#also. so many people dress in like. sweatshirts and long pants and then crank the a/c so high

[wewontbesleeping]

i wish i lived in the world of the americans who insist it's impossible living conditions to have the a/c set to anything over 72f lmfao. like my house is 81f rn and i'm a lil chilly. i would love to not be fucking cold everywhere i go here because everyone blasts the a/c to the absolute max.

[whoiwanttoday]

I started this blog 10 years ago today. I had been on tumblr for a long time but minimally engaged. I would pop on now and then and scroll but really didn't interact so it mostly didn't catch me. I had come from LiveJournal years ago and moved to tumblr when people jumped ship there and landed here. I missed the comments on livejournal and I found tumblr overwhelming. A friend posting about how much she hated the grocery store or someone making comments about how actually Jim and Pam getting together was a personal slight was something entertaining to read at work but it was like... a few minutes and they weren't really going to post more until tomorrow. We might have some fun back and forths in the comments but that's it. But man... tumblr just never stopped. Those same people who might post 2000 words two times a week on LiveJournal were reblogging like 50 gifs of cartoon frogs a day. It was overwhelming and I just sorta lost interest. I still kept coming back sometimes and burned through three blogs where I started, got bored, deleted, came back. Then I started this when I was not at the greatest point in my life for a few reasons but also was just dead bored. It was a week where I was really alone and suddenly I really thought the world needed to know how badly I wanted to sleep with Scarlett Johansson. Sorta. She was my first post and it was a mix of being sorta snotty and sorta navel gazey. I love stats. My friends and I used to play wiffle ball in our back yards as a kid and we had a three ring binder where we made handmade stats sheets tracking out stats. We also drew pictures of ourselves on the other side of the page so we could pretend they were baseball cards. It felt crucial to record how many home runs I hit though (home games were very generous to me. we walked out base paths and third base had to be too close to home to because that is where the fence was. It was a very short porch, like 20 feet max and I could crank them out into the neighbor's back yard). So part of me sorta was curious if I actually every day was like, "This is the person I most want to have sex with who would it be, would I surprise myself". That fell apart in a most basic sense of about a week in I realized it isn't always a celebrity but I was never going to post "That girl at the drug store just wearing a too big sweatshirt and yoga pants who kept pushing her hair back behind her ear". Cause one that would be creepy and two like, it's fleeting and of a moment and like things like this don't really break into days, just impulses. Still, I have mostly done a good job of being like, "This person is number one today". The other thing is though Tumblr was always a very horny but repressed place. That seems like a strange thing to say about a place known for it's porn but there was a set of people who were crazy thirsty for celebrities but wouldn't quite admit it. My joke was you didn't just reblog 20 pictures of Scarlett Johansson in a row because you think she was good in Don Juan. Oh, you might think she was good in that but 4 different gif sets of her leaning over in a red dress so you can get a better look at her cleavage? I know why you posted that. We all know. But certain people sorta held themselves above that and I guess I thought I'd make an honest blog. Where I just came out and said it. So I created this and suddenly I was interacting with people on tubmlr and really fell in love with it. This blog got me a lot of attention in it's early days. Reblogs yes but many, many more asks and fan mails (because let's be honest, those same people wouldn't reblog my stuff because they didn't want their friends to know they followed me but were more than happy to talk to me and tell me how much they loved my blog). I fell in love with tumblr, it was suddenly very engaging when I started to, you know, interact with people rather than just watch. I still miss that early tumblr but this version still has it's own magic. My dash is still a very different place than anywhere else on the internet. Anyway, I always do stats on these anniversaries because as stated above, I love stats. I also always up the count when I do it but last time I did 50, could I really cram in more than that? Yeah, I am going to try 100, here you go.At least @femalecelebrityoftheday will be thankful. Sorry for making the rest of you scroll.

Now, that’s out of the way. I am posting Charli XCX today because the universe told me to and I am not one to fight fate. I mean, I used to be, but it wears you out, just roll with it now. I have known for a couple days she was very likely to be here today because things kept lining up. She had a new song come out this week, a new video, she posted some great pictures of herself, and then the icing on the cake was her Rolling Stone shoot the other day. It all just sort of lined up and why fight it. She is my most posted celebrity. I am very excited for her album, my vinyl copy is preordered though who knows when that will get here. Still, very excited. Today I want to fuck Charli XCX.

