#(bro was gonna grab a fist full of her ponytail when she drops that he's not disowning her; she disowning him)

[vixlenxe]

Me: watches Mirko rip out shreds of her own hair to get out of a Nomu's grip.

Also Me:

SHE DID THE THING TIFFANIE WAS GONNA DO.

[trev0rc0re]

Dad! Trevor would be so adorable.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Like OK LISTEN we saw the way he was with Tracey, who isn’t even his OWN BLOOD in story mode. You know, when he literally went full on attack mode after finding out she was gonna exploit herself on Fame or Shame. Bro went actually BALLISTIC, grabbed a guy by the neck, publicly embarrassed an asshole producer after chasing his ass in a car for miles, and it was all for someone he considered his niece, whom he had not seen in 10+ years. Not even Michael seemed that upset or angry at the guy, and she's his kid. Trevor though…? Good lord, imagine him with his own kids.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Would most definitely be the type of guy to say:“Fuck that, I don’t ever want kids,” then literally be the best with them. The people around him are literally shocked to see a usually rude, crass, violent man transform into a huge softy the minute a child skips into the room, instantly pulling cash out of his pocket so they can go get themselves candy, or giving out fist bumps and bear hugs at the drop of a hat. He’s so naturally good with kids that it’s scary and unnerving to those who know him. “Seriously, how is that the same guy that has massacred multiple people?”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Girl dad, obviously. She would take after him completely; huge, light amber eyes with flecks of yellowish gold, dark wavy hair, mischievous toothy grin… I can totally see him allowing his daughter to paint his nails in shades of bright pink, wearing the polish with pride despite his rugged appearance. God forbid anyone say anything about it, or attempt to make fun of it. Doing so would be an instant death wish— nobody is gonna make his daughter feel bad for her “craftsmanship.” She would probably try to style his thinning hair too, attempting to tie the surviving strands into a ponytail/braid and he would just let her LOLLLL. No matter how hard she pulled, or how much she kept brushing his forehead instead of his actual hair.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Or he would take her to ballet class in his beat-up truck, but not before a detour to McDonald’s. “Better not tell mommy how you pregame for ballet, kiddo. She’ll kill the both of us,” as they’re literally both fucking up a McDouble and large fries, smearing ketchup all over her leotard LOLL. He’s such a rule breaker when it comes to his kid. Skipping half the school day to hang out at the park together? he’s down. Ice cream for breakfast? Sounds good. Driving an hour in traffic into Los Santos to see whatever pop-star she’s obsessed with at the moment? He’ll hate every second of it, but he’ll do it. He would do anything for her.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ For someone who used to care for nothing, for nobody, not even himself, he’s so involved in every aspect of her life. He cares so much about her in a way he never knew he could.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆+++ I headcannon that he would be a girl dad, but he would only have one girl. One child. He remembers what it was like to have a sibling—how he was constantly overshadowed in his youth, competing for his mother’s already-sparse attention. He would never want his kid to feel the way he did growing up, ever.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆definitely taught her how to shoot a gun, use a switchblade, drive, and swing a bat/throw a punch properly. Young too. Needs her to be able to defend herself in any situation just in case, especially with his criminal involvement. Probably bought her a mini pink switchblade for one of her birthdays, much to his s/o’s dismay. She loved it though. Also taught her how to swear, accidentally. Her first word was probably fuck.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Looooooooves showing his kid off. Would probably wear one of those huge baby slings around Sandy Shores when she’s young, proudly displaying her any chance he gets. Bouncing her on his bony hip as he parades around the bar, a beer sloshing around in his offhand as the local drunks and crackheads look up from their own. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, I made this! fuck you!” Got a tattoo of her name too.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Would Trevor be the perfect dad? With his history, probably not. Would constantly question if he’s doing enough for his child, teaching her the right values, keeping her safe from his dangerous criminal lifestyle… the thought alone of her ever getting hurt because of his work leaves his throat dry, palms sweaty with terror. Would definitely struggle with drinking or his meth addiction as an escape, attempting to cope with the thoughts of being the reason she gets hurt. Some unresolved stuff from his own shitty childhood would probably come up at some point as well, but again, he would try his absolute hardest to give her the best, safest childhood he possibly could despite his negative thoughts. He’d get clean and push through for her. He has to.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆She definitely has “my dad will kick your ass” privileges at school. Nobody ever dares to mess with her, bully her, or so much as look at her the wrong way, cuz they know he actually will LMAOOO. OR WORSE.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆…And when she gets old enough to date? Good luck. I can totally see his daughter being picked up for her first date, already nervous enough without Trevor shadowing her when her poor boyfriend knocks on their door. “Accidentally” leaves his blood-splattered bat visible in the kitchen, pistol tucked obviously in his front pocket as he rests a heavy hand on his daughter’s shoulder, staring daggers into the poor guy. “I uhh… trust that you’ll have her back on this doorstep before 8, right bud?”

