🔎 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑.

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠  🔎  𝒉𝒖𝒅𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒚.

name  :   hudson 'hud’ sweeney

age  :   thirty-six  ( born may 3rd )

gender & pronouns  :   cis man & he / him

neighborhood  :   downtown

occupation  :   private investigator

faceclaim  :   ben barnes

about.     wanted.     pinterest.

@hudsweeney​

LOCATION: his place xoxoxo

maggie and hudson had finally, for the most part, admitted that they had feelings for each other. it may have taken a snow storm locking them together, a full bottle of red wine, and a heart shattering argument, but it had finally fucking happened. but yet here they were, once more, avoiding each other as as if they were middle school aged children who had just sent their crush a ‘do you like me, check yes or no’ letter. she figured that if she was going to get what she wanted, someone was going to have to make the first move. and who better than the lawyer whose career revolves around her going after exactly what she and others want daily. 

she did it without thinking, showing up at his place, but as her knuckles knocked firmly against the door she realized that there was no turning back now. why couldn’t she have just called like a normal person? she waited patiently, well maybe not patiently but she waited nonetheless, for him to open the door and once he did she all but walked in as if she owned the place. 

“so,” she began as she made her way into his home, “here’s how i see it. either we forget everything we talked about and go back to whatever it is we were doing before, or,” she paused to turn toward him, placing her hands on her hips and shrugging her shoulders, “you stop being a moron and actually ask me out.”

.

𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 draws him from the mound of paperwork littering his coffee table,  months of sordid internet history laid bare for the world to see.  the case had consumed the better part of his evening,  coffee cups turning into coors light the further he ventured down the rabbit hole.  gravity lashes out as he detaches from the couch,  a heady rush threatening to disrupt his balance.  alarmed,  hud catalogs the smattering of cans on the table.  six of them.  not enough to render him belligerent,  but the buzz is all too apparent as he hauls himself towards the door.

maggie.  an uninhibited rush of affection courses through him as he finds her on the other side of the threshold.  she breezes past him before he even can get a word in  --  a blessing in disguise,  as he seems to have temporarily lost the ability to speak.  weeks had passed since the blizzard that had forced them to confront their feelings for one another,  and those confessions made in candlelight had consumed his every waking thought since.  nothing had changed in the light of day.  it almost felt as if he had dreamed the whole thing.

but it was real,  this was real.  a wry little smile twitches at the corners of his mouth as she lays down the law,  and hud wonders if this is what she’s like in the courtroom  --  brazen,  ruthless,  beautiful.  “  hello to you,  too.  ”  a flush heats the back of his neck as he grumbles in response.  get it together,  sweeney.  “  ask you out.  ”  he echoes her words,  turning them over in his mind,  sampling their taste on his tongue.  then  :   a roguish grin.   “  i’m pretty sure you just asked me.  ”

natalie always found hudson’s grumpy ol’ man persona utterly amusing ; perhaps it was a bit ironic that she’d even want to be around him given the fact she was a polar opposite of him with her sunshine energy, but alas, there was something about the way she could annoy him that simply made her day. perhaps, it was the inner child in her she thought, while working on her favorite french press, slowly pressing the plunger down as the scent of fresh beans started to fill up the air around.              his protests brought the attention of one of natalie’s employees standing nearby who, without a doubt in natalie’s mind despite having her back turned, was raising a brow at him. if anything, it made the blonde want to smile more, and she decided not to resist the urge to do so as her lips spread to form it as she poured dark coffee in a mug.  “ my apologizes, you weren’t lurking, simply observing, “  she continued to tease, only then turning around to slide the mug across the counter.  “  or as you say, pensively standing, “  and then she smiled at him with all her pearly whites exposed, head tilting to a side.  “  good, here i was thinking you must suck at your job if you lurked like this for one of your clients, “  

.