[all-hail-the-witcher]

questionable government spies: chapter 6

THIS IS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER ITS ALSO THE LONGEST YEEEEEEEEET

_________

ship: platonic ralbert, eventual space, implied spromeo, implied finch and buttons

word count: 5778

warnings: race being race

editing: of course

__________

Despite falling asleep at 5:30 am, Race was up early(ish) the next morning, dancing around his kitchen in his pajamas to the classic Taylor Swift album Fearless, and making his signature banana pancakes. He actually wasn’t sure how he still had this much energy - researching Sean and convincing Albert to sleep had been very tiresome - but maybe it had something to do with the three cups of coffee he’d already drank.

Speaking of Albert, race glanced at the clock. It was almost 11 and jack would be there in a couple of hours to go over the plan, he should go wake him up. Race wiped his hands on the dish towel he had thrown over his shoulder before throwing it down on the counter next to the bowl of pancake batter and headed down the hall to his room where Albert was still asleep.

Usually, Albert would be sleeping in his own room, but his nightmares had been so bad recently that he had ended up in Races room the last two nights. Race didn’t mind, obviously. Albert was the only person left that he considered family - although jack was beginning to worm his way into his heart as a younger brother - and race was more than happy to help him in any way possible, even if that meant sharing a bed a few nights a month.

Race creaked open the door quietly and smiled when he saw Albert sprawled across the bed, chest rising and falling with even, peaceful breaths. Race almost hated to wake him, but he knew how prepared Albert liked to be before a mission.

“Albie…” race sat down on the top corner of the bed, close to Albert’s head, and began to trace his fingers through his hair. Sometimes, he would wake Albert up in obnoxious ways, usually by dumping water on his head or jumping on him or blasting an air horn, but he had the feeling Albert would not appreciate that very much today.

“Mmmmm,” Albert groaned, shifting slightly and leaning into Races touch.

“Albie you have to wake up.” Race continued to card his fingers through Albert’s hair, praying that it wouldn’t put him back to sleep. His mom had used this tactic to wake him up whe-

Race shook his head, willing the unwanted memory to leave and slowing his hand in his friends hair. He hadn’t thought about his mom in years. Why now? Why today, of all-

“Raceyyyy,” Albert whined, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Why’d you stop? That felt nice.”

“I know it felt nice,” race placed his hand on the bed. “Please get up, we have to go meet Sean in a couple of hours.”

“Don’t wanna.” Albert rolled over so he was facing away from race. “I wanna sleep.”

Race rolled his eyes before flopping on the bed behind his friend. “Pleeeeeeease,” he whispered into his ear. “I’m making pancakes.”

Finally, finally, Albert cracked open his eyes. “Banana?”

“Is there any other flavor?” Race hopped up off the bed. “I’m expecting you out here in 5 minutes to guess my pancake shapes!” He announced before exiting the bedroom. Based on the clunks and banging he heard, race suspected that the call of food was too much to keep his friend asleep.

Race cranked up the Taylor Swift and powered up the stove. In no time he had a batch of questionably shaped pancakes on the griddle and was improving to Love Story. He had just landed a quad pirouette between flipping pancakes when Albert walked in, wearing black jeans and a royal blue long sleeve shirt, hair still damp from his shower.

“Hey ba-” be paused, coughing, “buddy,” Albert said, hopping up into the counter.

“Hey yourself,” Race said, turning down the music a little - Albert hated Taylor Swift with a burning passion - and flipped another pancake. “What shapes do you think we got today?”

“Hmmm,” Albert leaned over to look at the sizzling pancakes. Race always made his pancakes in fun shapes using his special technique - blob some batter on the griddle and hope for the best. Albert’s job was to figure out what Races pancake blobs looked like. “That one is definitely a duck.”

“Really?” Race cocked his head and squinted. “I think it looks like a pink peep.”

“A pink peep?” Albert screwed up his face as he stared at his friend in disbelief. “Race, it’s a beige pancake, it can’t look like a pink peep.”