Her poor date looks petrified, sweat beading on his forehead, and not from the desert heat. “Y-y-yes sir, I can even have her home before then, sir. Anything you want.”

“Perfect. Anything happens to her, or you’re even a minute late, I’ll hang you by your tiny, freshly dropped balls, got it?”

[thesecretfandom]

Wanderlust: Lock and Key -- Bughead (Chapter 8)

Word Count: 3,290

Rated: E

A/N: The last time I posted a chapter was December last year. So sorry for the long time coming... but here is the next chapter for your enjoyment. (Read on AO3)

(Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

The sunset was casting a scarlet glow across the busy halls of the Dublin airport when they finally dragged their luggage from baggage claim to the bus stop outside. Betty sat on her luggage, Jughead next to her with his arm slung over her shoulders.

Reggie was fidgety, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk as they waited. "All I have to say is thank fuck everything is finally in English. It was getting exhausting moving through a billion different languages."

"It was only seven languages, Reg." Jughead rolled his eyes. "And most stuff was in English anyway."

"Whatever, bro. It was exhausting."

"This bus stop is exhausting." Cheryl complained. "My feet are killing me."

"And whose fault is that?" Betty countered. "You're the one who insists on wearing heels to the airport."

"I didn't expect so much walking! I was supposed to be sitting the whole time." Cheryl yanked her heels off her feet and pulled her feet up onto the bench.

Sighs swept out of the lips of her comrades.

"So sue me!" She grumbled.

A large, double-decker bus came grinding to a halt in front of the crowd of people waiting on the sidewalk. By the time they came to the entrance of their hostel, an old brick building, the sun had fully set and moon was glowing brightly through the streets.

The lobby was loud, filled with raucous laughter from the back of the room where a bar was surrounded by a group of young men. Their pints half empty in front of them, one man tumbled off the back of a barstool.

"My kind of people." Reggie smirked. "Archie, be a dear and bring my stuff to the room. I'm about to get my drink on."

"Hey, wait a second…" Archie started, but Reggie was already gone. He sat right in the thick of the crowded bar, taking the seat that had been vacated by the drunk Irishman. Archie looked at his friends and set down his luggage. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

Jughead reached out an arm to grab his shoulder before Archie could follow Reggie to the bar. "Not so fast, Arch. Could you at least be bothered to help us with the bags?"

Archie sighed, but with a kiss on his cheek at the corner of his lips from Veronica he was quick to grab both of his bags and one of Reggie's. A narrow stairway led them up to their room, where three bunks circled the room. Archie dropped his bags and turned back to the door.

"Wait up, Archiekins."  Veronica quickly stepped out of her leggings and into a mini skirt. Next on were her high heels and a swipe of dark burgundy lipstick and she was at Archie's side, clinging to his arm. "You guys coming, or what?"

"Count me in." Cheryl was already reapplying her lipstick in the mirror. "Reggie gets especially frisky when he has a few pints in him."

"Remember we're sharing a room tonight…" Jughead said, but it was in vain because they were already out the door. "That can't be good."

