#tinkle-adam

[wtf-tfw]

THE BIBBLE: PART TWO

Life out in the Wasteland (Nastyville as they called it) was rough on Tinkle-Adam and Peeve. Nastyville brought many a surprise, which are best presented as a list.

THE FIRST SURPRISE

The first bad thing to occur in Nastyville was the fleas. Tinkle-Adam had an absolutely incorrigible encounter with a flock of fleas. The fleas were total dickbags. Tinkle-Adam was like "Oh hello there, wonderful creatures!" In that corny-ass Australian way he spoke. And the fleas were totally disrespectful, even though they were in the presence of a lady. "Who the fuck are you? You look like me nan comin' back from the cleaners with her wig all fooked up mate! Get your greasy, kebab-sucking ass out of here!" the fleas replied, vulgarly, and in unison. Tinkle-Adam was agape. He had heard the swears of Gobbler back in the garden frequently, but these words felt bad... These words felt like they had never been heard by God's ears, and they were cruel and bitter and sharp, and they made Tinkle-Adam's tummy hurt. At these first cruel words uttered, Peeve knew that she must become hardened to the world if she was going to survive. So she decided to develop a New Jersey accent to keep herself safer. She started to repeat the forbidden words back to the fleas, but it was of no use. Tinkle-Adam had stood agape for too long, and the fleas had taken their opportunity. Into the wet, cavernous mouth they went!

THE SECOND SURPRISE

The second surprise was the complete and utter lack of affordable birth control and contraceptives. Like what was this, the middle ages? It was a damned shame that this was God's world. God's sister would not have done them this way. One plus of wandering the dusty, sulfur-stinking dirty earth was that the shame inflicted upon the couple by the Real Normal Devil from the Bible was easy to forget. That bad memory faded away under the hot summer sun. In time, the two found other things to focus on other than their weird penises, for example, finding potable water and safe food to eat. Peeve popped in to a CVS to try and pick up her birth control perscription, but the damned snakes running the joint never seemed to have it in stock somehow. So they would instead buy a couple cases of bottled water. And they would wander the desert, going from drugstore to drugstore, plastic water bottles trailing behind them. Tinkle-Adam had become a thirsty little bugger since he was infected with Internal Fleas. "At least you aren't infected with Eternal Fleas", Peeve said, trying to keep things light. Tinkle-Adam found this casual funny remark to be extremely attractive, but dense as he was, he had caught on to the notion that getting freaky out here meant Consequences. The two decided that it was just too bad. They wept together, and decided that it was what Gobbler would have wanted them to do. So once more they freaked it, this time next to a cactus, and a Walgreens.

THE THIRD AND SECOND-THIRD SURPRISE

This surprise came in the form of two weird slimy monkeys that crawled out of Peeve's hoo-ha. "What in God's name are you?" Tinkle-Adam interrogated the little boogers. "I am the First One" one said. "And I am the Second," said the other, "We are yours now, and you must name us." Tinkle-Adam gasped. "Peeve, I didn't know that's how that worked. Is that how it works?" Peeve shook her head solemnly. "Aye, it is. You name the one on the left and I will name the one on the right." And so it was done. The one on the left, a rosy little cherub with toes like silver and a thorax like an angel, was called Cable, after something that Tinkle-Adam and Peeve always wanted but could never afford. The one on the right, a shivering wet anthropomorphic beaver-Yorkie crossbreed, was named Pain, after the feeling that Peeve felt when she had to look at him.

Those were really the main surprises in Nastyville. That and the fact that God? Was not here at all. It seems like he just made all this stuff and completely forgot about it. Which was kind of totally lame. There weren't even instant boyfriend capsules or sailboats or any of that awesome stuff out here. Just generally inhospitable architecture sprinkled into a vast, cartoonish chasm of sand and dust and plastic detritus.

Peeve began to get a serious itching in her stomach and brain. She thought maybe she was getting some sort of serious illness, but then she realized that it was actually just the feeling that she wanted to settle down, because trekking aimlessly through the desert, collecting sand on her thick eyelids was no longer cutting it, especially with these two greasy little ragamuffins dangling off her boibies at all times. Things were getting Domestic in Nastyville. So settled they did. After a brief discussion, Tinkle-Adam agreed to become the homemaker, feeding the babies a strict diet of milled cornhusks and Debbie's breast milk. Peeve got a job at the Godforsaken CVS, where she mined penis enlargement pills out of a hole in the backroom. Every now and then she would take home a few for her darling husband to nibble on. And that is how they ended up with three additional babies later on: another boy called Shitt, a sweet little girl named Epipen, and a fugly jaundiced shrimp named Crab.

But those three names matter not yet... for the next story that was worth a damn was about the young boys growing up in Nastyville. The ones known as Pain and Cable.

[operationslipperypuppet]

masterlist is here!

[constantvariations]

Watching the Adam short on loop really highlights some things

1. Sienna was incredibly kind towards the humans. She aims for guns to disarm them and knocks them out almost exclusively with hits to legs and chests instead of the face

2. Ilia didn't attack a single human even though she was present for both ambushes. She's also the only one of the three alive

3. Adam's sword is really loud. Like scary loud. Boy needs some wd-40 gotdamn!

[3garcons]

SongCity January 2024 with Architrave, Deb Cavanaugh, Adam Tinkle, Age of the Bear

[myseungsunglove]

NDA | Ksm

Pairing: Seungmin x reader

Warnings: fluff, language

Word Count: 1.3k

𖠫Summary: Scrolling through tik tok brings forth some questions for the reader that really only Kim Seungmin can answer.

✎A/N✎: I saw a tik tok about someone talk about signing an NDA and this popped into my head. Who even knows why. I’m always partial to the friends to lovers trope myself. It’s my comfort zone. So, here. Enjoy it with me! Also, I’m extremely rusty, so this might just be trash. Be nice please. 😭

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

「© August 24, 2024 by myseungsunglove」

You’re scrolling through Tik Tok when you come across yet another interaction of Seungmin with a fan at Lolla. Reading through the comments, they are rife with fans giggling and commenting about the op missing an opportunity to sign an NDA.

One comment read, “Girl. The way he smiled at you. His eyes were so bright and kind. That right there was your chance at an NDA. You fumbled that. *crying emoji*”

You stifle a laugh, but the sound is a little louder than you mean for it to be.

“What?” Seungmin asks from beside you, not even looking up from writing in his journal beside you.

You turn to look at him, taking in his profile. He is handsome, anyone would be blind not to see that, but the fascination and determination of some fans to sign an NDA with an idol is baffling to you.

Seungmin swallows, and you follow the curve of his neck and adam’s apple, finding yourself a little lost in a trance.

“You’re staring,” he comments.

“I am,” you agree, but you don’t look away. Instead you set down your phone and scoot closer to him on the bed. “Explain something to me,” you start picking up your phone again, opening it up to share the video with him.

“There it is,” he chuckles fondly, placing his pencil in his notebook, closing it and setting it safely on the bedside table. “How may I enlighten my best friend today?” he turns to look at you, brown eyes bright and sparkling and for a brief moment your heart jumps in your chest. Okay, maybe you get what those comments are talking about, but still. He is Seungmin. He is your best friend.

