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#ain’t no laws when you’re drinking claws
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Fixing my bad attitude with CBD incense and white claw
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chantellelauren · 2 years
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sednonamoris · 6 months
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good, honest thieves
Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader
Summary: A fight with Micah leads to a lecture from Dutch. Loyalty is exactly what you've been raised on, but to what? To whom? The answer seems to be John every time.
Warnings: Knife violence, canon-typical violence, fish guts, strong language, Micah Bell's whole existence, sexist language/insults, Dutch being our fav little manipulator, blink-and-you'll-miss-it mild angst
Word count: 1,465
A/N: I've been waiting to write this altercation since I first started ghost story, so I hope you all enjoy it for this nice, short chapter 💕
Series masterlist • AO3
— 
You miss out on a hell of a firefight. A lot of law dead. A lot of townsfolk dead. A run-in with Mr. Leviticus Cornwall himself.
You’re surprised that he deigned to show his face in the mud and the muck of Valentine, but if there’s one thing rich folk are good for it’s greed. From the sound of it, he’s none too pleased to have been robbed. 
From the sound of it, it’s a lucky thing John and Arthur and Dutch and Strauss ain’t dead after all that. 
The gang was quick to make a hasty retreat.
Now you’re camped outside a little town called Rhodes, farther south than you’ve settled in years. Arthur teases that you and Javier must be happy to be in warmer climes, but personally? You hate it. New Austin is dry heat and desert for miles. The air there bites, sharp and clean. Here it’s thick as molasses and wet with humidity. Sweat and condensation cling to everything. The very ground beneath you is mucky and muddy and lush with overgrowth, like the vegetation can’t stand it here, either. It claws and climbs its way out and onto everything. You’ve never seen undergrowth like this, swallowing trees and homesteads whole without discrimination. 
Out of everyone, you figured Dutch would hate it most - you can’t count how many times he’s told stories about the Southern scum that put his daddy in the ground. But he seems in his element out here. The town is divided into factions he and Hosea have wasted no time playing against one another, and rumors of confederate gold have lit his eyes with that same gleam you saw before Blackwater. You know you won’t leave until he has it - he’s even got Bill and Arthur playing deputy while working leads. 
Today they’re off with the sheriff chasing ‘shine in the hills, so camp is mostly quiet. Or it would be, if Micah wasn’t hanging around.
“Ghost,” he calls out, uncomfortably familiar. He approaches Pearson’s chuckwagon with open arms that are greeted only with a flat stare when you look up from the fish you’re gutting. You promised Pearson you’d take care of them while he does the shopping.
“Micah.” His name grits past the teeth you’re doing your utmost not to bare in warning; already he’s closer than you’d like. 
“Haven’t seen much of you since I got back from Strawberry,” he says.
“I keep busy.”
“Not too busy for Marston.” He rocks back on his heels and raises his brows like he’s caught you out. Something about the way he says John’s name makes your hackles raise.
“Me an’ him are friends,” you chop off a trout head aggressively while making even more aggressive eye contact. “You and me, on the other hand, ain’t.” 
“Aw, don’t be like that,” he wheedles. “I’m a real friendly fella. We oughta go drinking sometime and I’ll show you.”
It takes everything in you not to cringe at the thought. It’s one thing to work a job with him, when you have to, but spending quality time with Micah? It sounds like just about the worst thing you can think of. He has this slimy quality about him, and the way he talks about some of the others is enough to solidify your poor opinion.
Dutch can make nice with him all he likes. You won’t. 
“We all heard what happened when you went drinking in Strawberry,” is what you say aloud. “Rhodes might not survive.”
He laughs through the fact that the joke was meant to be at his expense and leans closer. “You’re funny, Ghost. Real funny. I can see why John likes you so much. It’s too bad he’s so… Well, you know.”
“He’s so what?” If looks could kill, Micah would be stone dead. 
“Useless,” he shrugs. “I mean, first he gets hisself half eaten, then he’s fleeced rustlin’ sheep— almost got his brains blown out in Valentine. Not to mention he let Morgan steal a two dollar whore right out from between his—”
 All of the sudden you can’t hear past the ringing in your ears or see past the blood red of your vision. He’s snickering, leaning closer still, leering, and faster even than you can register you’ve grabbed him by the hair and smashed his face against the fish guts and the wooden table before you.
He cries out, somewhere between alarmed and disgusted and enraged. 
Your filleting knife rests against his pulse point.
“Say it again,” you snarl.
Stark, killing hate reflects back on your knife blade with the whites of his eyes. “Goddamn you!” 
“Not so funny now, huh?” He struggles in your grip. “Say it again.” 
He opens his mouth and bares his teeth, likely to spit more profanities, when approaching footsteps stop you both in your tracks. You glare up at the intrusion to find Ms. Grimshaw. Her face is even more severe than usual. 
“What exactly is going on in my camp?” she demands, hands on her hips. 
“Micah was just apologizing,” you say. Your smile is a feral show of teeth. 
He squirms in your grip, claws at your hands. “Get this goddamn lunatic off me!” 
She purses her lips, unimpressed. “Ghost, unhand Mr. Bell.”
You let him go reluctantly, pressing the knife to his skin just a little harder before shoving him back. He staggers away and you wipe your hands down your pants and grimace. 
Micah’s hands fly to his throat, like he’s checking it’s all still intact. His cheek shines slimy red with fish blood. 
“You’re crazy!” he accuses. 
“Ghost is plenty of things,” Ms. Grimshaw says before you can cut in, “but crazy ain’t one of ‘em. I suggest you learn from this particular mistake, Mr. Bell. Now go on, the both of you. Get! Before you make another mess for me to clean up.”
You murmur a chastised yes, ma’am under your breath.
Micah stalks away, glaring over his shoulder without another word. 
All that’s left is the thunk, thunk, thunk, of your knife against the wooden table. You let yourself imagine each unfortunate fish is Micah, instead. 
— 
Dutch finds you later. You’re sat on a log overlooking the lake, glaring out across the water like it’s somehow responsible for everything that’s happened up until now. He sits beside you and lights a cigar. 
“Ms. Grimshaw tells me someone tried to kill Micah today.”
His tone is neutral, but a quick glance out of the corner of your eye reveals a tightness in his posture that’s never a good sign. He lets out a puff of smoke and watches it fade into the horizon with squinted eyes.
“She tell you he had it coming?”
“Now, Ghost—” he starts to chastise, but you cut him off.
“I never pretended to see what you do in him.” His eyes widen and flash with wounded pride, but your face is set in defiance. “Maybe we’re all nasty killers and degenerates, but he’s worse. I ain’t gonna stand by while he runs his mouth about any one of us.”
His face is all severity and rough-cut gemstone. “Any one of us, or just John?” 
Outrage flares your nostrils and twists your mouth into something ugly. “That ain’t fair! And it certainly ain’t the point.”
“Isn’t it?” His hand on your shoulder, so often a comfort through the years, rests heavy and threatening. Your pulse jumps. Your mouth feels dry. “We don’t have the luxury of doubt - not between any of us. Haven’t I taught you loyalty? Don’t I deserve your trust?”
That’s all it takes for you to deflate. “You have it. You’ve always done right by us, but—”
“There is no but,” he says. “Faith, Ghost! Faith.”
“Faith, then. Fine. Faith.”
The words taste bitter on your tongue, but his eyes soften all at once into that familiar, sparkling brown. “I knew I could depend on you.”
“Sure. Always.”
He leaves with one last squeeze of your shoulder and orders to look into the Braithwaite family - something to do with prize horses. After all, who better than the infamous Ghost Rider? The Van der Linde Ghost? 
You stay on that log for a long time. Thinking. Smoking. Stewing in the not-quite-anger left in Dutch’s wake. 
That night around the fire you and John gravitate to one another like always. He brings you a plate of fish and sits beside you; a little too close for friends, a little too friendly to be anything but.
Somehow it aches more than usual.
He chatters on about his day, but all you can hear is the sneer of Micah’s voice, and all you can feel is the burn of Dutch’s knowing stare. The sweat on your brow has little to do with Lemoyne’s oppressive heat anymore.
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psychedelickittens · 1 year
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: White Claw Ain’t no Laws When You’re Drinking Claws T-shirt Gray Size Medium.
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svgskunk · 1 year
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Ain't No Laws When You're Drinking with Claus svg, White Claws svg
Ain’t No Laws When You’re Drinking with Claus svg, White Claws svg
Ain’t No Laws When You’re Drinking with Claus svg, White Claws svg. ►This product is a downloadable Digital product. ►The files are downloadable instantly upon purchase. Test the download process with a free SVG file under our FREE SVG Category. PRODUCT CONTENTS: ►This product include a zipped file with 5 file formats: SVG, PNG, EPS, PSD and DXF. ►The files are well crafted and optimized for…
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chriskill · 4 years
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Today’s lesson is brought to you by my dog, nacho who served as a model for me. Ain’t no laws when you’re drinking claws.
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munchsquad-official · 4 years
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No laws tonight, my lads.
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strangebeautiful · 3 years
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i’m slowly sobering up from all of the white claw i drank tonight, and now i’m in the parking lot of a wingstop, and i know that boneless wings aren’t the answer to loneliness but they sure are delicious. i’m mad that i got cute for NO REASON ugh these titties were ready to impress. they’ll get some love one day. ONE DAY.
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polkadotmotmot · 3 years
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Grace Metzler - Ain't No Laws When You're Drinking Claws, 2021
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jamiedc-they-them · 4 years
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Breaking Point (Platonic)
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Agents of Shield x reader maybe the reader was captured with Bobbi by ward at the end of season 2 and he torture her more because he knows if she’s hurt the whole team hurts cause she’s the youngest and they all want to protect her? She’s the one that gets shot then and not Bobbi? Love your writing!
Thank you so much! I hope this lives up to what you wanted!
Bobbi Morse wasn’t exactly in a great place, more physically than mentally. She was thrown into her cell, grunting as she hit the floor. She clawed at it with her hands as she tried to get up on her legs, to get to all fours.
Ward, however, just watched the whole time with a kind of shine in his eye as if he was enjoying her suffering. Bobbi was damn sure that part of him actually did. She was almost 100% sure of that.
What she wasn’t sure of, however, was what his endgame in total was. All he had done was asked for an apology from her for what she did to Kara (sure, she felt sorry. But she was honest when she said that she’d do it all over again,) but she didn’t give one. That led to her torture. To her pain to try and make her break.
“Look at you, always the fighter, huh? Ain’t that you, Mockingbird?” he asked in a mocking tone. She finally managed to turn and face him; trying to muster a glare with what remaining energy she had left.