Jughead flinched when Betty snuck up behind him, slipping her cold fingers beneath his T-shirt. He turned, his arms instinctually winding around her shoulders. He squeezed her tight, letting his lips fall to her forehead. Betty seemed to have something else in mind when she let her fingers trail down to his hipbone and under the waist of his boxers.

"Betts, you know how hard it is for me to deny you…" Jughead sighed when Betty's lips moved against his jaw.

"And why, pray tell, would you be denying me?" Her fingers fiddled with the button on his jeans.

Jughead squirmed when Betty pushed his pants halfway down his ass, but he didn't push her away. Instead, he tugged on her sweater and pulled it over her head. Betty flipped the deadbolt on the door before returning to him.

"We don't have the room to ourselves…" Even as he said this, Betty was kicking off her shoes and pulling Jughead toward their bunk. He threw his T-shirt on the floor behind him, shedding his own shoes and jeans before crawling over his beautiful girlfriend in the small bed. "They could come back at any minute."

Betty raked her fingers through Jughead's hair and pulled his lips to hers. "It's only eight o'clock…" She spoke between nipping at Jughead's neck. "Reggie already had half a pint down before we got up here… Archie's probably caught up by now… They won't be back for a few hours… two in the morning at the earliest…"

"Okay, okay…" Jughead bit his lip. "You've convinced me. Now, let's get you out of the rest of these damn clothes."

Betty squealed when Jughead attacked her neck. He nibbled on the soft spot behind her ear and then down her shoulder while Betty yanked her jeans down. Jughead paid no mind to the new skin being revealed to him, instead his lips ravaging her chest. Betty reached behind and unhooked her bra, revealing Jughead's favorite part of her body.

"Juggie…" Her breath hitched when his teeth brushed lightly over her nipple. "I want…"

Jughead suddenly pushed his hand under her panties and let his lips completely encase the nipple he had once been nibbling on. Betty fisted her fingers against the white sheets as Jughead thrust two fingers past her folds.

"You're wet, Betts." She could feel his smirk on her skin.

Betty grazed her fingers up his back and bit her lip as the pleasure began to wash over her. "Great observation, Sherlock. What are you gonna do about it?"

"You want me to tell you what I'm going to do, or do you want me to show you?"

Betty sighed as Jughead pushed another finger into her. "Tell me first… then do it."

Jughead dragged his lips away from her breast, up her body, until his hot breath brushed against her ear.

"I'm going to flip you over and fuck you from behind." Betty shivered when Jughead nibbled on her earlobe.  "You'll be fighting to keep quiet when I slap your ass, leaving a sore spot in the morning."

She groaned at his promises, his fingers still moving inside her as she became more desperate for him. His words sent shivers up her skin. She wanted more, no… she needed more.

"Jug…" Betty breathed. "I want you now."

"Oh, but I had so much more to tell you." Jughead pulled back, his eyes locking on hers before moving his lips back to hers. "I wanted to talk about your mouth, and my fingers… your thighs and your stomach and-"

Betty slipped off her panties while Jughead spoke and reached her hands to his boxers. His words stopped suddenly when Betty slid her hand over his hard on.  

"I just want you to fuck me now…"

Jughead pulled his fingers slowly out of her and stuck them between his lips, sucking them clean. When he was satisfied, Jughead roughly gripped her hips and flipped Betty onto her stomach. Betty pulled her knees up, under her body so her ass was raised in the air.

Jughead couldn't keep his hands off of her. As soon as he'd discarded his boxers on the floor, his hands were back on her hips. One hand traveled higher, while the other ventured to her ass. His dick was pressed against her center, and he moved a hand to guide himself in.

"Ohhh…" Betty sighed when he was fully inside of her, thrusting in slow, short movements.

As promised, Jughead lifted a hand and brought it down on her ass. Betty squealed, but was still too quiet to satisfy him. He slapped her ass again, harder this time, and Betty yelped out loud.

"Juggie…" Betty moaned. "The walls are paper thin."

"Then you better find a way to keep quiet." Jughead kept on with his goal to drive Betty wild.

