#*benny voice* the game was rigged from the start

[kippipies]

And all I ever want

Is just a little love

I said in purrs under the palms

[thefalloutwiki]

Fallout Wiki: Featured Fanart (November 2023)

Every month at the Independent Fallout Wiki, we work with artists to feature Fallout fan art on our wiki's main page!

For the featured fanart for the month of November, we're pleased to present, “Truth is, the game was rigged from the start” by kindofblue28!

Please visit @kindofblue28's Twitter here to give them some support:

https://twitter.com/kindofblue28

And rest in peace to Matthew Perry, the voice of Benny. 💜

[wiihtigo]

27, 38, G, for wolfgang :J

WOLFGANG MENTION!!!!!!(shouting emoji)

oc ask game

27.  Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

ohhh just look at him. he doesnt even REGISTER the unpleasant truth. he lives in complete blissful ignorance at all times. he doesnt care when people lie to him and he also doesnt care when people to his face say they are going to fucking kill him blow him up explode him to pieces. hes really in his own little world most of the time...i guess subconsciously he prefers lies..? hm

38. What memory do they revisit the most often? 

when he first got shot, with a sparkly glittery filter over bennys face during his "blah blah game was rigged from the start" speech..it was love at first sight...

G. What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

Lol lol hes one of my ocs i most obsessed with cuz i think hes perfect flawless beautiful in every way...but i guess the obvious that if i was his friend irl id be like "why dont you settle down with that nice doctor :(....instead of that...other one.." (motherly voice)

[ofeventide]

┋ ❝ — &&. 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭. ❞ // a self para for event: 𝟎𝟎𝟑. tw. mentions of blood, death, & general angsty-ness.

⸻ She stands in dark depths of the colosseum, confined behind cold iron bars, a prisoner of her own fate. Dim light filters through narrow slits and casts shadows across her face, fear clinging to her features like a malevolent specter. Her heart, an erratic drumbeat of trepidation, resounds in her ears and drowns out the cheers and jeers of the boisterous crowd beyond. She was now a lamb led to slaughter, her fate would be decided in the sand of the arena, already soaked red from blood. Her fear wasn’t for her own life, it was not the looming specter of death that gripped her heart, but the terror of being seen. Elia had known darkness intimately, felt the savage hunger that lurked beneath her skin; she trembled at the prospect of losing control, of unleashing the horror she kept shackled within.

The silver ticket weighed heavily in her trembling hand, a grim reminder of what was to come. She had been nominated against her very will, set up like a pawn in a malicious game, rigged from the start.

For a moment, she drowns it all out. The cheerful murmurs and excited chatter from the crowd, the clinking glasses, the scent of anticipation…She drowns it all out and pictures herself in a place she could be happy. Different images paint themselves behind her eyes, she finds solace in the warmth of her imagination. In one, she's home with Benny, their favorite movie plays in the background, and laughter fills the air as Benny burns the cookies he'd promised to make. Then, like a gentle breeze, the image shifts and she's in the orchard with Viv. The sun caresses their faces as they sit on the porch, hands almost touching, sipping peach lemonade and sharing stories. There's a spark in his eyes that makes her heart skip a beat, the comfort of his presence wraps around her like a soft blanket.

The scenes blend and blur into a faded image of the three of them, all together. She sees Benny and Viv, fitting together in her life like pieces of a puzzle. In a fleeting moment, the weight of her circumstances and the fear gripping her heart fades away, replaced by a glimmer of hope for a different future.

As the bars before her begin to rise, her heart sinks and she’s snapped back into reality. The metal screeches, grating against her nerves, echoing the gnawing dread within her. The signal had been given, her time had come, and there was no turning back. Her gaze fixates on the darkened figure of her opponent waiting on the other side, a formidable spirit warrior, their power an insurmountable force against her own. Breathing comes out in shallow gasps, fingers clenching and unclenching as the weight of the spectators’ eyes bore down upon her, a sea of curious faces and eager anticipation.

The iron bars finally clear their path, revealing the arena beyond, and she steps out into the stained sand. The air becomes electric with tension, the metallic tang of anticipation mingling with the scent of sweat and fear. Trumpets sound, and the roar of the crowd envelopes her like a thunderous wave. Her senses heightened, acutely aware of every movement, every breath, as she began her dance with death.

A barrage of blows, a whirlwind of power, each exchange a testament to the relentless fight for survival. Her opponent was skilled, adept at evading her scrying attempts, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Her movements become desperate, attempts at evading her opponents attacks only grow more futile by the second. Each blow lands with an unforgiving force, sending shockwaves of pain throughout her body. She doesn’t want this fight, doesn’t want the violence to escalate. She calls out to her opponent, voice tinged with fear and sorrow. “Please, stop! I don’t want to hurt you,” her voice trembles and she takes another blow, “I don’t…I don’t want any of this, I’ll tap out, I’ll surrender-” Her words echo through the colosseum, the crowd falling silent for a moment, before erupting into jeers and demands for the fight to continue.

Her opponent’s eyes remain cold and unyielding, the glint of victory locked into their gaze. They show no sign of mercy or hesitation, pressing their advantage with a relentless force. Each strike breaks her down further, and she struggles to keep her composure. She's desperate not to fall victim to her dark instincts, to let the monster within take control. Her opponents blows land with brutal force, each impact reverberating through her body, threatening to break her like a fragile doll. She tries to fight back, her movements fierce and desperate, but it’s clear that she’s outmatched and the cruel destiny of the arena is closing in around her.

Every hit she takes, every cut, every bruise, every broken bone, only serves to fuel the bloodlust within her. She can feel the savage hunger rising, clawing at the edges of her consciousness, tempting her to embrace the darkness. Her vision blurs with each blow, and the taste of her own blood becomes a constant presence in her mouth, and the crowd roars a cacophony of cheers around her. She can feel the weight of their expectations, their thirst for blood and spectacle, and her vision goes red.

Her scream echoes through the colosseum, a guttural cry of pain and rage, completely different from any howl of pain she’d released during the fight. It was in that moment that the fury unleashed, and her transformation began. The nightmare bursts forth, her body contorting and shifting, growing into a monstrous creature, a reflection of her cursed blood.

In the span of a moment, it all unravels.

She loses all self-control, all semblance of who she once was, and her opponent's blood fills her senses. It's a heady and intoxicating scent that sends her into a frenzy, the tantalizing aroma pulling at the deepest recesses of her being, awakening the monster within.

She fights with a ferocity beyond comprehension, fueled by an insatiable hunger that burns in her throat. Each strike she delivers is a cry for release, for freedom from the torment that binds her. She tears into her opponent with wild abandon, her claws sinking deep into flesh and bone, blood splattering in every direction.

The colosseum falls into a stunned silence, the weight of what they've witnessed settling in like a suffocating fog.

And there she stands, drenched in crimson, her nightmare form unleashed upon the world. In that moment, she is a creature of the night, a monster born of desperation and pain. The woman she once was, now lost int he turmoil of her own bloodlust, her mind a blur of chaos and destruction. It's a transformation she never wanted, a fate she never asked for.

The crowd watches in horrified awe, their gasps and whispers barely audible to Elia against her own heartbeat. Once a girl, now a tragic figure, a vessel for the darkness that consumed her.

She stands there, no long as Elia, but a shattered soul with blood on her hands, the truth revealed to everyone in the audience.

[synergyliferp]

SynergyLifeRP is home away from home! Where you’re treated like family and not just another player. Our team of friendly staff takes the time to listen to our community, offering 24/7 support, adding new and exciting features to give everyone the best experience possible. We’ve listed a few things below of what we have to offer in our city. We hope you’ll fly in and check out the city and the amazing people that make this city a home!

⚡️Join the discord here: https://discord.gg/kPwEEey7kW

⚡️Join the city here: https://cfx.re/join/x94jgm

⚡️There’s so much to do in the city, here just a little bit about the city and all it has to offer. ⚡️

- 🗺️ Realistic Map

- 💎 QBcore

- 🇺🇸 American Based

- 💞 Friendly Staff & Community

- 🎮 Controller Friendly

- 📝 Whitelisted

- 💰 Starting Cash

- 🧐 Semi Serious RP

- 💵 Realistic Economy

- 🎙️ Speech Recognition

- 🚗 Cars,Bikes,Trucks,Boats,Planes

- 🏡 Custom MLO’s

- 🏢 Apartments

- 🌋 Custom Islands

- 💈 Custom Clothing & Accessories

- 💪 Body Modifications

- 🖋️ Tattoos

- 🐕 Pets

- 🦜 Shoulder Pets

- 🪩 Dance Emotes

- 🎼 DJ Decks Music

- 📱 Working TV’s, Phones, Radio, Video Streaming

- 🍔 Custom Foods and Drinks

- ✨ Custom Hub System

- 🎒 Custom Inventory

- 🚦 Custom RGB Lights

🌆 and more!

⚡️The city offers a wide range of fun activities and weekly events!⚡️

- 🏆 Custom Racing

- 💌 Weekly Events

- 🧩 Game Night

- 🎥 Movie Night

- 🍸 Nightclubs - Vanilla Unicorn & Bahama Mamas

- 💥 Demolition Derby

- 🔫 Battle Royale

- 🏎️ Go Karting

- 🚦 Several Custom Race Tracks

- 🤼‍♀️ Fight Club

- 🎰 Casino

- 🃏 Lucky Wheel, Roulette, Blackjack, Slots, Horse Race

- 🎯 Pool table, Darts, Golf, Tennis

- ⛳️Bumper Cars, Mini Golf

- 🎬 Movie Theater

- 🏎️ RC Motor Cars

- 🎡 Amusement Park

🌇 and more!