You open up your phone and show him the video. He smiles softly, and it’s evident on his face that he is remembering the interaction. The video ends and he looks at you, puzzled, his eyebrows furrowed slightly before he raises one at you questioningly.

“What is there to explain?” he asks.

You laugh and take the phone from him and open up the comments. You hand the phone back to him and say, “That. Help me understand.”

He reads carefully, taking a little longer than you really expect.

Then he laughs his short little laugh, the sound tinkling out of him like a song and you want to smack him upside the head. However, you find yourself laughing with him instead.

“Y/N, do I really need to explain to you what an NDA is?” he asks, his voice holding a light and teasing lilt to it.

“Ha!” you burst out, punching him in the shoulder and tearing your phone from his slender hand. “I know what a fucking NDA is, asshat.”

He chuckles again, still staring at you. There is a playful smirk on his face as he waits for you to provide context.

“What I mean,” you sigh exaggeratedly, “What’s with the fascination of some fans to sign an NDA with an idol? Is that like the goal of fans?”

He narrows his eyes at you then, taking in what you asked. He seems to be genuinely considering your question. You turn on the bed to face him, legs crossed in front you and hands resting in your lap as you watch him think.

“I suppose its because they have this ideal of the idol built up in there head,” he starts before meeting your eyes. “An NDA would give them the opportunity to find out if that ideal is true or not.”

You hum in response. It makes sense, you guess, but you can’t completely fathom wanting to spend time with a complete stranger. At the end of the day, that’s really what they are.

“And,” he starts and you look back at him brought out of your thoughts. “They hope that one meeting will help them form a bond that they think is there,” he says frankly.

“Does it?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never signed one,” he admits.

“Never?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Come on, Y/N. You know me better than that. At least I would think you do,” he responds, a tiny bit of hurt flashing across his face before its replaced with something you can’t quite name.

“I do, sorry,” you apologize, looking down at your hands. “I just, I don’t know. The idea seems so strange to me, I guess. I’m glad you’re already my best friend. Our bond is already built. I don’t need an NDA to confirm that,” you smile fondly before looking back at him.

“You know,” he says, moving closer to your legs, “NDA’s are signed for a lot of reasons. Usually not the reason we’re talking about.” He stares into your eyes, it’s piercing look and it’s like you’re caught there, unable to move. Unable to breathe.

“Oh?” is all you can manage.

His eyes flick down to your lips, lingering there then purposefully meeting your eyes again. His brown boba eyes widen with the unspoken question causing you to lick your lips unconsciously. Instead of an answer, you lean forward slowly, hesitantly. That seems to be the only answer he needs before he presses his mouth against yours. His lips are soft. You wouldn’t say softer than you imagined because you had really never considered them. Not until now. Now, they’re moving against yours and your entire body is warm. They’re soft, almost pillowy and comforting. He reaches his hand out to cup your jaw as he deepens the kiss and you feel like you’ve been ignited from the inside. Just when your lungs are ready to scream, he pulls away his eyes fluttering open and meeting yours.

“Can we sign that NDA now?” you joke with a nervous chuckle.

His arms wrap around your waist and pull you into his lap, his lips crashing against yours again without warning. The kiss is fierce and desperate this time as you lean into him and run your fingers through the tiny hairs at the base of his neck. You hold him against you as he licks into your mouth hungrily, like he has wanted you for a long time.

“Fuck,” he breathes as you pull apart again. “I can’t believe we just did that,” he admits, his head falling back against his headboard with a thud.

“I think I’d like to keep doing that,” you admit.

“Yeah?” he asks, his head snapping back up, his eyes meeting yours.

“Definitely,” you chuckle, your hand coming to his face as you run your thumb along his jawline. “Better get that NDA written up,” you tease.

He growls playfully and flips you on your back, looking down at you. The air is punched out of you when you land and he is hovering over you, a new look across his face. A look of admiration and love, but also hunger and desire.

“Shut the fuck up about the NDA,” he grits out, but the playful glint in his eyes tells you there is no malice in his words. “It’s just me and you. My best friend. I wouldn’t want to hide that,” he admits, capturing your lips in a soft kiss as he cages you in beneath him, his body just hovering over you as if he is waiting for that last bit of the dam to break. “I love you,” he barely whispers against your lips and your world is thrown off kilter. Kim Seungmin loves you. And you realize just how much you love him. How you always have.

Your hands run along his sides and glide up his lean back as you pull him down completely on you, his lips finding yours again.

Funny how talking about an NDA can make two best friends realize they're madly in love with each other.

[ninibeingdelulu]

A kid’s dream ✧

Plot: You find 5 years old Bachira playing alone, so you decide to join him.

A/N: Can I say im proud of this post ? Cause I am. Oh and if you didn’t understand you’re a kid too, like the same age as him.

The late afternoon light cast a warm, honeyed glow across the empty sandbox, creating wispy shadows that danced and flickered playfully with the faintest breeze.

A chubby-cheeked little boy with a tousled mop of messy black curls bounded around the sun-dappled area, kicking a battered soccer ball in exaggerated, uncoordinated motions.

Despite his cherubic features and bright sapphire eyes sparkling with pure glee, something melancholic emanated from the small figure.

A cloud of perpetual isolation, as if the tiny boy orbited on a plane just adjacent to all his peers - forever the outsider peering in.

"Haha! Did you see that shot?!"

Meguru shouted to no one in particular, tiny chest heaving from exertion as he beamed proudly at the ball now rolling to a stop several feet away.

Before he could race after it again, a soft voice piped up from behind causing the young boy to pivot with those big doe eyes blown wide.

"Whatcha doin'?"

You toddled across the sandy pit, downy hair ruffled by the balmly zephyrs tickling your round cheeks.

Despite the cherubic picture of innocence you painted, Meguru immediately bristled - shoulders hunching as if bracing for the inevitable round of mockery that always accompanied any overtures at friendly interaction.

He lifted a chubby arm to vigorously rub at his button nose, regarding you with open suspicion laced through those crystal azure pools.

"Um...playin' soccer?"

A puzzled nose-wrinkle creased your brow at Meguru's inexplicable wariness to so simple an inquiry.

"All by yourself?"

The little boy merely nodded, muddy cleats scuffing the sand as he shuffled in place - clearly prepared for the teasing jabs that typically followed such observations from other kids.

Realizing he wasn't going to supply any additional details unprompted, you simply traipsed nearer, wide-eyed with youthful curiosity.

"But that seems lonely..." You cocked your head to one side, round features scrunched in consternation.

"Do you wanna play together? I'm not very good yet, but I can try!"

Meguru froze, mouth parting with unspoken surprise at your words - so averse to the ugly responses long imprinted on his young psyche.

Was this some cruel joke? A setup to deliver an even more brutal punchline mocking his desires for friendship?

Frantically his gaze searched yours for any trace of trickery or meanness, finding only the most openly earnest and disarmingly sweet expression mirrored back at him.

You simply waited, clumsily fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as minutes ticked by suspended in breathless hope.

That strange, untapped warmth began radiating through Meguru's tiny chest as the reality cemented in his mind. Not only did you wish to play with him...but there was no scorn or malice in your proposition whatsoever!

