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ekebolou · 3 years

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Oh, wow, @dharmagun now look what you’ve done

I’ve gone and developed whole-ass ideas for how everyone goes to the bathroom in Kostas. And it’s all your fault.

(dude, I’m having blast)

Bathroom talk under the cut

I don’t know a good way to include your reply, so I’m going to just talk back :)

So, yes - underground water in the Capitol! That’s one reason this otherwise fairly fertile area wasn’t very densely settled - there’s enough water, but it can be hard to get to (and it’s an easily-accessible plain that basically got razed over and over again as different conquests of Ainjir happened, and those happened a lot)

So, this part of the country comes down from higher land in the northwest, flattens out a bit, and then you’ve got lots of hills to the east and southeast. It’s kind of like the Snake River Plain (but no river), or maybe more the Upper Rhine Plain (but still no river) since there’s jungle to one side and low mountains/hills to the other - I dunno, honestly pretty far outside my expertise as to the geological/ecological logics of this and I should probably stop talking about it, especially because most of the ecology I originally based on China but wikipedia didn’t have great info on Chinese aquifers - BUT ANYWAY there’s a shitload of basalt under the Capitol, columns & caves, etc, and palace is on the higher side of the land because it was originally built around an Artesian well (the old song goes that the King was on an unsuccessful hunting trip during a very troubled time time and laid down for a nap and got up and was blessed by finding a new stream of fresh flowing water where he had taken his rest, and thus blessed & future peace secured & rights of kings, blah blah blah - somebody added a ribald verse about ‘ground penetration’ and what other streams might possible run down the King’s sleeping leg and the original song is rather rarely remembered these days)

GOING ON, the city’s development was rather haphazard (in part because it wasn’t always the capitol, in part logistics), but before Keadar-Ainjir’s coup, it was to varying degrees illegal to screw around with the King’s water - it all depended on how into enforcing the rules about well-digging and dumping and whatnot any given ruler was, and whether they were even there or not. But there was no easily-accessible nearby stream for dumping, and water infrastructure was poorly developed, so the city was both not very clean except in certain areas, and had a very hardworking and well-developed strata of people responsible for waste management (that not everyone had equal access to, of course).

Then Keadar-Ainjir takes over and SHIT GETS REAL (in more ways than one, lol - fun aside, other than needing to kill every member of the royal family to complete his coup, it was a good idea for him to take the Capitol by storming the Palace because it had the best access to water, and if they got reverse sieged they could hold out until reinforcements came). This city is a paper-heavy society fro the get go, so people are using chamber pots/dry toilets and paper, and everything is getting hauled out by night soil people for use as fertilizer (mainly on non-food crops - Ainjir is a major cloth producer and supplier, but there’s also hemp, bamboo, dyestuff, etc - but there’s still probably a fair amount of pathogen transfer going for local edible produce). There’s pumped water for cleaning (hands, occasionally butts) and vinegar (yet another delightful city-smell), but no city-comprehensive sewage system outside of the public baths and royal fountains.

This would of course NOT DO for a campaign-trained general, who knew the value of not shitting where you eat, so the major mining projects that brought up most of what he used to build the Academy also created a city-wide sewage and drainage system. They don’t have a systems as grand and far-reaching as the Romans, but something like what Romans and Minoans had: indoor plumbing, waste water separation, public access to water for multiple uses (maybe not pressurized showers - the Academy has a deliberately jury-rigged version of pressurized showers that’s part of the Academy Dayz stories). It doesn’t work as well in the originally-shitty parts of old town, as a lot of the piping is above-ground and depends on rainwater collection to compensate for lacking underground access (they couldn’t dig under the shitty old town without destroying it). Nice old town had good enough systems in place, and just got a little update.

In Ainjir, this elaborate system of wastewater management in the Capitol is fairly unique; other places have it, but one a much smaller scale. Adineh, Wulsh, and the conglomeration of republics to the south have their own systems, which are honestly more evenly distributed (except in Wulsh, where it can get very spotty).

BUT, all of this to say: people in the Capitol are a fairly clean lot, between the public baths, sewage system, indoor plumbing, etc. People, especially in the public privies, still use the plentiful paper (another fine use of the broadsheets) to go about their business, and (if you’re not nasty) wash hands afterward with a water-vinegar mixture from a basin (you are supposed to smell a little more like vinegar than like shit coming out of the restroom - fancy people smell like perfumes - but the systems have been in place long enough that people sort of expect that sharp tang to hit them if you’ve just excused yourself to tcb, and it’s a little suspicious if you don’t). Fanciest people use water from specially-spouted (long, thin spouts and very round reservoirs) pitchers or very, very special little water pumps (thankfully these are rare, since they mess up the dry/ wet ratio of the waste which can affect composting).

Peeing in the street is still a problem, though. They installed a bunch of little ‘privacy areas’ but it’s basically just to make it harder to stare rather than handling the waste - it goes in the common street gutter, rather than the side of someone’s house though, so that’s good.

BUT NOW what am I gonna do about butchers and tanners and other city livestock management? Thank God hats aren’t super popular - and if they are, they’re made out of straw or cloth - or there would be a lot more mercury in the system.

#kostas stuff #worldbuilding notes #dharmagun

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quinzelade · 5 years

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Making One’s Bones (chpt 9)

Chapter List

–

Porter Gage is in a pickle. Nuka-World needed a new boss and some woman just killed her way to the top. But a pre-war Mafia boss on the theme park’s throne? Well…at least she’ll have experience.

–

Acquired Tastes

–

The teetering sign outside Jack’s place was almost bigger than her lopsided brothel. Gage chuckled to himself as they drew near, remembering her poor attempt at advertising, that somehow still brought in the business. Probably because there was nothing in the Commonwealth quite like it. Still holding Bossanova up, Gage stopped a few feet from the ginormous sign, craning his neck up to read it.

“Jacqueline “Jack” “Call Me By My Surname and I’ll Kill You” Paddywack is a raider with a bad name and an even badder attitude!

“Want chems? Jack’s got you covered!

“Murder? Only the finest, cleanest cut throats this side of the Commonwealth!*

“Prostitution? Pick your piece of ass and Jack’ll name her price!**

“Slaves?

“No. Come on now, what the fuck, man?

“…Nah, just kiddin’ ya. Seriously, we’ve got shitloads of slaves.

“So come on down to Jack Paddywack’s Fun Shack, the baddest place in town!”

Gage bent over double laughing, managing to set Bossanova down before he dropped her on her ass. Time and time again, he’d told Jack to change her stupid sign. She’d read a stack of pre-war magazines with some of the worst advertisements known to man, and yet believed she’d hit an untapped goldmine.

His eye trailed to the small print beneath the huge, white letters of Jack’s erratic slogans, and burst out into fresh peals of laughter.

“*Unless specified otherwise—see terms and conditions for full details and special orders

**Deathclaw orders for premium members only. Jack Paddywack’s “Wack That Jack” Prostitution Services claims no responsibility for any injury, including blood loss, amputation of limbs, beheading, severed genitals, internal bleeding, organ failure, broken bones, punctured lungs, hemorrhaging of the brain, heart failure, radiation poisoning, and minor bruising. All deathclaw packages are non-refundable upon survival.”

Tears were now streaming down his face as he choked and spluttered, Bossanova squinting up at the sign in utter bewilderment from her place on the ground. Only Jack would do something like th—

Bang.

Gage scrambled for his sidearm as he dragged Bossanova upright again, before remembering it had been fried in the underground facility. Then he stopped, a tight feeling in his chest.

Jack Paddywack leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms, plump lips twisted into a familiar coy smile. Her sienna skin glowed in the rising light of the wasteland sun, and Gage dimly noticed she’d changed her hair, shaving the sides and twisting the rest into a fierce, black knot at the top of her head. Her strong nose was now slightly crooked, and he wondered how long it had been since he’d last seen her.

