#then i started scrubbing cupboards and stuff. i plopped myself on the floor and cleaned the lower parts

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

My coworker and I are both enjoying Adderall today but we're also dealing with starting a project and concentrating so hard that you can't stop, even though it's taking so much longer than you thought you just gotta keep concentrating and concentrating until your coworkers are worried because you've been scrubbing the rack that holds fry baskets for at least thirty minutes and refuse to stop even though it's really not an important task, you gotta finish. You have no choice in the matter.

[jordswriteswords]

Clextober19: BYOB - Bring Your Own Boos

"How do I look?" Clarke asked, twirling about the living room. She was dressed in her Halloween costume, showing off her talent for makeup.

"Are you serious?" Lexa asked, mouth agape.

Clarke laughed, her hat falling down over her eyes. "Come on, don't be so offended."

"I mean, it's just…" Lexa trailed off, chewing on her lip. 

Madi bounded down the stairs, yelling a, "whoa, mom that's so witch-ist!"

"Witch-ist?" Clarke asked. 

Madi floated an apple from the fruit tray to meet her when she plopped down on the couch next to Lexa. 

"Feet," Lexa admonished her eight year old. 

Madi huffed and chomped down on the apple, a few pieces falling out of her mouth as she said, "yeah, it's prejudice against witches."

Lexa clicked her tongue at her daughter, scooping up the pieces of apple that had fallen from her mouth and wrapped them in a tissue. "No talking with food in your mouth, Mads."

"It's a joke!” Clarke said. "You guys don't even look like this. No wonder humans haven't ever been able to find you." Her face was painted green with warts on an exaggerated nose. Her head was covered by a pointy hat and she wore a long black gown. "Really, why would you ever want to look like this if you could change it with magic? Besides, it’s a rocking costume if I do say so myself.” She twirled again, and Lexa had to fight down her smile at her wife. She really, truly loved her, even if she was being highly insensitive right now.

“It’s kind of like saying that all humans are stupid and slow,” Lexa commented instead. “Like shoving our faces with the garbage some of you call food, and talking about how we’re the superior race and whatnot.”

Clarke twisted her mouth to the side in thought. “Okay, but I don't think like that,”

“Obviously, or we wouldn’t be together,” Lexa quipped.

“I just mean -- it’d be so much easier to be a witch. I mean, Madi can talk to animals, you are a superstar athlete. You’re like the spoiled brats of society.”

Lexa scoffed. Madi rolled her eyes. “I am so not a spoiled brat,” Madi chimed, more apple crumbs falling from her lips. Lexa glared at her child until Madi picked up her trash from the couch. She tried to wiggle her nose to send it to the trashcan, but Lexa snapped her fingers before she could, putting a safety lock on her nose.

"Come on!" she whined.

"You have legs," Lexa retorted. "Use them."

With a huff, Madi got up and dumped her trash into the trashcan in the kitchen. Lexa joined her, stirring the pot she had started for dinner.

Clarke continued her rant, “You kinda are. Whenever you want something you just have to poof it into existence. Lexa snaps her fingers or you wiggle your nose and there it is, whatever your heart desires.”

“What would you do if you had magical powers, babe?” Lexa asked over her shoulder. “Since you clearly have had such a horrible hand dealt to you.”

Clarke shrugged. “I’ve never really thought of it because it’s completely impossible. It’d be like a vacation, though. I'd probably make everything silent so I could just relax. Man, you guys have it so easy.”

Lexa smirked, and then winked at Madi. "Alright babe," she said, turning to her wife. "Deal." She snapped her fingers, and the costume on Clarke’s frame shrunk down to fit her snugly, and the green paint disappeared from her face.

“What the --”

“Let’s see what you got,” Lexa teased, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve just handed over my powers. You, Clarke Griffin, are now a witch for twenty-four hours.”

“You mean to tell me that you’ve had the ability to turn me into a witch for our entire lives and never bothered to do so? Rude!”

Lexa laughed. “It’s not quite how it works. You have to have a deep emotional and physical bond with someone.”

“Like a soulmate?” Madi asked.

“Yeah, like a soulmate. Seeing that you’re my wife and also have bore my child, our connection is more than strong enough to allow me to pass my powers onto you for a short period of time.”

“So I’m legit a witch?”

“And I’m human,” Lexa replied.

“Cool! Can I be a werewolf?” Madi asked.

“No!” both parents barked at the same time.

“How does it feel to be powerless?” Clarke asked. “You do realize I’m not going to help you with any of the housework so you can get a sense of how tough it really is to grow up and have to fold your own laundry.”

“I look forward to it,” Lexa said with a small laugh.