Within seconds, his whole demeanor transformed in a blinding shift as happiness and disbelieving joy erased all lingering uncertainty.

Scrambling closer to you, the little boy's sun-kissed features split in a megawatt grin of purest elation so overflowing, it seemed to eclipse his entire miniature frame.

Those big sapphire eyes sparkled like crystalline dewdrops, all radiant hope and heart-bursting affection.

Eagerly Meguru reached for your hand, bouncing on the balls of his tiny feet with infectious enthusiasm.

"Yeah!! Yeah, I wanna play together!!"

He squeezed your fingers tight, as if trying to fuse your joined souls into an adamant tether even at this tender age.

Giggling at his exuberance, you gave a reciprocating squeeze as the two of you tumbled onto the sand in a whirl of kicking legs and peals of carefree, tinkling laughter.

Any apprehension evaporated in the golden warmth of this newly-forged comradeship encircling you both in its glow.

For Meguru, it was as if the universe itself had rewarded his earnest desires with the ultimate miracle - a friend, one who could see the boundless depths of his spirit beyond cold, callous judgements.

In those fleeting moments, the young striker felt buoyantly weightless and complete, untethered by solitude for the first time in his short life so far.

His whole world shifted onto an exciting new axis the instant you graced it with simple, radiant innocence and acceptance. In that moment, nothing else in existence could touch him but the breathtaking potential for adventure and belonging stretching into the horizon...

[pedrito-friskito]

If you’re still taking requests, could I please have "You look adorable when you smile" with the resident grump, Mr Javier Peña 💖

nonnie how did you know that javier peña is the way to my heart?

my head is stuck on the ranch these days, and this was a fun little prequel to what’s already been published 💕 hope you enjoy! (no angst or smut, just fluffy goodness!)

sleepover saturday

meet-cute

(word count 3k)

He’s had a long fucking day.

Scratch that, Javier is having a long fucking week. Month. Year. Lifetime, whatever. There aren’t enough cartons of cigarettes or enough litres of whiskey that could take the edge off how he’s feeling. And today? Oh, today the hours had just ticked by, five minutes feeling like thirty, his watch moving so slowly that he was convinced far too early on in the day that the battery was dead and needed replacing. But no, the hands kept ticking away at a glacial pace, taunting him.

So yes, as soon as he’d finished his day on the ranch, he’d gotten into his truck, still dressed in his work clothes, and took off for the nearest bar. Not like they’re few and far between in Laredo; he could have walked if he was feeling athletic, or even ridden a horse — most bars within reasonable distance of the ranch have a stable out back.

But he didn’t have the patience to fight one of the mares into a saddle, so into his truck he went, dust kicking up in the rearview as the ranch disappeared behind him.

Javier has been home a few weeks now. The ranch has been officially his for exactly seven days, and he is bone tired. There is dirt in places there shouldn’t be, he’s half-convinced he pulled a muscle in his back, and his head throbs something fierce with every step. The state of him doesn’t stop him from plunking himself on a barstool, ordering three fingers of whiskey and shoving his head in his hands.

He’s not sure he’s cut out for this.

Sure, he was raised for it. Chucho was always adamant that Javi pull his weight, and he did. Or, tried. There were certain things his father knew never to trust him with, turning him towards easier tasks, things Chucho could do with his eyes closed. Javi can remember being offended, at first, his teenage brain filled with hormones that whispered rage quickly — why wouldn’t his dad just trust him? — but then as time wore on, as his attentions were diverted, pulled in the direction of pretty girls and far-off countries, the idea of a badge in his hand and a gun on his hip, he cared less and less. 

Eventually, Chucho stopped asking him to do anything, and then Javier was off to college, to becoming an agent, running headlong into Colombia before he really realized what he was getting himself into.

And then somehow, here he was, back in Laredo, right where he started.

Not enough whiskey in the world. His whole body aches for a cigarette, but he swore to his folks he’d quit.

He’s halfway through his second drink when the door opens, the tinkling of bells above it signalling a new customer. Out of habit, he’d perched himself within sight of the exit, and his gaze lifts as you step through the door. High boots, short dress, hair piled high on your head. You’re beautiful, a grin on your lips that has him inhaling deeply, inflating his chest as you bee-line for the bar, a gaggle of other girls staggering into the bar behind you. Judging from the Bride-To-Be sash on one of your companions, Javi assumes it to be a bachelorette party, and he chuckles into his glass as you approach the bar, much more sure-footed than the rest of your friends.

Javier stays quiet as you rattle off an order to the bartender, an odd mix of cocktails and beers, finished with a tonic water with lemon. When the bartender turns away, you lean heavily onto the bar top, and Javier doesn’t miss the way you seem to deflate a little as you wait for your drinks. You start to glance around the bar, eyes flicking this way and that, until they land on Javi, who realizes he’s just been caught staring at you.

“Hi,” you say, a grin lifting the corner of your mouth.

“Hi,” he mumbles back, lifting his glass for a sip. “Bachelorette?”

“Is it that obvious?” you laugh, tossing your head back. “Would you believe this is our fourth bar of the night?”

“Looking at you,” Javi drawls, letting his eyes drop quickly before they flick back to your face. Your own narrow at him, “no. Looking at your friends over there,” he juts his chin towards the women in question, “definitely.”

“And why’s that?”

“You’re upright, for starters.”

You scoff out another little laugh, mouthing your thanks to the bartender when he delivers the tonic and lemon first. You take a big gulp, breathing out a sigh as you wait for the rest of the drinks. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta make sure they all get home to their husbands and boyfriends and fiancés.” Something in your tone makes him curious, and he can’t help his question.

“And who are you going home to?”

“My cat,” you say, laughing again, “and the attic bedroom of my aunt’s house.”

“Sounds cozy.”

You eye him sidelong, hand curled around your glass. “Are you from around here?”

“Born and bred,” he replies, noting the lift to your lips. “You?”

“Not exactly,” you return, taking another sip. Your face has fallen, brows pinched together as you stare down into the glass. “It’s a long story.”

“One requiring a much stronger drink than that?” Javier asks, and instantly regrets it at the way your lips turn down into a frown, the line in your forehead growing deeper. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, expression going artificially bright, “it’s all right. It’s just…been a long day.” You glance over your shoulder as your giggling group of friends. “A really long day.”

Javi lifts his glass towards yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

Your smile has returned as you tap your glass to his, and Javi sips slow, savouring the burn down his throat. “I’m Javier, by the way,” he says, and sticks his hand out. “Javier Peña.”

You give your own name in return, taking his hand. Soft, is his first thought, the warmth of your palm against his making him jolt. You’re still shaking when the bartender turns back with a tray full of your ordered drinks. Behind you, Javier can hear your cohorts screeching your name.

“I better take these over there,” you say, your voice turning sheepish, reluctantly letting go of his hand. He doesn’t miss the hesitation, and it makes his chest puff out a little. He just nods as you slide your own drink onto the tray, thanking the bartender and sliding another few bills across the bar as you try and lift the tray as carefully as possible. “Maybe I’ll see you later?” you say, and Javi just nods some more.

