#dutch's voice cracks like every fifth word

[majjiktricks]

been playing rdr2

i think part of it's because im not used to hearing these kinds of accents, but i cant help but find all the voices incredibly charming

they all speak so slowly 😅

[senorarelojes]

Fic: Happiest Girl (Part 6)

Alan makes a bet that Dave would not be able to pass off as a woman in ladies’ clothing. Dave decides to prove him wrong. (This is set sometime during the Black Celebration era.)

Pairing: Dave/Alan Rating: Explicit Notes: Many thanks to the lovely @pinksyndication for this beautiful fanart of Dave and Alan getting ready for their ridiculous bet!  And of course thanks also to the wonderful @what-could-have-been for their own fanart and lovely ideas!

Edit: I was so swamped I knew I forgot something. HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARTIN!

First part is here. Second part is here. Third part is here. Fourth part is here. Fifth part is here.

They stopped by a boutique opposite the hotel to get a black silk scarf for Dave, which helped to keep his Adam’s apple hidden. As Alan draped it around Dave’s neck, the salesperson was watching them and smiling indulgently in an ‘aww aren’t you an adorable couple’ way. She said something in German that they didn’t understand, but Alan just smiled and nodded as he paid for the scarf. Then they stepped out to hail a cab to the Reeperbahn.

Their driver didn’t seem to know a lick of English either, so Dave figured it was safe to discuss their modus operandi. “So how are we going to do this?” he asked Alan at a normal volume, dropping his voice to a whisper once he spotted the driver’s startled eyes widening at him in the rear view mirror. Fuck, he’d forgotten that he still sounded like a bloke.

Alan stretched out an arm across the backseat. “I figured we’d hit a few clubs, get some drinks and see what happens,” he suggested. 

“How do we determine who wins?” Dave thought this was the most important question. His legs kept sprawling wide out of habit, and he had to keep reminding himself to clamp them shut.

Alan looked thoughtful. “If people leave you alone and nobody suspects a thing, we consider it a win for you,” he said. “And if anyone stares at you suspiciously or asks you questions, it’s a win for me, I guess.”

“Wait, what sort of questions?” Dave narrowed his eyes at Alan. The hemline of his dress kept riding up with every speed bump they went over, and he had to keep tugging it down in frustration, much to Alan’s amusement.

Alan shrugged. “I guess, ‘Are you a bloke?’ is a sure indicator, at least. Or anything that generally sounds suspicious.”

“What if they ask me in German and I don’t understand?”

“I think suspicion is generally universal?” Alan pointed out. “If enough people stare, we’ll know the game is up. Maybe we’ll just play it by ear and see what happens tonight.”

“Fine.” Dave tapped Alan’s knee in warning. “And no running off if you see a prettier bird. You have to stick by my side.”

Alan just smiled at him, reaching out and tucking a stray curl behind Dave’s ear. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

***

The cab dropped them somewhere at the North Side along one of the side streets, which Dave remembered Fletch nicknaming ‘Gross Free Hell’ the last time they’d passed by because it was so near the red light district. Dave stepped out first as Alan paid the driver, glancing at the street sign for the actual name: Große Freiheit. The street was teeming with people: tourists, drunk revellers, roving groups of men on their merry way to the brothels. It was warm for mid-May, but there was still a little chill in the open night air. Dave was now glad for his scarf.

Now Alan stood beside him, taking in the lively atmosphere around them. “If at any point, you feel uncomfortable and want to stop, you have to tell me,” he said carefully.

Dave wanted to tell him not to be silly, but he quickly realised his optimism was really just false bravado. “Should we have a code word, then? Or a phrase?” he suggested.

Both of them exchanged a smirk. “Toast Hawaii, ” Dave and Alan said at the same time, cracking up with laughter.

“Brilliant.” Dave was still smiling, adjusting the hem of his dress.

“Great minds and all that.” Alan jerked his head towards the noisier main street. “C’mon then, let’s look for a place and get a drink.”

They entered the Reeperbahn and continued walking down the street, past the arrays of pubs, bars and restaurants. Dave had to be mindful of the way he walked, keenly observing the female half of an American tourist couple in front of them. The woman had a sway to her hips that Dave tried to mimic, her steps smaller and more careful as opposed to his usual loose stride. Alan wasn’t saying a word, but Dave could sense the silent amusement radiating off him in waves.

At one point a loud wolf-whistle pierced the air; Dave was surprised to find it came from a group of burly men at an open-air table, all of them grinning lasciviously at him. One of them shouted out something in German, which made all his friends roar with laughter. Whatever he’d said, Dave hoped that it wasn’t as dirty as it sounded.

