#i hope u get the cars and cowboys joke

[kellyscowboy]

alright last one @diorgirl444 sorry for all the tags pookie 🥲 || me when davey i when dave does and

[azulpitlane]

be aggressive l ln4

lando norris x dcc!reader summary: the internet is curious as to why lando suddenly has an interest in american football, specifically with the dallas cowboys masterlist

f1gossip

13,283 likes

f1gossip Lando Norris and Mclaren CEO, Zak Brown at the Dallas Cowboys game today in the AT&T stadium!!

view all comments

user his ass did not wanna be there😭

user lando?? american football?? huh???

user guys it was sponsored by hilton!! pretty sure thats why they attended

user makes sense cause bro looked miserable by the second half of the game

user a strange strange sight

user mf was bored the whole game except when the cheerleaders performed LMFAO

user the video of him locking in as soon as they stepped out in the field💀 ↪user WHERES THE VIDEO HAHAH? ↪user the video is all over twitter, cameraman did him dirty lmfao

yourusername

liked by landonorris and 12,379 others

yourusername victory sunday💙🤍💙

view all comments

user lesss goooo cowboys

user FAVE DCC

user in y/n we trust🧎‍♀️

user wait a minute- lando what are you doing here?!?

user no cause i noticed that too👀

user obsessed with you

user patiently waiting for the lando girlies to realize he followed her immediately after tonights game

user poor lando didnt get the follow back tho😭😭

yourusername

liked by landonorris and 19,382 others

yourusername first ever grand prix!!! such a delight to perform for these lovely faces✨

view all comments

user you guys made paying hundreds of dollars for a ticket worth it tbh

user icons

user another lando like, jolene im begging you pls dont take my man😔

user its the other way around for me😩 lando needs to back off my girl

user 🔥

landonorris amazing performance😍

user oh we're getting bold??? user down bad lando is my favorite lando fr user OMGGG FUTURE WAG Y/N??

user STOP is she the reason lando went to that cowboys game a few weeks ago

user going to her games and they're not even dating yet, gotta respect the game tbh😭

user sorry to break girls' hearts but there's videos of her and lando talking at the gp and he was blushing and giving her heart eyes the whole time

user literally came to her account cause of that video HAHAH

landonorris

liked by danielricciardo, maxfewtrell and 930,482 others

landonorris 'murica

view all comments

user PASSENGER PRINCESS LANDO???

user ARE THOSE DCC BOOTS IN THE LAST SLIDE???

user it HAS to be the cheerleader he just followed cause they wear the exact same boots ↪user her name is Y/N!! put some respect in our dcc queen's name ↪user yes maam🫡, i apologize for my ignorance as a brit

user lando in a cowboy hat?? SHOW IT TO ME NOW RACHEL

maxfewtrell man you never let me drive when youre in the car

landonorris yeah cause i dont trust u maxfewtrell YOUVE KNOWN ME LONGER THAN Y/N??this comment has been deleted

user did max just confirm it is y/n THEE DCC in the last slide🧍‍♀️

user LMFAOO i know lando gave him an earful after that deleted comment user too late for him to delete, I HAVE IT PRINTED OUT! Y/N AND LANDO CONFIRMED

user streets are saying it's y/n in the last slide... we lost her guys😔

user AND WE LOST HER TO A BRITISH MAN💔💔

user now we wait for y/n to follow him and start soft launching too

danielricciardo glad i trusted the process

landonorris TOLD YOU user i hate when they comment inside jokes, got me feeling left out :(

user wait the way he let her drive even though hes said before he hates not being in control, meaning he already trusts her🥹

user i love her already omg

user lando dating an american cheerleader is actually the most lando thing ever

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell and 18,392 others

yourusername current side mission: turning a brit into a texan

view all comments

user bae just tag lando norris, we know it's him

user NOO I WAS HOPING IT WAS JUST RUMORS💔

user girl lando does not know who you are ↪user i was talking about y/n ↪user oh sorry, valid reaction tbh

user the matching pictures of her driving and him as the passenger princess on his post omg this is the most perfect soft launch i fear

user i waited for 3 and half years for her and white man did it in one week😩

user her soft launching as if max didnt already confirm it on landos post

yourusername shhh just pretend you didn't see that, cant have my soft launch ruined ↪user sorry maam, whatever you say maam

user lando is so posh but she has him driving dirt bikes and going to rodeos HAHAHHA

user the way he looked just watching a football game was hilarious, i cant even imagine a rodeo

user as a european f1 fan, can someone explain why she's so loved? (IM ASKING IN THE NICEST WAY POSSIBLE I SWEAR)

user LOL she's a cheerleader for the dallas cowboys football team which is a huge deal here! it's pretty hard to join the squad but shes a fifth year veteran (about to retire after this year) and she's known as one of the sweetest and kindest leaders on the squad!! she also met lando at a game!

user does she know she has twitter freaking out with this post?

user not that im complaining but this is the first time i see an f1 couple getting so much love HOW AND WHY??

user well y/n is quite literally america's sweetheart

yourusername

liked by landonorris, pietra.pilao and 23,492 others

yourusername one last christmas show🥹

view all comments

user what is dcc without y/n☹️

user gonna miss her so bad

user still looked amazing

user okay but is she still with that nascar driver or whatever cause wowwwww😍

landonorris yes, she is still with the FORMULA ONE DRIVER. ↪user OMG AN OFFICIAL CONFIRMATION???

pietra.pilao be with me please?

landonorris 🤨

landonorris woah woah you didnt say you were gonna post this one??? you look too good???

yourusername what happened to not commenting on each other's post until the hard launch🙂 (but ty ily) landonorris i take that back. (ily more) ↪user theyre losers but i love them your honor

footballplayer 🔥

landonorris yeah nice try🤣

user landos fighting for his life in these comments HAHA

user he fr ruined y/n's soft launch cause he cant handle these commenters hitting on her omfg

user kinda scared to comment, i dont want lando coming for me

user please dont be in love with someone else😩please dont have somebody waiting on you😩

landonorris she is in fact in love with someone else and does in fact have somebody waiting on her (ME) ↪user lando is a loser bf CONFIRMED

landonorris

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 973,492 others

landonorris winter break means football games with my beautiful girl

view all comments

user finally the hard launch

user she literally is turning him into a texan GRAHHHH🦅🇺🇸

user *pretends to be shocked*

yourusername ILYYYYYYY

landonorris ❤️

user sad about her retiring dcc but happy we'll be getting so much WAG content

user OMG i didnt even think of this ↪user already imagining the paddock fits😩

user ig i have to accept shes officially taken :(

landonorris yeah. ↪user chill bro aint nobody taking her from you

user bro saw all the thrist comments on her last post and decided to hard launch

maxfewtrell ranch in texas when??

yourusername OMG SOON PLEASE @/LANDONORRIS?? ↪landonorris um idk about that ↪yourusername 🤨 ↪landonorris I MEANT ILL THINK ABOUT IT!! IT SOUNDS LIKE A GREAT IDEA😁🫶

user shes got him on a LEASH

danielricciardo ahh feels like yesterday that you bought tickets for the game AND the flight to have a 5 second interaction with the cute dcc

user damn lando was down bad wth😭 landonorris thank you for making this public information. ↪yourusername hey at least you beat the norizz allegations! eventually...

user as an american, im allowing you to count cota as your home race for bagging this queen

user oh lando norris i underestimated your game

User he gets the y'all pass now

landonorris THANK YALLLLLL

user the americanfication of lando is not something i knew i needed, but i did. thank you miss y/n

yourusername youre welcome, he will be listening to zach bryan and dolly parton in no time🫡

notes: one thing about me is im gonna start getting lazy at the end of every smau i make. LOL. anyway i love american reader if you havent noticed already :)

[macfrog]

greetings from austin, tx cowboy like me chapter one

alright hwfg. first part of a dbf!joel series i'm gonna be working on. i hope you guys enjoy 🤍 please feel free to send in any requests or ideas, i'm constantly writing this so would love to know your thoughts!!!! love u all thank u sm for being the best

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you return to austin after graduating to find everything as it always was. well, most things...

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), little bit of alcohol consumption, and lotsa flirtin and allusions to...something more

word count: 2.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

The doorbell rings and your dad jumps up. “Ain’t got no cash ready. Be right back.” He jogs off past you down the hall, but your eyes remain locked on Joel, who notices you once your dad’s gone. Or so you think. “Rude to stare, darlin’,” he tsks, bringing his beer to his lips. “Wasn’t starin’.” “No?”

Summer. Texan summer. One of the few things drawing you back halfway across the country to your hometown: bright, sunny, so hot the car bonnets burn your fingertips. It had become a running joke between you and your dad: he’d send a picture of Austin’s scorching sunshine, and you’d reply a picture of New York’s grey skies.

You were ready to come back home.

That is, until your flight landed onto saturated wet tarmac, during the rainiest month of the year. It hasn’t let up in the five days since.

You stumble off the bus into a torrential downpour and throw your hood back up, but it’s no use. By the time you arrive at work, your clothes are soaked through, your hair is plastered to your shoulders, and your mood is worse than ever.

Sal hands you a towel from the back when you walk into the office, but not before giving a hearty laugh from his desk.

“You oughta be gettin’ yourself a car, anyway, lady. Now that you’re back home.”

You give him as sincere a smile as your cheeks will allow. He’s your boss, sure, but he’s also a buddy of your dad’s. Gave you a part-time job for some extra cash when you were still at school, and has taken you back on now you’ve graduated. It’s in your best interests to keep him sweet.

The hardware store is the same as it always was. A little dim, a little dusty; same old tools and same old customers, but homely. You get to work unpacking this morning’s delivery, hauling boxes off of the trolley and filling the shelves. The day passes quickly enough, and you’re folding up empty cardboard boxes to waste the last half hour of your shift when a voice hums from behind you.

“Well, hello, darlin’.”

You stand up straight and spin around to find Joel Miller before you, trademark flannel and subtle-but-still-there smile on.

“Hey, stranger,” you reply, smiling back, before he opens his arms and pulls you in for a bear hug.

Joel Miller. Same as always: tall, rugged, handsome, dark hair and beard singed with grey, warm and sweet-smelling, grumbling, mumbling Joel. His chin rests on top of your head for a second before you pull away, and he looks you up and down.

“Been meaning to come over to see you since you got back, your dad said you were pretty busy unpackin’. Thought I’d give you a few days. Everything alright?”

“All good,” you reply with a nod. “I accumulated a lot of crap in New York.”

He smirks, shoulders jerking a little with a laugh. “Didn’t realise you’d gotten your job back in here,” he looks around, “you likin’ it?”

You shrug. “It’s money. And I know how things are run. Sal’s a good guy.”

Joel nods. “When do you get off?”

You glance down at your watch. “Five minutes.”

“You want a ride home?”

You take a deep breath and breathe out a, “Yes, please,” with a sigh. It’s been a long, damp day.

“I’ll just go grab these,” he holds up two boxes of nails, “meet you outside when you’re done, kid.”

He brushes past your shoulder heavily as he passes, something he always used to do when you were younger. You snort when he mutters, “My bad.”

Joel Miller and your dad have been best buds since, like, the eighties. Your dad has a few years on Joel, but they’re as close as can be. Grew up on the same street, saw each other through girlfriends, marriage, children, divorce. Never one without the other, all that.

Joel’s daughter, Sarah – four years your junior – is a freshman out west, somewhere in California. Another of the reasons you thought it was time to come home: your dad and Joel must feel pretty lonely having both of you gone.

When you’ve grabbed your hoodie and bag and made your way back out front, Joel’s being served by Anna, a girl you went to school with. She stayed here in Austin, has some side hustle selling makeup and perfume. She flutters her eyelashes at Joel as she rings him up. You cringe as you find place at his side.

“Ready?” he murmurs, looking down at you.

You nod.

“How’s things, anyways, Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, even as he’s turning to leave.

“Uh, good, thanks. Good luck with the…makeup.” Then he gives a low grunt and makes for the door.

“Not much of a talker,” you mutter to Anna, and flatten your lips against one another in the form of a goodbye.

Joel’s sat out front in his truck, looking down the receipt.

“Girl charged me for three boxes. If she wasn’t talkin’ so damn much about her perfumes…”

You pull your seatbelt over your shoulder. “Why don’t you go back in there and get your money back?”

“What, and subject myself to her battin’ eyelashes again? Almost blew me off my feet.”

Your head falls back against the headrest with laughter. “You know, you were the first thing she asked me about on my first shift back.”

“I bet I was, baby,” he replies, switching the ignition on and reaching an arm behind your seat as he reverses back.

You spend most of the drive home catching up, telling him about New York and listening to what antics he and your dad have gotten up to since your last visit home. It’s easy talking to Joel, easier than with your dad. He hums and grunts, lets you ramble, tells you what he thinks, then the pair of you fall back into comfortable silence until the next conversation sparks. No judgement, no lectures. Just Joel.

When you pull up in your drive, Joel casts you a meaningful look and says, “He’s really missed you, y’know. We both have.”

“You both have?”

“Sure. Gets quiet ‘round here at times. And with Sarah gone…It’ll be real nice to have you back again.”

“I’ll keep you on your toes, Miller.”

“Holdin’ you to it.”

“Joel? Hey, buddy.” Your dad’s voice breaks apart your conversation and you both turn to see him approaching from the garage. “Hi, kiddo.”

“Hey. Joel came in to get some stuff, gave me a ride home.” You hop out of the truck, and Joel wanders round to meet you.

“Well, thanks, man. You say thank you?” he asks.

You glance awkwardly at Joel, muttering a thank you like some little kid. He shakes his head softly in return, giving you a look that your dad misses, but you understand.

“C’mon inside, I was just tidying up. Stayin’ for dinner, Joel? I bet this girl’s been chewing your ear off about NYC…” Your dad’s voice fades away as he wanders back into the garage, and you and Joel begin to follow.

“Ain’t no need to thank me,” he whispers, leaning into your space.

You nod appreciatively. “My presence is thanks enough, I know.”

He nudges you toward the house.

Your dad orders in pizza and you set the table while he and Joel sit to discuss a potential new client. Joel sits at the edge of the table, turned outward to face the sliding doors, elbow hooked over the back of his chair. As you maneuver around them, placing mats down, you can’t help but note how fucking good he looks.

Tousled hair, unshaven beard. A broadness that even his own shirt can barely hold in; from where you’re standing, you can see where his neck meets his toned shoulders, skin tanned from the sun and the tiniest burst of chest hair over his collar…

The doorbell rings and your dad jumps up. “Ain’t got no cash ready. Be right back.”

He jogs off past you down the hall, but your eyes remain locked on Joel, who notices you once your dad’s gone. Or so you think.

“Rude to stare, darlin’,” he tsks, bringing his beer to his lips.

“Wasn’t starin’.”

“No?”

“Uh-uh. You got a stain on your shirt.”

His brows furrow and his head instantly snaps down to his chest. “Where?”

You snort, wandering over to put his plate on the mat. “My bad,” you whisper, leaning over, “must’ve been the light.”

Joel’s breath wavers only for a second, before your dad re-enters the room and he’s forced to compose himself.

“Alright, let’s see…Pepperoni, bleh, keep that one on that side of the table, please, and plain cheese over here.”

“See you haven’t improved Dad’s taste in pizza,” you say to Joel as you pull your chair out beside his and sit down, cross-legged.

“He – he’s immune to change,” he replies, then, only once he’s regained composure, adds, “or improvement of any kind.”

“Hey,” your dad protests, lifting a slice. “Cool it on the insults, here. You’ve been back six days,” he points a greasy finger at you, then steers it in Joel’s direction, “and you’re the one who turned down Lois last month. Talk about improvement, she could turn your life around, son.”

“Who the hell is Lois?” you ask, mouthful of pizza, aiming for chill, but coming across overly interested.

Joel shakes his head, only looking at you briefly from the corners of his eyes. “Receptionist at Clark’s Plant Hire. And I didn’t turn her down.”

“She asked you out?” Your knee brushes against his waist. He feels it; you know from the way his body tenses.

“She…said she’d like to go for a drink, sometime. I said yeah, maybe…some time.”

“Ouch. Poor Lois.”

He turns to face you now. “Don’t give me the same spiel your dad did, alright? I can decide for myself when I’m ready to be…datin’.”

“Wouldn’t he be nice with a receptionist from a plant hire on his arm?” Your dad fades into the background as you and Joel back-and-forth.

“If you don’t think you turned her down, why say you’re not ready to be dating?”

“Ha! See, my little girl,” Dad waves his slice of pizza around, “she got a degree, Joel. She’s smarter ‘n us. She’s got you on that one.”

“What is your degree in, again? Law?” Joel speaks through his teeth.

You beam back, happy to have riled him. “Film.”

“Film. My mistake. Must’ve felt like I was bein’ interrogated or som’.”

You decide to pull it back then. Enough discussing Joel’s love life – it doesn’t interest you much, not for the right reasons, anyway. The conversation shifts naturally to your degree, your graduation, and the year you spent living in the city afterward.

When most of the pizza is gone, the three of you sit idly chatting; the last Rangers game, the neighborhood barbecue coming up, the weather. Right as your dad voices concern about a job he has next week, his cell starts to ring in the living room.

As hasty and tactless as ever, he jumps up and almost knocks his chair flying. You and Joel laugh quietly as he bounds off in search for his phone.

You turn back to Joel, who’s playing with the label of his beer bottle.

“Hey.” You nudge him with your knee. He grunts in response. “Hey,” you say, clearer, this time pulling your legs up and over onto his lap. “Didn’t mean what I said about that Lois lady. I’m sure you had your reasons, and it’s none of my business. Or my dad’s.”

He stifles a laugh, sucking a breath in until his chest meets his chin. Then he lifts his head to look over to you. “Sorry I snapped. Wasn’t all serious, but I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m mad with you.”

“You can be, if you want.” You lean forward. “Just not for long, okay? It’d be a long summer with just my dad to hang with if Sarah’s gone and you ain’t talking to me.”

This time he laughs. For real. You mirror his swollen cheeks, glad to see you’ve amused him. He puts the bottle on the table and his hands fall to your ankles, where he gently rubs with his thumbs.

“When does she get home?” you ask him.

“Couple weeks. Still got finals and all that to worry about.”

You nod knowingly, muttering, “Rough.”

He gently lifts your legs from his lap and stands, towering over you, your chin inches away from his belt buckle as you look up at him. He doesn’t move, just brings a hand down to cup your jaw and tilt your head back ever so slightly with his thumb under your chin.

You can feel your pulse in your throat. You know Joel can, too. You clench between your legs, an ache forming there, and the only thought behind your eyes is him remedying it.

You bring your hands up to settle behind his thighs, trying desperately to send him a message through your doe eyes. Something in the way the corners of his mouth rise almost imperceptibly tells you he hears you loud and clear.

Your dad bursts back into the room like a bat out of hell, and the two of you spring apart.

“Supplier had some trouble with directions,” he mutters, tossing his cell onto the counter.

Joel grumbles in response, then, like nothing at all out of the ordinary just happened, begins gathering the bottles and gestures to you to grab the pizza boxes. You follow him over to the sink where you set the boxes down and he runs the bottles under the faucet, filling them up and pouring the dregs of beer down the drain.

Your dad’s busy clearing the placemats from the table, babbling to himself about work, when you feel Joel’s shoulder lean into yours.

“Trouble,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head and furrow your brows in response.

“You,” he breathes, “are nothin’ but trouble.”

You smile back at him gleefully.

Trouble, indeed.

[supernatural-sophia]

In honor of the archive being down today, here is a oneshot that I posted to ao3

Tombstone 

Dean’s phone started ringing and he was willing to do anything to get out of an awkward conversation with Sam. 

“Hello,” Dean says with a gruff in his voice. 

“Hello, Dean.” Dean almost crashes his car. Sam looks at him with wide and concerned eyes but Dean is already turning the car around. 

“Stay where you are. We are coming to get you,” Dean says doing a U-turn so fast his car left marks on the ground. Dean didn’t hang the phone up or set it down; he kept it held up to his ear just to hear the person on the other end breathing. If this was some sort of cruel joke from God, Dean wouldn’t survive. He ignored his brother’s angry questions, lost in thought until they turned down a road. Sam knew where this road took them and started getting concerned that Dean had lost it. Then he saw the figure in the phonebooth; A tall man dressed in a tan trench coat. Dean barely had the car stopped before he opened the door and jumped out. 

“Cas, is that really you?” Dean couldn’t stop his voice from cracking with emotion. 

“No. You're – you're dead,” Sam stuttered trying to protect Dean from any more heartbreak. This had to be a shifter or some sort of demon trying to mess with them. 

“Yeah, I was. But then I… annoyed an ancient cosmic being so much that he sent me back,” Cas said with humor in his voice. Dean’s eyes noticeably had water in them. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Sam stood in awe. 

“I do. Welcome home, pal,” Dean hugged Cas tightly, breathing in his scent of ozone and forest before letting go. Sam gives a quicker, less intimate hug to Cas. 

“How long was I gone?” Cas asked, seeing the way Dean was practically shaking in his presence. 

“Too damn long,” Dean replies with a smile 

-

“How did it go?” Jack asks, not looking up from his computer. He already assumes it went well judging by the fact that the bunker door closed and didn’t slam. 

“Well…” Dean said suddenly embarrassed of how he treated the kid. 

“Jack, um..” Sam stumbled over his words trying to explain what had just happened. Jack looks up from his computer with fear in his eyes. He thought it went well. Had he misunderstood again? 

“What’s wrong?” He panicked. 

“Hello, Jack,” Castiel said with a small smile on his normally stoic face. 

“Castiel?” Jack said, trying to hide the hope in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Cas sighs. “It’s me.” They were all overjoyed with Cas being back and Jack wanted to show off his skills to his chosen father. He drags Cas over to a table where a pencil sits still before it starts to levitate for a few moments before Jack giggles, letting it fall back down. Cas quirks an eyebrow but says nothing. 

“I found a case. Hunter’s case,” Jack said, beaming with pride and excitement. 

“What kind of-”

“Zombies!” Jack says confidently to Cas only. “I know what Zombies are now,” He whispered with a grin. 

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Dean asked with suspicion in his voice. 

“By watching you. And Sam,” Jack exclaims, excited to see a side of Dean that wasn’t drunken anger. “Three days ago, a vintage pocket watch with a personal inscription was sold at a pawn shop. But when they went to authenticate it, they found out that it'd been buried with its owner… 20 years ago. And when they checked out the grave, it was empty. Which means… The dead are rising in Dodge City, Kansas.” 