He watches you walk away, and wonders if the swing in your hips is deliberate. His mouth goes dry, and he sucks back more of his whiskey.

Another few hours pass, and Javier is decidedly sober, too worn out to order another drink and suddenly desperate for his bed. He thanks the bartender and closes his tab, waves goodnight, and heads for the door. He has to pass your table as he goes — he’s surprised you’re all still here; the bar is relatively dead — and with a stutter in his chest he realizes you are nowhere to be found. There are a few harmless catcalls thrown his way by your friends as he pushes open the door and heads for his truck.

“You leaving without saying goodbye?” your voice calls, and he spins on his heel to see you leaned against the bricks, cigarette dangling between your fingers. “I think this is the only bar in Laredo that doesn’t let you smoke inside.”

He walks towards you, heart thumping with every step. “Possibly the only bar in the whole state.”

You give him one of those smiles again as he leans against the wall beside you. “Possibly.” You fish your pack from your purse, extend it towards him. “You want one?”

Javi eyes the pack, one filtered end poking out of the wrapper. “I shouldn’t,” he says after a beat, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tryna quit.”

You laugh, taking a drag, tapping the ash and blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of you two. “Aren’t we all.”

“Promised my folks,” he tells you, staring down at his boots. “I’m taking over the family ranch for my dad and well…it’s a…”

“Long story?” you finish, dropping the cigarette to the pavement, stubbing it out with your heel. “One requiring a strong drink?”

Despite himself, Javier smiles, broadly, the kind that tugs at his cheeks until they almost hurt. “Exactly.”

“Wow,” you murmur, and there’s something in your tone that makes his head lift, cheeks heating when he sees the way you’re almost scrutinizing him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say with a shake of your head, pinching your lower lip between you fingers. “You just…you look adorable when you smile. You should do it more often.”

Before you can get another word out, your group bursts front the bar, your name slurred by multiple women, all of them beckoning you to follow. You sigh, pushing off the wall, and go to take a step before you pause, fishing a pen from your purse and grabbing his wrist.

“Use this,” you say, scribbling on his palm, a string of numbers that make Javi’s heart crawl up his throat, “if the spirit moves you. Or if you feel like telling long stories over strong drinks.” You smile, and for a moment, Javi wonders if the ground is about to open up and swallow him whole. Or if he’s about to wake up in a cold sweat in his bed, that this is all just a dream. That you are just a dream. “Goodnight, Javier.”

“Goodnight.”

Nope, not a dream.

+

He doesn’t call.

As soon as he gets home from the bar, he’s scribbling your phone number onto a scrap of paper, taping it to the cabinet beside the phone with your name, underlining the word CALL three times, so hard the ink bleeds through the paper. His head is spinning, admittedly tipsy from the whiskey, but more on you. He’s intrigued, he’s curious, he’s pulled in like a magnet facing north.

He wants to see you again.

It sparks something in his chest akin to forest fire, and damn it all, if that doesn’t scare him to death. Yes, there have been women since he came back from Colombia; he’s lonely, not celibate. But you…he can’t put his finger on it. Something about the way you laughed, the smile on your face, the way he wanted to spill his guts to you right there at the bar before you got pulled away, how he wanted to do it again outside when you were whisked away once more.

Monday morning, he taps the piece of paper bearing your number on his way out to start his day, making a mental note to call you once he’s done. He’d managed to talk himself in and out of it at least ten times over the weekend, but Monday felt right. A new week, fresh start.

Except, he’d been lazy Saturday and lazier Sunday, skipping more than half the daily chores, which leaves him playing catchup most of the morning, well into the afternoon, only starting Monday’s tasks as the sun starts to dip in the sky. By the time he hauls his ass through the door, it is late, the sky black and the clock on the stove reading quarter to twelve. 

He talks himself out of calling you then easily; it’s late, you are probably asleep. He doesn’t want to wake you.

By Wednesday, he’s caught up on his daily chores, and is through the door by six. A reasonable time to call. But a tiny voice in his head says NO, and he takes a long shower instead.

Thursday seems promising, but when he picks up the receiver, the damn thing starts ringing before he’s even had a chance to dial, and suddenly Steve Murphy’s voice is on the other end, barking at him. “Javi! We still on for dinner tomorrow?”

He fucking forgot.

“Uh, yeah!” Javi chirps, trying not to sound as caught off guard as he feels. “Yeah, yeah, what time you think you guys’ll be here?”

“Six okay?”

“Yeah,” he says again, the word already feeling stiff on his tongue. “Yeah, six is great.”

“Good,” Steve replies. “Livvy’s excited to see her Uncle Javi.”

He forces a chuckle. “I’m sure she is.”

Steve pauses, and then, “You fuckin’ forgot, didn’t you?”

“Oh, shut up, Murphy,” he throws back. “See you tomorrow.”

Steve starts cackling. “Goodnight, Peña.”

The next day, he cuts his day short, in honour of his guests. He’s gotta cook a damn meal, for chrissakes, which means a trip into town for groceries other than whiskey and that instant mac and cheese garbage he’s been living off of. It’s easy, and tastes surprisingly good with a glass of Jack Daniels.

He’s not quite sure what leads him to wander into the bakery. It’s on the main drag, a few blocks down from the grocery store, and he managed to park his truck a few shops down. Something about the bright red awning draws him closer, his curiosity getting the better of him, and when he sees the array of sugary goodness in the window, his stomach rumbles something fierce, and before he can think twice, he’s pulling the door open, bells tickling above.

Javier goes absolutely stock-still when he sees you behind the counter.

The inside is just as bright as the out, candy stripes on the walls, illuminated display cases filled with all sorts of treats. One of those old-fashioned cash registers, brassy and imposing. You’re busy with another customer, handing the older woman a box tied with a bright red bow. You’re laughing as she says something, thanking her as she hands you money, grinning when you hand her back the change.

“Have a good night, Mary,” you say as the woman takes her box and turns. “Tell Paul I said he has to share that cake!”

The bell above the door rings again as the woman leaves, and then you and Javi are the only two standing there. There’s no way you haven’t realized that he—

“You never called.” Your voice is clear, unwavering, and you spread your hands wide on the countertop before leaning down and pushing your chin into your hand, nailing him to the spot with your stare. Javi stares at his boots.

“I know,” he starts, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I was gonna, I just…” He pauses, inhales deeply and lifts his head. “I don’t have an excuse, I’m sorry.”

You balk slightly, brows raising as you straighten, stepping a little closer until there’s only the counter separating the two of you. “Wow, how honest of you.” The corner of your mouth quirks, but it’s not remotely close to the smiles you’d offered at the bar that night. Your shoulder lifts. “It’s okay, you know, if you didn’t want to call. I won’t get upset or something.”

“No,” he says far too quickly. “No, cariño, believe me, I wanted to. I really wanted to, and I have been meaning to. This is just…” He pulls at his collar, shoving his hand through his hair. Fuck, it’s hot in here. Or is it just him? “Would you have dinner with me?” he breathes out the question, the words a rush. “Saturday?”