⚡️Criminal activities to do around the city!⚡️

- 🚗 Car Boosting

- 🛠️ Chop Shop

- 💎 Several Heists

- ⚱️ Custom Heists

- 💣 Illegal Missions

- 💰 Robberies for Shops & Banks

- ⚔️ Gangs Territories

- 💵 Blackmarket

- 🔫 Customized Weapons

- 🚬 Custom drugs

- ⚒️ Crafting

- 🏠 Gang Houses

- 🏚️ Trap Houses

- 💳 ATM Robbery

- 💥 Smash & Grab

🌇 and more!

⚡️Our city has rewards system like!⚡️

- 🎁 Monthly Giveaways

- 🎁 Battle Pass

- 🎁 Player Rewards

- 🎁 Daily rewards

⚡️We are a wide range of job opportunities listed below.⚡️

- 🚑 Medic - (Whitelisted) Training, Vehicles & Equipment and more Provided.

- 🚔 Police - (Whitelisted) Training, Vehicles & Equipment and more Provided.

- 🔧 Mechanic’s - Redline, Bennys, Tri-City Autos, Mirror Park Autos

- ⚖️ Judge/Lawyer

- 🚛 Several Trucking Jobs

- 🪚 Lumberjack

- 🛵 Delivery

- 🪓 Hunting

- ⚒️ Mining

- 🚚 Fueler Driver

- 🚜 Farmer

- 🔋 Department of Water and Power

- 🦺 Garbage

- 🤿 Salvage

- 🎣 Fishing

- 🚂 Train

- 🛢️ Oil Rig

- 🏦 Imported Businesses

🌆 and more!

⚡️Our city has player ran shops & businesses along various establishments for food, drinks and more.⚡️

- 🐱 Cat Cafe

- 🍟 BurgerShot

- 🍕 Pizza Place

- 🥪 Custom Subs

- 💎 IceBox

- 🍁 White Widow

- 🚂 Train Diner

- 🍁 Cookies

- ☕️ Bean Machine

- 🍻 Quinn’s Irish Pub

- 🍱 Koi Restaurant

- 📦 Post Op

- 🌮 Horny’s

- 🚗 MK Used Cars

🌇 and more!

[coolspacequips]

Wait I have more jontim feels ok, I recently read a post which was like "Jon knew he was in a horror story and Tim knew he was in a tragedy story", and here's the thing Jon could have survived any other horror n Tim could have survived any other tragedy, it's just they were in this particular horror tragedy where every decision good or bad was rigged to blow up on their faces

omg anon here we GO AGAIN--

I saw that post u were talking about and ohh man OP was right,,, like they were both genre-aware, Jon saw this scenario as a horror that could be outwitted, and Tim as a tragedy that was inescapable, but in his more optimistic days that they MIGHT have outlasted, but this specific combination of horror and tragedy was just inescapable for the two of them,,,, And it's such a shame, because more than anyone else, they were more concerned with looking out for *everyone* than they were for just themselves or their fav

They were both really smart guys, and I wish we could have known more about them when they were researchers together. I feel like they've thought their way out of plenty of situations, but the world of TMA feeds off of feelings and "dream-logic" and some foregone conclusions simply can't be outsmarted :')

Wanna know something else?

I think that if Tim had been around in s5, he would have agreed with Jon's ultimate decision, or at least agreed that foisting the choice off on another world was something they couldn't do. The two of them were genre-aware enough to see a bigger picture, I think.

It was far too easy, and too quick imo, that everyone talked themselves into letting the fears out... Tim would have been the voice to force an argument, and might have even heard Jon's final statement, thus having the final context that everyone else missed-- That this was all planned from the start :'))

[pilothusband]

Jealous

Rating: M (?)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, jealousy, kissin’, a lil butt touchin’

Word count: 842 (just a lil baby ficlet)

Description:  Decided to throw in my hat for this week’s Writer Wednesday organized by @autumnleaves1991-blog​. 🥰These prompts are so much fun!

Benny leaned over, closer than necessary, showing you his hand.

“What do you think I should do, fold or stay?”

“Um,” you had a hard time focusing on his words, too distracted by how close he was to your face, and the smell of beer on his breath. “Why are you asking me? I’ve been consistently losing all night.”

“It’s good luck to ask a pretty lady, obviously,” he smiled.

You saw Frankie shift out of the corner of your eye. Benny noticed too, smirking. He shifted his eyes back over to his friend wiggling his eyebrows.

Oh.

Frankie and you had a moment once several months ago. He had been walking you home from another poker night, since you lived down the street from Will’s house, where it was held every week. The both of you had quite a bit to drink, and there was a moment you swore he was going to kiss you. But he had faltered at the last moment and bid you a good night, leaving you on your doorstep.

You made the mistake weeks later to lament about it to Benny, swearing him to secrecy. He had been badgering you to do something about it ever since, but you were stubborn. If Frankie didn’t want to kiss you, then you weren’t going to force him into it.

“But he’s so into you, I can tell,” he had said. Benny wasn’t known for being the most observant though, and he was definitely the type to tell you what you want to hear, just to put a smile on your face.

Fast forward to today. It was a beautiful day outside, so Will moved the poker game out to his backyard and bought a nice summery beer to share with the group.

“Come on sweetheart, what do you think–old or stay?” He gave you an expectant look.

“Um, stay,” you said, not even sure if he had a good hand. You always suggested the group play Go Fish or Uno instead of poker, but no one took your suggestions seriously.

“I’ll stay, then,” Benny said, lifting his chin up. “Your turn, Pope.”

“Fold,” he muttered, throwing his hand down. He mumbled a string of words, the only ones you could understand were “cheating” and “rigged”.

“Fish?” Benny asked.

“I’ll fold as well,” he said flatly, throwing his hand down as well. He got up and walked into the house, presumably to get another beer.

“Looks like it’s just you an me, brother,” Benny smirked. Will rolled his eyes, already knowing he was going to win. You normally loved watching Benny get his ass whooped in poker, but you lost interest in the game as soon as Frankie shuffled off.

“I’m going to go get another beer,” you announced, getting up to follow Frankie inside.

You walked into the kitchen, expecting to find him by the fridge, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Frankie?” You called out.

You started walking into the living room, where you ran right into him, bumping your nose on his sternum.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he said, reaching out to hold you steady. “Didn’t expect you to be right there.”

“No worries,” you laughed. 

You heard Benny call out from the backyard.

“Babe, could you grab me a beer while you’re in there?”

You ground your teeth, wanting to throttle the younger Miller brother in that moment.

Frankie looked uncomfortable.

“So, you and Benny huh?” He asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“No–” you started, but were interrupted by Frankie’s lips on yours. You made a soft sound of surprise into his mouth. As soon as your brain caught up with the moment, your hands made their way up to his shoulders, squeezing them and feeling the muscles flex under your touch.

You weren’t sure if you were the one shaking or if it was him. You felt his tongue on the seam of your mouth and opened up, letting him in. He let out a groan in response as your tongues tangled together. His arms were currently wrapped around your waste, squeezing lightly, making you feel dizzy with desire.

One of his hands found its way down to your ass, kneading your flesh, causing you to let out an embarrassingly wanton moan. It was that moment when Frankie broke the kiss, his forehead meeting yours, breath coming out in ragged gasps.

“Fuckin’ finally,” you both heard a voice coming from the other side of the room, followed by a slow clap and a “Whoop!”

It was none other than Benny Fucking Miller, looking like the cat that got the cream.

“I’ve been trying to get you idiots together for months,” He looked exasperated. “Hey, Pope, you owe me 50 bucks!” He all but skipped outside.

Frankie sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I suppose I should thank the fucker for putting the fire under my ass,” he said, huffing a breath of laughter. 

You bit your lip and nodded, pulling him in for another kiss. You really did owe Benny for this.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov​ @sheresh0y

[stusbunker]

AGA: Word to the Wise

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Denny AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte, past Dean/Jo

Other characters: Sam, Bobby, Cas, Mick, Ash, Jo

Word Count: 3000 (whoa)

A/N: Sam gets on Dean’s nerves and Dean ends up taking a late night detour. Big talks ahead.

Special thanks to my beta @cracksinthewalls​ who puts up with my whiny ass. Also grateful for @there-must-be-a-lock​‘s insight.

The bowling league was in lean attendance due to a surprise snowstorm, but that didn’t keep Singers’ Slingers from mopping the floor with their competition. Dean ended on a spare in the last game, putting him just over his average for the night. State bowling wasn’t until spring, but if they kept up their momentum Dean was sure they could place well. And a weekend away would be a welcome break from his usual exhaustion. 

Dean still owed Mick a rematch from last year’s trip. Mick drank him under the table and Dean didn’t want to lose two years running, he had a reputation to uphold afterall. Bartending had cut into his training time, among other things.

Ash was the first one to bow out for the night, knowing his side towing business would be busy with vehicles in ditches for however long the storm lasted. Cas bummed a ride with Mick, since his car had never done well in this weather and he was still dragging his feet on upgrading. Dean knew he had been hinting at shopping around, but Dean wasn’t going to push the topic and get dragged into helping or finagling with the salesman for the guy. Cas could figure it out on his own, and Dean was finally in a place where he felt comfortable letting him. Huh.

Sam had been quiet all night, but Dean hadn’t mentioned it, attributing the sour mood to post-break up blues. They bought Bobby his weekly drink, “team dues” as he called it and settled in along the bar. 

Dean kept the conversation going, trying to keep the mood light, but Bobby was too tired to ham it up and Sam was not amused by his brother’s antics. Once Bobby polished off his last beer and headed home to Ellen, Dean was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, you know what, I’ll reel it in, don’t want to interrupt your sulking,” Dean muttered after another joke fell flat. Sam winced at Dean’s jab, which Dean instantly regretted. Though it did seem to shake Sam out of his funk, if minutely.

“So, tell me about Benny,” Sam brought up with elephantine grace.