Dean could hear cowboy music playing the moment Dodge City was meantoned and made up his mind to go. He could see Cas in a cowboy hat just like all the movies they have watched. Cas glanced over at Dean, seemingly knowing what Dean was thinking. Dean blushed, embarrassed to be caught with the joy of dreams on his face, but Cas only smiled softly before looking back over to a confused Jack. 

Jack didn’t understand how Dean and Castiel seemed to have a full conversation without words when Jack couldn't ever get a normal one in with Dean as it was. He looked up at Sam for clarification, but Sam had a more awkward look on his face. 

“Right. O-or maybe it’s a-a grave robbery,” Sam stuttered 

“Oh,” Jack’s face fell but then Dean spoke up with a tone of voice Jack had not yet heard from him. 

“Yeah, but we should probably check it out,” Dean said, not thinking it really was Zombies, but just wanting a Cowboy vacation. 

“Wait. Really?” Cas asked towards Dean, giving another knowing look. 

“Yeah, we've done more on less. Besides Dodge City's kind of, uh, kind of awesome,” Dean blushed with excitement. “All right, well… two salty hunters, one half-angel kid, and a dude who just came back from the dead. Again. Team Free Will 2.0. Here we go.” 

-

“All right, this is supposed to be the best room in the joint,” Dean grins, shoving his key into the door. When he flips the light on, he couldn't help but show his excitement. “Oh, ho! The Wild Bill suite!” Dean exclaimed and Sam just gave a sarcastic ‘wow’ in response. Dean was laughing with delight as he looked at all the cowboy decor. If he could have had a room as a kid, it would have been decked out just like this. 

“He really likes cowboys,” Jack says quietly to Castiel in some sort of confusion. He expected his father, who Sam explained had a hard time with human interactions as well, to have a similar confused expression, but he only saw one of deep love. 

“Yes. Yes, he does,” Cas smiles adoring Dean from afar. 

-

Dean was in the bedroom now, unpacking all his cowboy gear he brought. 

“I still can’t believe you brought your own hat,” Sam shook his head as his brother said that he should have brought one as well. “You’re in a good mood, huh?” Sam was trying to get something out of Dean, even if he wasn’t sure what it was yet. 

“Yeah. And?” Dean asked, no longer unpacking his bags. 

“Nothing. No, no, I-I-I just, uh… you've been having a rough go, so it's… it's good to see you smile,” Sam said trying not to send Dean back into another episode. 

“Well, I said I needed a big win. We got Cas back. That's a pretty damn big win,” Dean grinned a bigger smile than Sam had seen in years. Suddenly it clicked in Sam’s brain and we wondered why he hadn’t figured it out sooner. 

“Yeah. Fair enough.”

-

Jack and Cas were having a sweet heart to heart when the next alert for the case popped up. Jack jumped up excitedly to wake Dean, against the protests of his father. 

“Dean? Dean?” Jack attempted to wake up a sleeping Dean. Dean pulls out a gun from beneath his pillow, aiming it right at Jack’s chest. “No, no, no! Dean! It’s me,” Jack said, trying to get the angry man to calm down. The sound of saloon doors swinging brings Dean’s attention to Castiel standing in the room. Dean set his gun back down and demanded coffee. 

“I told you,” Castiel whispered into Jack’s ear. “He’s an angry sleeper. Like a bear.” Jack wondered how many times Dean had pulled a gun on Cas for waking him up. They all, besides a still grumpy Dean, discuss the case and where to go next. As Castiel stood up to leave with the other men, Dean held up a finger and then pointed to his coffee. Cas sat back down on the couch next to Dean, glad to be back. 

Cas watched as Dean slowly started to perk up. He still had bags under his eyes, but those wouldn’t be fixed from one short night of sleep and some coffee. Cas hadn’t noticed how dark they were when he first saw Dean but noticed it the moment they got back into the bunker. With some of his discussions with Jack over the night, he understood that Dean was not coping very well. 

“Are you alright, Dean?” Castiel asked to see if he could get anywhere with him. He watched as Dean stared into his almost-gone coffee. Cas almost thought he wasn’t going to respond until he noticed that Dean’s eyes had begun to shine. He was holding back tears. 

“I thought you were really gone, man,” Dean said, closing his eyes, and forcing tears away. Cas placed a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder. His hand always seemed to find its way back to where the scar used to be so long ago. He sometimes wished he hadn’t healed it away, especially on days like today when Dean leaned into the touch. 

“I’m back now,” Cas said in a quiet tone to not break the comfortable silence they had mastered over the years. 

“He’s just like you, you know,” Dean said, taking a drink of his coffee before speaking again. “Just-everytime I looked at him, all I saw was you.” Dean opened his eyes and stared into Cas’s bright blue ones. “He has the same beauti- blue eyes,” Dean blushed and looked away trying to cover the Freudian slip. 

“It’s okay Dean. Really,” Cas tried to assure the man who had been so excited previously. “Now, let’s go to the crime scene.” 

-

Dean smiled every time he looked over and saw his angel wearing a cowboy hat. How far he had caused Cas to fall was truly astounding. The only problem was every time he looked over at Cas, his hidden feelings bubbled towards the surface. Ever since he cradled Cas’s limp, dead body in his arms he couldn’t deny their connection. It had only taken one of them dying for him to realize it, but hey better late than never right? They were discussing a strategy when Dean had to lean close to pull the motel’s advertising off Castiel’s hat and Dean’s heart was racing. He hoped Cas couldn’t tell how nervous he suddenly felt. 

“Just act like you’re from Tombstone, okay?” Dean said, trying to calm himself down. 

“The city?” Cas asked. 

“The movie,” Dean sighed. “With Kurt Russell? I made you watch it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The one with the guns and tuberculosis,” Cas said and Dean just rolled his eyes. Then Cas lowered his voice to sound more like a cowboy and quoted, “I’m your Huckleberry.” Cas would have never guessed how flustered it made Dean and Dean tried to hide it as much as he could. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Dean stuttered trying to refocus his thoughts. “Well, it’s good to have you back, Cas.” Dean smiled as he and Cas excited Baby, loving the sound of his cowboy boots on the ground. He loved the way both he and Cas had cowboy hats on and he especially liked it when Cas used cowboy slang, even if he used it incorrectly and was awkward like the entire conversation with the sergeant. 

-

Cas and Dean made it to the motel before Sam and Jack did. Dean put Baby into park but didn’t move to get out of the car. 

“You alright?” Cas asked knowing that Dean wanted to talk, but was trying to find an opening. 

“Yeah, I just…” Dean looked over at the angel who he was mourning a few days ago. “I missed you so much.” Cas could tell that this wasn’t the important thing Dean wanted to say, so he nodded his head, keeping quiet so Dean could still talk. “It was so much harder this time. At first, I couldn’t figure out why, but I was ignoring the one answer that I didn’t want to be true.” 

“Dean,” Cas sighed, putting a comforting hand on Dean’s leg. Dean looked at the hand then back at Cas with wide eyes. Maybe Cas was reading his mind like how he always seemed to do. Dean shifted in his seat so he was facing the angel properly. He moved slowly, putting his hands on Castiel’s face holding him. Then he put his forehead against Cas’s and could feel the tears prickling through his closed eyes. 

Dean wasn’t sure where the courage came from, but when he took his forehead off of Castiel’s he pushed his lips against his best friend’s. Cas had made a small sound of surprise before leaning into the gentle kiss. The moment Dean realized Cas was kissing him back the gentle kiss became a passionate one. It was an inexperienced kiss that was teeth clanking together due to the smile that kept forming on Dean’s lips. 

They slowly gained experience with each other 's as they became more passionate introducing their tongues into the mix. Dean could feel his hands wander over the stupid, dirty trench coat that his angel always wore. He started sliding his hands underneath the trenchcoat, trying to remove it so he could be closer to Cas. 

Cas didn’t seem to mind Dean’s eagerness and almost seemed just as eager. He helped Dean slide off his trenchcoat before letting his hands start to explore Dean’s body. A hunger he had locked away came pouring out as Cas started moving his kisses all around Dean’s face and neck. He gave a spot right under Dean’s jaw a small bite and the sound Dean gave at it made Cas repeat that motion in different spots, slowly sucking on them as well, leaving a dark bruise behind on Dean’s neck. 

“Back seat,” Dean breathed out. Within seconds both men were in the back seat of the Impala clawing at each other’s clothed bodies. Dean was shaking and struggling with the buttons on Cas’s shirt and with a snap of Cas’s fingers, all their clothes were thrown across the Impala leaving both men in just their boxers. “Cas, you tease,” Dean laughed, tugging at Cas’s waistband. 

-

Jack and Sam found a few bitten bones in the cemetery and Sam immediately dragged Jack back to the car they came in. It wasn’t too long of a drive to the motel but must have been long enough because the Impala was in the parking lot. 

“Guess they beat us here,” Sam said, turning into the parking lot, not paying much attention to the Impala as Jack was. 

“Sam!” Jack exclaimed with fear in his voice. 

“What?” Sam turned to look at Jack. 

“Someone is in the impala! Look!” Jack pointed to the impala and Sam squinted to see what Jack was seeing. Then he noticed clothes thrown across the seats, bits of skin, and moving bodies in the windows. Sam paled so noticeably that Jack’s panic doubled. “What? What is it?” 

Sam looked back down at the child in his seat. “Let’s go inside,” Sam said before grabbing Jack’s wrists to pull him out through the driver’s door, putting as much distance between them and the impala as he could. “Sam, what’s going on?” Jack asked as he was being pulled into the motel and Sam went to the front desk asking for a new room. 

“Uh..hey. Can I get another two-bedroom room by the Wild Bill suite, but no shared walls?” Sam asked. The woman quirked an eyebrow before she nodded in understanding. 

“Why do we need a new room?” Jack asked. 

“How old is he?” The woman asked Sam, curious why the man next to him seemed oblivious. 

“Uh.. younger than you think and he..uh…” Sam pointed to his head and the woman nodded again. Jack looked around confused at how Sam and the woman seemed to be having their own conversation that he had no idea what it was about. 

“I’m going to go find Cas and Dean,” Jack said with a huff before Sam grabbed his wrist again. 

“Bad idea, kid. I’ll…uh,” Sam looked to the woman for help but she laughed and pulled up a magazine to read. “I’ll tell you when we get to our room. Just don’t go find them. Not right now.” 

“I don’t understand,” Jack sighed before he let Sam drag him towards their new room. When they got into the room Sam closed the door behind him before hitting his head on it. 

“Now? Really?” He said to himself, but of course, Jack heard. 

“What is going on Sam?” His voice echoed across the room. He was tired of being left out of the conversations that Dean and Cas were having and now the silent conversation that Sam and the woman at the front desk were having. 

“Jack, it’s a bit of a- Um, weird conversation,” Sam said before joining Jack on the end of the bed. 

“I want to know. I feel like everyone else knows something right now that I don’t,” Jack whined. 

“Look, Dean and Cas have a different relationship than the rest of us have with each other,” Sam sighed trying to find the right words. “It’s why Dean was much more of a wreck than I was when Cas died. It’s not that I didn’t miss Cas or didn’t want him back, it’s just different.” 

“Different how?” Jack asked, still not understanding. It seemed like Sam was jumping around the answer without saying it. Before Sam could answer there was a knock at the door. 

“Sammy?” Dean called. 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. Dean opened the door slowly and Jack noticed how disheveled Dean’s clothes were and his hair was a wreck. He also had odd bruises on his neck. 

“Are you okay?” Jack jumped up worried. “Sam, I told you we should have gone and found them! He is hurt!” Jack exclaimed. Dean had wide eyes as Jack healed the random bruises on him and only was blushing while he made eye contact with his brother. 

“How much did you two…?” Dean asked trailing off. 

“I saw enough. Jack saw enough to get confused,” Sam ran a hand through his hair. 

“Where is Cas?” Jack asked watching Dean do the impossible which was stiffen even more. 

“He’s, uh, cleaning the impala,” Dean said, face turning a bright red. 

“Gross,” Sam scoffed, which just got a confused look from Jack who was even more frustrated than before. 

“Any case updates?” Dean tried to change the conversation. 

“Someone explain what’s going on!” Jack boomed to the point where the lights in the room started flickering along with his anger. Dean looked to Sam for help, but Sam was doing the same thing to Dean. Luckily that was when Cas walked in. 

“Why do we have a new room?” He asked. 

“See, Cas doesn’t understand either!” Jack said, calming down knowing he wasn’t the only one confused. 

“Understand what?” Cas gave a quirked eyebrow to Dean. 

“We saw someone in the Impala in the parking lot then Sam made us get a new room and when Dean said you were cleaning Dean was super red and Sam said gross,” Jack rambled. 

“Sam, you of all people should know that sexual relationships are not gross. You seemed to be satisfied having sex with a demon who was poisoning you,” Cas said and both Sam and Dean’s faces were bright red. “You humans confuse me. One day you are bragging about your sexual partners and the next sex is a taboo subject.” 

“Cas! Stop talking about sex!” Dean said, looking extremely uncomfortable with the topic. 

“This is about sex?” Jack asked quietly. He knew what sex was and this didn’t need to be as confusing as a conversation as it needed to be. 

“Yes,” Cas said while Dean replied with “No.” 

“Cas, he’s a kid. Your kid. You want to talk about that right now?” Dean said, still uncomfortable. Cas just rolled his eyes and stepped closer to Jack. 

“Jack, what you saw was Dean and I having personal relations. They are normally supposed to be private and others are not supposed to see, that is why both Sam and Dean are flustered. We will not be talking about this anymore because what happens between Dean and me is no one else's business but our own,” Cas said before walking out of the room to their original suite. Dean stood frozen for a few moments before turning and following Cas. 

“I’m going to shower, Jack. Get cemetery off of me. Then we will discuss the case with them two. Just turn something on the TV for a while.” 

-

An hour later the awkward feeling was gone and Sam handed Dean the bone he found at the cemetery. 

“Leftovers,” Dean scoffed. He tossed the bone to Cas who was explaining what a ghoul was to Jack. They discussed who it could be, but couldn’t think of anyone who fit the bill perfectly. Jack pulled up an image he had found previously while researching, asking if it could be of any help. 

“Holy crap,” Dean said, which gave him a glare from Cas. “That’s Dave Mather.” 

“Who?” Sam asked. 

“Dave Mather. Cowboy. Outlaw. One of the Dodge City Gang,” Dean said with more excitement with every word. He could hear the cowboy music playing in his head as he took down a picture off the wall. “He was one of the greatest gunfighters ever. I mean, he died in 1886, which makes this a little weird, but…” Dean laughed with excitement. “Mysterious Dave Mather. I'm gonna get my boots on. One of the best gunslingers ever! Whoo!” 

Sam rolled his eyes as he watched Dean practically skip around the room getting the supplies. Jack explained that he noticed that there was a picture of Dave and Athena together and said they were probably together. He gave a look to Cas and then Dean, who were staring into each other's eyes. It wasn’t the first time he had seen them give that look and Sam’s reaction, an eye roll and ‘bitch face’ as Dean called them, he had seen them too. 

-

The team went to speak with Athena first, but Dave wasn’t there, but she knew where he was. They rushed to the bank where Dave was robbing and running outside. 

“Two, three, four Hunters! Whoo! Must be my birthday!” Dave exclaimed seeing all of Team Free Will 2.0 waiting for him in the parking lot. A gunfight started out and Jack was excited to help. 

“What the hell?” Dave said after Jack took several shots in the chest. Jack then uses his untrained powers to blast Dave backward, however a security guard was behind him and also got hit in the blast. 

“No!” Jack cried out. “No, no, no, no, no!” He begged for Cas to save the man, but Cas couldn’t bring back life. Even worse, Dave got away. 

-

“Is this the first time he’s hurt anyone?” Cas asked looking back at an upset Jack on the couch. 

“No,” Sam sighed. “No, but it is the first time he's hurt someone that didn’t get back up.” 

“Alright, you two should get Jack back to the bunker,” Dean sighed. That rotten feeling of having the son of Lucifer nearby was back in his stomach. He didn’t want to feel this way, especially with the kid as a wreck on the couch behind him, but he had expected this. Lucifer always caused problems, so it’s no surprise his kid was too, even if it was by accident. 

“I can stay here,” Cas tried, but Dean knew what the kid needed. He needed his dad and he needed someone who didn’t threaten to kill him in the past. 

“No, I’ll handle it. Besides, you need to be with the kid in case he…you know.” 

“Okay,” Cas sighed heavily. “All right.” He could feel Dean begging him to stay, but he knew Dean would never admit to something like that. 

-

Dean worked with the sergeant to take down Dave. The sergeant had no problem killing Dave in fact, he was prepared to. Dean then explained that Dave killed Sarge’s friend, so Sarge killed Dave. He then pursued and put the blame of the death of the security guard at the bank on Dave too. Jack didn’t need any more trouble than what was coming for him by just being an associate with the Winchesters. 

-

When Dean got back to the bunker, all he wanted to do was drink and sit with Cas. He had gotten a picture of the two dressed up printed out and shoved it into his wallet. 

“How’d it go?” Sam asked worried about Jack. 

“Took care of it,” Dean huffed. 

“Good,” Sam said quietly. 

“Good?” Jack stood up. “How is that good? I killed someone. What was his name? The guard? Did he have a family?” Jack was almost crying. 

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Cas tried to calm him down/ 

“Did he?” Jack demanded. 

“Yes, he did,” Dean said, not sure if the truth was better than lying.

“Jack, look, this life, what we do,” Sam tried but Jack was having none of it. 

“Just don’t. You’re afraid of me,” a tear fell down Jack’s face. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just another monster!” Jack yelled at Dean. 

“No, you're not. I thought you were. I did. But…” Dean tried but he knew he was fumbling. 

“Every time I try to do something good, people get hurt,” Jack cried. “If I stay, I’m gonna hurt you. All of you. And… I can’t. You’re all I have.” 

“Jack, listen…” 

“I have to go. I’m sorry,” Jack said before using his powers to knock the three Winchesters backward. He disappears with Castiel crying after him. 

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Visions of sugarplums

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x female reader

Content: Pining, workplace romance, fake dating if you squint, oh no we’re snowed in, mention of food, kissing, making out, mostly-non-explicit sex (under-18s, jog on), so many sweet pet names you’ll get cavities, romantic Jack because apparently I'm a sucker for that

Word count: ~4800 (yeah. Jack is a demanding muse)

Prompt: “Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last” (Let Her Go, Passenger), for @yespolkadotkitty‘s follower celebration writing challenge 🎉

Note: I said canon Whiskey who? This cowboy drinks respect women juice.

Part two: Kentucky welcome Part three: Just say you will

Taglist (if you’d like to be tagged, un-tagged, or make a request for future fics, feel free to let me know): @writemessystarwars @keeper0fthestars @flightlessangelwings @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @songsformonkeys @beccaplaying

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

A whirl of snow stings your cheek like a slap as you hurry through the grounds of the posh ski resort that sprawls across the valley, dotted with cozy cabins and million-dollar chalets.

Your sheer stockings, low-cut dress, and teetering heels are no match for snow bursts and the wind that cuts through you like a  knife. Inwardly cursing your alter ego and her penchant for skimpy fashions, you tug your thin coat more tightly around you.

This mission was supposed to be a piece of cake. A few days at a luxe resort, posing with your partner as an arms dealer and his girlfriend to get close to your target, and everything was going swimmingly...until your search of the target’s study during a cocktail party was interrupted by two of his security staff making their rounds ahead of schedule. The adrenaline rush of your narrow escape is still humming in your veins.

Beside you, long strides making quick work of the path, Jack Daniels has transformed himself from intelligence agent to wealthy gun runner with the world on a string. The cashmere overcoat that cost more than your first car is the perfect finishing touch to his sharp suit, and his dark good looks stand out even in the hazy moonlight.

Rounding the corner of a chalet, Jack slows his steps to a stroll. A strong arm pulls you flush against his side as he walks, letting an easy laugh float on the wind like you’ve said something witty. Before you have time to wonder what’s going on, another couple materializes in the pool of light from a lamp, squinting against the gusts that throw fresh powder into the air like confetti.

“Evening,” Jack says with a tip of his hat and a winning  smile, the very picture of a genial Southern gentleman. “This weather sure is pickin’ up, ain’t it?”

The couple mutter their agreement  and hurry on their way. Once they’re out of sight Jack’s hand slides to the small of your back, guiding you as you both quicken your strides again. Your teeth are chattering by the time the wind blows you onto the porch of your own cabin, and in a fumble of hands on the doorknob you step together into the blessed stillness of the spacious room.

A  cheerful whistle pierces the air and you turn to find Jack brushing snow off of his black Stetson and favoring you with a lopsided smirk. Even damp with melting snow he manages to be striking, all sultry eyes and dashing mustache and wayward strands of dark hair curling over his  forehead.

“Nothin’ like a little skirmish to get the blood pumping.” He carefully sets the hat on the fireplace mantel to dry. “I feel like...”

“...A tornado in a trailer park,” you finish with him, earning one of those wide, dimpled grins that always dazzles you a little in return.

“Just so,” he says.

“That’s another one in the ‘win’ column.” You try to suppress a shiver as you pull the flash drive that might as well be a smoking gun from the cleavage of your dress. “A few bumps in the road, but we got what we needed.”

Jack ignores the congratulations, stepping close to take your chilled hands between his large ones. His hands aren’t much warmer than yours, but the thrill that trickles down your spine has nothing to do with the cold.

The frown lines between his brows deepen. “Darlin’, you’re colder than a well-digger’s belt buckle. Go on and have yourself a hot shower while I get a fire started and check in with HQ.”

“I can wait, I’ll help you,” you offer.

He shakes his head, already moving toward the fireplace. “Don’t you worry, sugarplum, ol’ Jack’ll have this place snug in no time. You just get comfortable.”

Helpless against the lure of hot water and fuzzy socks, you rummage in your suitcase for a change of clothes. Still, you stop at the bathroom door to look back at Jack where he’s stacking logs with the same determination furrowing his brow as when he’s reviewing dossiers or cleaning his guns.

The two of you have been almost inseparable for the year that you’ve been working for the Statesman agency. Even your code name was assigned with your partnership in mind, a little inside joke Champ never gets tired of telling when he introduces the two best agents in the New York office: “...Because you can’t have a Manhattan without Whiskey and Vermouth!”

Jack comes on as strong as his namesake liquor, but you’ve seen the  steely nature under his flashy Southern charm, the practice behind the effortless shows of skill, the tender heart he hides with bravado.

And he has no idea you’ve fallen in love with him.

As though he can feel your gaze, Jack looks up, his stern expression relaxing. He gives you a wink and waves one hand to shoo you along before getting back to his task.

