#NOT TO MENTION THE RUBY ROAD EXCHANGE GANG | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lostinfic · 6 years

Note

I couldn't decide on the kiss prompt so I will share both I was thinking of and you can pick if one strikes your fancy between Hardy/Hannah 34. to pretend orrrrrrrr Ten/Rose 26. as an apology.

A kiss to pretend

Hardy x Hannah. 1920s/Gangsters AU. Hardy is working undercover and infiltrated a criminal gang. Hannah is the mistress of the dangerous gang leader.

2700 words.

A/N: For UK folks, by “suspenders” I mean braces, the kind that hold up trousers, not the lingerie type.

➙ Kiss prompts

London, 1922

They both pretend to be other people. He pretends to be Emmett Carver, henchman for Enzo “The Ruby” Crawford, an infamous gangster. She goes by Belle and pretends to love Enzo.

In reality, he’s Alec Hardy, an undercover detective investigating the East End gang’s activities.

In reality, she’s… well, Hardy doesn’t know her real name and doesn’t want to learn it. That way, he can’t betray her. But he knows she’s friendly and smarter than she pretends to be. He knows she fears Enzo.

Hardy went undercover a year ago. The Metropolitan police needed a copper from outside London to investigate the corruption amongst their own officers. Enzo’s gang has contacts in every police station, every branch of the government, every bank. Blackmail and bribery are the bricks and mortar of his criminal empire. He deals in illegal betting, protection rackets, black market weapons and opium. He built his reputation on cruelty: as far as Enzo’s concerned, everyone is fair game, even women and children. His nickname “The Ruby” is a reference to the colour of blood. The story goes that he loves to keep the stains on his clothes after a murder.

In the name of public protection and justice, Hardy replaced his suit and tie with rolled up shirtsleeves and steel-capped boots. Traded his police badge for the dark red suspenders symbolic of Enzo’s gang.

They told him he’d have to work his way up the ranks of the criminal organization. It could take months, years even, before Enzo trusted him with sensitive information. So for now, he’s relegated to menial tasks: surveillance, deliveries, dodgy transactions. Hardy’s not built for intimidation, but his accent alone forestalls backtalk.

Most policemen fear retaliation against their loved ones if their cover is blown. It’s not a problem for Hardy anymore. He came back from the Great War to find out that, while he was fighting for his life in the trenches of France, Tess had fallen in love with another man. They tried to put it all behind them and rebuild a life, they had a baby, but it only delayed the inevitable: Tess left and took their daughter with her. After that, for Hardy, becoming another person didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

One task he didn’t expect was driving the boss’s floozie to and from his home.

Chauffeur to the flapper.

These days, so many young women wear short dresses and makeup, at first he can’t tell whether Belle is a prostitute or fashionable. On the drive back, she counts bills, but it doesn’t mean anything either. Enzo sees other girls, of course, but Belle is his favourite, the only one he sends a car for.

Hardy watches her in the rear-view mirror. A cloche hat sits low over her blond bob and obscures her kohl-rimmed eyes. She gnaws at her bottom lip, wrings her hands in her lap. He escorts her to the fourth floor of the hotel, in the lift, she takes deep breaths. When the doors open with a ping, a smile springs on her lips.

“Honeybear!” she says, running into Enzo’s arms.

She arrives with bright red lipstick and returns home without it, as if Enzo himself drained the colour out of her.

Hardy wonders if she once cared about Enzo. Is he blackmailing her? What does she need the money for? Does she have other clients? And he wonders why he wonders about her so much.

They’re long car rides; she lives on the other side of town. But he comes to appreciate these moments more than any others. She sits in the back and therefore cannot see his face. He can relax. Somewhat.

She’s friendly to everyone from members of the gang to the hotel staff. Hardy’s grumpy attitude doesn’t deter her. It starts with small things, a kind smile, a funny comment on the latest Chaplin movie, a snack shared. “Did you bake those scones yourself?” he asks. She laughs and it fills the whole car. The tunes she hums that haunt him all day (“Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight?”). The shine of her sequined dress against the drab backseat of the model T’s interior.

One day, he finds out she’s lying about where she lives. She forgets a novel in the car, but when he tries to return it to her, he finds she’s not a tenant in the building where he drops her off. He doesn’t try to find out her real address. The less he knows and all that… She doesn’t want anyone in the gang to know where she lives. Smart lass.

He gives her the book back later, and she immediately notices he’s read it. “What did you think of Poirot?”

For a second there, he panics, thinks she’s asking because she knows he’s a detective. “Too intelligent,” he answers carefully.

“I hope this Agatha Christie will write other books. Have you read Evelyn Waugh?”

They begin exchanging novellas and paperbacks, a book club of their own with little notes in the margins like coded messages. He tells himself it’s innocent, yet he hides the books carefully.

He eats some of her taffies. She drinks from his flask.

When she’s in a hurry, she changes outfits while he drives. She adjusts her garter straps when she knows he’s watching in the rear-view mirror.

He pays her a compliment. Her hand brushes against his in the elevator.

“Laters,” she says with a wink when they part ways. And he watches her hips sway, heart in his throat, as she walks down the hotel corridor to meet Enzo.

Theirs is a friendship built on things unsaid, on averted gazes, on lingering nothings. It’s fog. Unsubstantial, yet it can swallow the whole city.

Maybe it’s a test. A trap. Set up by Enzo himself. It’s plausible. More than. But he’s pretending to be another man, so he might as well pretend he’s the kind of man Belle could be attracted to.

Every day, he awaits the request to fetch her with a knot in his stomach: dread or eagerness, he can’t tell.

He drives slower. Stops fully at every sign. Offers to wait if she has errands along the way.

Now, when he stops in front of her fake house, he kills the engine. They share a cigarette and companionable silence.

He never invites her to sit at the front. He needs the physical barrier between them. To keep rumours at bay. To control his own yearnings.

