#You could put that shit under one of those cartoon box and stick traps and I would fall for it

[artistmitchy]

I don't know shit about this series; I just think he's neat.

[artificialqueens]

The Audit, Chapter 1 (Branjie, Scyvie, Ninex) - Phryne

She’s back back back back (quarantine back rolls)! Here’s the rewrite of The Department of Public Safety, with more jokes, more warm and fuzzy moments, and less safety. Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed!

Thank you to @janssports for being the most lovely beta and @scarletenvy for endless support!

This Chapter: There’s a new sherif in town, and she doesn’t play around (though Vanjie hopes otherwise).

***

In the simple town of Lanmore, Virginia — where the grass trimmings lay on the sidewalks until the next storm washes them away, where the sun burns heavy on every blacktop in every strip mall parking lot, where the flag blows freely and haphazardly — it is quiet.

It is all quiet until Vanjie hefts a Wal-Mart bag, filled to the brim with loose packets of SweeTarts, onto the freshly waxed conference room table. She dumps them out, all good and messy, letting them brush against A’keria and Nina’s piles of citizen suggestions, and spill off onto the floor.

And there were at least a hundred suggestions at A’keria and Nina’s end of the table, sorted haphazardly into Bad, Extra Spicy Bad, and Wrong Department piles. They pass workable suggestions directly to Silky or Vanjie to turn nonsense into gold with their keen understanding of Lanmore and its specific breed of citizen, until they spit out a new program to address the concern.  Or the suggestion goes to Scarlet, who brings it to Yvie, who then handles the issue swiftly—and loudly— like she always does.

“So you’re tellin’ me—” Silky reaches across the table and snatches a packet of candy. “That these hos found a way to snort this?” She dangles it between her well manicured nails, as though it were a little bag of dog shit found next to the trash can in Smallman Park.

“They ain’t hos, Silk. They’re like….” Licking her finger, A’keria ponders the hoes as she flips through another stack of suggestion slips rescued from their cardboard box, which lived under Scarlet’s desk, more specifically underneath Scarlet’s balled up fuzzy socks and “secret files,” which no one really wanted to investigate, lest they get trapped in Scarlet’s world by spending too much time with her thoughts. “I don’t know, like, twelve year old boys. They’re just stupid.”

Nina turns around, capping her marker. “Twelve year olds can’t be hos. They’re twelve.”

“You can be a ho and be twelve.” Another flip. A’keria crumples a suggestion slip and launches it at the Extra Spicy Bad pile, missing and hitting Scarlet’s feet.

The Extra Spicy Bad pile held all the suggestions that A’keria took great pleasure in reading out to the group during happy hour, in the traditional Monthly Suggestion Box Clean-Out fashion — in the corner booth at Chewy George’s bar, sat halfway in Silky’s lap, drunk from three blended margaritas, sticking her favorites into her bra, so she could hang them on her desk when she got back to work the next day.

Scarlet turns in her chair and snorts. “Wouldn’t you know,” she says easily, teasingly light.

“Please, you wish you were,” A’keria shoots back, half her attention still on the suggestion slip in front of her.

With a laugh, Scarlet clutches pearls she’s not even wearing. “Excuse me, I’m a lady.” She brightens, splaying out her hands on the conference table, accidentally bumping the Bad pile. “Brigid treated me to a lovely dinner and show last night, sooo. That’s lady-like shit.”

“You’re excused,” Silky adds, but not before she can join Vanjie in rolling her eyes at Scarlet’s remarks.

“She’s not a ho and neither are you, so shut up.” Yvie booms from the front office in that unmistakably Yvie way — loudly inviting herself into a conversation happening in a completely different room, which she has no part of. Such are the powers of being the director.

“Course she chimes in now.” A’keria rolls her eyes before handing Nina a suggestion. “This one’s actually good.”

Vanjie trails away from A’keria and back to the candy. She whips off her shoe, holding the orange suede pump by its blocky heel, and starts pounding the candy mercilessly, throwing her whole body into it. Once, twice, three times, before she shifts her bare foot on top of her other shoe to redistribute her weight. She continues pounding, even as Silky reaches across her to grab a packet of candy, mesmerized by how Vanjie swings her shoe with a vengeance.

She rips it open and carefully pops a SweeTart in her mouth. “So how do these kids even get to snortin’ this shit?”

“You can do anything when you’re stupid enough.” A’keria begins folding the suggestion into a paper airplane, crumpling the nose of it when it doesn’t look pointy enough.