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 skulk and lurk,  hudson catches the eye of a nearby barista,  whose arched brow is met with the brand of withering glare reserved for bad drivers and people who take too long at self-checkout.  it was his god-given,  caffeine-addled right to make an ass of himself at any establishment he desired,  especially when said establishment was run by the human embodiment of vanilla ice cream.  he watches,  awestruck,  as she produces piping hot coffee from something resembling a baby guillotine  --  a far cry from the diner below his old brooklyn apartment,  with its industrial-sized pot and company policy of publicly berating anyone who dared ask for non-dairy creamer.

she pushes the steaming mug across the counter and it takes every ounce of self control to his name not to lunge for it.  “  what happened to hold the smug remark ?  ”  as if blinded by that lite-brite grin of hers,  hud averts his narrowed gaze,  glowering as he thumbs through his wallet for cash.  “  thank you,  annoying blonde person.  ”  he shoves a simpering smile to the surface,  his words just as genuine as they are sarcastic.  “  how much do i owe you ?  ”

     When he put it like that, Alara had to think for a moment — yes, she was asking him to babysit her thirty-four year old ex-husband, “Except he’s fully potty trained!” Alara decided it was a win-win scenario, “He’s not seen anyone outside of his dad and me for weeks.” She didn’t count work colleagues and clients, “I’m worried about him.” For a number of reasons that she couldn’t do much to fix, but this was something she could at least encourage. “Yes, I’m essentially asking you to babysit my thirty-four year old ex-husband …” Aly rolled her eyes and laughed, “Shoot. What an idea.” Colt hadn’t ever been much of a screen watcher, only humoring her desires for a romantic movie night that was hampered by her inability to stay awake for longer than ten minutes. “Uhm, yeah …” She nodded, “Three days. He’s coming to live with me for a while.”

.

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭,  in a nauseating sort of way  --  that,  despite everything that had transpired between them,  she still cared enough to meddle.  “  weeks,  huh ?  ”  out of loyalty to his friend  (  and the desire to keep that can of worms shut as long as humanly possible  ),  he withholds the fact that he had,  in fact,  seen colt recently.  he had a feeling their trips to king corona weren’t exactly aly-endorsed.  “  i’ll do it.  just  . . .  when you tell him about it,  try not to use the words boys night out.  because that infers other people,  and i hate other people.  ”  it was one thing to take colt for some drinks  --  another entirely to subject himself to a night of bachelor party antics,  the likes of which had never been seen outside of seth rogen’s filmography.  brushing a few rogue pistachios from his sweater,  he shoots her a quizzical look.  “  wow.  five years off an eight year sentence,  right ?  must’ve been a boy scout in there.  you,  uh  --  ”  this was uncharted territory for them.  “  wouldn’t happen to be trying to keep him and colt apart ?  ”

open starter for @ironriverstarters​ along side of the road at wayne’s house

Colt’s truck was off the side of the road. The windows were down, the road was on. He was knelt in the mud, tools on the grass beside him as he struggled with a down fence line. Loopy was in the back pasture, and the fencing alongside the front had been in disrepair for the better part of a decade. The grass was going to get long in the front and Colt wanted to shift the horse to the front when the timing was right for better grazing. There had been a steady trickle of visitors since his father died. Colt, however, was living in liminal space. It was the first time since his honeymoon he’s really taken more than a week off. It was an excuse that he used to get done the things that he wanted to get done. He was neither here no there, his mindset on building the barn, finishing up cleaning out Wayne’s house, and so on. Fixing the fence was an easy win for the day. He didn’t hear the car on the drive, instead let out a small swear effort of getting the fence even again. He saw feet. “If you’re here to drop off food, you can leave it at the doorstep, if you don’t mind. I want to finish up this fence while I have the daylight.” It was his way of saying that he didn’t want to talk about his dad dying, or have someone say they were sorry.

.