It’s one of those days, when it seems winter will never end, that she tests the boundary. She leans forward, elbows atop the back of the front seat, chin rested on her hands. Very close. He keeps his eyes on the road and his hands firmly on the wheel, but he’s acutely aware of her proximity. Her perfume isn’t light or floral or sweet, it’s tangy, raw cocoa and smoke, linens tangled in heated bodies. It’s raspy like a tongue along his scruffy jaw. He swallows thickly, squirms on his seat. She brushes something off his shoulder. Her fingers linger on the worn out cotton. The first human touch in months that’s not a shove or a jab. His blood fizzles.

“Sit back, it’s not safe,” he says.

“If you really cared about my safety, you wouldn’t take me to him.”

Her anger isn’t directed at him. It’s unwarranted, but it cuts him deep. He halts the car on the side of the road.

“You only have ask,” he says, eyes trained on the windshield.

He’d lie for her. He knows it with blinding clarity.

“But if I didn’t go, then I wouldn’t see you,” she says.

He arm dangles over, on his side of the car. An offer. An overture.

His heart pounds in a way it hasn’t since the trenches. A flush creeps up his neck. He brushes the back of his fingers down her skin, from elbow wrist. He grazes her palm. Their little fingers wrap around each other.

If he drove away, who would find them?

“Emmett,” she says softly.

She doesn’t even know his real name. None of this is real, he tells himself. Then why is it so hard to let go of her hand?

“Maybe another time,” she says. “Keep driving or we’ll be in trouble.”

He hates himself for pressing on the gas pedal.

She leans over every time now. Always near, forgiving.

Hardy’s superiours at the Metropolitan police think she’s valuable. She might know something, sensitive information overheard or confessed by Enzo in a moment of post-orgasmic weakness. “Befriend her,” they say. He doesn’t want to use her, doesn’t want her mixed up in this. If the police act on knowledge revealed by Belle, and the leak is traced back to her, she would pay the price dearly. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her,” they say. But he has no faith in their words.

Inevitably, she does reveal something to him.

The car is parked in front of the house that’s not her house. She smokes the last of their shared cigarette and flicks it out the window. Normally, she’d leave now, but she stays. She runs a finger under his collar, as if smoothing it. He slopes down, rests his cheek on top of the seat, mirroring her position. She’s so close, his vision blurs, but he’s too tired to make his eyes focus.

“I won’t see you next week,” she says.

“Why not? What’s wrong?”

“I mean, ‘cause Enzo will be in Bristol.”

“Right.”

“It’s like a vacation for me.”

“What will you do?”

She shrugs. He wonders if she’ll propose they meet. There’s a moment of silence, a pregnant pause, a crossroad of possibilities.

“Anyway.” She chuckles nervously. “Maybe I’ll learn to cook.”

“Lord have mercy.”

It’s only the next day, when the effect of her touch and smile has somewhat faded, that he realizes the significance of her words. If Enzo is in Bristol, he may be trying to create an alliance with the gang up there. He should warn the police right away. Yet he waits. Waits for someone else to mention the trip, but no one at his level seems aware the boss is out of town.

The next day, he’s asked to fetch Belle, and he thinks it’s too late to alert his colleagues now. But when she comes out of the hotel, her hair and lipstick are intact. She got paid to sit by herself in an empty hotel room. Obviously, they’re doing everything to keep the illusion the big boss is still in London. If word gets out, they’ll narrow down the list of suspects real fast.

Unaware of Hardy’s inner turmoil, Belle is in a great mood. As soon as they round the corner, out of sight, she wraps her arms around his neck from behind. Her breath brushes his ear when she says, “take the scenic route”.

Driving by Hyde Park is the closest thing to a scenic route London has to offer. They stay in the car, they can’t risk meeting someone they know. He drives around three times, and, through the window, they watch springtime London blooming to life: sheep graze on the lawn, children run, pushing old tires with sticks, young female factory workers stroll arm-in-arm.

Belle’s hand slips inside his shirt. His heart drums under her touch. He nearly crashes into another car.

He drives until the sun descends on the horizon.

It’s the happiest he’s been in a long time, but the dilemma eats at him. An alliance between London and Bristol means a wider network of criminal activities— wider than ever before— and more innocent bystanders caught in that web. But they’re faceless, anonymous bystanders whereas Belle is so very real. She’s flesh and bones and loveliness. Her life would be on the line. His too, he realizes belatedly.

In the end, his conscience wins. He’s a cop, not a crook. He sends the superintendent a coded message and waits with fear in his heart.

The next week, he’s sent to fetch Belle again. As usual, he escorts her to the fourth floor, but he keep his hand poised near the butt of his revolver. This time, Enzo shows up to welcome her.

“Hello, Babydoll.”

She jumps in his arms. “Honeybear! I missed you.”

Hardy grits his teeth and ignores the pang in his heart. He’d have preferred a bullet.

Rather than go back to the pub that doubles as the gang’s HQ as he usually would, he stays nearby. He sits in the service stairwell, attentive to any sound out of the ordinary.

A few hours later, she comes out, and one glance from her tells him she’s unwell. A tense silence fills the elevator, it’s not the place to talk.

In the car, she rests her forehead against the window and follows the path of raindrops with her finger.

Did they question her? Threaten her?

“You alright?”

“Yeah… I liked my little vacation.”

“What happened?”

“Enzo was pissed. Something happened, and he thought I’d said something I shouldn’t.”

Hardy gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.

“I didn’t even know what he was talking about. What could I have said?”

He hates the hint of doubt that creeps up his spine. The paranoid voice that asks: does she really not remember what she revealed about Bristol or is it a test?

“After a while, he believed me. I think. But then he wasn’t… as nice as usual.” Her voice is thin, vulnerable.

Anger flares in Hardy’s chest, and he punches the car horn. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not exactly. But I’m just, really—” She rubs up and down her own arms. “Can I come to the front?”

He parks the car in the shadow of a tall oak tree. She’s out and back in in a flash.

His whole body is still taut with anger. She slides closer on the seat, and it’s restraint now tensing his muscles.

“It’s okay, Emmett, don’t be shy.”

It’s not shyness, it’s survival. Full of hesitation, he stares at her. She’s so beautiful, and she needs him. A lump rises in his throat.

“Can I get a cuddle? Please.”

He thinks of the hand-grenades he used during the war.