Silky waves a SweeTart in front of Vanjie’s mouth until she opens, letting Silky place it on her tongue. “But what are they getting out of this? Is it like drugs, or…?”

“They snort it, Silk,” Vanjie switches the shoe around to pound with the heel. She gives it a good whack and looks up at Silky with wide eyes. “That’s how they get to snortin it.”

“Yeah but they snort it and then what?”

“I guess you guys better…”

Nina shoots A’keria a look and mouths do not.

“Maybe we should try it and find out?” Scarlet adds, before taking the paper airplane from A’keria, looking over her shoulder, scooting her chair out into the hallway, kicking off of the door frame, and launching herself toward Yvie’s office.

She rolls through the open door, and in one swift move, hands Yvie the airplane, captures the stack of papers Yvie’s waving with a smile, and rolls over to the photocopier next to her desk, yelling behind her, “That’s three points.” Yvie marks the tallies on a Post-It. She’ll put it into the spreadsheet later.

Nina turns back to the candy and opens her mouth. She wants to say something, but instead mashes her lips and shakes her head. Vanjie and Silky mumble “stupid kids,” and “they got nothing to do but dumb shit,” and “you’d probably try snorting candy to get out of reading Lord of the Flies too, Mary,” as they take turns pounding the candy with Vanjie’s shoe.

“I did not, Scarlet did” A’keria drawls, judging that the suggestion of “No more traffic lights. I’m sick of fines and I want to drive like a man” as stupid enough to earn its spot in the “Bad Box.” She crumples it up and tosses it away.

Nina grabs another paper, breaking into a sigh as she scans over the first line.

“Marty the Giraffe and I had a real connection. He ate leaves out of my hand. Who can I call about adopting him?” Nina reads slowly, carefully, as though the sentences were not basic, as though there must be some deeper meaning to glean from the citizen report.

“Gimme that.” Vanjie says, grasping the air until Nina scoots around the table and fits the paper between her fingers. “We’re gonna try some Rizzoli and Isles shit, Silk.”

Silky comes up from under the table, having grabbed Vanjie’s other shoe clean off her foot. She smacks the candy with the heel. “What’s Rizzoli and Isles?” She hits it again, once more, with feeling.

“Like crime ladies who investigate drugs and the one is tough and wears leather jackets and also hot and the other looks at dead people and keeps them chocolate Ho Hos in her desk.”

“Oh my god,” Yvie drawls from her office, watching as Scarlet rolls back in with the photocopies and two pink Starbursts from the candy bowl she keeps on her desk. She breaks her gaze. “None of you are hos.”

A’keria smirks and flips over her phone with a sly smile, before sliding it across the table over to Silky. “Brightness down.”

Vanjie grabs it instead, glances down for a split second, and lets the phone drop into her lap “God, my lesbian eyes.”

“I didn’t know eyes could be lesbian,” Silky mutters, snatching up the phone and turning the brightness back up. She nods, and decisively states, “ho.”

“Everything’s lesbian. That’s how it works. Head, shoulders, knees and toes, Mary,” Vanjie sings, poking Silky.

“And how is your head?” A’keria calls across the table, fishing a slip out of the box. “Nevermind I found it.”

Dropping her shoe back on the table with a clean thud, Vanjie throws herself across the table grasping for the slip.

“It says Vanjie’s tongue is so sloppy…” A’keria pauses to clear her throat.

“How sloppy is it?” Scarlet calls back

“It don’t say shit. Gimme that.” Vanjie grabs the slip and quick stuffs it down her shirt. “There, now you won’t get it.” She pushes herself up and walks back to her side of the table, looking pleased with herself.

A’keria rolls her eyes and turns to Nina. “You wanna get it?” She points at Vanjie, who is now pulling out her credit card. “I won’t even tell HR.” A’keria laughs, and Nina blushes furiously at the thought of HR, which only makes A’keria laugh harder.  

Vanjie separates the powdered candy with her credit card and turns to Silky. “We’re gonna try it, Riz.”

With a shrug, Silky pops her finger into her mouth, sticks it into the pile of candy, and then back into her mouth. “Why don’t they just eat it the regular way?” she mumbles around her finger.

“Because they’re fucking stupid,” A’keria drawls. “That’s how kids are. Fucking stupid.”

“Well, not all of them,” Nina chimes in before sliding another slip to Vanjie. “Here’s a suggestion I think you guys can do something with.”