“Wow,” Clarke said, marvelling at her hands. “How do I like, make it go?” She tried snapping her fingers and blinking excessively, but nothing happened.

Lexa chuckled. “Stop forcing it. Just let it come to you.”

“Got it, Chief,” she said, pointing her finger guns are Lexa that she typically did when she was trying to be sarcastic. With a flash of light and a poof of smoke, Lexa’s head donned a Native tribal headpiece.

Clarke’s eyes widened and she looked at her hands. “Oh, come on!” she bemoaned. “I can’t believe my trigger is finger-guns!”

***

Lexa bit into the dinner she had prepared, noting the meatballs ended up a little spicier than she had originally anticipated.  She stood to refill her glass of water, but Clarke held a hand up to stop her. 

“Don’t worry babe, I got this.” She finger gunned at Lexa and said, “water.”

Lexa sighed.

A sudden downpour of water fell atop Lexa's head, soaking her clothes right through.

A few seconds later, an empty glass appeared in the air, only to crash onto the kitchen floor.

***

“Jesus… Christ… How do I… Stop this… from… happeniiiiiiiing?” Clarke asked as she bounced up and down in the air, trying to get control of her levitation. She pointed her finger at Lexa, who sighed as she floated, and tried her best not to throw up at the sudden rollercoaster that her wife forced upon her in their living room.

***

Halfway through the pile of laundry, Lexa pouted at her smiling wife. “I got this, babe,” Clarke said. She finger-gunned at the last of the clothes and said, “fold,” but the already folded clothes exploded from their spot on the bed, littering the room in the family’s underwear.

***

“How’s it going?” Lexa asked, poking her head around the corner to Clarke’s art studio.

Clarke huffed and pouted at her wife. In front of her was a series of canvases covered in sad clowns and dreary landscapes.

“Moody,” Lexa said. 

“I don’t seem to know how to control any colour other than the black. This was easier when I was human."

***

Clarke was determined to master her magic, knowing that she would never hear the end of it if she came out of this day not being able to cast one proper spell. 

Lexa drove them to the store to get groceries for the week. She perused the aisles while Clarke thought and thought and thought about what she could do to get it under control. 

She thought over the words and the basic spells that Madi taught her when Lexa wasn't working, finger gunning without casting the spell aloud so she could practice her posture.

“Hey Clarke, isn’t that Harper?”

“Who?” Clarke asked, finger inadvertently pointing at her wife.

Suddenly, there was a poof of smoke and a bright flash of light, and hovering in front of her was an owl with the greenest eyes she had ever seen.

“Lexa?” Clarke gasped.

“Hoot, hoot, hoot,” the bird replied, fluttering its wings furiously. "Hoot, hoot, hoot!" The owl called. Clarke slowly backed away as the owl squawked and screeched and flew after her. 

***

The next morning, Clarke awoke to a platter of eggs, bacon and pancakes, and a single lily in a vase.

Lexa leaned against the doorjamb, smiling at her wife as she handed over a cup of coffee. “Come downstairs whenever you’re ready.”

Bashful and cowed, Clarke took a sip of her coffee and nodded at her wife.

After she finished her breakfast, she brought the plates downstairs and marvelled at the sparkling clean home. “Looks like someone got their powers back,” Clarke teased her wife.

“Nah, you still have a few more hours,” Lexa replied, hands busy scrubbing the pans used for breakfast.

“Really?” Clarke asked. She finger gunned in the direction of the milk container, and made the entire jug explode, coating the ceiling in dairy. She sighed. “Wheres Madi?” 

Lexa laughed and pulled out a rag from the cupboard, already moving towards the mess when she said, “At Jordan’s. It really was Harper we saw yesterday.”

“So, you’re telling me you cleaned our entire place and made me breakfast without the use of your powers?” 

“Clarke,” Lexa sighed. “I always do. I don’t want Madi to grow up thinking that her powers are the answer to everything. Everything I do at home I do as an equal to you. I only use my powers to spoil you if I can… or to fix something I broke on occasion.”

Clarke’s cheeks dusted pink at her wife’s words. “You really are something, Mrs. Griffin-Woods.”

“I’m yours, Mrs. Griffin-Woods.”

“I’m sorry for saying you were spoiled. This magic stuff is harder than I thought. I love you.”

Clarke leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her wife’s lips, and with a gentle poof of smoke and a warm flash of pink light, Clarke's magic worked properly for the first time ever, levitating her and Lexa off the ground together, high off their love.

[vivaciouswordsmith]

Four-Legged Fiend (The End!)

Here it is, ladies and gents. The last chapter of Four-Legged Fiend. It’s been quite the ride, my dudes, and I hope we’ll get to go on another one sometime soon. Depends on how quickly I can work up a new idea, I guess.