“You know who’s not, though?” her face dropped, and he could definitely tell, “That’s right, y/n. The one, and the only. Y/f/n goddamn y/l/n. Let’s see if she’d give anything away. See if she’ll squeal where you didn’t. See if she’ll break and bring me back to SHIELD, back to Coulson. Back to –”
“You’re never getting your hands-on Skye, again.” She vowed, fiercely protective of her friend that had started to become a sister to her during their time together.
The whole team had been protective of you; you were a sister (to Fitz, Simmons, Skye, her, Hunter and Mack) or a daughter to others (Coulson, May, even her to an extent). You were the youngest, so their primitive instinct to protect made sense. Hell, even on his short time on the team, Ward had acted in an older brotherly fashion to you.
Obviously, now he was just another enemy on your list.
Bobbi had always had a maternal instinct to her; be that when getting Simmons out, or comforting Skye when she got her powers. She just seemed to be (like May) a natural at it, even if they wouldn’t believe you if you told them about it.
May might’ve been the mother of the team, but Bobbi was the older sister of them. Skye, Jemma and her all acted like that to you. You hadn’t had anyone else in your life before; being on the streets, but Coulson (like Skye) saw something in you and kept you on the team as you could fight.
Maybe that was why you were in this situation, now.
Granted, she didn’t know where you were in the building, she just knew you were in it. You were taken with her as well when not-May (Kara) took you both by surprise.
Despite your past, you had been a friendly type of person. You were still a little hostile and closed off (a bit more so than Skye) but you had slowly softened to them and that got you to where you were with the others now.
Now, she had a friend in danger, and she couldn’t exactly let that slide. Especially, not with this fucking psychopath.
“Don’t you dare touch her.” She managed to growl her threat; but Ward merely found it amusing.
“So protective. I wonder if which will shatter first; you or her. Which one will give up the location first?” He asked, probing on her fear for your life.
“You think either of us will? We don’t just betray and abandon our own, Ward.” Bobbi said, firmly.
“Well, no point asking you. Better go find the answer out for myself.” With that, he stood and turned around to leave.
“Wait! Ward, wait! Take me! Take me instead, please! She’s just a kid, Ward! WARD!" She yelled the first parts, but the last two where barbaric screaming; frantically trying to get the man to stop and see what he was about to do. See who he was about to hurt.
However, there was no evil cackle, there was no evil monologue about his reasons. There was only a door slam.
A door that held behind it a very worried and distraught Bobbi Morse. Who was trying her hardest to calm herself to focus on one thing; to get herself out and to save you.
 You stirred, slowly opening your eyes to see yourself with your hands tied to a table. Well, this wasn’t good; either someone had a massive kink, or you were being held hostage; if you were being honest, you still weren’t quite sure which yet.
Then it hit you, Kara had captured you; so, you now had your answer.
“There she is.” A chilling, recognisable, voice said to you. You slowly looked up from your hands to see Grant Ward making his way towards you.
You tried to move away, but it did nothing. Still, he looked a little impressed by your attempt, though you then found that the look was one of humour at your attempt to get out.  
“C’mon Y/N, I wouldn’t have tied your hands down if I thought you were going to try and run, would I? Don’t ruin my effort.” You tried to muster a glare, but you only gave him more of a terrified look.
“There it is there’s the scared kid I met way back when. Remember that, y/nn? When we were all together, that neat little family? Yeah, me too. Good times,” He said as he pulled a stool back and sat down opposite you, “Now, here we are. Your miles away from anyone you know. Although, I should tell you, Bobbi…. Bobbi didn’t make it.”
He had even softened his voice, making you believe it more. You looked up at the ceiling as tears pooled your vision. You didn’t even second guess his words, you believed them as if they were law; Ward even through in a look of genuine pity and slight sorrow to try and sell it all the more to you.
He was selling you poison, and you were just drinking it all in one go. He smirked a little, breaking you would be easier than he had previously thought. Maybe all your training had been for nothing. Maybe you were just that scared child Coulson had seen something in.
As to what, Ward didn’t know. You were a scrappy kid that had survived by the skin of her teeth. That was all, to him anyway.
Still, he was always open up to a surprise.
 Bobbi flinched when she heard your scream, it was loud and raw. Seemed Ward had wasted no time in getting to it. She did not know what he was doing, she didn’t care what he was doing. The only thing she cared about was getting out and saving you from the bastard.
So far, that was mainly trying to make a lockpick after throwing herself into the door a few times only to no avail.
The walls barely had anything on them. So, a plan if all else failed was to just smash through the thing and try that way. However, if she did that, she would be dead and then soon after so would you.
She did not – couldn’t – have that outcome occur. You both needed to get back to your friends; you both needed to get back to your family.
“What are you doing?” Kara spat as she passed the cell, stopping to check in to make sure she wasn’t trying the very thing she was about to do. That being an escape.
“You’re just going to let him do that to her? She wasn’t even a part of SHIELD when you were taken.” Bobbi said, trying to appeal to some humane part of the woman. However, this time she got the cliché evil smirk instead.
“Oh, you thought I’d go get Ward and tell him to stop, didn’t you?” She pouted mockingly, “Oh, I’m sure your friend will break soon enough though, if that’s any consolation. But, you’re right, she didn’t have anything to do with me being taken. So, I’ll at least put in a good word to make it quick.” She seemed to mean her words.
“No, no, no, no, no, no.” Bobbi said in a panic as she tried to reach through the door to grab her and turn her back, but Kara grabbed her arm and pulled her to the door, slamming her into it and making the woman fall back with another groan.
This time, she was slower getting up, her ears rang as she did so.
Kara, however, waited until she had gotten up into a sitting position once again before she spoke, “Try that again, and the next thing you hear will be a gun.” She sneered before she walked off.
Bobbi, however, was fast with her action before. She had grabbed a key that Kara had put in a necklace and swung to the back of her neck, clever move to subvert how easy it was.
Good thing Bobbi had learned that tool of the trade too.
 Ward punched you again, this time you had to blink to centre yourself once again. His “methods” of breaking you had been variations of hitting you so far.
You, however, just tried to take yourself somewhere better; somewhere nicer, somewhere that wasn’t this shithole. You tried to think about your family that you missed dearly; but that only made you think of Bobbi, your dead friend who had been killed as you hadn’t been fast enough.
A part of yourself told you that maybe you did deserve this fate. Maybe this was were it was all leading all along anyway, you had enemies out there who wanted you; maybe being killed by Ward would not be the worse way for your tale to end.
“Stay awake, now Y/N. Need you for your beauty shot for the others. Can’t have you bleeding out now, can we? Not when I can kill – a lot of stones with one…Ah, doesn’t work as well this time.” You heard parts of it as your ears rang, you were pretty sure your face was a mess at this point; you definitely knew that your nose was most likely broken.
He went to talk again, probably try and hit you again, when a loud noise broke his concentration.
“Kara?” He asked, worry genuinely coating his voice. Kara was thrown to the floor the next moment by a bloodied but pissed Bobbi Morse. Who, right now, was running on sister instincts, and mother hen mode.
Ward seemed to tell, as he pulled his pistol out. At first, Bobbi froze, thinking he’d shoot you and be done; but, just her luck, he shot at her instead. He missed, however, as you had a bit of fight left in you and tripped him over.
He really, really, wanted to shoot you. But he knew he couldn’t, that he needed you.
When he turned back, however, he saw that she was gone. While, part of him was angry at that fact, he smiled; now he had you were he wanted you. Now, she’d run back to SHIELD and bring them here; to him, to find you. Seemed it was starting to come together.
 Bobbi was running, just running with pure adrenaline keeping her going. She rounded a corner, taking a moment to collect herself and catch her breath; finally letting herself process what had just happened.
Well, what had happened was that (in her eyes) she had failed. She was out, sure, but you weren’t. You were still in Ward’s hands; and now he was probably going to kill you. It would be on her, she couldn’t let you down like that, however. She couldn’t let the others down; not with everything seemingly falling apart at the seams as it had been before you both got captured; with Skye now in a new place and all this going on.
Your death would surely bring it all coming crashing down around them. Burn SHEILD to the ground and send them into a spiral they probably couldn’t come back from.
You were like the glue to the team; you could fight like most of the them, but you were the one they wanted to protect the most. Being the youngest tended to do that.
Now she wasn’t sure if you were going to walk out of there alive or be pulled out in a body bag.
Still, she ran to the nearest pay phone. Was it smart? No, but she needed to get back to base to rally what remained of the troops.
“Who is this?” Coulson asked over the phone.
“Coulson, thank god,” She breathed into the phone in a rush.
“Bobbi?” He asked, then heard some rustling on the line.
“Bob?” Hunter, she let out a sigh of relief at hearing the man’s voice once again. He too seemed panicked but let out his own sigh at her own.
“It’s me,” She said softly into the phone, having calmed down a little, “I need some help.” She admitted.
“Where’s Y/N? Is she with you?” Coulson asked over the line, forgetting the whole formality thing, not when a life was on the line.
“That’s what’s happened…” She said as she told them her location.
 An old box was placed on the table, the bang waking you back up; Ward had placed two rusty nails in your feet to stop you from moving those next. He took two jack cables and attached them to the what you realised was a battery.
“There you are,” He said with some glee as he turned the battery on, “And there we go,” He turned to you, “Now, this is gonna hurt just a little.” His prewarning didn’t help with the pain as seemingly thousands of volts all went through you at once; like thousands of knives all stabbing you at once in different places.
“Babe, you promised you wouldn’t kill her. We need her, remember?” You vaguely heard Kara say, her words made Ward stop, and allowed you catch your breath and try to recover. Despite the fact that you were most likely to die here, you were glad that whoever had distracted Ward had got out.
“You’re right,” He conceded as he threw box in a rage, working through the last part of his adrenaline he gathered in that moment and turned back to your broken self.
“Hey, hey, hey!” He yelled as he clicked in front your face to get your attention, “Can’t have you leaving us just yet, kiddo. Not until SHIELD come for you that is.” He said as he moved into another room. As soon as he was gone, you had once again slipped away.
“Oh, thank god,” Hunter breathed out as he embraced the woman he truly did love, despite all their flaws and hardships, “I thought I lost you, Bob.” He admitted.
Despite herself, Bobbi let out a broken laugh, “Not yet, not yet.” She assured him as they pulled back in sync, just looking at each other for a moment.
It was Jemma who asked the question that weighed heavily on their minds, “What’s happened to Y/N?” She couldn’t help the quiver in her voice, Afterlife had gone to hell and she was sure she may have just lost one of her best friends to the fight going on over there.
Now she might lose another to Grant Ward of all people. Guilt ate up at her at the fact that she didn’t take another try at him when they went to get Lincoln and Mike Peterson.