Vanjie takes up the slip and sets it to the side before taking up the one about the giraffe, rolling it into a thin straw with precision. “Just the stupid ones.”

“Y’all are a bunch of clowns.” A’keria shakes her head as Vanjie cuts the candy into lines.

Vanjie ignores her and turns to Silky. “So, I couldn’t really understand the principal, on account of he sounded like one of those grown ups in those Peanuts cartoons, with Charlie Brown and that dog and shit. But anyway, he said he saw them snortin’ it through the milk straws during lunch period. And then that mom started goin’ off in the office about the police and Reagan and the War on Drugs, and then I stopped listenin’ so…”

“That’s fucked up,” Yvie yells, unwrapping a Starburst.

“Yes it is, Yvangeline. Yes it is,” Vanjie replies, ungrateful for Yvie’s input, before turning back to Silky. “So I take my card and make it into a thin line, like this. And now you got to get something like a dollar bill like they do in the movies or some other paper shit.”

Silky sticks the rolled up suggestion slip into Vanjie’s hand.

“So you just make a roll, and then you get one end to your nose and the other to the line and, like, you just sniff it up.” She plugs one side of her nose, imitating a sniff, but coming out more like a snorting pig on Benadryl.

Yvie glances up from her freshly printed budget papers, and flashes eyes filled with exhaustion and slight amusement toward the group in the conference room. “Guys, we really don’t need to practice snorting candy to see why it’s a problem that middle schoolers are making fake designer drugs out of candy.” She turns to Scarlet. “Hit me.”

“Another Starburst?”

“No, like with a big piece of wood, a lead pipe, your hand.” Yvie huffs, looking over the spreadsheets. “We’re fucked.”

Scarlet rests her hand over Yvie’s shoulder with a giggle. “You don’t try hard enough to be fucked.”  

Yvie lets out a tight laugh, ignoring the warmth of Scarlet’s touch and focusing again on the budgetary discretion spreadsheet.

Scarlet gives her one more pat before walking back out of the office. “Yeah guys, it’s kind of inappropriate.”

“Yeah guys, it’s kind of inappropriate,” Silky mutters into the powder, imitating Scarlet’s high-pitched whine, making Vanjie and A’keria snicker. She rolls up her own suggestion slip, presses it to her nose, and bends over the conference table.

Scarlet rolls her eyes, shoving her chair back toward her desk.

“Well, here I go.” Silky shrugs, making a sign of the cross and taking a deep breath. She holds her finger to her left nostril before shooting up at the sound of a nail tapping at the window behind her and Scarlet screaming at the sight of the blonde woman it belonged to.

The woman has her nose pressed against the window, peering in eerily, eyes wide and cold at the sight in front of her.

The air in the office sinks, quickly becoming dense and stifling. Silky releases the paper from her limp hand, A’keria drops her phone into her lap, and Scarlet’s chair slams right into her filing cabinet, knocking her pictures to the floor with a shatter.  

“What’s going on in there?” Yvie yells, standing in her door frame. Then she sees it, the scowling blond woman rounding the corner into her department.

The combination of the woman’s angrily clicking heels; Scarlet sitting in a pile of broken glass — from a picture of her and Brigid last Christmas at the city’s tree lighting — and cutting her fingers while trying to clean it up; Silky holding up Vanjie’s shoe; Vanjie bent over a table with candy “drugs” in front of her; and A’keria throwing a paper airplane that hits the newly arrived and even more agitated blonde lady in the chest; makes Yvie want to bite down on her hand until she sees blood.

She resists the urge, however, because Nina taught her that was a bad way to manage stress. So she breathes in for eight counts and out for eight more. It doesn’t work, but repeating “fucking Christ” over and over in her mind helps a little, even if it’s not a Monet Invented Nina Approved Official Stress Relief Strategy.

The woman clears her throat and picks up the airplane. She unfolds it and reads carefully, in a disinterested, even tone, “I lost my water bottle here. It is blue.”

Nina staggers out of the conference room, the rest of the team shuffling after her, still disheveled, but not more disheveled than they are on a typical Tuesday morning. “That was for our boss.”

The woman looks them over, her well groomed brows taut. “Why does your boss need to know this?” She shakes her head, as though looking over the team provided her with all she needs to know. Instead, she crumples the paper airplane, just as Vanjie begins to interject about a city-wide reusable water bottle program. “Would someone like to tell me what is going on in this department?”