“What an arsehole,” Alan said. Dave was on the verge of agreeing, but it would have been hypocritical; he’d yelled similar comments at girls back in Bas when he was a teenager. 

“Does it count as me winning the bet?” Dave said with a dry laugh, although it sounded a little hollow.

“You don’t get off that easy.” Alan turned back to look at the rowdy table of German blokes again, seemingly peeved. “Besides, couldn’t he see that we’re together?”

Dave shot him a flat look. “Okay, I’m not taking that bloke’s side, but--” He gestured at the distance between them. Alan was at least two feet away. “If I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, it ain’t obvious.”

Alan frowned at him. “Oh. Then...should we hold hands?”

Dave rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Al. What are we, nuns? We’re on the bloody Reeperbahn, some of these clubs have actual live sex shows on stage. Here--” He took Alan’s hand, yanking him closer and draping his arm around Dave’s waist. They were so close now that Dave could smell Alan’s cologne and the mints he’d chewed on in the cab. “There, that’s more like it.”

Walking together this close was a little awkward at first, but Dave could sense the moment Alan eased into it, falling into rhythm with Dave as his warm hand cupped Dave’s hip with a possessive hold. Dave slid his own arm around Alan’s waist, tucking part of his hand under Alan’s belt. Alan was dressed really nicely tonight; he had on his usual leather jacket over a black sleeveless top and neatly-pressed trousers. He even smelled nice and expensive, like a bloke out on the town to show his girl the time of her life.

They stopped outside a bar playing ‘Lust for Life’, and Alan must have seen the way Dave perked up. “Here then?” he suggested, steering them in when Dave nodded. 

The bar was dark and filled with cigarette smoke, the bartenders busy doling out huge pints by the trayload. There seemed to be an even mix of locals and tourists; Dave could hear snatches of conversations in German, Dutch, English and something vaguely Scandinavian. Bobbing along to the music, Dave waited patiently beside Alan, who ordered for them both. He was eventually handed a rum and coke, but it was extremely strong, at least.

Taking Alan’s hand, Dave led him further into the bar where they found an unoccupied standing table with dirty glasses. A busboy shortly came along to clear it, flashing a bashful smile at Dave who couldn’t help smiling back, feeling rather triumphant. He arched an eyebrow at Alan, as if to say, See? Alan only shook his head in amusement. He seemed determined to draw out Dave’s suffering. 

Dave accepted the cigarette Alan offered him, their faces drawing close as Alan leaned in with his lighter, his eyes flitting between Dave’s eyes and mouth. Once the cigarette was lit, Dave nodded in thanks, taking a deep drag as he brushed his new curls over his shoulder. Having long hair was a nice novelty that he’d considered at times; now he might actually try it out in the future, despite whatever Jo said about it making him look unkempt.

The music had changed to something by Roxy Music, and Alan finished his pint. “I’m going to use the facilities,” he said loudly, at which Dave nodded. He shook out a second cigarette from Alan’s pack, putting it between his lips before he remembered he didn’t have a lighter.

Then one appeared in front of him, the flame flickering into life. “Guten Abend,” a blond giant of a man said, gesturing towards Dave’s cigarette. Dave accepted the light with a small smile, casting his eyes downwards coyly like he’d seen some girls do. He didn’t think it was wise to speak much, lest his voice give him away.

“Woher kommen Sie?” the man asked. He had ridiculously sharp cheekbones and eyes that were obviously blue even in the dark lighting of the bar. Funnily enough, he was the tall and handsome sort of Adonis that Dave would have tried to get into a brawl with, back in school.

When the man saw Dave’s uncomprehending expression, he switched to flawless albeit accented English. “Are you American?” he asked, eyes dipping down to glance at Dave’s legs.

“No, from the UK,” Dave said in what he hoped was a higher, believable pitch. If the bloke seemed suspicious, he didn’t give any indication whatsoever. 

“I’m Jan,” the man said, holding out his hand.

Shit, Dave had to think of a name quickly. “I’m Martina,” he said, sending a silent apology to Mart, wherever he was. 

“Your name is beautiful.” Jan kissed Dave’s hand, making his skin crawl. “Like you.”

Dave quickly wrenched his hand back. “I have a boyfriend.”

Jan shrugged, flashing Dave a sleazy smile. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Then you need glasses,” Alan’s polite but no-nonsense voice came from behind them. A relieved Dave was never so glad to see him. “Can I help you?”

Jan merely gave Alan a disdainful onceover, as if sizing up his competition. “No, I don’t think so.”