Dean stared at Sam like he proclaimed he was quitting the law firm and joining the circus, coulrophobia and all. 

Sam huffed. “What?”

“Nice segue there, counselor,” Dean grumbled. “What about him? Hmm, you want a new bowling bag? Because that was already on my list for you for Christmas.”

“Dude, you don’t have to do that. I mean, that’d be great, but no, I was kind of wondering what your deal was? Like do you hang out a lot?” Sam started fishing.

“Yeah, totally, everynight,” Dean deadpanned. “I mean I only work two jobs when I’m not moving your sorry ass back into Mom and Dad’s.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam said, waiting to figure out where he was going with this line of questioning and just shot in the dark. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is this, like, a Cas thing?” Sam choked out, unable to put it any more delicately. 

Dean burned with shame as his hackles raised in defensiveness. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sam cocked his head and pursed his lips, unamused and unimpressed. “You know what I mean, man. Don’t make me spell it out.”

Dean wouldn’t budge, he dropped his beer with a thud. “Well, you’re gonna have to, because I have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dude!” Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“The fuck is your problem? You got something to say, just say it, Sam.” Dean fumed, daring him with a murderous glare. Sam inhaled pregnantly, face still inching towards bitch mode. Sam eyed the bartender who was trying not to listen and the late game bowlers who suddenly decided they could catch up lane side instead.

What Dean didn’t realize was that he needed Sam to say it. He yearned for it, for his truth to be spoken, and known without him having to say it himself.

“Look, I know this isn’t something we talk about. But, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Alright? In the beginning with Cas, it was like you were obsessed, man. And since he just always seemed to need something from you. I just want to make sure you’re not getting used, I guess,” Sam unraveled the heart of his concern without saying too much, which Dean was not expecting, at all.

Dumbfounded, Dean retreated, annoyance trumping any chance at relief. 

“I think I can handle myself, thanks,” Dean spat. Petulantly, he took a sip from his beer, the cold glass solid in his hand, giving him something to clutch or even throw, if it came down to it.

“I didn’t say---,” Sam broke off. “Fine! You know what? You’re on your own. Just remember that I should have listened to you about Ruby and now I’m paying the price for my own stubbornness.”

Sam stood and reached for his money clip, tossing an extra five on the bar for the dramatics. He gave Dean one last chance to come clean, to own up to what they weren’t saying. Dean stared straight ahead, eyes unfocusing on the liquor labels behind the bar as if Sam had already left. So he did, just as he came: pissed and questioning his brother’s motives.

    Dean didn’t go home after that. Instead he absently followed a plow down the main road until he happened upon a familiar turn off. Which he took slow and steady until it ended in a T. The little brick ranch at the end of the lane held a lot of memories. And it was more inviting than ever with its Christmas card perfection in the falling snow. Dean put the Impala in park and let the radio play, wishing he had a joint just for the sake of something to do. 

He wasn’t there ten minutes before his phone rang, which he answered without processing the caller ID.

“You gonna come in or you just gonna sit out there feeling sorry for yourself?” Jo’s voice sliced across the line.

“Didn’t know if you were still up,” Dean bullshitted.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. Backdoor’s open,” her unimpressed reply. She hung up before Dean could make up an excuse to leave. He slouched out of the car and trudged down the long country driveway. As soon as he had stomped the snow off his boots, Jo welcomed him in with a firm hug and an appraising glint in her eye.

“Thanks, it’s a real mess out there,” Dean explained.

Jo just shook her head at him. “How’d ya bowl?”

“619 series, finished strong in the last few frames,” Dean answered. “Were you at your folks?”

“Nah, just know it’s Wednesday night, which means the boys were at the alley,” Jo smirked as she reached atop her fridge for the good stuff. 

She held up the whiskey in offering and Dean nodded, bending out of his coat. He slipped it over the back of a chair and settled in at the vintage kitchen table. She poured him a glass and watched as he inhaled the first round like he had been outside for hours and needed to fight off a much deeper chill.

“Well alright,” Jo resigned herself to playing shrink and poured Dean another drink. “So, what’s got you stuck in your head, hm?”

Dean weighed his head from side to side as he let the whiskey roll over his tongue. He never got far into a pouting session when Jo was around, but he also didn’t know which chamber of his heart he could stand to prop open for her inspection tonight.

“How’ve you been, Jo? You still schooling those truckers on taking care of their own rigs?” Dean sidestepped with ease.

“You know it,” Jo confirmed. “Not a day goes by that I don’t have to put another asshole in his place. Pays good, though.”

Jo had followed in Bobby’s footsteps and became a mechanic, but two Singers were already one too many for the shop and salvage yard. So she took her skills out to the interstate and made a name for herself as the only female diesel technician in four counties. Dean used to hate it when she would fix something faster than him, but it had been more than a decade since her skills had made him feel inferior. Dean knew Jo’d be his boss someday, but he wasn’t too worried about those far off futures; Bobby wouldn’t retire unless Ellen made him or killed him first.

“How’s Rufus holding up?” Jo teased, knowing her dad’s old friend was getting worse for the wear, much like John had.

“Stubborn, and as glib as ever. Good thing your dad rehired him, because he’s a bit too mouthy for most customers,” Dean admitted.

    Jo hummed with nostalgia. “I gotta swing by and bug you guys sometime, but it just keeps getting busier.”

    Dean sighed. “I hear that. What’s it been? Labor day? No. I haven’t even seen you since the Fourth. Christ!”

“Yeah, well, you’ll see me next week for Thanksgiving, don’t get too sentimental about it now,” Jo quipped. She took a short sip off the bottle as Dean swirled the last of his second helping.

“I’m seeing someone,” Dean staggered the words, like he wasn’t sure if their meanings and sounds fit together.

Jo sighed dramatically, “Finally, the truth is revealed! What’s up? She’s not pregnant, is she?”

“No.” Dean had to bite back his guffaw. “Definitely not.”

“Okay, then why the sad face? Not pulling a Ruby on ya, I hope?” Jo tested the waters.

“No, it’s--uh--- it’s been good. Really good. I just, kind of need to make up my mind if I’m in it for the long haul. Ya know?” Dean clarified, relaxing with each little confession. 

“Uh-oh it’s getting serious,” Jo mock whispered.

Dean rolled his shoulders. “No, well, it could be. I don’t know.”

Jo giggled. “I can’t believe you! You’re fucking twitterpated, aren’t you?!”

“Jo, if you start making Thumper jokes, I’m shutting up right now,” Dean warned with a pointed finger. “Care to top me off while you’re at it?”

“Okay, okay, gosh.” Jo rolled her eyes dramatically as she poured him another drink before pointedly putting it back on the fridge. “But you’re in deep. You’re all blushy about it.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to go big. It just means they’re willing to put up with me until I say the word,” Dean tried to downplay his feelings and Benny’s confession.

“So do it! Bust out the grand gestures already,” Jo encouraged.

Dean scoffed, “I’m not built for commitment, you know that!”

“Except you kinda are! You’ve changed, Dean,” Jo insisted, head hung to pour her honesty from her eyes. “I don’t know when it happened, but you’re not that reckless boy that I knew. You’ve always been a good guy, but now?---- Maybe it’s been since Sam came home, I don’t know. But somewhere along the way you grew up.---- It’s okay to let yourself want something more, you know.”

Dean grumbled and rolled his neck, breaking the eye contact. She always could do this to him, just like her mother, see straight through his every defense. “I always thought it’d be you, you know?”

Jo smiled without teeth. “Firsts can do that to people. But, we’re not those kids anymore, Dean. So, if you’re asking for my permission or seeking my approval---?”

Dean dropped his head to his hands, thick fingers poorly hiding him from Jo. “It’s a guy, Jo. I’m--- I don’t know--- Bi? I guess?”

“Dean?” Jo waited until he stopped being sheepish and looked at her, even if it was only out of the corner of one eye. “You’ve been head over heels for Cas for years. If you dare tell me this is about him, so help me, I will throw you out right now.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh ruefully at that and toss back what was left of his whiskey. “You saw that, huh?”

She didn’t answer, waiting for him to work through it on his own.

“It’s not Cas.” Dean smacked his lips and held up his glass for a refill. Jo stood and brought the bottle back to the table. Dean poured himself three fingers worth and pondered the sloshing liquid before he continued. “Your mom know?”

Jo licked her lips, cocked her head, and sighed.

Dean closed his eyes and asked, “Bobby? Fuck!--- my mom?!”

“No one has ever said it out loud, Dean. I don’t know who knows, honestly. But we’re family, that doesn’t change.” Jo grasped his wrist firmly, he held her hand to his and then she slapped her other one on top. Time stopped long enough for Dean to accept that his secret was finally out, but also that it was safe.

“I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you, of all people.” Dean thumbed her knuckles, staring into eyes he knew as well as his own.

“Really? Who else would you be talking to about it? Sam? Ash, maybe?” Jo giggled. “I’m honored, actually. It means you stopped hating me.”

Dean pulled his hands away and took another drink. “I never hated you.” 

“Okay, well, maybe it means you stopped hating yourself,” Jo corrected.

Dean’s brows crooked incredulously.

“Too much?” Jo asked apologetically.

Dean shook his head and sighed. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

“Now you’re the one being rude,” Jo muttered before taking a solid drink off the bottle this time.

Dean let himself relax, let the whiskey and conversation work into his muscles and set his worries aside. They talked like the old days and about the old days. Those in between years after high school and before anyone was ready to face responsibility. When half their friends went to college, they had just kept on working. After another hour, Jo leaned back in her chair and started scrutinizing him once again.

“You know how I know you’re happy with what’s his name?” Jo teased.

“Beh--- I didn’t tell you, fuck! Benny, his name is Benny. Goddamnit Joanna Beth,” Dean cursed through a chuckle; more details dragged out of him than he had planned on.