Anyway, as always, you can read this one here or beneath the cut. Start from the beginning, if you’d like. Enjoy, and thank you for reading!

Shouts rang out through the penthouse and jolted Jeremy out of an otherwise peaceful sleep. 

He pulled his face out of the pillow and blinked at the wall for a few moments. He remembered the end of the heist well enough, but he had no idea when or how they'd made it back home. Yet here he was, safe and sound in his bed, and still in his heist armor, for fuck's sake. He rolled over and set his feet on the floor. With a yawn and a thorough scrubbing of his eyes, he pushed himself up and tottered over to the bathroom door.

One long, warm shower later, he dressed himself in a purple tank top and bright orange sweatpants and headed out into the penthouse proper. He'd only taken one step into the living room when something barreled toward him at breakneck speeds and leaped to consume his field of vision. A barrage of squeaks drowned out every other noise in the room.

Jeremy smiled blearily and patted in the general direction of the blur. "G'morning, Ryan."

Four squeaks sounded, and the pup panted in his ear. Then Ryan turned tail and ran back into the kitchen. A shriek rattled the half-empty glasses on the dining room table, and some glass thing smashed to the ground. Jeremy yawned and rounded the corner.

"Jeremy! Thank God you're here! Quick, get this fucking furry asshole outta here before he cleans out the whole fucking kitchen!"

Jeremy blinked and squinted at the foyer. Edgar lay abandoned at the kitchen's entrance while Ryan was nose deep in a fallen white box. Several fragments of white ceramic lay at Geoff's feet, and brown liquid wicked up into his socks. He gibbered for a few seconds when Jeremy just blinked at him.

"Dude, get your butt in here! We gotta save at least some of the kolaches!"

Jeremy walked into the kitchen and stooped to pick up Edgar. He squeaked him. Ryan didn't so much as look up. Now that he had moved closer, he could hear Ryan's frantic smacking and slurping. Flecks of pastry, cheese and meat decorated Ryan's whiskers and dotted the floor.

"I...I don't think they can be saved, Geoff."

"What's going on?" Jack walked in behind Jeremy and froze at the sight before him. "Ryan!"

The wolfdog's good ear shot upright. He glanced up and locked eyes with Jack. He grabbed the box's lid with his teeth and sped out of the kitchen. A single, half-eaten kolache flopped out of the box and smacked to the ground during Ryan's retreat. He zoomed through the dining room and took off for the patio before anyone could even say "Bad wolf!"

"Goddammit, Geoff, I told you to put those into the fridge until everyone woke up!"

"Who the fuck wants cold kolaches instead of fucking fresh ones?" Geoff flopped down on a bar stool and stripped his socks off with a grimace. "Besides, he knocked my favorite mug off the counter and smashed it to shit."

"I get the feeling that was on purpose," said Jeremy. "He's a devious little bastard."

"Probably," said Jack. He bent over, pulled a plastic bag out from under the sink, and set about cleaning up the mug fragments. "I love him and I hate him, you know?"

"Well, at least he's reminding us why we lock the fridge up," said Geoff. "Guess I'd better go order more fucking kolaches. Fucking prick." He pushed himself back up and headed into the living room.

"There's coffee if you want it, Jeremy," said Jack.

"Mmkay." He set Edgar down on the island, wandered over to the cupboard and pulled a cup out at random. The coffeemaker took up a good half yard of counterspace; apparently it was one of those buffet affairs or some shit, and held several gallons of the good old brown stuff. Jeremy helped himself to the sugar bowl and Geoff's half-and-half before plopping himself down at the table and putting his chin in his hand.

"You seen Gavin this morning?" Jeremy shook his head. "Didn't think so."

"Is...uh...is there any word on...has Caleb called about Michael yet?"

"Not that I know of. I don’t think we're going to hear from him for a while yet, so let's assume no news is good news."

Jeremy groaned into his coffee cup. "But I don't like not knowing, Jack!"

Jack sighed again. "I don't either."

A click-click-click pattered over to the table, and a long nose poked Jeremy's tummy. He looked down in time to see Ryan rest his head on his knee. There were still kolache remnants clinging to his whiskers, though his tongue was making quick work of them. Despite their ruined breakfast, Jeremy couldn't help smiling down at him, and rubbed behind his half-ear.

"Hey, buddy. It's good to see you again," he said. Ryan beamed and wagged his tail.

"Yeah, how's it going, asshole? Are you happy now that you've eaten two dozen fucking kolaches?" Jack glared down at Ryan and smacked his backside. "See if you get any treats today. Fucker." Ryan whined and brushed up against Jack's leg. "Nope. You are not guilting me into forgiving you."