Silky folds her hands. Scarlet looks between Yvie and her now bloody fingers, before getting up, wiping them on her skirt, and slotting in between Silky and Vanjie. A’keria and Vanjie exchange glances before turning to look at Yvie as well. Nina stands still, silent as possible, fiddling with the button on her cardigan, as though it were of sudden interest.

The blonde nods and follows their line of sight, heels clicking against the cracked tile floor as she strides toward Yvie’s office, coming to a firm halt in front of her. Breaking into a smirk, she runs her index finger over Yvie’s name plate.

“Director Oddly, is it?” she asks in a tone that suggests she already knows the answer, yet she accompanies the question with a tilt of her head, awaiting a response.

Yvie walks out into the department, takes one look at the scowling blonde woman, and mutters, “Oh, fuck me.” Her head pulls back and she closes her eyes, inhaling deeply for eight counts, just like Nina taught her. When she opens her eyes, all she sees is the brown water stain in the warped ceiling tiles—which Scarlet referred to as “The Amoeba” and Vanessa parodied into “Miss Amoeba Edwards, for your consideration, yass gawd.” If only she could laugh upon seeing the silly looking stain, pretend for a moment that the blonde woman and her obnoxious tone would disappear.

But when she looks forward again, she finds her still there. Yvie exhales once more for eight counts and looks at the woman squarely, sternly, her lips forming a tight line, eyes firm and unyielding.

The last time that look saw the fluorescent light of the office was July 24, 2017, at approximately 2:30 p.m., when Silky cut the office’s only AUX cord in half because she couldn’t take any more of Scarlet’s Christmas Spotify playlist, droning out “Blue Christmas” from the small speaker on the windowsill, claiming that “Christmas in July isn’t a real holiday, it’s a day for capitalists, and no, I don’t care if your girlfriend made you that playlist, I won’t listen to ‘Frosty the Snowman’ while I sweat my whole ass off.”

Scarlet bites the inside of her cheek. This is bad.

Yvie raises her gaze to meet the woman’s, grinds her teeth, and replies with a curt, “Yes.”

She extends her hand, which Yvie unceremoniously shakes, before letting them drop. “I imagine you are to be their supervisor then, and yet, they are clearly unsupervised.” The woman takes in the disarray of the office and the embarrassed expressions of the employees, and continues. “So I must ask, of course, why exactly you have one employee teaching another employee how to do drugs off of my desk, while looking at another employee’s nude pictures, while your secretary rolls back and forth between you and the conference room, creating as many safety hazards as possible in the process, just to make sure she doesn’t miss out on everyone crumpling up suggestions from concerned citizens and playing a game with our constituents’ lives.”

“I’m not a—” Scarlet begins before the woman looks at her.

“Well, technically we’re not elected,” Yvie mutters, hoping the woman might just catch it, burning for an argument strong enough to get her out of her department. “So, not constituents, per say…”

“Also, it’s not drugs, it’s candy because we got a call from Charles Middle that kids are crushing up this candy and it’s got to do with DARE and… Anyway it’s not drugs and we’re trying to figure out what’s up there,” Silky digresses.

The woman rubs between her brows, urging them to unfurrow. “No, you misunderstand me. It was a rhetorical question to emphasize that you, a group of grown adults, being paid with tax-payer money, could not possibly be allowed to supervise yourselves.”

“Well, technically, I do supervise them,” Yvie adds, again, growing more irate at this conversation.

“Please.” The woman brushes it off, “If you’re aware that your department is throwing around paper airplanes made of suggestion forms, then you’re clearly complicit in their misuse of time and resources.”

“Only the good ones become paper airplanes.” Nina shrugs. “The bad ones are crumpled, that’s how we sort.”

“You heard it, that’s how they sort.” Yvie gestures to the group before snapping, like her patience had been pulled taut for far too long.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” she says, clearly not sorry.

The woman continues, unfazed.

“So we just ignore concerns?” She looks to the ground, before crouching down to snatch up a crumpled paper. She chokes a snide laugh, unfurls it, and continues. “A slip from a concerned citizen, writing into your suggestion box. And it says.” She pauses, face twisting, eyes widening, before returning to her previously cold countenance. “It says: The Mexicans are throwing cocaine over the fence and I’m scared one of them will become strong enough to throw it into Virginia. You need to stop them.” She turns the paper over. “Sincerely, Jenny Miller.”

Vanjie grabs the slip from her hands, pouring over the words before recrumpling it and shooting the paper ball into the trash can behind Scarlet’s desk. “That’s fucking racist, Jenny.”