He breathes out slowly, and opens his arms. He’s pulled the pin, there’s no going back now.

Seven seconds before the explosion.

She snuggles up to him, head on his chest, arm around his torso. His blood sparks to life.

Six.

He tightens his embrace around her. Holds on to her. Protects her.

Five.

His thawed heart swells against his ribs. Warmth spreads out from his chest.

Four.

Belle tilts her head back, gaze searching his face. She gently wipes the hair off his eyes and cups his cheek.

Three.

He rests his forehead on hers. Ragged breaths mingle between them.

Two.

Her lips brush against his.

One.

He captures her mouth.

Zero.

And they kiss. Desperately. And they pretend this can end well.

#Hardy x Hannah #teninch fic #a historical AU what a surprise #:p #lostinfic writes stuff #kiss prompts #lots-o-huggindoctor #Thanks for the prompt!#sorry it took so long.

50 notes · View notes

go-diane-winchester · 6 years

Text

What is Sam's sexuality?

Someone sent this interesting statement regarding Dean and Sam's sexuality:

''Why do a lot of people say Dean is bi n everything when Jensen flat out tells people he is not?? Like yes its a headcanon but that's all it is Head-Canon, not Canon- out of all the characters we honestly should try to find out more on Sam seeing as when asked about his love life n stuff like that Jared say guys or girls and that he would have no problem with playing Sam as pan/bi-??? (May not be 100% accurate I just remember a video of Jared saying both Boys and Girls when in reference to Sam))''

Now that is something interesting. The only people who question Dean's sexuality are, and always have been, the destihellers. Normal fans of the show don't care enough, because a character's sexuality is not important to the story of Supernatural. The most important relationship on this show is between the two brothers. What they do with their sexual conquests does not impact their personal relationship with each other or even how they do their job. They still hunt in the normal way, and they still save people. As a levelheaded viewer, I will respect the canon and the fact that Dean is straight. However, it would be fun to discuss Sam's sexuality in our little corner provided we don't take each other's words and start nagging CW to make Sam anything other than what he really is. I am giving you my theory. But it is still a theory which means, its just an opinion. It just opens doors for more interpretation.

When Dean is mistaken for a gay man, he reacts with great shock. Sam, on the other hand, just smiles. It amuses him. It might be because ''this person hit the nail on the head''. Or it might be because he is amused at how mistaken that person is. He doesn't consider being called gay, an attack on his masculinity. That might be the case with Dean because Dean is down home old fashioned when it comes to his sexuality. He's not prejudiced. He just would prefer not to be mistaken as something he is not. That is why when Dean said ''the more troubling question is why do these people assume we are gay'', Sam's amusing baby brother response was ''well you are kind of butch. Probably think you're overcompensating.'' He is trying to rib his big brother because he knows being called gay bothers Dean more than it does him.

Sam slept with a demon. He was in a state of terrible mourning. It might have clouded his judgment. However, the fact that the demon was in a female cadaver, might have motivated him. I don't think this is proof of pansexuality because it would be insulting to assume that a pansexual will sleep with anyone, even a demon. Remember, Ruby strategically edged closer to him by using his dead brother as a motivation. Sam accessed a male cross roads demon to make a deal for his dead brother. If kissing the demon would have brought his brother back, I think he would have done it. None of this is proof his bi/pansexuality because emotional duress is a huge factor here, brought on by his love for his big brother. Remove Sam's mourning and the entire scenario might not happen at all. None of this reflects on Sam's sexuality.

Sam being raped by Luci is still up for debate and I wish they would bring closure to this issue because it is not a joke. However, being raped is no reflection on his sexuality. He's just a victim, unless nothing happened and Luci is just being an expletive to annoy Sam.

There has been no indication about Sam's sexuality in canon, except for this one exchange.

Dean to Henrikson: You kinky son of a b*tch. We don't swing that way.

Now, because we respect canon, we have to take this whole statement as true. Dean is talking about both him and Sam. I accept as true because I am not a heller and because canonically it makes sense. Dean has raised Sam. He knows about all of Sam's quirky little habits, about his likes, dislikes and embarrassing little fears. He knows exactly which one of Sam's buttons to press. If Sam was bi or pan, Dean would know. On the flip side, like any other closeted person, Sam might have hid this side of himself from his brother, perhaps because he knows his brother well enough to know how to hide something like this from Dean.

But then that hypothesis brings up the pertinent question of why. What would be his reason for concealing something like this. He didn't hide having sex with a cadaver. Both he and Dean have died plenty of times. Why would he hide this part of him from his brother in the face of death especially in the early years when they didn't know they were immune to death? Is it because Dean is prejudiced? Well, Dean didn't seem very prejudiced towards Charlie. Is it because he is concerned that, because if this new development, Dean wouldn't understand how to react, and he doesn't want to make Dean more confused, considering what Dean has to deal with on a daily basis? No, that doesn't make sense either because if he cared so much about not worrying his family, he wouldn't have gone to Stanford despite the fact that it tore the family apart.

To date Sam has only taken a personal interest in three male characters. Cas, Kevin and Jack. Jack doesn't count here, because canonically Sam sees Jack as his child. Then there is Kevin. Even though there are a biased group of writers who didn't really focus on Sam's relationship with Kevin, some viewers may assume that Sam had a meaningful relationship with Kevin, whilst others will be offended by this because Kevin was a school kid and ''Sam would never do that''. If you factor in Sam's affection for Kevin, it might explain his anger towards his brother when the whole Gadreel debacle happened. Gadreel used his vessel to get close to Kevin and kill him. Maybe that's why he was upset with his brother and blurted out his anger without meaning it.

Sam and Kevin were very similar. They were studious. They were thrown into a situation they both did not want to be a part of. They were afraid of being in said situation until they grew out of that fear. They were very similar is temperament to each other. Unfortunately, switching his phone off and leaving Kevin to suffer for a year is just bad writing and throws this whole theory out the window. This is why it is difficult to analyze Sam's character and sexuality because Ross-Lemming and gang have done considerable damage in 7 years. There is only one meaningful interaction between Sam and Kevin [a church scene] and the interaction was so emotional and affectionate on Sam's part, that Kevin actually thought Sam was hitting on him. The Sam and Kevin storyline is one of the worst fanfic tragedies because of the bad writing in canon.