Sensing that this bloke wasn’t going to piss off anytime soon, Dave shifted closer to Alan, pressing their bodies together as he wrapped his arms snugly around Alan’s waist. He rested his head on Alan’s shoulder, sighing in pleasure as Alan pulled Dave close to him to stand between his legs. “Would you mind, then?” Alan said, stroking Dave’s hair. 

After glaring at Alan for a good long moment, Jan told Dave: “If you get tired of him, I’m near the pool table at the back.” Winking at Dave, Jan tucked his lighter into his pocket before heading towards somewhere at the rear of the bar. Even when he returned to his table, he was still watching them, a vaguely unsatisfied expression on his face.

“That tosser still looking?” Alan asked, because his back was turned towards Jan.

“Think he is.” Dave was too comfortable to move from where he was, Alan’s body warm and firm against his own. “Let’s just wait a while, yeah?”

To Dave’s relief, Alan nodded, his hands still stroking through Dave’s curls.

[zarcake-writes]

Not Alone Together

Hello! So, I mentioned before (I think) that this fic is gonna be a slow burn and it will be long. I’m not sure how long though. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It’s short and features a familiar face.

Warnings: end game spoilers, mentions the beginning of the epilogue

For the past eight years, Arthur’s endured being a werewolf. Every month when the moon is at its fullest for those three days, he shifts. For three nights he roams the wilds, hunting, fighting, and chasing anything, or anyone, he encounters.

The first times he changed Arthur would wake up surrounded by animals he’s killed. There were only a few times that Arthur woke up near a dead body. But he eventually gained some control over that monstrous side of himself. So now, the nights of the full moon are usually boring. But he’s spent those night in his cabin or roaming his territory. This month, however, was difficult.

For this month, he wasn’t home. He didn’t have his comforting cabin or his safe territory. It left him feeling stressed. He didn’t go near Strawberry. There were too many people in that town and around that area. Instead, he went further north, up to Barrow Lagoon. While part of him loved the snow and the enjoyed fighting that bear, another part of him ached.

The ache wasn’t physical, it’s emotional. Both parts of him, the wolf and man, missed the woman he’s grown so used to seeing. He spent most of those nights not only howling for her but fighting himself. The wolf wanted to go to her. The wolf wanted to run across the mountains and stay near her, but Arthur knew that isn’t possible. So, the ache in his heart only grew, and every morning he woke alone and just a little sadder.

There wasn’t just one thing Arthur missed about her. He missed everything about her. Her gorgeous smile and the way she looked after working in her garden all day. He missed her laugh and the freckles that dotted her cheeks. He missed eating dinner with her and sharing whiskey. He missed her smell and the way it felt when she would touch his shoulders and arms.

It was during the day when his body was resting from the night before, Arthur would imagine she was next to him in his bed. Sometimes he imagined holding her against his chest. He imagined smelling her and touching her, feeling her warm body against his. Other times, he imagined being in her arms. Just imagining feeling her fingers run down his arm and over his skin gave him the chills.

On the fourth day, Arthur woke and knew the wolf was content. His body ached and the world felt fuzzy. The burning pain along his chest reminded him of the bear he fought. He spent most of that day resting in bed and sleeping. The only strenuous thing he could do was change the bandages on his chest. He ate all the canned food he packed, along with all those hard candies his neighbor bought for him.

The fifth day, Arthur woke up feeling better. While his body still ached, the wounds on his chest were healed. As he packed up to head home, Arthur realized he had no supplies for the trip home. He had no food for himself, and nothing for his horse.

“Ah, shit. Guess we’ll be going to Strawberry after all girl,” he told his horse. The mare responded with a huff.

The last time Arthur was in Strawberry was almost a decade ago. The town itself has barely changed. There were a few new houses, but everything else was the same. Same friendly people, same muddy roads, and still no saloon. He could even swear that the town’s mayor was the same man.  

Arthur bought the supplies he needed for the road, along with a little surprise for his neighbor and Berry. He shared a few friendly words with the general store owner, who didn’t seem to remember Arthur. Not that he cared, it was better if no one ever remembered him. As he was leaving the small store, he bumped into someone who smelled of hay and farm animals, probably a farm hand from one of the nearby ranches.

“Oh, excuse me,” Arthur said. He didn’t look at the stranger, too busy putting his supplies in his satchel.

“Oh, sorr- Arthur?”

Arthur froze. He didn’t need to sniff the air to know who spoke his name. He could pick that voice out anywhere. After all, it belonged to someone he still considers his brother. Arthur took a deep breath before he greets the man.

“John.” Arthur turns and gives his old friend a familiar smile. John’s beard is long enough that is covers the scars on his face, his hair is shorter than Arthur remembers. “It’s good to see you’re alive.”