“Yeah, that’s fucked up,” Silky pipes up, rubbing her fingers together to get rid of the candy dust.

“Vanj is right, it’s racist, and either way, no one could throw that far, Jenny,” Scarlet drawls, bobbing her head. “We’re a hundred miles from Mexico, at least.”

The woman lets out an exasperated huff, not even touching upon the poor display of geographical awareness. It’s Virginia, for fuck’s sake. “Who’s Vanj?”

Pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth, Yvie points with her pen, releasing her lip as she replies, “The one who took the suggestion slip from you, threw it in the trash, and called Jenny a racist.” She crosses her arms. “And again, who are you?”

The woman pulls back her blazer and taps at her badge. Vanjie tries to look like she’s still offended, but it’s harder by the minute.

“My name is Brooke Lynn Hytes, and I’m your state auditor.” She fishes around in her purse, undisturbed by Yvie’s tightening glance as she scans over her employees. “And you’ve just made my job exceptionally easy.” Finding her notebook, she scans the room, recording something with a scowl before closing it up and placing it on the reception desk before Scarlet can even raise her finger in protest.

Yvie rings her hands out, fears confirmed. A’keria catches the look, and mutters her own, “Ugh, Jesus.”

“Now I was told that your conference room is the only free one within city hall, therefore it will become my office for my tenure. So I expect my office to be cleaned and sanitized.” She throws her briefcase and purse down on Scarlet’s desk, the jacket soon following, Vanjie’s gaze following the jacket and back to the woman. Again, trying to maintain her irritation.

“I would also like the department’s financial statements stacked neatly on my desk.” Brooke eyes A’keria, her confusion over where they could possibly be evident in her squinting, sideways glance.

When the office finally reaches silence, caused by Yvie and A’keria’s worried glances and increasingly raised brow at the thought of the financial statements, the two of them both acutely aware of how quickly the department was sinking into something between quicksand and shit. Shitsand.

The rest simply studied Brooke. The pressed white button down and cigarette pants. The creaseless leather pumps. The unflinching gaze.  

Of course, Vanjie breaks it.

“Uh, what’s an auditor?”

It’s ghost quiet as Yvie, from behind Brooke, drags her finger across her neck, shaking her head furiously.

Scarlet drags her foot across the cracked peach tile. “Well, an auditor is a—”

“Budget slasher,” A’keria interjects. She closes her eyes and inhales, hoping that someone will answer her prayers and make Brooke get out, and if not, will get A’keria out of here.

“Clean it. Now,” Brooke grits out before adjusting her shirt, picking an invisible piece of lint off of her and flicking it to the ground ceremoniously. “Director?”

Brooke pivots and heads straight for Yvie’s office, letting Yvie know that again, Brooke isn’t asking questions, though her intonation would suggest otherwise. Yvie follows. Brooke slams the door behind them, sits on the edge of the chair in front of Yvie’s desk, and waves her hand behind her aimlessly.

Yvie closes the blinds, leaving the team with a shaky thumbs up and a dorky smile as their only solace.

Somehow, this day of government work would be longer than all the others.

[bambigoose]

Prank Gone Wrong

Martin Jones was a dead man. There is no way around it. You are going to kill him. In the days leading up to Halloween he and Dilly began their usual prank war, maybe a little childish but certainly entertaining. You had almost peed your pants watching Brenden attempting to lace up his skates while the laces were cut. Dilly’s revenge, princess stickers and glitter, all over Joner’s helmet was truly the gift that kept on giving. However in the dark of all Hallows Eve, the scrawny evil little mastermind wrapped your car in ceran wrap instead of Brenden’s. You’re already running late this morning and Dilly stumbled his way out to morning practice about an hour ago. Next week this wouldn’t have been a problem was all that was running through your mind, the clocks roll back, there’d have been sunlight when your boyfriend left. This whole thing would have disappeared before you even had a chance to see it. Brenden knew how important you’re meeting this morning was. Hell the most forgetful fricken man in the universe left a good luck postit on the coffee maker this morning.

Pulling out your phone and opening the Bozo group chat you proceeded to let those two idiots know your feelings.

MARTIN FUCKING JONES I AM GOING TO STRANGLE YOU IN YOUR SLEEP! MY CAR?!?!!? REALLY?!?!?! Dilly you’re going to need a new best friend if I don’t make it to the meeting on time. HONESTLY MARTIN HOW MANY DAMN LAYERS DID YOU PUT AROUND MY CAR! I’VE BEEN TEARING THEM OFF FOR THE PAST 20 MINUTES!