Cas and Sam have an interesting story. When Sam first met Cas, he fell all over himself just to greet the guy. He was starstruck, for want of a better word. There was even an emphasis to their handshake which is perhaps one of the most intimate handshakes I have ever seen between two male actors.

It was as if he was meeting a legend. Back in Season 4, Cas kind of was. Now, not so much. The legend is dead. And Cas is a joke. Cas and Sam have various similarities. They have similar temperaments. They have messed up spectacularly in the past, and both admit to it. They both bonded over the fact that they accidentally caused major damage in the quest of trying to solve a problem. They bonded over their pain. And Cas reassured Sam that messing up and falling in Dean's eyes is something that Sam does not alone have a monopoly in. Cas has messed up plenty. He was trying to comfort Sam. Most of the emotional heart to hearts seem to happen between Sam and Cas. Dean is usually mocking Cas and Cas is usually getting confused by Dean.

Castiel's dialogue either to or regarding Sam:

Nothing is worth losing you.

The only person who has screwed up things more consistently than you, is me.

You wont take Sam Winchester. I won't let you.

You come near Sam Winchester, and I will kill you.

I was lost until I took your pain.

The idea of Samstiel and Sastiel highly amused Sam. In fact, I have very seldom seen Sam so enthusiastic about something. Remember nobody pointed out that there was a pairing between him and Cas. He did that on his own, and didn't appear repulsed by the idea of him and Cas together. Dean on the other hand, is repulsed by any mention of fan fiction, even going so far as to break the fourth wall and glare at the guilty party when destiel is mentioned for the first and hopefully last time on Supernatural.

Now Sam and Cas even share a child, and I think that is bringing them closer. Unfortunately, Misha oversells the stupid dinghy destiel and leaves a more promising ship behind because he over-pandered to his lunatic fandom. And giving into Sastiel made make them go full psycho. Which is a terrible sign of his stupidity because if there is any slash pairing that makes any canonical sense, it is sastiel. Destiel appears more like an arranged marriage for a green card. Everything is forced on Castiel's part and faked on Dean's part, because both actors involved has different point of views regarding destiel and slash fiction.

In conclusion, the only lingering indication of Sam's supposed bi/pansexuality seems to be his interaction with Cas. Even then, it is just an analysis and not canon. And it is just my overall analysis, which I am sure, is limited. I don't know of any other subtext with regards to Sam's sexuality. If anyone out there has a proper example, kindly comment. I would like to know what is construed as bisexual Sam subtext.

Edit:

The original commenter has sent this link to amino apps where this very topic was discussed. Thank you dear.

https://aminoapps.com/c/supernatural/page/blog/sams-sexuality/4gCY_uoBpVrq58YXZeLkJG8V4ew15D

62 notes · View notes

eights-of-spades · 6 years

Photo

Offerings 12/06

Rashk Geilt slips inside the run-down building, flicking his tail out from between the door moments before it closes. A bothersome feeling of being watched made him alter his intended course after a long night of socialising, his senses for such much sharper than Quinten’s. He pretends it’s a lovely early morning for prayer while stepping out of the direct line of sight of any who might enter in his wake, mentally going through where he hid the knives under his extravagant attire. None of them are in easy reach when one favours subtlety over a quick draw, but he hopes there won’t be a need to reach for them in the first place.

Eight had been following the extravagantly dressed miqo’te for the better part of the morning into the early afternoon. He was hard to miss, really. Between the mass of hair and the sort of gilded plumage that would look more at home on a stage during a Grand Revue Extravaganza than on the Ruby Road exchange. Perhaps he had gotten lazy, perhaps Rashk was that good, but once the fortune-teller changed direction suddenly for a side street Ma’sae suspected that he had been made somewhere along the way. No matter! The rogue followed anyways, pushing up the fabric he had pulled low over his pale eye with one hand while the other slipped into a fold of his overcoat, seeking out the well-worn handle of a knife as he slipped inside. He winked his dark eye shut, immediately seeking out the drifting motes of aether and which direction they were headed as he stepped into the luxurious shrine. His attention whipped to the left and both eyes opened as he grinned brightly.

Rashk‘s expression is still caught in a look of tension when Eight turns to face him much faster than anticipated and the Keeper’s eyes widen slightly before narrowing. He lets the look evolve into a haughty sort of frown to play off the mood their previous meeting had ended in. “Oh, it’s you,” he says in that tone one might use when discovering a truly unpleasant door-to-door salesperson at their home. “Is the Captain really so desperate to ‘help’ me with my affairs that she must have her underlings interrupt my prayers?” His tone might be lazy, but his gaze isn’t lacking in intensity, flicking down to the other man’s hands as he takes the other’s appearance in, trying to gauge the likelihood that this is, in fact, an assassination attempt.

Eight, rather than looking embarrassed at being ‘made’ by the mysterious miqo’te, beamed in delight instead. He took his hand out of his coat and reached up to remove the turban meant to hide his mismatched eyes and protect the tips of his precious ears from the Ul’dahn midday sun. Nothing worse than sunburnt ears. He rolled the fabric idly as he wandered over in Rashk’s general direction. “Nah, she’d probably yell at me for interrupting you during prayers. If you were really praying. Honestly I expected more of an…” a hand waved casually like he was looking for the word. “Ambush situation. I walk in and a bunch of thugs jumps out. Though, it’s hard to see you putting up with your run of the mill thugs. Maybe well-dressed dandies on hard times or burly bandits crammed into ill-fitting smoking jackets.” He suggested cheerfully, plainly imagining what Rashk’s ‘street gang’ would look like.

Rashk‘s boot scrapes the stone as he moves one foot back like he might’ve been about to take a step back when Eight approaches, but his calf bumps against the bench and he halts the motion, gaze briefly flicking to the side and then returning to the other Keeper. “I think you’ll find that you’re the thug in this scenario and I’m prone to believing that you’re after my coin. The Captain isn’t paying you enough so you’re taking up extracurricular activities, perhaps?” His ears flick, rising only to fall flat against his head again. “Your sort usually do run in packs, don’t they, so you would know what to expect from such scenarios. All out of friends, or are they hiding outside from Nald’thal’s judgement?”