“Aww, but look at this face, Jack!” Jeremy patted his lap until Ryan lifted his upper half up onto him. He turned to look at Jack with wide baby blue eyes and grinned. “Can you really stay mad at this face?”

Jack still scowled at Ryan for a good minute or so, and then sighed for a third time and smiled. “No, and he fucking knows it, too.” He reached out and threaded his fingers through Ryan’s ruff. “Still…it was pretty quiet without him around. Even if he’s a little shit, it’s better than…not having him around.”

Ryan clambered onto the table and padded over to lick Jack’s forehead. His tail wagged and hit Jeremy in the face several times.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, dickhead. Now get off the fucking table!” Ryan hopped down and padded down the hallway.

Not too long afterwards, Geoff reentered the dining room and sat down at the table. “Okay, I’ve ordered more fucking kolaches. Also, remind me never to be honest with delivery people. Tired of being the fucking laughingstock of minimum wage workers.”

“Look at it this way, Geoff. You probably made some poor asshole’s morning,” said Jack. “God knows those jobs are soulsucking.”

Geoff huffed and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, I know that. I just wish it wasn’t me they were laughing at.”

“C’mon, Geoff, we laugh at you all the time!” said Jeremy. “What’s so different about one stranger laughing at you?”

Geoff’s response was cut off by his phone ringing again. “If this is about the fucking kolaches I’m gonna fucking shoot myself.” He set his phone on the table and turned it on speaker. “The fuck is calling me?”

“Uh…hi, Geoff. It’s Caleb.”

Everyone leaned in to the phone call, smiles and mirth immediately abandoned.

“Caleb? What’s going on? Is Michael okay?” Geoff’s hands gripped the edge of the table until the knuckles went white. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, he’s…he’s great. He woke up…he woke up this morning actually.”

Just as quickly as it came, all the tension left the table. Jeremy sagged into his chair, Jack let out a deep breath, and Geoff smiled. “That’s great! How is he?”

Something thudded in the background, and a new voice bellowed over the receiver. “WHO’S THAT? ARE THOSE FUCKERS CALLING? TELL THEM THEY’RE FUCKING DEAD TO ME!” They all flinched at the horrible popping and crackling accompanying Michael’s screeching.

“I put the news on for him so he could hear how you guys were, and, uh, well, they were showing footage of your most recent…heist, I guess. He’s, uh, a little ticked off that you pulled it off without him.”

Something in the background smashed to pieces, and Michael’s voice crackled through the receiver, much louder this time. “IT’S ALL ANYBODY’S FUCKING TALKING ABOUT, AND YOU FUCKING LEFT ME IN A GODDAMN HOSPITAL BED!” Something else crashed, and footsteps tapped unsteadily closer and closer to the phone.

“Hey! Hey! You’re not supposed to be up yet! If you pull out your stitches, you could die!”

“Uh…do you need any help?” Jeremy asked.

“I’ve got it under control, I swear.” A third crash rang through the call. Caleb let out a breath. “That better not have been his IV, goddammit. Anyway, just thought you’d want to know. He’s fine.”

“I AM NOT FINE, I’M FUCKING PISSED OFF YOU FUCKING PRICK!”

“Mind if I talk to you later, Geoff? When I’m not about to violate the Hippocratic Oath?”

“Sure, Caleb. Thanks for the update.”

“Bye for now.”

The call ended rather unceremoniously after that. All three of them sat around the table and stared at the grains threaded over its surface. The quiet sounds of a Halo match abruptly halted in the distance, followed by a telltale Gavin-esque squeal. The phone sat in the middle of the table.

“Well, I guess I should be glad he’s okay,” said Jack.

“He’s fine,” said Geoff. He stood and grabbed his phone. “He’s just being a pissy little baby.”

“He sounded fine. I mean, unless I’m crazy, Caleb almost sounded scared,” said Jeremy.

“Nah, Caleb’s pretty used to his shit by now. If anything, he’s probably going to charge me double for this.” Geoff moved back into the living room and flopped down onto the couch. “And he knows I’ll pay it, too. Medics are fucking hard to come by in this shithole, and the fucker knows that.”

Jack and Jeremy laughed at that and turned back to their coffee. Jeremy sat up a little straighter and sipped carefully at his coffee. Ryan was home, nobody was badly injured, their place in Los Santos was secure, and Michael was fully awake and ready to rumble, if the call was anything to go by. A tension Jeremy had long since become used to eased from his chest and shoulders.

A commotion sounded from the hallway. Jeremy glanced up in time to see Gavin running down the hall, Ryan hot on his heels. Though the Brit screeched and howled fearfully, he had a huge grin on his face and practically bounced down the hallway. Ryan’s tongue flopped up and down, up and down, and he loped along in Gavin’s wake. Ryan had long since stopped being overtly malicious to Gavin, but he, like the rest of the crew, loved to tease him in his own wolfy way. Gavin moved to hide behind Geoff, who immediately shoved him to the ground with a yell.