“Ward has her,” Bobbi gulped as she told them, “I tried to get her out, I did.” She swore, hoping they’d believe her. It wasn’t like Bobbi Morse to get this emotional, this much of a wreck.
“Hey, Bob, we know you did everything you could do for her. You know Y/N, though, she’d do anything for us too. She made sure you got out so we could all get her out, together.” Right, yeah, Hunter was right.
Jemma seemed to know the frazzled state her friend was in, “I should give you a check-up, clean and patch you up.” To Bobbi it sounded like an offer.
“We need to focus on –” But, as it turned out, it wasn’t one.
“You’ll do no bloody good to her dead, would you? She did what she did, so you’d get out, like Hunter said. Now, let me help you so Hunter can get a team to find Y/N.” Jemma said in the best doctor voice she could manage, despite the circumstances they were currently in.
“What do you think he’ll do to her?” Jemma didn’t know how to answer Bobbi’s question as her own mind spun countless horrible images about that idea. However, soon after Bobbi spoke it, she wouldn’t have to wager a guess.
“Guys.” Coulson said as he approached them, serious face there but worry was there too, “Ward just sent us this.” He said as he held up a photo of you, more bloodied and bruised.
In fact, you looked dead.
 “Bob –”
“She can’t be.” Bobbi wasn’t sure who she was trying to bater with, really anyone at this point. Any deity, in case they did exist, really.
Jemma, desperately trying to keep it together, merely focused (after taking a breath to try and steady herself) on helping her friend mend her many small wounds.
“Why do more to her than to you?” Hunter asked.
Bobbi let out a shaky breath as she answered, “He wanted to see which one of us would break first. Figured that, because I didn’t, maybe Y/N would…or that, having to listen to him torture her would make me break.”
“Helped you break something,” Bobbi looked at him with a confused look, “Out, he helped you break out. Sorry love, trying to find the light in the dark and all that.”
“I need –” Jemma pushed her back down; despite her size, Jemma could be physically strong when she needed or wanted to be. This was one of those moments.
“You, sit down and stay there until I’m done,” Bobbi wasn’t about to argue, “Can you get a team and find her…please?” Hunter nodded at Jemma’s request.
“We don’t leave are own. That applied in the SAS, even Izzie, Idaho and others in that field had that code,” He waited until both women met his eyes, “And it damn well applies to hear too.” He said with conviction.
He approached Bobbi, the two holding each other’s arms, “Bring her home. And don’t die.” Was all Bobbi asked.
“You know me love, always one for danger.” Hunter said with a smirk.
Time to get the whole family back together. Coulson would do what he could with Skye, Hunter would handle getting you back.
He’d make damn sure of it that, one way or the other, you were coming home.
 May had even tagged along, seemed her own mother bear instinct had been ticked off when she had found out what had happened to you. Everyone Hunter knew on it mainly wanted to just get you out. But Hunter had revenge on his mind too; He could tell that Melinda May had the same idea going in.
“Come on, Y/N, where are you?” He asked himself quietly, going down the many hallways as he continued to look for you. Sweat was almost bleeding off of him at this point; mainly because of his movements, carry a gun and all his other items were heavy after all; but it was also the stress. He could turn the very next corner only to find you a corpse nearly cold.
 You woke up again, this time in a chair with your mouth gagged, you didn’t know how much longer you could hold out for without bleeding out, but you made damn sure to do your best to fight it. You weren’t someone to just give up; not went a slither of hope was still in the air that you could still get out of this.
You struggled against your restraints both on your hands and feet, nothing came of it. Fuck. You then tried to flip the chair, it moved a slight bit, but was then stopped by the chains that held it down.
You then noticed the gun. The sniper aimed at the door, you followed the wire and saw that the trigger was rigged to the door.
Your eyes widened, whoever your rescuer-to-be was going to be; they’d be dead within the instant they saw you.
You couldn’t let that happen.
 Hunter was starting to get tired; he was almost done with all the doors and almost out of hope. But he kept going, he made a promise; one to Bobbi and the other to himself to not give up and give in. To bring you home, not matter how that looked.
He braced himself against a wall, counted to three, then kicked the door in.
 You heard footsteps, then saw a faint shadow under the door. Now or never.
 As he kicked the door, a BANG! Went off, and blood scattered around his face. He was stunned by both the sound and the blood. But even more stunned to see that it was you who had taken the bullet.
“Y/ -- Y/N!” He yelled out as he dropped his rifle and to his knees, untying the restrains on your feet, then your hands as he laid you down.
“Y/n, love, can you hear me?” He asked, not getting a response. He put his finger to your wrist, letting out a breath as he felt a very faint pulse.
It was faint, but there. You were still alive.
 When you came to again, a bright light was in your way. You closed your eyes and tried to let out a groan, but it was croaky; the next moment, Jemma was above you, bright and relived smile on her face, “Y/N!” She said in her cheery voice, but you heard the slight crack.
She slowly got you up, readjusting your pillows for you as you got more comfortable in your new position.
She then, as gently as she could, hugged you, “I thought we lost you.” She confessed, you put a hand on her arm to remind her that you were still here.
She pulled back, sniffling a little, before letting out a teary laugh at the fact that you had survived, “Oh god, it’s so good to have you back!” She said, meaning every word.
The next few hours were a blur as each member came in to see you; Skye hugged you and apologised for not being there sooner, you just told your friend that it was ok and that you were happy she’d made it back too; Mack was a smile and one of his well known hugs; Coulson and May smiled and gave you a quick scan of their own (parents, right?).
Then it was Bobbi, she sat next to you and put a hand on your arm as if to ground herself. To assure herself that you, her friend, really was ok.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you out.” She said, seemingly taking all the guilt.
“Bobbi, no one saw it coming. Besides,” You rested your hand on top of her own, “We made it out.”
She smiled, that was true. You had made it out in one piece. And she was right, you were a fighter; you never broke nor wavered.
And, she knew that if the tables were turned, you’d make the same moves she had.
As, in your line of work, you never left someone behind.
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ofedwrds · 3 years
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OPEN STARTER // @gallagherstart​
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     “i’ve never understood the obsession with ugly christmas sweaters,” conor says, thumbing through the rack that’s specifically for the type of sweaters. “like why would you want to buy something that is actually called ugly?” it doesn’t make sense to him, and his brows knit together as he pauses on one that has santa drinking a white claw. he holds it up, “ain’t no laws when you’re drinking with claus?” he wants to go back home right now.
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shallow-gravy · 3 years
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Fic Throwback!
Tagged by @consumedkings, @chazz-anova, @blissfulalchemist and @adelaidedrubman thank you lovies!!! 💖
Tagging @galadrieljones, @ma-sulevin, @smithandrogers, @trashcatsnark, @electriicfleur, @teamhawkeye, @cobb-vanthss and anyone else who wants to boost some of their older work 💖
rules: take an older fic (or art for my artist friends) from about a year ago or older even and talk about it, show it off and hype it up!
Okay guess I’m gonna dive back to the original reason I came screaming onto tumblr back in late 2018/early 2019. Red Dead Redemption 2 and sad cowboy himbo Arthur Morgan had my heart in a chokehold for a solid year and from it was borne my longest and first ever completed fanfiction, Blackbird’s Song. It could use some heavy revision and a better, more fleshed-out ending, but overall I’m still enormously proud of it.
So here’s an excerpt from Chapter 3, featuring Arthur getting to know a little more about my girl Wilhelmina-
The man must have run off to get the law because the next thing Willa knew, the three of them were out on the main street and poor Lenny was puking his guts up when the sheriff and a deputy and a few other men showed up. They immediately began to give chase and two of them tackled Lenny before he was even done purging all that whiskey and beer.
Arthur did a double take before he took off running down an alley. Willa could hear him screaming something like "you'll never take me alive!" She wanted to try and help Lenny, but she couldn't risk getting caught by the sheriff's men, so she launched her lit cigarette right at the forehead of a man who was running at her.
His faltering for a moment left her enough time to vault right past him to where her horse was tethered in front of the gunsmith. Thankfully the other two were still busy with Lenny and most of the others had taken off after Arthur.
She swung herself up into the saddle none too gracefully and yanked the reins to get Tulip to turn and trot past the sheriff's office. She saw Arthur jumping the fence off to her left and veered towards him, grabbing his hand to help pull him up behind her. "Hold on! Gee up, my girl!"
Willa veered Tulip around once more and urged her into a gallop heading south and out of town.
After a few miles, she finally pulled up on Tulip's reigns, slowing her into a trot and checking behind them to make sure they weren't being followed. She steered Tulip off through some trees and into a somewhat secluded clearing before she allowed herself to slump forward in the saddle, groaning. She clasped her arms around the mare's neck, not sure if she was going to retch or just topple right off into the grass. All that booze and the excitement of running from the law had finally caught up with her.
She was startled out of her groggy half-doze when she heard Arthur groaning behind her.
"We stopped…? Jesus, everything's spinnin'. Where's Lenny? LENNAAYY?!”
"Shut the hell up! Jesus…" Willa slowly and carefully slid down off her saddle, keeping one hand on Tulip's neck to keep herself steady. "The sheriff and his goons got him… is he gonna be okay?"
"Oh. Hell, he'll be alright." Arthur took a deep breath before slithering down off the back of the horse. Somehow he'd rode belly down the whole way from Valentine, and Willa could believe his guts were in a more woeful state than even hers. "They'll have him sleep it off in a cell and let him go with a fine in the mornin'…"
"Sounds like somethin' you're used to." She sat down heavily in the grass, feet splayed. She smacked her lips at the sour taste in her mouth. A little bit of bile and a whole lot of mud; shit, she was caked with the stuff. That stupid asshole had had the tenacity to try and proposition her. She wasn't putting up with that shit anymore. Hadn't for a long time. She wished that tackle had actually connected. She smiled a small mean smile to herself at the memory of Mr. Morgan holding his sorry head under the water.
"Guess you could say that. Used to be pretty wild in my younger days…" Arthur mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as a shiver overtook him. He was still soggy from when she’d shot that water bucket off the balcony, and the early hours of the morning were crisp here in the heartlands. And of course his coat was back with his horse in Valentine.
"Shit…I'm an ass, huh?" Willa stood up on wobbly legs and grabbed her tent, bedroll and a blanket off Tulip's back. "I can get a fire goin'. Here, take these." She tossed the supplies to him before wandering off to gather some branches from around the tree line.
Arthur snorted in return, but he scooped up the bundle of canvas she'd tossed to him and went about getting her tent put up. He laid the bedroll out across the entrance of the tent and scooped up the blanket to wrap around his shoulders before sitting back down.