Jo cocked her head and considered the name.“Benny, right. You wanna know how I know?” Jo pushed.

“Fine, how?” Dean held up his hand, beckoning for her to hit him with her response.

“Because this is about the time of night you start giving me the lazy once over. But not tonight,” Jo proclaimed, chin out condescendingly. She had him, every few years they’d find themselves back in each other’s beds, for a night or a weekend and then they’d move on. He always thought of her as his home, his starting point. But maybe they weren’t the same thing at all.

“You still look good, Jo,” Dean replied, trying to save face.

“That’s not what I meant, Dean. Besides, I know!” Jo snarked, straightening her spine and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Dean couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore and it spilled out over a toothy grin, making Jo almost choke on her drink. God, Dean felt like anything was possible. That life was good. 

After the hysterics had calmed down, Dean exhaled. “Thanks, Jo. I needed this.”

“You sure did, nobody else was gonna hand you your ass so kindly,” Jo agreed, standing and taking the bottle and Dean’s glass with her to the counter that held the sink. He whined comically, but knew her timing was right. She leaned back and smirked.

Dean grew quiet and Jo waited to see if it was exhaustion, the alcohol or something else. She didn’t have long to prepare.

“How’m I gonna tell my dad?” Dean asked, the pain and panic pulling at his face until she saw the telltale tears well up.

“Fuck ‘im. I mean it, if your dad can’t get his head out of his ass to see how happy you are, he isn’t worth your time,” Jo said adamantly.

Dean let his thoughts roll to the side of his head and licked his lips, biting against the tremor. He quickly wiped away the tears that escaped and inhaled wet and ragged. Jo slipped to his side and ran her hand through his hair, letting his face fall against her chest as he breathed through the onslaught. Dean couldn’t help but think how motherly the affection felt.

She pulled back to look him over at arms’ length. 

“So what now? You want the couch? Or should I call you a ride? I’m sure Sam owes you one,” Jo asked, as no nonsense as ever.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean dismissed her concern, rubbing up his face to wipe off his nose.

“Well, you ain't driving.” Jo held up his keys. Dean blanched, feeling his pockets for them, fruitlessly. He stood to snatch them, but she had already skipped across the kitchen, too far to catch. “Nuh-uh, no way I’m letting you risk your baby. Or your thick skull in this weather.”

 Dean put his hands on his hips, and blinked through the dizziness. He realized he hadn’t stood in a few hours. “Sam.”

“What’s that?” Jo prodded mischievously, ear leaning in as if she couldn’t hear him.

“Very funny. Call Sam, will ya?” Dean rolled his eyes as she scrolled through her contacts, murmuring the names under her breath. His keys were raised in victory, as if he couldn’t reach them above her head. He could have snagged them in an instant, if he wanted to.

 While Jo woke Sam, Dean checked his own phone. Ignoring some texts from his mom and Cas, he selected the conversation with Benny. There were no new messages since that morning. Dean hesitated before relocking his screen.

“Sam’ll be here in twenty. You want something to eat? I’ve got chips.” Jo offered, opening the cupboard.

Tagging: @flamencodiva​ @dolphincliffs​ @dontshootmespence​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​ @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja​ @defenderrosetyler​ @ericaprice2008  @crashdevlin​  @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary​ @itmighthavebeenintentional​​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6​ @cracksinthewalls​ @atc74​​

Series Masterlist

SPN Masterlist

Tell me what you thought?

Part 10: Spit it Out

[mjvnivsbrvtvs]

benny gecko voice: the game was rigged from the start

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you @mechanicalism for tagging me! I know I already did a last line thing for today, but I couldn’t resist lol

Here’s my overly dramatic version of confronting Benny @ The Tops (for the project Mi Sol Y Luna):

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

“You want a reason? How about…” he trailed off, looking around as if he had only just then realized his bodyguards had abandoned him. His eyes caught the flash of silver on Sol’s belt. “You’re clever, I’ll give you that. But let cooler heads prevail, hey? No need for violence.”

The courier’s humorless smile widened, baring teeth. He must have looked downright crazed because Benny’s cool facade slipped away for the briefest second, leaving nothing but panic.

“On your knees,” Sol demanded, unholstering his pistol.

“What?”

He didn’t repeat himself, pointing the gun at Benny and gesturing to the ground. After a moment of consideration, he acquiesced, lowering himself down with his hands raised. They both knew that by the time the chairman could get his own gun out or make a move, Sol could empty his clip. He felt the eyes of the gamblers behind them, silence filling the room.

“Listen, baby, you didn't come here for vengeance. You came to get clued in.” Benny was growing desperate, voice wavering ever so slightly. “What say you and me cash out, go somewheres more private-like? It doesn’t have to go like this.”

Sol laughed again. He wasn’t sure if Benny was right or not. Was this vengeance? If it was, it wasn’t for himself or the chip or even his lost memories. Perhaps it was for the courier he was convinced had died back in that cemetery. Or maybe it was less personal than that, just scratching an itch he’d had since Novac.

He wondered if he’d had the same fear in his eyes that Benny had now. The same knowledge that there wasn’t anything he could do to stop what was coming. Perverse as it was, the role reversal was deeply pleasing.

“You were right about one thing.” He cocked the gun and aimed it at Benny’s head. “The game was rigged from the start.”

Gonna tag @bigmoodquotes @detectiveidiotboy and @nuka-bolt as well as all who are interested! I love to see other people’s wips

[icannott]

Like That (Stanley Uris x Reader)

Requested: yes!! by anon “Hey!! if requests are still open, can I have one like that scene in new girl where they want Jess and Nick to kiss and then she’s like just do it and Nick’s like “Not like this!!!” <3″

Pairings: Stan Uris x Reader, Reddie (Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak)

Warnings: its a little longer than most of my stuff but its worth the read i promise

a/n: i literally loved writing this omg

gif cred belongs to @the-losers-clubs​

Seven minutes in heaven had been your idea. You and the rest of the losers had been trying for weeks to get Richie and Eddie to confess to each other before either of them exploded. You had tried everything: making plans and everyone but them cancelling last minute, “accidentally” locking them into a room together, and all but shoving them to each other at any given opportunity. But none of it was working. So you had suggested that lovely game.

“We rig it!” you grinned when Ben questioned you. “We make sure they draw the other’s object. Like we all know that Eddie would put in his inhaler, so we make all the other objects significantly smaller, because we know Richie’s ambitious and would go straight for the big prize!” They laughed and nodded along. “But to make it more believable as a totally random quirky idea of mine, we should also play a few rounds in total.”

“Throw them off the scent,” Mike nodded.

“Exactly, my boy!” you grinned. The determined look on your face was absolutely adorable to Stan.

Though Stan had a major crush on you, he prayed you two wouldn’t end up in the closet together. While it could be a dream come true, he had a plan. And that plan involved sweeping you off your feet, not being pressured to kiss in some dinky old closet.

At the hangout the next day, you tried to mention it as casually as you could. You kept the hang out lowkey, just some funny truth games, and when Richie finally piped up that he was bored, you tried to act as if the idea were brand new.

“Let’s spice it up!” Richie exclaimed. “Something fun!”

They all considered their different ideas, before you said, “Truth or dare? Actually, never mind. I think we’re all tired of truths...” They chuckled and agreed. 

“20 questions?” Ben piped.

“What did I just say?” You all laughed again. Then you grinned, “Oh, I got it! Seven minutes in heaven!”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Richie exclaimed, jumping to his feet. You giggled.

“Lemme go get a hat. Pick out your items, fellas.”

When you returned, everyone put in their pieces secretly, no one allowed to look at anyone’s. But you snuck a little peek, and nodded to the knowing losers after Eddie had plopped in his inhaler. They grinned.

“Alright, who first?” you hummed, shaking the hat in your hand, hearing rattling. They stayed silent. “Aw, come on guys.”

When Mike caught Eddie about to pipe up, he said, “Me! I’ll take this one for the team!” You all laughed at his enthusiasm as he jogged up. He made a show of shuffling his hand through, pulling out and raising high a walkman. “Oh, Benny boy...”

You all laughed and whooped teasingly as they entered the closet. You set your watch timer. “Don’t have too much fun, boys.”

You all chittered and laughed for the seven minutes they were in there, and occasionally you’d hear them bark with laughter or make some kind of suggestive noise or phrase. It was extremely entertaining.

“Alright lovebirds, it’s time to put the clothes back on,” you hummed, swinging the closet open. Mike pretended to be slipping his shirt back on. You all laughed as they walked out.

“Who’s next?” you hummed.

“Oh, I think Miss Idea Master should have some fun,” Beverly winked. You raised your eyebrows.

“You just want a piece of this, Marsh, don’t deny it,” you sighed dramatically, making them laugh and Richie whistle as you shuffled through the hat. You whipped out a necklace of the Star of David and Stan’s hand immediately went to where it usually resided in his pocket.

Richie whooped louder than the others. “Get it, Stan the Man!” He ambitiously nudged him toward you and the closet while you giggled. Stan immediately regretted all the choices he had made that night and before. Coming to the hang out, putting in his charm, and telling Richie about his feelings in the first place. He never more wanted to disappear from your presence.

“After you,” you hummed charmingly, opening the door to the closet. He chuckled, trying to mask his anxiety as he walked in. You tossed Bill your watch before you closed the door. “I trust you, Billy boy!”

“Wh-Why?” he asked, making them all burst into laughter. You swung the door shut without answering. You slid down the door and he slid down the wall next to you.

“How’s it going, Stan?” you asked casually.

“Good as ever,” he sighed and you giggled. He smiled, leaning his head back against the wall. “How are you?”

“My blood hasn’t felt this rush since Richie dared me to smoke that one time,” you laughed and he joined. “I just wanna see them, happy, ya know?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Richie’s a dickhead, but Eddie balances that out.”