Eight took another step closer. Maybe it was just a pleasant change of pace to be the ‘thug’ rather than the one trying to fast-talk his way out of the corner. “Ohh? I mean, I’m not going to turn you upside down and shake to see what falls out, but donations are always accepted and will grant you repayment plus interest in the afterlife.” He offered cheerfully, taking another small step to see if he could make Rashk trip on the bench he had cornered himself against. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a man of the Gods now, had to give up the gang along with betting on the birds and smoking. So, from one faithful to another,” he teased as he tilted his head to shake some dark hair out of his eyes, the grin tilting to one side jaggedly. “What’s got you so spooked.”

Rashk tenses up but doesn’t take that stumbling step back, feeling the bench against the backs of his legs. He no longer likes his own positioning, forced to mentally create back up plans such as ‘jump through the window’ or ‘throw him through it first’. His mask of haughty disdain is impressive—except for the unspoken language of his tail, the flicking movement of it an anxious shadow behind the hem of Rashk’s dramatic bird coat. “Oh, a reformed villain, that certainly puts my mind at ease,” he can’t help but snipe. “Forgive me for not taking your word for it and seeming ‘spooked’ when strange men from the streets speak to me. Is a donation going to make you leave me be, then?” He says ‘donation’ in a tone that suggests he would’ve considered ‘a bribe to avoid a mugging’ a more appropriate expression for the situation.

Eight‘s own tail swayed back and forth lazily. Plainly amused by the situation. He didn’t step any closer, noting the tense way Rashk held himself as well as the anxious flick of the shorter man’s tail. If he pushed it much further the other may be forced to react. He seemed like the sort to go for the face, too. “It could, but probably not, let’s be honest.” He chuckled and took a step back instead, holding up his empty hands to show he meant no harm. Graciously allowing Rashk to step away from the corner he had wedged himself into. He backed up even further, taking a step onto the offering pool to perch there comfortably. “I actually came here to talk about Quinten. Calling the man an idiot would be an offense to hard-working saps like myself. The guy’s stupid and mean. Dangerous combination, even in the best of situations.”

Rashk absolutely would’ve gone for the face. People rarely managed a smug smirk with a broken nose, not for a few moments at least. His gaze flicks to the raised hands and he watches Eight closely as the other Keeper backs up. Only after he’s near the fountain does Rashk venture from the corner, maintaining a distance even if this doesn’t seem to be progressing to desperate measures anymore. Upon mention of Quinten, he blinks. “I did rather suggest so, didn’t I?” He pauses and there’s something sharper in his gaze now, a barely noticeable narrowing of his eyes like a watered-down version of his previous death glare. “And did you inform him that he’s no longer the first in line to his mother’s fortune once she’s called into Thal’s halls?”

Eight barked out a laugh nearly as crooked as his grin. “Hells no!” He declared brightly. “I don’t know about you, but getting my ribs kicked in by a bunch of inbred, weak-chinned, pig-eyed dandies and their hired muscles isn’t my idea of a good time.” His tail draped over the edge of the pool, hanging over the dry side to flick lightly in amusement before it returned to languid swaying. “Which is to say, that’s very likely going to be your fate when the truth comes out. Have you made any preparations for that eventuality? Vengeance orders, wills, maybe arrangements to get rid of him before it happens. It isn’t fratricide if you pay someone else to do it.”

@rashkgeilt

#ma'sae #eight #rashk #hand of thal #everyone is assassins #how not to make friends

4 notes · View notes

styomi · 6 years

Text

Flowers and gemstones | Chapter 5 | Sweet Pea/OC

In the spirit of new content in the fandom… I’m updating early! I hope you guys enjoy Sweet Pea being a ‘lil shit’ and ‘a conflicted piece of hotness’ as my dear fellow author Vulvarity put it so colorfully xD Thanks for the beta-read, hun!

Info:

Rating: T Word count:4118 Chapter count:5/? Faceclaim: Ruby Wolfe – India Eisley Jo Wolfe – Adrian Paul Mattie – Elle Fanning

Yes, I am complete Abba trash with this title but damn, does it fit!

Ah-hah, honey honey

The Twilight Drive-In was not quite what Ruby had expected. She’d entered the truck, only to see Fred driving and after an awkward conversation about Archie’s lack of a permit, where the girl and his father laughed about it, the three worked out an easy plan. Fred would drive to his office, since he needed to get some work done, still, and Ruby would take the wheel from there. At the end of the movie, they were supposed to call Fred and see if he was done, in order to pick him up. Then, the Andrews could drop her off home before calling it a night. It all seemed like a solid plan to the teens. Both of them were glad that they wouldn’t be left to beg Archie’s friend Jughead to get them a couple of chairs once Fred drove off.

When they got to the Drive-In, Ruby took her time looking around. She’d never had a proper date, much less an occasion which would take her to a place like that. The only movies she’d watched was with Mattie or her father, either in the girl’s room or at the cinema. And then, Mattie had insisted on huddling together in a couple’s seat like two idiots, because she’d been too curious as to what booking a space like that meant for her own good. Afterwards, it had become tradition for the two girls to sit in a loveseat at the cinema, just for kicks. But, the Twilight Drive-In was definitely not a cinema.

Archie had carefully instructed Ruby where to drive the family truck, which she only struggled with for a bit due to the stick that was a tad different from her trusty old Mustang. And, once they pulled into the southernmost part of Riverdale, he directed her to get off Main Street and enter the small parking lot in front of a large screen. Sure enough, there was a sign which spelled out that evening’s showing, Mamma Mia, right in front of the turn. As Ruby parked the truck, turning the front towards the small booth in the back with drinks and popcorn like Archie requested, she had a chance to look around some more. In essence, it was a parking lot. There were a few more cars and a couple of motorcycles in the back, people buzzing around before the showing. But, other than the booth and a large screen on the other side, it was just that, a parking lot.

“Popcorn?” Archie asked, nodding towards the booth.