You almost flinch, your eyes widening. Javi tenses, waits for the rejection he believes is coming. Why would you agree? He never called, even after meeting you in that bar had felt like the first good thing in a long time, and then he just shows up here, clearly where you work, out of the blue, bewildered as all hell, and asks—

“Yes.”

Javi can’t stop the smile that breaks across his face, and you give him one to match. His heart is racing. He steps closer to the counter. “I should have called.”

You nod, agreeing. “You really should have.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It’s my aunt’s place,” you explain, toying with the string of your apron. “My cousin moved to Florida for school, and she really needed the help, so here I am.” You lift a finger, pointing it in the air. “And no, that’s not the long story requiring alcohol.”

Javier chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I look forward to hearing the actual story.”

“As you should,” you say, your expression turning almost triumphant. “You should bring a notebook; I might just quiz you after.”

He laughs again. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

You lean forward on the counter, the space between you growing even smaller. “Play your cards right on Saturday, and I might just forgive you.” You glance around, eyes darting towards the door before your voice drops. “Though, there’s one thing I think we need to do before then.”

“What’s that?”

Without another word, you reach out, curling your fingers in the collar of his shirt and dragging him down to your level. You kiss him soft, lips meeting so gently Javi can feel himself melting into you already. Your mouth tastes like powdered sugar.

His cheeks are on fire when he pulls back, immediately licking the taste of you off his lips, half a mind to kiss you again. You’re beaming, thumb tucked between your teeth, and Javi almost stumbles back a step. “I should…” He rubs the back of his neck, gesturing towards the door. “I’m gonna—”

“Okay,” you say, the word tinged with laugher. “So, Saturday?”

“Saturday,” he agrees. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Seven is good.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you echo, another little grin on your face. “Goodbye, Javier.”

“Bye.”

He’s halfway to his truck when he realizes he didn’t get a fucking dessert, or your address. He abandons the idea of the former as he clambers back into his truck and starts the engine; he’s sure Connie will bring something, perfect guest she is.

As for the latter, well, it’s a perfect excuse to call you.

[wtf-tfw]

THE BIBBLE PART 1

On the first day, God made zest. From that zest he was able to bless. From those bless he did his best to create the chest of the best of the best. And on the second day, God decided to stop rhyming because he wasn't very good at that. From there his productivity skyrocketed, what with all the free time generated from not having to come up with rhymes, his sister was right, it was a stupud gimmick anyways. Next he invented the tree, the bouncy ball, flowers and rabbits, cookies and cream, eggs and telephones, unmanned machine guns, rapid growth boyfriend capsules, and classical music. His army of little gay sky babies worked day in and day out to fabricate the Things for the world. It was God's world and he was going to decorate it however he wanted. On the third day, God had hot girl artist burnout and was like "UGHHHH I really already exhausted all my best ideas this suckkssss" so he phoned his sister and she said "Well why don't you make people?"

"People?" God said.

"Yeah, you know, people! Three legs, little genital things, weird skin, all 'bleaghh i have to go to work!' and all that" said God's sister.

And God thanked his sister for the idea and hung up, only to shortly thereafter roll his eyes because three legs?? What was she thinking, that was clearly overkill. But he got to work anyways cauze his sister was prety cool overall she knew what she was talking about.

---

in the GARDEN of PEEDEN,

Peeve, the woman-type and Tinkle-Adam the man-bug. They explored the GARDEN and found it to be full of swag. They said "I love this- thanks God, its just like America should be: one man and one woman!"

God tutted at this and set down his shrimp poke bowl. Why were they already being weird little conservatives instead of freaking that shit nasty style. Its like he got this party goin for nothign?! And he begged and begged for them to eat the fruit of the Freak Tree so that theyd eat the Freak Fruit and become nasty little freaks who like sloppy style makeouts and smoking clove cigarettes in caves but they were always like "No. No God, we aren't into that kind of thing" And God was so disappointed. So he called his sister and she was like "You have to assert your dominance man, you can't let those little tightasses control you okay. Let them know who's boss." And God said okay.

Peeve shouted and cried as God took her rib from her. Tinkle-Adam screeched in pain as a testicle was taken from him (now he only had two) Using the rib and the testicle, God made the third Human, Gobbler. Gobbler was going to fix everything, so the punishment of pain and the blessing of Gobbler was really a two in one. Gobbler was a nasty little freak who liked beer and humping things and God thought he was Awesome with a capital A.

Gobbler was releaseed into the Garden of Peeden. And immediately he was like "OH this is the releast, Bruv!" (He called God 'Bruv' because he was made that way) Gobbler taught Tinkle-Adam the joys of beef-eating and Peeve the joys of rump-roasting. The three enjoyed a number of beef-related hobbies together. Take that as you will.

But one day, the Regular Devil from a book known as the Bible became real in the world and said "No, no no! You are doing this so very wrong! You are raising a bunch of imbecilic hoodlums! Stop this nonsense immediately!" And the Regular Devil blasted the creatures with Shame and suddenly they all became aware of their weird penises.

God used his Authority though, and shooed the Regular Devil out of his work of fiction. What a prick! But it was too late, the humans had already noticed their weird penises and they no longer could enjoy the beautiful snails and shrimps and sailboats and mosquitoes and acoustic guitars and bonfires and magic erasers and tattoo parlors and hamburger patties of the Garden of Peeden anymore. They were just too ashamed of their weird penises.

And God was like "I'm--I'm so sorry about that you guys. Tinkle-Adam, Peeve, Gobbler, are you guys like...good?" And Tinkle-Adam scratched his neck and looked to the side. Peeve wouldn't make eye contact with him anymore. These two were back to their old stick-up-their-ass-but-not-in-the-fun-way ways again. "S-Surely not you too, Gobbler!" But Gobbler did not look at God. He simply looked at his weird penis. He sat down, and was absorbed into the Earth, never to be seen again.

It was so over. It was so astronomically over. God's sister wasn't answering his calls. He was so fucked, dude. Peeve made the big decision to leave the Garden of Peeden, and Tinkle-Adam followed with her. Hoping that maybe the rest of the crazy world God had created would help to reunite that spark of joy they had time with Gobbler in the Garden.

Eventually they found it in themselves to get freaky again a couple more times....but that's a story for part TWO!

---

[inuhalfdemon]

Deals Made in the Dark for No One Can Know...

Word Count = 1,173 Words

As soon as Alastor was able to slip away and investigate what was to be his new radio tower at the Hazbin Hotel, he did. Upon entering it; he found the addition to the hotel very much to his liking as well as something…surprising.

His cane was there; fully intact and thrumming with a higher frequency of power than it had had even before it’s destruction. The eye within the microphone of it ebbed and waned in a soft green glow.

Interesting…

Alastor approached it slowly; eyes shifting and ears rotating as he went to the nearly re-furbished control panel where it laid. Picking it up; he examined the staff briefly before the green glow in the eye flashed brighter and a cacophony of radio static erupted from its top.

Alastor’s ears flattened at the terrible sound before it crackled out into something less piercing; turning into something duller like what one might hear from an old cassette tape or a walkie-talkie.

“I’m happy to know that you are still alive…Alastor.”

Alastor’s ears shot up at the feminine voice filtering through the static of his cane. He felt the collar to his leash tighten around his neck; a chill creeping down his spine.