Betty bit down on the pillow when Jughead brought his hand down one more time and proceeded to rub softly and soothe her reddened skin.

"More, Jug… I want faster and harder."

"As you wish."

Jughead's chest pressed against her back as he thrust his hips, thighs slapping against her ass. He moved faster and faster, until Betty could no longer hide her moans in the pillow. Jughead was just as loud, attempting to hide his own voice in Betty's shoulder.

Betty's hands moved behind her to thread her fingers through Jughead's hair, holding his lips against her skin. He let one hand snake around her body until his fingers found her clit. Betty pulled hard on his hair when Jughead began to rub the sensitive nerves, bring her close to the edge.

"Hold on, Betts… just hold on."

"I can't." Her voice came out strained, her orgasm getting closer. Betty bit down on the pillow as Jughead chased his high.

She couldn't hold off any longer, and Betty came around Jughead's cock.  He was close behind, and fell with his full body weight on top of her when his orgasm finally rocked through him. As their orgasms completed their course through the two young lover's bodies, Betty pulled Jughead's lips to hers.

"I love you, Juggie." A soft breath escaped her lips when Jughead pulled out and curled up next to her.

"I love you more…"

"Debatable." Betty teased as she rolled onto her back. "Mm… I could use a shower."

"Mind if I join?" Jughead slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.

"Haven't had enough of me yet?" Betty reached up to push a strand of hair out of his eyes.

Jughead grinned. "Totally platonic shower… no funny business. Purely for the sake of conserving water."

Betty giggled at his explanation. "You don't have to lie, Juggie. You can just say you want to have sex in the shower."

"Well, now you're just making assumptions. Of course… you're not wrong, but I think I'd rather wait to do that when we're not sharing a shower with twenty other people."

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

"Betty, can we just leave without them?" Jughead was hanging off the top bunk, where they ended up sleeping after the sheets on the lower bunk were mussed from their activity the night before. "They didn't come home until five o'clock."

Betty was standing by the sink in their room, adjusting her ponytail in the mirror. Jughead new that she was just pretending to be getting ready because her hair had been perfectly pulled back for twenty minutes now. She swiped her lip gloss across her already pink lips for the third time.

"This was supposed to be a friends trip, Jug. After all the romance of Paris, we should all be hanging out together."

"It's not my fault they insist on staying up all night, every night."

"Well, what do you have in mind, then?" Betty sauntered over to the bed, where Jughead had his chin propped on his arm. She twirled her fingers through his hair and waited for his response.  He hadn't once mentioned what he wanted to see in Dublin. Betty had already made it clear that she wanted to see St. Stephen's Green, but on the condition that her friends… all of them, be there to see it with her.

"I have something in mind that I don't think the other's will miss too much." Jughead paused. He already knew she'd be thoroughly fascinated with what he was going to suggest. "Kilmainham Gaol."

"Something about the way you said that… makes me think you pronounced it wrong." Betty smirked.

"That's beside the point." Jughead rolled to the edge of the bed where he could climb down the ladder. "What matters is that it's the most famous prison in Dublin and number one on Trip Advisor's list of best things to do in Dublin."

"You know how I love a good list from Trip Advisor." Betty replied. Jughead snaked an arm around Betty's waist as he led them out of the room. "And prison's have always intrigued me."

"Why do you think I brought it up? It's terribly romantic."

The sun was just peeking through the clouds when they stepped onto the cobblestone street. Two hands intertwined as a cool breeze swept past, the tip of Betty's ponytail flying out behind them. The nearest bus stop was a short two blocks away, with their final destination only a fifteen minute ride.

As they approached the old prison, the sidewalk became increasingly more crowded. Betty tucked herself into Jughead's side as he pulled her along the route that he'd memorized that morning. A short lineup of tourists were in a queue outside the prison, but Betty and Jughead were able to move through the queue quickly and into the stone building.

"Eugh," Betty grumbled. She put a hand over her nose. "It smells rank in here."

"Ah, nothing like the sweet smell of death in the morning." Jughead teased.