Even with Michael’s absence, it already felt like everything was back to normal.

By lunchtime, several new plans of action had taken root. Jack planned a big party for Ryan to celebrate his coming home in one piece, while Geoff coordinated with Caleb to bring Michael home early. Apparently, the medic was one outburst away from putting Michael on a permanent morphine drip. Considering how bad of an idea that was, Geoff decided it would be much wiser to bring the pissed off demoman home and deal with him there. Jeremy and Gavin were given some much needed time off, though they were warned to do their best to keep a low profile, or as Geoff put it, “If you get in trouble, your dumb ass is staying in trouble.”

Jeremy had to admit, it was weird to do nothing after so much planning and action. Sitting on the couch nearly bored him to tears, so he strapped a wiggly and antsy Ryan into his harness and took him on a walk around the Fakes’ turf. He avoided the area where the tank-cargobob had crashed; cops still crawled everywhere like angry ants, and it was a guaranteed way to end up in the slammer. It didn’t help that he was walking an escaped convict with incredibly recognizable markings and a propensity to rip throats out. Still, the Fakes had enough territory to provide a dozen alternate routes, so he gave no more thought to it and let Ryan lead him away.

After an hour, Ryan slowed down and panted like mad. His great shaggy flank pressed against Jeremy’s side and bit by bit leaned more and more of his weight on Jeremy, to the point where his knees nearly collapsed with every step. Any attempt to push him off resulted in Ryan practically draping himself over Jeremy, so he decided it was probably time to go home.

The first thing he heard when he made it back to the penthouse was a cascade of shouting.

“Guess Michael’s back,” he said to Ryan. Ryan’s ear perked up. All traces of exhaustion vanished, and he bounded to the end of his leash and pawed at the doorknob. Jeremy smiled and turned the knob for him.

“-fine, for the thousandth time!”

Michael’s angry voice reached them immediately, and after a brief look around, Jeremy quickly figured out why. He lay on the couch, bandaged back up in the air, and ranted at Caleb and Geoff, who were standing next to him talking about something.

Ryan growled and turned to gnaw at his harness. Jeremy did his best to bat his muzzle away while he undid the clasps. The moment the clip came undone, Ryan shook himself until the harness hit the ground and ran into the living room. He cleared the couch in one leap and pushed his face into Michael’s. His tail wagged and scattered a sheaf of papers over the wooden floor. Despite himself, Michael smiled and bumped his forehead against Ryan’s markings.

“Yeah, yeah, I missed you too, asshole.”

Caleb leaped onto the opportunity and said, “Okay, Geoff, you do know what you have to do, right? His bandages need to be changed at least twice a day, ten days from now I’ll need to take his stitches out, and for the love of Christ, please try to make him rest.”

“I keep telling you, I don’t need-”

“Yes, Michael, you do need to rest! Do you even realize how badly you were injured? If that turret had cut any deeper, at the very fucking best you’d be paralyzed from the waist down and peeing through a fucking catheter.” Michael opened his mouth, but a sharp gesture from Caleb quelled any argument. “I’ve given Geoff more sedatives, so if you decide I’m not worth listening to…well, I’ve washed my hands of it, I’ll tell you that fucking much.”

Geoff looked incredibly lost. “Uh…well, I…”

Luckily Jack rounded the corner to save them from themselves. “I’ll handle it, Caleb, don’t worry.” He gathered up the papers and pried a small orange bottle out of Geoff’s hand. “We’ll make sure you have your payment before nightfall.”

Caleb let out a sigh of relief and nodded. “I feel much better knowing he’s in your hands, Jack.”

Michael groaned and let his face flop into the couch. Ryan snuffled his back and growled low in his throat. He padded over to Jack, sniffed the pill bottle, and growled again. Jack let his hand rest on Ryan’s forehead and rubbed gentle circles between his eyes.

“Between me and Ryan, I’m sure we can handle him.”

Jeremy swore Ryan nodded and glared over at Michael.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun,” said Geoff.

“What is?” Gavin rounded the corner and froze upon seeing Michael stretched out on the couch. “Oh – Michael! Michael, Michael, you’re back, Michael!” He moved forward and stopped again when Jack fixed him with a death stare. “Is…is he alright, then?”

Michael looked up and glared around the room. “I keep telling everyone I’m fine, but-”

“Bullshit you’re fine!” Jeremy blurted. “I fucking saw that wound with my own two eyes! I’m surprised you didn’t die right then and there! God, I…there was so much blood, Michael. Gav and I were soaked in it!” The memory flashed in front of his eyes; he squeezed them shut and sat down in one of their squishy armchairs. “I seriously thought you were going to die.”

