture those same lips wrapped around his hard length until he—

“You know, if you come, in public, before I even get my hands on you, we’re breaking up.”

He almost shivered. The lowness of your voice definitely wasn’t helping him, nor was the slight flashing of your eyes. “Can we leave? Fuck, I’ll settle for the restroom at this rate.”

“If you think these knees are touching a sticky dive bar floor in the middle of this slime-coated Federation planet, —”

“Yeah, that’s it, give me more of an image. I really need that right now.”

You took mercy on him. Patting his leg twice, you leaned towards him and caught his earlobe between your teeth for a moment, whispering, “We’re leaving. But it’s on you to cover whatever you’ve got goin’ on down there.”

“We’re leaving!” you said once more, but to everyone at the table this time. You smiled at the knowing smirk of sarcasm painted over Leonard’s face, his tan skin creasing as a result.

He then snorted. His Southern drawl was out in full force in his drunken state, “Typical— leavin’ in the middle of a night out to fuck. Least you held off— unlike Scotty and Turner who’re busy fuckin’ in the bathrooms.”

“We have better manners than to—” you cut yourself off with a loud gasp. “Scotty and Turner?!”

Three

Walking down the well-lit cavernous corridors of the Enterprise after a ten-hour shift in the medbay, PADD in-hand and communicator in-boot, you lamented in your lack of coffee. Though Leonard offered to replicate some before you trudged into the turbolift, you refused with a polite smile and small wave. You were running late as is.

You passed many faces you recognized and many you didn’t. As for the latter, you couldn’t be bothered to change course, posture, or activity— their lack of knowing you didn’t impact their knowing of not to bother post-shift you. For the former, however, you hid behind your hair or looked down at your PADD, seemingly engrossed in whatever the screen shone up at you.

“You’re late.”

You almost tripped over your own feet at the sound of his voice, your PADD tumbling from your fingers and hitting the ground with a gross clank. You brushed your hair out of your eyes and sighed. “Good lord, Jim.”

He laughed, bending to retrieve the fallen electronic. He held onto it as he motioned for you to continue walking. “You look like you’re going to pass out any second now.”

“Some idiot kept me up last night with his snores and body heat,” you said, smiling at him innocently as he sent a scowl your way. “Also, you can’t condemn me for being late if you’re still roaming the halls. We said dinner at eight.”

“My hypocrisy is irrelevant. It’s about the principle, angel.” He let the back of his hand brush against yours for a short moment before lacing your fingers together and pulling you into his side. “And, because I know you so well, I’m sure you’re going to ask to postpone dinner even more so you can shower at your place and meet me at mine.”

You looked up at him with an apologetic expression. “I smell like disinfectant and my hair is—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I just—” he sighed and halted in his steps. “What if you showered at my place?”

“My shampoo’s in my shower and I need fresh clothes—”

“What if your shampoo was in my shower?”

“Then I wouldn’t have clothes.”

“What if your clothes were in my closet?”

You took a step back. “What are you saying?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if your shampoo was in my shower, your clothes were in my closet, and we went to the same place after our shifts everyday?” he asked. He was staring at you— in that same soft way that felt like velvet. “Please tell me you’re following.”

Smile over your lips, you nodded. “I am, but I want you to spell it out for me.”

He sighed, smiling as well. “Just move in with me already.”

Four

It was a long day for you both.

Jim spent it arguing with Spock. He called it “Spock’s semi-annual bout of blind disagreement” and Spock called it “Jim’s semi-annual bout of illogical childishness.” Or at least, that’s what you’d hope Spock would call it after you suggested it during the half-Vulcan’s latest physical.

As for you, you had spent the day running after stubborn red shirts that opened an incorrect valve and gave themselves extensive steam burns. It wouldn’t have been such a large task if the red shirts had even a remote ability to sit still— but that didn’t seem to be the case.