With a sheepish smile, you duck into the bathroom and turn on the shower before you can do something stupid.

Like asking him to join you.

***

"Mission report, Agent?”

Champ’s projection flickers into the armchair across from Jack, looking like some kind of Halloween effect with the flames dancing over the logs in the fireplace behind him.

“We’ve got all the intel we need.” Jack adjusts his glasses, stretching his legs out in front of him with a sigh. “Agents ready for pickup.”

“Glad to hear it. Where’s Vermouth?”

Jack glances toward the sound of running water. “She’s just showerin’ to warm up. We got caught in a snow flurry coming back to the cabin.”

“That so?” The ghost of a smile flits over Champ’s face. “I thought you’d want to be the one warmin’ her up.”

Jack’s not sure if he’s more annoyed by the teasing, or how quick he is to take the bait. “Champ, this ain’t a Fourth of July picnic. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m on a delicate mission with my partner.”

“Now, don’t get your feathers ruffled, son,” Champ says mildly, reaching for a highball glass. “You confided in me about your feelings, and I’m just givin’ you a little nudge of encouragement.”

“I did not confide in you.” Jack leans forward to jab a finger at the hazy image of his boss. “You tested Ginger’s new truth serum on me.”

Champ’s grin is distinctly unrepentant. “Well, you looked like a man who needed to get somethin’ off his chest. ‘Sides, I won twenty bucks from Tequila for being right.”

Jack only grunts, slumping on the couch again. “Your granny’s special mint julep recipe, my ass.”

“Jack, she’s a pretty girl. Smart as that whip of yours. You think you’ll be the only one to notice? Anybody can see Vermouth thinks the world of you, but one of these days she’ll be wearin’ another man’s ring if you don’t stop pussyfooting around and make good on all that flirtin’ you do.”

That idea settles in Jack’s stomach like a bad oyster.

Of course, Champ has a point.

You are pretty. No, scratch that...beautiful. You’re a hell of a good agent -- the quickest route to Jack’s bad side is to suggest otherwise -- but you’re so much more than that. Your sweetness and spirit are more than a man like him can hope to deserve, but damn if the way your eyes light up when you smile doesn’t thaw something long dormant in his chest.

If he’s been hell-bent on keeping things professional between you, his dreams are anything but. When he closes his eyes he sees you, soft and yearning and his. His to have and hold until he wakes up aching, with your phantom touch lingering on his skin.

He’s starting to forget why professionalism was so important to him in the first place.

“Champ, you got anything else related to this mission? Been a long day here.”

“Matter of fact, I do.” Thankfully, Champ has the grace to go along with the change of subject. “That storm’s kickin’ up too much snow to get a jet in there. You’ll have to hunker down and wait for a pickup in the morning.”

Well, if the universe wants to hand Jack another night in your company, who is he to argue?

“Copy that,” he says out loud. “We’ll await contact in the morning.”

Champ smiles. “Plenty of time for any long-overdue conversations you might want to have.”

“You’re startin’ to break up. Whiskey out.” Jack pulls off the glasses and tosses them unceremoniously onto the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sparing a glance at the darkening sky outside the window, he hauls himself off of the couch to put another log on the fire, trying not to think about how Champ just might be right.

***

When you emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, Jack is lounging on the couch in front of a crackling fire. He’s traded the designer clothes for jeans and a faded button-down shirt and managed to tame his tousled hair. You know he takes pride in his trademark hat and bespoke suit jackets, but there’s something about him when he’s dressed down and softer around the edges that tugs at your heart.

He looks up when you come into the room, cheek dimpling with a smile. “Well, don’t you look like a new woman? Thought you were fixin’ to turn into an icicle on me for a minute, there.”

“Here’s hoping our next assignment involves sandy beaches and umbrella drinks.” You hug your sweater around yourself. “What’s the word from Champ?”

“Looks like we’re here for the night on account of this storm.”

As if on cue, a gust of wind rattles the windows, making you jump.

“Come and have a seat by the fire, sweetheart.” Jack picks something up from the coffee table and waves it at you. “Got a protein bar and some water for you. I don’t know about you, but a handful of damn canapes ain’t going to see me through to morning.”

“You sure know how to wine and dine a girl, cowboy,” you tease, dropping onto the couch.

His laugh is as good-natured as ever. “When we get back home, I’ll cook you the best steak you’ve ever had.”

“The best steak since the last one you cooked for me?"

“Well, a man should always be improvin’ his technique to keep a woman happy.” His dark eyes twinkle with mischief, and you roll your eyes but can’t quite smother a laugh.

The protein bar tastes something like chocolate-flavored chalk but you’re hungry enough to make quick work of it, washing it down with gulps of water. Jack nudges your shoulder and you find him offering his flask with a wry smile.

“’Fraid it’s all I've got in the way of dessert.”

The whiskey inside burns its way down your throat and mellows to spread its warm glow through your chest. With a sigh, you hand back the flask, watching Jack’s throat ripple with the swig he takes before reattaching it to his belt.

The liquor’s fire contrasts with the chill of the day in your bones, setting off a shiver that shudders through your shoulders and arms.

“Honey, you still cold?” Jack’s voice is rough-edged with weariness and whiskey.

“Well, I like a nice walk in the snow as much as the next girl, but I was half naked in that ridiculous outfit,” you say dryly.

One corner of his mouth quirks upward. There’s something unreadable in those fathomless eyes as he watches you for a moment before opening one arm, arching a brow in invitation.

Some tiny, winged creature takes up residence in your chest where your heart should be, and you immediately scold yourself. Jack’s your partner and your friend. Of course he has the decency not to want to see you miserable after a long, cold day.

So you tell yourself, even as you go to him, nestling into his side and letting his arm come around you to hold you close. His hand is relaxed on your shoulder, his thumb trailing back and forth in a gentle rhythm.

“Better?” he murmurs.

You feel like home, you think.

“Better.”

With Jack’s heartbeat steadfast and comforting under your palm, the last of your reserve dissolves. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and melt into his warmth, breathe in his scent, musky and tinged with leather and sandalwood.

Quiet descends on the room, fleece-soft and a little sleepy, as you stare into the fire and let your mind wander. The hypnotic trace of Jack’s thumb over your shoulder is the only indication that he’s still awake.

You sneak a look at him. His eyes glitter black in the gathering dark and his profile is regal, carved into the stern dips and hollows of a Roman sculpture by the play of light and shadow from the fire.

He’s beautiful. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him.

“Jack?”

He hums in answer, almost the purr of a contented cat.

“Do you ever think about retiring?”

A soft snort of laughter rumbles against you. “You callin’ me old?”

“We both know I’d punch anyone who did,” you scold, giving his chest a playful swat. “I just mean...do you ever imagine doing something else? Something more peaceful?”

“Well, I’ve got a patch of land in Kentucky with a farmhouse. One day I suppose I’ll give up the apartment in the city and trade the Silver Pony in for a ridin’ mower.”

You frown. It’s a jarring reminder that after all this time, Jack still has his secrets. “You do?”

He nods. “It’s been in my family for generations, my granddaddy left it to me. Always thought I’d raise a family there. Houseful of kids, dogs, the whole nine yards,” he says ruefully.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he never did.

The tragic loss of Jack’s wife and unborn son is no secret in the agency, and you might know better than anyone about the hole they left in his life. It’s always broken your heart for him, but the idea of this family home that sits empty but for his ghosts makes it suddenly, achingly easy to imagine Jack building a cradle in the barn and reading bedtime stories and teaching little ones to ride their first horses.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” you offer. “You never know.”

He squeezes your shoulder for an instant, a silent recognition of your kindness, before going on with a breezy sigh. “What about you? You fixin’ to go plant yourself by a pool somewhere with a fancy drink in one hand and a book in the other?”

“What, and not get to play fake criminals at cocktail parties with you?” you scoff. “Not a chance.”

His smile is sharp and sweet as molasses. “Well, I'm always happy to escort the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s something so plain and sincere about the sentiment that you’re taken aback.

Jack throws around compliments like other people talk about the weather. But you know when he’s just greasing the wheels of conversation, filling the space between words...and this isn’t it.

Ignoring the rush of heat into your cheeks, you default to the safety of humor. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Agent Whiskey.”

The smirk, the laugh, the sly innuendo you’re expecting don’t come. He shifts to look at you, so close and so handsome it hurts, and the naked admiration in his eyes makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Ain’t flattery, sugarplum.” His thumb travels fleetingly to the bare skin of your neck above the collar of your sweater. “You’re as pretty as a Kentucky sunrise and twice as bright, and that’s the truth.”

“Jack, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me...that anyone’s ever said to me,” you blurt out, and mean it.

His dimple deepens, and a dash of his usual devilish charm flashes across his face. “Well, if we’re bein’ honest with each other, I must confess to thinkin’ lots of complimentary things about you.”

You can barely hear him over the hammering of your heart.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls. The flicker of his glance to your lips is so quick, you could almost miss it.

But you don’t.

Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s the wind wailing in the eaves, maybe it’s the thrill of almost being caught by the bad guys, but something prods you on, dares you to play with fire. Your hand shifts almost imperceptibly on his chest, letting the tip of one finger find the warm, tanned skin at the open neck of his shirt.

“And what are you thinking right now?”

Something hot and swaggering flares in his eyes and you know, you know he’s picked up your gauntlet.

“Well, sweetheart...” His hand moves from your shoulder, trailing lazily to the nape of your neck. He tilts his head to watch goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch before turning that smoldering gaze on your face again. “Right now I’m wonderin’ what you’d say if I were to kiss that pretty mouth.”

“I’d probably ask what took you so long.”

You barely finish the sentence before his hands cradle your face and his lips are on yours, stealing your breath with their plush softness.

Nothing in your experience of lukewarm flirtations and flaky boyfriends has prepared you for Jack’s affections. He’s a force of nature, possessive and generous by turns, and his approving hum when you open for him and the hot slide of his tongue against yours have you clinging to him like you’ll drown if you let go.

It’s only when you’re nearly dizzy that you break away for air. “Jack,” you whisper, sinking a novel of emotions into one syllable.

His lips brush your forehead. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. My beautiful girl.”

“I’ve always been your girl, Jack.” You rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes against the glaring, shimmering audacity of the words. “I love you.”

The exhale that fans over your cheek is your name. Your real name, the one thing he almost never calls you. His hand is gentle, tilting your chin up. “Look at me.”

You gather the nerve to lift your eyes to his, only to find them soft. Happy.

“Honey, I love you.” His dimple makes an appearance with an apologetic smile. “Hell, I was smitten from the first handshake. But you were a new agent, and things were workin’ out so well, I never wanted to upset the applecart by tellin’ you so.”

Your laugh is breathless with relief. “Well, then,” you say, toying with the button that stands between you and his bare chest. “I guess we’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” With the agility of his training, he hooks one hand around the back of your knee and the other around your waist and moves you to straddle his lap. His big hands splay across your back to pull you snugly against him as he traces the line of your jaw with his nose. “Now where were we, darlin’?”

Your head is spinning with the nuzzling of his nose over your pulse point and the broad warmth of his chest pressed to yours and the growing hardness under the tight denim of his jeans.

“You were--” You break off in a gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck. “You were kissing me better than anyone else ever has.”

“Baby, I’m gonna make you forget about ever kissin’ anybody else.”

You don’t bother telling him you’re way ahead of him.

Jack’s hair is soft and thick when you weave your fingers into it like you’ve always wanted to, stroking where it hints at curling at the nape. When your hand slips under his collar to shape the strong column of  his neck, caress the vulnerable skin under his jaw where his pulse is thundering in time with yours, the low growl in his throat sends heat spiraling straight to your core.

He surges up to capture your mouth again, a hot, demanding crush of lips and tongues that makes you move restlessly against him, wanting more. He doesn’t miss it, and when he slides one hand to your lower back to press you even closer on his muscled thighs every nerve in your body lights up.

“I want you, Jack,” you plead between kisses. “Need you.”

His hands slide underneath your sweater and come to rest, warm and calloused, on the soft skin over your ribs. When you least expect it, he gentles the kiss into something almost chaste and when he pulls away, just enough to look into your face, his eyes have gone solemn.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart. I will.”

You could burst with love for this man.

“I’ll strangle you with your own lasso if you do.”

Jack barks out a surprised laugh, lighting up with a grin before he goes in for another kiss. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl.” His voice is silky against your lips. “Gonna give you everything you need.”

His hands move, bringing your sweater with them to whisk it over your head, and you feel the weight of his appreciative gaze roving over your bare skin and sheer bra.

“I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything so gorgeous.” His hands are back at your sides, fingertips teasing at the edges of the purple lace that leaves little to the imagination. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re blown dark and deep with desire. “And I reckon you’d look even prettier spread out for me on that big bed.”

That’s all it takes to have you scrambling to your feet, shimmying out of your leggings and socks as you cover the handful of steps to the luxurious bed that faces the fireplace. You reach for the clasp of your bra, but a click of Jack’s tongue halts your movement.

“Slow down, there, honey.” There’s a hint of command bleeding into his voice that you know well from missions, the sound of him giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed that always kindles a flame in you. “Let your man unwrap his gift.”

A blush warms your cheeks and trickles down your neck as you drop your hands to your sides and wait for him beside the bed, anticipation tingling in your limbs.

Jack has beautiful hands, as graceful as they are strong, but they’ve never been so mesmerizing as they are now, making quick work of his shirt’s buttons and carelessly shedding it to the floor.

You’ve seen him shirtless before -- it’s hardly avoidable when you spend most of your lives together -- but never like this. Never when you’re openly staring at his broad shoulders and lean waist and the smooth planes of his chest, all bronzed in the glow of firelight. And certainly never when he’s calling himself your man and looking at you like he’s starving and you’re his favorite meal.

His arms slide around your waist and the heated press of his skin against yours tears a soft whimper from your throat. He catches it with his mouth, blends it with his own hum of satisfaction in a searing kiss.

He keeps his lips on yours even as he eases you back onto the bed, laying you down on the fluffy comforter with his hand cradling the back of your head. He stands again for as long as it takes to shuck off his jeans and kick them away before he’s crawling over you, settling his warm weight over your body and into your welcoming arms. You’re so swept up in the kiss that reunites you that you barely notice the skillful flick of his fingers that frees you from your bra...until he bends his hot mouth to your breasts and lightning spikes through your veins.

“So perfect,” he praises against your tender skin. “So good for me.”

He’s perfect. Even more than you’ve imagined on the lonely nights when you give yourself over to fantasies just like this, of Jack pressing you into a mattress and murmuring sweet sentiments in that liquor-and-honey voice while his clever hands find you more than ready for him.

A whine escapes you when the cool air of the room suddenly replaces the heat of his body, leaving you bereft.

“Don’t you worry, honey.” Jack’s voice drops an octave, even as a smirk coaxes his dimple out of hiding. “I said I’d take care of you.”

Warm hands slide your panties down your legs and off, and he strips off his own boxers to come back to you in all his naked glory.

His strong biceps cage you in and his mouth finds yours again as your hands roam greedily over golden skin and taut muscles and the hot, hard length between you.

“Jack, you’re so beautiful,” you sigh, over his panting breaths into your neck. “I’ve wanted this. Wanted you, for so long.”

He raises his head to look at you, lush lips parted and eyes blazing. “Honey, you’ve got me. For as long as you’ll have me.”

He kisses you like he’s sealing a promise.

And then he’s inside you, like he belongs there. Maybe he always has.

Every surge of his body, every stroke of his hands, every gritted curse and word of praise pressed to your skin makes stars burst behind your eyelids, and when you’re clutching blindly at his back and keening his name like an incantation, his voice is a desperate rasp in your ear.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.”

You do. And he does.

And when he grips bruises into your thigh and shudders in your arms and buries a broken declaration of love in your hair, you know beyond a doubt there will never be anyone else.

***

If there’s a heaven, Jack’s pretty sure he's died and gone there to be lying in a cloud of down comforters with you tucked close to his side, head pillowed on his shoulder and legs tangled with his own. The bare skin of your back is petal-soft under his stroking fingers as he watches the firelight dance on the ceiling.

“I love you, Jack,” you murmur, and his heart swells too big for the prison bars of his ribs.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He laces his fingers with yours on his chest, brings them to his lips. “You know, I dreamed about this,” he confesses.

You raise your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him. “You did?”

“I did. Felt a little guilty about it, if I’m bein’ honest, but I don’t guess I could help it.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” Your eyes sparkle at him in the dim light. “Did I live up to your dreams?”

He smiles, sweeping a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Oh, honey, they couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.”

You look pleased with that answer, nuzzling a kiss into his neck before settling your head on his shoulder again.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” he muses. “Have you in my own bed.”

He feels you smile against his skin. “As many nights as you want, cowboy.”

“Careful, there. I might take you at your word, you’ll go home and find movers at your place.”

You sigh out a laugh that’s music to his ears and draw idle shapes on his skin with your fingertips in the quiet.

“Jack,” you say again, soft as a peach blossom.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Will you take me to that farmhouse sometime?”

His greedy heart can already see you there, breathing life into the place.

You, perched on the kitchen counter, feet swinging in time with your chatter while he cooks for you. Sitting with him on the porch swing to watch the sunset splash its tapestry of pink and orange and lavender across the sky. Soft and sweet underneath him in the big cherry wood bed, greeting the pale glow of morning with sleepy eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

A backyard wedding.

Tiny, mewling cries in the night and your silhouette framed with moonlight from the picture window while you nurse a baby who has Jack’s eyes back to sleep.

The peace that washes over him is too good to be true, too hopeful for his battered heart, too honest for his life of compromises.

He closes his eyes, drinks it in anyway. Claims it. Squeezes you a little closer in his arms.

This is the dream that lasts.

“That’s a promise, sugarplum.”

[dameronology]

to make a house a home {agent whiskey}

summary: just a soft weekend away in kentucky w/ our fave cowboy {for @zazzysseoul - thank u so much for ur support and i hope you enjoy!}

warnings: i think one or two swear words? but nothing else!

enjoy,

- jazz

Jack Daniels was good at reading people.

It was part of his job. He had to be observant, had to have a working understanding of body language and non-verbal signals. He was especially diligent about it when it came to you; it wasn’t a purposeful thing, but rather an instinct to keep an eye on the person he loved most in the world. He could read you like a book and some days, it felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and maybe he did. There was really no telling with Jack. Every time you finally thought you had experienced every little quirk and trait he had to offer, he managed to pull something out the bag. Whether it was his ability to predict a bad mood before it happened or the way he remembered every tiny little detail of a conversation, he was constantly proving himself to be one hell of a partner.

It was no surprise; Jack thought you deserved the best and so, that’s what he tried to give you. He didn’t often let people into his life, especially not after so much loss, but from the moment you’d met, he knew he could trust you. He’d always been a brilliant judge of character and he’d been completely right about you. You’d turned his entire world upside down; taught him how to love again and reminded him that the things he’d lost could be found again, just with a little care and patience. The empty house he used to come to was filled with love and laughter and little marks of you and him; photos from your various trips, magnets on the fridge, that he brought home from all the countries his job took him to, the little notes you left on his nightstand when you had to slip out for work before he rose. The first time Jack had come through the front door and almost tripped over your shoes, he’d cried - not out of anger or shock, but at the realisation that he was no longer alone. 

Jack had the innate desire to look after you. He knew you could handle yourself but that didn’t mean that you had to. You’d been there for him in every sense of the world, and he wanted to do the same, to make sure that you felt appreciated every second of every day. In his mind, if you ever questioned his love or loyalty, then he wasn’t doing his job right. That desire translated into little things, rather than grand displays of affection; he’d do your laundry when you worked late, sent you sweet texts through out the day and brought you flowers just because. It wasn’t uncommon to find that Jack had filled up your car with gas without asking, or to come home to your favourite take out. 

His biggest way, however, was in how well he knew you. Every slight change in demeanour and every variation in the tone of your voice was caught by him; he knew when you were okay, and he knew when you weren’t. He could tell when you were half-way between, and he’d do his best to bring you back to the lighter side. You take comfort in the fact he always had your back, no ifs or buts. 

When Jack woke up early one morning to find your side of the bed empty, he immediately knew that was something was up; the second his palm reached out for you, only to be met with a fistful of cold sheets, he knew. You never got out of bed early. There could have been an atomic war happening outside and you still would have refused to move, insisting on five more minutes before nuclear winter hit. The bathroom light was off and there wasn’t anything you could have found in the kitchen. After all, you’d only arrived at the ranch a few hours earlier. You were both tired from a few long weeks at work and escaping the suffocating fog of the city for the rolling hills and fresh air of Kentucky felt like heaven. 

Jack sat up, pausing for a moment. There was a gentle creek coming from somewhere; it was steady and rhythmic, ringing from the porch. His shoulder slumped wit relief - you were outside on the porch swing. At 6AM on a cold, winter’s morning. The relief was shorting lived. 

Pulling on his robe, Jack rubbed his eyes and headed out towards the porch. Sure enough, you were the first thing he saw, shoulders covered by the plaid shirt he’d worn the previous day and fluffy socks gently brushing against the floor with the movement of the swing. The light above you illuminated you in a soft smoulder, a golden glow cast over you, illuminating your tired eyes and disheveled hair. He would have lectured you about the cold, had you not had a knitted blanket around you. 

‘Bit early for you, ain’t it?’ Jack leant against the door frame, gently smiling when your eyes met. 

‘What’s early when you haven’t slept yet?’ You aimlessly joked. 

Lifting up the blanket, you silently gestured for him to come and sit next to you. Jack obliged, dropping down beside you and winding a large arm around your shoulder. He pulled you into his chest, placing a kiss on your temple. His warm body was a welcome feeling against the cold of the January air. 

‘What’s keeping you up?’ He softly coaxed. 

‘I don’t know, to be honest.’ You replied. ‘It’s just been a long week.’

‘I get that.’ His voice was slightly murmured. He pulled you even closer, chin resting on your head. ‘But we’re here now, sugar. I think we both need the down time.’

‘Definitely.’ You said. ‘Plus, the view isn’t so bad.’

The ranch overlooked a large field filled with cows and horses; it stretched out for miles, fading away into the distance into a seemingly endless close. The edges of the green pasture were tinged with the pink of a tonic sun rise, pushing away the dark of the night sky. It wasn’t often that you got to watch the sun come up, and it felt a little refreshing to see a new day come. It was fresh; a clean slate, young and naive, but full of possibility. An ironic thought, given that you and Jack were probably going to lay on the sofa the whole day and order take out. 

‘You’re right.’ He murmured from beside you.

‘Are you doing that thing where you look at me when I’m talking about a nice view?’ You peered up at him, thinning your eyes. 

‘You said it was romantic!’