"People died here?" Betty asked, while Jughead simply nodded. "That makes it so much more romantic."

"Betty Cooper, you are an easy woman to please."

Betty only shrugged as a response and intertwined her fingers with Jughead's as they moved deeper into the building. They approached a wide open space, a long room with a curve along the far wall. All around the perimeter, towering three floors above them, were wrought iron bars keeping the ghosts of former prisoners locked inside their cages.

At the very center of the room was a long staircase, leading to the top floor. Betty pried her hand away from Jughead's, and stepped lightly up the metal stairs. A metallic clang rang out beneath her feet, and without even turning, she knew Jughead had raised his camera. She began to turn when she heard…

Click.

Jughead winked when she turned and caught his eye. Betty waved him forward, begging him to join her at the completion of their tour. Eventually, after Betty had reached the end of the staircase, Jughead followed her.

"There's really not much to see here, huh?" Betty said when Jughead had rejoined her at her side.

"It's a prison, I suppose cells are all they have." He shrugged. "I am starving though. Can we get lunch?"

"I know you, Jug." Betty laughed, looping her arm in his. "'Can we get lunch?' usually means you need to eat in the next thirty minutes or death is imminent."

Jughead laughed and pressed a kiss to her head. Betty knew he meant it to be sweet, and it was, but he always managed to leave a wet spot when he kissed her head. She wiped the invisible mark away with the back of her hand, feigning disgust as they stepped back out onto the street.

Betty had been to one or two Irish Pubs in her time, but never to a genuine pub in the heart of Dublin. It was dark inside, with old electric sconces casting an eerie glow over the wooden booths.  Jughead sidled up to the bar and Betty leaned up against the sticky counter next to him.

"What classic Irish cuisine are we going for today?" Betty asked when Jughead pulled up a small menu.

"I say we start with drinks?" Jughead replied, eyeing the shelves of booze lined up against a mirror behind the bar.

"Okay, just this once… I'll have a Jameson and Coke." She said to the bartender.

Jughead raised an eyebrow at her with a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Never pegged you for a whiskey drinker."

"I'm not, but as they say, when in… Dublin."

"I'll have the same." Jughead said. "Why don't you go find us a seat? I'll order the food."

"Pick something delicious." Betty planted a big, wet kiss on his cheek before finding a dark corner booth.

Jughead found Betty with her shoes off and feet curled up beneath her. The forest green leather seats were cracked in spots, but  cushioned and comfortable nonetheless. He set one glass in front of her and took a swig of the brown drink in his own.

"Try it…" Jughead goaded, pushing the drink into Betty's hands. She lifted it to her nose and took a whiff. Just as she did so, her nose scrunched up in the most adorable way.

"This smells awful."

"Just a sip… come on." As a way of invitation, Jughead took another drink.

She pulled the drink to her lips so quickly, it was like she was afraid she'd change her mind. Her throat bobbed and lips puckered as she swallowed the drink. Tears sprang to her eyes and she violently shoved the glass toward Jughead.

"Mm, no. You drink it, I'll get something else."

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

Two hours later Betty held tight to Jughead's arm as they made their way to Dublin Castle. What had started as one Cosmopolitan turned into three and now it seemed that the cobblestones were moving like waves beneath her feet. Jughead was stone sober, having had only two drinks with his lunch.

They approached the castle from the river, the sun already beginning to set behind the castle. Jughead snatched a map while they waited at the ticket booth. He flipped through the pamphlet, pointing to areas on the map that he found particularly interesting. His hand slipped around her back and lingered at her waist as they moved to the upper yard, a courtyard surrounded by the walls of the castle.

"Be my muse?" Jughead asked. He positioned Betty under an arch leading further into the castle. "Now don't look right at the camera but just above me." Jughead crouched slightly. Click. "Perfect."

"You do love to take advantage of me." Betty teased.

"My angel, my muse, my love. The camera has eyes only for you, my dear."

Betty rolled her eyes at his profession, but her cheeks flamed up pink regardless. "I hate you… but I love  you."

"That's the test of true love, Betts."