“Eh, tomatoe tomato.” Race turned back to his pancakes, missing Albert’s fantastic eye roll. “What do you think Sean is going to be like?”

“I think he’s going to be a tough gangster who’s going to beat your ass if you’re not carefu- ah!” Albert yelped as race pulled him off the counter, twirled and dipped him dramatically.

“Maybe so,” Race whispered seductively. “But I’ll just whip his ass on the dance floor.”

Race smirked at the annoyed face Albert put on as he set him gently back on the floor. The dip was a good move, he was going to have to remember that the next time he ran into someone hot.

“Race, I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“Albie, how many times have I told you that dancing is always the answer?” Race turned off the stove and threw his spatula in the sink. Albert chose to ignore Race’s comment. “Grab some plates so we can eat? I’m going to go change.”

“Don’t take forever! I’m hungry!”

Race shot Albert a wink and some unironic finger guns as he slid down the hall in his socks to his room. Luckily for Albert’s lack of patience, Race has been a dancer his entire life and could change relatively quickly when he wanted to. Within a few minutes he was seated at the table, wearing a pair of cuffed maroon pants, a white long sleeve and white high top converse, blonde hair freshly fluffed.

“Why are you actually dressed nicely?” Albert asked as he dumped an unhealthy amount of maple syrup on his pancakes, glancing up to give his friend a once over. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere fancy.”

“Maybe not, but we are meeting Sean, and we’re going to have to work with him for the foreseeable future, so I’d like to make a good first impression.” Race stared at his pancake - definitely horse shaped - for a moment before cutting into it.

Albert set down his fork, staring at Race in disbelief. “He’s a criminal.”

“He’s also a human!” Race declared. “Where do you think criminals come from? Space?”

“No but-”

“Exactly.” Race took a bite of pancake, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head as he chewed thoughtfully. “Therefore, I am entitled to make a good first impression. After that I can go back to wearing oversized sweatshirts and jeans if it would please you.”

Albert opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the apartment buzzer going off in Morse code. The two listened to the brief message before Albert and race yelled in unison: “Hey yourself, idiot!”

There was fumbling and a few muttered curse words before the door opened and jack strode in, wearing one of his signature band T-shirts - this one advertising fall out boy - black jeans and his paint splattered vans.

“Jack, how to you always manage to show up as soon as there’s food?” Race noted as he got up to get jack a plate of pancakes. Race had grown up in a family of 9 people and try as he might, he could not figure out how to make food for only two people - even five years after he left his family - so there were always tons of leftovers.

“How do you two always manage to not respond to my entrance message in Morse code?” Jack countered, digging in to the stack of pancakes Race had deposited in front of him.

Race and Albert shared a look. He did have a point.

“So, is this thing still on?” Jack asked, mouth full of pancake. “Or is race ditching us to go on a date?” He waved his fork in Races general direction.

Albert gave Race a pointed stare. “You know what, I’m glad you asked jack. Race here thinks he needs to give Sean a good first impression.”

“A what now?” Jack looked at Race quizzically.

“A good first impression. You’ve heard of that, haven’t you jack?” Race felt like banging his head into a wall. “Where you get dressed up and pretend to be nice only to reveal that you have terrible fashion sense and a bitchy attitude later on?”

“I know what a good first impression is, race” jack sighed. “I’m young, I ain’t stupid. But I don’t understand why you need to make a good first impression on a gang member.”

“My point exactly.” Albert smirked at Race. “I’ve raised you well, jack.”

Race sighed. If there was one thing he had learned it was that if you can’t beat them, annoy the crap out of them and try again. “Fine guys, if it bothers you so much, I’ll go change.” He placed his fork neatly on his plate, pushed his chair in gently and walked calmly toward his room where he rummaged around in one of the many still unpacked cardboard boxes.

“He’s not changing is he?” He heard jack ask Albert from the kitchen.

Albert said nothing in response and race could almost see him closing his eyes in defeat. Finally he found what he was looking for and ran back toward the kitchen.

“Oh, young jack, I don’t give up that easily.” Race sauntered into the kitchen and draped himself against the wall dramatically. He was now wearing a brown fedora style hat with a feather on it, several rings, and a gold hoop earring in his cartilage piercing. “Who’s making a good first impression now?” He mocked, quirking his eyebrow and flipping his friends off.