“Going to shoot me, Gage?” she purred, gesturing to his empty holster.

“I asked him the same thing,” Bossanova muttered as Gage grinned, though his chest still felt constricted.

He let his eye travel over her a little, enough for her to notice, and then met her gaze again. She raised an eyebrow. Gage ignored this and nodded to the sign. “‘Wack That Jack’? Since when did you arrange deathclaw fucking?”

“Since there was a market for it,” Jack replied sweetly. “With the right precautions, my clients live long enough to be repeat customers. And believe me, they pay big for the survival.”

They stared at each other, and then broke out into snickers. Gage’s stomach tightened at her smile.

Bossanova coughed lightly, reminding him that she was here. Jack turned to her, and glanced questioningly back at him. “Who’s the ghoul? I didn’t realise you’d need my special services.”

Gage shot Jack a withering look. “She’s—”

“Overboss,” Bossanova replied crisply, straightening up a little and fixing Jack with a lofty stare. “And you?”

“Madame of Nuka World,” Jack said with equal abruptness.

“Oh good. Men are easier to keep in line when they’re getting laid, and the women less likely to blow their heads off.”

Jack blinked and then snorted with laughter. Bossanova grinned back.

“I’m Jack,” Jack said, looking a little more relaxed.

“Mrs. Bossanova.”

“Mind if we crash in one of your rooms for a while?” Gage interjected, conscious of the rising sun. “Figured it’d be quiet at this time of the morning, and I don’t want to parade her in front of the others like this.”

Jack tilted her head to the side. “But you think it’s safe to bring her here?”

“Yeah, well, I…”

I trust you.

Gage pushed the dangerous idea away quickly. No. Not even Jack. “Look, will you fucking help me or not?”

Jack snorted and unfolded her arms. “You always had such a way with words.” She frowned and then sighed. “Fine. Get her in.”

Gage grunted in thanks and helped Bossanova over the threshold.

“Of course, you still have to pay.” Jack slammed the door behind them.

Jack’s brothel had the strange feeling of home. To others it was just a whorehouse, and a good one at that, but to Gage, the place spoke of comfort. The furniture was all in working condition, the lights were dim, the rooms pleasantly warm, and the surfaces clean of blood. There was a small shelf full of books and magazines, which were also the only things in the place not nailed down. He knew as well as Jack raiders would never bother to steal them, even if they ever learned to read.

Jack led the way up the narrow stairs to the topmost floor, and waved her hand at an open doorway down the hall from her private quarters. Gage dumped Bossanova unceremoniously onto the sagging bed, and she squawked in surprised as she landed with a heavy flump. Bossanova kicked out irritably, catching him hard on the ass, and he leapt away, swearing.

“I’d have done the same,” Jack said between giggles. She flapped her hand at him, shooing him from the room. “Ladies only. Gotta patch her up.”

Gage slunk out, trying to ignore his own aches and pains, and limped down the hall to a room Jack pointed out to him a few moments before. Slowly, he took his armour off and set it down on the floor, every inch of him protesting. He made his way to the bed, sitting down and staring around, unsure what to do with himself. None of his visits here had been for anything but the obvious.

After a while, Jack came in. Gage felt his stomach tense.

“She’s out like a light,” Jack said. “Had to up the med-x dosage, but we got there in the end.” She paused thoughtfully. “Gotta say, she don’t look like much.”

“Underestimating her is a bad idea,” Gage replied, thinking of the Safari Adventure. “Though I’ll admit you ain’t seein’ her at her best.”

“What happened?”

“Imagine deathclaws, but bigger, stronger, and more pissed off.”

“I’m imagining it.”

“Now imagine Nuka Town full of ‘em; a machine producin’ more and more.”

“Ah. Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I could work them into my special services somehow…”

Gage snorted with laughter, then grunted as pain shot through his midriff. Jack walked over, stopping in front of him. She tucked her fingers under his chin and forced him to gaze up at her. “You look like crap,” she said gently.

“I feel it too.” Gage resisted yawning. It had been a rough day, and an even rougher night. He absentmindedly put his hand against her leg, but she suddenly let go, stepping back.

“Oh no no no. You know the rules.” She grinned her wicked grin, pulling out a handful of stimpaks and passing them to him, along with a single syringe of med-x. “If you don’t have an infection by now, then the stimpaks already cleared it up. You can do the rest.” Jack’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, and then she sauntered from the room.

Gage watched her go, before lying back on the bed and covering his face with the crook of his elbow.

Damn it.

Three days later, Bossanova was up and walking again. Gage noticed her attitude had become frosty since they’d first arrived, barely speaking to him. Finally, Gage decided he’d had enough. He found her downstairs in the brothel’s waiting area on the third morning reading a book titled ‘The Iceman.’ He paid it little notice. Reading wasn’t really his thing. “Boss,” he said as he settled himself in a chair opposite her.

“Gage,” she replied, her tone cold and clipped.

He folded his arms and stared at her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Bossanova didn’t answer immediately, her eyes flicking to the end of the page. Then she glanced up at him, her face impassive. “Care to elaborate?”

“Oh don’t try to bullshit me. You’ve been funny ever since we got here.”

“And why,” she said delicately, returning to her book, “would you care? As you reminded me the other day, we’re not friends. So if we’re not friends, then we’re just business associates, and that means I won’t waste small talk on you.” She raised her hand and waved him away lazily.

Gage didn’t move. He blinked, rattling his brain to figure out what she was on about. Suddenly it struck him. When they’d left Safari Adventure they’d argued—although if he was honest with himself, he’d bitten her head off and she’d refused to rise fully to the bait. “But…”

“The last few days I’ve been bedridden, either out of my mind on painkillers, or in absolute agony. But the peace and quiet has been nice, and exhaustion has left me with little tolerance right now. I’m tired of you trusting me, only to panic and compensate by treating me like dirt straight after. It’s boring.” Bossanova turned a page in her book idly. “So go away until you’ve decided where I stand with you.”

She said it with such finality Gage knew the conversation was over.

Well, it was what he’d wanted, Gage thought as he climbed the stairs to the top floor of the brothel. Or was it? He’d gotten so used to her warm and friendly demeanour, the opposite was like being dropped into a frigid lake.

Gage snapped from his thoughts as Jack stepped out from the shadows, poking him hard in the stomach. He grunted in surprise and raised an eyebrow.

“No pain?” she asked sweetly.

“No pain,” Gage confirmed, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Good thing I’m around to save your ass.” She poked him in the stomach again, catching him off-guard. Laughing, she said, “Not much of a raider to fall for the same shit twice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, biting back a grin.

“Your boss is doing fine too,” Jack went on. “Did you know ghouls are immune to disease? I can’t tell if she’s bullshitting me, but apparently nothing can survive long enough to cause an infection. She doesn’t have a fever, so I’m taking her word for it.”

Gage didn’t want to admit he had no idea what caused infection other than dirt, so said nothing. Apparently not getting sick was one of the perks of being a ghoul.

“Anyway,” Jack continued, her voice low as she leaned towards him. “We haven’t had a chance to catch up yet.”

“Lead the way.”

Her eyes lit up mischievously and she motioned for him to follow.

He watched her ass as he walked behind her, and felt himself stir at the knowing grins she shot over her shoulder. How she could look so good in loose fitting combat pants and a stained flannel shirt, he didn’t know.

“You still off the booze?” she said to him from across the kitchen as Gage dropped into a nearby chair.

“Yeah,” he said, surprised she’d remembered. She tossed him a Nuka Cola, and he caught it with one hand and quickly prised the cap off on the coffee table. His attempt to show off was rewarded with the bottle slipping, spilling cola everywhere, and Gage swore as Jack laughed. She threw a dirty scrap of fabric which hit him in the face, but he mopped it up quickly without complaint before dropping the rag at his feet.