“It would have been…disappointing, to lose you to someone like Adam…and so soon.”  

It was a recording.

“We’ve come so much closer…you’ve done well. I assume your having not contacted me, since first we met, means that you are still committed to our cause. I know that I still am.”

One of Alastor’s long ears slowly rotated; listening intently to the audio.

“Take it as a sign of encouragement that I have mended your conduit to my power; imbuing it with more…should you need or want it.”

“After all…there is no rest for the wicked…and there’s much to do yet.”

A muffled lilting laugh, then: “Tell the King, I wish him well…”

The audio cut out with a click and the green glow surrounding his staff faded away. Still; Alastor stared at it, loosely held there in his hand….remembering…

He was in a place surrounded in darkness, but there were tendrils…tentacles of something there with him in the dark…winding and coiling around him…pulling him further into the blackness of the shadows and tightening around every part of him they could reach. Each twisting and boneless limb immitted a soft green glow; bolts of bright green energy thrumming from their surface and rippling from base to tip.

His wide red eyes stared unseeingly into the black; his smile stretched taut across his face.

Alastor was trying to stay calm…trying to stave off the rush of rising panic that was threatening to burst past his carefully maintained persona and overwhelm him. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t summon any amount of his power, and he couldn’t shift form.

He was in the presence of something unfathomably sinister and he knew not what it wanted of him.

“At last…we finally meet…Radio Demon.”

A tinkling voice lilted to him – everywhere – from the dark. The sound of it sent ice through his veins.

“I have meant to find you for some time…my apologies…for rudely pulling you through one of my cracks.” The tendrils tightened around him.

He had found the crack, twisting its way in a lesser-known part of Hell…immediately recognizing it for what it was. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, he had gotten too close, and he hadn’t seen the tendril sliding out and reaching for him…before it was too late.

Alastor swallowed; thinking it best that he say something.

“A pleasure…quite a pleasure, I believe…though…I’m much more accustomed to participating in introductions face-to-face.”

A tinkling and eerie laugh then, “You do not like my smile, Alastor? Surely you of all people know the value of hiding behind a mask…” 

The tentacles surrounding him wriggled and slithered against him with more urgency, emphasizing this to him.

“But, you do know who I am…don’t you.”

When he had nothing as a reply she only laughed again.

 “Oh…how you entertain me, Radio Demon…dealmaker…I wonder…might you humor me? Consider my offer?”

Alastor ears straightened at that, and his body stiffened.

“I imagine that I am left with not much choice.” He shifted; squirmed as the tendrils encircling him continued their windings all around him.

“But, you are…I hold you in very high respects, Alastor…you seem one who is very clever…very capable…refuse or accept my offer; it will make no matter. Your life in death will not be forfeit.”

“That certainly piques some interest, then.”

 She laughed.

“Since my awakening in Eden, I have sought entrance into all realms…one still evades me. I have many and more cracks…seeking a path to what I have not yet found…perhaps someone who is…capable…might be of some use to me?”  

“You wish for me to help you to establish your roots into Heaven.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes…you would have access to a…significant…amount of my power…my abilities. You would use these,” The tendrils moved and shocks of green flowed brighter along their lengths. “They have…many uses….some of interest to you being that: they can create cracks, tear holes into other existing realms…drag holy souls from on-high, even to the depths of Hell.”

Alastor’s eyes widened; hearing her voice the deepest desire he held well hidden…in his dead heart.

“How…!?”

“My power, Alastor…is incomprehensible.”

“What is the cost?”

“You, of course, already know the answer.” He did. “But, first…consider my terms.”

“I am listening…”

“You will pay your price and receive my power. If I find what I am looking for…be it through you or some other means…your payment will be restored to you, you will keep whatever power I have lent to you, and you will be free to drag whom-so-ever you wish to whatever realm you so choose. If…at any time…you decide you no longer wish to continue with this…transaction…you may contact me. I will take back my power and you may have back what is yours…never the worse for your…consideration.”

“You flatter me, truly…however…a good dealmaker knows when a deal is too good to be true.”

“Yes…” She allowed. “But, too…are the deals that are much too tempting…to resist.”

Alastor flicked his ears at the memory; lowering the cane and looking vaguely around the new station. He thought about the deal he had made…his deal made with Roo.

Everything she had promised – so far – she had gave him. He had spent a good deal of time exploring the power…the abilities…she had lent him: tearing through realms and forming cracks into others. Time did different things when you traveled like this, though… 7 years passed in Hell before he slipped through the crack into where he was discovered by Lucifer and Lilith – conducting their own nefarious business in a realm between Heaven and Hell.

Roo had warned Alastor that this may happen…that he might find others with a similar goal in mind…

“You might be wise to avoid them finding you…or…you might find that joining them might be beneficial…to us…in some way. I will leave that for you…to decide.”

Taglist: @nyx91 : @reath-solia

[ineffabildaddy]

you're so golden

i wrote a ficlet based on this beautiful fanart by @omens-for-ophelia!!! you may also consider it my 1000 follower celebration thing because the fic i was initially planning for that just isn't coming how i want it to</3

explicit content ahead!! also available to read on ao3 here

They coupled only under cover of darkness, at first.

When all was black and unknowable, and Adam and Eve had retreated into the recesses of the Garden to slumber, they would sit quietly beside one another beneath the apple tree. One might make the occasional comment on the events of the day, and the vocal cords of the other might tinkle or hum with a lighthearted chuckle. Other than that, they were still and hushed while receiving each other's unadulterated company. The silence that thrummed and rippled between them was not stilted, was not cloddish; this was a state of quietude borne of serenity, of settled truth.

Then, one night, as noiseless as a phantom (which would obviously not have existed yet), Aziraphale drew near enough to Crawley's ear to create a tickling sensation upon it with his breath, and Crawley was inhaling his scent thoroughly for the first time; he smelled of oak and lavender and many other things, beautiful things that didn't exist yet. His typical sense of restraint suddenly distant and glazed, Crawley felt compelled to describe the fragrance he had just acquainted himself with to his companion, but he was not presented with the opportunity, because the angel's lips were moving towards his. Before either could pause to acknowledge the progress they had just made, mouths were falling open and noses were knocking together and tongues were working in harmony, only their synchronised movements didn't feel like work at all - they felt like something far better, something far more noble. Then, palms were pressing on chests and fingers were brushing against collarbones and the crickets sang for joy, accompanied only by the tree's leaves whistling in the mild breeze.

Crawley was hard and flushed and trembling before Aziraphale had manoeuvred onto his lap, and after Aziraphale settled his ass into the creases of Crawley's tunic just so, Crawley knew he was damn close to- well, he wasn't sure what he was close to, but it was something to do with his dick, and it was also something to do with excitement and vulnerability in equal parts.

Ah, well, Crawley conceded in his mind. He would figure that out later. And figure it out later he did - more times than he could count, with the aid of Aziraphale's warm, wet mouth, or the balmy smoothness of his palm, or sometimes, fuck, Aziraphale's own thick-set leaking cock against his lengthy, quivering one.