“I… I thought you died.” John’s voice cracks, his eyes never leave Arthur’s face.

Arthur lets out a heavy breath. “I almost did.”

John steps forward and wraps his arms around Arthur. He’s breathing hard and his fingers dig into the back of Arthur’s shirt. Arthur says nothing, he only hugs John, not caring that strangers are starring or that John is getting the front of his shirt wet.

The last time Arthur held a crying John was when he was fifteen. Arthur couldn’t remember why, but John ran away from camp and Arthur was sent after him. Arthur found John on a cliff, tears in his eyes and a gun in his hand. The day ended with John crying against Arthur, and Arthur holding him.

John pulls away suddenly and gives Arthur an angry look. “You bastard, why didn’t you tell me you were alive!”

Arthur grabs John and pulls him down the side of the General Store. John pulls away from Arthur’s grip and continues to glare at Arthur.

“You… you were proclaimed dead in the newspaper. Why didn’t you send me a letter?” John snapped.

“Because I was fucking hiding. If everyone thought I was dead, then I was gonna do everything to keep it that way.”

John takes a couple deep breathes. “Why didn’t you tell me though? We’re brothers.”

“Because I wanted you and your family to forget about me. To forget about the past and move on.”

John rubs his chin and nods his head. “How… how did you survive?”

The memories of that night haunt Arthur. He remembers the betrayal, sending John away, shooting the Pinkertons, and fighting with Micah. He shivers as he remembers the taste of blood in his mouth and the burning feeling of bullet wounds. The look of horror on Dutch’s face and the sound of him running down the mountain. Arthur’s remembers it all, but he can’t tell anyone what really happened that day.

Arthur sighs and leans his back against a wall. “I don’t know. I crawled down that mountain, and after that, I did my best to get lost. I mainly stayed up around Ambarino, traveled around a bit. Several years ago, I moved into a cabin in Ambarino, right next to O’Creaugh��s Run.”

John leans against the opposite wall and crosses his arms. “We’ve been moving around these last few years. Went to Canada for a while, but now we’re back down here. I’m working at Pronghorn Ranch as a farmhand, and Abigail is working at the doctor’s office here in town.”

Arthur laughs. “So, Abigail finally got you doing farm work? How’d that happen?”

“I was taking supplies to the ranch, and this neighboring ranch tried to steal the supplies. I only got involved because it was my wagon and horse hey stole. The ranch owner let us stay after that. They’re just happy to have someone around who can fight and shoot a gun correctly.”

“I remember when you couldn’t herd sheep, but look at you now, working at a ranch. Bet Abigail’s happy.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Both men fall silent for a moment. Arthur is fiddling with his belt buckle, trying to think of something to say. Should he say anything? John is looking down at the floor.

“How’s Jack?” Arthur asked.

“Good. Loves to read. He’ll occasionally help out around the ranch. Don’t think he likes me very much. Kid isn’t anything like me.”

“Good. I remember how you were when you were younger.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You like ranch work?”

John lets out a dry laugh. “No. I do all this work and I have nothing to show for it.”

“That’s cause its honest work, John.”

John scoffs and shakes his head. “Yeah, honest work. Look, I got to head back to the ranch.”

“Alright.”

John pushes himself off the wall and starts to walk away, but he stops and turns back to Arthur. “I’m glad you’re alive Arthur. You should come by in a few weeks, I know Abigail and Jack will be happy to see you.”

“I’m glad you and your family are doing fine as well, John. I’ll write to you when I get home and we can schedule something.”

“Alright. I’m going by Jim Milton around here. Abigail goes by Agatha, and Jack goes by Lancelot.”

“Milton? Really?”

“Shut up. I’ve never been good at coming up with names.”

“I know, I remember what you named your horses.”

John and Arthur share a small laugh. They hug, then part ways. Arthur climbs onto his horse and glances back. John is standing outside the General store. He waves farewell, then turn and enters the building.

Arthur sets off for home, an odd feeling in his chest. He never thought he would see John again. He never sought him or any of the other old gang members out because… well, Arthur didn’t see himself as being worthy of seeing them again. He still feels guilty for what happened all those years ago. And in his mind, he imagined they wouldn’t want to see him.

But John, despite his anger, was happy to see Arthur. John even claimed that Abigail and Jack would be happy to see him. But should Arthur meet them? What if he brings a whole mess of trouble for them? What if he can’t control himself and the man he used to be, comes back to the surface? John and his family don’t deserve that. But the thought that troubles Arthur the most is, what if something happens and the wolf inside Arthur comes out.