‘The first five times, Jack!’ You chuckled, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw.

‘Nothing is sacred anymore.’

You settled back against his chest with a smile. ‘I like it here.’

‘Me too.’ He agreed. ‘It’s nice to get away from the Apple. Everything over there if faster than a knife fight in a damn phone booth.’

‘And it doesn’t smell of pizza and...pee.’

You loved New York dearly; it had been your home for many years, and it was also where you’d met Jack. But, whether it was your permanent home, you didn’t know. There were some days when it all got so much. The city never quietened down and you could never quite escape it, even in the comfort of your own apartment. Out here, you were worlds away from that. Crickets were gently purring in the distance, and the only other sound came from the rustling of the animals in the field across the road. It was peaceful. Serene. 

‘What if we moved out here when I’m done at the Statesman?’ Jack posed, almost as though he were shy about broaching the subject. ‘We could get a couple horses. Maybe a dog. Heck, if you want a zoo, I’ll get you a zoo.’

‘I’d like that.’ You smiled. ‘I mean living here, not the zoo thing - but a dog and horses sounds nice.’

‘Then a dog and horses we shall get.’ He grinned. ‘Oh! I can teach you to ride.’

‘Or I could just watch you do it.’

‘There’s not a single person in this here town who can’t ride a horse.’ Jack said. ‘Unless a pony would be better.’

‘Why not both? We have enough room.’ You reminded him. ‘Maybe we can re-tile the kitchen too. It’s not that I don’t like the green, it’s just it’s...’

‘...dreadful?’

‘That’s a nice way of putting it.’

Because you didn’t live on the ranch full time, neither of you had put too much effort into making it homely. It was liveable, by all means, but the television in the living room dated back to the first Bush administration and the kitchen was a little too lime for your liking. The place had come furnished by the old owners, which had been a big selling point for Jack. He just wanted somewhere he could live whilst he was in Kentucky and this place had been practical. It wasn’t until you and your eye for interior design came along that he realised how retro it was. 

‘There’s a hardware store down the road.’ Jack said. ‘We can get a couple hours sleep and head down there later to see what they got.’

‘Maybe we can find something less green.’ 

‘I sure fucking hope so.’

---

The next morning, you and Jack bundled up into some warmer clothes and piled into the Bronco, heading for the store downtown. The actual city was miles out, but there lots of little local and independent places. There were little cafes and restaurants, as well as farmers’ markets and fresh produce. You had thought about living here permanently before, but you hadn’t verbalised it until Jack had suggested it first. Given everything that had happened in the past, you’d wanted to do things at his pace, but so far, you’d been perfectly in tune with one another. That was a testament to your relationship as a whole. 

‘I just smiled at that woman and she smiled back.’ You muttered to Jack, peering up at the store as you headed through the parking lot. 

‘And?’

‘I once smiled at a stranger on the Subway and they told me to piss off.’ 

Jack chuckled, reaching out to wind his arm around yours. He tangled your fingers together, pulling you flush against his side. It was easier to show physical displays of affection here too. He was always a little paranoid in the city, given how busy it was and how easy it would have been to for an enemy to hide. That was another thing Jack did without thinking; taking tiny little precautions to protect you. He couldn’t even begin to think about losing you. And the thought never popped up here. Never. Only in the city, where everything was loud and overwhelming.

The store itself was pretty big - it was good for you, but confusing for Jack. You had Pinterest boards with inspiration for all your hypothetical future houses, whilst Jack couldn’t the difference between ivory and sand. So, true to character, he let you tighten your grip on his arm and drag him towards the kitchen section, eyes wide like a kid in a candy store. You had a green blank canvas to go wild on, because probably would have agreed to anything. It wasn’t that he was a walk-over, or because he was lazy, he was just genuinely terrible at interior design. Introducing him to build mode on the Sims 4 had been traumatic enough. 

You didn’t have to decide anything immediately - after all, he’d said he wanted to move out here after he was done at Statesman. That was just as likely weeks as it was years. He did complain about his job giving him a bad back but you also knew that he enjoyed it. It was all he’d known for such a long time, and he’d worked hard to get to the top. Unbeknownst to you, he’d drop it all in a second if you wanted to relocate now. Even if he had the best job in the world and all the money he could ever want, the only thing Jack really needed was you.

‘Where do we even start?’ He asked, brown eyes staring confusedly at some paint samples. 

‘We start with the most important rooms - living room, kitchen, bedroom.’ You replied. ‘I’m thinking something midcentury for downstairs. What d’you think?’

‘Midwhatnow?’ His brows furrowed. 

You laughed. ‘Midcentury. So think...Bauhaus. Mid 60s sort of thing.’

‘Right.’ Jack nodded, getting a clearer idea. ‘How about you just to point to things and I’ll either shake my head or nod?’

Yeah, that sounded like a better idea.

And so, you began your trek around the store. Your Pinterest boards came in handy, especially for the kitchen - even Jack was grateful for them, because it meant you moved a little quicker. He did die inside a little when you grabbed a huge trolley and began piling it up with kitchen tiles, counters and cabinet doors, and even more so when you casually asked ‘you’re good at DIY, right?’

He didn’t complain though, not once. The sight of you rushing around the store, face lighting up at lamp shades and paint samples, was one of the best things he’d ever seen. Not only because it was hilarious, but also because it was the first time you really planned for your future. There was sort of an unspoken agreement that this was it, and that you were both in it for the long run, but neither of you had made any verbal plans together. You’d moved in together back in the city, but that had happened naturally. You’d started staying over and over more and more to sleep in his fancy Statesman bed and use his heavenly marble bathtub, and you came over one weekend and just never left. 

After a few hours, Jack finally had to put a stop to your antics. 

‘Okay, darlin’, I think we’ve reached the threshold now.’ He called. ‘We don’t need a new lighting fixture for the downstairs bathroom.’

You huffed. ‘Placing it back on the shelf.’

‘Fine.’

‘We’re gonna have a hard time getting in this car as it is.’ He held his arm out to you, signalling for you to come back to him. 

‘I’ll have to come back for the upstairs then.’ You muttered. 

‘We’ve gone from painting the kitchen to gutting the whole damn ranch, baby.’ Jack replied. ‘We’re only here for two more days anyways.’

‘Damn. I forgot about that.’ Your eyes widened. ‘I guess we better start today, then.’

--

This was supposed to be a relaxing weekend. 

Relaxing! 

And yet somehow, Jack Daniels was stood in the middle of his now half-demolished kitchen, a sledge hammer in one hand and a glass of his namesake whiskey in the other. He couldn’t deny that it had been fun to rip out the cabinets and tear off the tiles. He’d despised the colour of the kitchen for so long that it felt good to finally get rid of them, even if it meant that the tedious process of putting on the new ones came immediately after. You’d gone for simple black and white ones, with some mosaic ones for a...what had you called it? A feature wall or something. Apparently it added character (something he took your word for). 

‘So what’s the paint for?’ Jack frowned, taking a brush as you handed it to him. 

‘For the living room.’ You grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him out the kitchen.

‘But the kitchen isn’t done-’

‘- I’m bored of the kitchen.’ You said. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Course not, angel.’ He pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

After grappling with covering the furniture up, you and Jack began to paint. It wasn’t too hard of a process; he just sort of whacked it on, whilst you had a much more meticulous process. So what if he got a splash of grey on the light switch? Actually, on second second thought, he should probably wipe that off.

Besides, it only took him five minutes to get sidetracked. The sight of you stood across the room, his red and black plaid shirt hanging from your shoulders, face screwed up with concentration and paint on your nose, was a distraction in itself. It was the sort of moment he wanted to get on a Polaroid, but equally, one that he wanted to savour. He always entranced by you, but sometimes that amplified. You weren’t even doing anything special - just...existing. But that was enough to capture his attention in its entirety. 

He didn’t tear his eyes away from you - not until something cold hit him in the face, and a splatter of grey paint nearly hit his eye. The noise of your laughter pulled him back to reality, practically losing it as you doubled over, holding onto the fire place for support. You were lucky that it was his favourite sound but heck, you coulda dumped the whole bucket of paint on him and he wouldn’t have flinched. 

‘That was rude.’ Jack folded his arms across his chest. ‘I’m gonna get you for that.’

‘No, you won’t.’

You dropped your paintbrush, suddenly leaping over the couch and sprinting out into the hallway. Trying to outrun a highly-trained government agent (a fact you sometimes forgot) might have not been your brightest idea, but you still managed to breeze past him and skid into the kitchen, almost tripping over a strewn tile as you did. 

Jack was hot on your heels, arms reaching out to grab as you circled back into the living room. He managed to snatch you by the waist, pulling you down onto the sheet-covered couch - he was nice enough to use his own body to break the landing at least. You landed on his chest with a thud, still in a fit of giggles as he grabbed your face and planted kisses all over it. His lips were soft and warm, tasting of whiskey when they finally met yours. You tangled your hand through his hair in an attempt to bring him close, as though it were even possible. 

You broke the kiss, rolling off of Jack and onto the sofa next to him, nuzzling into his side. The paint you’d managed to get on him was on you now as well, smeared down the side of your face and a little onto his shirt that you were wearing. Not that it bothered him all that much, because the sight of you in any of his clothes was worth a little bit of paint. You had a sort of rotation, where you would steal various garments and wear them until they lost his smell, before dumping them in the laundry and swiping some more. They were always baggy, scented with his aftershave and the faint smell of the leather from his car. When he was away on missions, it was the nearest thing you could get to one of his warm hugs.

‘Darling, d’you think, just maybe, that we should just pay someone to do all this?’ Jack gently suggested. ‘I can have a guy from the agency come in and be done in like three days.’

‘Three days? For the whole house?’ You peered up at him with a frown. 

‘Their speciality is rebuilding places after we accidentally blow them up so this will be like a walk in the park.’ He explained. ‘Although, the kitchen isn’t far off. the place is lookin’ as messy as the farmers’ market after sundown.’

‘And Champ won’t mind you abusing Statesman resources like that?’ You teased.

‘The man is so rich that he buys a new boat when the other gets wet.’ Jack reminded you. ‘He ain’t gonna notice.’

‘You have a point.’ You nodded. 

‘Besides, they’re better at decorating-’

‘- interior design.’ You cut him off. ‘It’s a house, not a Christmas cookie.’

Jack dropped his head against yours, letting out a groan. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know.’ You leant up to press another soft kiss to his lips. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, angel.’ 

Even though it was still a little far off, the glimpse that this weekend had given you into your future meant everything to him. He’d brought the ranch as a place to crash on business stays, and now you were helping to turn it into a home. At one point, he hadn’t imagine having a life to look ahead to or a house to decorate or somebody to love. Even though they were small, everyday things, you’d brought so much into his life, and he was never going to let you forget it. 

[thefloorisbalaclava]

hiii cass!! idk if you’re into writing for jack/whiskey but i had an idea and wanted to see if you could take a crack at it. :) the song “real good man” by tim mcgraw really reminds me of whiskey and i thought it might inspire you! :) love u!!

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader

Warnings: Just some flirting

A/N: I just mentioned something about missing Jack and forgot I had this sitting in my inbox! Thanks for sending this in and sorry it’s taken me so long to get to it. I looked at the lyrics for the song and this is the idea that immediately came to me! I hope you like it!

[Agent Whiskey masterlist]

“Now it’s time for some minglin’,” he said to himself as he turned off the comm hidden in his suit jacket. He looked around the room and sighed. “If I find anyone I wanna mingle with that is.” This place was full of people who were up on their high horses and never came down. His eyes scanned the room slowly. At first he looked past you, but then he looked back and noticed just how bored you looked. You sipped at one of those fancy drinks and rolled your eyes at whatever the man next to you was whispering in your ear. Suddenly, you turned to the man and smiled, seemingly excusing yourself and getting the hell away from him. Jack followed your every move with his eyes and waited until he saw you step outside to join you out there.

“Stuffy in there, ain’t it?” he asked and you turned your head just enough to look over your shoulder.

“A stuffy room full of stuffy people,” you responded before turning to face forward again.

“You here with your husband or something?” He moved until he stood side-by-side with you.

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Girlfriend?” He had to cover all the bases.

You turned to him. “You ask a lot of questions, Mr...”

“Daniels. Jack Daniels.” He stuck his hand out and you shook it.

“Like the whiskey? Is that a joke?” You got a good look at him. The bolo tie was unlike anything you had ever seen. You looked down at his feet and noticed the cowboy boots. The only thing missing was a cowboy hat which you were sure he had somewhere.

“No ma’am. That’s my name.” He smiled when he saw the way you looked at him.

“I could use a whiskey right about now,” you murmured and he raised his eyebrows. “The drink.”

“A fancy lady like you drinkin’ whiskey? Let me guess, you like that expensive stuff?” He leaned against the railing and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Give me some Jameson or...Jack Daniels any day.” You gave him a look and he smirked.

“You ain’t like those people in there at all, are you?”

“No and neither are you,” you pointed out.

“Did the tie give me away?” he asked and you laughed. “Hey, this might be a little outta line, but you wanna maybe get out of here?”

“Please.”

You followed him down to his car--a Bronco--and he opened the door for you. On the passenger seat sat a cowboy hat. He moved it and threw it into the backseat.

“I knew it,” you said.

“Knew what?”

“That you had a cowboy hat.” You looked at him and he shrugged.

“What can I say?” He helped you get into the car then closed the door. He climbed in on the driver’s side and turned to you. “So...where to, ma’am?”

“Surprise me.”

“You sure about that?” He put his arm over the back of your seat. “You gotta remember I ain’t like those people in there. You’re in for a wild ride,” he warned.

“Maybe I need something wild in my life.”

“Well, then, let’s go.” He winked at you before starting the Bronco. You sat back and put your feet up on the dashboard, making him smile over at you as he pulled off a little too fast.

I may be a real bad boy But, baby, I’m a real good man

---

agent whiskey taglist: @hoodedbirdie @limenlimon @66wookies @no-droids-allowed @snips-n-skyguy0501 @allthingsnarcos @fangirlingss @damerondjarin @darthdumbasss @triggerhappyflygirl @ladybeediva @heythere80sbaby 

permanent taglist: @gallowsjoker @magicsuperheroes @feelmyroarrrr @the-dazzling-urbanite @phoenixhalliwell @liveloudwriteloud @tumblogbykarapaloma @jaime1110 @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @pascalz @blancatobarxoxo @dazedrhapsody @pascalisthepunkest @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @cryptkeepersoul @tiffdawg @freak-of-nature2002 @kingpascals @saltywintersoldat @theocatkov @babybelou @mandilflorian @aeryntheofficial @cyaredindjarin @winters-buck @the-feckless-wonder @loki-098 @arabellathorne @giselatropicana @dindisneydjarin @punkpascal @opheliaelysia @takens-world @huliabitch @stardelic @kandomeresbitch @havenforafrazzledmind @thisis-theway @stardust-galaxies @mrsparknuts @jedi-mando @frankiemorales @edencherries @lilkermit14 @virtualxjournality @ladytrashbird @thirstworldproblemss @emesispo @heresathreebee @tangledlove27 @marvgrrl @clydes-hole @hayley-the-comet @insoucianttt @witchyavenger @coaaster @starless-eyes-remain @wanderlustmags @wonderfulfluffer @lv7867 @lovelyasfcuk @pedropasscals @talesfromtheguild @pedroepascal @wigwitch @seasonschange-butpeopledont @theoria850 @roxypeanut @justanotherblonde23 @autumnleaves1991-blog @kenedyybrooklin @artsymaddie @dindjareen @silverfish-kingdom @heyitmelexie @gredandfeorgesgirl @mandaloriandindjarin @andriecastana @rosiefridayrogersunday @ssppoorrkk @amalie-buch @lucifer- @mstgsmy @randomness501 @max–phillips @darthadeline @youarenewformetoo @thehippiequilter @stardust-galaxies @whovian-gurl @neverlandlibrarian @chibi-liz05 @dragons-of-the-usa

i hope everyone is where they want to be! let me know if you want to be changed around! join a taglist here!

[tinycaprisun]

a song about it raining somewhere else

title: a song about it raining somewhere else characters: chuck taylor x trent beretta word count: 3822 part: 1/1 warnings: mild cursing, and like that’s kinda it? maybe mild angst? but also i’m a baby and it becomes fluff by the end? a/n: howdy, this is not another i’m back i’m back piece as much as it honestly is. no, see this time- this is actually a gift! 2 days ago was @trentjinshi’s birthday and i wanted to write him something! so i sat down for like 6 hours with my goopy goblin gay brain and spit out this obvious magnum opus. so, like, don’t hate it please. also hugest happy birthday to emil again!! yeehaw... i’ve technically already sent this to u

You know, of all days to have the soul crushing realization that you’ve secretly been in love with your best friend, Trent should have expected it to happen on Valentine’s Day.

The man had garbage luck anyways, and good things seemingly never happened to him. So when Chuck animatedly told him he had a date that night with some girl, Trent’s heart shouldn’t have blown apart like he had been shot. Sure, he pretended to be supportive of his buddy, returning his radiant smile despite the effect never reaching his eyes, And yeah, he wished him all the best, telling the taller man he hoped it went well.

But did Trent mean any of that? Fuck no! He was dying on the inside, mourning the loss of a relationship and love he didn’t even know he wanted! Perhaps he should have considered himself lucky that he didn’t start bawling his eyes out on the spot. The New Yorker had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, so the crying really was not out of the question at that moment. But he contained his feelings somehow, moving on through the rest of that afternoon like he was trudging through a snowstorm. Slow, cold, and slowly dying from the inside out.

So that led him here, sitting in his car as the rain started to come down, refusing to turn the damn thing on. He didn’t want to go back to his hotel room. Because if he did, it would remind him of the obvious. He went home alone tonight.

Chuck wasn’t alone. His friend had a probably beautiful person with a perfect personality sitting across from him at a fancy restaurant. A person who wasn’t him. Why couldn’t Trent be his perfect date? He would laugh at his jokes, softly hold his hand as they walked in from the parking lot, pull his chair out for him, admire him like he was the sun-

A harsh banging came from his left, rhythmically tapping against the glass of his car window in time with the rain drops. Trent’s head jerked up from where it had defeatedly slumped against the steering wheel to see who was trying to get his attention.

It was a security guard, holding an umbrella in one hand and wavering him off with another, politely telling him to leave the premises as the arena building they were at was closing. To be honest, getting a ticket from not leaving and instead rotting in that parking lot forever sounded like a far better time than he was having. But, he didn’t have a choice. Story of his life.

Trent started up his car, quickly leaving off into the vast night with only his thoughts to keep him company. And that was rapidly becoming annoying. The singular thing on his mind was one person, and how all this time, his feelings were so obvious. Every time he even glanced in his friend’s direction his heart rate would spike. Before now, he had chalked that up to coincidence or - considering it was Trent and how his body loved to torture him - underlying health conditions. Evidently, it was neither of those things.

One would think he would catch on to his festering crush sooner; considering he thought the entire world of Chuck and whenever he had to go more than a few days without seeing him, he would get a weird sense of longing to be back in his presence, but nothing ever wanted to work out that way. Life thought it would be much funnier if Trent felt like he was being ripped apart at the seams by a simple sentence.

Between the still processing of what it even meant to have a crush on your best friend, and knowing that right now he was out with some other person having the time of his life, Trent was not feeling great as he drove down the freeway. Grumbling under his breath, he flicked the radio on to fill the car with something other than his problems. A song the brunette had never heard before crackled to life, being about part of the way through.

By the time we get there, everybody will be drunk The chairs will be on tables and the band will be unplugged We're gonna look real good, but we're gonna look real rude I'm sorry I'm not sorry that I'm-

Fucking perfect! The last person to mess with the radio in Trent’s car was Chuck, and bastard left it on one of his stupid country stations. Trent didn’t even like country music! That didn’t stop him, however, from a few days ago when they were driving from city to city and let Chuck put on whatever he liked, even if it was something he was going to hate. He would make tiny sacrifices like that all the time for his partner, because he knew it would earn him one of those sunlit smiles. Trent really would do anything to make Chuck happy, and had been since they met.

Late to the party with you Oh, who needs confetti? We're already falling into the groove And who needs a crowd when you're happy at a party for two? The world can wait 'Cause I'm never late to the party if I'm late to the party with you

It... It was a love song?

“Throw me off a fucking bridge.” Trent mumbled to himself as he exited an off ramp. Seriously, who out there was tormenting him and making him have possibly the worst day ever? What omnipotent being did he piss off? He thought he was an alright dude, not getting into other people’s business and sort of keeping to himself. Most days he made an attempt to be somewhat nice to others and never did any of that vile or cruel shit. And yet, he was cursed to drive home while listening to a love song in a genre that he hated, and only helped to remind him more of his best friend.

Let's promise when we get in that we'll try to get right out Fake a couple conversations, make the necessary rounds These kinda things just turn into "Who's leaving here with who?" But I just want 'em all to see me come in late to the party with you

Wasn’t that a funny line. Wanting others to see the person you’re with because of how much you loved them? Trent understood that. Whenever he would go anywhere with Chuck, he would always want people to know he was there with him- whether he realized it or not.

He could talk for hours about him. It could be the simple telling of a funny story, or gushing about how good he was in the ring. Or how great of a friend he was. That made Trent wonder about what Chuck would be like if they were together. His mind wandered, dreaming up scenarios and infinite possibilities as he pulled into his hotel’s parking garage.

The musing didn’t stop when he killed the engine, happily ending that fucking song that was starting to piss him off with how cute it was. Trent pushed himself out of the car, gathering his singular bag from the trunk and wandering inside through the rain. Which, if anyone was curious, was even worse than it was when he left. It was coming down in buckets now, being slung into the New Yorker’s face by the wind.

Checking in was easy enough, having the briefest of conversations with the man at the desk who happened to have a thick southern accent.

Chuck had an accent, but only when he drank a lot. It took about 3 and a half beers for it to come out, but by that point he didn’t care all that much to hide it. He wouldn’t be trashed, as he was a pretty solid drinker and had made putting strong shit back a hobby over the last few years. Trent knew exactly how it sounded, though. A smooth Kentucky accent that always caused him to punctuate the last word of his sentences and pronounce certain things differently. Never anything like “y’all” or something southern like that, after all Chuck wasn’t that dime store cowboy they worked with.

The thing Trent remembered the most about Chuck’s accent was how he said his name. He would draw it out, almost like he was whining, except it was low in his voice and always accompanied by a wide grin. One that’s toothy like Cheshire Cat, and annoyingly sweet like bubblegum. Trent idly wondered if he tasted like bubblegum too, but the thought turned vivid fantasy was interrupted for a moment by the elevator reaching his floor.