One starlit evening - all the evenings were illuminated by stars, of course, but on this occasion, they appeared almost obnoxious in their shimmering and gleaming - Aziraphale curled his fingers around the hem of his pale, soft tunic and crossed his arms over his head, tugging the garment off his curved frame and tossing it onto a bed of verdant moss. As always, the night was so dim it was nigh-on impossible to make out anything at all, and Crawley anticipated that Aziraphale's action would make no improvement to their clumsy, earnest collisions, but for increased ease of access - after all, even his serpentine vision was no match for the quashing blackness which blanketed Eden each time the sun fell.

He was wrong, however, for Aziraphale's belly and ass and thighs shone with intermittent streaks, golden and sparkling brightly in the dull moonlight.

When the pads of Crawley's fingers skipped lightly over the grooves of these golden streaks, Aziraphale expelled a short, clipped giggle. His lips stretching into a lazy grin, Crawley skimmed his fingernails over Aziraphale's belly, and a peal of unabashed laughter sliced through the humid air. Want you want you want you want you, Crawley repeated internally as his head ducked downwards, hands shifting Aziraphale further back so his mouth could settle upon Aziraphale's hip. Then, his tongue was rolling over the resplendent stretch marks, teeth bared so that their edges could tease Aziraphale's satiny skin. A shiver coursed its way down Aziraphale's spine, and the slender hand which was now flush with Aziraphale's lower back held him steady.

For the first time, Crawley entered Aziraphale that night, chest fluttering and palms slick and dick flaring with ardent rhapsodies while Aziraphale rolled his hips again and again, seizing the flesh protecting Crawley's throat into his mouth each time Crawley's head fell back against the bark of the tree. By the time Crawley's dick twitched and streamed inside Aziraphale, every one of the freckles on his tanned shoulders was obscured by obscene purplish marks, which were not in view of either party, but were nevertheless making their presence known by way of pushing aching bursts all the way through to Crawley's bones. Drooling and hazy, Crawley allowed his eyes to buzz back into focus on the sheen of Aziraphale's stretch marks while he caressed Aziraphale's straining shaft, and oh, fuck, Aziraphale's spend was flecked with gold just as his skin was. In that moment, with Aziraphale squirming on Crawley's softening cock and showering his own belly with starlight, the words I love you sprung to Crawley's mind, although Crawley had very little concept of what those words meant.

Ah, well, Crawley sighed internally. He would figure that out later.

And figure it out he did. Aziraphale shone in many more ways than one, Crawley would come to learn; when the two of them finally 'let there be light', the blushing pinks and creamy planes of Aziraphale's body visible at long last, it was only the very beginning.

-

thank you so so much for reading!!! let me know what u thought?

reblogs are always appreciated too<3 posting the ao3 link again below just in case:

tagging: @sad-chaos-goblin @foolishlovers @sabotage-on-mercury @bowtiepastabitch @iammyownproblematicfave @amagnificentobsession @ineffable-rohese @createserenity @greenthena @and-his-hands-were-24-crows @quoththemaiden

[3garcons]

The UFO Club Show on NYE at No Fun 2022

Light Show set with

Adam Tinkle

They Shoot Lasers, Don't They ?

first and 10 edition

[currymanganese]

Wrote my first fanfic tonight, it's set the morning after Carmy and Syd's 'first time™'. They've been dating for a little while and spent the night together at Carmy's apartment.

AO3 link here:

Sydney's eyes opened up languidly, just two slits really, as consciousness took hold - and the first thing that she saw had her jerking awake startled. Carmen was propped up against his pillow, prone, awake and staring, as usual, not much more than an inch from her face. "Oh fuck!" Sydney blurted out, her heart racing - before falling into fit of chortling that set Carmen to chuckling as well. "I'm sorry," he smiled. "No you're not, don't lie to my face." She shook her head, still giggling.

They paused for a moment, twin smiles plastered on, and drank in the sight of each other's face. After a gruelling dinner rush the night before, Sydney was sure she looked a mess, as tired as she still felt. The shadows under Carmen's eyes were almost as pronounced as they were the first day she'd met him, yet they were both wearing the giddiest expressions their facial muscles were capable of producing, eyes all crinkled, just shy of grinning like maniacs. They felt it in their souls, this was good.

"So, um, you alright?" Carmen asked softly. Scoffing, Sydney wrinkled her nose, a sliver of her upper front teeth showing, wiggling her head from side to side, "Uh, Ionno..Boy, yes, I think so!" They couldn't contain the next ripple of hooting laughter. When they finally got themselves under control Carmen sat up a bit, looked down at her and asked, "So Syd, what's your middle name?" Sydney stared back at him agog, mouth agape, eyes wide, "So this is what we're doing Carmy? Taking girls whose middle names we don't know back home? Hmmn?" She broke the facetious disapproval quickly, breathing out as she joined him sitting up, "Eleanora. It was my mom's mother's name."

Carmen filed it away mentally and thanked her, before suddenly holding out his hand to her almost bashfully, "Hi Eleanora, name's Carmy Anthony, nice to meet you." Syd narrowed her eyes and mimicked an unimpressed look for a split second, before cracking and grinning, "I know who you are Mr. Carmy Anthony Berzatto, but it's nice to meet you too." Syd clasped his hand and shook it, before she sidled up to him, tucked herself under his arm and pecked him on the cheek. Carmen swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, "Eleanora, you ever think about getting married?" Syd twisted to face him, eyes bulging, feeling heat in her face, and sputtered out, "Married?"

"Too soon?" Carmy asked as he bit back a smile, while Syd stammered.

"Um, well. No. I mean. It would be nice. I think. Uh- it would be nice, to um, like, t-think about what that would look like. Like, what that would entail?" Her voice pitched up slightly as she tapered off, and she looked down, somewhat embarrassed by her stilted response.

Carmen seemed to take it in stride though, cradling her and humming a song to himself quietly, gently tapping a beat on her back with his fingers. After a beat, Syd filled the silence, giving him a sidelong look, "You were waiting for me to wake up this whole morning, just to ask that weren't you?" Carmy snorted out a laugh and nodded, "Yes. Too much?" Syd didn't have to think it over for long, "Nah, not really. Don't get me wrong- there's some conversations or two or three, or five, six or eleven etcetera-"

"Sydney.."

"I'm just fucking with you Carmen!" she wheezed, the sound of her tinkling laughter ringing out. "Um, so there's still some talking to get done,”

“Of course, sure.”

“But I mean….We can go for it eventually you know…..So, uh yeah." With the way Carmen held himself still, not breathing almost, she was worried for him for an infinitesimal moment, fearing that maybe she could have chosen her words more carefully, just said yes to the tacit quasi-proposal; before he dove in at her face, smiling and kissing every inch of it: her nose, her chin, her eyelids, her lips; as they drowned each other's fears with love.

Mini-prequel/ continuation here:

Pre-relationship prequel here:

[krikeymate]

And Bleeding, I Gamble with All I have Left (Selfish Aching Memories; Turn Around, Remember it All)

Abigail AU - Chapter 1: The Dropoff

Samantha Carpenter – Sam to… well, everyone, and Ghost to… well, a certain circle – sits behind the wheel of a landscaping van – poorly wrapped, but for good reason – and for the first time in a long time, questions her life choices.