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 hud would muddy his boots for.   few beings he would drive out to the sticks in the middle of the day to  --  was he here to check on colt ?  to call his plan half-baked was a generous overstatement.  the oven was still preheating,  the ingredients still in the box.  as he rolls up to wayne’s old ranch,  he’s not surprised to find colt laboring away,  the dirt-caked centerpiece of his father’s overgrown yard.  hud cuts the engine,  grabs the six-pack of beers from the passenger set,  and exits the shitbox,  wincing as he immediately sinks into what he could only hope was mud.  he missed concrete.  you never had to guess with concrete.  trudging towards the broken fence,  he stops short as colt’s features come into view,  clutching the six-pack with whitened knuckles.  that look.  lifeless yet wholly determined.  he knew it well,  knew what would come of him when they were no more loose ends to tie up.  by the time colt notices him,  he’s already composed himself.  “  thought i’d spare you marcia sweeney’s cream of mushroom casserole,  ”   he drawls,  plunking his own offering on the hood of colt’s truck.  then,  wordlessly  --  silence was their language  --  he drops to his knees and reaches for the other end of the wire,  pulling it taut.  “  hammer ?  ”

❝ lunchtime, in his office with @hudsweeney​​ —

“She’s like… not even that pretty.” A lie nobody in their right mind would believe. Celeste Chen was stunning. The kind of stunning that might’ve made even Cat question her sexuality under any other circumstances. Hair black as raven’s wings, cheekbones that could cut through butter like a knife— the woman was a walking wet dream straight off the pages of Stepford-Wives-Weekly. 

Unfortunately, she was also her husband’s impossible to get rid of best friend.

Blindly reaching for his basket of fries with one hand and shoving the instagram photo into his face with the other, Cat demanded to know, “If you had a choice between sex for the rest of your life with me, or sex for the rest of your life with her, you’d choose me every time, right?” Grinning, she let her foot connect with Hudson’s under the desk in a ‘gentle’ nudge. “The only correct answer here is yes, by the way.” 

.

“  --  𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞'𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦.  ”  swallowing a mouthful of burger,  hudson doesn’t have to peek at the screen to know whose socials have been shoved under his nose.  sure enough,  as he reaches across the desk for a napkin,  he finds himself face-to-digital-face with the preying mantis herself  --  her words,  not his  --  celeste chen.  dabbing a spot of ketchup from the corner of his mouth,  he pretends to analyze the same picture he’s seen a thousand times.  legs like a radio city rockette.  that demure,  pageant queen grin.

he had seen far stronger marriages fall apart over far worse looking people.

this,  of course,  was not what cj wanted to hear.  “  yes,  ceej,  ”  he recites,  reclaiming his basket of fries with a pointed glare.  “  i’d fuck you,  i’d marry you  --  i’ll kill you if you keep making me answer these questions.  ”  something restless stirs within him as she grazes his ankle beneath the desk,  and he holds his breath as he adds,  “  i think we both know i’m not the one you should be asking them to.  ”

this was it, this was how she would lose him. she wanted to act like this whole thing didn’t bother her and that she would be fine without him in her life, but she knew that wasn’t true.

 she remembered telling herself when she met him that he would be easy to have and let go, that he would be the best kind of person to have meaningless sex with because she didn’t even like him. but over the past two years that distaste for him had turned into a longing for his touch, his smile, even just a small glance her way. 

she couldn’t lose him, not when she had barely had him. 

‘i went home alone, too’.

the words repeat themselves over and over, and over, again in her head just begging her to hear them loud and clear. she had assumed the worst of him after he had done the same to her. it nearly made her laugh once more, the fact that they were so imperfectly perfect for each other, but instead it left her standing there too stunned to speak. how could they have been so wrong about each other and too stubborn to even think that they had been, let alone say it out loud? she opened her mouth to say something, to throw some sort of insult his way, but her lips just pressed closed again. 

explain. okay, she could do that. it wasn’t as if she was hiding some big secret. 