You and Jim sat side-by-side on the too-stiff couch in your shared quarters when you should have been eating dinner side-by-side, preparing to sleep side-by-side. You exchanged groans and moans intermittently.

“If I could just do something that would bug him as much as he bugs me,” Jim began, speaking through his teeth that you were surprised had enough strength to remain gritted.

“Cut all his hair off while he sleeps.” The pure exhaustion in your voice was heavy enough to suffocate you but you gathered the energy to speak each time Jim spoke to you. You didn’t want him to go unanswered.

Jim shook a bit with silent laughter, a soft chuckle slipping through his lips. He sighed as you slumped into his side, his arm immediately draping over your shoulders. “I don’t know if I can.”

“‘Course you can. You’ve got access to everyone’s rooms.”

“Sometimes I think his hair is just one large mass. It never moves, you can never see strands. I’ve never seen the man get a haircut.”

“I wonder if you could get me access to Lieutenant Kabir’s room so I could use the dermal regenerator on his fucking arm.”

“I should ask Uhura if it moves, if it has strands. Sometimes I think it’s rubber, or plastic, or leather.”

“Leather?” you asked with a snort. “S’not leather. What if it’s a helmet? Or just, like, a cut-up bowling ball.”

Jim scoffed. “I can’t get you into Kabir’s room, by the way.”

You waved your hand dismissively. “Abuse of power, schmabooze of schmower.”

He laughed out loud this time, rubbing his palm against his forehead. “I actually meant I’m too tired to make it there. I’m sorry, angel.”

You hummed, lifting your head to lock your fingers through Jim’s as they hung over your shoulder. “No apologies. Let’s just complain more— I like it.”

Five

You groaned as you placed your pillow over your head, clamping it there tightly to block out every lyric Jim practically yelled from the shower.

You gritted your teeth tightly, practically grinding them together as his voice seemed to seep through the thick cotton cover and firm cotton stuffing. You adjusted your fingers to wrap the pillow around your head with an even greater tightness and whimpered into the mattress your nose was smashed onto.

You normally never objected to Jim’s singing— he could carry any tune easily and the sound of his voice was enough to melt any stress occluding your thoughts. But, after working two shifts without so much as an hour break in between, rest was precious to you.

He didn’t stop even as the water shut off and spent the subsequent minutes actually increasing his volume.

With a far louder groan than your last, you threw the pillow aside and ripped the comforter from your body, placing your bare feet on the floor and standing on shaky, exhausted legs. Your hands formed tight fists and your steps were heavy as you walked across the room— your teeth could have cracked from the pressure you placed upon them.

You felt the heat rolling off your own body as you approached the door, banging your fist against the door three times without answer. “Jim fucking Kirk, I swear to any and every deity anyone has ever prayed to, —”

The door slid open with a soft hiss, the man behind it grinning at you with a freshness rivaling any spring you’d ever witnessed. Water fell from his growing blonde hair onto his bare shoulders and rolled down his torso, soaking the waistband of his undone trousers. “What? What do you swear to any and every deity anyone has ever prayed to, angel?”

You took your teeth from your bottom lip at the sound of his voice and cleared your throat. You decided to glare at him once you met his almost electric blue eyes. “I could dump you for disrupting my sleep.”

“Okay, and I could fight you on that.” The amusement in his eyes, painting the smile over his lips, forcing the tone of his voice irritated you beyond belief.

“Mess with my sleep and any fight is inadequate, Kirk.”

He tilted his head. His visible amusement only increased. “We’re using last names now? That’s a thing we’re doing?”

“It adds emphasis,” you shrugged. “I was trying to sleep, why would you have a goddamn concert in the shower while I’m trying to sleep?”

“I wasn’t having a con—”

“I heard you thank Yorktown for being a great audience.”

His smile faltered a bit. “Haven’t we reached a point in our relationship where nothing is embarrassing anymore?”

“I don’t know, Jim,” you replied. The pink over the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears did away with some of your anger. “S’pretty embarrassing— Len won’t let you live it down.”