Albert all but slammed his head into the table. “This is going to be a long day.”

•••

Race passed out the coms units to Albert and jack as he reviewed the plan one final time. “Okay, so, me and Albert are going to meet Sean inside. Jack is going to be sitting here in the van watching us and the surrounding area through the cameras that he’s hacked in to. We get as much information out of Sean as possible. And for the love of French fries, only use your code names.”

Albert gave him a mock salute and jack merely nodded, he wasn’t thrilled about being stuck on van duty - again - but they couldn’t risk jack saying something he shouldn’t.

“Let’s go kick some gangster butt,” Albert said as he opened the door of the van.

“No butt kicking yet,” race reminded him as he shut the door behind them, giving jack a tiny wave. “First we make nice and steal information out of him. Then we kick his butt.”

“See, there’s a reason you’re always good cop.” Albert pulled open the door to the coffee shop and made a dramatic after you gesture. “Ladies first,” he winked.

Race stuck his tongue out playfully and entered the shop’s entry hallway. Albert had chosen this location strategically. The Bean House was owned by an ex FBI agent and it’s employees were field agents who were waiting for their next case or needed a cover story. Albert and jack were going to start working there tomorrow. Race would have been joining them, but he couldn’t operate the fancy coffee machine to save his life and the last time he had worked there he’d started a flood in the kitchen. So the FBI had pulled some strings and gotten him a gig guest teaching at one of the downtown Manhattan dance studios. He was very excited. But, meeting a gang member at this coffee shop ensured that, if needed, they had an entire staff of highly trained field agents ready on standby.

“Race wait,” Albert called out suddenly, grabbing his shoulder before he could enter the shop. Race turned, looking at him expectantly. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “What if something goes wrong?”

“Nothing’s gonna go wrong, Albie.” Race smirked. “It’s just a meeting, and all of our friends are here to back us up if we need them.”

“But-”

“Oh come on, we’ll be fine,” race dragged Albert by the hand as they stepped from the hallway into the shop. “Besides, I think romeos working today and I haven’t seen him since that horse gang in Indiana 3 years ago.”

Right on cue, an excited yell pierced the air. “RACETRACK HIGGINS!” Race let go of Albert’s hand and ran toward the counter.

“ROMEO! MY LOVE!” Romeo came out from behind the counter to greet his friend as race tackled him in a hug.

“O race,” Romeo said, pulling away. “I hath missed thee.”

Race laughed, ruffling his friends hair, too excited to speak back in their standard shakespearean. “Missed you too, you idiot.”

“Hey stop that!” Romeo yanked Races hand out of his hair. “I spent 15 minutes styling this mess this morning to impress the ladies!”

Race snorted. Romeo was a bigger flirt than he was, the only difference being he actually had a boyfriend.

“Speaking of impressing people,” Romeo stepped back to look at Race. “Who are you so dressed up for?”

“He’s trying to make a good impression on the gang member we’re meeting,” Albert sighed, staring at his friend disapprovingly as he made his way over.

“Albo!” Romeo clapped Albert on the back. “Good to see you bro!”

“How’ve you been, Ro?” Albert turned to race. “By the way, you forgot these.” He held out Races pair of gold rimmed glasses that doubled as a secret camera.

“Thanks, bro,” Race said, taking the glasses.

“Wait, you guys got the YMONY case?” Romeo walked back behind the counter. “Specs has his eye on that one, but I’m kinda glad we didn’t get it cause it seems next to impossible.”

“We think Jacobs gave it to us to try and get us kicked out,” Race said.

“Oh my god, is he still mad at you about the weapons lab thing?” Romeo had still been in training when that particular event had happened, but everyone knew the story.

“We don’t exactly have a reason to think otherwise,” Albert said. “We’ve got our first meeting with him tomorrow, so we’ll see.”

Before Romeo could respond, Medda Larkin, better known to everyone as Miss Medda after her most legendary case where she went undercover as a member of the British Royal Family (some of the boys also called her mom), blew in from the back room. “Race and Albert! Boy it’s been a while since I’ve seen you two, where have you been keeping yourselves?”