The brunette slowly approached his room, still partially entranced by the ideas he had created in his mind as he unlocked his door and slipped in. From there, it felt like he wasn’t even alive anymore. Not in a morbid sense, but as in he wasn’t participating in the concept of reality at that moment. Trent was so disconnected from his actions, it was almost as though he was outside of his body and looking in from somewhere else. So much so, that when he snapped out of his revere from his phone buzzing, he was lying in bed wearing only his boxers.

Not that what was on his phone was of any importance to him. All Trent saw were notifications for things he didn’t care about, the only thing sticking out was a short text from Orange sending him more condolences over his current “issue”. Damn, he was acting like someone had died, not his friend’s heart being broken. Trent didn’t bother responding, tossing the device back on the bedside table and rolling over to face away from it.

The alarm clock on the other stand read “10:17 p.m.”, blinking at him like the piece of shit was broken. It also only now occurred to Trent that he had never turned the lights on while he was basically astral projecting. So he was bathed in darkness, with the only illumination being that digital clock and the street lights below outside the window.

Was he going to fall asleep at a respectable time? Because deep in his bones he could feel the shroud of tiredness creeping through him from all of the emotional energy he drained today. And with that, Trent grabbed one of the unused pillows and wrapped himself around it, cuddling it tightly and not bothering to get under the bed covers.

Maybe if he tried hard enough, Trent could pretend the pillow was something else. --

Who in the hell was knocking at his door at - the New Yorker stopped his angry brain tirade to peek at the clock again - 11:53 at night? He had only gotten to sleep an hour and it was cut short by who knew what. If this was Orange coming to tell him he had broken another hotel microwave by “forgetting to take the metal spoon out of his mac and cheese”, Trent was going to fucking kill him.

Getting up from where he lay, Trent stumbled blearily across the room to the door. In those few seconds, it processed with him that his hair must have come untied while he was sleeping because it was messily draped around his shoulders. Among that, he was still only dressed in boxers, riding rather low on his hips. Maybe he had a restless sleep even though it was quick?

He didn’t care what he looked like though as he slowly pulled the door open with a yawn and blinked from the harsh light flooding in from the hallway. Trent prepared to open his mouth and berate his shorter friend when he heard a sniffle come from in front of him.

Chuck was standing on the other side of the doorway, soaking wet from the rain. By the look on his face, it seemed as though he had been crying as well, with red eyes and a running nose. His eyes didn’t meet Trent’s as he all but whispered, “H-hey, man.”

Did the longer haired brunette care that his friend was ice cold and drenched from head to toe? No. That was why without words, he dragged his friend into the room and hugged him tightly, letting the hotel door slip closed on its own. Chuck didn’t need to be told twice to hug back, nearly crushing Trent from the strength of his shaking arms.

They stayed like that for a good while, with Trent rubbing soothing circles into his back and letting him rest his head on his shoulder when he began to weep again. That was before he slowly drew back, silently taking Chuck’s hand and guiding him to his bed so he could sit. Trent grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around his friend, figuring he could just use a blanket later when he needed to sleep.

“I... didn’t even tell you- what’s wrong..?” murmured the Kentuckian, slouching in on himself and bringing his knees up so they were closer to his chest. He must have been really cold. Trent paused for a moment, looking with a pained yet sympathetic smile.

“Don’t need to. You’re upset, and I gotta fix that.” He wasn’t sure who hurt him, or even what, but just let it be known he was going to destroy whatever it was.

“Well, uh, t-thank you?”

“Yeah, dude. I-” Love you. “Care about you. You’re my friend and shit. Hurts to see you cry.” With that, Trent carefully maneuvered around Chuck and hopped off the bed to go rifle through his clothes for something dry he could wear. And- probably some pants for himself. When he first opened the door, he couldn’t help but notice Chuck gave him the slightest look up and down, with his cheeks going red afterwards. Trent assumed it was only because he was cold, and the warmth from his bedroom had fucked with his internal body temperature.

While digging through his bags trying to find some of the clothes he always packed for his friend - and if it were any other day than today, Trent would have told you it was because he was just being a nice guy. He knew better than that now. - Chuck began to talk again. “Date ditched me...”

“They didn’t show up?”

Chuck sighed. “No, she did. But- when her ex came around... She would’a rather been with him.”

Trent grabbed the extra clothes and stood, turning around to face Chuck who was staring off into the corner. Considering how already destroyed his heart already was from earlier, he was a bit surprised it still had a few more pieces that could shatter at this sight. Coming back over, he set the pile to one side of him, then sat back down on the other. “Chuck...”

“I don’t know what I expected? Every girl, or hell- every guy, I’ve ever tried to date has never worked out for me. I don’t get it.” Oh, Trent should not have been so happy to hear those words. Well, he wasn’t happy to hear most of them, and was hurting for his friend, but two of them in particular stuck out to him like a sore thumb. Every guy. That meant Chuck had been on dates with men. That meant, even though it was fucked up to think about this at the moment, that Trent still had a chance.

“You just haven’t found the right one, man. None of those assholes from before deserve you anyways.” Chuck brought his gaze back over to Trent, eyes glassy and expression- disbelieving. His hair was matted to his head, still wet in some places, but mostly stuck in small spots to his forehead. Everything else about him was still about the same caliber as that, slowly drying and clinging to parts of his body that weren’t being disrupted by the comforter.

“Or maybe I didn’t deserve them...” Something- came over Trent then. There wasn’t a word for the mix of emotions he felt upon hearing that. But what he could feel were his hands taking either side of his best friend’s face and holding his head up to where he would look him in the eyes.

“That’s not true, you and I both know that. Anyone in the world would be lucky to have you.”

Chuck honest to god laughed at that and tilted his head. “Name one person.”

Fuck. For all intents and purposes, the answer he desperately wanted to give was ‘Me’, but that never came out of his mouth. Instead, it was like Trent was suspended in fear, unable to say what he wanted for the thought of being rejected. Or somehow even worse, him thinking it was a joke and getting upset with him. So, Trent said nothing, trying to think of a different response that would be true, but didn’t give himself away.

That was the nail in the coffin, though. Chuck took his silence as an answer, unable to provide a single person who could possibly want to be with him. The other man shook Trent’s hands away from his face, hurt welling up in his eyes with a grimace as he moved to grab the clothes that were gotten for him.

“See,” Chuck hobbled to a standing position, holding the clean garments close to his sodden chest like it was going to protect him from the pain he was feeling. Trent, just say something, anything, he yelled to himself whilst watching Chuck shuffle over to the bathroom and pull the door open. He flicked his eyes down to the floor for a moment before coming back up and locking onto Trent’s. “No one could ever love me...”

“Chuck-” Trent was too late, Chuck had already disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. And God damn it, his stomach had sunk to the depth of his being, twisting and turning like he was going to be sick. He should have said something. Even if it meant ruining the only thing he really had left to care about. There was his job, his other friends, his family and that; and while they meant a lot to him as well, he truly believed in that moment, and probably for some while now, that Chuck was his world.

As goofy and kind of bullshit as it was to hear, that’s what he felt like. That this guy he’s known for a good chunk of his life was his sun, moon, and every star in the sky. And Trent knew he’s never felt that way about another person. He knew that no other person on this Earth - or fuck, any other planet - could beam at him when they pull an upset and win a match together like he could. No one else made his chest feel warm whenever they complimented him quite the same way that Chuck did. There wasn’t a soul who had the same giggle, the wit, the determination, the personality- fucking any of it. No one had quite what his best friend had, and that was why he loved him.

Trent had no idea how long Chuck was going to be in there, or if he was ever going to come out. Knowing him, he could stay in there all night, not wanting to face the world again- let alone his friend. Even still, he got up from where he was and placed himself a few paces away from his bathroom door. Within his head, he hyped himself up, vowing that no matter if he got scared or felt like everything was going to go wrong, the New Yorker was going to tell him the truth.

Approximately 4 minutes later - if you asked Trent it felt like 10 years - Chuck finally emerged from his hiding place, dressed in some of his friend’s clothes and with shockingly drier hair. Not sure why he was so surprised that he had run a towel through it or something, but that didn’t matter. The taller man seemed confused as to why Trent was standing at the door, but before he could ask what was happening, Trent said, “I do.”

Chuck squinted at him with a, “What?” but it came out choked off and shaky, like he wasn’t prepared to speak.

“You said no one could ever love you, and that’s not true. Because I love you,” He wanted to protest, but now that Trent was talking, he couldn’t stop. “And I didn’t realize it until today, but I seriously am so in love with you that I don’t think I could picture my life without you. You mean everything to me and I would do anything for you just to see your beautiful smile or hear you say my name. And I know it sounds like I’m lying and that I’m trying to make you feel better, but I’m not. If I think about it, I feel like I’ve loved you forever but never realized it, and I wish I could have known sooner. Because you need to know that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I would be the luckiest guy in the world to even have a chance with you-”

“Trent-”

“I love the way you purposefully send me a string of those stupid emojis over text because you know it annoys me. I love how you can make anyone feel better with just one smile and your passion for loving others. I love how much you love animals and how every dog you see, you consider kidnapping-'' Trent had become so caught up in his declaration that he hadn’t noticed his friend had moved from in front of him and Chuck’s lips were on his.

Before he could even do anything; not even get a gasp at the sudden action, Chuck was already pulling away, breathing as if he had just run a mile. His face was bright red and his hands were holding either of Trent’s arms as he searched his face for a reaction. Or anything really.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” It felt as though Trent was living in one of those shitty romantic comedies he secretly liked to watch, because he was the one who cut Chuck off while speaking with an somehow even more desperate kiss. He felt him respond almost instant, bringing one of his hands up to Trent’s face to cup it gently as his own arms latched cautiously onto Chuck’s hips. And that was where they stayed, for who knew how long, but every second of it was exactly where they wanted to be.

You know, of all days to have the life-changing realization that you’re secretly in love with your best friend, Trent - and Chuck for that matter - hadn’t expected it to happen on (the day after) Valentine’s Day.

[kathyprior4200]

Helluva Hotel/Hazbin Boss (Parody)

HELLUVA HOTEL (PILOT) October 82, 9102

 THE PILOT IS HERE!

 Starring the incredible talents of Wat-is Dis, Irma Imp, Johnny Hazbin and Red Doe 666.

 In HELL, Imps are the lowest of the low in society, but what happens when one starts a hotel and recreation business? This happens!

 Follow Blitzo (the “o” is silent) as he pursues his seemingly impossible goal to help demons peacefully express themselves to reduce the mockery of lower class sinners…plus the exterminations of fellow demons by Exterminators and a rival Heaven group. After a yearly extermination and having his previous office set on fire, Blitzo opens a hotel complete with an office for himself. He hopes that patients will become better individuals, grow to appreciate the imps and support Blitzo’s love of musicals and murder. While most of Hell mocks his goals and dreams, his father and his fellow employee Moxxie mocks it doubly so. Moxxie’s wife, erotic dancer and test subject Millie stick by their sides. When a grumpy Hellhound entity known as “Moonlight Howl” Loona reluctantly reaches out to Blitzo to help in his endeavors, his crazy dream is given a chance to become reality.

    HAZBIN BOSS (PILOT) November 52, 9102

 THE PILOT IS HERE!

 Starring the incredible talents of Blonde Disney Princess In Inferno, SJW Aggressor Moth, Porny Horny Spider Boi, Diabolic Deer Daddy, Gambling Grumpy Cat and Maid of DisHonorly Lust.

 Follow Charlie, the princess of Hell as she attempts to run a hybrid rehabilitation/killing residence in a very competitive market and careless chaotic society. She is the head of D.E.M.O.N. (Denizens End Misery Or Not) in correlation to I.M.P. (Immediate Murder Professionals)

 She has help from her weapons specialist Vaggie, her powerhouse Angel Dust and torturer/receptionist Alastor. With the help of an ancient book obtained by one of the rich Eldritch family members, they manage to make their work possible by killing humans at the requests of their demon clients, sending them to the Magne Hotel to be tortured, redeemed or be stimulated by endless entertainment. They also attempt to survive each other while trying to keep their business afloat.

 But a rival company exists as well in correlation to C.H.E.R.U.B (Cherish Human Existence Revive U Back): A.N.G.E.L. (All Nobody’s Get Extended Life) a.k.a. they reincarnate people so they have a chance to life their human lives, worship God, and not have to endure the forced rehab program.

   The scene opened up with “Red Doe 666 Presents…” as shadow curtains opened…

 Against a white background designed with eyes, a shadowy figure of Blitzo was seen riding a horse with horns and a spiked tail.

 Blitzo was heard singing:

 “Here I am…this is me.

There’s nowhere else in Hell I’d rather be

Here I am…what am I to do?

I hope someday I can make my dreams come true

It’s a new world, it’s a new start

Alive with the screaming and the fresh hearts

It’s a new day, it’s a new plan

And it’s waiting for me

Here I am”

 A shadowy pentagram glowed and the camera moved down, showing shadowy figures of humans being killed by the three imps with weapons.

A shadow figure of Blitzo looked up at the princess and Lucifer, his face downcast. He wished for a better life, but Lucifer looked down on him as common dirt. Blitzo then turned to the right and encountered a silhouette of his father and mother. Blitzo appeared to try and reason with them, but they both pointed in the other direction. Blitzo sadly turned around, his parents not listening to him.

 The city spun within a glowing white pentagram as white angels holding spears surrounded it. Imp City appeared to be burning as shadows of other denizens turned their backs on it.

 “Why have I always been a failure?

What can they reason be?

Why don’t they see they can’t take me?

Why don’t they know I long to be free?”

 Blitzo stood small and downcast under a towering horned silhouette of his imp father, Donner, yellow critical eyes glowing. Black tendrils made the screen go black. A spinning globe appeared with white eyes blinking at it. Silhouettes of Exterminators later posed with swords and bloodstained bodies around them. Each of them had an x over their right eyes and creepy grins on their faces.

 The next scenes showed Imp City in disrepair, weapons and bodies littering the streets. The Pentagram moon stood out in the crimson sky. Homeless demons sat in despair under ripped cardboard boxes, with “Satan Bless,” signs around them. One old store read: “Tricksters and Trades,” another said “Pimp Imps: Strip Club.” The most prominent building was metallic with black and white stripped horns extending out for decoration.

 Blitzo slowly walked out from the building onto a balcony. He leaned on a railing, briefly brushing his hand against his face. He was wearing his usual tattered navy blue work suit with orange pink buttons and a red undershirt with a pink straw pin with a face on it. He was also wearing silver cowboy boots.

 Blitzo picked up a trumpet and blew a bugle sound, the notes echoing throughout the area, signaling that it was safe for the other imps to come out. The imps opened their windows and peered out from behind alleyways. Blitzo stared at his phone and the clock tower in the live video on it read “365 days until next cleanse.”

 The title then appeared: “Welcome to the Helluva Hotel.”

 A car barreled through an open portal and ran over a poor imp before screeching to a stop. A red imp with wild black hair stepped out, a bloodstained knife sheathed at her side.

 “Wow that was some kill, thank for the backup sweetie,” said a male imp, Crosser. Both of them had just finished killing their target via a runaway chase. Crosser had dreamed of crossing over to the human world, and had wanted to run the human man over after the man had killed one of his sinner friends.

 Millie shut the door, wearing her usual black tank top, torn black pants and black collar around her neck. Her horns were shirt and black with small white stripes on them.

 “Yeah, listen, I don’t want to let word out that I’ve been helping random clients with unusual requests for their targets. It was just a quick cash grab, you got it?”

 She smiled with large doe eyes.

 “Whatever you say, slut,” Crosser remarked with a laugh that followed.

 “Wow how rude can you be?” she exclaimed. She leaned in dangerously close. “Let me know who you find something better to call me, you scrawny runty pack of bird shit. Tell the boys at the club I said hi.” She blew him a kiss before stepping back. He grumbled and drove away before his car crashed with a sideways flip.

 Millie strolled along the sidewalk and grabbed someone else’s stick of rotten candy.

 “Hey!” the imp yelled as Millie ran off with a giggle. “You snooze you lose, sucker!”

 She couldn’t wait to tell Blitzo of her successful day.

   Later, Moxxie and Stolas were busy helping Blitzo prepare for his big speech. Moxxie was straightening up his navy blue jacket, while Stolas was massaging his horns. They were in Stolas’ room and the meeting would take place in front of the palace.

 “Do you remember what to say, sir?” Moxxie asked Blitzo.

 Blitzo smiled and stood up straight. “Yes, let’s do this!”

 Stolas smiled as well, wiggling his eyebrows. “Just look at me if you’re nervous.”

 “Come on guys, I know what to say!” Blitzo exclaimed. “I just feel like we need to…I don’t know, make things sound more exciting…”

 He randomly played with bobble-heads of Moxxie and Millie before tossing them aside. Then he gasped, getting an idea.

 “What if I…”

 “Sing a song about it?” Moxxie asked with a huff of annoyance.

 “Exactly Moxxie! Now you’re starting to get the hang of things around here!”

 Stolas playfully poked Blitzo’s face, while Blitzo and Moxxie responded with grimaces.

 “Please don’t sing,” Moxxie chided to his boss. “This is serious.”

 “Well you know…” Blitzo said, climbing on top of Stolas’ dresser, knocking things down, “I do find I’m better at expressing my goals through song!”

 “Blitzy, stop knocking over my belongings!” Stolas puffed up his feathers in anger.

 Moxxie glared at Blitzo as he walked over. “Life isn’t a musical, sir. Even if it were, yours would be so atrocious, not even Vox would allow it on that unwatched channel!”

 “Then I’ll just have to use more of your salaries to release a better jingle,” Blitzo responded with a glare and sneer. He reached over for his plastic cup of iced coffee and downed several gulps of the light brown and white liquid. He sighed in content after he finished. Stolas made a disgusted face as some splashes of the drink spilled onto the floor.

 “I’d be more than happy to watch it,” Stolas replied to him. “In fact, I could watch you all day in any form…”

 “Oh please,” Blitzo scoffed at Stolas. “Get over that one time thing already. My credibility is at risk of being lost here!”

 Moxxie folded his arms and opened his mouth in frustration. “Your credibility? What about I.M.P.? You’re just making it look like a fucking joke!” He took a breath and pinched his nose briefly. “We are still a company, even if…things have changed a bit…”

 None of them could forget when someone “accidentally” set their office on fire, and had to start over with several tasks.

 Blitzo grinned and pulled out a piece of paper. “Oh, I have these other ideas of what to say. The highlighted bits are the best parts.”

 Moxxie took the paper, and scanned it in disbelief. “It’s all highlighted. Are these drawings?”

 “Yep!” Blitzo affirmed, pointing to the paper. On it were several drawings of horses of different sizes, colored in with brown, gray, white and black crayons. The drawings looked like those that a child would do. Beside the horses were several names labeled for each one: Thumbtack, Bottlecap, Stapler, Live Wire and Toothpick. The list read: I.M.P. History, Why Blitz Is The Best, Jingle Suggestions, and Ending Song. At the bottom was a crude drawing of Blitzo on a stage, dancing with Moxxie, Millie, and Loona as dead humans with xs on their eyes and tongues out piled up around them. Nearby, imps and demons tossed them money and flowers.

 Blitzo’s eyes were shining in wonder. “See! That’s the ultimate goal! Everyone’s happy and appreciating us. And we still get to kill to our hearts’ content.”  

 “It’s not that simple, sir!” Moxxie groaned with a face-palm. “Just follow the talking points we went over.” He grabbed hold of Blitzo’s collar. “And Do. Not. Sing.”

 “Whatever,” Blitzo said as he shoved Moxxie off him. “If not that, then I can always do my improv skills.”

 Blitzo saluted and walked out of the room, while the others followed. They were soon outside the palace near a round table where several owls had tea one time. There was a camera crew and several imps taking pictures. Blitzo took his seat in a chair, while Stolas stood regally nearby. Millie grinned and gave Blitzo a thumbs up. Loona slouched in a chair and shot avatars of Moxxie and Husk in an app game on her phone.

 “Hi I’m Blitzo,” said the imp to a wealthy demon with white tentacle hair, gray-green skin and a pink dress with fur and matching heels. Her gray skinned brother wore a green suit and a green top hat decorated with living yellow eyes and teeth around the brim.

 “Helsa Von Eldritch,” she deadpanned. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you but that’d be a lie. You can put your hand away. I don’t touch imps and sinners. I have standards.”

 Blitzo withdrew his hand. “How’s that working out for you, Hel?”

 “Be glad that I’m letting you live after you so rudely forgot to address me as Lady Helsa Von Eldritch,” She fluffed her hair. “My time is money and no one really wants you here. You’re only here because Charlie forgot to show up for Hell’s Royal Vogue fashion segment. One that features me as the favorite, obviously.”

 Nearby were magazines that showed Sevaithan, Helsa, Octavia and Charlie wearing fancy clothing while their faces were obscured under wide brimmed hats. Seviathan wore his usual green top hat with eyes on it and fancy green suit. Octavia wore a dress of black, Helsa’s was pink and Charlie’s was apple red in the pictures.

 “But…” Blitzo began, before Helsa cut him off.

  “So don’t get cocky with me clown or I’ll fucking strangle you.” She bared her sharp teeth as Blitzo silently gulped. Helsa sat down in her seat, painting her sharp nails.

 “And I thought that bratty kid was a piece of shit,” Blitzo thought to himself.

 Blitzo spotted Stolas’ daughter Octavia with her mother sitting in high throne-like chairs at an adjacent table.

 “How’s it going, Via?” Blitzo called.

 “Good until you showed up,” she replied in a British accent.

 “Oh!” Stolas added. “We should all go on a family trip to Loo Loo Land sometime! I’ll bring some balloons and popcorn if you want.”

 “That place reeks of corporate shame,” Octavia scoffed in her seat. “It’s just a rip off of Loo Loo World, anyway. Besides, I would much rather hang out with Helsa than die of embarrassment again.”

 “So…you friends with her or not?” Blitzo asked in confusion.

 Octavia rolled her eyes and retorted. “You and my father still a thing?”

 “Blitzo,” warned the white owl queen Melodia, mentioning to the waiting crew.

Blitzo took his seat near Helsa and Seviathan, the two wealthy Eldritch siblings.

 “Right,” Blitzo said, straightening his clothes and looking at the cameras.

 “Hi, I’m Blitzo, the “o” is silent and I’m the founder of I.M.P. Are you a piece of…”

 Moxxie shook his head and mouthed, “Not an ad.”

 “…shit.”