For a long, long while, nobody spoke. The TV droned on in the background, detailing the weather for the upcoming week. A jet soared overhead, the roar of its engines slowly gaining volume and power the closer it got, and lingering long after it winged away. Michael stared stonily at a patch on the ground while everyone else gaped at Jeremy. He shifted and turned to the TV. The weather report wrapped up, and another round of reports on the New Eden heist rolled up. Fuzzy security cam footage showed blurry four legged figures running up and down the halls with green-suited men in hot pursuit.

“I…he’s right, Michael.” Everyone turned to look at Gavin. His cheeks darkened a touch, but he pressed on. “Jeremy had to carry you on his damn back, and both of you were drenched, Michael. Your effing spine was just…just…out there. Caleb said…you’d be lucky if you survived, and it would be a miracle if you came out with just a scar.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered down at him. “So stop being a bitch and calm your tits, Michael.”

Michael’s mouth worked for a few seconds, but nothing came out. He relaxed ever so slightly and finally said, “So, uh, is, is someone gonna, like, put on a movie or get me a controller or something? I’m fucking bored over here.”

A great breath of relief went through the room, and Jeremy relaxed into the armchair.

Gavin beamed brightly, all seriousness apparently forgotten. “Let’s see if we can’t make any progress in 7 Days to Die, yeah boi?”

“Sure. Not like I’m good for anything else in this state.”

Ryan came around the couch and dropped Michael’s customized controller in front of his hands. He turned back, nosed at Gavin’s solid gold controller, nibbled on it a bit, and thought better of it. Gavin squawked and bumped his nose away, which resulted in Ryan tackling to the ground and laying down on him. He yelled and wriggled, but a skinny Brit was no match for the bulk of a full grown wolf. He settled down and let his head thump down on Gavin’s chest.

“Ryan! Ryan, no! Ryan, I’m not having it!” The wolfdog’s eyes closed. His head lolled, and his weight sagged further down onto Gavin. “Ryan!”

Geoff grinned and beamed down at Ryan. “Good boy, Ryan. If you stay there, you’ll get a treat.”

Gavin yelled in horror while one blue eye cracked open and regarded Geoff with a very serious stare. Jeremy laughed, Jack shook his head, and Michael was practically crying with how hard he laughed at Gavin’s predicament.

Finally, everything had fallen back into place, and the celebrations could finally commence.

After a hectic few weeks of shootouts and falling tanks, a sunny day with little in the way of clouds was exactly what the Fakes wanted. Swim shorts were busted out and dusted off, and Geoff’s new patio, swimming pool and Jacuzzi were summarily christened.

(All weapons, including Nerf guns, were banned, as Geoff and Jack did not want a repeat of the Great Pool Explosion of 2016.)

Today, though, today was about relaxing and temporarily putting aside all worries. Sunlight streamed down between the slats in the roof, a light breeze ghosted over the water, and the smell of grilling brisket grew stronger by the second. Up here, where the buildings kissed the bellies of clouds, all worries and fears were left on the streets below. Up in the penthouse, everything finally felt at peace.

Geoff floated in the middle of the pool, sat firmly in his ostentatiously green-and-black, one hundred percent custom floaty-armchair. He had a soda in one hand and a brand-new copy of Cather in the Rye in the other. His sunglasses sat firmly on his sunscreened nose, and he glanced over the top of them every so often to see what everyone else was doing. Jeremy and Gavin splashed through the pool and sent waves of water at each other with disturbing frequency. Michael lay on a pool chair in the shade of a giant umbrella, doing his best not to look too grumpy. His stitches wouldn���t come out for another week, so Caleb insisted that Michael stay as far away from the water as humanly possible. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t watch the fireworks, or, the waterworks, he supposed. Finally, Jack stood behind the grill and tended to the sizzling meat. He had a ‘Don’t Fuck with the Chef’ apron on over his Hawaiian shirt and equally floral shorts, a wide-brimmed straw hat on his head, and a huge smile on his face. Ryan lurked in the shadows behind the grill. A newly repaired Edgar sat between his paws, but he paid it no heed. His eyes zeroed in on the raw brisket, bacon and burgers piled up on Jack’s lefthand side.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” said Jack. “I mean, a good chunk of this is already for you, Ryan, you do not need to eat it early.”

“I mean, he is mostly wolf, Jack.” Jeremy hoisted himself up on the lip of the pool and shook the water off his head and shoulders. “Probably wouldn’t hurt him if he did eat it.”

“Jeremy, you do not need to encourage him.”

Jeremy laughed and turned toward Michael. “You doing all right, Michael?”