“Never too far from you, Miss Medda,” Race said, giving her a hug. “But at the same time, kinda far because I’m pretty sure your kitchen has a restraining order on me.”

“That restraining order just means you can’t set foot in the kitchen, you’re still more than welcome to stop by the shop anytime you’d like, hun.” She turned to Albert. “And you! I hear you’re coming to work for me!”

“So it seems,” Albert said, accepting Medda’s hug.

“Do you still play that guitar of yours, cause I was thinking that maybe you could play for the customers a few nights a week.” Medda raised her eyebrows at Albert.

Albert had found an old guitar at a thrift store when they were younger and taught himself how to play. He had gotten quite good, but never really performed for anyone, save race, his bedroom wall, and occasionally Jack. Race wasn’t actually sure how Medda knew that Albert played, but then again, Medda knew everything.

“Albert would love to play at the shop,” Race butted in before Albert could say no, throwing his arm around his friends shoulders. Albert shot him a look of annoyance, but said nothing. He knew that arguing with race was never a good idea.

“Fantastic!” Medda clapped her hands together in excitement.

“Dude, you’re working here?” Romeo asked, lightly punching Albert on the shoulder. “That’s gonna be so fun!”

“Yeah,” Albert said, “me and jack, Race has a gig teaching dance somewhere.”

“Who’s jack?” Romeo asked.

“Just a guy we were put in charge of training,” Race said. “He’s really fun, hacks everything and can paint really well.”

“Well I am delighted to meet this jack of yours, maybe he can paint a mural for me on that wall over there, I’ve been wanting to spice it up a little,” Medda pointed to the side wall of the coffee shop. Suddenly, there was a yell from the kitchen. “I have to go, hopefully Specs and Buttons haven’t flooded my kitchen,” she shot Race a look.

“Sorry Miss Medda, it would appear I’m a bad luck charm for your poor kitchen” race called after her.

“Tell Specs and buttons we said hi!” Albert said, and Medda nodded.

“So you guys have an apprentice?” Romeo asked. “Who put you in charge of that? You guys are like the least responsible people ever.”

“We’re not that bad,” race mumbled, digging around in his pocket. “And speaking of jack, he’s gonna be pissed I haven’t turned on my comms yet.” Race shoved the device into his ear. “Vincent? Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, rapunzel,” jack said. “Although I would appreciate it if you didn’t forget about me, elbow had his comms in the second you left the van.”

“Yeah yeah sorry about that,” race sighed. Then he turned to Romeo. “Hey, Rome, would you mind being our backup incase something goes wrong?”

Romeo’s lips spread into a devilish grin. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

“Good,” Race plopped a comms unit into his hand. “My code name is still rapunzel, Albert’s is elbow - don’t ask - and jacks is Vincent. Are you still-”

“Nicholas, yup,” Romeo said, cutting him off. “Like Nicholas sparks.”

“You got all that, Vincent?” Albert addressed jack.

“Mmhm, hey Nicholas,” jack responded. “Also, it’s coming up on three, you guys should get ready.”

“Roger that,” Race said.

“What’s this guys name?” Romeo asked.

“Sean Conlon. He’s in YMONY,” Albert responded.

“Damn so what if he goes like full gangster and pulls a gun on you?” Romeo was always prone to drama.

“That my friend,” Race said, clapping Romeo on the back. “Is where you step in.”

“Right, right,” Romeo smirked. “Go have a seat where I can see you, and try not to get killed.”

Race flipped him off as he and Albert weeded their way through the tables to one a few feet away from the counter where Romeo was going to be working. The two of them pretended to leaf through the menu for a few minutes before the bell above the door clanged.

“Rapunzel, Elbow, I think that might be your guy,” Romeo said.

Race looked up at the door and saw the backside of a short figure with brown hair and a sweatshirt on.

“Physical description?” Jack asked.

“Short, maybe 5’ 2’’, medium brown hair, jeans, gray sweatshirt, athletic build,” Romeo replied.

Albert caught the guys eye and waved him over.

“Are you the FBI people?” Man, that guy had a thick Brooklyn accent, but it sounded familiar, where had he head that before? Race looked up from his menu and gasped. “You?”