“i was,” she takes a deep breath, her voice feeling shaky now that she was talking at a normal level. her anger had subsided into a different emotion, one she hadn’t felt openly in a long time. sadness. pain. she can’t meet his gaze, knowing that if she does it might push her over the edge. “i was waiting for you and this guy, he just-” she shakes her head, her own features showing confusion as she tries to think of why someone had to ruin such a perfect night, “he just came up to me during the countdown. i didn’t know where you were and he just kept talking and talking. god, he was fucking annoying.” her nose scrunches in disgust with another shake of her, “and i kept trying to find you in the crowd, but i couldn’t see you anywhere. i was just trying to ignore him and hope he would go away, but you know how drunk people are. i should’ve just hit him, honestly.” now that she’s looking back on the night she definitely should have, “and then he just kissed me. literally out of nowhere.i get that sounds stupid, unbelievable even, but i wouldn’t just kiss someone while i’m with you. i wouldn’t do that to you.” 

her gaze finally meets his and she takes a few steps forward to him. the gap between them is still there, but much smaller than it was initially, “i know what we agreed this would be when we started, but-” she paused, dropping her gaze to her shaking hands just for a split second before she caught his gaze again, “we’re not just friends, are we?”

.

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐝𝐨-𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫.  not just of new years,  but of every midnight leading up to it  --  starting with the first.  two lost souls in a bar,  drowning their sorrows as the clock ticked closer to last call.  if he were a little less broken,  maybe he would have asked her to dinner.  if she were a little less broken,  maybe she would have said yes.  but hud can’t bring himself to regret a single moment of these last two years,  and he knew that even if he could somehow turn back time and rewrite their story from the very beginning,  he wouldn’t change a thing.

well,  maybe one thing.

to think that if he hadn’t been so damn stubborn,  that if he’d stopped and used the brain he was so fucking proud of for even a second  . . .  but there was no sense ruminating on what was.  if there was anything here worth salvaging  --  a long dormant jolt of hope surges through him at the thought,  catching him entirely off guard  --  it was in this house,  in this room,  haunting the space that dwindles between them.

in truth,  he had no real need for an explanation.  just knowing she was willing to give one was enough.  still,  he listens intently as she recounts the drunk man’s advances and if not for the icy roads and flurries sticking to every surface,  nothing could stop him from hunting the asshole down and slashing his tires on principle.  but his anger dissipates as he roams the contours of maggie’s face,  committing each detail to memory.  earnest was a new look on her,  the most daunting to date.  hud fears that if he lets his gaze falter for even a second,  he would never see it again.

i wouldn’t do that to you.  it had been so long since he’d given someone the power to break his heart.  the last time he had,  he thought he’d never recover.  it was the kind of hurt that made him question everything,  most of all himself.  if he could trust himself enough to trust maggie  --  no,  it was still too fast.  he was charting courses when he could barely manage a step.  she takes another towards him,  and he towards her.  together.  they could do it together.

“  thank you  --  for explaining.  ”  his words are shattered porcelain,  a lump bobbing in his throat as searches for the right words to debunk what she had seen at the coat check.  would it even make a difference at this point ?  that,  like most things he liked to pretend he had control over,  was for her to decide.  “  the woman was no one.  we went on one date,  months ago,  and she spent the whole time talking about her ex.  which i didn’t care about,  because  --  well,  because i spent the whole time thinking about you.  ”

but if that doesn’t answer her question  . . .  “  no, ”  he confirms,  dissolving the last bit of distance with one final step.  “  we haven’t been just friends for a long time.  ”