“Bones knows?”

“He will when I tell him.” You reached up to pat his cheek, smirking. “Consider us even, Beastie Boy reject.”

Six

Tossing your tray of half-finished food aside, you rose from the front-row table and nodded knowingly at Uhura once. She laughed in response as you took short, calculated steps towards the lines behind the plethora of replicators.

You placed your index finger over your pursed lips when Leonard spotted you, shaking your head quickly when his mouth opened. “Please, please, please,” you mouthed to him.

He snorted quietly and nodded before rolling his hazel eyes. He resumed his conversation with Jim, just nodding as his friend spoke.

You brushed past clustering crewmembers and raised yourself onto the balls of your feet once you reached Jim. With a quick kiss to his cheek, you grinned as he turned his face to look at you and bumped your noses together. “That’s four for me, loser.”

A few hours later, Jim found himself hiding behind the curtain he knew you were on the other side of. He could hear you as you spoke to the patient, giving them sound advice on the necessity of adequate rest and hydration.

He was trying to keep his breathing quiet as he heard your steps carry you in his direction and worked even harder to keep himself from yelling out in premature triumph when you pulled the curtain aside.

As soon as he saw your eyes flash towards him, he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek. He immediately began backing away, laughing as he did. “We’re tied, angel.”

The next morning, you kept yourself cooped up in your favorite exam room and, with the bimonthly physicals already in session, you were justified in doing so. Which is what you told Leonard as he stepped through the door with one of the widest scowls you’d ever seen.

“Cut the crap,” he said, snorting in response to your thin defense. “You’re in here because of that stupid kissin’ game you and Jim have got goin’.”

“What game?” you asked, eyes wide as you stared at him. “There is no ga—”

The deadpanned expression he offered you cut you off easily.

You sighed in defeat. “He’s winning, Len! We can’t let him win!”

“Who is this ‘we’ you’re referrin’ to, sweetheart? None of the bullshit y’all do is any of my concern.” He paused for a moment. “Besides, if I was goin’ to be pickin’ sides, I’d be on Jim’s.”

“What are you—”

As if queued up perfectly, there was a flash of command gold through the agape door before Jim’s soft lips pressed against your cheek. His arm went around your waist as you stumbled to the side a bit, stabilizing you before kissing your cheek again. “That count as two? Should count as two.”

“You cheated!” you shouted, pushing at Jim’s chest as you gawked at him incredulously. “You totally cheated!”

“Only two rules,” he began, holding two fingers up. “One, kisses in our quarters don’t count and, two, first to reach ten.”

“Whose stupid idea was this?” you were still yelling, which only made Jim smile more.

“Mine. And now,” he nearly sang as he leaned forward once more to kiss your cheek especially sloppily. “I’m at ten and I win.”

“But —”

“God, I can’t wait for you to only speak to Spock in Shakespeare quotes.”

You were fuming. “I hate you.”

Jim looked at Leonard and raised his thick eyebrows. “‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ eh?”

Seven

You turned from your side onto your back, sighing as you adjusted the comforter so it was tucked under your arms. You then flipped onto your stomach, sighing once more as you moved onto your other side. Deciding that position pulled on your healing wound too much, you moved.

As soon as you were lying on your back again, you stared at the ceiling blankly. You couldn’t see the boundaries of any of the plates, not bothering to turn the lights on as you squinted at them.

You looked to your left and let your gaze linger on Jim’s usual spot. You missed the mess of blonde hair that would peek out from the covers, the bright blue eyes that would flutter open upon realization of and concern about your restlessness.

But Jim’s anger always burned slowly— much slower than you could stand. He would simmer in his frustration, in his discontent for hours just overthinking and overanalyzing in silence— a silence that was drowning you at this very moment.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe when he didn’t speak to you, you felt like your lungs were shriveling up more and more with each second he spent sleeping on the couch.

You sat up, running your fingers through your hair and pulling a little. You considered your options and wrung your fingers together, twisting almost painfully.