The man - Sean, apparently - was looking at Race in equal amounts of disbelief. This was the guy that Race has run into on the street the other night when they had been going to the diner. Thankfully, he looked a lot better - Albert had probably been right, there was someone at home to clean him up - but he was still sporting a black eye, bruised jaw line and temple and there were white bandages encasing his right hand. Aside from the visible injuries, Sean was, to put it quite simply, hot. He had dark tan skin and messy brown hair and gorgeous warm brown eyes that looked like pools of melted chocolate and despite his tough exterior, race thought that he looked adorable and comfy in his oversized gray pull over sweatshirt. Race could hear voices in his comms, probably Romeo and jack asking what had happened, but he chose to ignore them, instead deciding to try and subtly get lost in Sean’s eyes.

“Bow tie boy,” Sean said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “You clean up nice.”

Race felt a blush creeping onto his face and he shot a sideways glance at Albert saying see I told you it’s important to make a good first impression, but he wasn’t paying attention.

“Wait,” Albert said, narrowing his eyes. “You two know each other?”

“Why am I not surprised?” Race heard Romeo say. “Race has always been one to befriend criminals.”

“Shut up, Nicholas,” jack said in Races ear, saying the words he couldn't. “And rapunzel, for the love of Shawn spencer, turn on your freaking eyeglass cam!!!”

Race removed his glasses, pretending to clean them, but secretly switching on the camera. “Sean and I-”

“It’s spot,” apparently spot said. “If I’m going to work with you, you will call me spot.”

“Fine. Spot and I,” race amended. “Ran into each other on the street the other night when we were walking to that diner.”

Race saw the realization click in Albert’s eyes but didn’t push the subject further because he could tell it was upsetting Spot.

“Well, Spot, it’s nice to meet you,” Albert said. “I’m Elbow, and this is my partner Rapunzel.”

“What the hell kind of names are those?” Spot asked, raising his eyebrows and making a face of disgust.

“Code names,” Albert said defensively, leaning forward on his elbows. “We can’t tell you our real ones for safety purposes.” Spot rolled his eyes dramatically. “Speaking of safety purposes, I’m going to have to pat you down for weapons.” Albert stood up and walked around the table to spot.

Over the comms, Romeo snorted. “Just when you thought Elbow couldn’t get any better at bad cop.”

“Shut up, Nick.”

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doin there hot shot?” Spot threw up his hands in surrender. “I don’t got nothin on me.”

“Well then this shouldn’t be a problem.”

Race couldn’t help but smirk as Albert began to pat Spot down. He loved watching Albert play bad cop, it was more entertaining than any tv show. And it didn’t hurt that Spot looked extra cute when he was flustered. Wait- did he just say Spot was cute? Well, he was. Especially now, when Albert was searching him for weapons and he managed to look equal parts annoyed and still manage to be attractive. Maybe it was a good thing he had dressed up this morning…

“See, I knew you were hiding something.” Albert flung a pocket knife into the table, looking very smug with himself. Spot just looked even more pissed of. “At least you didn’t have a recorder on you.”

“You know there’s a thing called voice memos on a phone, right?” Spot sighed.

“Yeah,” Albert smirked, holding up what race assumed was spots phone. “I know.”

“What?! How did you?!” Spot lunged across the table reaching for his phone.

Albert avoided Spots hand and tucked the device neatly into the inside pocket of his jacket, right next to one of his two guns - the other being strapped to his ankle. Race subconsciously patted his own gun, which he kept in his “lassie holster” as Albert had dubbed it.

“I’m not sure, it’s almost like I’m good at my job,” Albert winked.

“Go Elbow!!” Romeo whispered.

“Nicholas, I swear to all things hacking and or acrylic paints if you don’t shut up I will march in there and dump every fancy flavor of iced coffee that happens to be on sale on your head.”

“Fine.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Elmer,” Spot sighed, mostly under his breath. “Listen, I’ll talk to you guys, or whatever, just this once. That’s it, but on one condition.”

“Which might beeeee…….?” Race crossed his fingers under the table, hoping it was a kiss from yours truly.

“I get coffee first,” Spot said, picking up the menu and flipping through it.

Race and Albert shared a look. They’d dealt with more difficult people before, this should be a piece of cake. “Works for me,” Race said. “I’m past due for a fourth cup of joe.”