“Party pooper,” Colt said with a grin. He was curious to know what was going on in Hudson’s life. Joining someone else’s misery was something that Colt liked to do from time to time. It helped pale down the absolute suck-fest that was the last three years for him. Some of it his own creation, some of it, not so much. As Hudson spoke to some of the treasures in Wesson’s house, Colt couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “A thousand dollars? You’re kidding. I know for a fact that fucker picked up all these… things,” Colt gestured with his hands vaguely, “For a couple a hundred at estate sales. And I can’t be be entirely convinced that he didn’t date an old lady for some of these heirlooms…” Colt shook his head. Colt wanted to hate Wesson, he really did. But he didn’t. Colt couldn’t hate for Wesson for the final measure of getting out of the bullshit. But damn it, he really missed him. “If there is anything you see that you want, let me know. I’m gonna sell what I can. Could I propose taking the Tiffany fucking lamps he has?” Colt almost choked. He was there when Wesson bought them. Spent fifty dollars on the set. Turned around, got them appraised, and they’re worth a few thousand. Same day Wesson bought the china for Colt. “My brother was a goddamn shark at those estate sales. You would’ve liked him.” Wesson had gone a different route - but there were similarities in Hudson and Wesson that Colt saw outside of their professions. They both had this darkness, but a strain of loyalty that Colt appreciated and admired. Wesson became a labrador with Colt, to compliment his retriever nature, but the truth was that left alone, Wesson was German Shepherd. Smart, calculating, and the first into attack for the people he loved.

.

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 to hear colt talk about wes and not think about his own relationship with his brother.  despite the four year gap between them,  they were inseparable as kids  --  built-in best friends of convenience,  two pairs of hand-me-down shoes weaving through the mines.  but as they grew older,  it became abundantly clear that life was pulling them in two different directions.  tuck was only fourteen when he left,  a zit-faced freshman adored by peers and teachers alike.  distance was the first snag  --  time unraveled the rest.  “  people have done far more depraved things for antiques.  i spent a good six months following this guy whose MO was staking out funeral homes posing as an appraiser.  when the cops tossed his place,  they found several original rembrandts and over thirty different fake IDs.  ”  francois larue,  leroy blanchet,  yves dubois.  apparently,  you could get away with anything if you sounded french enough.  “  tempting offer,  but i can't in good conscience display a tiffany lamp beside a collection of beer cans on an ikea folding table.  i’m sending you the number of dealer i worked with in new york.  he’s manhattan based,  but for a collection of this size,  i’m sure he’d be willing to travel.  ”  as he scrolls though his contact list,  he mulls colt’s words over in his mind.  you would’ve liked him.  high praise towards someone who didn’t like anyone.  “  it’s a shame i never got to meet him.  i could’ve talked him out of that credenza.  ”

starter for @hudsweeney​ 

The only person that Spencer could count on to simultaneously hate going to tag sales and love them was Hudson. She had a rare day off and was wanting to stroll through one the damn markets were people sold their second hand or refurbished shit. She picked up a weird piece of art last month from one of the places here. Unbothered, Spencer had a thermos with a Hot Toddy in it, and was sipping it idly as they walk. She stopped to look at a china cabinet, and she moved to glance at Hudson. “Hey, do you remember in middle school when I was convinced someone was stealing all my colored pencils and it turns out I just left them in the wrong locker for art?” She had sent Hudson to help figure it out for her, and much her to embarrassment, it was her own dumbass fault. “I could’ve used you in high school to figure out who was slipping secret notes in my locker that were romantic yet creepy, but I felt like your Hardy boys phase was over.” She moved to look at the ugliest fucking lamp she’d ever seen in her life. “Dear god.”

.

𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝒕𝒂𝒈 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒆 would be an insult to tag sales.  yes,  there were tags and yes,  there were things for sale,  but most of said things were little more than over-ambitious garbage.  hud makes no secret of his opinions as he strolls through the antique mall with spencer at his side,  his own thermos filled with weak coffee courtesy of a vendor out front.  the memory brings a grimace to his features as he maneuvers around a set of russian nesting dolls atop a hideous mid-century end table  (  both could be yours for the low,  low price of sixty bucks  ).  “  let’s see,  do i remember sneaking into the kiln room after hours to find miss dawes locking lips with the vice principal ?  that’s the kind of thing a young adolescent never forgets.  ”  he’d sworn to take their secret to the grave,  but joke’s on them for trusting the word of a twelve year old.  the explicit mention of his hardy boys phase conjures up a groan.  every kid did stupid shit,  but only hud had his past transgressions thrown in his face on a daily basis.  “  sorry i missed out.  i can't imagine the kind of love letter a crazed rodeo fan would compose.  save a horse,  ride a cowboy  --  respond within twenty-four hours or you’ll never . . .  ”  he trails off,  balking at the offending lamp.  “  is that supposed to be a groundhog ?  ”