Just as you heard rustling, you lied back down and pulled the bed spread over your head. You held your breath when you heard footsteps, you almost cursed yourself for letting a tear escape the corner of your eye when the steps went right past you to the bathroom.

You sat up again, calling for the lights to flicker on at twenty-percent rather than shock your eyes with anything higher. You combed your fingers through your hair and wiped at your cheeks to look mildly presentable, mildly put-together. You licked your lips when you registered how dry they were.

The door slid open once the water of the sink shut off and exhausted eyes met yours. He didn’t bother to speak, didn’t offer a word as he began to shuffle across the room.

“You have to talk to me eventually.”

He grunted in response.

“Take the bed. I’m the one that made a mistake, I should sleep on the couch.”

He stopped walking. “No.”

Something inside of you shook. “I’m the one that— that didn’t—” you were too tired to form a coherent sentence, but that didn’t stop you from trying. “I’m wrong, I know I’m wrong. You didn’t deserve to— I made a mistake. I didn’t listen to you and I went on that mission, I didn’t listen to you while I was out there and put myself in danger. I got hurt and it’s my fault—”

“It’s late. Sleep.”

Eight

Each time Jim shut his eyes, he saw the look in your eyes as you backed away from him and stepped onto the transporter platform. The look in your eyes that tore whatever was in his chest to pieces. The look you only had because he hurt you, because he yelled at you to be quiet when you went against his decision.

Each time he found silence, he heard Uhura announce that your communication line was dead. He heard Scotty announce that he could no longer track you. He heard Leonard say you’d left his side because a patient asked you to help someone too hurt to move, because caring for the wounded mattered more to you than your own safety— even in a war-torn territory the Enterprise was called on to assist medically. Louder than all of that, he heard the words he told you before you left, the tone he used before you left.

And each time he heard your voice, he remembered that he’d almost lost you. He forgave you the second you came on board with an arrow jammed into your side, your weak voice telling Leonard to make sure Jim was okay, to make sure he wasn’t too stressed out. But he couldn’t forget— not when you were forced to take it easy for subsequent weeks, not when you winced each time you moved too suddenly.

He wasn’t simmering in his anger like you thought he was, he wasn’t letting it burn him alive. He just didn’t know what he could say to the only person that made him so weak. How could he tell you that he was so angry that you almost left him? How could he be so selfish as to tell you he wanted to lock you inside your shared quarters and never let you out lest something happen? How could he even begin to express how much he loved you if it all just sounded insufficient in comparison to what he actually felt?

So as you asked him to take the bed and offered to take the couch, he couldn’t muster a word aside from, “No.”

When you fought him on it, when you reminded him of why his chest hurt almost every second, of why he couldn’t meet the dimming blue eyes of his reflection, he couldn’t say more than, “It’s late. Sleep.”

You didn’t listen to him, though— much to his dismay. You rose from the bed, smoothing down the t-shirt of his that you wore. Without looking at him, you brushed past him.

Before he knew what he was doing, he grasped your wrist in his hand.

His grip was tight and, aside from the hug he’d given you in the medbay after your surgery, it was the most physical contact you’d had in two weeks— or so you thought seeing as Jim would softly kiss your forehead once he was sure you’d fallen asleep.

“Jim, —”

“You,” he began unsteadily. “You could have died on me.”

“Jim, the arrow wasn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter where it was. You could have died on me,” he said in a louder voice, releasing your hand as you turned to face him. “It could have been much worse—”

“— because I didn’t listen and I’m so sorry. I’m really, truly sorry—”

He sighed heavily and took several steps back, his legs hitting the bed before he allowed himself to sit. He placed his head in his hands and took a deep breath. When he looked at you again, his red-rimmed eyes forced your heart into your throat.