“Oh, yeah.” Ruby eagerly agreed and the two friends walked over, Archie instantly perking up when he saw the server behind the counter.

“Hey, Jug!” he greeted the boy in an odd beanie, which Ruby was certain seemed familiar to her for some reason. “This is Ruby, who I told you about. The girl from the Wolfe house,” the boy behind the counter examined her with a surprisingly analytical look in his pale eyes. But, he didn’t seem hostile. “Ruby, Jughead.”

“The one who’s writing a book?”

“Novel.” Both boys instantly corrected.

“Right,” Ruby nodded sheepishly. “It’s very nice to meet you, Jughead. I’ve heard a lot about you,” the boy gave his friend a look which seemed accusing, more than anything. “I promise that I pressed him for details and that everything he told me was good.” The girl tried to diffuse the tension.

“Um, sure, yeah,” Jughead sounded a little awkward. “Welcome to Riverdale.” He didn’t seem to mean it. Regardless, Ruby chose to take the high road there.

“It would be awesome if you could join us for the movie, unless you’re working the whole evening?” She asked, looking between him and Archie. “I got only one side of the story, after all,” Ruby gave Jughead a mischievous smile. “I’d love to hear some embarrassing tales about this one.” She nudged Archie with her elbow and, instantly, the atmosphere changed. Jughead gave her a smirk right back.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he promised. “What will it be, guys? You’re holding up the line.” Despite Archie telling Ruby that it was unlikely that Jughead would join them, the beanie-wearing teen did. They huddled together, with the girl in the middle, in the back of the truck, a few buckets of popcorn in between them and a blanket over their feet. While Archie had actually been paying attention to the movie, as he hadn’t seen it before, Jughead and Ruby took the time to whisper and get to know each other a bit better. Unsurprisingly, the boy had plenty of funny stories about his childhood friend, making the girl giggle when she wasn’t singing along to the soundtrack.

By the end of the evening, Ruby had the awkward boy’s number memorized in her phone with a promise to hang out at Pop’s sometime soon. While they didn’t have a lot in common, they did realize that there was a long list of movies both had watched and desperately needed to discuss with someone. All in all, it had been a fun evening for her, despite it definitely not being a date in the end. Ruby, in all honesty, had preferred it that way. She liked Archie well enough, but she wasn’t one to dive into anything romantic before getting to know a person better. He seemed only interested in hanging out platonically, which was right up her alley.

Ruby had always gotten along with boys better than girls. When she counted the schools she’d attended, she realized that her only real girl friend was Mattie. The teen in question wasn’t exactly girly material, either. Ruby suspected that she had her father and their mutual obsession with martial arts to thank for her ease with befriending boys, even though Jo had voiced his worries over only boys coming by their home on a number of occasions.

Mattie was awake when Ruby got home from the Drive-In and called the girl after texting her half a dozen questions to make their conversation easier. There was just something lost in the voice messages and typing for her.

“So, spill. How was it?” Mattie’s voice was eager, even though she had dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep.

“We watched Mamma Mia!” Ruby eagerly supplied and the two girls started singing to each other, hitting some painfully shrill notes that made Jo pop his head into the kitchen to check on the situation. When he saw that it was just a facetime call, he retreated again, not wanting to disturb the two. And then, Ruby started telling Mattie all about Archie and the odd new character in her life, Jughead.

The last day of the Southside Serpents working at the Wolfe house came all too soon for Ruby. She’d built a nice friendship with Toni, a strange combination of pun exchanges with Fangs and the usual push and pull with Sweet Pea. Ruby had spent more than a few hours with Toni in her room, deciding on color schemes, furniture positions and various decorations together. While the purple haired Serpent wasn’t a fan of the girly setup the room had been steered towards, she was still a huge help. She had a whole bunch of fashion and DIY magazine subscriptions on her phone, showing Ruby various options which could change her room in different ways. Mattie was ecstatic to see all the new ideas and demanded that she meet Toni one day, hopefully in person. All of their brainstorming on decoration ideas got FP to send Sweet Pea to hunt down the girls more than a few times with a disgruntled expression.

Fangs and Ruby, on the other hand, had a different dynamic. While Toni was the perfect design and clothing advisor, the boy turned out to be gossip central. Ruby had always known that most boys had an affiliation for sharing funny stories, but he was in a whole league of his own. Fangs had plenty of stories from his time with Toni and Sweet Pea as kids which he was eager to tell. By the third day of hauling stuff around the house and painting walls, the two had a number of inside jokes which pissed off Sweet Pea to oblivion once he figured them out. That was without even mentioning Fangs’ love of bad puns. If there was a person who could make Ruby crack up at a bad joke in a single second, it was definitely him. Her retaliation had required a bit of Googling, but pretty soon they had been separated when it came to carrying heavy items around due to their tendency to lose their grip on them while laughing.

The only thing Ruby regretted over those few weeks was not spending more time with Sweet Pea. He always seemed to look for an escape when they were with other Serpents, so that he wouldn’t have to talk to her. The few times they’d been forced together by a food run or Ruby directing traffic in the house their conversation had been a bit strained. For the life of her, the teen didn’t know what she’d done to cause that kind of reaction from the tall boy. At times he would be doing their usual push and pull, piling on ridiculous nicknames that made fun of her height, and then, he would be frowning angrily down at her and grunting out one-word answers to her eager questions. Ruby was definitely miffed. But, also, intrigued. She couldn’t help her own curiosity sometimes. She liked things with character, after all.

When the last day of the Serpents working at the house arrived, Ruby was on a mission. She didn’t know if she would see some of the bikers again and she wasn’t sure what kind of a situation she would be facing at school with the younger Serpents. Ruby definitely wasn’t going to be pledging a gang and she’d already heard from numerous sources that South High was very segregated. So, she remembered Mattie’s request and started her work as soon as the bikers arrived.

“Hey, Toni,” Ruby entered the kitchen where the purple haired Serpent had made herself at home with a cup of coffee. “Look good for the camera!” And she snapped a photo as soon as Toni gave a soft smile.

“Am I finally getting a contact picture?” Asked the girl.