“So,” she said, settling down in the chair opposite him, a glass of vodka to hand, “last time I saw you, you were telling me about your grand plans to get rid of Colter.”

“Last time I saw you, your nose was straight,” Gage quipped.

“One of the customers got a little too rowdy,” Jack said, rubbing her crooked nose absentmindedly. “Nothing a shotgun couldn’t cure.”

“Customer?” Gage sat up rigidly, the tight feeling returning to his stomach. “I thought you didn’t take customers anymore?”

“I don’t. He was bothering one of my girls.”

“Right.” Gage tried to settle again.

Jack leaned forward, smirking. “So...your plan worked?”

He was grateful for the change of topic. “Sorta. The new boss is shaping up. Not what I was expecting, but she knows how to keep Nisha in line and she’s actually trying to get this place running, so fuck it. It’ll work itself out.”

“I’ll admit, I thought something went wrong,” Jack said, looking oddly serious. “When you stopped turning up, I thought you might have cut your losses and left, or...or worse.”

Silence filled the room.

Gage drained his cola for something to do, and Jack got to her feet, clutching her vodka like a grenade. “I’ll get you another drink.”

He watched her as she bustled away, feeling warm. It had been Gage who’d convinced Jack to move to the park in the first place. He’d known her for a long time—as long as he could have known anyone. She wasn’t associated with any gang, but she had the balls and smarts to carve out a neat piece for herself in the raider world. The others knew not to fuck with her—she was the queen of the whore market, and could cater to every and any taste. Gage thought she’d be perfect for keeping things from boiling over in Nuka Town.

What he hadn’t expected was his reliance on her after shit really began to hit the fan. When Colter’s attitude and Nisha’s threats drove him to the edge of his patience, Gage had come here and lost himself for a night or two every week.

Gage stood up. He suddenly felt hot—far too hot. Had to be the fucking armour. He undid the straps and with a grunt pulled it off, setting it on the floor. By the time he was done, Jack was by his side, holding out a fresh bottle of cola. Their fingers brushed as he took it from her, and he sat himself back down, staring at her feet.

“Well, I’m glad you ain’t dead anyway,” Jack said, flopping into her chair and crossing her legs. “The girls would have missed you.”

Gage snorted, meeting her eye again. “I haven’t been with one of your girls in years.”

“I know.” She grinned. “Yet you kept coming back.”

“And you kept lettin’ me.” He stretched out, relaxing again. The weird atmosphere in the room was seeping away, the familiar, comfortable buzz of lust taking over instead. He could see it in her hungry expression, feel it in himself.

Gage swigged on his cola, anticipation coursing through him. They both knew what happened whenever he visited. Jack didn’t even charge him for it anymore, and he told himself that was the reason he returned so often.

Jack stared at him from across the room, her dark eyes twinkling over the rim of her glass. She sipped the vodka deliberately, carefully. Gage could see the liquid clinging to those fine lips. She ran a finger over the glass and then sucked the alcohol off it, never breaking eye contact. Gage’s imagination immediately went into overdrive. He took another gulp of cola and choked as it went straight up his nose.

“Smooth as ever,” Jack said, grinning. She drained her glass and set it down carelessly. “Are we playing games today, or should we just skip to the fucking?”

“Skip to the fucking.”

“Good.”

She was on her feet and halfway across the room before Gage was even out of his seat. Jack shoved him back against the wall with a bang and pressed her mouth against his, her hand massaging his crotch. Gage’s heart pounded as he dragged her shirt over her head and threw it aside, before bending down and running his tongue over her breast. She seized him by the jaw and forced him back against the wall, tilting her head to the side.

“Have you forgotten the rules?” she murmured into his ear as she pulled at his belt, loosening it. “How things are done under my roof?”

“No,” Gage replied, the feel of her hand at his throat intensifying the urge to have her. “I just wanted to try my luck.”

“Did you?” Jack’s fingers tugged down his zipper and her hand slipped inside his pants, running along him the way she knew he liked it. She kept the pace for a few seconds and then stopped, biting gently on his ear. “I think you need to earn my good graces. What will you do for them, hmm?”

“Anything,” Gage mumbled, wanting to pick her up and fuck her where they stood. But he wasn’t allowed to touch. Not yet.

“Anything?”

Gage swallowed and nodded. Jack’s eyes lit up with mischief. She kissed him hard, nipping at his lip and gripping his hair as she ground against him. Her breasts pushed on his chest, and it took all his resolve not to reach up and run his hands over them. Jack’s teasing was merciless, and by the end of the night he would be a desperate mess.

God, he loved it.

“Undress me,” she whispered as she played with him.

Gage obeyed, knowing he’d have to move himself away from her tantalising strokes to free her from her clothes. He worked quickly, resisting returning the favour. He’d get his chance later. Within seconds, Jack was standing naked before him, and she pushed him back, her eyes telling him he still wasn’t allowed to touch. She rewarded his obedience by taking hold of him again and picking up the rhythm, smirking when he groaned and leaned his head against the wall.

Jack hooked a finger inside his mouth and pulled his head down to face her. Her kisses were fierce now, and slowly she ran her palm across his face. Gage felt almost drunk, her touch hot on his skin. Her fingers stopped over the strap of his makeshift eyepatch. There was a pause as their eyes met, and she tugged at it, trying to pull it away.

Gage clamped his hand over hers.

Shit.

They stared at each other, Jack looking surprised. Panic shot through him. He hadn’t meant to do it, hadn’t even thought about it. He’d never stopped her before, but then she’d never tried to do that either. Would she think he was weak, or pathetic, or…?

Jack smiled a soft smile, softer than Gage could ever have imagined on her sweet lips. She eased her hand away, letting it fall onto his shoulder with a small squeeze. She kissed him gently, tenderly, and for a moment, Gage didn’t know what to do. Then her next utterance sent a thrill through him.

“Kneel.”

It was the command he’d been hoping for, and his awkwardness evaporated. Gage grabbed Jack by the shoulders and slammed her bodily into the wall, dropping to his knees without hesitation. He didn’t wait for further instruction, but pressed his mouth between her legs, staring up at her. Her thighs trembled beneath his grip as Gage began to worship her with his tongue.

The walk back to Nuka Town was uncomfortably silent. It was as if he wasn’t there, Bossanova strolling ahead and humming, admiring the scenery as she went. Gage skulked some distance behind, battling with himself. Jack had been a nice distraction—the distraction he always needed when things were difficult. But now he was with his thoughts, and there was no more dangerous place to be.

Did he trust the boss?

Against all his better judgement, he wanted to. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Like Connor, Bossanova made a very good show of caring. Gage had believed every lie, every false act, every gesture designed to put him right in the firing line. But he was older now, wiser. He wouldn’t fall for it again.

And yet…

“Boss?” Gage said, before he lost his nerve. To his great surprise, she stopped and turned to him expectantly. His question solidified in his throat. He couldn’t talk to her about this again. He just couldn’t. She’d already said she was done with him. It was better this way.

Bossanova stared at him for a few moments, and then continued walking. Gage followed her, kicking himself, until she spoke. “Good time with Jack last night?”

Gage nearly tripped over his own feet. She was looking over her shoulder at him, her eyes stern but her mouth twisted as if trying not to laugh. He grunted in response.

“I could hear Jack from downstairs,” Bossanova went on as if they were discussing which Nuka Cola was their favourite.

“Yeah, she’s not exactly quiet,” Gage muttered.

“I’m sure you did fine.”

“God, please shut up.”

Bossanova laughed as his cheeks grew steadily hot, and Gage gritted his teeth. He made a point to march ahead, which took some effort, as he had to catch up to her before overtaking her in an aggressively dignified sort of way.