 Blitzo took a deep breath, his smile fading a little. “As most of you know, I was born here in Hell, and growing up, I’ve always tried to see the good in everything around me. Hell is my home and…”

 A stray feather floated in front of Blitzo’s nose, causing the imp to sneeze.

 “…some you are my clients, so I suppose I should try to be more concerned about you. We just went through another Extermination.”

 Millie gave him two thumbs up.

 Blitzo continued. “We’ve lost so many souls, including homeless people, and it breaks my heart to see other imps and hellhounds being slaughtered every year. Same goes for sinners. I mean, they brought it on themselves mostly, but then again, if there were no demons around, then there would be no business for me to run.”

 Sudden anger sparked in his golden eyes. “In our society, imps are not even given a chance!”

 He pounded his fist on the table, spilling his coffee drink all over his jacket. He swore and tried to lick some of it off. Stolas arrived and quickly wiped the stains off as much as he could. Blitzo brushed the owl prince away before continuing.

 “Imps are the lowest of the low? Why is that? Because we’re somehow poorer than sinners? We’re lesser in numbers so imps and hellhounds can be called to service by random strangers anytime they wish? How are imps somehow lower than sinners, who are supposedly lower than the elite hellborn? I mean, imps are born in Hell…shouldn’t we get the proper treatment we deserve? I’m the founder of the most well-known company in Imp City, along with access to the human world, no less! That should definitely count for something! I cannot stand idly by while the place I live is subject to such judgement and death.”

 Blitzo continued… “So, I’ve been thinking…isn’t there a better way to hinder ignorance, and in my case, hinder the lower ratings for my company? Isn’t there a more alternative way to change clients and souls through…recreation? Well I think yes, and that is what my project aims to achieve! Ladies and gentlemen, I’m expanding on my company and making…a conjoint hotel to encourage self-expression and I.M.P. appreciation!”

 Blitzo spread out his arms at the table. He then muttered nervously at the confused faces. “You know…cause when demons learn to appreciate us more and be somewhat nicer…we won’t have to worry about those blasted Cherubs or the angels coming after us…”

 “Angels?” laughed an imp as he watched Blitzo on TV. “Is that imp for real? Oh he’s nuts!”

 Blitzo went on…”and those who come and cheer for me at my musicals will receive a 15% discount the next time they need my gang to kill people! Yay!”

 “Stupid clown,” mocked an imp before Millie punched the cameraman right in the face, sending him off the stool.

 Blitzo looked around in concern. “Look, I know that each and every one of you has something good inside you. I know you do.”

 Then he smirked, getting an idea. “Maybe I’m not getting through to you…”

 He mentioned to his black haired imp sisters Tilla and Barbie Wire, who suddenly walked in view of the camera, wearing black and pink circus outfits.

 Moxxie face-palmed with an “oh no.”

 Blitzo began his song while standing on the table…

 “I have a dream, I’m here to tell

About a wonderful new I.M.P. hotel

Yes it’s one of a kind

Right here in Hell

Catering to bloodthirsty clientele”

 Blitzo’s sisters provided harmonizing vocals.

 “When you want somebody gone

And you don’t wanna wait too long

Call the Immediate Murder Professionals

Your vengeance gone wrong?

Are you looking for a song?

At my new hotel, we won’t do you wrong

 I.M.P. just wait and see

Embrace you inner demons and live free

But we expect, to treat us with respect

Or we’ll have to break your neck

 Yes it’s hard to learn to be good

But to escape stressful lives, you know you would

Give us some green and don’t be mean

This’ll be greatest show you’ve ever seeeeeen!

 Don’t feel blue

We provide service to you

There’s no room for inner strife

When we could have a better life

 There will be no more loss

And there will be no more schemes

Just horsey-horse nuzzles and iced coffee dreams

And traveling a better way

You’ll be like “Yay!”

Once you check in with meeee

 We do or job so well

Cause we come straight up from Hell

We make your troubles go away

And you can find a place to stay

Via the Immediate Murder Professionals

Kids die for Freeeee!”

 Blitzo and his sisters ended with poses on the table.

 One demon with one eye said “Wow! That was shit!”

 Everyone except Blitzo, Tilla, Barbie Wire, Moxxie, Loona, Millie, and Stolas burst into laughter. Blitzo buried his face in his hands on the table, while Millie fired her gun at the crew. Moxxie booed at Blitzo.

 Helsa Von Eldrich sneered at the imp, her brother next to her.

 “What in the Nine Circles of Hell makes you think people would give two shits about becoming a better person? You have no proof that this experiment even works. You want people to be good and pay attention to your measly company just…because?”

 “Well,” Blitzo argued, “I have an employee already who’s dedicated to my cause.”

 “And who might that be?”

 “Oh just someone named…Millie. Oh and we also have a new guest coming as well…Mimzy!”

 Seviathan glanced over and asked, “The flapper girl?” He had previously dated Charlie but would occasionally mess and flirt with sinner girls to mess with them. Mimzy’s fame had appealed to him.

 “You fucking would, Sevia!” Helsa bared her teeth. “Anyway, I bet that girl wouldn’t bat an eye to your company unless you had a million souls.”

 “Admit it, Blitzo,” added Sevia. “You and your gang of imps are dead to us and to Hell. How does it feel being a total failure?”

 The sibling snobs cackled at a hurt Blitzo.

 “Yeah, well how does it feel that your ex loves a sinner over you, huh? Bastard bitch?!”

 Sevia and Blitzo managed to yell and land a few punches before they were forcefully separated via Stolas’ bird guards. The meeting ended abruptly on the spot. Blitzo and his companions felt dejected on their way back to the office. Stolas had generously given Blitzo some money to add another connecting hotel building with rows of rooms, a stage and a bar.

 The three imps arrived at their building and after filling out some paperwork, they met in a lobby of the separate building. There were pictures along the walls of the I.M.P. members. Blitzo posing with his sisters after performing at a circus. Blitzo holding a puppy Loona lovingly. Moxxie and Millie in wedding attire, the couple gazing lovingly at each other. Millie and Moxxie sitting with a large Apple mascot for Loo Loo Land, Moxxie crying in fear and discomfort.

 Millie walked over to the fridge and pulled out a box of popsicles. She happily sucked and ate a black raspberry one.

 “You know you might as well get more food for this place,” Millie mentioned to Blitzo. “To feed all the wayward souls in this place.” She giggled and added, “I can help organize the car wash while you search the fridge for spoiled butter!”

 Blitzo just sat dejectedly on a wooden crate of booze. Millie considered comforting him, but Moxxie gave her a look and shook his head. Millie sighed and followed her husband to let Blitzo be alone. Blitzo stepped outside and called a familiar person on his hell phone. The label read “Stolas, a.k.a. One Night Stand Bird Dick.”

 “Hey Stolas, it’s me.”

 “Hello Blitzy, how may I entertain you tonight?”

 “No you really don’t have to.”

 “Perhaps a show that can make up for today’s broadcast?”

 “Yeah about that, I…don’t think I’m making a difference. I mean, I’m lucky to be alive after the Extermination but, everyone thought my plan was stupid.”

 “Perhaps unusual,” Stolas mentioned. “Redeeming and trying to change demons is like trying to freeze Hell’s fires. It’s just not possible.”

 “Not that I want to do it completely…but if things keep going wrong, I’ll lose my company and maybe even my families’ lives from those in Heaven.”

 Stolas squawked with laughter. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of those flying cherubs and sheep?”

“Fuck that! Those dancing revivers are annoying pieces of shit trying to interfere with my hard work.”

 “How about this way, C.H.E.R.U.B. or whatever those things are, revive humans so you have more humans to kill later on!”

 “But having to kill the same people again and again? How boring is that! I.M.P. needs more variety, less repetition. Thumbtack, my horse, agrees.”

 “Didn’t you tell me about how you killed that bratty kid twice?”

 “It was Moxxie and then me but that’s not the point. If this company goes out of business, then I’ll never get the chance to live my musical theater dreams.”

 “Don’t be sad, Blitzy,” said Stolas. “You have your associates and you also have me. I’ll make sure no one messes around with you.”

 “I think my dad was…right about me…”

 “You’re no failure Blitzy. He can hardly call himself a father to you. And if he ever tries to make you lonely and bring you down because of your goals…”

 Stolas then ranted on with a series of curses and a lot of cringe-worthy sentences. Blitzo laughed nervously.

 “If this is your way of trying to get into bed then I ain’t having it.”

 “No, not this time.”

 “Okay then. Thanks for the advice.”

 “Anytime.”

 “Good bye.”

 Blitzo hung up by tapping on the phone screen. He wiped tears from his eyes as he headed back inside. He leaned against the door, eyes closed, frustrated and fatigued.  

  Just then, he heard a knock on the door. One loud knock that made it sound like someone had decided to punch the door. A smile grew on Blitzo’s face as he opened the door.

 There stood Loona in her usual gray tank top with a black downward pentagram design below her neck. Her pants with a moon on it wore torn and she wore no shoes. Her eyes flared red, her red tongue just visible among her sharp teeth.

 Blitzo beamed. “Loo…”

 Loona slammed the door hard. Blitzo opened it.

 “…ny!”

 Loona slammed it again.

 Blitzo eagerly turned to Moxxie. “Hey Moxxie!”

“What?!” asked the agitated imp.

 “Loony is at the door!”

 “What?!” Moxxie asked. “Oh?” asked Millie.

 Blitzo was cheered up. “What should I do?”

 “Don’t let her in!” Moxxie spat.

 Blitzo waltzed right to the door and opened it.

 “May I rant now?” asked the hellhound.

 “You may,” Blitzo responded.

 Loona stomped inside. “The nerve of you guys to just leave me behind like that. I mean, did you want me to sit through another segment of royalty bitching about their outfits. When my punk clothing is superior anyway. Man Blitzo, I haven’t seen anything so embarrassing since you decided to give me spiders and sleep with that privileged asshole. Heh, you were kinda pathetic.”

 She had her sharp black claws out, and her breath smelled of alcohol.

 Moxxie pointed a gun at her. “Stop right there! I know that look and I’m not gonna let you hurt anyone else here, you lunatic emo meth addicted bitch!”

 Loona just lowered the gun with her fingers. “If I wanted to hurt anyone here, I would’ve done so already.”

 She growled and bared her fangs. “Ya know, I came because…I was thinking of helping.”

 Blitzo looked confused. “Say what?”

 “I wanna help you run this place. Why not, nothing else to do.” She scoffed. “Though Blitzo, your plans are ridiculous as always.”

 “Why do you still have her around?” Moxxie shook his head. “She hardly answers the bone phone and has skipped work too many times to count!”

 “Don’t talk about her like that, she’s fine. Sometimes she has what some people would call…ruff days.”

 Loona flipped the bird before searching the fridge. “Any avocado salads here?”

 “No. I already ate mine early thanks to you eating mine last time.”

 “Nobody claimed it and besides, people like you don’t need lunch.”

 “Hey!”

 “Alright,” said Blitzo. “I’ll be happy to have you help. Just…don’t fly off the handle or get into any trouble.”

 “Fair enough, whatever.”

 The hellhound looked around. “Any hotel visitors around here?”

 Millie mentioned to a chubby short blonde haired woman reading a magazine and humming a tune. “Just Mimzy.”

 “You’re never fully dressed without a smile,” she sang.

 “Meh. Not enough. Hey Millie, any extra things you can do?”

 Millie grinned. I can snuggle you and give you kisses.”

 “Ha! No.”

 “Your loss.”

 Loona sighed. “Hang on, I’ll be right back. I can sniff you a few people who might be helpful.

 About fifteen minutes later, she came holding a squirming blue anglerfish demon in her paw. He was wearing a gray lab coat, yellow goggles and a hanging light from his small top hat.

 “This little amphibian is Baxter,” Lonna said, dropping him.

 “I-I’m Baxter,” the fish stammered. “That mutt over there just tracked me down, right when I was about to gather my ingredients for my next p-project. It’s a top secret formula that I m-must complete.” He raced around to grab more beakers, vials and a burner nearby. “It’s been a w-while since I’ve seen new people. And I don’t want to see any more. No, no, no, stay back! Back off I say!” He pointed a white shrink ray at anyone who came too close.  “If you’ll e-excuse me, I must get back to work!”

 Several moments later, not too far from headquarters, a white and red hellhound was strolling along listening to rock music on 90s headphones.  “Why am I even here?” she thought. “I can’t believe that I’m stuck in this vast scary place.” Music and a tough front hid the insecurity underneath. She received a tap on the shoulder.

 “The hell? The fuck is this?” She turned around and spotted Loona. “You!” she broke into a large toothed grin. She wore black leather, metal rings on her pointed ears and a spiked collar. Her shirt was pink red with a white skull on it. Porn magazines lined her pockets.

 “Crymini,” Loona greeted, hiding a small smile.

 “So glad to see you again, Loona,” Crymini replied. “Anything on your mind? What shall we do? Go for a drink? Vandalize a building after a smoke? Or we could chew on some bones of demons…they’re my favorite snack!”

 “I wish,” Loona rolled her eyes at the more hyper hound. “I feel somewhat obligated to help Blitzo and company recruit more people to help promote I.M.P.”

 “I think I saw commercials of it,” Crymini mentioned. “That imp killing company?”

 Loona nodded.

 “Wait…you work there too?”

“Pretty much. A receptionist. Filled to the brim with paperwork, calling clients and annoying fellow employees.”

 “Your condition still there?” Crymini asked.

 “Syphilis can go fuck itself.”

 “I wish it would for your sake and mine as well.”

 “One wouldn’t say being in a rock band is much easier, but it’s still pretty fun.”

 “I’ve seen you play guitar and sing. Pretty good I must say.”

 “Thanks! I’ll be performing at a concert later this week. Will you be there?”

 “Sure,” she replied with a shrug.

 “Let’s go to your headquarters then!”

 Blitzo, Moxxie, Millie, Loona, Stolas, Mimzy, Baxter and Crymini were soon together at the building.

 “Anyone want some booze and fresh meat?” Loona asked.

 Everyone nodded in agreement.  

 Not too far away, concealed in bushes, a figure was watching them with orange eyes. Roo, the kangaroo Australian demon. She had white skin, wild aburn hair and wore orange. A large wide brimmed dark hat concealed her face in shadow. A parasitic creature slithered from her mouth, its body covered with white spikes and eyes.

  She bared her sharp teeth, blood and liquid dropping from her mouth. One thought emitted from her head, the parasite in sync with her thoughts.

 “Feast.”

[rosmarinys]

i should not care but i don’t know how

read on ao3, dedicated to @josephgraham for creating this crackship that i’ve accidentally been sucked into, thank u king ahdsahfksjfka

It starts like this: Peter heads to café to ask Gran if she thinks that Dad is acting shifty – because he is, Peter might have been gone for a while and Dad could be different now, but guilty is guilty and Peter can read it all over his face, he just doesn’t know why – and as he walks in, he bumps into someone walking out.

“Sorry,” Peter says on reflex, ready to step back and let the stranger pass by.

The guy looks up at him and Peter is struck for a second at how attractive he is – which is, what? Peter has never been one to take stock of how attractive men are, he’s into women, women like Lauren and Lola, all curves not heavy muscle like this man is – but isn’t allowed a second to recover because the stranger winks at him.

“I’m not,” he says before brushing past Peter and disappearing down the street.

His front had pressed against Peter’s for a moment and there had been a second in which Peter wanted to press back but he hadn’t and why does it feel like a missed opportunity?

He shakes himself and heads into the café. No time for a sexuality crisis, Ian is hiding something.

//

 Time passes and Peter keeps seeing the stranger around. Lola tells him that his name is Tubbs and, seriously? Peter does suppose that he is big, but it seems like pure muscle, very little fat. Not that Peter spends a lot of time thinking about his body. He’s been busy, Dotty and Bex are helping him find out exactly what happened on the boat and Peter likes to think that Ian isn’t capable of murder but he thought the same of Bobby, once.

It’s a couple of weeks before Peter actually talks to Tubbs again. This time, Tubbs snatches the newspaper out of Peter’s hand while he was reading it, walking back towards Dad’s house. Peter opens his mouth to snap at him, but Tubbs beats him to it, opening the newspaper theatrically in front of his face and asks, “Been asking after me, pretty boy?” His eyes glint mischievously at Peter, the only thing he can see over the paper, dark and bright.

Peter feels himself scowl while there’s a flush spreading on his neck. “We have a mutual friend, don’t make it something it’s not.”

Tubbs drops the newspaper and grins. “Just said that you were asking after me, who said anything about something else?” His smile is filthy, and Peter wants to kiss him. Which is- a lot to deal with at 10am on a Thursday. So he scowls further and holds his hand out for his paper before marching off.

And if Tubbs brushes his fingers against Peter’s for a second, then Peter doesn’t think about it afterwards. Not at all.

 //

 The third time he meets Tubbs is when things come to a head. Peter is getting drunk at E20, a gay club, yes, but Peter is testing the waters, and Tubbs walks in.

Peter actually doesn’t notice Tubbs coming in despite the fact that the chair he’s sitting in gives him full view of the entrance; his alcohol tolerance has shot so far down since he had Louis, he can feel his 18-year-old self’s disgust at his inability to last past five tequila shots.

Tubbs slides into the seat in front of him. “You following me or something?” Peter slurs, resting his head on his fist, having to look up Tubbs this way. It feels right like this, like the world has always just been slightly off and he’s finally corrected it. Tubbs isn’t someone who should be looked down at, Peter realises.

“You wish,” Tubbs snorts and Peter grins at him, dopily and he hopes its not a trick of the light that makes the way Tubbs grins back him seem fond. “You are fucked,” Tubbs laughs, and gets up and half-picks Peter up underneath his arms and Peter feels himself blink at the strength Tubbs must have. “Let’s get you home, I don’t want Ian Beale on my case, from what Ben’s told me, I imagine I would die of annoyance.”

Tubbs turns to smirk at Peter, his arm around his torso, Peter’s own arm draped over his shoulder, and he smirks as if they are in on an inside joke together and at one point they came outside, Peter can feel the dew of the air soak into his jumper, and Tubbs is taking him back to that house and it’s too much, all of it is and Peter would rather be taken anywhere else so he opens his mouth and speaks and immediately wants to punch himself in the face.

“My dad killed Dennis.”

Tubbs freezes, Peter feels his shoulders tense beneath his arm, his hand tightening on Peter’s waist. He turns to look at Peter and his face is so close, Peter can see that he actually has tiny freckles on his nose and has to restrain the urge to trace them.

“What?” he asks, and his voice is low, his face blank and it feels wrong, Peter is looking down at him again and he isn’t grinning or being a shit and the world is knocked off kilter again and it feels off in a way that its always felt since Lucy died.

“I don’t know why I told you that, you’re just so-so-” Peter stutters and if he was more sound of mind, he would see Tubbs’ eyes flickering around the street to make sure they’re alone.

“What?” Tubbs repeats and Peter wants things to feel the way they did in E20, just for a second, and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching down and kissing Tubbs.

There’s a second in which Tubbs makes a noise of surprise that he feels in his bones before kissing Peter back and he can feel his knees go weak but then Tubbs pulls back and frowns. “You’re drunk, Peter,” he says, holding Peter’s chin back when he tries to kiss him again. “Easy, cowboy. How about you try again when you’re sober, eh?”

Peter blinks, drowsily, and nods, mind slowing to a halt, too many thoughts in his head crashing into each other, he likes to think that his brain wasn’t a car crash once, probably before Lucy died but what use is there thinking about that Peter, he’s in the grave with his twin sister.

He barely notices the rest of the journey home or how Tubbs gets him onto the couch, only feels it when Tubbs’ hands leave him.

 //

 (The next night, Peter drags Tubbs into the nearest alleyway and barely manages to ask, ‘Can I?’ before Tubbs is yanking him down and kissing away any other words that rested on his tongue.)

 //

 It becomes a thing that isn’t quite a thing. Peter means to bring it up sometimes – there’s only so many times he can tolerate Ben’s shit-eating looks before he snaps – but Tubbs puts his mouth on his pulse point and his veins feel like electricity and its forgotten.

He manages to ask once, Tubbs stretched out on the hotel bed in a distracting manner as Peter tugs on a shirt. “So, what exactly are we?”

“Jesus Christ, don’t tell me you’re about to propose,” Tubbs says, turning his head to look at Peter, eyes hooded.

Peter throws a sock at him. “Shut up, I was just asking, I’ve never – y’know. Whatever,” he sighs and reaches for his shoes.

Tubbs sighs as well behind him and Peter likes to think that he’s watching him, that he likes what he sees. “It’s just sex, calm down, pretty boy.”

Peter glances back at him and thinks that he’s never seen anyone as gorgeous as Tubbs is, nice to look at in the way that fills Peter between the gaps in his rib cage. “Right,” he says at last. He stands up and grabs his jacket. “Well, later,” and it all feels very anticlimactic, like it always does when he runs off as soon as they’re done, brain running at a hundred miles an hour and he needs to run to the nearest bench and sit with his head in his hands and try to figure out why having sex with Lauren leaves him tired afterwards whereas sex with Tubbs leaves him desperately alive afterwards, like he’s touched an open wire.

Tubbs catches his hand as he passes by towards the door. His thumb presses into Peter’s wrist, feeling the pulse thrumming underneath and when Peter looks at him, he’s focused on their hands and he sees Tubbs’ chest stutter when he wraps his fingers around Tubbs’ wrist in response.

“Stay?” Tubbs asks, and then his expression shutters, closing off that emotion that Peter couldn’t quite read. “We can watch the history channel, or whatever.” Peter tells himself that he doesn’t care that Tubbs knows what he likes to watch on the TV.

He drops his jacket and watches Tubbs grin, hard muscle softening for a second.

 //

 It continues that way, Peter staying for longer and longer after until he doesn't even think of leaving, just lies half on Charlie while their sweat cools – “You can call me Charlie y’know,” Tubbs says once, before immediately sucking a hickey in Peter’s neck so that he almost forgot but remembered just as he was leaving, just in time to whisper, “Bye, Charlie,” and smack a kiss onto Tubbs’ cheek and feel the heat that blossomed beneath his lips. Peter’s face rests on Charlie’s collarbone, fingers mindlessly tracing shapes on his bicep as he murmurs into his skin, “He lied to my face, Charlie, and I actually believed him.”

Charlie hums and Peter feels it run through him. “Some people are just bad to the bone, baby, nothing you can do about that. My dad was the same way.” He reaches a hand up and runs it through Peter’s hair. He’s doing it to distract him, but Peter lets him, rolls his head up to meet his eyes. “Hello there, pretty boy.”

“Hello,” Peter replies, and kisses him.

 //

 (This is how it ends: it doesn't.)

[bom-bombon]

Texas?