growing up with four older siblings, you would have thought that julian had enough siblings to last a life time. but it was different with hudson. maybe it was because they were best friends before becoming family, he didn’t know. but what he did know? he was definitely enjoying the family dinner aspect of their relationship ( even if it ended up with him having to engage with abby ). however, if nothing else, his sister could at least cook. that was definitely a perk, one of the minimal perks in the whole situation. “good name,” julian admitted, “it definitely fits. and it’s way better than mutt.” he scratched the dog – simba – behind the ears briefly before shrugging his shoulders, “i don’t know what to tell you, dude. she probably thinks i’ll give her the house or something. i can guarantee our next one on one conversation will be her saying that with a dog in the house now they need a bigger place and what a coincidence that i happen to have a bigger place all to myself.”

.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐝𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 in the comedy of errors that was his life.  in his youth,  hud had made it his personal mission to peer behind those imposing doors,  to uncover the sinister secrets lurking beneath the perfectly manicured lawn.  when he finally made it inside,  he was disappointed to find it was just a house.  a big one,  no doubt,  but a house nonetheless.  every week,  he sat across the delgado-sweeney dining room table,  smirking into a wine glass as abby made repetitive plays for the deed.  and though his conspiracist days had long passed,  hud couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps there was treasure buried beneath the property after all.  “  mutt isn’t a name  --  it’s a title.  ”  the correction,  as always,  falls on deaf ears.  even simba seems to have moved on from the subject,  once again snoozing sounding in his lap.  “  has she seen the place lately ?  because i doubt she’d enjoy living in a five-thousand square foot bachelor pad slash construction site.  besides,  the iron hill dads would eat tuck alive.  ”

Mason looked up from his desk when Hudson walked in and he smiled, closing up the file he had sitting in front of him. “Perfect timing, as usual.” He said as he turned to face the other, spotting Ollie sitting in the waiting room. “I think we can look past the stop, he looks happy.” He said as he sat up in his chair, running his hands through his hair as he let out a yawn and a stretch, trying to wake himself back up. It had already been a long day and he still had a couple hours left in his day and multiple patients to see. He was grateful it was busy and the business was thriving, but he was exhausted. 

“I’m kinda jealous of a 3 year old, is that normal?” Mason asked and laughed. “What I would give to nap right now.” He said as he reached for his water bottle, taking a drink. He was grateful for Hudson. He wasn’t sure how he would be juggling everything without him. Sure, he had been doing it for a few years on his own but he had never felt successful about it. He was also glad that Ollie would have more of a family then just him. He had tried to keep his biological grandparents in Ollie’s life but they were resentful that Mason got Ollie and refused to be in their lives. 

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  --  his chest heaves and exhaustion takes hold as hud finally has a moment to decompress.  no wonder mason always looked tired.  if one afternoon with the kid took this much out of him,  he could only imagine the toll being a working parent demanded.  at least his brother had abby  --  the two made it look easy,  moving like two acrobats in tandem every time there were noses to blow and mouths to feed.  they had parenting down to a science  --  a screaming,  crying,  shitting science.  not only did he have the role of father thrust upon him unexpectedly,  mason was doing it all on his own.  his cousin had always been resilient,  but no one was ever quite as together as they appeared.  

and so  --  despite the steady stream of grievances he was known to air when asked for a favor  --  hud was happy to help.  “  what is it with kids and being able to fall asleep anywhere ?  ”  he wonders aloud,  peering through the frosted glass.  “  i lie awake at night on an overpriced mattress i’ll be making payments on well into my sixties  --  and there’s your toddler,  getting the best sleep of his life on a slab of concrete disguised as a chair.  ”

reblog & bold whichever applies to your muse !