“You could have died and the last thing I would have said to you is ‘be quiet.’ Not ‘I love you, please come back to me because it’ll take me too long to learn to be okay without you,’ and not ‘I’m so in love with you, you’re my world and I can’t imagine who I would be if I never met you.’” He shook his head. “I told you to be quiet.”

You tilted your head as you looked at him, kneeling before him seconds later. You placed your hands on his knees and ducked your head to offer him the smallest smile. “I don’t remember you saying that to me.”

He picked his head up and met your gaze. With the dilation of his pupils, he looked ready to consume whatever portion of you wasn’t already his.

“As cliché and lame as it sounds, the only thing I could remember you ever telling me was that you love me— that you’ve always loved me,” you said, cupping his cheek and running your thumb over his cheekbone. “I came back to you and I’m okay— I’ll give more weight to your judgement next time.”  

He laughed in disbelief. “Angel, if you think there’s going to be a next time, —”

“I love you— but that’s not for you to decide. You can suggest, you can advise, but you can’t single me out and keep me out of missions— you know that.” You smiled a little more then. “Just, like, come with me or send a security officer next time. Yeah?”

Nine

You sat beside Jim in a comfortable silence. You were catching up on patient charts while he caught up on his favorite Earth publications— he had a crease at the center of his forehead and a soft neutral frown over his lips while you had your bottom lip in your teeth’s vice grip and your eyebrows knit together.

You looked over at him for a moment, smiling at the visible concentration over his features.

He seemed to sense that and met your gaze. He returned your smile easily.

“I think this officially makes us an old married couple.”

You laughed through your nose. “We’d have to be married in order to be an old married couple.”

“We’re not married?” he asked, leaning closer to you.

You shook your head with a frown of consideration. You leaned in as well. “No, not that I can recall.”

“Engaged?”

“No, Jim, we’re not.”

“I haven’t asked you to marry me yet?”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” He leaned away again. “Expect that soon.”

#i do think this story is funny #so im happy about that #it's sort of/kind of good i think? #we'll seeeeeee #time for them kirk tags #jim kirk #jim kirk imagine #kirk imagine #jim kirk x reader #kirk x reader #star trek #star trek imagine #star trek x reader #captain kirk x reader #captain kirk imagine #imagine kirk #imagine jim kirk #k cool #see yall later

[goodestboyryuji]

“are you ever gonna stop with the personal posts” nO

hey there demons. it’s me, ya boi. kinda just gotta get a bunch of shit out of my head rn so no pressure to read or respond!!!!!!!

had a funny/weird couple of days. i think i’ve been cared for in the highest capacity over the past few days than i have over the past few months, and yet have also been treated worse than ever??? 

been spending a crapton more time with friends from work: wonderful idea. we went out on thursday and it was nice to see them outside of the work environment, esp bc all the interns were there and they’re so cute and little (but also only like 2 years younger than me) my best work friend (the neighbor) and the one that offered to beat up boyf had a convo about protecting me and shared contact info for that purpose. very weird, surreal feeling to watch two people care for you in front of you without directly involving you. haven’t felt something like that in a long time. attractive new hire was there and lookin good in a black sweatshirt #killme my neighbor/coworker/friend literally came out at 10:30pm despite the fact she worked the morning shift on friday, bought me all my drinks (3), drove me to her place bc i could no longer drive (or form coherent sentences...i should mention the drinks she bought me were fishbowls), tucked me in on her couch at 1:30pm, WOKE UP AT 4:30AM FOR WORK, came out to tuck me into her BED along with water and advil, helped me change into comfy clothes of hers, locked her kitties out of the room bc she knows i’m allergic, THEN ON HER BREAK AT WORK ONCE I ARRIVED TO WORKOUT (despite being very hungover) SHE WENT AND GOT ME A SMOOTHIE, THEN-THENNNN STAYED 3 HOURS AFTER HER SHIFT WHILE I WENT TO A MEETING SO SHE COULD DRIVE ME TO MY CAR