“Sure!” And Ruby bounded off with a small wave. She’d already tricked FP and Tall Boy into snapping a photo of them, which they’d laughed off. Now, she had an image of the Serpent King and his second in command standing side by side at their bikes, looking quite intimidating. Next, she needed Gorgon, Fangs and the dreaded Sweet Pea. She was honestly fearing the last name on her list. With the quicksilver temper he had, her phone had a fifty percent chance of flying out a window or something. Gorgonhead was easy enough, the teen eager to make a scary face and point at the camera like Uncle Sam.

“Fangs,” Ruby addressed the boy, sneaking up behind him as he was attempting to open a drawer of an old wardrobe. “I’d offer my advice on that,” she pointed to his current problem. “but telling a demolitionist how to do his job is destructive criticism.” There was a moment of silence before the two completely lost it. Ruby took the chance to snap a quick picture of Fangs trying to gather himself in front of the tall antique wardrobe.

“Oh, man,” the biker didn’t even notice. “How am I going to live without you when the job’s done?” He asked, shaking his head.

“You can always text me and we can hang out?” Ruby helpfully supplied. She saw Fangs’ eyes go to the side, avoiding her gaze. That was a telltale sign that something was wrong. But, when he just shrugged and nodded, Ruby decided to give him some time and space to figure it out. “C’mon, give me your phone,” the girl asked and Fangs obliged. “Here, text me whenever so I have your contact, too.” She smiled at him and bounded off, looking for a certain tall biker. The short teen didn’t see the way Fangs’ eyes stayed on her back until it vanished behind a corner, almost sad.

Sweet Pea was glad to get out of the Wolfe house. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the home in any way. He just didn’t think that he could stand Ruby being around him any longer. In the short few weeks, which seemed like months to him, Sweet Pea had worked beside her on numerous items in her new home. She’d been nothing but kind to him, he had to admit. Nothing but nice. However, a single glance at her clothing, the house which surrounded them and the items they were carrying out had Sweet Pea’s vision going red and his brain muddled with anger.

Ruby Wolfe was nice enough, sure. But, regardless of her personality she was a rich Northsider in the end. While she might be slumming it down with the bikers who were working on her property during summer vacation, Sweet Pea knew how their little ‘friendship’ would end. She’d shown him that by repeatedly ditching cleanup in order to hang out with her little Northside boy-toy. As soon as Ruby started school at Riverdale High, she would become one of those girls. Head held high, daddy buying her expensive things and occasionally wandering over to Southside for a thrill. She’d forget that Toni had put hours into helping her pick things out for her room. She wouldn’t remember that Fangs had lent her a hand in carrying almost all of her belongings upstairs while exchanging jokes. She certainly wouldn’t recall him driving her for a food run on his bike in the afternoon. Sweet Pea reminded himself a number of times that Ruby was a privileged kid. It was best not to form any kind of attachment. Except maybe to her dog. He could be attached to Chili all he wanted, because the pooch was a wonder.

On the last day of their work at the Wolfe house Sweet Pea’s suspicions were confirmed, though. With an eager look on her face, Ruby had told all the bikers how they could take whatever item they wanted from the maybe or discarded pile, like some kind of a charity dump. He didn’t need her charity, much less her trash. Sweet Pea hadn’t taken a single thing from the Wolfe house, despite eyeing a couple of old bike parts from the garage longingly. Instead, his temper had flared and he’d sat on his bike, listening to Fangs and Toni talking excitedly about repurposing some of the items and restoring others.

It wasn’t that Sweet Pea didn’t like doing that. In fact, he’d always been good at fixing things. As a young boy he’d helped his father with numerous old bikes and cars. Then, he’d somehow gotten roped into a number of DIY projects by Toni. She’d been surprised at how good he was with his hands and sworn to secrecy by Sweet Pea with a menacing threat of bodily harm. To that day he still enjoyed working on old things. There was just something about working on an old carburetor that made his fiery temper cool down. He could spend hours playing with a piece, figuring out what exactly was wrong and tailoring odd parts in order to get it back into action. However, Sweet Pea was above charity from a rich Northsider. He wouldn’t take a single thing.

He got pissed when he saw Toni restoring an old lamp Ruby had personally given her, despite wanting it for herself according to the purple-haired girl. It was an antique which looked pretty darn good when the female Serpent was done painting it with glassware-friendly substances. It now sat on her school desk at her trailer, a constant reminder for Sweet Pea of the dump it had been taken from. Fangs, on the other hand, hadn’t said no to acquiring a new kitchen table for his abuela, calling it the score of the summer. Sweet Pea had stopped going to his place for dinner, the telltale dark wood of the charity item making his blood pressure skyrocket. He wouldn’t be a pity case for some rich Northsider.

Yet, Sweet Pea still hadn’t gotten rid of the small piece of paper with a few digits on it. He had found it in the pocket of his denim vest with the Serpents logo on the back when he’d been checking the contents before putting it in the washer. Apparently, Ruby had managed to slip the small note with her number on it and a message to ring her sometime at some point. It wasn’t that Sweet Pea hadn’t tried to get rid of it. In fact, he’d tossed it in the trash bin in his kitchen a number of times, only to fish it out later. Now, it sat in his math book, a thing he’d gotten from one of the Serpents’ juniors for his sophomore year at South High. Frankly, Sweet Pea didn’t know what to do with the number. Or, if he wanted to do anything with it.

Days passed rather quickly for Ruby. Before she even knew it, her father was pulling into their driveway with a whole bunch of fireworks in the back of their old Mustang, singing a happy tune. One would think that, being a former army man, he wouldn’t enjoy the 4th of July. However, ever since Ruby was aware of herself, Jo became utterly giddy during the holiday. He bought so many fireworks that they barely managed to set them all off in their backyard during the night. True enough, he jumped whenever someone else used their own colorful ammunition, his hand flying to his side, where his gun used to be. Yet, he still set up his own arsenal and set it off with complete glee.

“Are we going to war?” Ruby asked, leaning in the doorway and watching her father jump around the car, deciding which monstrosity to take out first. He looked up at her and smiled wide.