Knowing the boys would be on the ice for the next hour or so you, finished pulling of the wrap and flew down the highway praying the State Patrolmen were not in your area.

..........

Practice wrapped up late today for the Sharks and Dilly was finishing his shower later than expected. After the rough start to the season, coach had been particularly brutal and Brenden felt like his legs may collapse out from underneath him like a newborn giraffe. Attempting to preserve his dignity, he stiffened his legs and shuffled across the room as quickly as possible for his locker.

“Seriously dude, nothing after that epic prank this morning. I thought it was ingenious.” Martin Jones calls out from his stall.

Eyebrows scrunching while lines form across his forward Dilly responds. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Joners’s face went white as a ghost, well that description might not be accurate enough, he turned as white as the arctic tundra before panic became visible on his face. “Oh Shit.” Digging through his locker Martin looked like the Tasmanian devil cartoon he was so frantic. “I’m in trouble.”

Burns couldn’t resist stating the obvious, “She’s going to kill you.”

............

Exiting the corporate office; you took a deep breath of the fresh air. The office dead stick air finally clearing from your senses it felt like you could finally relax your shoulders that had been clenched since seven this morning. Never before had you been so thankful for traffic, the board was as trapped as you were this morning and delayed the meeting another hour, five minutes to spare you were set up and gave the presentation of your life. Your plan for company growth was accepted and the raise you’d been hoping for was finally yours.

The click of your doors unlocking echoed through the parking garage. Ninety percent of the office emptied out two hours ago at five. Choosing instead to wait the extra two hours you were ahead of schedule for tomorrow and able avoid sitting in an hour of traffic. The added bonus of making Dilly and Joner sweat it out was a plus to being able to leave early this Friday due to the extra time. Stepping up into your SUV you began your drive home. The SUV a new addition to your life after your previous love, a 2003 Ford Focus finally gave out on you. That little shit box had nothing left to give and didn’t owe you a cent but caving under Brenden’s pressure to select an all-wheel drive SUV might have been one of the better decisions you’ve made lately. The added comfort of all the space obviously had nothing to do with his nudging.

Fifteen minutes later you turned into your driveway, passing Joner’s and Brenden’s the prime spot five feet from the doorway was left open for you. ‘Let the ass kissing begin’ ran through your mind. About three hours after your meeting finished you could see the humor in the prank but that absolutely does not mean you were not going to make them sweat it out, the only reply either have received from multiple text messages was a standard. I’m staying late, see you around 730.

Glancing out of the corner of your eye, the two morons scattered from behind the curtain they were glancing out of, like children attempting to hide from their mother. Opening the door, the smell of garlic bread hit your sinuses, clearly they were really attempting to suck up with your favorite meal cooking. You figured in between the two of them it had to be semi edible.

Hearing shuffling off to the side you turned to confront the daring soul sent to confront you first. “Hi y/n/n you look very beautiful today.” Martin squeaked out, is your boyfriend really so afraid of you he’d rather sacrifice his best friend?

“I know. It’s amazing that my air held up so well this morning. Lots of exercise I wasn’t planning on.” You quipped back quickly watching Joner gulp.

“Babe! How was your day? How was the meeting? You got the raise right; they’d be idiots to give it to someone else!” Dilly exclaimed entering into the hallway from behind you, bravely placing an arm around your shoulders.

Instinctively your demeanor began to turn; Dilly has this way of making all the problems disappear as soon as you’re wrapped up in him. Nothing can touch you with him around. Jokingly you respond, “You weren’t aware you were dating a miracle worker. Somehow this morning was salvaged.” Elated shouts ran out of both of them. Dilly wrapping you up into a celebratory kiss second before Jones crashes into both of you in the most complicated group hug you’ve ever seen. Laughing harder the jab couldn’t be resisted, “Still pretty pissed about the car though boys.”

“We made your favorite dinner!”

“There’s flowers on the table!”

Jumbles out of both of them at the same time.