“So is Jack your girlfriend?”

Gage glanced over his shoulder and did stumble this time. “Girlfriend?”

“You know. Your partner. Love of your life. Etcetera.”

“No. We just fuck.”

Bossanova frowned a little at this and picked up her pace so she was walking alongside him again. It was as if they were trying to race without running. “Ever had a girlfriend?”

“No,” Gage said, wondering where the hell this was going. “Never wanted one.”

“So she’s your friend?”

“No.” He was starting to get exasperated with her prying. “Never needed them either.”

“Why n—?”

“Why all the questions?” Gage snarled. “You wouldn’t speak to me yesterday.”

“Didn’t like that, huh?”

“I couldn’t have given less of a fuck,” he lied, staring out to Nuka World in the distance and wondering how long it would take to finally get there.

“Ah. And there was me hoping Jack would fix your nasty temper.”

“Keep hoping. I’m a miserable bastard whatever happens.”

“Except when Jack is asking you to—”

“You finish that sentence and I’ll shoot you and then myself,” Gage snapped. Bossanova burst into peals of laughter, stopping where she stood and clutching her sides. He glared valiantly at her for a few seconds, and then felt his lips crack into an unwilling smile.

“Next time we’re at Jack’s just pick a piece of ass for yourself. Then you can spare me all the fucking questions. I’m sure Jack will give you a discount.”

“No thanks,” she said, starting up again in a slow stroll. “Not really my thing.”

“What, Jack?” Gage said, matching her pace without thinking.

“No.”

“...fucking?”

“Uh-huh.”

He stared at her. For a moment he considered asking her about Nicky again directly, but decided against it. The topic was dangerous water and she wasn’t in the best of moods. Tact was required here, which he obviously had in bucketloads. “I don’t...but...everyone fucks. Even ghouls. I knew some raiders with...tastes.”

“Not me.” When Gage continued to gawk, she said, in a horrible rendition of his accent, “Why do you care?” Bossanova grinned. “Relationships and everything in-between aren’t my bag. You should be grateful.”

“Grateful? No offence, boss, but you’re not my type.”

“Oh my God.” She rolled her eyes. “The feeling is extremely mutual, idiot.”

“Then why would I be—?”

“I think with my brain and not my…” She made a vague gesture in the direction of Gage’s crotch.

Gage flushed. “I don’t think with my dick.”

“I know. But some do. So be glad we have the same priorities.”

He shook his head. “This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.”

Bossanova gave him a mocking look of sympathy. “I know. And think how sick of it I must be after two-hundred and ninety years of the same stupid questions.”

“You started it!”

She laughed. “True, true. Call it quits then?”

“Yeah, I think that’s for the fuckin’ best.”

They walked on, the silence returning and enveloping them like a blanket. Gone was the tension, but despite this, Gage could feel the conversation they’d almost had as they’d escaped Safari Adventure scratching the inside of his skull. It demanded attention, and strangely enough, this time he didn’t feel as afraid to talk about it.

“Boss,” he tried again, his mouth drying.

She looked at him, smiling faintly. “Gage?”

“Yesterday, when we was walkin’ to Jack’s, you...you asked me why I couldn’t understand…” Gage licked his lips, his chest tight with nerves. “You wanted me to ‘explain myself,’ whatever that means.” He slowed to a stop, rubbing the back of his head, before letting out a long sigh and meeting her eye. “What do you want to know?”

“Why do you hate the idea of trusting people?” she said at once.

Well, that was an easy enough question to answer. “Because every fucker is out for himself,” Gage said bluntly, folding his arms. “I learned that when I was sixteen.” He paused, gripping his own arms, the bitterness of the long gone encounter rising up through his throat like bile. “I worked hard to be an asset, and my payment was for some mediocre, two-bit punk to stab me in the back.”

“Tell me about it,” Bossanova said gently.

He considered saying no—all these years later and Connor’s betrayal still smarted. But then suddenly it vomited from his lips, decades of pent-up resentment spewing out into the open air. And once he started, he found he couldn’t stop.

“I became a raider young,” Gage said to the ground, scowling at a small rock as he went. “Didn’t matter ‘bout my age, though I also lacked the sense to know when to keep my mouth shut. Had more brains than the gang put together, and they all fuckin’ knew it—could tell by the look on their faces every time I offered suggestions to help make us all stronger. None of them liked it, but my ideas worked. So much so, I was eventually approached by Connor.”

“Connor?”

“The leader. Called himself some stupid-ass title back then—‘The Harvester’ or whatever.” Despite himself, Gage let out a snort of laughter. He glanced up without thinking, and saw Bossanova smirking too. All at once, he felt his body relax, though he quickly avoided her eye again. He went on. “I thought Connor might be pissed, think I was undermining his authority. But he took my advice instead.”

Gage still remembered the evening Connor came to him. The overwhelming sense of pride, inflating his ego to dangerous proportions. Blinding him to the risks, just out of sight. Gage smiled bitterly. “So here I am, this teenage punk who's got the ear of what seems like the most powerful guy around. I'm on top of the damn world. Connor's always coming to me, asking what I think of his plans, telling me how much he trusts me.” He hesitated. “Can't lie—it all went to my head.”

Bossanova’s expression was too knowing for his liking. She nodded. “Would go to any kid’s head, I imagine.”

“Yeah, well…” Gage coughed, stalling for time. “After about a year, we come up with this plan to make peace with a rival gang—work the whole thing out in secret. Meet on neutral ground, a backup plan in case shit went south, and me negotiating with them.”

He paused, remembering his exhilaration at being included, at being needed. Connor trusted him to play the most vital role.

“Did it all go to hell?” Bossanova asked, apparently reading his mind.

“Pretty much.” Gage sighed. “Just as talks were gettin’ somewhere, I hear the gunfire and the explosions. And at first I’m thinkin’, ‘Oh shit, something went wrong. Connor’s gonna have to bail us out.’”

“But…?”

“But...I eventually picked up on the real plan. The fucker set me up, and I fell for it. Probably thought he’d got everythin’ he could from me. Probably saw me as a threat.” Gage clenched his jaw shut. “Used me as a diversion, then pissed off the other gang. He gets their stuff and I die in the crossfire. Perfect day for him. Perfect reward for my fuckin’ stupidity.”

Bossanova studied him for a while. Her face was set in a peculiar expression—soft, but searching, as if trying to see right into him.

“Don’t know how the fuck I survived, but I did,” said Gage, feeling like he might as well finish the story properly. “Thought about finding Connor and putting a bullet in his head, but that was just the anger talking. Knew where it would end up. So I learned from it and moved on. Everybody looks after themselves.” He glared at her, and she stared back, her face unreadable. He didn’t give a damn. “I’m no different. And neither are you.”

“No,” Bossanova said softly. “I suppose not.”

“So stop with the bullshit. Stop pretending. We’re both using each other to get to the top of the shit heap, and that’s as far as it goes. But at least I’m fucking honest about it.”

“Just because I’m using you to get to the top,” Bossanova replied, the same strange expression on her face, “doesn’t mean I won’t help you up when I get there.”

Gage stared at her, his anger over Connor ebbing away. It felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders—a weight that he’d become so used to, he’d forgotten it was even there. Only with its removal had Gage finally recognised its presence and the damage it had done. And with the sudden lightness of his soul, he saw something else in its place. Something he couldn’t deny, as much as it worried him.