Yeehaw

Name: Sebastian Inglesias

While Texas does have a second last name because he’s Hispanic, he decided to drop it. I know many Hispanic who have either both of their parents’ names and of only their fathers’ last name with the former being more common. Those with one last name has less complications with paperwork, applications, etc., than with those with two last names. Considering all this, I think that Texas would drop the second last name to make his life more easier.

Age: 27-29

Gender: Cis male

Ethnicity/Race: Hispanic (Mestizo)

Siblings: Coahuila (perhaps Chihuahua and Nuevo Leon too but it’s still a wip)

Height: 5′11 (180.34 cm)

He’s sad that he’s not 6′0. He may be taller than some of his fellow Mexican brethren, but he gets reminded that he’s not the tallest in the Union, or at the very least, he’s not 6′0. This annoys him to no end.

Relations:

-Arizona: They’re buddies. They both share a love for guns, have similar conservative ideologies, and they love a/c. No matter how much New Mexico tries to discourage Arizona from talking to him, Arizona just doesn’t care. He thinks that Texas is cool (which fuels his already big ego)

-Arkansas: They get along. That’s it. I suppose that sometimes he does call her Ar-kansas and she don’t talk to him for a whole day after that, but they’re cool nonetheless.

-California: They don’t like each other. He finds her annoying and thinks she’s an idiot. When she was first introduced to the states, he thought that they could be together and be some sort of duo. But they thought different things and it upset him. To him, it almost felt like betrayal because he thought he knew her and she supported and admired him. So why doesn’t she support him now? Today, they just bicker and often start arguments. Both of their egos will never let it go and make up.

-Coahuila: It’s complicated. Coahuila was enraged when Texas broke away from her and even more so when the US helped. While I’m not sure their relationship was during this time period, I do know that they didn’t talked for a while. Texas believed he was doing the right thing in following his own dreams. Though that is debatable at best. Nowadays, they get along well and Coahuila sometimes invite him to parties. Sometimes…

-Louisiana: They chill with each other. Louisiana, although criticizes him on some occasions, think he’s a nice guy. He has helped her in the past and she no doubts never forgot about it, so she helps him whenever she can. They’re also dumbasses together so that’s fun too.

-Minnesota: They’re together! Minnie is like 6’2 so she calls Texas cute for being tiny and he loves and hates it!! They are both tough as nails. For example, Minnie surprised him by beating him on a mechanical bull, Virginia complained about how strong Minnesota was during the Civil War, and Montana always remarks about how Minnie was the only other state who can keep up with her in the World Wars. And Texas is Texas. They are both incredibly sweet in relationships. Minnesota is known for being nice and it’s tru. Texas in relationships is sort of like the Latin Lover, excluding the constant need for uhh bedroom stuff. They are both gentle to each other out of respect and always get each other meaningful gifts. Not to mention the daily reminders of “you’re beautiful” or “you’re my sunshine”, they’re too pURE. They both like similar hobbies such as watching and playing football, taking care of animals, and roasting the hell out of people. Texas helps Minnie into confronting problems and people

Minnie: Idk how to tell them

Texas: It’s easy, I’ll show you how

Texas: Hey New York!

New York: I’m not listening…

Texas: New York!

New York: *looks up*

Texas: I like your shirt but I don’t like you!

She teaches him about considering other’s feelings. Sometimes Texas is too caught up about himself to realize how he’s affecting others around him and she knows this. She reminds him that people that not everyone will understand him emotionally and might take offense. Slowly, Texas thinks more often. Minnesota and Texas also love having adventures together. They would go and snowboard (though Texas has fell off a mountain one time). No matter what they’re doing, they always seem to compliment each other and have fun together. 

-Montana: They’re cowboy buddies. I would imagine them talk to each other about animals, particularly horses and cows. Since Montana is also a tough person, she and Texas loves to have small competitions with lifting or who has the most power. He sees her as a buddy and likes to talk to her, which is good because Montana herself has trouble fitting in when all people know about her is just cows and nothingness.

-New Mexico: New Mexico hates him. From what I can remember, Texas tried to claim parts of New Mexico three separate times. The last attempt was the Civil War, and with the attempt to take Santa Fe, New Mexico won’t let it go. Texas doesn’t really care about him nor seem to remember that he even exist. He mostly focuses his rivalry with Oklahoma. Plus, he think New Mexico is a bad driver.

-Oklahoma: They’re rivals. The extent of this rivalry, I’m not too sure and admittedly haven’t delved into much. What I can say is that he always honk his horn at her because she’s a terrible driver. At some point she called him Baja Oklahoma and he cried

-Tennessee: They’re friends. Tennessee is gay for him. So when the Texas Revolution was starting and the US helped out, a good chunk of the people were from Tennessee. So Tennessee helped Texas out wherever he can and that was his first friend from the US. They love to go hunting and talk about guns and stuff. Tennessee really admired him and is glad that he’s consider to be close friends with the big boi of the South. They also play music together and have nice country vibes.

-Wyoming: They’re Yeehaw buddies. They also had a relationship is perhaps early 1900s but I’m not too sure yet.

Things I don’t know how to title but it exists:

-Texas has tattoos of all his state symbols on his arms and back

-They played a “special” game of Truth or Dare. In the end, Texas threw up and vowed to never go to Vegas or hang out with Nevada for 9 months.

-Texas gave some of his friends in the Midwest and South (who aren’t Hispanic mind you) the “spicy” Mexican candies and almost all of them are more cautious about Mexican candies. Plot twist: they’re not spicy at all; they’re just weak

-Yee in the streets, haw in the sheets

-He’s bisexual

Some things about her (development? idk):

Texas has this arrogance that kinda makes it unbearable to work with at times (his closest friends can attest to this). But to be fair, this arrogance would be provoked by someone either messing with his lovely state or someone who’s just curious. Besides that, he is actually pretty charismatic, confident, and charming that attracts people despite his (non intentional) brash behavior. (It’s a joke that he purposefully made Tennessee gay). He’s also intelligent as he’s musically talented, exceeds surprisingly well in mathematics and sciences, and fluent in a couple languages such as English, German, and Vietnamese. He worked hard to be where he is and he can be closed minded in some parts but that’s because he likes to stay relatively the same. He doesn’t like a lot of change; you can say he’s afraid of it and what it might bring because he doesn’t want to lose who he truly is deep down inside. (It’s kinda funny because with this new influx of Californians, he’s stressed and upset at her more than ever).

Some quotes,, things?: 

New York: I’m hot shit and that’s the only thing I’ll take away.

Texas: Didn’t you hear her? I’m also hot shit. And that’s the power of the Texan charm ;) Checkmate, liberals.

New York: Yeah well why don’t you shut up.

Texas: You shut up

–

Northern Mariana Islands: *gives everyone a glass shot of tequila*

Everyone: *downs the shot and put their shot glass on the middle of the table*

Delaware: More please!

Ohio: No more please…

Arkansas: What the fuck was that??

Utah: Ugh, that so strong what the heck-

Texas: Can we do this every night?

–

Priest: You may now read the vows you have prepared.

Texas: I think I misunderstood the assignment.

Minnesota: Just read what you wrote, dear.

Texas: Ok *deep breath* A E I O U

–

Texas, drunk: SI YA SABEN COMO ME PONGO PA QUE ME INVITAN???

–

South Dakota: But it’s couples like you that give hope to the rest of us. Minnesota, you deserve the best, and you found it.

Texas, don’t you dare hurt her.

Everyone: *laughs*

Texas: I won’t.

Michigan: Don’t laugh. She means it.

Texas: Okay, I-I won’t

.Nebraska: Seriously, don’t hurt her.

Texas: Okay, I’m not planning on hurting her.

Indiana: You better not be

Texas: I’m not!

Ohio: Hey, Texas, you best be watching yourself

Texas: Why would any of you think I would hurt Minnesota? Y’all my friends too.

Illinois: Nah

–

1945

Tejas, a los otros estados: Me das una úlcera cada vez que me despierto y tengo que venir ‘pa trabajar para ti, para ti!

–

Texas, grabbing a toy police car: Coahuila! Can you buy me this?

Coahuila: No.

Texas: You never buy me anything!

Coahuila: You’re over 300 years old!

–

Texas: Yee in the streets, haw in the sh-

Oklahoma: No.

–

Texas, drunk: You’re so pretty,, are you seeing anyone?

Minnesota: Yeah, I’m married

Texas, crying: To.. to who?

Minnesota: You, you smol idiot *kisses his forehead*

[savagewade]

[ WADE SAVAGE . 29. CIS MALE. HE/HIM ] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for [ 3 YEARS ] and are originally from [ AUSTIN, TEXAS ]. They are a [ PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR ] and in their downtime love [ ASTROLOGY ] and [ SELF LOATHING ]. They look a lot like [ ROBERT PATTINSON ] and live [ IN OASIS APTS ].

what the HECK is up my dudes !! i’m andie and i only write garbage characters so hang onto ur hats !1!!

i’ll first kick this off with wade’s pinterest board, and his inspo playlist for a vibe™️

skim the surface 

cowboy jokes aside, this bitch is from austin texas, and while he doesn’t wear his cowboy hat that much in public anymore after being humiliated by a group of preteens at a local mall, he does keep it by him to remind him of home. 

he’s lived in silver lake for 3 years doing the only thing he’s passionate about aside from hating himself, and that’s being a nosy ass to everyone who pays him !! (tbf though, he’d do it for free, he loves to avoid his own problems to suss into others)

so mostly in his private investigating gigs he puts trackers on their cars, and mostly gets employed by people wondering if their boos are cheating. 

he lives alone at oasis apartments and when he isn’t investigating subjects, he’s sort of a hermit. he loves to understand the human condition and deeper than psychology he feeds off of astrology and learns about as much as he can for no real apparent reason other than to pass time, and hopes it might come into some use someday for profiling someone he’s entailing. 

he’s lazy?? but he’s also a loyal friend even tho he struggles to open up.

would rather make a joke than talk to someone about emotions. 

loves true crime and highkey idolizes keith morrison wishes he’d get adopted by him. 

plays the dumb card too much so people will underestimate him so he can freely put in the minimal effort. 

dig deeper

he tends to have a “laid back” outlook on life which is really him disguising his lowkey negative/pessimistic attitude. 

throughout his childhood he felt constantly invalidated by his father for having feelings, accomplishments, and dreams.

his dad actively mocked his everyday life, and wade learned at a young age to not bring his friends around his house because his dad would sort of make an ass out of himself by acting like he was the cool one, and the one worthy of attention from his friends. 

his mom was always at work, and his dad attempted to keep a job, but somehow always wound up getting fired for misconduct, anger issues, or simply not showing up. 

ultimately wade was forced to grow up at a young age to be responsible for himself, his father, and his siblings and make sure everything got done around the house because nobody else was going to do it. 

he hasn’t dealt with any of his issues which have taken a mental and physical toll on him. but again, he feels invalid for having them, and tells himself people have way worse issues than him. 

he got out on his own as quickly as he could and put himself through college and became a workaholic in fast food jobs to pay for it. 

private investigating is something he’s relatively good at because he’s relentless about studying people, and digging into their backgrounds.

relationships for him haven’t been consistent because he’s anxious around people, and distrusting from seeing so much at his own job, but he’s got a friendly jokey demeanor, and always wants to do the right thing when it comes to morality. 

connection ideas 

neighbors 

someone who’s hired him to investigate before

someone’s he’s investigated 

friends friends friends friends !!

awkward acquaintances 

bad influence

good influence 

confidant 

sibling like friend

cousin(s)

hookups

exes on good terms

and exes on bad terms

almost dated but didn’t get there so wasted about 3 months talking until ghosting happened 

enemies? 

anything pls i’ m begging u

give this a like and i’ll come to you for some plots or feel free to message me for some!! thank u pals

[lanamemories]

hLO itsa me nai-io!!!!! (read shrieked in a high voice like mario if he buckled his dungarees too tight around the crotch)...... im sad i missed opening bt i had a pretty busy past 2 days so i didn’t hav any chance at all to b online bc i ws staying at a friends bt. anyway. excited to b here nw regardless of my Fashionably Late entrance. i’m 22 n live in manchester (the u freakin k Bay Bee) n cackle a little too mch like a witch fr supernatural suspicions nt to arise. thts all u rly need to kno. like this or hmu fr plots!! 

p.s. this is her pinterest for those of u tht like tht kind of thing

「 bridget satterlee. cis-female. 」have you seen lana jameson around yet? i hear SHE decided to be in ALPHA NU for their JUNIOR year as a DANCE major. the 21 year old SHEEP is known to be vivacious, alluring, childish and impulsive. ➨ the muse is written by nai. she is 22, in the gmt.

some random aesthetics: a red water pistol topped up with caribbean rum and covered in stickers of cartoon pin up girls, a vinyl record whirring silently because you got too distracted by a stranger’s hands to reach over and flip sides, giant inflatable flamingos floating in the aftermath of a pool party, smudgy lipstick kisses left like an autograph on someone else’s mirror, seventies platforms covered in bowie inspired lightening stripes, fanning the flush in your cheeks with a bright red flamenco fan in the back of a crowded lecture hall, michelangelo reminiscent statures clasping at their stone in suggestive places, bopping stranger’s on the forehead with heart shaped lollipops, a bumper sticker on the back of a convertible cadillac that says ‘SCRAPPY DOO IS A FILTHY SLUT’, lighting a paper lantern and saying “aw, how pretty,” only for the whole party to shriek as it crashes into a children’s tent in the next garden over, a ball point pen that turns a woman naked when you click up the nib, cackling so ferociously that you almost throw up and your ribs ache.

ok im a Lay Zee gorl n dnt wna waste any mre time redoin lana’s intro so im pastin in her old one so i cn hop right to interactions. the only thing i can think tht needs to b added is the stuff abt danny nielsen (an evil npc of mine bc im a sadist) who recently beat up zeke van doren (full name this is Official feel like im writin a journalist article) bc he found out him n lana slept tgether n her n danny were kind of dating if....u can call his idea of romance tht. danny is in custody nw bt its a whole Thing like.... is prob... known around lockwood bc it ws a pretty intense..... thing tht happened n danny ws quite a popular senior

grew up in a big house in albany, NY, bt also spent time all over the place n was in the city a lot

okay so her mum is an old money socialite / three time campaign model way back when n her dad is a big record label mogul. he owns a label called jameson records n they repped a few big rock bands back in the eighties, altho they’re mostly known for ‘poppy injects’ whose lead singer had a big heroin scandal tht brought down his career. lana p much grew up around musicians snorting lines instead of spooning down cereal fr breakfast n her parents were v much absent her whole life

they’re pretty well off obviously n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst…. a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pink fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably very pretty

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her. it was v clear that she was an accident after her older brother caleb n that even when they just had him alone they weren’t cut out for parenthood. they always kind of jst… ignored her n hoped she’d go away. she had to mke herself microwave meals when she ws only like 12 bc they’d forget to get her anything. once she went like 6 days without her mum even looking her in the eyes once

despite this tho!!! she’s always been insanely close w her brother caleb. he’s her whole world. thts why when he decided to sign up to the army she ws understandably scared bt supported him after initially bein mad tht he ws leavin her all alone. bt then he wound up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed his best friend die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home n he was never the same n lana kind of felt like he’d died out there too. he’s in n out of hospital a lot n it’s rly hard on her bt she doesn’t tlk abt it to anyone rly

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. jst literally…. knew everyone n everyone definitely knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once. she has this magnetic way abt her tht is kind of hard to find in real life. it’s something ud only rly expect out of a movie character n she like. deliberately puts tht on sort of. kind of.... is always playing A Role of the person tht she wants to b seen as

she’s always been insatiably spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand stories tht always earn a laugh or a gasp over how ridiculously absurd they r

anyway so after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex (she’d only rly done foreplay before tho) but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr a quick fuck jst for the thrill even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not

she also currently? is working as a cam girl. she found this website bc she trawls… porn stuff a lot n she wound up applying to work as one bc she thought it’d b fun n wld earn her some disposal income (even tho she frankly doesn’t need it bc she’s already well off). the guy tht manages all of the girls on the site is kind of suspect n it’s a whole plot i’m gna unravel where it’s actually like the front for a cult or something wild so. stay posted ig. kgjdkgjh

personality/some fun facts: uncontrollably flirty. boundlessly confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n her comedy is sometimes surreal / absurd. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine. always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. her fav book as a child used to b alice in wonderland n she’d fantasise abt having her own little wonderland too where everyone knew her name n asked her things n took her on adventures. at the time it didn’t rly strike her how evident it was tht that was bc she was so lonely. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s strawberry laces or gummy bears or cherry lollipops. she adores david bowie n prince n madonna n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think. wildflowers r her favourites bc they’re the brightest and u can’t buy them. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. i dnt think she’s actually been w anyone she hasn’t cheated on in some form or another

plot ideas: exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her? a cousin plot cld b fun too. a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other. someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh. an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool). someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label. someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all fgjkshgkh. umm a good influence too mayb? oh and a past summer romance/fling tht cld either have meant a lot or not have meant anything at all. bonus points if both of them hav a diff viewpoint on it. honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days

[roseamongroses]

Antithesis: “what do you have? “ I have a kNIFE” “NO”

[Specific-Summary]: They should expect growing pains. For not everything to feel right or make sense. That doesn't mean it'll always hurt, nor does it mean they can't have fun along the way. It's senior year. Everything may be different. It won't be senior year for long. Everything will be okay.

[General Warnings]: Implied Emotional Abuse, Implied Physical Abuse, Bad Parents are Bad Parents, Mild Sexual Content/jokes,Mentioned Homophobia, Mentions of underage drinking (backround), Some Catcalling,Cursing , Self Hate,implied pregnancy talk/inability to become pregnant, adults arguing where the “kid” can hear it, adults drinking,

[Tags/mood:] highschool au,  fluff and angst but its all good, chat fic, teen stress, its flordia no snow we die like men [Pairing:] Roceit (Roman Sanders/ Deceit Sanders), hinted future/possible logince/roloceit/loceit [Characters]Roman Sanders/Deceit (Dmitri) Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, Remy (Sleep) Sanders, Nate Sanders, Dragon Witch (Diana) Remus “The Duke” Sanders (minor/brief)

(Ao3) (Previously)

(8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15)

(16) (17) (18) 

L: I May Have Lost Roman

V: nice

P: not nice :)

V: i feel vaguely threatened

Rem:@L how the fuck did you manage that Rem: nvm i know how just give me details

L:I don’t know ? One second we were at check out L: Next minute he was Gone and Nieve is looking suspicious

L:Hold on lemme ask Dmitri

V: why is he there

L: I mean he’s actually pretty chill L: But he dropped Roman off and Nieve got attached L:I’m...not sure if she’s planning on letting him go?

V:logan, my friend, my buddy, V:the only person in this chat with basic reading comprehension

Rem: that’s pretty fair

P: it really is tbh

V: Send. Pictures.

L: Okay L: Slight Issue

V: you lost the snake too

L: I lost Dmitri too and Nieve is not spilling

Rem: oh they’re defeinately fucking

L:...Where? The bathroom?

Rem: Don’t knock it till you try it ;)

V: not to be that guy but im vetoing this discussion V: cause thats a Yikes even for you Remy

L: Alright time to find them

Rem: check ;))) the;))) bathrooms ;;))))

L: Remy.

Rem: alrighlright too far ill stop

L: Thank you.

V: keep me updated V: i only have silence and physics homework as company

L:Huh L:Found them

L: Roman….found a katanna…

V: im sorry WHAT V: Why The Fuck Does He Have A Sword

Rem: drop the location of that store man

L: 1) It’s a Katanna L: 2)I will certainly Not. L: 3) He’s trying to convince Dmitri why he should have it

L…..and Dmitri looks more amused then concerned

V: if I can't have a tarantula he sure as hell cant have a sword

L:I told him it was probably fake/ poorly made and that he should take the time to invest the proper skill in money in a real one

V: goddamit logan you cant logic roman.

L: It worked. He put it back. L: So I say I can do what I want with roman

Rem: some spicy takes from the chats only brain cell ;)

---

“So you’re turning eighteen, in a few months. ” His aunt said, dabbing her cheeks with a napkin. She still managed to hold an air of prestige despite getting utterly shitfaced the night before. Her appointments have been going well.

Dmitri looked up, masking his surprise and holding his tongue.

Dr. Montag looked over, quieting the running water and placing the dish was he was cleaning down, “Really?” he said, brushing his hands, “You got any plans?” he asked, Dmitri.

“Oh we usually do something small,” His aunt interjected, “But seeing as he’s my father’s favorite grandchild,” Only grandchild, “He’s is flying from Paris to join us. And he was never a man of modesty so I’ve been thinking about doing something special for the occasion.”

Oh.

Dmitri fought the smile creeping on his face, ducking his head. He shouldn’t be surprised that she remembered after all if his grandfather was visiting. It’s how he got his phone, laptop, his car.

It’s probably why she puts up with him, to begin with. Cause it wasn’t guilt.

“--We should get your hair cut,” She continued, and Dmitri snapped out of his thoughts, “Maybe invite Diana--he’d like her,” she murmured.

“Diana and I a-” He closed his mouth, and his aunt’s eyes shot over.

“You broke up?” She narrowed her eyes, examining her nails, “Huh, makes sense seeing as...” she gestured at him vaguely, “So who have you been sneaking around with?”

“I’m not sneaking around with anyone,” Dmitri said, meeting her gaze. And technically he was right, it’s not sneaking if she just hasn’t been asking. And he’s given up on telling.

Dr. Montag’s eyebrows knitted together confused,” Well that isn’t true,”

Dmitri’s eyes went wide, stomach sinking.

His Aunt’s grin spread, “Oh really?”

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck--

“He’s been helping me out, hon,” Dr. Montag set down a glass of water and pills beside her plate, “You’ve been so stressed lately,” he looked guilty and produced some tickets, “I thought I’d surprise you.”

Her face softened and like that the tension left the room. Those two got to linger in whatever lovey-dovey spell had taken hold of them in the last few months, but Dmitri was still on edge.

She still kept him on edge, but he could get her back. Even the playing field. Anytime he could leave this—Anytime he could flip this switch and put her on edge and make her—

He stopped eating, setting his plate aside.

He felt sick.

---

R:helllloooo R:anyone up R: sigh R: allll by mySELLLLF

L: Roman?

R: the one and lonely yes hello human contact???

L: Are you alright? It’s 3 am why are you still awake?

R: why are YOU up mm????

L: My parents have newborn twins. What’s your excuse?

R: well fuck got me there

R: i was texting dee but he was rlly tired and i stILL can’t sleep

L: Any particular reason?