“Let’s eat.” You started heading toward the breakfast nook in the kitchen, knowing those boys will never use the dining room unless their parents were visiting. Falling into your typical place between them a habit intended to keep them from picking off each other’s plates and arguing about it. Both of them learned long ago not to mess with your garlic bread and you didn’t really mind if they picked at anything else.  Taking a bite you, swallowed hard immediately. “All those in favor of Joner buying dinner to make up for this morning head towards the front door.” The mad dash to the door was something straight out of a cartoon. The food end up in the trash later on, you weren’t all that worried about it. God knows the dog will take a bit of it and make for something else just like all of you. You supposed it’s the thought that counts right? Just from now on you’ll be encouraging the thought to not involve food unless someone else is cooking it.

[winsister91]

Crash Trickster Racing

Summary: The angelic master of mischief interrupts a game night that’s getting steamy…

Characters: Dean x Reader, Gabriel

Word Count: 1649

Warning: Language, implied smut, fluff? Is this what is known as crack? IDK

A/N: I can join in my own challenge right? lolol Out of all the things I’ve written, I think this takes the crown as the dumbest. Have I seriously just done a kinda sorta SPN CTR crossover? I should be shot. Pretty niche market here I guess, apologies to all you youngsters/non-gamers who probably have no idea what Crash Team Racing is. 

My Masterlist!

~ Dean and forever tags are open! ~

Dean taglist predominantly from @spnfanficpond . Let me know if want to be added/removed!

“Dean Winchester,” you laugh in triumph, “You suck!”

You throw the Playstation controller to the floor, doing a ridiculous victory dance. The result now was 12-1, in your favour. The only reason he won that one race in Crash Team Racing was because he started it without you while you went to grab a drink.

“You are inhumanely good at this stupid game,” Dean sulks, throwing his own controller down and folding his arms, “If it was a real race, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Whatever,” you shrug, sticking your tongue out and shaking your butt in a tease as you turn, “Victory beer!”

You skip to the kitchen, grinning like a child. As you go to open the fridge, Dean’s hand forces it closed again. He swiftly takes you in his arms, picking you up onto the counter and biting down your neck. You giggle as tingles wash over you, throwing your head back to grant him access.

“Distract me all you want,” you gasp as he moves around to the other side of your neck, “You still suck at Crash.”

“Maybe,” he growls, taking you to a higher place with a deep kiss on your collarbone, “But I know what I am good at.”

“Thank god you do,” you exhale before his lips forcefully clash into yours, instantly allowing his hungry tongue to do battle with your own.

He lifts you onto his hips, you wrap your legs around him and the tongue battle continues. You rake your hands through his hair, your core fluttering with excitement when those beautiful olive eyes of his pierce lustfully into yours. He carries you through the room and into the corridor leading to his bedroom. You giggle, pulling your t-shirt up and over your head on the way. He hums at the sight of you, kicking his door open and bringing you inside.

“What the fuck?” he stops and freezes. The sounds of numerous engines rumbling come to your ears and confused isn’t even the word. You look around, this was most definitely not Dean’s room. It was…outside? Pixelated?

“Okaay?” you jump down from his hips, looking around. You’re at the start line of a race track in a blocky cartoon world? It looks like the Coco Park track…it is Coco Park. Perfect in every detail. There’s a flash of white light and suddenly you’re in a racing kart. You immediately try to pull yourself out, but some invisible force is holding you there.

“Dean what’s going on!?” your shriek.

Dean is in the kart next to you, also struggling for freedom, he curses under his breath. “God dammit Gabriel where are you!?” he shouts viciously.

“Oh no…” you groan, rolling your eyes.

“Now is that any way to greet a buddy?” that familiar chirpy voice comes. Gabriel melts into view, laying on the flat rectangular texture of grass at the side of the road, “I’ve always thought you two were such a cute couple, but man it gets monotonous. A playful argument, sex, self-deprecation, sex, get drunk, sex. The result is always the same!”

You and Dean share a worried glance.

“You’ve been watching us?” Dean shakes his head in disbelief.

“Ew!” you shout.

“Who needs soap opera’s when the Winchesters exist? But its rapidly declining into a porno” he chuckles, snapping his fingers and appearing in a third kart between you both, “Now come on, this is fun! She says he sucks at Crash, he says he could win a real race, let’s combine the two!” “Could I have some dignity please first!?” you cross your arms, remembering you are topless, only a bra and pants on show.

The angel tuts and with a wave of his hand, your t-shirt appears back on you, “It’s game time,” he grins eagerly.

The unforgettable sound of the air horn count down echoes in the air, you can see the in game lights hovering above you. You get your game face on, thinking, Fine! Whatever! I’m gonna kick your asses.