It's with a heavy heart Arthur wonders if it’s worth seeking out the comfort of old friends. Should he even seek out any sort of comfort in his life? Should he continue trying to form some sort of relationship with his neighbor? All the horrible things he’s done in the past and all the pain he’s caused Arthur knows he doesn’t deserve anything good. He was a monster of a man in the past, and he’s a true monster now, and monsters don’t deserve happy endings.  

[la-vita-in-arancione]

Killer Queen: Chapter 1 - Leaving Home Ain’t Easy

Summary: Arabella Ruth White is the fifth member of the Marauders. And life at Hogwarts certainly isn’t easy. Especially when you have alcohol, relationships, unhealthy music obsessions, a fake stage persona, weird ass friends with weird ass problems and actual school all thrown into the equation. (This story is also on Wattpad of the same name. I will always update on there first.)

A/N: OK so this chapter is kind of a filler but we will get to the actual plot soon. I will try and update every week but no promises. You can ask to be on my taglist if you want. Also the title of each chapter will also be the name of a song by a singer or band that Ruth likes. The song is not guaranteed to have been released at that point in the story.

Warning(s): literally one swear word

Word Count: 1k

Taglist: 

I woke up that morning to see sunlight streaming in through my window, blinding me as I looked at my watch to see what time it was: 10 am. Exactly 1 hour until I should be on the train to Hogwarts. I quickly changed into a white t-shirt, a pair of black jeans and a black jacket. My trunk was neatly packed into the corner of my room, ready to go. Something soft brushed against my leg. I looked down to see Sooty, my black kitten, whom I had got during the summer to 'teach me some responsibility' according to my mother. I stroked him before entering the bathroom and seeing my mane of hair in the mirror. I wasn't even going to attempt to brush it out. Instead, I closed my eyes and imagined my hair in Dutch braids with gold highlights. I opened my eyes to see my hair looking exactly like that. Oh, the joys of being a metamorphmagus. I could change my appearance at will, which is awesome and useful for pranks. I brushed my teeth and put on some mascara and red lipstick. I wanted to annoy as many teachers as possible the second I got back to school. Namely, Minnie.

I ran downstairs to find my mum making scrambled eggs for breakfast. Oh hell yes. "Hi, Mum," I said cheerily.

"Oh, hello Ruth, dear. I was wondering when you would come down. Now, your breakfast is on the table. You have toast with Marmite, tomatoes and scrambled eggs." she kissed my forehead, which, unlike most people my age, I did not find embarrassing in the slightest. I was just about to sit and eat when I was hit by two leopard cubs. This wasn't dangerous at all. Am I crazy? Yes, but these not-so-big cats were actually my younger brother and sister. I loved the twins, their names were Rhea and Luke and were absolute mayhem. I may or may not have had a bad influence on them. They were 10 years old, meaning that they would be coming to Hogwarts next year.

They transformed into their human forms to greet me, "Bella!" they chorused as they literally tackled me to the ground. I heard my mum sigh in exasperation. And why are kids animagi, you may question? Everyone in our house was, apart from me. My metamorphmagus abilities meant that I could transform into an animal without having to be an animagus. Some call it bad parenting on my mum's part, but she believes that we should do whatever the fuck we want. This includes being animagi. As long as we're registered. She doesn't want us going to Azkaban anytime soon.

I think that now would also be a good time to mention that I have a range of different nicknames. Most people call me a variation of Arabella. Only special people call me Ruth. It's not that I favour one name over the other, I just want people to know I have favourites. No one has ever been allowed to call me Ruth as soon as I have met them. I have to completely trust them first. So, as you can imagine, not many people call me Ruth.

"Hey! You aren't going to get any hugs if you don't let me stand up." I reasoned. They instantly let me go - they were suckers for hugs. And I do give pretty awesome hugs if I do say so myself. I hugged each twin before attacking my food. I checked my watch again. 10:45am. Where did that time even go? It's not like I spend that long on my makeup. I wolfed down my breakfast before heading upstairs, grabbing my trunk, and coming back down again, cradling Sooty in my arms. He purred as I stroked the top of his head, he loved it when I did that.

"I'm all ready to go, Mum!" I called. I did a quick check to make sure I had everything. Yep. All good.

Mum put on her coat, "OK, everyone grab my arm," we all did so, "In 3, 2, 1!" Crack! We instantly apparated, disappearing from the house and reappearing in the alleyway we always went to when going to King's Cross Station. We couldn't risk any muggles seeing us. We exited the alleyway to come onto a very busy London street which I believe to be called Euston Road. My watch read 10:53 am, which meant that we had only 7 minutes until I had to be on the train. We broke into a run, and it wasn't long before we were in the station. I loaded my trunk onto a trolley, which I had been dragging the whole time, and we reached the barrier, the barrier to Platform 9 and 3/4.