“Exactly,” you grinned. 

You both kept chattering for a few minutes, and he thought to himself, Why was I so worried?

Then he heard Richie’s voice and remembered why.

“One minute, lovebirds!” You laughed as another series of whoops followed. “If you guys didn’t kiss, it wasn’t worth it!”

“What?” you laughed out.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Richie chanted, and Stan noted that Beverly and Mike joined. He added those names to his list. 

They kept their chanting up, and you pretended not to be incredibly flustered as you yelled out, “Shouldn’t that minute be up?” Your voice warbled as you talked, but Stan barely noticed in his annoyance.

“We’re not letting you out until you kiss!” 

Stan never more wanted to punch wall. 

You turned your head to him. “Get it over with?” He shook his head immediately. You raised your eyebrows at him. “Gee.”

“No, no, no,” he added quickly. “It’s not that- You don’t- I just, uh, I-”

“What?” you cut in as his mind raced.

“Not like this,” he blurted. And though there was still chattering outside of the closet, the silence in there was prominent. And then the door swung open and you fell on your back with an ‘oof’.

Eddie was standing in the doorway over you. “We figured you’d suffered enough.”

Stan stood up and offered you a hand. You took it and allowed him to pull you up, muttering a quick ‘thanks’ before putting a grin back onto your face and grabbing the hat.

“Okay,” you hummed, back to your cheery hosting self, though your cheeks were tinted an incredible pink. “Who’s next?”

.

Eddie and Richie spent nine minutes in the closet. Neither of them complained about the overtime, and they both came out blushing. But for once, you didn’t pay attention to the results. Everyone else was nonchalant and teasing as ever about it, waiting to see what would develop in coming days.

You wished everyone good bye and good night when the hang out was over, as your house was in a separate direction from everyone else’s. Except for one.

“Can I walk you home?” 

And there was the man on your mind. You nodded. You both walked in a mostly comfortable silence until he made some joke about Eddie and Richie, which sparked you back into your previous mood. If he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, why should you?

When you finally got to your house, he walked you to the front door, finishing, “All I’m saying is I think we should keep a watch on the janitor’s closet on Monday.”

You laughed. “You think we started a closet fetish?”

He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Your words, not mine.” You laughed and he grinned. You unlocked the door.

“Night, Stan,” you smiled.

“Night, [name],” he sighed, stepping off the small porch. Then before you could open the door, he stepped back up, turning you to him and connected your lips with his. One of his hands went in your hair, the other on your waist as he messily poured all of his fluster from that night into that deep kiss. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders quickly, standing on your tip-toes for better leverage as you relieved yourself with that kiss, pouring out what you had hid from him in that closet. 

Though it was hasty and inexperienced, the kiss was deep and meaningful, and he only pulled away a minute later when he ran out of breath. And even after that, he went back in for a shorter one, sliding the hand in your hair down to your waist. When you were finally apart, you rested your forehead against his, eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath. You only opened them again when he spoke to you.

“I meant like that.”

[direnightshade]

The Crusade / Chpt. 3

For you, it’s a crusade. For me, it’s a job. Isn’t that what Flip had told Ron nearly a year ago? And now, here he is, his entire world turned on it’s head, smack dab in the middle of a crusade of his own.

A post-BlackKklansman fic in which Flip’s next major assignment is to infiltrate and uncover the inner workings of mob crime that’s moved into the Colorado Springs Area. He’d been ready for the drugs and the danger. What he hadn’t been ready for was you. This can also be found on AO3.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Mention of drug use Template credit: cashwmere

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A long, drawn out whistle reverberates throughout the room, the sound grabbing the attention of the others as they stop what they’re doing to turn a curious glance in the direction of the door as it swings open.

“Alright, alright.” Flip’s motioning with his hands for the sound to be lowered—or preferably, dropped altogether.

“Christ almighty, look at him, boys. Looks like Colorado Springs does clean up nice.” Rob smirks, cigarette in hand, the smoke rising upward towards the drop-down ceiling while he takes a step forward towards where Flip’s standing near the door to the conference room.

Michael swivels in his chair, eyes assessing the new getup. “Shiiiiit. Looks like you went ‘n’ stepped right outta ‘The Godfather’.”

Flip can’t help but snort at that, eyes rolling as he surges forward, stepping around Rob to take a seat at the table. Gone are the heavy steps of the cowboy boots on his feet. They’ve since been replaced by a slick pair of polished black wingtip shoes. His typical flannel and jeans have been swapped with the best suit that he owns, black to match, of course, even going so far as to pair it with a black undershirt. Unbuttoning the suit jacket when he reaches an empty seat, Flip lowers himself down to take a seat, eyes focused on Rob as he begins to lay out the plan.

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

“So, you’ve got an ‘in’,” says Flip, his eyes casting a glance over to the driver seat where Rob sits, hands gripping the wheel of the Mercedes. Rob nods, and Flip does the same only slower. “With Clyde.” Again, Rob is nodding, and so is Flip, who purses his lips, eyes looking back out towards the road ahead of them. “And just how long have you been working on this particular undercover case?”

The steady hum of the spinning tires that carries them over the pavement fills the space between them until Rob responds. “Nearly a year now.”

Flip nods yet again, a soft hum of acknowledgement sounding as his eyes look back out at the road ahead of them. Denver is an hour behind them now, and Colorado Springs only another thirty minutes out, but that isn’t where they’re headed today. No, today their destination is the unassuming Italian restaurant in Pueblo known as Gaetano’s. Flip’s gaze shifts to the time displayed on his wristwatch. 3:30 PM. They’ve still got another hour, give or take, until they reach Pueblo.

“There’s one thing I didn’t mention to you during the debriefing,” Rob says, capturing Flip’s attention.

With a raised brow, he turns his head to look back over to Rob while his arm lowers back down into his lap. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

Rob sniffs, nose twitching in the process, and he looks over to Flip for just a moment before returning his attention back out at the road. “Word is, Clyde’s kid is going to handle the Colorado Springs business.”

Flip remains silent following the statement, like he’s waiting for there to be more to the remark, but when Rob says no more, he follows it up with “And?”

“And,” starts Rob, “she’s a real piece of work. Got a mouth on her, that one. ‘Course you can’t say shit back to her. Not with Clyde bein’ her dad and all.”

“She?” Flip’s gaze is once again drawn over to Rob, waiting expectantly for confirmation, even though he’d heard him perfectly the first time.

Rob nods emphatically. “She.”

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

To most of the people in Pueblo, Gaetano’s is an unassuming family restaurant, the brick building and sign posted atop the entrance both unassuming in their own rights. Even the inside, Flip thinks to himself when he follows Rob past the threshold of the door, is every bit as unassuming. Deep, maroon booths line the back wall complete with a large mural of the family, while tables line the remainder of the open space. Flip notices that there are a few men seated at the bar, and at only a quick glance, he knows good and well that these men are associated with the family; knows that they’re packin’ beneath those jackets o’ theirs.

“This way,” says Rob, leading Flip past the tables as they make their way further into the restaurant. The swinging door that separates the kitchen from the dining area swings open, and the men pass through, Rob giving the woman cooking the food a tip of an imaginary hat. She’s a pleasant enough woman, Flip decides upon first glance, rounded cheeks and large smile accompanying short, curled hair and equally short stature; then again, he knows that in places such as these, not everyone is as they seem.

“Pat, darling,” she calls out to him, utilizing his alias as she waves at him with wooden spoon still in hand.

Rob smiles at her, all teeth, when he lowers his hand. “Ma, good to see you.”

“Who’s your handsome friend,” she asks, eyeing up Flip with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Rob turns to look at Flip, and then back to the woman — the matriarch, he realizes . “This here’s — ”

“Vincent, ma’am,” Flip says, giving the woman a gentle tip of his head and a charming smile. “But, my friends all call me Vince.”

“Oh,” she says, a giddy tone accompanying her response. “That one there’s a looker, Pat. Best keep an eye on him or else I might snatch him up all for myself.” She laughs heartily at that, the sound raspy, a smoker’s cough following the action. Flip chuckles and Rob nods, assuring her that he’ll do just that, the two saying their goodbyes to the woman before they carry on with their walk through the kitchen towards yet another door.

The room they enter is small, smaller than any of the previous ones they’d been in; brick walls are bare, save for the few sconces that are lit up to illuminate the room, and at the center of the room is a table where five men are standing. But this, Flip recognizes, is no ordinary table.

“Craps,” says one of the men at the table, his attention now directed at Flip and Rob as the door shuts closed behind them. “Come. Join us.” The man motions for the two of them to join him at the table, and doing as they’re instructed, the pair stride across the small room and stand at the vacant spaces at the table.

It’d only taken one look, but Flip recognizes the man as Clyde, the patriarch. “Pat,” says the man, eyes darting between him and Flip, “introduce me to your friend here.”

“This here’s Vince.” Rob thrusts a thumb in Flip’s direction and Clyde nods, eyes appraising him simultaneously.

“Vince,” Clyde says, mulling over the name. “You don’t mind if I call you Vinnie, do you?”

Flip rolls his shoulders into a shrug, head shaking only briefly. “No. Vinnie’s fine.” Not that he thinks he has a choice in the matter, not really.

“Good. Good.” Again, Clyde’s nodding, his attention shifting back to the game in front of him. “You know how to play Craps, Vinnie?”

“I know enough. Can’t say as I brought enough for a buy-in, though,” he jokes half-heartedly. Clyde, however, takes it in stride, laughing at the remark.

“‘Course not.” Clyde places some of his chips on the pass line before handing off other chips to the dealer to place them in the appropriate spaces when Clyde calls his bets. “Not for ten grand a buy-in,” he remarks.