Gage sighed, rubbing his eye. “Look...I get what you’re trying to do. I really do.” He let his hand drop. “I don’t trust easily. At all, in fact. Connor fucked me over too hard for that.” Gage paused, but Bossanova didn’t speak, letting him say his piece. “I’ve been ‘round raiders for years, seen some shit—done most of it myself. I know what people are capable of an’ it ain’t pretty. But…”

He finally looked her full in the face. Bossanova wore a blank expression, her gaze sharp and focused on him. “Shit, can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but...I’m beginning to suspect you ain’t like that, boss. If you are, then I knew all along and it’s no big deal. An’ if you’re not...well, we’ll see.”

He shrugged awkwardly, his heart hammering at exposing such vulnerability. But Bossanova beamed at him. “That’s all I needed to hear. Knew I’d get it out of you eventually.”

“Yeah yeah,” Gage grumbled, biting back a grin, feeling weak at the knees all of a sudden. “Enough talking. Let’s go kill some shit.”

“We need guns for that. I say when we get back, we stock up and move onto the next section of the park—come back for the gatorclaws when we’re good and ready. Unless you want to rest up first?”

“No,” he replied, hardly daring to believe his ears. She was making plans, pushing for more land without him fighting with her over it. Without her acting like Colter. “Any ideas where you wanna hit next?”

“I say we go for a stroll, see where the mood takes us.”

Gage chuckled. “I can get behind that, boss. I can get behind it.”

A/N: Hi everyone. Sorry this is a little late. Going through a rough patch in my personal life right now, and I decided to drink alcohol instead of doing anything productive yesterday. Then I remembered I hadn't posted the chapter, but was too drunk to do anything about it at that point.

If you're enjoying my story, please consider leaving a comment! It really does mean the world to me.

Jack is one of my favourite characters I've ever made. She was created on a whim, when I received an ask telling me to make up a Fallout character on the spot. The sign outside the brothel was what I came up with, and down the line when I started writing MOB, I realised I HAD to include Jack.

#porter gage #nuka world #gage #fallout 4 #fallout #mob #Making One's Bones

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thebrotherswholoved · 5 years

Text

It’s the thirty-first of December 1999, and the Winchester boys are cooped up in their ‘better father’ Bobby Singer’s home where John dumped them to go hunting. You know, just like he did on Christmas. And their birthdays—for the last six years.

The old man is most likely grumbling as he shuffles about in the grocery store looking for the sundae supplies that slipped his mind to buy last week. Yeah, he’s mumbling something about them being idjits under his breath, but he loves the boys: after all, he is buying the things to surprise them. Meanwhile, the sixteen year old lanky teen is trying to build a tower with red cups and his twenty year old brother is searching through a million keys to find one that works to open the liquor cabinet. Sam’s cup-tower falls and he huffs, putting them away and walking into the main room to watch some lame program on the ancient television.

His green-blue eyes reflect the channels he’s mindlessly skipping through like glass, which is a perfect simile because he’s spaced out and oblivious to the world around him. That is, until Dean throws a pillow at him from behind and yanks him from his dissociation.

“Dude, the fuck?” He mumbles, pushing strands of hair from his face and sputtering at the ones that caught in his mouth from the impact.

Dean shrugs and takes a swig of the whiskey he successfully freed from the off-limits prison it was in. “It is a throw pillow.”

“Jerk.” Sam rolls onto his stomach with a stifled laugh.

“Bitch,” the older emphasises the last syllable to annoy his little brother, because that’s what family is for. “Hey, where’s our cheery old geezer?”

“I think he said he was goin’ to the store?” He blows air through his pouting lips as a response.

Dean cocks his head for a moment but laughs. “On fucking New Years Eve? Send my regards to the other drivers on the streets, his road rage is pretty bad.”

Sam lets out a breathy laugh and tosses the remote into his older brother’s hands. “See if you can find anything decently entertaining.”

The younger is shoved into a sitting posture by Dean, who smirks at him and tries to mold himself into the sofa. The dork holds the thing at the TV with a dramatic pout on his face, making gunshot noises every time he changes the channel.

Sam is chuckling at his nerd brother when he’s jerked into this emptiness out of nowhere. He can’t quite feel anything and can’t hear or think or comprehend...only a thought that he’s unable to identify. He knows this place well, all its darkness and disparity: it’s his state of denial. He only ever regresses into this state of mind when he’s around Dean, and he thinks he knows why. It’s ten o’clock on New Years Eve, and he’s just figured it out now instead of three years ago when it all started. His thirteen year old self is flipping him off, he can guarantee it.

He’s always felt...something for Dean. He loved him like family because that’s what he is: his brother. Brother in arms, brother by blood, brother in every aspect of life; but, is that all there is to it? This feeling should give him comfort when it reminds him that he’s got Dean and in the way he does, but all it does is follow him into bed and hurl spears at him while he tries to sleep. It’s painful and feels wrong, but he knows it’s at its strongest when he happens to see his brother picking up some chick he met ten minutes ago and using all his terrible pickup lines that he just knows would work on a sucker like him. If this feeling he has for Dean is a deeper and more intimate than he thought—if this feeling is love—then he’s in a shitload of trouble.

“Hey, Beautiful Mind? Do I need to throw another pillow at y—“

“Am I sick?” He awakens from his sleep like state with tears in his eyes. Turning toward Dean, Sam repeats himself a tone that’s crackling like Bobby’s furnace. “De, am I sick?”

“No! Why would you be?” The older brother turns off the idiot box and turns toward the boy, who’s failing to calm himself down.

Sam’s lips are quivering and he feels the ice running through his veins. “You...you’re gonna hate me. You’re gonna leave with Dad and just despise me—“

“I would never do that, Sammy,” Dean cuts him off by taking his smaller hand in his calloused one, hardened by the years he should have been spending as a boy instead of a man. “Please, tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“I think...I think I’m—“ He chokes on his words. He can’t possibly say that he loves him outright. He doesn’t even know...oh, he should probably lead with that. “I’m gay.”

Dean stares for a minute that seems like wins for Sam, who’s panicking inside. If he can’t handle this PSA, he won’t respond well to the whole ‘I’m in love with you’ thing. Without warning, the sandy blonde man snorts and bursts into laughter, holding his stomach while his little brother waits in utter confusion.

He begins to calm down and looks at Sam with the spasms of humor still rocketing through him. “Dude, you thought I didn’t know?! Oh my god, I gave what’s-his-face, the one you had a crush on in the eighth grade—Liam!—I gave Liam some pointers on how to ask you out. I also threatened him with my 12-gauge, but whatever.”

“You...that’s why he didn’t wanna do homework at the motel!” Sam’s laughing now, but he knows he has to get his point across. “I don’t think your pointers worked though. I had my sights set on someone else. Wasn’t really my type.”

“Oh?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “And what type would that be, lover boy?”

“Y’know: blonde, almost brown hair, a little older, mysterious, handy, loves flannels...” he hums. Looking over at Dean, he bites his lip and grits his teeth. “...and owning a ‘67 Chevy Impala is just the cherry on top of the cake.”

The older of the two almost makes a sarcastic comment, but Sam’s obvious shameful look and honest eyes choke the air from his lungs. He finds his voice again after a second and opens his mouth to say something, anything—the thing that’ll make or break their relationship.

“I-I’m sorry, I...I didn’t know,” he rubs the back of his neck and watches as Sam nods with a doleful frown. Inhaling once more, he prepares for the typhoon to hit. “If I knew...hell, I’d probably have told ‘ya how I feel sooner.”

“What?” Sam sits upright and stares in shock at the gorgeous man in front of him, at last feeling as though he can call him that without moral flagellation. “You l-like me? In that way?”

The younger’s stomach plummets when he sees Dean shake his head, but feels a shaky hand pull him off the sofa and into the center of the room. “No, Sammy, I don’t like you. I love you. I get it: it’s weird, it’s sick, I’m basically a pedophile and—“

Sam holds a finger to his lips and takes a few steps toward Dean, pausing to look up into the green expanses above him.