I took a deep breath and ran into the wall. Mum and the twins quickly followed behind me. I pushed my way through the bustling crowd until I reached the door.

"Oh, honey, I'm going to miss you." Mum sighed. I hugged her before turning to the twins.

"Bye!" they said. I kissed each of them.

"I'll see you at Christmas then, yeah?" I asked.

"Of course, darling. Now go, before you miss the train." We shared one last hug goodbye, "Owl me as soon as you can!"

I put my luggage and Sooty on the train, hopped on and waved adieu to my family. I shut the door and made my way through the corridors to find our usual compartment. Sooty trailed along behind me, staying firmly attatched to my leg. It wasn't long until I found it. I settled on a theatrical-ish entrance. I opened the door but remained hidden so they couldn't see me.

"Hello? Who's there?" a squeaky voice called whom I assumed to be Peter's.

I slid into the view of the four boys, "Ruth!" they exclaimed with big grins on their faces. Sirius looked like he had just been given free rein of a toy store.

"I'm back!" I said in a sort of sing-song voice.

[what-happened-to-agent-georgia]

Identity Crisis

For the RvB Angst War ( @rvbficwars )

The original prompt was from @sxpaiscia: “hi! from the discord chat for the angst war: simmons keeping mistaken for jene (gene?) and even sarge and grif (if he comes back) just mistake the two soldiers, making simmons go crazy because they know him from years but this guy can easily take his place without nobody noticing. i hope u like this :)”

Thank you for the prompt, and I hope this lives up to the prompt’s expectations!

Also, blame @wordsysayswords, who’s sitting in the corner whispering “More AngstTM”, for the ending.

Word Count: 2127

Pairings: Grif/Simmons (implied, and who’s surprised? No one)

Warnings: Season 15 Spoilers up through Episode 10!!!!!! Canon-Typical Violence/Language, Non-Canonical Character Death

Summary: Who is Richard Simmons? The question’s been on his mind lately, driving him mad all day and keeping him up all night. It doesn’t help that Tucker’s been pointing out how much he and Gene are alike every time he gets a chance.

Who is Richard Simmons?

The question’s been on his mind lately, driving him mad all day and keeping him up all night.

It doesn’t help that Tucker’s been pointing out how much he and Gene are alike every time he gets a chance.

Sarge is still so sleep deprived, Simmons isn’t sure the guy knows his name, let alone realizes he’s called Simmons “Gene” eight times now.

Caboose has been calling him Gene Simmons (Simmons isn’t sure if this is a step up or a step down from ‘Simons’) since they met the Blues and Reds. No surprise there—Simmons isn’t even sure if Caboose is in on the joke. He called Agent Washington ‘Church’ for months.

Even Temple, who’s known Gene longer, messed up earlier that day:

“Geeeyimmons?” Simmons can hear the cringe in Temple’s voice when he realizes his mistake.

“I’m Simmons. Sim-mons,” Simmons sighs. “Honestly, we’re nothing alike!”

“Sorry,” Temple apologizes. “It’s just… you do have the same color armor. And you sound exactly the same.”

“His visor is blue!” Simmons points out.

“It is, sure, but I can’t see that when your back’s to me,” Temple says.

“We’re still nothing alike,” Simmons mumbles. Wash doesn’t say anything, just kind of looks awkwardly to the left.

Simmons sighs.

“Did you need something?” he asks.

“Actually, I was looking for Gene,” Temple admits.

“Ugh… he went that way,” Simmons says, gesturing off down a hallway to his right.

“Hey thanks, G—Simmons,” Temple says. Simmons watches him disappear down the hall.

He knows Temple didn’t mean anything by it, that Caboose is just confused, and Sarge is more zombie than human right now. In fact, the only person doing it on purpose is Tucker.

That somehow makes it worse.

Simmons finds himself glaring at his reflection in the mirror while the shower runs behind him, still in armor from the waist down, wondering what Gene looks like under his helmet.

Probably isn’t a cyborg, Simmons thinks. I’ve got that going for me.

And who knows if Gene is Dutch-Irish, right? If he even came from Earth.

Bet he can’t play the banjo.

Also, Gene doesn’t have a Grif. But… neither does Simmons, not anymore. It’s not that Simmons needs Grif to define him, it’s just. Simmons can let down his guard around Grif, can be himself around Grif. Sure, there was always teasing, but at the end of the day, Grif was a friend.

More than a friend.

He wishes Grif was here, to tell him to quit being an idiot.