“Oh, we’re going to war, honey,” Jo shot back. “I’m going to announce to the whole town that I’m back in my all former glory.” Ruby shook her head, but walked down the front steps regardless, Chili following. He eagerly rushed to the car, sniffing and trying to see if anything inside was meant for him. Jo took out a ball from the front seat, showed it to the eager dog and then chucked it as far as he could towards Fox Forest. Chili tore after it, wheezing in happiness.

“You’ve unleashed the monster.” Ruby chuckled, grabbing one box of fireworks and taking it to the porch.

“He likes it and we both know it.” Jo retaliated, carrying his own load of colorful tubes.

“You’re an unleashed monster, as well.” His daughter shot back with a grin.

“Says the girl who scared all the kids away from our building on Halloween.” So, Ruby went a little crazy on Halloween. So what? It was normal to do so. It was completely normal to scare kids during the holiday. It wasn’t her fault that the youngest ones couldn’t take it and ran back to their mothers, crying. It wasn’t her fault that the others were cowards and couldn’t pass her maze of horror doom and get to the good candy.

“They were spineless,” Ruby grumbled. “You’re supposed to scare them on Halloween.” Jo sighed as they continued to carry fireworks to the porch.

“Not enough to cry,” he was using his fatherly voice. “And certainly not enough to make them avoid our home on their second run.”

“Hey, you were happy eating all the candy.” She shot back.

“That I was,” Jo grinned, letting sleeping dogs lie for once. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my workshop.” And he bounced away with a devilish smirk. Ruby slapped her forehead, knowing that her father wasn’t up to any good.

Ruby’s suspicions were confirmed when Chili started barking like mad, running at the iron gates of their property that afternoon. She poked her head out of the window, seeing the Sheriff’s car parked out front.

“Chili! Be cool!” The girl shouted and rushed down the stairs to greet the policeman. By the time she had the door open, the Sheriff was already walking up the front steps of their porch.

“Ruby, hello,” Tom Keller greeted with a friendly smile. “Is Jo around?” He eyed the pile of fireworks on their porch with a wary look. Ruby had a feeling that she knew what this visit was about.

“He’s in the shop out back,” then, she tried to diffuse the situation. “I swear that they’re all legal.” When the Sheriff gave her a dubious look, Ruby sighed. “He does this every year. I checked all of them, God’s honest truth.”

“Where is this shop exactly?” Sheriff Keller asked. Ruby smiled, waving him over and started leading the way. Chili followed them, his new ball in his mouth, slobbering happily.

“Jo’s secret shack of wonders.” Ruby introduced in a deadpan voice when they reached the small building, similar to a garage, with closed doors and an ominous sound of metal being cut coming from inside.

“God, he hasn’t changed at all.” Sheriff Keller sighed. Then, he pounded on the door with his fist, making them shake.

“He’s worse, if my mom’s stories are anything to go by,” Ruby laughed. “I’ll leave you to it. If you’d like coffee after that, I’ll be at the house.” She tossed over her shoulder. The last thing she heard before calling Chili to come back with her was the Sheriff asking her father if he was mad. Ruby could answer that question without thinking. Yes, on the 4th of July her father was quite mad.

Ruby had texted Toni first, asking if the girl had any plans for the holiday. And, she’d gotten a quick reply, as always, saying how the purple haired Serpent was planning on setting off some fireworks down at the quarry with the guys. Regardless, Ruby invited her over if she wanted to hang out later. Toni didn’t make any promises, saying that the guys usually brought booze and stayed the night at the quarry, not being sober enough to ride until morning. For some reason, the image of Fangs, Toni and Sweet Pea drunk got Ruby giggling.

Next, the girl texted Archie and the new contact in her phone, Jughead. The former never replied, but the latter told her that he could come over if she wanted to pick him up at Pop’s, because he was on foot and the Wolfe house was on the other side of the town. Ruby readily agreed, after yelling to Jo that she was having a friend over for the evening. The man offered only a muffled agreement from his workshop, hammering stopping for a second. So, Ruby grabbed the keys to the Mustang and allowed Chili to hop into the front seat.

Entering Pop’s reminded her of all the times she’d gone there with Sweet Pea. She had to open the door herself this time, after all. The teen easily found Jughead on the far left of the small diner, sitting with his laptop open. And, instantly, her memory clicked into place.

“I remember where I know that beanie from!” Ruby exclaimed, sliding into the seat on the other side of Jughead without a proper greeting. He looked over the top of the laptop, face illuminated by the light of his screen.

“Hello to you, too,” he sarcastically remarked. “Wait, you know my beanie from somewhere?”

“Yeah, I came here with one of the guys working on our house,” Ruby chose to leave Sweet Pea’s name out of the whole mess. She’d gotten the feeling that Jughead wasn’t a big fan of the biker gang. “I remember thinking that it’s a cool beanie when I saw you sitting here.” She laughed, shaking her head.

“Oh, um,” the boy was as awkward as always. “If you say so.” He replied with a small shrug. Ruby nodded.

“Super cool,” she told him. “Dad and I were gonna get some burgers for dinner, have you already eaten?”

“Do you really need to ask me if I want food?” Jughead laughed, finally in his element.

“Silly me.” Ruby hopped up, waving off his offer to pay for dinner. She just asked him what he wanted and went to the counter to order takeaway.

That’s all for now folks!

How did you guys enjoy the premiere? I found Archie’s car totally bitchin’ and I’m a bit sad about the dog abuse (Poor Hot Dog and poor Vegas!)

Here if the taglist (still open): @enticinghell@projectcampbell@sweetscamille@xoxodege@mlvgren@this-is-the-way-it-ends @yerawizardharry99 @dinglemember

And, you can find the other chapters and my other work by visiting this Masterlist.

Let me know how you liked it!

#styomi #fanfiction #writing #riverdale #riverdale oc #riverdale aesthetic #riverdale drabble #riverdale fanfiction #sweet pea #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea oc #sweet pea drabble #sweet pea aesthetic #sweet pea fanfiction #ruby wolfe #ruby wolfe aesthetic #bansheehime #the wolfe series #flowers and gemstones

13 notes · View notes