Mere inches from the man he’s loved since he knew how to love, he dons a courageous and challenging veneer and cranks it to eleven.

“If you feel that way, if you love me,” he bites his lip and watches Dean’s face fall, “then prove it.”

Both of them feel like they going to explode treading into this new, foreign territory; but one of them has to take the leap of faith. Dean’s seeing his life flash before his eyes, but when he sees his soulmate expecting the unthinkable from him, he loses his sanity and dives into the deep end.

Pulling him close, Dean sees Sam’s eyelids flutter shut as their lips collide, a beautiful sight. He traces his fingers along his jawline and leans in closer, tears now gathering in his eyes. He always thought he was sick—and hell, maybe he is—but he’s not alone anymore. Dean cups the back of Sam’s neck and shudders at the most gorgeous sound erupts into the space between them: pure bliss.

When they part, the first thing Sam does is become worried at the tear tracks running down his brother’s cheeks like rivers. “D-Dean are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No! Not at all, that was...god, that was just what I’ve wanted for a while now, that’s all.” He sniffles and rubs his thumb along Sam’s bottom lip, making the younger boy’s eyes shut in disbelief, ecstasy, and contentment.

“Please,” he whispers into the hush engulfing their surrogate father’s home, “please kiss me again. Please.”

In less than a second they’re in each other’s arms again, lips connecting like they’re meant to be together. In the sacred, private world of bliss they’re dwelling in, neither of them notice the back door unlocking and bags being set down on the kitchen counter. They hear a step and stop kissing, only to find a very shocked and speechless Bobby Singer.

“Uh...” He struggles for a moment, the boys watching in fear, before holding up a grocery bag. “Who wants whipped cream?”

#wincest #sam x dean #sam/dean #otp: and they were soulmates #my precious incestuous babies #gah this was so fun to write #fanfic #my fanfiction #happy new year #weecest i guess #oh bobby #how i love you

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bootz-n-catz · 6 years

Text

Blame It On The Rain - Wayhaught One Shot

Rating: T

Summary: Wynonna accidentally pisses off a member of Blushar's cult who brings a cursed rain down on Purgatory. Nicole gets caught in it and can't stop telling the truth, for better or for worse. Wynonna thinks this might be the best day of her life and Waverly wishes Nicole would stop talking about their sex life.

Read it here or on AO3.

“Fuck.”

Nicole was about to roll off Waverly with one final kiss to her neck, but the pads of her girlfriend’s fingers digging into the muscles of her back changed her mind. Nicole’s bed was warm and she wondered why she ever even thought of getting out of it. Nicole smirked against the soft skin of Waverly’s neck, running her tongue over her pulsepoint. Waverly’s grip tightened on her back and Nicole felt the dull press of her nails. She rolled her hips down into Waverly, earning herself a moan, when there was a loud knock on the front door.

Nicole groaned; Waverly held tighter.

“Ignore it,” Waverly whispered, turning her head so that their lips connected in a burning kiss.

The knocking became insistent.

“Hey! Stop banging and let me in!” Wynonna’s voice came, muffled through the wood of the front door.

Nicole pulled away with an apologetic smile. “It might be important.”

Waverly pouted. “If it’s not?”

“We kick her out.”

“Remember that time she said it was an emergency when really she just got a shitload of coupons for Nutella? She needed us to go to the store with her because it was one per customer?”

“Waves-”

“This could be another Nutella incident.”

“Or,” Nicole said finally prying herself from Waverly to grab her pants, “it’s something important.”

Waverly sighed dramatically, “Fine.”

Waverly stood naked in front of Nicole and brushed the hair from her face. “You seem tired lately.”

Guilt pinged in Nicole’s stomach as she shook her head. She thought of all her other “extracurricular” activities she hadn’t told Waverly about. “Sorry I just-...work.”

Waverly nodded, kissing the end of Nicole’s nose.

Waverly slipped on a clean pair of Nicole’s boxers and grabbed Nicole’s old police academy sweatshirt, throwing it over her body as she walked out of the bedroom. Nicole rolled her eyes as she did up her pants and grabbed a bra.

“Shouldn’t you get dressed? Like dressed?” she called.

“No. I want Wynonna to know exactly what she interrupted,” Waverly sang from down the hall.

Nicole pulled on a shirt and got to the living room just as Waverly opened the front door. Wynonna was mid-knock and she blinked at Waverly with a frown.

“You might as well answer the door naked,” she said wrinkling her nose and pushing past Waverly into the house. “Still better than that time you flashed me your cooch though. I still have nightmares.”

Nicole moved into the kitchen to let the sisters have their moment. She pulled down a cup and poured the remainder of the morning coffee into it, from before she and Waverly got...distracted. Nicole leaned against the counter and took a sip of her coffee. Wynonna burst into the kitchen with Waverly following her. “What’s the emergency, Nonna? If it’s nothing-” she rolled her eyes.

“It’s never nothing, baby girl,” Wynonna said scanning Nicole’s cabinets until she spotted the mug in Nicole’s hand. She snatched it as it was halfway to Nicole’s mouth and dumped the coffee into the sink. She then dug into the freezer behind the ice drawer where Nicole had attempted to hide the whiskey.

“There were mugs right here!” Nicole protested, opening the cabinet next to her head.

Wynonna smirked and poured whiskey into Nicole’s mug. “You’re banging my sister so I get to use any mug I want, Haught Stuff. And thank you for bothering to get dressed. Unlike my sister-”

“What do you need, Wynonna?” Waverly repeated. Wynonna took her time settling into a chair. She tipped back and propped her feet up on the table as she took a long sip.

Wynonna shrugged and gestured vaguely. “Surprise surprise, someone’s trying to kill me. Again,” she chuckled waving it off, “What’s new. Right?”

Nicole and Waverly looked at each other sharply before turning back to Wynonna. Immediately Nicole was in cop mode and Waverly was in sister demon-hunter mode. Waverly sat down across from her sister and Nicole leaned on the back of a chair.

“Who? How do we stop them?” Waverly said pulling a gun out from under the table. Nicole frowned and ducked to look under her table, only seeing tape where the gun had been hidden.

“What the fuck, Waves?” She stood back up, “When did you put that there?”

Waverly had the decency to blush, “Um. Yesterday?”

“You’re lying,” Nicole said, narrowing her eyes at Waverly. She smiled sweetly at Nicole and she melted.

“Ugh, guys, we’re focused on me here, remember?” Wynonna said, waving her hands to get their attention, “I’m the one being hunted down. Again.”

“Right, sorry,” Waverly said, leaning forward on her elbows, “So who’s this shit ticket and how do we bring them down?”

Wynonna chuckled, finishing her whiskey with a flourish. “Well, that’s the fun part. I maaaay have suggested to one of the crazy Bulshar people that I knew where Hell’s Gate was.”

“Wynonna!” Waverly chastised.

“To be fair! I didn’t know they were one of Bulshar’s brainwashed freaks,” Wynonna defended. “They came to Shorty’s this morning screaming about forcing me to tell the truth. I went to shoot him and he…poof!”

Wynonna made a cloud gesture with her hands.

“They just...disappeared?” Nicole frowned.

Wynonna nodded, pouring herself more whiskey. “I gotta say, I’m gettin’ real tired of their magical bullshit. But anyways, Haught…” Wynonna’s eyes darted over to Waverly and back at Nicole. She leaned forward and gave Nicole a pointed look. “I need to use your basement.”

Nicole felt the blood drain from her face and she cleared her throat. “Um. Sure.”

Waverly looked between the two. “Excuse me, but why do you need her basement, Wynonna?”

“To...hide,” Wynonna blanched.

Nicole forced a smile at Waverly who squinted at her. “I thought you said your basement had water damage so you kept it locked so CJ wouldn’t go down there.”

“Um-”

“But Wynonna’s going down there?”