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

Flip’s spent the majority of his time stoic as ever, his gaze fixated on the table as roll after roll of the dice make their way across the felt.  The longer the games go on, the more he finds himself bristling with the realization that the man at the opposite end of the table is rigging the game for his own favor. It’s a quick slight of hand, and had Flip not been paying as close attention as he had been, he would have missed it much like the others have thus far.

The sudden tensing of his body, shoulders squaring subconsciously tips off Clyde that there’s an issue. The patriarch swings his eyes over to where Flip is standing, jaw working before he speaks up. “Somethin’ the matter, Vince?”

Flip’s gaze flickers to the man who’s doing a damn good job of keeping his poker face strong, their gazes holding for a long moment before he sweeps his attention to Clyde. “The dice are loaded,” he says matter-of-factly.

“That true, Benny,” asks Clyde without so much as throwing a glance over his shoulder.

Flip can see now the way the façade breaks, and Benny’s expression morphs from indifference to anger. Anger that is directed at Flip. “You really going to let some newby in here, talkin’ all this shit about how I’m some loaded dice throwin’ cheat when you’ve known him all of five minutes?”

“I don’t know,” says a new voice that emanates from near the door. “He looks pretty trustworthy to me.”

Everyone’s head swings back, Flip’s included, to catch a look at the individual who’s entered the room; to get a look at you .

Clyde huffs a breath much like a dry laugh when he turns to see you, and Flip’s eyes rake along the outfit that you’re wearing. Unlike most other women in the business, you’ve chosen to wear a suit, the inky black material broken up by the white pin-striping that lines both the pants and the jacket. He wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when it came to you, but this is not it.

“Well,” you say, breaking Flip’s reverie. “Are you trustworthy?”

He watches as you take step after step towards him, the others fading away into the background as you approach. Flip nods once in affirmation, and you smile at him when your steps finally come to a halt mere feet from him.

“Good. In that case, why don’t you take that cheating rat out back and show him why we don’t let his kind get away with that behavior.” It isn’t a request, it’s a demand, one that Flip hears loud and clear. But his gaze still slides over to Clyde for good measure, but when he finds nothing in response except an expectant stare, he knows that he has no choice but to abide or risk blowing his cover already.

Benny objects, of course, and loudly so when Flip snatches him up by the collar. “No! No, no, no! You’ve got me all wrong! I didn’t do shit!” But his cries fall on deaf ears, and not a single person steps forward to help him. No matter how hard he twists and turns, Benny’s unable to get himself free of Flip’s vice-like grip as he’s dragged out of the room and out into the alleyway.

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

It’s a flurry of fists, blood, and even loose teeth by the time that Flip is done with Benny, and he leaves the man slumped over in the alleyway. He flexes his fingers, bloodied knuckles aching with the blows delivered to the cheat as his other hand reaches for the back door, pulling it open to step back into the room with the others. “It’s done,” he says, pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his stinging hand.

Flip’s eyes find yours almost immediately, and you nod in acknowledgement, a smirk curling your lips up as you speak. “Well, well. Looks like you were right, Pat,” she says to Rob, her eyes still on Flip whilst she speaks. “He’ll make a mighty fine addition to the Colorado Springs operation.”

There’s a sense of unease that settles deep within Flip’s gut upon hearing your words, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’s in way over his head with this one.

“Come,” you tell him with a nod of your head toward the door. “Let’s you and I discuss what I have in mind for you going forward.”

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Tagging my fellow Flip loving friends!

@gurl-ly​, @klauscarolove​, @morby​, @candycanes19​, @thatgirl1782, @ellelaconiwrites​, @duty-isnt-always-honour​, @lemonypink​, @mind-p0llution​

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, give me a shout!

[evesbeve]

Oh, Sinnerman (Happy TUA Anniversary!)

I cannot believe it’s been an entire year since The Umbrella Academy came out. This show changed my life in more ways than I can possibly say. But, I did write this fanfic—I hope you enjoy!

(Big thanks to @dyll-pickless and @casualsweatercollector for betaing this!)

___

Title: Oh, Sinnerman

Summary: The Hargreeves have always been competitive, and game night is no exception. And on the final round? Everything goes wrong.

(Read on AO3 + FFN)

___

Out of all the things that went down in the Hargreeves household, game night was the most intense one.

Intense was an understatement. Vanya had seen her siblings compete for all sorts of things when they were growing up—their father’s approval, for example—yet nothing came remotely close to how competitive they got when playing board games.

And well. Vanya included herself in that.

So when they all gathered around the living room on Sunday night, waiting for Luther to finally finish dealing the cards, Vanya knew she was going to win.

“We’ll take turns based on our Numbers,” Luther said, and Diego groaned. “What?”

“I thought we went by who has the most points now?” Diego said, pointing at the white board next to the fireplace. The words Game Night were written on top with colorful markers—Klaus insisted they make it fancy—and underneath were their names. Unlike how they were used to, the numbers next to them represented, not their team, but the points from their previous sessions.

Currently Five was first, followed by Allison, then Klaus, Luther, Vanya and lastly, Diego. Ben was usually the card dealer, since Klaus couldn’t manifest him for all sessions, this night included.

It was a different board game every night—last week’s Battleship didn’t end that well—and after three months’ worth of games, they were finally ending it with Uno.

The winner would not only go on holiday for the upcoming weekend, but also have the loser do their chores for an entire week.

Vanya needed that holiday.

“Last week we said we’d go by Numbers for the last session,” Luther explained.

“But someone was too busy running off because they lost again—”

“For the last time, Klaus, you moved your ship before I sank it and we both know it!”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Allison interrupted. “It’s important to stay focused during this,” she said. “Can’t have us losing before we’ve even started, can we?”

Five shook his head and sighed. Vanya shot him an encouraging smile, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

“My turn then,” Luther said and placed a card from the stock in the middle of the table, facing up. Blue Six. He took a look at his own cards before finally settling on another blue card. “Diego.”

“Yes, yes, I know it’s my turn!”

They kept going like this for a while. It was the first time Vanya was grateful for their Numbers, because for once, none of them got confused about whose turn it was. They never sat with a particular order around the table, so every week they had to check the leaderboard.

Tonight, Vanya was sitting on the chair in front of the fireplace. Klaus and Allison were sitting on the couch to her right—Allison and her always sat close to each other, to comment on the game—and Diego was sitting to the chair to her left. Luther was sitting on the other couch, at the fireplace’s side, and Five was sitting on the floor, at the other corner of the table.

Thing was, Vanya didn’t just suddenly decide not to sit next to Allison on the couch.

For one, yes, she needed to focus, and making fun of the others certainly didn’t help. But also, and maybe it was just a little unfair, she’d noticed the way Diego tilted his cards slightly to the right when waiting for his turn, and Vanya needed all the help she could get. Even if Diego saw, no one would ever find out anyway; Diego accused literally everyone of cheating.

They were five rounds in, and Diego’s hand currently consisted of three blue cards, three red ones—one of which was a Draw Two card—a yellow one, and a Wild Card.

Meanwhile, Vanya only had four cards left. And from the looks of it, she was going to get rid of at least two of them on her next turn.

It was all going well, until Five reached out for the discard pile. They were starting to run out of yellow cards, so it didn’t surprise Vanya. “Pass—”

“BLUFFSHIT!”

They all jumped as they turned to Klaus’ direction. He’d slammed his cards on the table, getting up and pointing towards Five’s direction, who slowly drew his hand away from the pile. “What?”

“I call bluff!” Klaus repeated. “You’re bluffing!”

Now, that was interesting.

Five tilted his head. “Sorry?”

“I know you have that Draw Four card, young man,” Klaus continued. “You’re just waiting for the order to change again so you can use it on me!”

“This is ridiculous, Klaus.” Five stood up, holding his hands so tight he had most certainly crumpled them. “I do not have a Draw Four card.”

“Ben saw it! You’re bluffing!”

“Wait, Ben is helping you?”

Vanya could pinpoint the exact second Klaus’ soul left his body.

He slowly turned towards Diego’s direction, chuckling nervously. “Maybe he gave me an oh-so-little hand…?”

“Dude!”

“I’m sorry!” Klaus whined. “I needed that holiday and I was not going to let you—”

“No, shut up, I expected that from you,” Diego interrupted him, and frantically looked around the room, presumably trying to spot Ben. “But Ben? I thought you wanted to play fair!”

With a sigh, Klaus put his hands together, and Ben’s figure slowly faded into the room. “Maybe I would have if you guys had actually included me—!”

“You literally asked us not to!”

“Sometimes people don’t say what they mean, Diego,” Klaus said. “Otherwise bluffs wouldn’t be a thing, Five.”

“Bluffing isn’t cheating,” Five mumbled.

“H-He’s right,” Vanya said. “But we agreed that whoever bluffs has to draw six.”

Silence fell upon the room for a while, as everyone considered Vanya’s words. She found herself tapping her fingers on her knee, waiting for the tension to die out.

“I’m okay with that,” Diego said after a while, to which Allison sighed in relief. “But Klaus is out and that’s not up for discussion—”

“How could Five possibly have a Draw Four card?”

Luther looked really skeptical as he said his question out loud, his eyes pinned on the floor, before finally looking up at them all.

“What are you talking about, Luther?” Five’s words were so sharp they might as well have been daggers. “You gave it to me at the begining of the game, when you offered up to be the dealer. Remember?”

“Yes but…” Luther turned his hands around. “I have all the Draw Four cards.”

And then hell broke loose once more.

“What?!” Allison practically yelled.

“Fine!” Five said, pulling up his sleeve and revealing not one, but ten Draw Four cards hiding under it. “Maybe I was swapping out my cards! You idiots were going to lose anyway, it makes no difference.”

“That explains the empty Uno boxes in his room…” Ben said to Klaus.

“Diego, I thought you said you had a Draw Four!” Allison said.