Betty sidled up to his side again, pressing a kiss to his cheek before allowing his arm to circle her torso again. "So we passed the test?"

"We passed the test." He smiled and leaned in to fully kiss her lips before they finally stepped inside the castle.

Jughead reluctantly tucked his camera away as they entered a no photography area, but it seemed that the art within was much too precious for his camera anyway. No piece of art could quite compare to light that haloed Betty's body as the sun dipped below the horizon. She walked ahead of him, sinking to her knees in the grass outside the castle.

"So I guess Dublin is a wrap then?" Jughead said as he sat next to Betty.

"I think you're forgetting we have one more day."

"Do we have anything planned tomorrow?"

"I'm forcing everyone to go to  St. Stephen's Green tomorrow afternoon." Betty leaned into his embrace as they watched the sun dip lower. "But I think we need to plan to be hungover tomorrow morning."

"Why's that?"

"Well.. I may have told the others we'd go on a pub crawl with them tonight."

"Seriously?"

"Remember, this started as a friends trip and just became something… more. The least we can do is spend one fun night with our friends. It'll be fun Jughead, trust me."

"It would be more fun if we didn't have to share a room with those bozos."

"Just hold on, Jug. Remember, we get a private room once we get to Alnwick."

"Can't wait." He kissed her again. He never wanted to part from her. As she held tight to his waist while they waited for their bus, he hoped she would never let go.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next chapter will be very special to me because it takes place in two different cities that I have visited and loved. I will speak more about Alnwick and my time spent there when I post the next chapter.

[noretreatnancy]

Let’s Be Bartenders for Halloween

Writing Prompts for @stardustandseas

#7, #25, and #44

This is long as hell, but super fun (I managed to make it a little angsty, because of course I did)

Halloween at the bar was always an experience. Candy was behind the bar, wearing her usual jeans and and tight white tank, with the addition of a small piece of cardboard with “Sexy Bartender” written on it. She had only conceded to this amount of effort because Elena was at the other end of the bar, in full 50s regalia, the cutest little diner girl anyone had ever seen, though perhaps the skirt was a bit shorter than regulation, and Candy was sure those diner girls hadn’t left quite that many buttons undone.

Jim had walked in, taken one look at Elle, all lip gloss and bouncing ponytail, and sunk into a stool at the end of the bar. Candy wasn’t sure whether to tease him or thank him. It never hurt to have someone as fear inducing as Jim around, and it especially wouldn’t hurt on a Halloween night when shots were half off and Elle looked like a vintage pinup. But damn, could her fool cousin be any more obvious? For a man who claimed to be completely over the crush he’d nursed since junior year, his eyes sure did follow the girl as she moved behind the bar, slicing limes and polishing glasses and setting out cute little candy bowls.

By midnight, the place was packed, and Candy was really getting into the serving groove, taking orders and money and mixing drinks, all while bouncing on her toes to the playlist Elle had carefully put together, a mix of cheesy halloween classics and the shit that the college kids liked.

She watched Elle, who had begun grinning at the first costumed customer, and hadn’t stopped since. She had acquired several admirers over the course of the night, but it was clear that she was too hyped up on mini-snickers to care. Candy liked to think it was her elaborate performance of The Monster Mash that attracted them, but more likely it was the cheerleader way she bounced around behind the bar in that little costume.

Jim was careful not to stare at the guys doing their best to pick her up, on the off chance that she actually took an interest in one. Candy was proud of this, because she knew how easily he could frighten lesser men with that hard-eyed stare. It was a family trait, one that she herself used anytime someone in a frat tshirt tried to look down her tank or lean too close across the bar. She’d had to pull it out several times tonight, enough that Elle had noticed.

“You should just change your sign.” she said, loud, over the roar of the bar. “To what?” Candy shouted back. “Sexy LESBIAN Bartender, duh” Elle grinned, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly.