“Uh-”

“What are you hiding?”

Nicole’s mind spun, trying to find an excuse, as Waverly looked at her with a face she hadn’t seen since-...well probably since the DNA results incident.

“You’re so pretty?” she tried.

Waverly’s eyes only narrowed further. “What’s down there, Nicole?”

***

Nicole slid her key into the last of the three locks on her basement door. As the heavy lock clicked open, her breath left her lungs. Looking back over her shoulder at Waverly, she tried another smile but Waverly’s frown deepened. She sighed and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Baby, I just want you to know, there’s a reason I didn’t mention this-”

“Alright, coming through. Life on the line here,” Wynonna said, pushing past Nicole through the heavy wooden door into the basement. She clicked on the lights and went down the stairs, her footfalls fading as she went. Waverly looked at Nicole, who gestured towards the stairs.

“After you,” she said with a strained smile.

Waverly headed down with Nicole close behind. She braced herself for Waverly’s response. The further into the basement they got, the more of Nicole’s most recent...detective work appeared.

A freestanding whiteboard stood in the middle of the room with all the important papers from the Bulshar case taped to it. It was littered with sticky notes, all adorned with Nicole’s messy scrawl. Mugshots and surveillance pictures covered the wall. All of them related to Bulshar and the various members of the cult.

Wynonna was staring at the wall of faces, their names (if they were known) scrawled underneath.

Nicole had started compiling this information after Dolls handed her the file on Bulshar and the cult a few months before. Since then every moment she wasn’t helping the gang, working or with Waverly, she was doing her own research.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Waverly looked back at her, eyes shining. Nicole rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably.

“Um...I just-” Nicole shook her head. “I needed to do this on my own, Waves.”

“I could have helped!”

Nicole took a deep breath, ready to spill everything, the real reason why she hadn’t told Waverly, but her eyes darted over to Wynonna making wild hand gestures, shaking her head vigorously and making a zipping motion over her mouth.

“I know I-...I’m sorry,” Nicole said hoping it didn’t sound as pathetic as it felt.

“You lied to me,” Waverly said tearily, anger wavering her voice.

“I didn’t lie I just-...omitted,” she finished lamely.

“That’s what cowards say when they’re caught lying.”

Waverly crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest as Nicole’s stomach twisted with guilt. She wished they could go back to just fifteen minutes prior when they were basking in the afterglow of their orgasms and ready for another round.

“Aha!” Wynonna said pointing at one of the pictures on the wall, “This is the guy who’s looking for me. Of course you don’t have his address, Haught.”

“I can look it up on my laptop at home,” Waverly said, much quieter than she usually was when she got to do research, “I put some police software on my computer.”

“Let’s go then, baby girl,” Wynonna said, snapping a picture of the relevant information on her phone and heading towards the stairs. She stopped by Nicole, still at the base of the stairs, and clapped her apologetically on the shoulder. “Sorry for blowing up your spot.”

Nicole shrugged as Wynonna went up the stairs. Waverly glared at Nicole, then followed her sister up. Nicole trailed behind, trying not to look too dejected. She hated lying to Waverly even if maybe in the long run it was for the best.

Once upstairs, Nicole locked the door again. When she went back out to the living room, Waverly was shrugging her coat on over the boxers and sweatshirt. As she slipped on her boots, Nicole reached for her own coat but Waverly stopped her.

“Don’t bother coming with us, Nicole,” she said stiffly, “I’m still mad at you for lying to me.”

Nicole blinked at Waverly, mouth hanging open. She looked up at Wynonna who looked guilty in her own way.

“Waverly, I can help-”

“Like how I could have helped you?” she snapped. Nicole’s face fell, she had no comeback. “I’ll see you later.”

Nicole watched helplessly as Wynonna and Waverly walked out of her house. Wynonna’s truck stuttered and started before pulling away. Nicole stood there for a moment in shock. She wanted-...no. Needed to talk to Waverly and help with the crazy person going after Wynonna--not just sit back and hope for the best.

She checked the bowl that usually held her keys but cursed herself when she remembered taking her car in for its yearly check up the day it was due for it. Noticing that Waverly’s Jeep keys were still there, she only hesitated a moment before slipping on her boots and heading out the door.

As soon as the snow was almost completely melted and jackets were less needed, Waverly had taken the top off of her Jeep. It was a little too cold in the mornings and Nicole almost called her ridiculous, but when she saw Waverly driving up to her house in the topless Jeep, bundled in a thick jacket and earmuffs...it was too cute.

Nicole closed the door to the Jeep just as the sound of thunder rolled through the air. Nicole swore she could feel static electricity in the air, hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Dark clouds rolled rapidly in front of the previously shining sun.

“That looks like some scary demon bullshit,” she muttered to herself. She pulled the soft cover out of the backseat of the car and attempted fruitlessly to snap it on. She and Waverly had a hard enough time doing it together, she knew there was no way she’d get it on alone. “Fuck.”

Hoping for the best, Nicole pulled out of the front of her house just as another clap of thunder sounded overhead. Rain began as a light drizzle, almost a mist that Nicole could ignore as she started the long drive to the Homestead. But by the time she arrived at the Earp house, it was like the skies had opened up and were pouring water down on her.

Her body was shaking, skin practically frozen from the cold rain as she shut off the Jeep. She also felt a little lightheaded and weird but couldn’t say why. Nicole figured it was from the cold. Climbing out of the Jeep, she went up to the Homestead and knocked. She knew better than to just barge in unannounced unless she wanted a shotgun in her face.

“Waverly!” she called, knocking, “Please open up or I’ll probably panic that you’re going to break up with me and call you five thousand times.”

Nicole snapped her mouth shut and furrowed her brow. She...wasn’t sure where that came from. It was like words just flowed out of her mouth and she couldn’t stop them. She shook her head and knocked again. Waverly opened the door, eyes darting over to her Jeep behind her and back to Nicole shivering in front of her.

“Hey,” Nicole said.

Waverly grabbed her arm, pulling her inside. “You drove here in the rain?” she asked as she started unbuttoning Nicole’s shirt. “We have to get you out of these clothes.”

“I would drive five thousand miles in the rain for you,” Nicole blurted as Waverly peeled the soaked garment off of her. Her cheeks heated almost immediately at the confession. “Why did I say that? Not that I don’t mean it. I’m sorry for hiding that stuff from you. I-”

Waverly’s lips on her own thankfully stopped her mid-sentence.

“Cutie pie,” Waverly murmured as she pulled away, fingers brushing soaked pieces of hair from her face, “I’m still mad at you for not telling me about that stuff though. Why did you do that?”

Nicole felt the truth bubbling almost painfully in her chest, expanding her ribs and causing her to choke no matter how much she wanted to hold it back. She couldn’t tell Waverly...not yet. She’d promised Wynonna and Dolls, and yet-

Nicole felt it. She couldn’t stop it. She suddenly noticed Wynonna sitting at the kitchen table, eyes practically bulging out of her head. Nicole’s eyes widened and she shook her head. She physically couldn’t hold it in for whatever terrifying reason she couldn’t explain right now.

“I didn’t tell you because you’re- oof!”

Wynonna essentially tackled Nicole. At least...she tried. Nicole, even in her current state of confusion, was still pretty steady on her feet. Wynonna only managed to stumble her back a few inches and knock the wind out of her. Wynonna pushed Nicole down onto the couch and straddled her, shoving a hand over her mouth.

“Wynonna!” Waverly yelled.

“What is wrong with you?” Wynonna hissed at Nicole, their faces inches away. She turned to smile at Waverly. “Just making sure your girlfriend’s not a demon, baby girl.” She whispered harshly at Nicole, “I know you’re not actually a demon. Just what the fuck is wrong with you, Haught?”