In about 20 minutes Wilhelmina had a nice blaze kindled right in front of the tent, with some extra set aside to feed into the fire when it started to sputter. "You should take some of your clothes off, lay 'em out by the fire so they’ll dry." She kneeled in front of the bedroll, blowing some big breaths of air at the base of the fire to help it along a bit.
"Well, that sounds mighty indecent ma'am. Think I'll keep my clothes on, if it's all the same."
Willa rolled her eyes, huffing out a sigh and glancing back at him. "Fine. Do whatever you want. Don't go cryin' to Charles and Lenny and whoever else you run with when you get pneumonia."
Arthur's gaze slid towards her. "Why're you runnin' around out here alone, chasin' after your brother? Why not leave whatever it is in the past? Start a family or somethin'?"
She had been digging in her satchel for something to eat when the questions rolled out of him. She paused for a moment, then half-heartedly sat back and laid out some jerky and a tin of biscuits on the bedroll between them. "I um…" She cleared her throat. "I can't just leave it. That ain't how it's gonna happen…"
Willa bowed her head and gently removed her cavalry hat, cradling it in her lap. She pulled the blonde wig off her head and tossed it off to the side, the dark mop of her real hair tumbling down her shoulders and covering some of her face. "Everett took everything from me; our entire family, all of it that was left anyway. My daddy and my sister are dead, and that blood and more is on his hands."
Her own hands clawed at the hat, gripping the fabric tightly. "And I can't sit by and let him get away with it. I can't ever forgive what he's done. And a family?" She scoffed quietly. "He destroyed any part of me that could ever hope for somethin' like that…"
She abruptly looked over at him, eyes wet in the glow of the fire. "Don't tell me you ain't never had somethin' happen that you couldn't forget…that you couldn't forgive. That doesn't follow you around, hauntin' you like a goddamn ghost. I see your eyes, Mr. Morgan. You got ghosts, same as I do."
Arthur cleared his throat and bowed his own head, his hat hiding any expression he might have been making. He replied slowly, carefully. "I am sorry. And…you're right. I do carry my own demons, sure enough. But a wise man told me revenge is a fool's game…"
Willa inhaled sharply, nodding her head. "Well, when revenge and a good horse is all you got left…some fool's 'wisdom' don't seem to matter quite so much. I don't know what you've seen or what you've done, but I know we all got sins we carry. And we all got debts that need payin'. I made myself a promise a long time ago I'd see Everett pay his."
A silence descended over them after that. Arthur never truly enjoyed drinking because he almost always took it to excess and it made him vulnerable. Made him think too much and feel too much. He usually ended up in fights, brandishing that cold hard machismo he'd cultivated like a suit of armor to cover up what he felt were his shortcomings. Never being as smart as Hosea; never being as charismatic and charming as Dutch. Never being good enough for Mary and losing her; never being a good enough father to Isaac and losing him and his mother at such tender ages. That one hurt the most whenever the memories flooded back, because unlike Mary, they were gone forever. They were ghosts that would always haunt him, no matter how much he tried to push them down.
Willa's quiet voice broke him out of his reverie. "This was my daddy's hat, from the war." She was staring down hard at it. "This, my guns, an old banjo. That's all I got to remember him by. And Loretta, that name I been usin'…that was my twin sister's name." She sniffed, hastily wiping at her face with her sleeve. "Lettie, she was such a goddamn good kid…"
Arthur winced and sighed, the crow's feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He reached down and plucked up some of the jerky, holding it out to her. "C'mon girl. You should eat somethin'." He reached around into his satchel after she took the dried meat and produced a canteen full of water, nesting it on the bedroll in front of her.
"Ya know, I got my father's hat too. Can't say I loved mine quite as much as you did, but uh…well I guess there's some kinda reason I hold onto it. I'm a pretty bad man, but I guess maybe it reminds me not to be quite so bad as he was…"
Willa chewed slowly and sniffled a few more times. "You don't seem that bad, Mr. Morgan. Even if you did hogtie me and almost get me blown fulla holes by those O'Driscolls. You still been more considerate with me than most men I've met…"
Arthur's mouth curved into a small smirk as he plucked one of the biscuits out of the tin that sat between them. "Well, now…you only know me as a part-time bounty hunter and a debt collector and a drunk, Miss Thorne. I've been generally disagreeable for just about my whole life. Can't say I see that changin' any time soon."
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psychedelickittens · 1 year
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: White Claw Ain’t no Laws When You’re Drinking Claws T-shirt Gray Size Medium.
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thelastspeecher · 3 years
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D R A M
The title of this post is actually what I named the Word doc that I wrote this up in.  This write takes place in an AU inspired by a post that said something along the lines of “supervillain winds up marrying the ex-spouse of their superhero archnemesis”.  I saw that post and was like “time to make another version of the Superhero/villain AU”.  So here you go.
——————————————————————————————
              Stan slid into his regular stool at the bar. At the sound of soft muttering, he looked over.  He raised an eyebrow.  Normally, no one sat next to his stool.  But today, a young woman sat there, staring morosely at her drink and mumbling something.
              “Hey, hot stuff,” he said cheerfully, leaning in. She held up a hand.  Light glinted off the golden band around her ring finger.
              “I’m married,” she said dully.
              “You don’t sound too happy about it,” Stan remarked. She glared at him.  “I call it like I see it, toots.”
              “Don’t call me ‘toots’,” she snapped.
              “Fine.  What should I call you, then?”
              “By my name.”
              “Which would be…?”
              “…Angie.”
              “Angie.”  Stan held out a hand.  “I’m Stan.” Angie shook the offered hand. “So, what brings a troubled wife to my favorite dive?”
              “My dick of a husband,” Angie groused.  She slumped over the bar.  “I swear…some days he acts like a completely dif’rent man than the one I married.”  Tears shone in her voice, along with a distinct southern accent.  She picked up her drink and pulled on the straw.  It rattled in the ice at the bottom of the otherwise empty glass.  “And I’m all out.”
              “I’ll cover it.  What’s your drink?”
              “Long Island iced tea.”
              “Oof.  Maybe I shouldn’t get you a second one of those.  Those are a bad decision in a glass.”  Angie straightened, her eyes boring into Stan’s.
              “I can handle my liquor, sir.  I bet I can handle it better ‘n you can,” she snarled. Stan held his hands up.
              “Okay, okay, I believe you.  Man, you’ve got claws, don’t you?”
              “Maybe.”
              “Heh.  I like a woman with a bit of fight in her.”  Stan winked.
              “Still married.”
              “To that dick?  Why?”
              “He treats me right,” Angie mumbled into her drink. “…Sometimes.”
              “Sometimes?  What about the rest of the time?”
              “He tries to get me to quit my job and be a housewife.”
              “Why?”
              “If I knew, I’d tell ya,” Angie said with a shrug. She tapped the rim of her glass. “So, about that drink…?”
              “Hey, barkeep?” Stan called, flagging down the bartender.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one corner of Angie’s mouth turn up, into a ghost of a smile.
-----
              Stan had just about finished putting his boots on when his favorite coworker, Undertow, stormed into the locker room.  He watched with a raised eyebrow as Undertow tore open his locker, muttering under his breath.
              “You’re in a mood today,” Stan commented.  Undertow sighed.  He looked back at Stan.  The crew’s general policy was to keep masks on at all times in HQ, since there were some new heroes with telepathy who might be able to take a peek at a villain’s memories.  Undertow’s outfit had a full cowl, rather than a domino mask like Stan’s, but even partially obscured, he had one of the most expressive faces Stan had ever seen. And at the moment, Undertow’s expression was frustrated and saddened.
              “I thought she was fin’ly goin’ to leave him,” Undertow said.  Stan’s second eyebrow raised to join his first.
              He’s pretty damn upset.  Normally, he keeps that accent in check.
              “Who?” Stan asked.
              “My sister.”
              “You have a sister?”
              “Two.”  Undertow sat on the bench next to Stan.  “But the one I’m speakin’ of is my twin sister.”  Stan racked his brain for any hints about Undertow’s background.  As someone without villainous family connections, he wasn’t privy to information that some of his coworkers had.  But he remembered hearing once that Undertow came from a long line of villains.
              “Is she…in the trade?” Stan asked.  Undertow shook his head.
              “No.  When we were younger, she wanted to be.  But she decided not to, when she started datin’ the feller what became her husband.” Undertow scowled.  “Her husband’s a real piece of shit.”
              “Did he prevent her from being a villain?”
              “Nah.  He don’t know ‘bout our fam’ly bein’ full of villains.  But he’s on the straight ‘n narrow, and wouldn’t have liked his wife to be breakin’ the law.”  Undertow sighed heavily.  “As it is, he don’t really like his wife doin’ much of anything.  Which is why my sister needs to dump his sorry ass.”  Undertow rubbed his face.  “And I thought she was goin’ to do it this time.  But she didn’t.”
              “What happened?”
              “They had another argument about how he wants her to start poppin’ out kids.  She don’t want to yet, ‘cause she feels like takin’ maternity leave right now would cripple her career trajectory.  And his response was that she won’t need maternity leave, ‘cause she can just quit her job.  He keeps pushin’ that issue over ‘n over.  He don’t like her workin’.”
              “Sounds like a douche.”
              “He is!  And after that fight, she came to my house fer a shoulder to cry on.  I did my best to sway her, but she still went back to him once she’d calmed down.”  Undertow groaned loudly.  “Honestly, at this point, I can’t think of a single thing that’d get her to leave him.”
              “Maybe I should make a pass at her,” Stan joked. Undertow snorted.
              “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.  You’d be better fer her than what she’s got right now.”
-----
              Stan went to the bar every night, hoping to see Angie again, but it took a month before she showed up.  This time, she arrived after he did, visibly in tears. She made her way to the stool next to Stan’s and sat down.  Faint breezes danced around her, kicking up her caramel-colored hair.
              Is…is she a super?  I knew she was something special.  Stan wordlessly slid her his whisky, which she downed in one swallow. He winced.
              “Your husband again?” he asked.  Angie nodded morosely.  “Well, at least he lasted a month before he pissed you off enough to make you drown your sorrows.”
              “Nah, I just went to my brother’s last time,” Angie said hoarsely.  “He’s got real moonshine, and I wanted somethin’ strong.”
              “If your brother’s got hooch, why are you coming here?” Stan asked.  Angie slid Stan’s empty tumbler back to him, determinedly avoiding eye contact.
              “I…wanted to talk to you.”
              “…Really?”
              “Yes.”
              “Look, lady, I’m not a marriage counselor.”
              “I know.  But you don’t have an agenda.  My brother does.  My whole fam’ly does, all my friends do.  All they say is ‘leave him’.”  Angie met Stan’s gaze.  Her eyes were a bright, brilliant blue, swimming in tears.  “I just need someone to listen.”