If Grif was here, he’d be just as happy to point out how alike Gene and I am. Simmons knows this, but somehow, it’s different—different from Tucker’s jokes and Temple’s mix-ups.

It’s like—It’s like this. Grif calls Simmons a kiss-ass, Simmons retorts that Grif’s a fatass. They cross their arms and glare at each other. Five seconds later they’re talking about some of life’s greatest mysteries, or the worst superpower ever, their fight so stupid they’ve already forgotten it.

For years, they’ve had each other’s backs. There have certainly been days Simmons wants to punch Grif in his smug little face—but he’s not too stupid to realize Grif feels the same way about him. For years, they’ve enjoyed each other’s company, laughed at each other’s dumb jokes over a bottle of shitty moonshine, stood and faced down death together.

But now.

Now, apparently, Grif didn’t need him. Hated him even.

Simmons feels rage begin to boil in his stomach, fiery and dangerously close to overflowing. He’s felt this way a lot lately.

Fuck him. He thinks. After everything they’ve been through, everything they talked about, dreamt about, for Grif to just. Fucking say. ‘I quit’? Fuck him.

Simmons hates that, once again, his mind turned to the one thing he didn’t want to think about. Ever.

Shaking his head, he tries to focus on his reflection in the mirror, only to find it’s fogged up. He takes his hand and wipes it across the mirror, but even then, the face staring back at him is distorted and slowly fading behind fresh steam.

He waits until he can no longer see his reflection, then he sighs, finishes undressing, and gets in the shower.

**

Clean and sufficiently scalded, Simmons turns off the water and pulls on his pajama pants. It’s not until he’s brushing his teeth that he realizes his helmet’s on the counter behind him.

Funny. Pretty sure I left that in my room…

Spitting out toothpaste, Simmons moves over to his helmet. At first, he thinks it’s the lighting, but after a moment’s inspection, he realizes someone tampered with its visor.

And now it’s blue. Like Gene’s.

“Son of a bitch!” he yells. Without thinking, he takes his helmet and flings it across the bathroom.

It connects with the mirror and Simmons watches, blank-faced, as cracks spiderweb up the glass. There’s the telltale tinkling as shards fall, most of them landing on the counter and sink underneath.

Simmons realizes he’s been clenching his fists, and he looks down as he slowly relaxes his fingers. He can still see the scars (You wanna talk about it?) from where he punched the mirror in Blood Gulch.

At least it was my helmet and not my hand this time, Simmons thinks. He shuffles up to the broken mirror and peers into the sink. A dozen red-faced Simmons glare back at him, wide eyed and angry.

Simmons grabs his helmet and leaves the mess for someone else to deal with.

**

“Gene!” Temple barks from his office.

Here we go. Simmons sighs. He turns into Temple’s office, ready to give his “I’m Simmons” spiel for the fifth time today.

Before Simmons can say anything though, the door slides shut behind him and Temple, in the process of pulling his helmet on, says,

“It’s done.”

“What?”

“Agents Washington and Carolina are with the other Freelancers,” Temple says. He laughs, and Simmons feels chills slither down his spine.

“We’re all taking bets as to how long they survive down there,” Temple goes on. “My money’s on Carolina holding out the longest, but Surge thinks maybe Washington will outlive her.”

“Ah,” is all Simmons can manage.

“Well? What do you think, Gene?” Temple asks.

“Uh, well, I think that Carolina is the more… more logical choice,” Simmons says. Whatthefuckwhatthefuck—“I mean, isn’t she like, uh, wasn’t she the best Freelancer?”

“That she was,” Temple says. He sounds far away, and there’s a brief moment of silence in which Simmons is sure he’s going to be found out, sure that Temple can hear his mechanical heart going ape shit. But then Temple shakes his head.

“I need you to help me keep an eye on that reporter,” Temple says. “The Reds and Blues need watching too, of course, but they’re nowhere near as big a threat as she is.”

“Of course, sir,” Simmons says. “I’ll, uh, get right on it then?”

Temple nods dismissively and turns to stare out his window. A whale passes by. It might be amazing if Simmons wasn’t scared shitless.

Simmons takes slow, deliberate steps as he leaves Temple’s office, resisting the urge to sprint as fast as he can to warn the others.

Simmons counts his lucky stars Tucker thought it was funny to mess with his visor.

**

He knew coming back was going to be hard, knew there was a lot of shit he was going to have to answer for. He even expected getting shot at.

But Grif never fucking expected this.

This has got to be the most cliché, movie bullshit of all time, Grif thinks.

He’d complain about it if he didn’t have his gun aimed right down the middle of two Simmons. Fucking two of them, as if one kiss ass wasn’t enough.