“Rapunzel,” jack said, through his earpiece. “On behalf of Elbow, who I can see is glaring at you right now, and the entire population of New York City, I beg of you, please don’t order another cup of coffee.”

Race chose to ignore jack and waved Romeo over so they could order.

“Helllllllloooooooo there gentlemen,” Romeo said, batting his eyelashes. “My name is, er, Nicholas, welcome to the bean house! What can I get for you on this fine November day?”

Spot, very wisely, ignored Romeos act. “I’d like a large, full strength black coffee with four shots of espresso and a side of you making these idiots,” he gestured to Albert and race, “leave.”

“Oooo, burn,” jack whispered unhelpfully.

“I’m not sure what I can do about the second part, but I’ll have your coffee out in a minute.” Romeo turned to race and Albert. “And for you two dashing fellows?”

Albert rolled his eyes. “I’ll have a medium hot chocolate, extra whipped cream.”

“And I’ll have a ⅔ caff, triple ristretto, affogato large, with two pumps mango, one pump classic, 2% milk, mango to the second line, 3 scoops protein, 3 scoops berries, 2 scoops matcha, with banana, double blended, with whipped cream, caramel sauce, salted caramel topping, vanilla bean frappuccino.” Race snapped his menu shut, savoring the look on romeos face as he tried to scribble down Races order.

“Alright, I’ll be right back with that,” Romeo scurried back behind the counter and out of earshot where he was able to curse out race in every colorful way he could imagine.

“Damn, kid,” spot said, pushing up his sweatshirt sleeves. Race could see several tattoos peeking out from under his bandage. From his angle they looked like colorful squares and on the inside of his forearm there was what race could only assume to be the Brooklyn bridge. How typical of him. “Is that even coffee?”

“Yup,” race smirked back at him.

“So, Spot,” Albert said, eager to shift the conversation away from Races strange coffee addiction, “working for, well, you know, is that your only occupation?”

“No,” spot said. “Me and my buddy Elmer co own a tattoo place near the bridge.”

Ah, that would explain the tattoos, Race thought. But- “Aren’t tattoo artists usually, like, covered in ink?” Race asked.

Spot gave him a sly smile. “Sometimes, but all of mine have meaning, and meaningful tattoos aren’t the kind that you can just plop on your body for no apparent reason.”

Race supposed that made sense. He personally did not have any tattoos, although the always thought it would be cool to get one. Maybe Spot could - no racer are you insane? This guy is here to give you information, that’s it, no strings attached.

Race tuned back into the conversation just as Spot was rattling off what race assumed was either his home address or the address of the tattoo place - maybe both? Albert was writing down all of the information into his phone frantically.

“So, this gang,” Albert said. “Tell us all about it.”

Spot seemed unsure. “Are you sure?”

“This is a secure location,” Race said. “No one's listening.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” jack mumbled.

“Well there are five branches,” Spot began. “Drug deals, which is run by Morris Delancey, Robberies/ Heists, run by Oscar Delancey, Prisoners, Recruits, and Confusing the authorities . They all report to someone higher up, but I don’t know who that is. They don’t really tell us any more than we need to know.” He didn’t say in case we get caught or try to overthrow them but the meaning was still there.

“Which one are you in?” Race asked.

“Robberies and heists.” Ah yes, that would make sense as to why when race had run into him he had been beaten up, probably a robbery gone wrong.

“How much can you tell us about that sector?” Albert asked as Romeo came over with their drinks. He set them down on the table with a smile, which turned into a glare as he unceremoniously thunked Races monstrosity down in front of him.

“Not much,” spot said, stirring his drink. Race noted that he didn’t put any milk or sugar in it, gross. “It’s run out of a used car dealership, Autos For Less, in Brooklyn. We’re divided up into different teams, so if someone isn’t in your team then you don’t have any reason to talk to them. Heists take place usually once or twice a month and the thing you’re stealing could be anything. One time it was a truck of gummy worms, another time it was a brand new Tesla. There’s no rhyme of reason. You just don’t ask questions and do whatever Oscar tells you to.”