              “I can do that, but you’re gonna have to pay for another whiskey for me first,” Stan said.  Angie managed a watery chuckle.
              “Fine.”  Angie waved over the bartender and ordered herself a Long Island iced tea and another whiskey for Stan.
              “All right,” Stan said once his drink was in hand. “What’s going on?”
              “My ma became a stay-at-home mother when I was a tot.  She kept house and raised six kids-”  Stan coughed roughly.
              “Six kids?” he croaked.  Angie nodded.  “What the-”
              “We’re Catholic.”
              “Ah, okay.  Carry on.”
              “Props to her.  It’s a rough job to have, and I don’t look down on it.”  Angie slammed her hands against the counter.  A wind picked up, rattling the old beer advertisements on the wall.  “But it ain’t fer me!”
              “Lemme guess.  Your husband wants you to be a stay-at-home mom.”
              “Yes.  Which I knew. But this time- this time, he brought my ma into it!  Told me that I’d be good at it ‘cause my ma clearly was.  I just-”  Angie gestured wordlessly.  “How- how could he think that’s a compliment?”
              “Probably ‘cause he’s so dead set on you doing that,” Stan said with a shrug.  “He’s already decided you’ll do it, so he’s already started complimenting you on it.”
              “…That makes sense,” Angie said softly.  She groaned loudly.  “Why is he like this?”  Stan shrugged.  “I want to stay with him, to get him to change his mind-”
              “That’s not your job.  Your job is-”  Stan frowned. “Wait, what do you do?”
              “I’m a zookeeper.”
              “Your job is to keep zoos,” Stan said.  Angie furrowed her brow, like she couldn’t decide whether she was amused by Stan’s phrasing or not.  “Not to drag your husband out of the fifties.”
              “But I’m his wife.”
              “And?”
              “I’m s’pposed to help him change.”
              “What if he doesn’t want to change?” Stan asked. “What do you do then?”  The winds that had entered the bar with Angie abruptly died down.
              “…Yer right.”
              “I am?”
              “He don’t want to change.  He don’t want to listen to me.  I can’t force it, I shouldn’t have even tried.”  Angie dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and stood to leave.
              “Hey, uh wait-” Stan started.  Angie looked at him.
              “Yes?”
              “I, uh, I never got your last name.”
              “It’s Hillcrest.”  Angie slid her wedding ring off and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans. “But not fer long.”  She paused for a moment, watching Stan, then leaned in and placed a gentle peck on his cheek.  With that, she left the bar.
              Stan stared at the door long after she had gone, his mind running a mile a minute.
              Did I just get her to break up with her husband?
-----
              Stan walked out of the shower and headed for his locker to get dressed in his civvies.  After he had his pants on, Undertow entered the locker room and went for his locker as well.
              “Hey,” Stan said.  Undertow grunted.  “Is it your sister’s husband again?”
              “Hmm?”  Undertow turned around.  “Oh, no, she finally dumped him.”
              “Really?  Good for her.”
              “Yeah.  But she’s got a new beau, and she insisted on dinner with him tonight.”  Undertow sighed.  “I’m not looking forward to it.”
              “Is he a dick, too?”
              “Don’t know.  Haven’t met him.”
              “Ah.  I get it. You don’t wanna meet your sister’s new man just yet.”
              “No, I do not.”
              “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not looking forward to dinner tonight, either,” Stan said, slipping on his T-shirt. “I’m meeting my girlfriend’s brother for the first time.”
              “Oof.”  Undertow looked at him sympathetically.  “Don’t worry too much, Flamethrower.  You’re a great guy.”
              “Thanks, but I dunno if her brother’s gonna think that. My girlfriend says he can be a bit tough.”  Undertow walked over to Stan and clapped a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.
              “I’m sure it’ll go great.”
              “Hopefully,” Stan muttered.  Undertow smiled at him.
              “If her brother doesn’t like you, he’s a damn fool.”
-----
              Stan walked up to the address Angie had given him. When she divorced her ex-husband, she had moved in with her twin brother, Lute.  Apparently, Lute was thrilled to have her with him again.
              I get it, though.  That twin bond is strong.  Stan stopped in front of the door.  He took a deep breath and knocked.
              “Comin’!” Angie called.  Stan felt some of his nerves disperse at the sound of her voice. The door opened, revealing the beaming face of his girlfriend.  “Stanley!” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you so much fer agreein’ to this.”
              “You said it’s important, so…”
              “It is,” Angie said softly.  “It really is.”  Her eyes lit up.  “Oh! And, um, remember how ya told me that yer not exactly…on the side of the law?” she said, her voice low.  Stan nodded.  Telling Angie he was a villain had been nerve wracking, but she had proven herself once again to be the best possible girlfriend and taken it in stride. “Well, the reason I took it so well is ‘cause I have a lot of fam’ly members who ‘re in the same career.”
              “Wait, really?”
              “Yep!  Lute’s one of ‘em.  If things go well tonight, I can prob’ly convince him to put a good word in fer ya, get ya moved up in the ranks a bit.”
              “You really think so?” Stan asked eagerly. Angie nodded.  “That would be awesome, Ang.”
              “Just be charmin’, okay?”  Angie messed with his shirt.  “But that shouldn’t be a problem.”
              “Hey, Angie, the oven just beeped!” a voice shouted. Stan’s head whipped up.
              That almost sounded like Undertow.
              “All right, I’ll come take care of it,” Angie called back.  She kissed Stan on the cheek.  “Come on in and take a seat in the livin’ room.”
              “You got it.”  Stan kissed the top of her head and entered the house, following the hallway until he arrived at a cozy living room.  He took a seat on the brown couch.  Shortly after, a young man that looked eerily similar to Angie entered, holding a glass of water, and took a seat next to him.
              “So, um…” the man said.  He cleared his throat.  “Yer Stan?”
              “Yeah.  I’m guessing you’re Lute?”
              “Yessir.”
              “Nice to meet you,” Stan said, holding out a hand. Lute shook it, visibly reluctant. “Angie speaks pretty highly of you.”
              “She does the same fer you.”  Lute cleared his throat again.  “What do you do?”
              “I sell used cars.”
              “Used cars?”
              “Yeah.”  Stan shrugged.  “It’s just to make some dough while I work on my passion projects.”  Lute eyed Stan with interest.  Much like when he had heard Lute’s voice earlier, Stan was reminded of Undertow.  Something about the look in Lute’s gray eyes was eerily familiar.
              “Passion projects?  Like what?”
              “Oh, uh, I’m keeping them to myself until they work out,” Stan said.
              Don’t wanna spill just yet that I want to become a villain full-time.
              “Ah.”  Lute seemed disappointed.  He looked down at his glass of water.  After a moment, he spoke again.  “You a super?”
              “Yeah.  You?” Stan asked without thinking.  He fought back a wince.
              Angie just told you he was a villain, of course he’s a super, you dumbass.  Lute smirked. The water in his glass shot up, hovered as a sphere for a split second, then zipped around the room before returning to his glass.  Stan’s jaw dropped.
              “Whattaya think?” Lute asked snidely.
              “…I think you’re a super,” Stan said.
              Shit, it is Undertow!  How did I wind up dating my coworker’s twin sister without realizing it?
              “Yup.”  Lute winked. “Better yet, I’m a mask.  Give ya twenty bucks if ya can guess who.”
              “Lute!” Angie scolded from the kitchen.  Lute groaned.
              “Fine, I’ll drop it.”  Before Stan could think of what to do with the information that Lute was Undertow, the villain in question spoke again.  “So, ya sell used cars.  What’s yer education like?”
              “Uh, high school.”
              “That’s it?” Lute asked.  Stan nodded.  Lute frowned. “My sister has a-”
              “Doctorate in herpetology, I know,” Stan said.
              “And you don’t think it’s odd at all that someone so educated is with someone who only graduated high school?” Lute pressed. Stan shrugged.
              “It just means that she’s smart enough for the both of us,” he said airily.  Lute froze. His eyes began to frantically search Stan’s face.
              “…What did ya just say?” he whispered.
              “That Angie’s smart enough for both of us,” Stan said.  A memory abruptly surfaced of a conversation he’d had with Undertow a few days ago. He had mentioned his relationship, as well as the discrepancy between his education and his girlfriend’s.  And Undertow had simply replied that Stan’s girlfriend would have to be smart enough for the both of them, then.
              “Hmm.”  Lute leaned back, still staring at Stan.  “Say, yer a super, right?  What kind?” In lieu of a verbal response, Stan snapped his fingers.  A flame burst to life on his fingertips.
              “Whattaya think?”
              “Flamethrower,” Lute whispered.  Stan extinguished the flame.
              “Undertow.”
              “Yer- I-”  Lute dragged his hands down his face.  “Consarnit!”
              “Yeah, I gotta admit, finding out that my girlfriend’s twin is my favorite coworker is pretty weird,” Stan confessed.  Lute groaned.  “But you seem to be taking this way harder than you should be.”
              “It’s just- yer my fav’rite coworker, too.”
              “You make that sound like it’s a problem.”
              “It is.  I like ya, Stan, which is goin’ to make it difficult to be hard on ya.”
              “Wait, what?” Stan asked.  Lute sighed.
              “I have to be hard on ya to make sure yer all right fer my sister.”
              “What?  Come on, man!”
              “My sister just got out of a bad relationship. I don’t want her to wind up in another one right off the bat.”
              “You know me.  I’m a good guy.  I treat Angie right.”
              “That’s what I thought ‘bout Max,” Lute said softly. “Hell, we’d been friends since we were in diapers.  I thought he was a decent sort.  So when he ‘n Angie started datin’ in high school, I didn’t bat an eye.  I should’ve.  If I had, maybe I could’ve stopped Angie from needin’ a divorce.”
              “Lute.”  Stan and Lute looked up.  Angie had entered the living room.  She crossed over to Lute, knelt in front of him, and placed a hand on one of his knees. “Don’t blame yourself.  The only person to blame is me.  I should’ve left the minute he became a hero, and I was goin’ to have to abandon the dream of followin’ the fam’ly tradition.  But I stayed.  Even when he started raggin’ on me ‘bout how I needed to be a more traditional wife.”
              “You were in a toxic relationship,” Lute said softly.  “Yer not to blame.”
              “The only person to blame here is your dick of an ex-husband,” Stan said.  Angie and Lute looked over.  “Lute’s right, Angie.  It’s difficult to leave a toxic relationship.  My mom’s proof of that.  But Angie’s right, too, Lute.  It’s not your fault, either.  Sometimes…sometimes people start out good, but then they get worse.  Even if you had been hard on Max when he started dating Angie, things still could have played out the way they did.”