HOBBIES

bex loved what she did for a living. she’d found hud and she’d attached to him just like his nameless dog. he apparently had a knack for collecting strays, and while she should have found that as an insult? she didn’t. bex knew she was a stray, and she was glad she had found a home ( metaphorically ) with hudson. he’d helped her find her purpose. people had been trying to do that for years, and so far no one had succeeded… except for hudson sweeney, who ( as he always liked to remind her ) wasn’t actually trying.

she resisted the urge to break out into a grin when he cleared the cup holder for her, and she immediately placed her coffee cup down so she could focus her energy on the bear claw and the mission. she watched him mess with the radio for only a moment before focusing on the yard. inflatable santas were going missing all over iron river apparently, and it was up to bex and hudson to solve the case. she could do this. she could help him. “smartass is my default setting.” bex responded with a shrug, not taking her eyes off the scene in front of them. bex couldn’t hide her chuckle as he mentioned his last real meal, “unless it was the large kind, that doesn’t count. that’s like three bites of food. especially when i’ve seen you eat before. the juice box also isn’t helping your case.”

she perks up when she notices the people, watching hudson for a moment as he tossed the bear claw, “you better still eat that.” she retorted with a scoff before immediately falling into action. “sir yes sir.” she responded immediately, leaning back and grabbing his camera bag from the backseat. “do we confront them? or do we just take pictures?”

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬.  all of his cases were,  in one way or another,  but the inflatable santas were a new,  unattainable level of crazy he hadn’t known was possible outside of sitcoms and adam sandler movies.  it was something he should have anticipated,  setting up shop in his hometown.  he’d fled iron river for a reason,  having outgrown the small town pond by early adolescence and set his sights on murkier,  uncharted waters.  in new york city,  there was a different scumbag every night,  each one more depraved than the last.  here,  he orchestrated stings for teenaged pranksters,  bringing the sweet valley high football team to justice one overpriced christmas decoration at a time.

what did it say about him that,  despite the absurdity,  this was the highlight of his week ?  before he can fully delve into the reasons,  he’s intercepting his camera bag and unearthing his treasured nikon from the main pocket.  “  you know,  normally i’d say lay low,  get the shot and get out.  but we’ve been chasing these bastards for so long,  i’m willing to make a one-time exception.  ”  they may have been the bane of his existence for the last three weeks,  but they were still kids.  what were they gonna do ?  make a tiktok about it ?  without another word,  he unlocks the doors and gets out of the car,  squaring his shoulders as he approaches the terrible trio.

“  little late for a stroll around the neighborhood,  isn’t it ?  ”  he drawls,  flicking on the flashlight he kept on his person to get a better look at the culprits.  “  what the  --  what the fuck is this ?  ”  they weren’t teenagers at all.  leading the charge was edythe mullins,  who was about as old as iron river itself.  she worked at the bank on main,  where he’d opened his first checking account thirty years ago.  upon further inspection,  they were all wearing heinous christmas sweaters and  --  were those reindeer antlers ?  “  carolers.  ”  the realization dawns on him all at once,  and he throws up his hands in defeat.  “  they’re fucking carolers.  ”

starter for @hudsweeney​

     "Ok, I might come with an ulterior motive …” Alara had knocked on his door a few minutes before, two batches of homemade baklava boxed up just for him. Bülbül yuvası and pistachio, though Colt had managed to sneak a couple of slices for work the night before. “Have you seen Colt lately?” She asked, putting them down on a table in his living room. Aly bit on her bottom lip and furrowed her brows, hands clapping together as she made her proposal. “ Because he could probably use a boys night or something,”  Alara paused. “My brother is coming home this week and I— I just think, that maybe, if you could take him out that would be nice? You know, do whatever boys do.” Aly was worried about him and there was only so much she could do, “I don’t know what boys do. Just preferably don’t get him into trouble.”