They’re aiming their weapons at each other, babbling back and forth. They haven’t noticed him yet, and Grif is tempted to turn around and get the fuck out of there.

But he can’t.

“What the fuck is this bullshit?” he demands, his voice hitching slightly.

The Simmonses (Grif hates this) whip their heads around to face Grif.

“Grif?” the one on the left says.

“Oh, Grif, thank god you’re here,” the one on the right says. Grif is immediately suspicious of that one.

Simmons wouldn’t be happy to see him. Not after what he said on the moon.

The Simmons on the left is still staring at him, face inscrutable behind his visor. Why is it blue? Was it always blue?

“Don’t just stand there, fat ass,” the Simmons on the right snaps, “Fucking shoot him!”

Okay, maybe that one is the real Simmons.

“Shut up, kiss ass,” Grif says, “How do I even know you’re Simmons?”

“H—he’s not!” Left Simmons (Grif is confusing himself now) finally speaks up. “I’m Simmons!”

“Nuh-uh, I am!” Right Simmons argues.

Grif is starting to get a headache.

“C’mon, Grif,” Right Simmons says, “You know me!”

“The only thing I know is you’re both being a pain in the ass!” Grif snaps. He has the sudden urge to just shoot them both and be done with it.

“Hey, fuck you,” Left Simmons says. “You don’t have two guns pointed at your face!”

That’s when Grif realizes he’s slowly started moving his gun to aim it at Left Simmons. He jerks it back so it’s centered again.

The Simmonses still have their guns aimed at each other. Both have blue visors, and both are shouting at him with the same frantic voice.

“Shut up!” Grif shouts. Left Simmons huffs and Right Simmons sputters a short protest before going silent.

Grif can hear gunfire from elsewhere in the base. They don’t have time for this, Kai is up there on her own, and while Grif doesn’t doubt his sister’s abilities, he’s worried there are more doubles upstairs. Is there a copy of him? Would Kai realize it?

Then it hits him.

He knows how to figure out which Simmons is his Simmons.

“What happened at the Vegas Quadrant?” He asks.

**

Of all the questions he could’ve asked, it had to be about the fucking Vegas Quadrant. Simmons wants to scream.

What happened at the Vegas Quadrant? Absolutely nothing.

Well, nothing to write home about.

They went out, they got shitfaced, they went back to their hotel, they ordered a pizza, then they crashed while watching Battlestar Galactica.

It was the best night Simmons ever had, and he hasn’t had a better one ever since. It’s the night he realized he would follow Grif anywhere, because he couldn’t begin to imagine the universe without that fatass by his side.

But Simmons hadn’t wanted to fuck up their friendship, make it weird between them. If he lost Grif, well. He didn’t want to think about it.

So, he never brought up the Vegas Quadrant again.

Not that it did any good.

Grif left him anyway.

And now he’s here.

Asking about the fucking Vegas Quadrant.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he snaps.

**

Right Simmons doesn’t miss a beat.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says.

“That’s not good enough,” Grif says.

Grif turns to look at Left Simmons.

“Fuck. You, Grif,” Left Simmons says.

Grif raises an eyebrow, but then he remembers they can’t see his face.

“Excuse me?” he says.

“Fuck you,” Left Simmons repeats. “You know I don’t want to talk about that. Fuck you. Just—you know what? Just fucking shoot me now.”

“Huh?” Grif lowers his gun a few millimeters.

“You heard me, fatass,” Left Simmons snaps. “Just shoot me. It would be better than talking about—about the Vegas Quadrant.”

“Hey!” Right Simmons chimes in. “He’s not the real Simmons, he’s just copying what I said!”

“Oh, shut up, Gene,” Left Simmons snaps, turning to face Right Simmons again.

“I’m—I’m not Gene, you’re Gene!” Right Simmons sputters.

Left Simmons sighs and looks at Grif again.

“C’mon then, get it over with,” he says. “I’m taking what happened that day to my fucking grave.”

Grif raises his gun.

Fires.

**

“Oh, thank god,” Gene sighs. “I thought you were gonna shoot me.”

“Only you would die before telling anyone about what happened in the Vegas Quadrant,” Grif says.

“Yeah, well.” Gene doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to blow his cover when he just barely made it out of that shit show alive.  

“I’d love to sit here and talk about our feelings,” Grif says, “But I think that’ll have to wa—”

There’s an explosion overhead (“Good boy, Freckles!”).

“Come on, Simmons,” Grif beckons. He turns to leave.

“Goodbye, Grif,” Gene says.

“Wh—”

Bang!

Grif is dead before he hits the ground.

“Two down, seven to go.”