WHAT THE FUCK???? I DON’T DESERVE HER I WORKED TODAY AND MENTIONED I STARTED MY PERIOD THIS MORNING AND SHE JUST SHOWED UP WITH SNACKS AND ENERGY DRINKS I DON’T DESERVE HER Y’ALL

on the flip side, boyf has been extra. i brought up last weekend again and i may have already mentioned this in my last text post but i was asking if they stayed till last call (bc bars close at 2 and he didn’t come home until nearly 4 so i knew he was spinnin lies) and he was like “oh no we went to the arcade after.” like i love how his story keeps changing in significant-yet-insignificant ways. so what does ya girl do??? i googled the hours of the arcade. IT FUCKING CLOSES AT 2AM TOO. like boy if you’re gonna lie to me??? do your research???? wtf so anyway that kinda made me sad but also i’m like....what else is there now, y’know? even when things were shitty i knew i could trust him. what’s left to salvage? this is further worsened by the fact he like, sat me down and was like ‘ok i need you to touch me sexually more’ and i was like ‘uhhhhhhhh....’ bc i don’t want to lol and he was like ‘i’m a sexual being i need sex and you’re not giving it to me and i’ll find it elsewhere if i need to’ and i was like WELL WE ALL WANT THINGS WE’RE NOT GETTING LIKE BASIC FUCKING DECENCY

jk i didn’t. instead i sat pinned to the couch by his feet bc that’s his newest method of cornering me and just felt very afraid he was gonna try to pull something. then he got all emotional and i was trying to explain why i feel sexually repulsed like 99% of the time when i used to be voracious and he was like ‘i don’t want explanations, i want actions. you can fix this right now’ and it felt like he was coercing me into sex in order to keep him from getting increasingly agitated SO THAT’S FUN. i didn’t give in tho bc everything in me was just...cringing. having a horrible time. he then said “if you’re not into that anymore i need you to tell me” and i was oh shit ok here we go and then i open my mouth and he goes “you better not fucking tell me that” and i’m like...wait....??? and he goes “i moved here for you, you better not fuckin feel that way”

so that’s cool. good to know i’m being threatened over leaving him bc this shit wasn’t hard enough.

i slipped in the kitchen today and said “fuck” and he goes “RIN.” and i’m like what? and he goes “you’re not being very ladylike. it’s time you behave.” and i was like...weirded out but i laughed nervously and i go “ah that’s bc i’m not a lady.” and he goes “are you a MAN? i’m not interested in dating a MAN.” and i’m like...no...i mean i’m just a person....and he goes “are you GENDERLESS? i’m not interested in dating someone who is GENDERLESS?” and i was like wtf are you ok?? he was legit angry. what the hell.

an hour later he had one of those weird moments of self-awareness that he only gets in a blue moon. he said “i think something’s wrong with me” and i was like “okay let’s get you help i know some great resources” and there was a long pause and he was like “no” and snapped out of it.

BACK TO THE GOOD STUFF THO:

my dog now growls if boyf says my name or turns to me. my dog is my best friend. doing really well taking over for my manager while she’s away. lot of last minute shit that keeps popping up but i think i’m handling it alright. went grocery shopping!!! got healthy things!!!! told my brother about what i’m going through. he’s younger than me but like....so fuckin wise and kind and he was exactly what i needed. my family is super, super terrible at communication like my parents didn’t tell us they divorced each other until almost a year after it happened L O L so it’s hard to talk about real shit. lucas has always been good at it tho and as much as i love the “let me kill him” responses lucas was just like “wow are you taking care of yourself?? are you believing what he says about you? bc it’s not true” and idk just...good sib stuff FINALLY GONNA PLAY MORE PERSONA TOMORROW thank fucking CHRIST been in a weird writing funk during all of this. feeling like i’m getting ready to write again tho

that’s about it sry that this is all i talk about rn just...a weird transitional time for me. got a lot goin on in my head.

#i am SO happy and also SO sad at the same time #idk how i can feel so strongly both emotions but i do