              “Yeah,” Lute said.  He sighed.  “Yer right, Stan.  We should be blamin’ Max, not ourselves.  Especially since he’s apparently a hero.”  Lute directed the statement at Angie, who paled.  “Banjolina, what’s that about?”
              “Banjolina?” Stan mumbled.
              “I didn’t share information either way,” Angie said tartly, getting to her feet.  “I ain’t a snitch.”
              “Ya won’t be tellin’ us what his hero name is, then?” Lute asked.  Angie shook her head.  “Hmph. Guess we’ll just have to figure it out on our own.”
              “Speaking of secret identities,” Stan said, “why didn’t you warn us that we already knew each other?”  Angie grinned.
              “I might not have ever gotten into the villainy game, but that don’t mean I ignore the chance to stir up some mischief.” Something in the kitchen beeped.  “Oh, I’ve got to get that.”  She rushed back into the kitchen.
              “Given what ya just said and what I already knew about you,” Lute said slowly, “I’ll drop the protective big brother speech.” Stan leaned back.
              “Cool.  I mean, no offense, but you’re not as intimidating as you think you are,” Stan replied.  Lute rolled his eyes.
              “Whatever.”  He leaned closer to Stan.  “Between the two of us, I think we could figure out which hero it is what broke Angie’s heart and trapped her in a bad relationship fer years on end.”  Stan nodded.
              “I agree.  That motherfucker needs to get a firm ass-kicking.”
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Text
Coastal Waters (1/8/2021)
Click here if you’re like “What the heck is this about?”
Valera @autokrates and Madame @usedhearts meet underwater, talk about Madame’s history, eat an eel, and head to the library when Valera discovers to his horror that Madame, an octopus, doesn’t know shit about octopuses. octopodes. octopi.
Madame
The sea. She hadn't even seen the ocean since she was just a girl, let alone swam deep in her waters. The water was warm against her skin, and she flowed through it with an effortless grace that she honestly didn't know she had. It felt good. It felt right, to be among the waves of this alien planet. This was were a giant octopus of a lady should be.
Madame just sat there, under the water, watching curious fish and other creatures flit towards her. She was far larger than any of them, so they were either brave or foolish. A few of the more foolish ones found their way inside her mouth for their crimes. She intentionally kept her skin a pinkish red, wanting to stand out among the reef. A color that said 'Here I am, and I'm bigger than you, so watch out!' It was perfect really.  She kept a look out for anyone else going for a swim-- she'd be sure they got a little kraken scare, just for fun.
Valera
Funny, how even on an alien planet, the ocean is still comforting to anyone who loved it. Colorful fish were abundant, the reddish light of the suns lending a faintly pink tinge to the rays coming down through the water.
And here comes Valera to torment innocent wildlife, a flash of silver followed by pink as he chases a mirror bright eel adjacent creature past Madame's resting place.
Madame
Madame's head snapped to the side as Valera passed, and quick as anything, she's off after him. That eel is the target, hm? Well, she wasn't about to let their host have an easy go of it. Tentacles opening and then thrusting back to get her speed, she closed in, trying to get it first-- or at least, make a little game of it for Valera.
Valera
It takes a few seconds for Valera to notice the appearance of a competitor, movement in the corner of his eyes nearly distracting him enough to lose track of the eel. But then the slippery menace turns on a dime, diving into a crevice in the rocks for all its worth. Valera's forced to brake, fins flaring out dramatically as he backpedals just to not smash into the rocks.
He perches on the coral, snorting out a few bubbles as he looks up at Madame. "Damn! Ah well, it'll have to come out eventually. Hello! What's an octopus like you doing in a place like this?"
Madame
Unfortunately, Madame doesn't catch herself quite as quickly as Valera, but she does slow herself enough to not smash hard against the rocks. She winced as she pulled away from them, rubbing her arm.
"Ouch. Them eels are slippery fuckers, ain't they?" She smirked at Val, swimming over to them and perching in a similar manner. "That it does. And thought I'd go for a swim, enjoy it while I can 'n all that. The closest I get to all this is my aquariums at home. This is...heaven, honestly."
Valera
Valera frowns, leaning in to sniff at Madame. Any blood? He can patch up a scrape no problem! The praise for his planet makes him purr, a soft buzz in the water that makes nearby fish start swimming closer to nibble at the pink fish's scales.
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself! I was hoping my home would be a place of relaxation, but it seems like it's getting even more of a positive response than expected. If you really like it though, I'll see about inviting you back sometime!"
Madame
No blood, luckily, but she'd probably have a bruise or three later. Octopus skin is durable but not the best when it comes to impacts.
"Oh, I'd simply love that-- even give ya free drinks for life at the Cabaret if that'd sweeten the pot." She winked and laughed, before turning to look up at the surface, watching the sunlight glitter through. She was glad they were surrounded by salt water-- a few tears wouldn't be noticed down here.
"It truly is beautiful. Reminds me so much a home-- I ever tell ya, me 'n Alastor hail from the same place? Good ol' Nawlins, right there on the gulf. Gorgeous city, full of wonderful people 'n the best food 'n the south. When I went west with my husband, I knew I'd miss the ocean, but I didn't think I'd die without ever seein' it again." She smiled as she turned towards him.
"Ya really put some joy back in an ol' lady's heart, Valera, invitin' me here. Didn't think it'd mean as much as it does...but here we are." She laughed, and wiped at her eyes-- before remembering there was nothing to wipe. "Forgive me, gettin' all emotional. We supposed t' be lookin' for an eel, right?"
Valera
"Oh, that eel can go tie itself in knots for all I care, we're talking about this old lady here right now." Valera leans in, a clawed hand delicately patting at Madame's shoulder. "I didn't know you were from New Orleans! I've been there a few times. Lovely place. Very...." He pauses to think, plucking a wandering shrimp off the reef to gesture with. "Lively? Vibrant! You can really lose yourself in that city"
His tail winds around an outcrop, the fish settling down like he was lounging on the finest swooning couch. "So, you were married? Happily, I hope!"
Madame
She took a few breaths, the water filling her chest with warmth, and nodded.
"I was, born 'n raised. Got married a fresh faced youth 'n me 'n the husband decided to try 'n make our fortunes out west. We made it out there too, 'n then he caught ill 'n passed. Left me with a house built and some livestock bought 'n not much else. Started up doin' work on my back, 'n then collected some other girls, some a them like me, others on they own from the start. Home my husband built became my saloon 'n brothel, 'n a whole town sprung up around it. Lovely lil' place.
"But with people come folk what think they the law in a lawless patch a ground. Dumb fucks didn't like me much, and I ain't care for them neither. Startin' smugglin' for local outlaws, hidin' some. The quote-unquote 'law' got it in they heads to burn my place down, cause I was hidin' some poor boy they wanted-- surprised them when the whole thing blew to smithereens cause we was sittin' on a couple boxes a dynamite. Oh, if I coulda seen their faces...." She trailed off and then cleared her throat, laughing a little.
"But then I landed in Hell. And they did too. Strung 'em up by they own insides for I staked a claim on the land I landed on. That's where the Cabaret sits now. The asshole's skeletons're in the aquarium now, housin' crabs and whatnot. Serves 'em right."
Valera
Valera makes a sound more like a dolphin noise than a whistle, crossing one leg over the other as he listens to Madame tell her not especially tragic backstory. "It certainly does. Though I'm sure the short time they spent in Hell came as a rather nasty surprise, if they were going around calling themselves the *law*."
A snort. "It sounds like you've been a woman with a talent for business since day one, Madame. Can't say I'm surprised with the way you run things, but what a story. Sorry to hear about the husband though, losing someone is never easy."
Madame
She nodded, crossing her legs as daintily as someone who was fifteen feet tall could.
"Oh yeah, real nasty surprise for them-- shame I didn't keep 'em around longer, woulda been fun to have 'em strung up on the dart boards or somethin'."
Madame shrugged. "I did miss 'im but, after he died, I realized that I never _really_ loved him. Not like a woman 'n a man 'should' love each other. Dunno why, always been like that I suppose. But we was best friends since childhood 'n it made sense back then to marry someone y' at least liked, instead a some stranger."
Valera
"Hah! I can see it now! Are you a sadist? Five bucks a pop and you can throw your darts at the living dart boards! Ten points if you get them in the eyes, fifteen if you throw hard enough to knock a tooth out! Oh, Hell would have loved that." He cackles, popping the shrimp into his mouth for a quick snack. Mmm, crunchy!
"...Is there a 'should'?" His face twists in confusion. "Maybe it's an alien thing. I was set to bond with my own best friend before I cut that short in favor of running the Autocracy. Romance seems secondary in favor of... You know. Benefits."
Madame
"Dunno. With humans there's always a 'should', it seems. 'Ya _should_ love a man. Ya _should_ marry 'n have kids. Ya _should_ pick yerself up by yer bootstraps 'n get shit done. Ya _should_ know all the right things ta say'." She sighed and shrugged.
"Never much cared for the shoulds. Married because it seemed better'n bein' alone-- and I ended up alone anyways. So, what was the point 'n the first place? I sure as shit don't know. Just lost my best friend, that's all." Madame leaned her chin on her hand, elbow on her knee. "Think I woulda fared better with aliens then humans."
Valera
An eyebrow is raised as Valera turns what Madame said over in his mind. "I don't think marrying your best friend directly resulted in him dying, Madame. But I will admit, you wouldn't be the first human, former or otherwise, to say they would have likely been happier with an alien partner." He's absolutely talking about Pentious. And maybe a few others. He's a popular fish!
"Humans are silly creatures, and I do say that fondly! I've seen very few races as determined to bind themselves to strict social rules and roles that none of them seem to actually enjoy. It's baffling."
Madame
She laughed and nodded. "Yeah, I know whatcha mean. Most people seem happier when they break social conventions. Makes ya wonder why we even got 'em."
Madame took a breath and smiled. "And I didn't mean it so much as an alien partner as, well, maybe I was just meant to not be a human-- alien in a human body or some such. Maybe it's why I adapted ta bein' a weird giant octopus demon so well!"
Valera
"Your guess is better than mine, I'm only a human when it suits me."
He grins, all teeth. "It wouldn't surprise me. You never struck me as especially *human*, tentacles nonwithstanding. A lovely person? Yes, absolutely. You take good care of all your girls. But human? Not really." Well that's cryptic. But good luck getting him to elaborate, he's already distracted by trying to shove his arm into the crevice where the eel is hiding.
Madame
Madame let out another laugh, smirking as she shrugged and waved a hand.
"I'll take the compliment, and y'know, that reminds me a one of my go-to numbers." She slid off the rock she sat on and floated down a bit, twirling as she went.