She doesn’t usually do this.

Dwell.

It doesn’t do any good. It doesn’t change anything.

Her life is what it is, there’s no point thinking about it or getting upset about it.

She usually doesn’t.

But tonight…

Tonight, something feels different.

The air feels colder, the silence seems to ring in her ears. Twitchy fingers tap against the steering wheel. A leg bounces, smacking against the dash over and over.

She shouldn’t be here – in the van. That’s not her role. That’s for Landrover – Landry. He’s the driver.

But not tonight.

For some reason, tonight it’s her.

Richie was adamant about it this time, unusually firm. All orders no answers. If he thinks he’s getting lucky later, he’s in for a surprise.

As she stares out the window, glancing around the immaculately manicured hedges and flower beds, she listens, making out the distant tinkling of running water – no doubt some ostentatious fountain or water feature, if the rest of the decoration of this proverbial mansion is anything to go by. There’s no movement, no other sounds, yet Sam can’t help but feel watched.

There’s nobody here, except– well, them.

She knows that. They made sure of it. That’s the whole point. They’re here because the house is empty, the homeowner off on vacation, staff and all.

Empty and ripe for the picking.

This wouldn’t ordinarily be the type of place the Faceless go snooping around. The rewards are big, sure, but so are the risks.

They haven’t gotten this far by taking big risks.

But tonight is different.

They were made an offer they couldn’t refuse: retrieve a package from here, take it there.

Simple. Easy.

That’s what Richie had said anyway. It would be simple and easy and they’d all get a vacation of their own once this is all over with the amount they’ll get paid.

It wasn’t a very convincing speech. Not to Sam. The others bought it of course, the idiots. They never think, never wonder.

Maybe that’s why Sam is being punished, for asking questions.

He says that’s part of the reason he loves her, because she asks questions, because she’s smart.

But how smart can she really be when she’s caught up in all of this?

Sometimes, after a job, she’ll lie awake watching the sun rise behind thin curtains and think about getting out, about going legit, of doing something with her life.

The dream never lasts long. She falls asleep and remembers that she’s nothing, that she has nothing. That this is what she was made for, all she was ever going to achieve. It’s in her blood, and it’s the way she’ll live until the day she’s caught or in the ground.

The darkest part of her hopes it’s the latter, anything to avoi–

THUMP.

The gang are back.

Enough dreams, back to reality.

She’s turning the key in the ignition when she hears more thumping from the back, grunting, a struggle.

“Oh you have got to be-”

The passenger door is ripped open and Richie throws himself into the seat, a scowl on his bloody face.

Sam’s frozen, watching him as he slams the door shut. After several seconds of no movement, he turns that scowl on her instead.

“Well?! Go!”

He sounds pissed off, angry and ready to take it out on anyone who gets in his way.

She doesn’t need telling twice. She hates when he gets in that mood.

She’s feeling a bit angry herself.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me the package was a person?!”

“What does it matter?!” he growls back, “what’s done is done, it’s easy money!”

“It fucking MATTERS!”

Sam breathes heavily through her nose, trying to calm the rising fury within her.

She’s always had a temper. She and Richie are alike like that. A match made in hell, and right now, her flames are ready to erupt.

Just who does he think he is!

Manhandling the gearstick into position, Sam starts to drive.

If Landry had been the one behind the wheel, he’d have sped from the estate, wheels squealing and waking the neighbourhood, like they were in some sort of heist movie and not real life.

But Sam has a brain, and drives the normal way, like normal people going about their normal business and not fucking kidnapping someone.

She can’t believe he’s done this to her. He knows, he fucking knows. About her past, about her stance, about her goddamn morals.

She could kill him for putting her in this position.

There’s a scoff from beside her, but Sam doesn’t take her glare from the tarmac. If she looks at him, she might just drive them all into a ditch, and not because she can’t keep to a straight road.

She doesn’t give Richie the satisfaction of her attention, no matter how much he fidgets and huffs in his seat.

They’ll make the drive in silence.

Okay, well Sam makes the drive in silence.

Richie is too in love with his own voice to shut up for more than five minutes. There was a time when Sam loved it too.

It didn’t last long.

Sam – ever the professional – does her job, even while the rest of the present crew decide they’re home free; she follows the pre-programmed sat nav to the drop off point, watching the mirrors for tails like a hawk, while Richie whines excuses about why she should forgive him for this deception. While he makes it out to be no big deal Sam.

Just another betrayal in a long line and a long history.

Maybe this time she won’t forgive, maybe this is her sign to make a change.

She poses the question to the sky, but as ever, it doesn’t answer back.

God had never cared for Samantha Carpenter.

On earth however, headlights flash in the wingmirror. Deliberate, a message.

They want to be seen.

The rest of the group have joined them.

From the erratic way the sleek and far too expensive to be low-key vehicle – if you ask Sam (nobody asked Sam) – behind them drives, Sam can instantly tell it’s the Princess driving, and not the Geek.

Charlie’s such a pushover.

The car speeds ahead into the dark, going dangerously fast and with no idea where it’s going.

It leaves her grinding her teeth, and she spends the remainder of the 90-minute drive fuming.

Gravel crunches beneath the tyres as Sam pulls the van down an outrageous driveway, estate just as gaudy and over the top as the last.

God she fucking hates rich people.

(She thinks of her mother. She hates her most of all.)

She makes the mistake of accidentally meeting Richie’s eyes as she slips from the vehicle. He takes it as forgiven and waggles his eyebrows at the mansion before them, as if it isn’t some grotesque display of wealth.

Sam bites her tongue, slamming the door shut and turning away instead, heading for the back of the van.

She needs to see what they’ve done.

…It’s even worse than she thought.

This wasn’t just a kidnapping, she realises, eyeing the limp body Vince is slinging over his shoulder. It’s a goddamn child!

A whistle from beside her makes her flinch.

Fucking Richie.

“Out cold, huh?”

Vince nods back, “had to tranq her, damn kid would not stay down!”

Sam feels sick.

She twists her head at the footsteps behind them, the Princess and the Geek joining them.

“That’s it?” Quinn questions, dubious. “Someone’s gonna pay 50 mil for that runt of a girl?”

Sam can’t believe what she’s hearing. Is everybody insane but her?!

“Okay, hold up!” she demands, hands rising of her own accord. “Did everybody fucking know about this but me?!”

“Look, babe–” Richie starts, but he quickly withers under her glare.

The others say nothing, eyes fixed anywhere but her, silence telling her everything she needs to know.

“What’s done is done,” Vince grunts, shifting the kid further up his shoulder and walking towards the mansion.

Ahead of them, a black SUV opens its doors.

Two men in suits and sunglasses, the very definition of henchmen, open the back and help a woman from the seat.

She’s tall and well dressed, glamourous and striking, and she and her companions walk into the building without even a glimpse towards them. Unconcerned. Confident. Knowing.

Sam wonders just what the fuck they’ve gotten themselves into.

“Hey, isn’t that the lady off the TV?” Landry chirps to his sister.

“The one you have a massive crush on?” Quinn sneers back at him.

With a final glance at the sky, Sam sends it one big fuck you, and heads inside.