Not five minutes later, some guy had the nerve to say “Candy, huh? I’d like to unwrap you like a piece of candy” and wink, like he’d delivered the line of the year. She stopped serving, dragging one hand down her face while she contemplated her entire existence on earth. “Tell me, buddy, is it hard, having that bad a sense of direction?’ He looked drunkenly confused, and she rubbed her temple with exasperation before elaborating “Can’t even find your way to a decent pickup line. Tragic.” He’d stumbled off, and she caved.

“You got a pen, Sandra D?” Elle dug it out of her little apron pocket, giggling, “She doesn’t even wear anything like this.” Candy just rolled her eyes. She inserted “Lesbian” in sharp thick letters, all caps,  with an arrow pointing between the “Sexy” and “Bartender”, hoping Liza wouldn’t happen to walk in.

Liza walked in two seconds after she got the stupid string back around her neck, so that the sign hung down once more. She settled into a stool next to Jim, and gave Candy the smallest wave. She glanced at Elle, who was suddenly very absorbed in the Cosmo she was mixing. Goddamit. “Can I get you something, officer? Or are you on duty tonight?”

Liza gave the barest hint of a smile, one side of her full mouth pulling up slightly. Candy knew she was looking at the sign, Liza knew that Candy knew she was looking at the sign, but Candy refused to acknowledge it. “No ma’am, I’m not working tonight. Can I get a whiskey? Or is that not sexy enough for this particular bartender?”

Plenty sexy. Candy fought to keep her face still. She poured the drink, passed it to the off duty deputy, careful to maintain eye contact, not showing a hint of weakness, even if she was careful not to let their hands touch. Jim seemed to have stopped watching Elle for a moment, and was taking in the situation next to him with a smirk. Candy bared her teeth at him, but he just shook his head.

Suddenly, the bar was dead. Elle was covering pretty much every customer, leaving Candy without a single distraction or excuse not to talk to Liza. “SO, officer.” she said, disrespect through respect, using a formal title under informal circumstances, disdain and disregard - hot cop who? - “shouldn’t you be out on the streets, looking out for Michael Myers types or whatever it is small town cops do on Halloween?”

“Actually, I took the night off. Elle told me you guys were dressing up, so I thought I’d come by, judge the competition.” Liza twirled her whiskey between her palms, making sure that their gazes never broke. “I thought about doing some trick or treating. You know, I’ve always had a sweet tooth.”

Candy felt her skin flush, made the conscious effort not to bite her lip, to breathe. After just a second too long, she said “Well, lucky for you, our darling carhop has set out candy all over the place. You're welcome to have whatever you want.”

Liza leaned in, so slightly, and raised one eyebrow, asking in a much lower voice “Whatever I want?”

Candy knew she walked right into that, cursed the fact that fucking Eliza Marshal had her all flustered. Candace King did not get flustered. She was a stone cold fucking badass bitch, and weaker mortals cower in her presence, including hotshot deputies with great asses.

Before she could make her comeback, a flash of movement caught her eyes. Two stools down, a big guy in a “Jackass Gym Bro” costume had grabbed Elle by her wrist. Her wide smile was still on her face, as if frozen, despite the alarm in her eyes.

“Hey baby, let me buy you a drink.” He slurred slightly, not releasing her wrist despite the way she tugged, ignoring the obvious tension in the room, the three angry pairs of eyes on him. Candy kept one eye on the situation, and one on Jim, who had gone on alert like a bloodhound.

Elle too darted her eyes to where Jim was tensed to attack. So she had noticed his presence, the way he watched her all night. “You gonna buy me a drink… from myself?” she asked, incredulous, teasing, trying to lighten a moment that could easily devolve into mayhem.

He stared back, dumb son of a bitch, still holding onto  Elle. “Yeah baby, and maybe I can slip you an extra $10 to pop open a few more of those buttons.”

“Watch your fucking mouth!” Candy snarled, moving to Elle’s side. He jumped, but still didn’t let go, or look to concerned. Too stupid to live. He blatantly scanned Candy’s body with a sloppy little smirk. “Oh hey, sexy lesbo huh? Gonna let me see some girl-on-girl here? What do you say, Happy Days?” he jerked Elle farther across the bar, chuckling. She yelped as her hips slammed into the bar, twisting like a snake to get free. Chaos erupted.