"_I admit that in the past I've been a nasty, they weren't kidding when they called me well, a witch_...." She trailed off, giggling. "One of my favorites. That and 'When You're Good To Mama', acourse."
Valera
"Mm, I had you pinned as a contralto day one, my dear Madame." Valera glances over, against the rock up to the shoulder as he scrabbled for the eel. "You run that routine at the cabaret, right? I'll have to swing by to see it sometime! Maybe with my beau, though I don't know his opinion on burlesque just yet."
Madame
"Oh yes! Just tell me when y'all are droppin' by and I'll be sure to add myself to the night's roster." She winked and swam closer, looking at Val's arm, stuck deep in the rock.
"Any luck findin' the squirmy bastard? Or do ya need something a little more dexterous?" She wiggled a tentacle at him.
Valera
He frowns, then pulls his arm back and gestures for Madame to take his place. "I think you may have better luck, my dear. And for more than just that dexterity of yours! Mind the teeth though, those eels aren't the sharpest around, but they bite and do NOT let go."
Madame
Her arms crossed as she slid the tentacle inside, and Madame's face screwed up in concentration. A few moments later she let out a shout.
"Ow! Fucker got me, but I got him too!" With a mighty yank, her tentacle pulled back out, the eel wrapped tight in it, even as it chomped down on her. "What now, Val?"
Valera
"Now you eat him!" He crows, clapping his hands together as the eel gives the most hateful look it can muster. Though, underwater, there wasn't actually any sound to the gesture. "It's your catch, just bite him behind the eyes, nice and clean kill!"
Madame
She arched a brow, but brought the eel closer, moving to get a good angle. Madame opened her mouth and snapped down on the eel's head-- and it released it's own bite on her. She took it in her hands and bit it in half, swallowing down the front half.
Madame offered the other half to Val, grinning. "Here. Only right a guest share with her host."
Valera
He affects a dainty gasp, accepting the eel with a coquettish fluttering of his lashes. "Why THANK you, my dear Madame. Such a gracious guest, my hearts are warmed by your consideration."
And that chunk of eel is gone in a flash, yam yam. "Gods, always a tasty little morsel. Those have a lot of interesting names in various languages here, but my personal favorite is the one that translates best to..." He taps his chin, trying to think of the closest words. "Something like Bastard Snake. Bastard as in abandoned son, not the insult."
Madame
"Nah, I think the insult worst better, cause he sure was a bastard ta get outta there." She gestured toward her bitten tentacle.
"Think he mighta torn a chunk outta me. Ouch..." She brought it closer to inspect and while the chunk wasn't _gone_, it was barely hanging out. "Oh, that's a doozy..."
Valera
He leans in, taking a closer look at the damage to Madame's tentacle with a sympathetic hiss. "Oooh, that looks painful. Want me to fix it?"
A waggle of his fingers, and he extends a glowing hand. That's probably not ominous, right?
Madame
"Can ya?" She asked, her head tilting. "I'd love ta not have to whip out the scar cream for somethin' so small."
Valera
"I can! Healing and barriers are actually my specialty." He trills, looking VERY pleased with himself about that fact. "No strings attached for you, of course."
Madame
"Well, then, thank ya kindly. Yer a lovely 'n gracious host." She beamed.
Valera
He takes her tentacle in hand, smoothing over the wound with a slow sweep of his palm. A brief flash of numbness, heat, and there, good as new. No dramatics necessary! But he's still going to deliver with some SPECTACULAR jazz hands and the cheeriest grin he can muster.
"There, how's that?"
Madame
Madame let out a little 'oh!' at the numbness and heat, and as soon as her tentacle was released, it flexed and wiggled of its own accord.
"Well, that was sure somethin'! Never had a healin' like that."
Valera
"Never? Is healing magic not common in Hell?" Well, either that or Madame just didn't get hurt often. Either seemed possible.
Madame
"Oh no, it's not that. Usually gettin' somethin' healed costs-- usually a soul, or a favor, but always somethin'." She shrugged. "Try not to get into too many fights, cause the healin' is usually worse than the damage."
Valera
He squints, planting his chin on his open palm as he stares at the fixed tentacle. "I mean, I guess it cost something? All I did was encourage your natural healing. A few cell divisions to smooth over the damage, replace the torn up cells. Something that small didn't require actually replacing any massive swaths of material. You'll be hungrier than usual later, but that's about it!"
A shrug. "It would have been worse if you'd actually lost a chunk, but even then, I could have just converted a pebble to matching flesh or something. No biggie!"
Madame
"A pebble? Huh!" She tapped her chin. "That is somethin'. Yer magic's a lot more powerful than anythin' I can channel. Usual I go to good ol' Al for any real punchy magics."
Valera
"You know, people keep saying that. I never thought of myself as especially powerful." He holds up a finger. "Well, no. I have plenty of RAW power. But as far as efficiency goes, I'm absolute garbage. My magic isn't nearly as finely tuned as it could be. I burn tons of it on even small spells. Like, embarrassing amounts. Horrendously sloppy."
A sigh. "What kind of magic do you usually need from good old Alastor?"
Madame
"If I need a costume on the fly, he can magic up some pretty good threads. He's fairly good at some basic healin'-- like if ona my acts sprains somethin'. And of course, the best magic of all-- his reputation. Ain't nobody gonna mess with the Cabaret none if I got the Radio Demon in my back pocket." She paused.
"Don't tell him I said that, he wouldn't take kindly to it."
Valera
He waves a hand, grin turning downright impish. "What, me? Tell an Alastor that his reputation is helping protect his friends? My dear, I would *never*."
Madame
Madame giggled, and winked at him. "Yer a peach, shug." She put her hands on her hips.
"Anythin' else ya wanna tag team, huntin' wise? I'm down for a lil explorin' 'n huntin', if you are."
Valera
Valera sticks his tongue out, slowly unwinding his tail from his anchor point. "No, I'm a fish! But I understand the confusion. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone your mistake." A wink.
"We'll have to browse the local selection, Madame! If you're amenable to a bit of window shopping, that is."
Madame
"I dunno about that, ya ass is pretty peachy!" She cackled, swimming closer to take his arm.
"I'm a fan a any kinda shoppin', includin' the window kind!"
Valera
Oho! Quick on the sass with that one, was she? Good! Keeps things interesting. He politely flutters his fins, turning his head this way and that to scout out a meal.
"You're more of an ambush predator, no?"
Madame
"Think so! Don't know too much bout octopuses honestly? Only what I've been able to figure out, mostly. But it worked earlier!" She laughed.
Valera
... He turns his head back to look at Madame, eyebrows inching up slowly but surely.
"Pardon? You don't know about octopuses? The very animal your soul was moulded after for your eternal punishment?"
Madame
She laughed, oh that look on his face!
"Yup! Thinka how surprised I was when I dropped inta Hell lookin' like this!" She gestured to herself. "Knew things like fish 'n gators 'n the like, 'n even the tiny little octopuses, but never one as big as me!"
Valera
He squints, slowly turning them back towards the shore. Sounds like they're about to make a trip to the *library*.
"I'm sure. So you're not familiar with how octopus brains work? Or the semi-independent "minds" of their tentacles?"
Madame
"Oh, is that why they sometimes do shit on they own?" She giggled again, going along with Val's movements.
"And no, I ain't. Never thought to look it up, too busy buildin' my business 'n keepin' it."
Valera
He snorts. Yes, this library visit is sounding more and more necessary. But he's not above setting a sedate pace. A couple of friends on a relaxing swim, no need to flip.
"Yes, Madame. You'll also be pleased to know that were you an octopus of the male persuasion, one of your tentacles would also be your penis." A pause, and he amends. "Well, theoretically. It gets wibbly when you mix humans and other species. I doubt you'd lay four hundred thousand eggs and then die from a single mating."
Madame
Her eyes widened and she can't help but laugh again. "Oh fuck! Yeah, sure glad I don't do that! Woulda double died a long time ago!"
Valera
"If it makes you feel any better, the Earth fish I most resemble, the lionfish, can lay..." A tap at his lips, give him a moment to recall... Oh, yes, there we go. "Fifteen thousand eggs every four days?"
That's so many. He shudders at the very thought. "I'm not *quite* so prolific. But fret not, my dear. All those facts and more can be safely tucked into your noggin once we find you a book that doesn't read like watching paint dry. I know there's SOMETHING about octopuses being able to tamper with their own biology on the fly."
Madame
"Oh? That sounds interestin'. And yeah, glad we ain't out here layin' thousands of eggs, that's just too much." She laughed, giving his arm a squeeze in hers.
Valera
And off they go, back to shore and beyond, to educate an octopus woman on her own partial biology. How lovely.
8 notes · View notes
barrysjumpsuit · 4 years
Text
the dark side - jj maybank x shoupe’s daughter (ch. 3)
Tumblr media
w/c: 2.5k
warnings: underage drinking, mentions of other illicit activity, typos probably, but this is mostly just jj fluff
summary:  catherine shoupe has the perfect life. when she gets hired by heyward to run groceries, she has a new coworker - jj maybank. as the deputy’s daughter, she can’t help but hate him. but when jj decides to bring her to the dark side and woo her over, cat not only has to hide her activities from her father, but learn who her father really is.
a/n: i’ve been super busy and lacking inspo, so i knocked this out in about an hour and a half (and tbh i’m kinda proud of it).  this is definitely based on that time last week i drank 8 beers while swimming and was so drunk i fell off the dock then cried while making a pizza bc i started thinking about drew starkey  
side note, the tags weren’t working on the last two chapters, so if you could reblog this that would mean the world to me :)
get caught up on other chapters here! or check out my masterlist!
----
JJ’s words ate at Cat as she drove home. Leave it to JJ to put that foul taste in her mouth - was he trying to turn her against her own father? Or wanting her to come to the dark side with him?  Of course JJ didn’t like her dad. He was a troublemaker, flirting with all the punishments that were associated with breaking the law. 
Cat got home ten minutes later. Her dad was waiting up for her - it was later than she realized, and she was too caught up with JJ - and then flustered - to text him. “How’d it go?” he asked, seeing her face and pulling her into a hug.
“It was okay. I’m just tired,” she said quietly, her head pressed against her dad’s shoulder.
“You want any dinner?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Okay. Good night, sweetie.”
That night and all of the next day, she couldn’t stop thinking about what JJ had said to her.
Cat spent her day off with her best friend. They shopped before dropping their bags off at Cat’s, changing and going to the beach.
“Tell me about your new job,” Kya insisted, laying beside her. Her eyes were hidden by large, pink sunglasses, a smile plastered on her face.
“Well… it’s different, that’s for sure. I like spending most of my day on the water.” Cat threw an arm up to shield the sun so she could see her friend better. “The guys I work with keep it… interesting.”