The last siren blares and your foot is pressed firmly down on the gas pedal. The kart shoots forward, much faster than you expected. You squeal in terror as you crash into one of the item crates, the blocky shards of wood flying over you. This moment makes you realise the game’s hud is in your eyesight, like it’s imprinted on your iris. You see your lap time ticking away in the top corner of your sight, and a mini map of the track in a bottom corner. This is insane, and awesome. A box in the top centre of your vision is flicking through pictures of the in-game weapons, stopping on the missile. You grin mischievously before worry hits you. You can’t use a freaking missile! You’ll kill them!

While your mind had wandered, you realise you’re making a bee line for a red bottle, left on the track by Gabriel. You jerk on the wheel hard to try and avoid it, but it’s too late. You crash into it, sending the kart into a spin and you scream hysterically. Your vision becomes blurry and your car a stuttering slow mess as it clumsily bobs along with a black rain cloud following and raining on to you.

“Shit!” you shout in frustration, bashing at the gas pedal, but it’s fruitless while the bottle’s effect is in play.

“Oh yea, feel free to use the weapons!” Gabriel’s voice echoes omnipotently in the air, “They’ll not really hurt you!”

The cloud vanishes and you shoot forward again. Now you’re determined.

You can hear Dean laughing and clearly enjoying the ride, turning back to you and mocking while you try to catch up. You ignore him, focusing on the damned archangel further ahead. You spot a huge red button in the middle of the steering wheel, the angel in your line of sight and you slam it. The missile blasts out of the front of your kart and your grin returns. You watch in glee as it soars away into the distance. Then your face drops as the explosive turns and hones in on Dean.

“Uh oh,” you mumble, remembering these things are designed to aim at the person directly in front of you in the standings.

The rocket explodes into Dean’s car sending him flying in the air in a cartoonish fashion. You hear him cursing you as you speed past.

“Bitch!!!!”

“Sorry not sorry!” you squeak sheepishly.

With Dean now falling far behind, it’s a full on battle for first place between you and Gabriel. Damn, he’s good. You question as to whether he’s tweaked things, being in control over this world he’s created after all. His car is way faster than yours. You can barely keep up using all the tricks in the book, grinding around corners and hitting your boost in a specific timing. Hiding TNT boxes behind the item crates for when another lap comes around. You fire numerous cannons at him, but he frequently swerves away or conveniently has a shield every time one does hit.

“Oh come on!!!” you scream, gamer rage coursing through you as he dodges another one of your traps, “This is bullshit!!!”

You hear another familiar noise and you sit wide eyed. Oh no. It’s an electrical noise, sounding like waves, you turn and see what you dread. A huge intimidating blue ball of electricity flying through the air, its aim to hit everyone in its path. You can see Dean with an evil grin behind it, clearly the culprit as it’s an item only granted to those in last place. There’s no outrunning it, you have no shield in your possession. You brace yourself.

You squeal as it passes over you and your car is flung into the air. Holding on for dear life, you breathe a sigh of relief after spinning in the air and finally landing back on the ground, dazed. Gabriel falls victim to it too, a wail coming from his kart in front of you.

You can hear Dean laughing as he speeds past you both, crossing the finish line and becoming enveloped in a flood of confetti.

“Well done you,” you grumble as you and Gabriel cross the line with glum faces. You were so pissed at coming last.

“I think it’s safe to say I am the ultimate champ at this now?” Dean pokes his tongue out, folding his arms smugly.

“Bite me,” you hiss, “You got lucky with the stupid OP weapon.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, blowing you a kiss in a mock fashion which makes you wanna go over there and part kill him, part ravage him.

“Oh, guys come on now!” Gabriel raises his hand in disbelief, “The sexual tension in the air is just…so obvious plot wise!”

“The winner of your god damn race…” Dean starts calmly before ordering, “says, put us back in our god damn room right now!”

Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Fine, this isn’t the last you’ll hear from me,” with a snap of his fingers, you’re back at the bunker, sat on the floor of the bedroom. Gabriel is nowhere in sight.

“Rematch!” you squeal, jumping to your feet and marching for the door.

“Now just wait,” Dean chuckles, stepping in front of you and pulling you into a tight embrace, “…where were we first?”

In a moment of de ja vu, you find yourself being hoisted back onto Dean’s hips, violently pulling off your t-shirt.

“Really?” Gabriel groans, sat in a place unknown watching a huge TV screen where he watches people’s lives for entertainment, “There’s more sex here than in Game of Thrones…” He tuts, changing the channel with a fistful of popcorn.

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