R: u m

L: Private chat?

R: please

- [TheTruthAboutTheMoon]

TheWalkingMouth: Okay shoot

Cowboy:it's stupid

TheWalkingMouth: I’ll tell you if it's stupid or not just say it

Cowboy: i just….like Cowboy: it's all kinda….hitting me a ll at once and i Really don’t like thinking about it but i cant bottle shit up either like you bastards so i feel like the human equivelent og a washing machine with too much laundry in it

TheWalkingMouth: Then don’t? TheWalkingMouth: Even if it's too ‘stupid’ for me I’m sure Dmitri wouldn’t mind

Cowboy: yeah but i feel like im going to say something shitty to him i Cowboy: like we should talk about it Cowboy: and i will Cowboy: but not now--later when it's not too stressful for either of us

TheWalkingMouth: Why would you say something shitty?

Cowboy: idk id jst get frustrated trying to explain it Cowboy: like hes smart as hell and probbaly get it without me saying anything but like Cowboy: I have neither the patience nor articulation right now to explain like a civil person and he doesnt need me being shitty about it

Cowboy:like,,,,,for example,,,,, if he fucks up in school, he’ll get recommended a tutor and teachers would assume hes doing his best and hes such a sweet and quiet boy

Cowboy: like he is sweet!!but hes a little shit too!! And gets away with it!!! Half those pranks he pulled on virgil, as Iconic as they were he never got in trouble for them!!!

Cowboy: when i fuck up i

Cowboy: god it's stupid

TheWalkingMouth: Might not get a second chance? Yeah I get it.

TheWalkingMouth:Remember when I first transferred here? None of the teachers would take me seriously bc of my accent and if they did, they were afraid of me. I could repeat something another kid said word for word and still be told I had an attitude.

Cowboy: god i remembered that Cowboy: you answered his yes or no questions in a fuckin montone, quiet ass voice and he legit called in the office cause he got scared of a goddamn freshman

Cowboy: But ye when i fuck up Cowboy: im suddenly the lazy ass brown kid who should spend less time corrupting youth with my feminine hips and curls Cowboy: like it's not like a lot of them say it outright but it feels like if im not perfect im fufilling all the stereotypes

TheWalkingMouth: Ah okay, rant away

Cowboy: OK like like like im not like virgil right?? in a lot of ways and it fuckin shows

Cowboy: he’s been planning on going into engineering since sixth grade meanwhile i only got my shit together in highschool

Cowboy: and like now that im here/???what now??? My mother expects me to have my shit together meanwhile im over here freaking the fuck out over whether not it's worth it to even try Cowboy: like yes mother i want to go to an art/or librel arts school that may or may not accept me that we may or may not afford to find a career in who the hell knows because if i have to sit in a healthcare class or a applied mathmatics class like you did i miight actually shank the professor????

Cowboy: that i dread the thought of not trying to explore my options outside of this fucking state but i dread the thought of going bc i cant stand the thought of being away from home but i cant fucking find a reason to stay cause everyone i love is leaving or planning their own life anyway???

Cowboy: like remys gunna fuck off to who knows where regardless of whether or not he has a plans or money, pattons gunna take care of his grandmother whereever the fuck a canada ,moms moving in with tia, virgils already mentally flipping me off ready to fuck nasa , and i only fucking hope dmitri even getss the chance to choose where he goes but hes g o n e and i die from yearning behind a screen like the gay victorian i am , and you….i actually dont know

TheWalkingMouth: Teaching for either biology or physics

Cowboy: huh it fits but what about chemistry??

TheWalkingMouth: Fuck chemistry.

Cowboy: oh thank god we’re on the same page

TheWalkingMouth: Anyway, I assume you’re more worried about whether you should apply rather then if you could get in?

Cowboy: i think so

TheWalkingMouth: Well if my opinion means anything to you

Cowboy: more than you’re assuming but yeah continue

TheWalkinMouth: Wait

Cowboy: nothing nothing continue

TheWalkingMouth: Okay-- I think you should go for it but you don’t need to dive head first into it and commit to everything 100% like virgil did.

TheWalkingMouth: You’re allowed to keep your options open, to have backup plans for back up plans

TheWalkingMouth: It doesn’t mean you’re not passionate about your art. Doesn’t mean you’re inevitably going to get a office job and abandon all your dreams. It means you’re being smart and not backing yourself into a corner

TheWalkingMouth:It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay not to have it all figured out

TheWalkingMouth: Nobody does.

TheWalkingMouth: Even if no one else gives you a second chance at least give yourself a second chance.

TheWalkingMouth: It’s perfectly normal to be afraid to fuck up and get fucked over TheWalkingMouth: That doesn’t mean you will everytime TheWalkingMouth: And it certainly doesn’t mean it's the end

Cowboy:

Cowboy:

Cowboy:

[...Cowboy is typing…]

---

@daflangstlairde

@ace-anx

@cataclysm-al

[lanasaved]

sssslithers onto the scene like nagini.... hlo! i’m nai n i’m rly excited to finally return 2 rp. uni is officially Over n i’m living bk at home nw so i actually hav free time again to write. c’est une.... how do u say.... Miracle! some of u might b familiar w lana already bt if not u can find out mre abt her under the cut n feel free 2 like this or hmu fr plots!!!

p.s. this is her pinterest for those of u tht like tht kind of thing

CIS-FEMALE — ever hear people say LANA JAMESON looks a lot like KRISTINE FROSETH? I think SHE is about 22, so it doesn’t really work. The DANCE major is a JUNIOR that is from ALBANY, NEW YORK. They can be + VIVACIOUS, but they can also be - IRRESPONSIBLE. I think LANA might be SHEEP. They are living in BALTA. ( nai. 22. gmt. she/her. )

some random aesthetics: a red water pistol topped up with caribbean rum and covered in stickers of cartoon pin up girls, a vinyl record whirring silently because you got too distracted by a stranger’s hands to reach over and flip sides, giant inflatable flamingos floating in the aftermath of a pool party, smudgy lipstick kisses left like an autograph on someone else’s mirror

ic im sayin she jst got bk from going abroad w louis, this kind of sleazy older man tht manages the camgirls on the website lana works fr. he calls himself a “big exec” at “the company” n mkes it all sound a lot more professional than it is. he also owns this big house w all these different rooms/settings fr the girls to film different kinds of scenes in n is looked up by a lot of ppl bt when asked why they look up to him, nobody ever rly seems to have an answer. jst...a shady figure. lana kind of.... went off the deep end lst semester n ended up deferring her next one after missing her big graded ballet recital. it’s a whole big mess n she’s wearin horse blinders to it. truly jst.... goin on holiday to ignore hw much she’s fuckin things up at school. queen of burying her head in the sand!

frm this point on ive jst pasted her old intro bc im the laziest woman alive n that’s jst life Babey

grew up in a big house in albany, NY, bt also spent time all over the place n was in the city a lot

okay so her mum is an old money socialite / three time campaign model way back when n her dad is a big record label mogul. he owns a label called jameson records n they repped a few big rock bands back in the eighties, altho they’re mostly known for ‘poppy injects’ whose lead singer had a big heroin scandal tht brought down his career. lana p much grew up around musicians snorting lines instead of spooning down cereal fr breakfast n her parents were v much absent her whole life

they’re pretty well off obviously n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst…. a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pastel coloured fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably very pretty

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her. it was v clear that she was an accident after her older brother caleb n that even when they just had him alone they weren’t cut out for parenthood. they always kind of jst… ignored her n hoped she’d go away. she had to mke herself microwave meals when she ws only like 12 bc they’d forget to get her anything. once she went like 6 days without her mum even looking her in the eyes once

despite this tho!!! she’s always been insanely close w her brother caleb. he’s her whole world. thts why when he decided to sign up to the army she ws understandably scared bt supported him regardless. bt then he wound up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed his best friend die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home n he was never the same n lana kind of felt like he’d died out there too. he’s in n out of hospital a lot n it’s rly hard on her bt she doesn’t tlk abt it to anyone rly

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. jst literally…. knew everyone n everyone definitely knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once. she has this magnetic way abt her tht is kind of hard to find in real life. it’s something ud only rly expect out of a movie character

she’s always been insatiably spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand stories tht always earn a laugh or a gasp over how ridiculously absurd they r

anyway so after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex (she’d only rly done foreplay before tho) but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr a quick fuck jst for the thrill even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not. in fact she’s so… shameless in her endeavours tht she’s actually currently having an affair w her ballet instructor tanya who’s engaged to b married

she also currently? is working as a cam girl. she found this website bc she trawls… porn stuff a lot n she wound up applying to work as one bc she thought it’d b fun n wld earn her some disposal income (even tho she frankly doesn’t need it bc she’s already well off). the guy tht manages all of the girls on the site is kind of suspect n it’s a whole plot i’m gna unravel where it’s actually like the front for a cult or something wild so. stay posted ig. kgjdkgjh

new development!!!!!!!! cue me trottin around doin jazz hands. she’s actually been cut off by her dad so she’s….. living off the money she has left n has to look to find a job which is jst. a nightmare fr someone like lana bc she’s insatiably irresponsible n destined to be fired from anything she tries to hold down bt. it’ll be interesting bc this means she genuinely has to keep on camming even tho she’s starting not to want to any more bc of other circumstances i won’t elaborate on jst yet winks

personality/some fun facts: uncontrollably flirty. boundlessly confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n her comedy is sometimes surreal / absurd. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine. always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. her fav book as a child used to b alice in wonderland n she’d fantasise abt having her own little wonderland too where everyone knew her name n asked her things n took her on adventures. at the time it didn’t rly strike her how evident it was tht that was bc she was so lonely. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s strawberry laces or gummy bears or cherry lollipops. she adores david bowie n prince n madonna n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think. wildflowers r her favourites bc they’re the brightest and u can’t buy them. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. i dnt think she’s actually been w anyone she hasn’t cheated on in some form or another

plot ideas: exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her? a cousin plot cld b fun too. a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other. someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh. an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool). someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label. someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all fgjkshgkh. umm a good influence too mayb? oh and a past summer romance/fling tht cld either have meant a lot or not have meant anything at all. bonus points if both of them hav a diff viewpoint on it. honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days. let’s get wildt!

[prairiesongserial]

5.8

John watched Cody through the window until the dust kicked up under the truck’s tires became too thick to see through.

“Your boy’ll be alright,” Nash said easily. “It’s only a hundred muties, right?” He spared John a look in the rearview mirror. “I’m just joking!” He laughed. “Change into this before we reach town.”

“He’s not my boy,” John muttered. A duffel bag hit him square in the chest, tossed back from the front seat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nash said. “Sure he ain’t.”

John decided not to talk to Nash anymore. He opened the duffel bag and pulled out the clothing inside - fairly nondescript, not showy like Marc’s white suits. John undressed and quickly donned the dark-dyed linen. Just a plain shirt and pants, and the most comfortable thing John had ever worn. Someone had hand-stitched a little gold crown in the right cuff, a little unevenly.

The truck was quickly approaching Retazo, the mid-size agricultural town that bore host to the gang Marc was meeting with today. Marc had called them Las Realezas.

“Realezas...royalty?” John said questioningly. He twisted at the sleeve, trying to get a better look at the little embroidered crown.

“That’s the one!” Nash said cheerily. “Get the, uh, the bandana - yeah, you got it. You need to hide your face, maybe tie up your hair.”

John gave him a doubtful look. He didn’t want to walk into town looking like he was about to stick the place up. He tied his hair back under the black bandana, then set his own straw hat on top.

“You look like a real campesino,” Nash said bitingly. “You’re trying to fit in with the gang, not the town.”

“I like my hat,” said John.

“Jesus Christ. Alright, I’m gonna let you out a mile from town. Don’t want anyone clocking the car. You know the rendezvous point.”

John nodded. He buckled his holster back around his waist.

“See you on the other side, cowboy,” Nash said, winkingly.

John climbed out of the truck and stood in the road while Nash turned around. This was the easy part, he reminded himself, as the truck disappeared in a cloud of dirt. Cody had it much worse. John started walking for Retazo.

Retazo was thriving, and surprisingly, the residents seemed to like Las Realezas. As John neared the town, he started passing ordinary people going about their business, hauling water by the bucket, pulling carts, or heading to market. Whenever one of them passed John in his Realezas uniform, he was met with smiles and warm greetings - though he didn’t understand them. One young woman even flirtatiously flicked the brim of his hat up. John gave her an uneasy smile and put his hat back the right way.

Retazo wasn’t much different from Pith, except it was bigger, and happier. The dirt road was flanked on either side by fields, and John was sorely tempted to abandon the road and investigate their irrigation channels. The surrounding country may have been bone dry, but the crops were lush and full. No wonder the town liked Las Realezas, if the gang had had any hand in their yield.

John found himself slowing down, trying to identify all the different crops they grew here. He saw tomatoes, set back from the road to deter thieves from plucking one on their way by. And of course there were beans, corn, wheat… John’s heart skipped when he saw a small cattle pasture.

He wondered if Thunder and Lightning had assimilated well into Jess Lye’s operation. Lye wasn’t set up for cattle, really, and had never had much luck with livestock… Hopefully Lana would check on them. She knew how dearly John had taken to those calves.

Before he knew it, John was passing houses, then businesses. The buildings were all composed in squares, lovely and simple. Most of them were white, with wrought iron in the windows, but every few houses there would be a red or orange or bright blue one. John stopped in his tracks as a goatherd led his herd across the road. It was a good opportunity to pause and get his bearings.

He was near the city center, if the throng of people with baskets and carts jammed one against the other meant anything. John’s mood soured. There was nothing in this world he disliked more than a market day.

The goatherd greeted John cheerfully in Spanish, and John nodded to him.

“Rafi! Doña Tosia busca a tí,” the man called. “Necesita ayuda con una cosa u otra.”

John nodded again, and very much hoped he would get away with it. The man shrugged and carried on his way.

John stayed where he was for a minute longer, considering Retazo. He did not want to enter the city center. It was horrible, and risky. People kept stopping to talk to him, and sooner or later they were going to get suspicious. But on the other hand, John didn’t appear to have much of a choice. Nash had told him to follow the main road straight through town, and it wasn’t as if John had a map. Getting lost and asking directions really wasn’t an option.

The water compound lay less than a mile outside of town, if John could just cross the plaza. John shifted his weight from foot to foot, staring lividly at a woman hawking oranges. Really he was annoyed with Nash, although he knew he shouldn’t be. Presumably Nash would have dropped him nearer to the compound if the truck wouldn’t have been so visibly out of place on the east side of town. It might have gotten back to Las Realezas that one of Marc’s agents wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

John steeled his nerve. He would have to brave market day.

John entered the throng. Between the shouts of the vendors and the excited chatter of the crowd, every gap and cranny of John’s skull was packed tight with noise. He wasn’t sure if he was going to make it.

One sound cut through the din, pounding in his head like repeating gunfire.

“Rafi! Rafi, Rafi, espérame,” the voice called.

John tried to push in between two matronly women who were shouting over each other about the price of dried lentils, but the sound was getting closer, and louder, almost like it had targeted him specifically, a vindictive swarm of words stinging and stinging at him.

“Rafi, finalmente te encontre!” said the voice. Someone grabbed John by the arm and he turned, alarmed, to find a short old woman clutching him in a vice. He tried to pull his arm back, but stopped halfway through the motion. If he caused a scene, he risked never being able to leave this place.

John stared down at the old woman and gave her an inquisitive smile. She was strange looking - she stood out from everyone else in town. Her skin was a warm brown color, but her hair was dyed bright red, redder than sunset - as red as a freshly painted barn, and curled in a little nest on top of her head, in which sat a pair of sunglasses. She dressed oddly, too - most people in town dressed conservatively in linen shirt and pants, the most decorated among them wearing a sun hat or freshly shined shoes. Not this woman. She wore bangles all the way up her arms, and the cane she used to walk was bright pink. As was the rest of her.

The others in the market gave her a wide berth, and John realized right away that if he stuck with her, whoever she may be, no one would bump into him.

At once, the woman handed him a heavy bag of shopping, which he shouldered without thinking.

“Rafi, te extrañé. Eres tan útil cuando voy de compras,” she said. And she began to make her way through the market, now with John on her arm. She stopped at every stall and talked to every person she met, and soon John had a decent idea of who she was.

Everyone called her Doña Tosia, and she seemed to be friends with everybody. Every conversation she had ended in laughter. She might yell at a man across the market, only for him to yell back some witty joke and make her laugh. Or she might lean in conspiratorially over a heaping basket of strawberries and share some gossip with a vendor, earning herself a gasp and a giggle.

By the time they reached the other side of the market, they had criss-crossed it several times, and both John’s hands were numb from carrying her shopping. Doña Tosia had slowed down as well, favoring her cane more heavily. She now talked only to John, calling him Rafael, Rafi, Rafa, Rafeta, Rafito, Rafucho, and Rafaelito indiscriminately.

Soon John found himself more or less on the east side of town, waiting on the front stoop of a little house with a poorly kept garden, watching Doña Tosia struggle with her keys.

“Rafi!” someone on the street called.

John, who felt he was getting the hang of this, turned and waved at them. There were two men dressed in the same dark linen as himself - their uniforms closer to navy blue from repeated washing. One, tall and slim, had long shaggy brown hair with an askew newsboy cap perched on top. This man propped his elbow on the shoulder of his compatriot, a slightly shorter figure carefully cupping a fried meat pastry in his hands.

“Mira, Antonio,” Doña Tosia snipped. “Mira como Rafi me ayuda con las compras, hm? No deja sola a su abuela.”

Antonio, the man with the pastry, groaned. “Rafi no es su nieto, abuelita.”

The two of them continued to bicker, and the shaggy man winked at John and stole a large bite of the pastry while Antonio wasn’t paying attention.

“Oye, eso es mio,” Antonio said, snatching it back.

“Es demasiado picante,” the shaggy man said, pulling a face.

“...Gilipollas,” Antonio said under his breath. Doña Tosia smacked his arm, which made John think that Gilipollas may not be the shaggy man’s Christian name.

Suddenly, the shaggy man elbowed Antonio hard in the arm.

“Tenemos que irnos - Rafi, vamanos, llegaremos tarde.”

Suddenly, John was being dragged away by the arm, Doña Tosia’s groceries forgotten on her front stoop. At first he was afraid he had been found out - he hadn’t understood much of what the two men had been saying, although most of it seemed to be about grandmothers and Antonio’s sandwich. Sweat rolled down John’s back. The two men were very casual, even pausing to kick a rock down the road, but they were leading John outside of town, out toward the water compound. Why would they do that? Why not reveal him here, and get it over with? Unless they wanted to avoid a scene… maybe Las Realezas were so popular in town because they kept the violent business out of the public eye.

Antonio finished his pastry and wiped his hands on his pants as they walked. He and the shaggy man talked a little - about girls, if John had to guess. Rosa María, whoever she was, came up a few times. He learned the shaggy man was named Santi.

John tried not to look nervous. Maybe he could take them. Two to one, it wasn’t great odds, but…

A hand clapped John’s shoulder, and Santi laughed, ending some far away sentence with, “No te parece, Rafi?”

Rafi, they were still calling him Rafi. They didn’t know.

John thanked God for his bland features, apparently identical to some poor Rafael who he may have to shoot later.

In no time, they had left the town behind, ambling down a familiar dirt road toward the mesa. The ground began to slope upwards, but not too steeply - in fact, the land soon took a sharp cut down, and the three of them carefully picked their way into a manmade valley cut into the earth.  Antonio and Santi led the way through the sparse underbrush, although John couldn’t pick out any sort of path.

Within a few minutes, they came to a door - metal, but not mechanic, if John had to guess. Guarding it were three Realezas. John fought the urge to freeze. He had to act natural. He was here to guard the compound too, apparently. He waved to them. One of them waved back, but the other two seemed to be taking their job too seriously for that. Or maybe they just didn’t like Rafi.

“Llegan tarde,” one of them complained.

“Tuve hambre!” Antonio said defensively. “Es culpa de Rafi.”

“Es culpa de su abuela loca.”

“Qué dijiste de mi abuela?” Antonio said, rolling up his sleeves. Santi caught him by the arm and started speaking very quickly.

John stood by and watched. He wanted to wait until the original guards were well out of earshot before he disabled Antonio and Santi, which could be a while. Sound travelled pretty far out here, with hardly any cars on the road. If he wanted to play it safe, he would have to wait at least twenty minutes.

John had lost track of time in the city center, and was suddenly very worried that he was already too late. What if Cody and Sailor had made it past the muties only to be trapped inside with dozens of armed Realezas? What if they were dead?

No, no, that wasn’t likely. The guards coming off duty would have said something about it - had they? Had John missed it? Everything they had said seemed like ordinary ribbing.

The guards had all but disappeared as they picked their way through the brush. They had left the big guns leaning against the side of the door. Antonio and Santi shouldered theirs, sighing. A moment of silence passed.

“Has pensado en lo que pasaría si los mutados bajaran la mesa?” asked Antonio, thoughtfully.

Santi shuddered. “No empieces de nuevo, Antonio. Haces esto cada vez.”

“Pero - ”

The sound of gunfire from behind the door cut Antonio off. He and Santi were fumbling with their guns, strapped uselessly to their backs. John went for his own gun, but before his hand so much as brushed the snap on his holster, Antonio and Santi were lying on the ground. The door had been shot open.

Sailor, covered head to toe in blood, stood before John, a stolen rifle trained on his chest.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, lowering the gun. “Where the hell were you?”

Behind her, Cody appeared, struggling to push a cart loaded with at least a dozen barrels of water. He was drenched in sweat. John untied the bandana from his own head and handed it to Cody, who took it, looking frazzled.

“Come on, we gotta rendezvous,” Sailor snapped. “John, the least you could do is take over the water. Let’s go.”

They were off. John let the moment take him away, the pushcart jolting through the brush, propelled farther by every labored breath out of John’s mouth. Cody ran at his heels, gun trained behind them, in case any Realezas were in pursuit.

“Are you okay?” John asked Cody.

“I could… Are you okay? When you didn’t show - ”

“Doña Tosia had groceries,” John panted.

“Okay - what - ”

Marc’s truck skidded to a halt in front of them, apparently out of nowhere, and suddenly Nash was opening up the flatbed, helping them heave the gigantic barrels aboard.

“You’re late,” he said as he hastily tied tarp down over the barrels. “Marc’s meeting is almost over. We’re gonna have to gun it.”

John hardly heard a word out of his mouth. As the truck tore through the underbrush, all he could think about was how glad he was the real Rafael would still be around to carry Doña Tosia’s groceries tomorrow.

5.7 || 5.9