“Heyward’s kid? What’s his name?”
“Pope. Yeah, I like him a lot. I usually work with either him or JJ.”
“Maybank?” Kya asked, pushing herself up slightly, and Cat nodded. “Woah, seriously? You haven’t killed each other yet?”
“Actually… we made up for everything last night. Got dinner and everything. He wanted to air everything out, and we had a good night.”
“You got dinner with JJ Maybank?” 
Cat sighed as her friend took off her sunglasses to look at her, her eyes wide. “Yes, Kya, why is that such a big deal?”
“You know he’s a total pothead, right? And his dad’s into all sorts of drugs.”
“Well, that’s a good thing I only work with him, then,” Cat responded cooly. “I just want to be friendly enough to make work not insufferable. I don’t care what he does in his free time.”
“Does your dad know?” Kya asked, and sat upright when Cat shook her head. “You’re kidding me, Cat.”
“He doesn’t need to know, he’d just worry.” Cat tried to ignore how worked up all of this made Kya. “Beside, I’ve made it clear to him I don’t want to get involved in anything he or his friends do.”
Kya sighed, laying back down beside her. “You better not. You’re the only friend I have that hasn’t gone all party mode.”
“That’s not gonna happen any time soon.” Cat tried to reassure her, but remembered JJ’s words. I’ll get you out of your bubble, he had said, a charming grin lighting up his face. Everything about JJ’s existence seemed effortless - he didn’t worry about what people thought about him, and didn’t particularly care for impressing people or following every single rule.
All throughout high school, like Kya had said, they lost friends until their once tight-knit friend group shrank to just the two of them. Everyone discovered alcohol, which was easily available at keggers and parties that seemed to happen almost every night. Some started smoking weed, others started doing harder stuff. People changed, and Cat knew that, but she didn’t like that type of change. Even if she did still want to be friends with those people, she knew it wouldn’t fly with her father, much less with Kya’s mother.
Kya Peterkin was the one person who had Cat’s back while they were growing up. Whenever their classmates adopted the we-hate-cops attitude, they were shunned together. They obeyed the same sets of rules, and since their parents worked so closely together, they were bound to become best friends as well. 
Sometimes, though, Cat wanted to break the rules. She was tired of being under the watchful, critical eye of her parents. Maybe JJ was what she needed - someone to be that person to get her out there. There was something about the way he spoke to her the other day, like he knew something she didn’t. About her, and about her dad. 
The next day, she worked with Pope. 
The day after, she worked with JJ.
It was the first time she actually enjoyed working with JJ. The talk they had eased the tension - JJ sat on the bow of the boat, his vape pinched between his lips, swinging his feet in the air while Cat slowed the boat as they approached the no wake zone. As she eased up to the dock to complete the last delivery of the day, JJ hopped off and tied the boat while Cat started readying the groceries.
Cat wanted to ask him, so, what are you doing tonight?, but she had been taught to never invite herself to things. Luckily, JJ seemed to read her mind, a cocky smile tugging on his lips as they loaded bags into the carts they would haul down the sandy paths to the McEvers’ house.
“You busy tonight?” he asked casually, passing groceries from the boat down to her. 
“Not at all,” she replied. 
“Wanna go for a boat ride?” 
“With who?”
“Me and my friends,” he replied, jumping down from the boat to be next to her. He had a red work shirt on, matching his backwards red hat. 
“What will be happening on said boat ride?” she asked, partly because she was curious and wanted confirmation, partly to annoy him.
“What, you turning into a cop?” JJ asked. “Your dad knows what we do, everyone on the island knows and everyone on the island does exactly what we do.”
“And what do you do?”
JJ raised his eyebrows before taking a hold of the handle of the cart. “Just a little booze cruise is all. Don’t worry, Pope’s the DD.”
“And you’re not worried I’ll rat you all out?” she asked, taking her own cart and starting to haul it down the path after him.
“No, because you would never let your father know you’re hanging out with me.”
JJ’s words and tone were cocky. Cat smiled, trying to wipe her expression blank as JJ turned to look at her, but failed. “Sure. I’ll come tonight.”
“You got a swimsuit on you?”
“I’ll have to run home and pick one up, just let me know where to meet you.”
JJ flashed her a thumbs up, and before long, they had completed their delivery. The rest of the shift was uneventful; they boated back to Heyward’s, ran through the closing procedures, and JJ told her how to get to John B’s house.
“Just come out back to the dock when you get there, we’ll be waiting on the boat,” he had told her. Cat quickly drove home, telling her dad she was going to treat herself to a night out at the movies, changing before driving south to the Cut.
Two cars were parked in front of John B’s house. Following JJ’s instructions, she walked around the side of the house, seeing the dock lit up with deck lights, hearing voices from a boat tied to the end.
The voices became hushed as she walked down the dock, and she saw someone shove JJ, while another threw a hat at him. As soon as she grew close enough to see JJ’s crew, Cat instantly regretted her decision of coming.
“Shoupe’s kid? Really, JJ?” she heard Kiara hiss, before plastering a big smile on her face. “Hey, Cat.”
She stopped hesitantly on the end of the dock. Just go back home, a voice inside her brain told her, and she was about to start back towards her car when JJ stood, grabbing her hand, pulling her onto the boat.
“Be nice, please,” he said in a sing-songy voice, knowing that Cat had overheard them. 
“Dude - really?” John B asked bluntly. He had dropped the hand holding a beer down in a subtle attempt to hide it.
“My lips are sealed.” Cat caught Kiara’s eye roll out of the corner of her vision, and Pope sighed, obviously disliking the conflict.
“Well, let’s go then,” John B said, tension still apparent in his voice. JJ nodded towards the back of the boat, and Pope moved to make room for her to sit.
“Want a drink, kitty Cat?” JJ asked, but before she could answer, Kiara was making a gagging sound and John B looked at him with wide eyes.
“The fuck you call her?” John B asked, and JJ grinned.
“Kitty Cat.”
“I thought I told you to never call me that ever again,” Cat said, leaning forward to look into the cooler. It was full of Pabst and White Claws. She started reaching for one of the latter, but hesitated.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Pope said quietly, but Cat could feel everyone’s eyes on her.
She looked up to JJ, who shrugged. “The black cherry is my favorite,” he said.
“You admitted it! You like them!” Pope burst suddenly, pointing accusingly at JJ, who just shrugged before speaking.
“There ain’t no laws when you’re drinking Claws,” he claimed, pausing as Cat grabbed one of the black cherries. “Atta girl, Cat.”
She popped the top and took a sip. It was okay, the sharp taste and the carbonation causing her to make a face. The second drink was easier.
As John B pushed the throttle, the conversation died down as they made their way across the water. Cat sat against the back right side of the boat with Pope, while Kiara sat on the back left side, JJ going off to stand next to John B.
“You don’t have to let him pressure you into doing this, you know.”
Pope’s words were sudden, almost lost in the wind. Cat pressed her lips together into a small smile before looking at him and responding. “It’s been a long time coming.”
He smiled back at her, and Cat reverted her gaze to JJ. He still wore his work shirt and that backwards red hat, but had changed into a pair of tropical patterned board shorts and flip flops. Leaning over John B, one hand on the dash of the boat and one on the back of the seat, he was talking with a serious look on his face, and John B was sitting, his jaw set.
After twenty minutes, they reached what Pope informed her was their favorite place to swim and watch the sunset. She had finished her drink, a slight warmness filling her body. 
A lime White Claw was next up. It sat on the edge of the boat, half-drank, as they all jumped into the water, the setting sun coloring the water orange, as if it were on fire. Swimming up to the boat, she finished it, tossing the can back into the cooler.
“Atta girl,” JJ praised from out in the water, just his head and beer visible. She burped in response, giggling a little. “Help yourself to another, kitty Cat, you’re off tomorrow.”
She grabbed a lemon before swimming back out to the group. Pope, Kiara, and John B were deep into a discussion about the skunk ape of Florida, and if there was a North Carolina equivalent. As the evening progressed, they seemed to relax slightly at Cat’s presence. 
“You feeling okay?” JJ asked as she swam up to him, cradling a life jacket in one arm while she held her drink with the other. She nodded and he took a sip of his beer.
“Can I try it?” she asked.
“You never tasted a beer?” She shook her head, and JJ handed it towards her. “Don’t judge it off this one, JB has shitty taste.”
“Hey!” there was a protest from John B’s direction, and Cat made a face at the taste of the slightly warm beer.
“Why would you want to drink that?” she asked, handing it back to JJ. He shrugged and took another swig, tilting the bottom towards the sky before crushing it in his fist and throwing it back towards the boat, where it met the other cans with a clink.
Before long, it was dark, and the group swam back to the boat. “You feeling okay?” JJ asked as Kiara heaved herself up, Cat putting her empty can with all the other ones and nodded.
“I feel… fine.” Cat was kind of disappointed; she felt warm, a little fuzzy in her head, but other than that, not how she expected to feel.
“Wait until you’re in the boat,” John B said, watching as JJ heaved himself up. “Better yet, until we get to shore.” JJ yelped as John B pushed him up with a hand to his ass, and John B pushed himself in easily.
Cat tried to haul herself in, but couldn’t. John B chuckled, and he and JJ each took a hand, pulling her up, and as soon as she was sitting on the floor of the boat, she understood what John B had meant.
“Come on kitty Cat, to the bow,” JJ was saying, his hands in her armpits. He helped her to the front of the boat, which was open and flat. 
“Can you get my towel?” she asked, the evening breeze cold on her wet skin. She knew it would just get worse as they started the ride to shore. JJ left her on the bow as he went to the back of the boat for her towel, and she felt him lay it on her shoulders as he returned.
He sat down beside her, and they were silent as Pope pulled up the anchor and John B started up the boat. As they started moving, Cat was unsteady, and JJ chuckled as she had to plant her hands on the ground to keep herself from falling over into him. 
“How many you have? Three?”
“Four,” she said, holding up four fingers in his face. “One of each flavor.”
“And it’s your first time? You’re seasoned already. If only your dad could see you now.”
“Don’ talk about him,” Cat said, putting a finger to his lips, telling him to hush. “I don’t wanna think about it.”
JJ laughed again. “Okay, then, we won’t.” He put his hand on hers, gently rubbing it with his thumb.
If Cat wasn’t drunk she probably would have noticed the way John B raised his eyebrows, the way Kiara rolled her eyes, and the way that Pope smiled softly. She would have noticed the way he caught her as she swayed unsteadily when they hit a wake, how he brought her towel back up on her shoulder when it blew off. 
She probably would have noticed the way JJ looked at her, his eyes devouring every inch of her, his body relaxed for the first time in who knows how long.
--
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