Nicole pulled Wynonna’s hand from her mouth, frowning up at her. “I don’t know! I can’t stop myself from just-...spilling the truth everywhere!”

Wynonna frowned, “Did your goody two shoes finally get too tight?”

“No! I physically can’t hold it back,” Nicole said, frustrated. Wynonna sat back a little bit and Nicole squirmed under her. “You’re a lot heavier than Waverly.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth, giving Wynonna an apologetic look. Wynonna glared at Nicole.

“I don’t like what you just said for multiple reasons.”

“Wynonna, can you please get off my girlfriend?” Waverly sighed.

Wynonna got close to Nicole’s face again.

“So you can’t lie?”

Nicole shook her head.

“Let’s test that. Say Waverly isn’t pretty.”

“I couldn’t even do that without this truth problem.”

“Ugh, gross. Okay. Say you hate your cat.”

Nicole licked her lips. “I hate my-” her mouth tried to form the words but only squeaking noises managed to escape her throat. She groaned in frustration and rolled her eyes. “I can’t.”

Wynonna blinked at her for a moment before a wolfish grin slid over her face. “Oh. This is going to be fun.”

***

Nicole came from the shower in fresh clothes, her skin warm.

“Feeling better?” Waverly asked, looking up at her from the table as she pored over some old spell books.

“Much,” Nicole sighed, “That shower reminded me of the time I caught you in there masturbating with the shower nozzle and helped you finish.”

“Nicole!” Waverly choked, red-faced.

Nicole covered her face in embarrassment. Wynonna cackled from the couch.

“Guess rinsing the rain off in the shower didn’t work, huh Haught?” she said wiping tears away from her cheeks.

“It’s okay, baby, once I figure out what spell they used I should be able to reverse it,” Waverly smiled sympathetically.

Nicole sat down and Wynonna came over, flipping a chair around backwards before sitting and staring at Nicole.

“Nonna...” Waverly warned, flipping through the pages of her book.

“Tell me,” she started, “Do cops really do the drugs from the evidence lockers?”

“No.”

“I thought you couldn’t lie,” Wynonna said with a quirk of her eyebrow. Nicole stared at her, unamused. “Are you really as gay as you say? Because Waves did that whole cheer routine for you and you went to work.”

Nicole smirked. “Yes. She put the cheerleading outfit back on later when you were gone. And that’s not the only time. One time she put on my uniform-”

“Okay. I regret this question.”

“-and did a strip tease-”

“Okay!” Wynonna slapped her hand down on the table and glared at Nicole who was still smirking. The tips of Waverly’s ears were red as she looked between the two of them.

“Can we not do this?” she gritted, with a strained smile.

Nicole pouted and reached across the table, covering Waverly’s hand with her own. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I wish I could stop so you wouldn’t be upset but you’re just so pretty and sexy and I want everyone to know how awesome our sex is. But at the same time, not.”

“Nicole,” Waverly commented, “I know you can’t help it and you’re being really sweet but this might be considered TMI.”

Wynonna gasped breathlessly through her laughter. “I changed my mind. This is awesome.”

“Don’t act surprised,” Nicole said looking over at Wynonna, “Last week when we went to Pussy Willows you asked if I had any inappropriate pictures of Waverly saved on my phone.”

Wynonna paled, “Haught...”

“Remember, I told you about that birthmark high on Waverly’s thigh that makes her giggle when I kiss it?”

Waverly frowned. “Wait...last week when you two told me you had to work late?”

Nicole smiled awkwardly. “Yes.”

“Haught!”

“I lied about working late and got drunk at a strip club with your sister...”

“Jesus, Haught.”

“...again.”

“That’s the last time I have bonding night!”

Nicole turned to Wynonna, eyes wide. “But, Wynonna, I like bonding with you. You’re kind of the closest thing I have to a best friend.”

Waverly’s frown turned to a smile. “Aw.”

“Besides Waverly of course,” Nicole added.

“Aw! Cutie!” Waverly said leaning over and kissing Nicole soundly on the lips.

Wynonna gagged. “Shouldn’t you be looking for a cure?”

Waverly leaned forward frowning, elbows on the table. “First...Nicole, why didn’t Wynonna want you to tell me about your Bulshar research?”

“Because we think you might be related to one of the cult leaders,” Nicole said quickly. Seeing Wynonna and Waverly’s shocked faces she registered what she’d said. “Ah, eff.”

“Shit balls,” Waverly breathed out, “Holy fudgenuggets my father might be-”

“We don’t know yet, baby girl,” Wynonna countered quickly.

“Or your mom,” Nicole added unhelpfully.

Wynonna shot Nicole a dangerous look that melted as soon as she turned back to Waverly. “We didn’t want to put you at risk. We didn’t want you going all detective on this and getting in trouble.”

“Even though I told Wynonna I would protect you,” Nicole pointed out.

“If you get to go all Wynonna, why do I never get to go all...Waverly? I can protect myself.”

“Waves, Haught and I are very aware of how capable you are of taking care of yourself,” Wynonna said, “We just wanted to give you the right info so you’d go all Waverly on...the right dude.”

The sound of a revving engine interrupted them and Nicole started up from the table, chair scraping against the wooden floor. She groped under the kitchen table where she knew she’d find a gun and sure enough, Waverly’s shotgun was under there.

“Time to kick some ass,” she said, racking the shotgun.

“You can’t go out there alone,” Wynonna said, pulling Peacemaker from her boot.

“It’s still raining. you can’t go out there because you’re going to spill where Hell’s Gate is and Waverly can’t go out there because I have her gun,” Nicole said with a smirk. She headed towards the door but Waverly stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Nicole-”

“Waves, I have to-”

“You can’t do this for me. Let me go.”

“Waverly,” Nicole began seriously, “I would die for you. But please don’t make me because I can’t stand the idea of you being with someone else and I know you wouldn’t be on the market for long because you’re really fucking hot...er...beautiful. I mean...all of the above.”

Waverly pulled Nicole into a long kiss just as a bullet whizzed through the window of the Homestead, shattering the glass.

“Right,” Nicole said pulling away. With one final kiss, she turned and ran out of the Homestead, shotgun raised. “Purgatory PD, asshole, hands in the air!”

The rain was still coming down hard. She trained the gun on a car that had stopped in front of the Homestead after knocking down the mailbox, but didn’t see anyone around. Her eyes darted around as she ran down the porch, taking cover behind Wynonna’s truck. She heard the ping of a bullet hitting metal and raised the shotgun to fire in the direction of the gun shot.

Almost immediately she was tackled from the side and fell onto the ground, the weight of a body on top of her. She turned and elbowed her attacker in his face just as he punched hers; she felt a hot gush of blood. She wasn’t entirely sure whose it was but the adrenaline coursing through her veins dulled any pain.

Nicole quickly kneed him in the groin. He grunted and rolled off of her, giving her room to push herself up and climb on top of him. She punched him hard in the face, feeling the crunch of his nose against her knuckles.

“You’re really bad at this fighting thing for someone who came looking for a fight,” she panted, climbing off of his unconscious body. The front door of the Homestead flew opened and Waverly stood there with a shining smile.

Before Nicole could stop her Waverly ran towards Nicole, getting soaked by rain. She threw her arms around Nicole’s neck and kissed her hard. Nicole lifted her off the ground as Waverly’s legs wrapped around her waist. They kissed, both of them soaked to the bone.

“I love you so much,” Waverly said against Nicole’s lips, “It’s so sexy when you fight people.”

Nicole chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “You should have thought about what you’d say before you came into the rain.”

“I don’t even care,” Waverly breathed, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I don’t care who knows.”

Nicole’s grinned, holding Waverly close. “I can’t wait to marry you, Waverly Earp,” Nicole breathed, “And that was never a secret.”

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