“This fucking sucks balls, dude.” Michael scowled up at the fluffy clouds. “You fucks are splashing around like fucking newlyweds, and I’m stuck on this fucking chair with this fucking itchy-ass stitches!”

Ryan stood and trotted over to Michael. His scowl slipped a little, and he patted Ryan’s head.

“We’ve got your back, Michael, no matter how shitty and fucked up it is right now,” said Geoff.

Michael snorted and looked over at his boss. “Why the fuck are you reading, Geoff? At least I’m making a goddamn effort to be here.”

“I’m in the fucking pool, aren’t I?” Geoff flipped Michael off and took a sip of his E-Cola. “You don’t have to be the fucking fun police, Michael.”

“Oooh! Sick burn, Geoff!” Jeremy laughed and clapped his hands. “You gonna take that, Michael?”

Michael stared at the water for a few minutes. A grin stretched across his face, and he pushed himself up on his elbows. “Hey, Ryan.” The wolfdog looked at him. “Go get Edgar, Ryan!” He immediately turned tail and ran back to the grill.

Geoff eyed them and held his book in front of his face. “You fuckers better not try anything.”

“Geoff! I, I, I am appalled that you think I’d try anything. I’m an invalid, Geoff! I wouldn’t dream of trying anything!” Ryan dropped his toy between Michael’s elbows and sat back. “Anyway…” He grabbed Edgar and tossed him up in the air once or twice. “Go get ‘im, Ryan!” He shut one eye and tossed the plushie cow right into Geoff’s lap.

Geoff blinked and looked down into his lap. Moments later he shrieked and fumbled with the toy, his book and his can of E-Cola. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck get it off! No no no no no no-”

A shadow fell over Geoff’s chair, and by the time he looked up, it was far too late. Ryan slammed right into him and sent the whole kit and caboodle into the water. He coughed and spat out mouthfuls of chlorinated water while he paddled back to his upturned seat. His E-Cola bobbed back toward the back end of the pool, leaving a trail of dissipating brown liquid in its wake. His crew’s hysterical laughter rang in his ears.

“Michael, you…you goddamn little fucker!” He pulled himself up onto his seat and panted for air. “You nearly drowned me!”

“Don’t exaggerate, Geoff,” said Jack.

“You shut your stupid mouth, Jack!”

On the other side of the pool, Ryan pulled himself out of the pool and shook the water from his fur. He moved back into the sun and chewed on his prize. An uneasy feeling settled into Geoff’s stomach when no squeaks emanated from the blob between Ryan’s jaws. He glanced around and had his fears confirmed when he saw a soaked Edgar resting on the pool’s stairs.

“Ryan! Ryan! You drop that right now, you prick!” Geoff flung himself from the chair and threw himself toward the ladder. Ryan shifted away and held his tail up high. “You fucking heard me, asshole!” Geoff scrambled to his feet and launched himself at Ryan.

He promptly turned tail and darted back toward the house. Geoff moved to intercept him and managed to surprise the wolf when he dived for the grill. Jack let out a yell, but Geoff ignored him in favor of grabbing the sopping wet book in Ryan’s mouth. Ryan growled and dug in his paws. Geoff tugged back, a little well of despair opening in his chest when little pulpy holes formed in the book’s cover.

“C’mon, Ryan, give it back!”

“I’d let him have it, if I were you,” said Jack.

“Fuck no! I’m not letting him destroy another one!”

“Yeah, Geoff, get it!” said Michael.

“Tug of war!” yelled Jeremy, and Michael joined him in chanting “Tug of war! Tug of war!”

“It’s just a damn book.” Gavin’s mutter was barely audible over the chanting and Ryan’s growls.

Geoff dug his own feet in and gave a mighty heave. His heart leaped in his chest when the book came free and he fell flat on his ass. Michael and Jeremy whooped and clapped. He let out a sigh and squinted his eyes open to inspect the damage. His heart quickly sank back down. The upside-down title of Catcher in the Rye glittered up through his fingers, along with the frayed edge of the torn book. The other three-quarters of the book still rested in between Ryan’s jaws, and, as Geoff watched, the wolf hunkered down and chewed the book to little white shreds.

“Nice try, Geoffrey,” said Jack.

“Goddammit, Ryan, what the fuck do you have against the works of J.D. Salinger?” Geoff’s question was only a whisper. The wolf had no answer for him. With a final shake of his head, he finished tearing the book apart and trotted back over to the pool to fish out Edgar.

When Geoff looked up, Jeremy had gone back to splashing Gavin, who now sat in Geoff’s chair. It seemed they had claimed it for themselves and were now using it as a sort of impromptu King of the Hill game. Geoff scowled and squished back to the side of the pool.