“He just has a plain Wild Card,” Vanya corrected her. It was then that she finished processing her sister’s words. “Wait, how would you know Diego’s cards?”

“Because we’ve been working together!” Allison admitted, and Diego groaned. “How would you know his cards?”

Well. Too late to back out now. “It’s not my fault he keeps shoving his hand in my face.”

“Is no one going to talk about the fact that Luther had all four of the best cards in the game?” Diego asked. “Just me? Because let me just put it out there that our dealer had four freaking Draw Four Cards!”

“Not even my dealer had all of that.”

“Shut up, Klaus!”

“Fine!” Luther said, placing his hand down too. “Perhaps… I rigged the deck.”

“Perhaps?!”

“Okay, fine, I rigged it!”

“I cannot believe you and Five just kept them for yourselves—”

“Klaus literally had Ben snooping around the entire room!”

“Allison and Diego worked together?! Don’t they hate each other or something?”

“Maybe I didn’t want to be Five’s stupid servant for an entire week—”

“Well I wanted vacation!”

“So did I!”

“Me too!”

“We all wanted vacation!”

“Well because of you and your stupid card-hiding skills, neither of us is going anywhere—”

“Oh cry me a rumor—”

“OH MY GOD, JUST SHUT UP!”

The room fell into silence as Ben’s voice overpowered all the others. Vanya didn’t know how to feel about Ben’s newfound courage—it was certainly a good thing, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been startled. They spent a few good seconds just looking at one another.

Vanya’s eyes travelled from sibling to sibling. They all looked so frustrated—she probably did too.

“Well?” Luther broke the silence, gesturing at Ben to continue.

“Oh, you were expecting me to say something.” Ben put his hands in his pocket. “Well… I guess you could…” He shot Klaus a look, probably to ask for help, but he didn’t say anything. He locked gazes with Vanya for a second too. He locked gazes with everyone.

He never used to look at them in the eyes.

“Sorry, I got nothing,” he said, gulping at the end, and sat down on the couch.

“What Benny here is trying to say,” Klaus began, “is that we can all learn something from this.”

Ben shrugged. “Sure?”

“See!” Klaus said. “We can’t let this all be for nothing.” He stood up, stepping on the table. “Yes, we may all be snakes. But if Buzzfeed quizzes account for anything—”

“They don’t.”

“—then not all Slytherins are bad!” Klaus continued, ignoring Diego’s comment. “Sure, we may have our differences… Some are more stubborn than others.” He pointed at Five and Luther.  “Some are more quiet.” He pointed at Vanya and Ben. He then pointed at himself. “And some deserve to go on vacation to the sweet city of Paris—”

“Oh get out of here with that shit,” Diego interrupted and grumbled, followed by literally everyone else in the room. Klaus pouted, but got off the table, and Ben patted his head.

“Let’s just call the final round off for today and have a rematch next week,” Allison suggested.

“I’m okay with that,” Vanya said, and slowly everyone else agreed.

“Next week it is, then,” Luther said.

“And I’ll be the dealer—”

“Ben, no offense,” Vanya interrupted him, “but literally no one here can trust you right now.”

Ben opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. He shrugged instead. “Fair enough.”

In exactly six days and twenty-two hours, the Hargreeves would, once again, gather around the living room for their final round of game night. Little did they know, it was not going to be their last…

But for now, oh for now, all Vanya wanted was a nap.

[bearcina]

Fallout OC Seven Day SPECIAL: Luck

Welcome to the seventh, and final day. Today I’ll be giving a long fic, and some good Q&A

Gonna miss Elisavet and her shenanigains? Here’s the fic. 

All entries in the series will be posted to the fic as soon as this goes up.

Q&A

What is your OC’s unmodified Luck stat? Another perfect 10. She’s born of four-leaf clovers, upright horseshoes, and good fortune. 

How fortunate (or not) overall is your OC? Very, very fortunate. She’s never lost her life savings, she stumbles upon what she needs when she needs it, she never really loses prized possessions, and she’s very fortunate at the gambling tables. 

Do they seem to stumble upon necessary supplies easily, or do they never seem to find what they need? She can always find what she needs and usually right when she needs it. Need a few more caps? That filing cabinet conveniently has just enough to fill her pockets to get it. About out of ammo? Well, looks like there’s a convenient ammo stash right there. Need some chems and liquor? Looks like that desk has some hidden away in the drawers. 

Have they survived an injury that, had it been someone else, would have been fatal? She’s survived countless deathclaw maulings, and ov fourse, she managed to get back up after Benny tried to execute her and leave her in a shallow grave. 

Do good things or bad things happen more around them? She definitely brings good luck eveywhere, plants tend to produce more, battle spoils are plenty, and her companions have even noticed how much better their luck is- whether it be having an extra pair of socks or a whole new stimpack when they need it. 

--

Ficlet 

Elisavet's eyes were wider than a full moon. Her hands were bound, a filthy cloth had been shoved in her mouth, and she was kneeling at the foot of what was about to be her grave. Sylvia was going to kill her. The man in the checkered suit stubbed out a lit cigarette. The weight of a once-familiar platinum chip was gone- her chest was heavy in its place. Sylvia, her bright red hear flashed in her memory, her heavenly laugh rang in her ears. She almost couldn't hear what the men were saying. This really was going to be it, wasn't it? She committed the scene to memory. The man in the checkered suit, the impatient men with shovels, and the glint of the top of the platinum chip. Sylvia's quilt was visible just out of the corner of her eye, and she started to cry. Shit, she was done for. She knew she shouldn't have taken the job. Sylvia had said she had an awful feeling about it. No, Elisavet needed to bring home those caps- she thought it would have been better than this. They almost had enough for their own brahmin to go with their shack they had built. A shuddering sob raked through her body, she looked the man in the eyes, pleading to just let her go- she wanted to go home and see Sylvia. She'd stop doing courier work just to go home and see her partner again. She would give up anything to just see the red hair of her wife once more. It had been a whole month since she had seen Sylvia in person, now she never will see her again.

"Maybe Khans kill somebody without looking them in the face-" Oh no. This really was the end of the line. "-but I ain't a Fink, dig?" Silence was heavy. She was paying attention, but she could only let the tears run hot down her face. "You've made your last delivery, kid." The man seemed to scowl for half a second, as if he had an ounce of regret. "Sorry you got twisted up in this scene," A shiny silver gun was drawn from his jacket. It was the end of the line. She wasn't ready- she still had a ring to give to Sylvia. The light caught on the shiny gun as it was aimed at her head. She stared up at the checkered coat, then to the eyes of the man, envying the well tailored suit for only a second. She was filled with sorrow, fear, rage. "From where you're kneeling, it must look like an eighteen-karat run of bad luck." The finality in his voice shook her to the core. She had never had bad luck like this before, never in her worst moments. There was no escape, she stared the man in the eyes, hoping to make it a haunting scene. She was scared, yes. She didn't want to look the man in the eyes. She would at least face her death with enough dignity to look the man in the eyes and watch it come for her. "The truth is," The gun was cocked. "the game was rigged from the start."

It was only a second of blinding pain. Elisavet had fallen back into the shallow grave without grace, blood splattering on the ground, and on her quilt.

The light was bright. She hissed in pain, twitching as she tried to pull a blanket that didn't exist over her eyes. The voice of a man cut through the tense silence. "You're awake. How about that." He was shocked. She coughed a few times, before trying to sit herself upright. Pain broke out all through her head, everything going into white as she groaned. She had to have been dead- but the dead don't usually feel pain, right? She felt arms helping her get into a sitting position, leaning her against a wall. She kept coughing, her throat and mouth felt like she had hot mojave sand all in it. A cup was eased into her hands- but her eyes were still clamped shut. Still too bright. Curtains were drawn over the blinds, and she could finally bare to open her eyes a fraction. Everything was blurry- where were her glasses? Did she wear glasses? She squeezed the cup in her hands, it didn't feel familiar at all, not even like one she would get at a bar. She looked at it, before spilling some on her lap- where were her pants? It felt like water anyways, so she took a cautious sip- completely missing her mouth the first three or five times. "Where the hell am I?" She muttered, scanning the room, before settling her vision on an older man, dressed up sort-of like a cowboy. She then realized she was being spoken to, or well, more like at. "You've been out cold for a couple of days now." He sighed, looking at her with confusion. A couple of days? Does it take that long to pass? Everything was too bright to feel like the afterlife, though. Way too damn bright. "Why don't you relax for a minute- maybe drink that water. Get your bearings." She could appreciate that he was being gentle, and not ridiculing her for wearing most of the water. Felt like she didn't have much of a shirt on, either. Real fucking cold with the water seeping down her chest.

"Let's see what the damage is." Damage? "What's your name? Can you tell me your name?" He inquired, looking like it would take a miracle to know her own name. "My name." She sighed. She knew her own name. "My name is," Wait what was her name? "I… My name…" She squinted in thought, and took a half-sip of water again. "Think it starts with an E." She took another sip of the water, this time managing to not spill any of it. Her brain felt like sand, worse than sand, like hot sand mixed with radio static. "You.. You sure you know your own name?" He asked again, looking more defeated. "No! I. I know my name." She hissed, before getting sad as she didn't remember it. "I know it's got an E at the front," She sighed, and tapped the glass with her fingers a minute. "Ah. Right. Elisavet." Elisavet smiled, the realization of her own name finally giving her clarity. "Elisavet. Only Elisavet, I think." "I'll take that as a win… Knowing your first name is good enough for now." The man sighed with relief. "Can't say I would've picked that for you, but if that's your name, that’s your name." He nodded. "I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings." Doc Mitchell finalized, before standing up. She was real fucking lucky to have managed to have not met her fate in a shallow grave.