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“  𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 when you’d finally bite the bullet  --  not that i don’t enjoy your company.  ”  or the baklava,  hud adds silently,  eyeing the box of pastries.  sinking into his secondhand sofa,  he pulls the tupperware into his lap and awaits what was sure to be a very well-rehearsed proposal.  there seemed to be a revolving door of people who liked to turn up at his apartment asking for favors  --  at least alara never showed up empty-handed.  “  are you asking me to babysit your thirty-four year old ex-husband ?  ”  his eyes twinkle with incredulous amusement as he helps himself to a pistachio-coated slice.  “  have you considered handing him a tablet and turning on nickelodeon ?  works for my nephews.  ”  he chews thoughtfully,  turning her words over in his mind.  “  evren’s getting out ?  ”

  it was morning almost like every other, with customers waltzing in since 7am for that first freshly roasted coffee of the day all while enjoying that distinctive  garden wonderland  that made the cafe stand out. well, that, and the fact they truly did have the best coffee in town. with her daughter in the care of her sister as natalie handled her usual busy mornings behind the counter, the woman was writing down the shifts on a piece of paper for the sole purpose to remember them later when her eyes landed on a familiar figure on the window.           natalie couldn’t remember how many times she caught him like this, despite the fact he’d always argue he wasn’t lurking. slowly placing the pen down as she watched him make his walk of shame towards her in utter amusement, the woman simply rose a brow as he finally spoke.  “  lurking outside the window again?  “  she shot him a question right back, trying her best not to curl her lips into a wide smile as he made an order, which by now truthfully, was his usual.  “ coming right up, old man, “  natalie simply added along in a purposely chipper tone, turning her back on him to fetch his coffee, but also having an excuse to finally crack a smile. 

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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭,  he thinks,  fighting back a shudder at her knowing expression.  while he’d dabbled in more sinister vices over the years and was of the firm belief that caffeine addiction was the lesser of all evils,  in this moment,  he’d take just about anything else.  hud mutters a curse under his breath as natalie whirls around,  preparing his order in one fluid motion.  why hadn't his time in brooklyn turned him into a pressed juice person instead?  he could be sucking down some grotesque celery concoction right now,  miserable but free of judgment.

unearthing his wallet,  he procures a few crumpled bills and plunks them,  unceremoniously,  upon the counter.  “  not lurking!  ”  he calls,  his protests barely audible among patron chatter and the ambient whir of a coffee grinder.  “  standing while pensive  --  there’s a difference.  ”  warring against the juvenile urge to stick out his tongue at her turned back,  he steadies his gaze on the greenery above.  “  i get paid to skulk around,  sunshine.  if i had been lurking,  you’d never know.  ”

who → @hudsweeney​ where → his apartment 

At this point in her life, showing up announced was a personality trait. And unluckily for Hudson, he was a usual victim. One of her favorite things about small towns was the fact that no one locked their doors. To give him credit, this was also his business, and well– maybe someone needed him to do something, but as she made her way up the stairs, she was going beyond this is a place a business, to this is none of her business, but as usual she didn’t care. The brunette casually made her way through his front door and straight to his kitchen, head deep in his pantry before she heard footsteps, leaning backwards, the girl signed, “you have such horrible taste in food. Honestly, how do you live?” 

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𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞,  assuming he could step out for a ten minute lunch across the street without locking up behind him.  this,  hud decides as he crests the top of the staircase only to find his front door ajar,  was exactly what happened when one got too comfortable in a small town.  after a moment of hallway deliberation in which he concludes that his bodega sandwiches were stale enough to be used as a weapon,  he steps inside to confront the intruder  --  who,  of course,  was none other than isabel.  the only person in iron river with the gall to enter a lion’s den unannounced.  “   only you,  del marco,  would break into someone’s home and insult the contents of their refrigerator.  ”  thankful he didn’t have to use his lunch as a bludgeon,  hud tears into a turkey on wheat and slides his would-be dinner  (  meatball hero,  you shall be missed  )  across the counter.  he really had to stop rewarding bad behavior.  “  last i checked,  transatlantic energy doesn’t own my shitty apartment building.  ”