“So, you don’t know when the next robbery is, then Race asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Alright, blondie-”

“Rapunzel.” Race just couldn't pass up the opportunity to make a tangled reference. He could hear jack and Romeo and surprisingly Albert groaning in his earpiece, but he chose to ignore it.

“Gesundheit.” Races head snapped up. Did he just…? There was a mischievous glint in spots eye. Oh, he definitely did.

“OH SNAP!”

“A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN!”

“I CAN ALREADY HEAR THE WEDDING BELLS!”

“RAPUNZEL AND SPOTTIE SITTING IN A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Listen,” Spot continued. “Heists are only for people who are in top physical condition. And I missed payment the other day, hence the beating. So, Oscar will keep me out for at least a week, maybe two, depending on how desperate he is.”

“Oh.” Race didn’t even care about the fact that there wasn’t a heist anytime soon. He hated the thought of spot getting beat up for something as small as missing a payment. Whatever that even meant.

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Albert asked, licking some of the whipped cream off of his hot chocolate. So much for a menacing bad cop.

“No.”

“So what you’re saying, and correct me if I’m wrong here,” Race began, removing the straw from his drink and waving it around for emphasis, “is that we have to wait at least a week, maybe two, until you’re all healed up, tag along with you on a heist, kill some bad guys, and maybe figure out what Oscar is up to and who he reports to?”

Spot didn’t respond, instead he chose to give Race a fantastic glare.

“Why are you glaring at me like that?” Race jammed his straw back into his drink and took a long sip. There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to deal with hot, annoying criminals.

“I’m hoping you’ll spontaneously combust.” Spot crossed his - very muscular - arms and continued to stare Race down. Race took that as an invitation, and stared right back.

“Right, okay, I’m sure you have a good reason,” albert said, attempting to avoid a physical fight, “but we do need information and that’s the only way I can possibly see is getting any. Other than by joining the gang itself.”

“Even if you did that, there’s no guarantee that we would end up in the same unit,” Spot grumbled, never taking his eyes off of race. “Unless I put in a good word with Oscar, which might not go very well considering the circumstances of our relationship.”

“Perfect,” Race said. “I volunteer as tribute.”

“What?!” Albert shrieked, almost spilling his hot chocolate. Race could see the desperation in his eyes. Albert always put himself into the dangerous situations. But now, especially now, Race couldn’t risk losing him. Specifically because they were in his hometown, his family a mere 10 blocks away, and if he lost Albert here, now, whether permanently or temporarily, he wasn’t sure he would be able to handle it.

“No,” spot said, foiling all his plans of heroism. “I will not risk it. As it is, I’m going to get locked in the prison sector for life when they find out I’ve betrayed them. We don’t need you getting locked up there too.”

Albert weighed out the options.

“I hate to say it,” Romeo piped up, finally with a useful bit of information. “But Rapunzel is right. That’s the only way to find out anything useful.”

“....alright,” Albert said. “I see why you’re saying, but I agree with Rapunzel, we should try to get all the information we can. And since we’re the agents in charge we have the authority to do that. But just for the record, this wasn’t my idea to send him in there.”

“Or mine,” spot added.

Albert removed spots phone and pocket knife from his jacket along with a post it. “Here’s your stuff back,” he said. “You can reach us at that number, call us when you get Rapunzel the gig.”

Spot pocketed his items and picked up his coffee gingerly in his bandaged hand. “See you around, blondie,” he said before turning to leave.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Albert turned to him, ripping out his coms. “Antonio Edward Higgins,” race jumped at the use of his real name. “Would you like to explain to me what the fuck that was?”

“I volunteered for a job.” Race stared back at Albert with expert nonchalance.

“A job that might get you killed!” Albert fumed for a moment before regaining his composure. “I just, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me Albie,” race groaned.

Albert let a small smile show on his lips, but race could tell it wasn’t genuine. “Damn, what are we gonna tell Jacobs tomorrow at our meeting?”

“The truth,” race looked up, Romeo and jack were approaching their table, most likely to talk about Spot. “There’s potential that I could get killed, are you kidding me? He’s going to be thrilled. Frankly, I am too. I get to be a real life Disney villain.” Race gave Albert his best evil stare and began to whistle “Ways To Be Wicked” from Descendants 2.

“Oh my god, Race”

__________

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