[caffeine-cowboy]

OH YEAH SO LILY BELL CONFRONTED BENNY... MINIFIC TIME

She steeled herself outside the gates to the Strip - it was dark, there was a light rain pattering down, and still in Freeside she turned to Boone. Trying to get her head into the space where she might have to walk up to the man who stood above her as she knelt, hands tied, at the edge of her own grave. She wanted to tell Boone she had a plan, but she didn’t. Truth be told, she didn’t have a damn clue what she was going to do when she got to the Tops. Kill him? Look him in the eye and tell him the game was rigged from the start, shoot him just like he did to her? Or demand answers, demand the chip he stole, demand some kind of repayment? Lily Bell had no idea. None at all. She sat in the rain, hat pulled low over her face. E-DE beeped quietly.

Boone said, he’d been thinking. Maybe he should go back to Bitter Springs. It seemed as good a time as any to tell her, and she agreed. There was an unspoken if I don’t make it out between them; who knew what would happen on the other side of those gates? She smiled unconvincingly back at him. 

“Maybe you’ve still got your demons. But if it’s redemption you’re after... thanks for helping me see to mine.” 

The Strip was too bright, too loud - she practically pushed Victor aside. His mysterious presence not just everywhere she seemed to go but also apparently at the Mojave Express outpost as she was hired was a mystery she wanted to get to the bottom of, but not tonight. If she let anything else distract her, she’d lose her nerve completely. 

First obstacle was being told to relinquish her guns. They cast a wary eye over the eyebot, but didn’t seem to consider it a threat. Even so, the thought of facing the stony faced killer unarmed turned her stomach. But best not to be suspicous. She handed their weapons over and wandered through the theatre, through the restaurant - slipping quickly and quietly into the kitchen and grabbing a kitchen knife. Not totally defenceless. Good. She shoved it inside her jacket and left. 

Main floor. Checkered jacket. Panic rising. What in the goddamn? Smooth moves. He caught her off guard. She couldn’t just lunge at him, not with so many bodyguards around. But his offer of drinks in the suite? A chance to get him alone. A chance to get answers. Her little mysterious smile and tilt of the hat did the trick, as usual. They walked up together, in silence, no bodyguards. He really lives here, like this, she thought as they rode in the elevator. Rolling in caps, more booze than he could drink in a lifetime, people to attend to anything he could ever want. But he had to go to Goodsprings and shoot a tied up package courier in the head, and for what? More caps, more booze, more cronies? 

He said he could sleep easier now he knew she wasn’t dead. 

“Aw, did you feel bad about it? Lost sleep over it? Cry me a fucking river,” she snapped. Did he expect his admission of a guilty conscience to soften her up? It was a bit late to be having second thoughts about what he did. She wanted answers. 

And she got them. It really was for more caps, more booze, more cronies. To be king of the hill, head honcho. Because what he had wasn’t enough? She hadn’t touched a drop of the drink he poured her, but her stomach burned. How dare he. How dare he. She had stared down the barrel of a gun, far too young to die even by wasteland standards, more scared than she’d ever been, hands tied in front of her, trying to form words, tasted blood and dirt as she fell into an open grave - for this? 

She felt the weight of the knife in her jacket. No bodyguards, and Boone was sat across the room, E-DE floating beside him. He wasn’t wearing a weapon openly, and that headache of a suit jacket didn’t suggest the shape of a gun to her either. And yet - 

she couldn’t do it. Even - or especially - once he’d given her answers, she hated the clean, shiny man in front of her, hated him so much it felt like she was burning from the inside out, but she couldn’t lean forwards and stab him. Her hands were shaking, and even with adrenaline coursing through her veins she didn’t think it would be enough to drive a kitchen knife through sinew and bone. What if he did have a gun and killed her? What if she didn’t finish it and he brought every Chairman in the place down on them? Part of her, the cynical, watchful part of her brain that had often kept her alive, said this is all a ploy - the sitting at the bar, sipping a drink, looking tired and done and harmless? It’s all because he’s worried you’d bash his brains out right here otherwise. And maybe that part of her was right, but it wasn’t enough to carry her the couple of steps that would take her to Benny and put a knife in him. 

“You’re a selfish scumbag, Benny. And you’re stinking up my suite. Get out,” she said, and her voice didn’t tremble. She watched him like a hawk until the door shut behind him, heard his footsteps fade down the corridor, then collapsed against the bar and burst into tears. Boone got up and, after a moment’s hesitation, placed a hand on her shoulder. She sobbed for a bit longer, then raised up her head with a sniff. Went behind the bar, found one of the unopened bottles of whiskey, cracked it open and took a swig. She offered it to Boone, who followed suit. 

“I don’t know if that was the right thing to do. I let him go but I couldn’t do it - I couldn’t kill him, why couldn’t I just do it?” Boone stared at her for a moment, expression unreadable as ever.

“So you couldn’t kill someone in cold blood. That’s not something to be ashamed of. Hold onto it.” And she knew what he meant by that. She didn’t think showing up here and planting lead in Benny’s skull would be as bad as what he did to her - and who knew how many others? - but the fact she couldn’t look him in the eye and just end his life was still one less thing in common with him, and she was fine with that. 

Lily Bell saw Boone tense. 

“Footsteps in the hall. At least four. Get against the wall.” He stepped so he was by the door, and Lily Bell stood so she’d be behind it when it opened. She readied her knife. True enough, the lock clicked and it opened. The click of a silenced pistol was the first thing she registered, then Boone’s grunt, then she was wrestling a Chairman coming at her with a straight razor, ducking two swings, viciously biting the arm that grabbed her and stabbing behind her with the kitchen knife. Hand slippery with blood, she launched at one going for E-DE, stabbing him in the back. The knife handle broke. She swiped his pistol and levelled it at one attacking Boone, whose white shirt was soaked with blood. Click, it went, eerily silent. Click click. And the last attacker was still. Boone slumped back against the wall. 

“Boone? Boone!” she yelled, skidding up to him and kneeling down. He’d been hit in the shoulder and the chest. Scrambling, Lily Bell unfurled the roll of medical supplies she kept, pouring alcohol onto cotton and cleaning the wounds. Being such small bullets from a low power gun, they at least hadn’t gone in deep or done too much damage, but he’d still lose blood. Suppressing a shake in her hands, she used tweezers to remove the bullets, then got a Stimpack in his system. As she administered it, the rage in her chest overtook the fear. 

I’m going to catch up to you, Benny. And next time, you’re not gonna get so lucky. 

[mojave-musing]

So, it’s no Remington cause I want to do something different. Have a generic courier six snippet about Bartholomew

Bartholomew knew this wasn’t ending here.

He wasn’t dying in the Goodsprings’ cemetery under the full moon.

This wasn’t going to be the last time he saw this man in the terrible suit.

The Khan beside Bartholomew stepped up out of the shallow grave. He mumbled to the suit about hurrying this along and the suit snapped at him. The suit turned to Bartholomew with a fake smile.

“Sorry you got tangled up in this mess,” The man’s voice was irritating. He held up the gilded pistol, The Virgin Mary on its grip, “Any last words?”

Bartholomew glared holes into the man’s eyes.

“Whatever game you are playing, you won’t win,” Bartholomew spat.

“Truth is…the game was rigged from the start.”

The gun fired before Bartholomew could get in the last word.

Out of instinct, he jerked when the gun fired. Pain erupted in Bartholomew’s head above his left eyebrow. Bartholomew fell back into the dirt screaming in pain. He brought his bound hands up to try to cradle his head, to fight off the incomprehensible pain. Blood rushed between his fingers as he pressed them against the wound.

The man walked up along Bartholomew and cocked his gun again.

The pain stopped.

…

The man in the checked suit fled across the desert and Bartholomew followed.

Tracking Benny was very easy. Thanks to the terrible suit he wore. Every town the man passed through someone took notice, and they were more than willing to tell Bartholomew where Benny went.

Bartholomew stopped at the Tops front desk. He placed a gilded lighter once belonging to Benny in front of the man named Swank.

“I have a score to settle with Benny.” Bartholomew said, pointing to the ugly, healing scar at his left eyebrow.

Swank let Bartholomew through without handing over his guns and gave him a key to Benny’s suite.

Bartholomew helped himself to the alcohol in Benny’s suite. He snooped through Benny’s things, not learning much about the man. Bartholomew eventually sat himself down at the bar in the suite with the lights off, revolver drawn, waiting for Benny to come back.

Finally, after many cigarettes, Benny walked through the doors. Benny didn’t turn on the lights right away; stopping in the dark room, trying to figure out what was off. Bartholomew cocked the hammer of the revolver and the lights flipped on.

“What’s a matter, Benny? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Bartholomew slipped off the barstool with his revolver steady on Benny.

“W-Woah man,” Benny held his hands up as Bartholomew approached. “There is no need for brash actions. Why don’t you put the gun down, and we’ll talk?”

“There is nothing to talk about.” Bartholomew raised the revolver, leveling it with Benny’s head.

The man jumped and trembled where he stood. Benny wasn’t as confident as when he was in control.

“What I took from you, it’s the key to ruling New Vegas. I’m sure we could cut a deal for you that will have you leaving happy.”

Bartholomew didn’t want to rule New Vegas.

He didn’t want anything, other than to see Benny dead.

“I told you: the game you’re playing isn’t one you’ll win.” Bartholomew squeezed the trigger of the revolver twice.

Eye for an eye, bullet for a bullet.

Bartholomew stepped over Benny’s body and the blood that was soaking into the carpet. He ignored the world as he walked out of the Tops. Pausing on the steps of the casino to light a cigarette, Bartholomew watched groups of soldiers and tourists walk by, carrying on with their lives.

It was a strange feeling in Bartholomew’s chest. The fire for revenge was gone, replaced by an unnerving stillness. Benny was dead, and the world likely better off without him, but Bartholomew did not feel better.