“You assholes have to the count of zero to get the fuck out of my chair.”

“How the Christ are you supposed to count to zero, Geoff?” asked Gavin.

“I don’t know. Let’s find out.” Geoff jumped into the pool and joined Jeremy in trying to overturn the chair. Michael had tears leaking from his eyes.

Jack shook his head and pretended to fumble a large piece of brisket. It hadn’t been on the ground for three seconds when Ryan set upon it and gobbled it down whole. He smacked his chops happily and settled down next to Jack.

“That’s all you’re getting until dinnertime, Ryan. Unless J.D. Salinger ruined your appetite.” Ryan snorted. “I didn’t think so.”

He chuckled and cast a fond eye over the pool. The newly overturned chair bobbed crazily on the water while Geoff chased Gavin around the pool. Jeremy hung out next to Michael and chatted amiably with him, seemingly ignorant of the chaos unfolding in front of him. Jack smiled and “fumbled” a piece of bacon.

“Assholes, every one of them,” he said, and laughed again.

He wouldn’t trade them for the world.

Long after the sun descended behind the horizon, the party continued in full swing. Empty paper plates littered the table, stained with the remnants of barbeque sauce and chocolate cake. Several beer bottles decorated almost each and every place at the little table, most of them completely empty. The crew sat around and remembered past missions and heists, laughing more and more the deeper they got into their drinks. Ryan sniffed at all the plates, searching for any shred of brisket or sliver of bacon. Every now and then one of the crew would distract him by rubbing his ruff and slipping the plates covered in chocolate frosting away from his questing muzzle.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Geoff pushed himself upright and tapped two empty cans together. Everyone fell silent, and half a dozen sets of eyes came to rest on him. “Jack, if you could, uh, go get the present, I have something to say.”

Jack nodded and pushed himself out of his seat. The lads stared curiously after him, but their attention was almost immediately reclaimed by Geoff clearing his throat.

“You know, ‘bout a decade ago, I never thought I’d be doing this. I was squatting in shitholes with nothing to my name but a gun and the one guy who thought I was actually worth something. I thought I’d be there for the rest of my goddamn life; out on the ground with the rest of this city’s garbage, fighting for a piece of anything.” He reached out and thumped Ryan’s shoulder. “Then this little monster came into my life and fucked. Everything. Up. I’ll admit, I wasn’t that fond of him at the start, but he grew on me. A little.”

“Still sore about that book, Geoff?” asked Michael. Everyone tittered when Geoff scowled.

“Seriously, I don’t know what his problem is. Every other book in the house he leaves alone. Anyway…” He cleared his throat again and continued. “…this asshole’s had our backs back when there was nobody else, and he’ll be here for a while yet. Nobody – not the other gangs, not the fucking cops, not even the goddamn zoo – can ever change that.” He picked up his glass and held it over the table. “So, here’s to the best crewmate an honest criminal could ask for. To Ryan!”

“To Ryan!” the crew echoed, and clinked their glasses. Ryan grinned at them, tail thumping against the deck. He boofed once and wiggled in his seat.

“Okay, here it is, Geoffrey.” Jack rounded the table and set a large hinged box down in front of Geoff. “You want to do the honors?”

“Might as well.” Geoff flipped it open and reached into the velvety interior. “Since Ryan lost his collar, I, uh, dug real deep into my pockets and got him…this.”

A large leather collar hung in between Geoff’s finger tips. Dark blue suede flanked either side of the silver D-ring, and this was accented with three strips of white gems. A black skull dangled from the D-ring, letters glittering on the back of its head. Everyone oohed and ahhed.

“Jesus Christ, how much did that cost, Geoff?” asked Michael.

“Wasn’t cheap, I’ll tell you that much.” Geoff poked one of the white stripes. “These are real fucking diamonds, assholes.”

He leaned forward and fastened the collar around Ryan’s neck. It sat perfectly on his shoulders, and Geoff smoothed the skull into his chest fur. The wolf panted and wiggled in his seat, grin stretched oh so wide over his face.

“Good to have you back, bud. Here’s hoping you stay this time.”

Geoff spent several minutes rubbing the base of Ryan’s ears and sinking his fingers into his fur. The rest of the crew stayed quiet.

“So, who want to take bets on how long until that collar gets absolutely fucking ruined?” asked Jeremy.

Geoff turned and glared.

“Goddammit, Li’l J! Did you have to ruin the mood?!”

Everyone laughed again. Ryan chuffed a few times, lifted his head, and let out a long, low howl. The sound echoed over the rooftops of Los Santos and faded into the starry night.

A quiet reminder that the Fake AH Crew stood at the top of the world, and nothing would knock them down any time soon.