Candy came over the bar, catching the collar of the guys shirt. He was drunk, unprepared to be jerked forward, and he hit the bar with enough force to give a satisfying crunch. He jerked back up, blood pouring down his face, just in time to face Jim.

Candy whirled. Elle had stumbled back into the bottles on the wall, hand over her mouth. The wrist was red, a bruise for tomorrow. Her wide, terrified eyes were on the brawl which had just broken out, Jim hauling the guy around to face him. He slammed his big fist into the side of the guys head, another into his stomach. Candy was filled with a sudden, sickening fear that Jim would beat this drunk asshole college kid to death, right here in the bar, right in front of Elle, who was too shocked to make a sound.

“Fuck! Liza-” she met the cop’s gaze, suddenly feeling helpless. What the fuck was she supposed to do here? She couldn’t let Jim pound this guy to meat, but she was unwilling to throw herself into the fray. The famous King temper was something Westlanders knew well, a force of nature that had to run its course, but they were not in fucking Westland and these college kids would not know the rules about no police involvement.

Liza must have seen all the desperation Candy poured into that look, because she shouted “If I die tonight, King, best believe I’ll be haunting your sweet ass for the rest of eternity!”, before moving towards the 6’9” tower of rage that was Jim after his best friend and practical sister were both harrased right in front of him. Christ, this kid had fucked with the wrong bartenders tonight.

Suddenly, a wave of something splashed over the bar, onto the two frenzied figures. Elle stood, holding an empty pitcher of beer, looking ready to tear someone's throat out. Jim went still, whipping his head around. It was almost cartoonish, the way his fist stopped mid swing, frat guy still dangling in the other.

“James King, you better put that creep down and take a breath, before you get arrested. Again.” Elle’s voice was strained, but it didn’t break. Jim hesitated, then dropped the guy into a pile at his feet. Beer dripped off of him.

“Who did this asshole come with?” A group of very reluctant guys stepped forward, looking ready to bolt. “You take him home, and when he comes to, let him know that if he even thinks about making trouble about this, I’ll have him thrown out of that school before you can say Sexual Misconduct.” They moved forward, hauling their battered friend to his feet and out the door faster that Candy had ever seen a group move.

The bar patrons stood in stunned silence. “Elle, baby, take breather okay?” Candy ordered, watching the sudden fierceness fade just as quickly from her friend, who now looked on the verge of tears. Elle nodded, but didn’t move. Candy followed her gaze to where Jim stood, covered in blood and beer, chest heaving, knuckles bloodied. He was staring at his feet, entire body tensed up, like he was made of stone. Liza stood to the side, clearly wary and ready to intervene, like she thought Jim might still be a danger. Candy knew better.

He slowly lifted his head, over the bar, to feet Elle’s gaze. He didn’t see anything, or betray any of his emotions, but Candy thought she could tell what he was thinking. What scared her more, that guy jerking her around, or Jim losing his temper right in front of her eyes? He was always so careful with Elle, gentle, had been that way since high school. SHe had seen him angry, had heard the stories of his quick brutal temper, but had never seen it, as far as Candy knew.

Elle didn’t speak. She reached out her hand, the one attached to the angry red wrist. Jim’s body relaxed, and he ever so carefully reached for her hand, taking it in his own much bigger one. It was simple, but seemed too intimate for a bar crodwded with people, all eyes on them.

“Jesus fuckin Christ, Jimmy, this is why you don’t ever have any shirts to wear.” Candy said, gesturing to the blood and beer staining his white tee. Liza snorted, and Jim gave her a small indulgent smile, dropping Elle’s hand. They both moved toward the door at the opposite end of the bar, one on either side of the bar.

People finally stopped watching, the low rumble of voices resuming. Liza picked up the asshole’s stool, which had toppled in the conflict. Without being asked, Candy poured her another whiskey, then leaned on her forearms in front of her. “So… gonna haunt my sweet ass, huh?”