#Black Truck Service LA | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heygerald · 5 months ago

Text

Falling Without a Harness - Chapter 11

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. Tom Ryder is rich. Everyone knows that. When Tom decides to do something out of character, Parker has to decide what is just the habits of someone careless with their fortune, and what can be considered acts of service from someone that cares about her.

Read the story here: prev / ...

The studio set after hours was a strange place to find oneself. It was beautiful in that glamorous way that everything mundane in Hollywood was; twinkling lights strung between ugly studio buildings, extras dressed in 1800s regalia tapping on their phones as they awaited whatever scene they were in, the black blanket of the endless LA sky an empty backdrop to the megaphones and spotlights being lugged around.

It was exciting, and it was also not; there was a lot of movement but not a whole lot of doing that translated to a mute static hanging in the air.

"Is it always like this?" Parker asked from her spot in the back end of Dan's pick-up truck. It had been packed with all sorts of bits and bobs that she had never seen before, and as Jody exchanged the batteries in a flashlight, Parker prodded curiously at a baseball sized dent in one of the various helmets stacked behind her. "Not stunt work, I mean. The set in general. I figure Dan probably goes through three helmets a week."

Jody hummed, flicking the flashlight on then off before setting it aside as a warbled voice crackled across the radio on her belt. She tilted her head to listen for a brief moment before turning back to Parker.

"Studio sets are always busy. Haven't you been here before?"

"Sure, but... during normal hours," Parker noted with a glance towards the sky. "But it's almost midnight, and the parking lot was pretty full when I got here at ten."

Jody hummed flippantly, shrugging as she switched her radio to a different channel. More warbled conversation flowed for a few minutes before she decided that there was nothing important enough to require her attention.

Snapping it back onto her belt, the camerawoman kicked her feet back and forth with a delicate smile curving her lips. "Well, I suppose there's always something to be filmed. It's not just us filming on the lot, you know. We share space with a dozen other directors at any given moment. Sometimes, you're filming night scenes. Sometimes you just want to get work in when less people are around. It's just how it is."

Parker supposed that made sense. Afterall, she preferred to go grocery shopping late at night for the very purpose of having less people to avoid in the aisles.

Still.

It was odd to see a set full of life in the middle of the night. Odder still when a pair of actors drifted by on a golf cart; the pair were dressed in ragged clothes, with fake bruises painted along their cheeks, and red cuts oozing fake blood down their forearms. No one but Parker even seemed to register their presence before they disappeared down a nearby alley.

"I think this is way more fun than coming during the day," she decided a moment later. "And I'm not just saying that because I didn't have to argue with the security guards to get in."

Jody snickered. "They're actually very nice."

"To everyone but me, apparently."

"You never have a good reason to be on set, though, do you?" the Brit teased with a wiggle of her eyebrows. Parker faked offense, and Jody's hair came loose from behind her ears as she laughed. "Kidding. I'm very glad to have someone keep me company tonight while Colt's training. Although I am surprised you had time to come by at all. Colt says you've been busy lately."

"Busy-er than before. But ten times zero is still zero, you know?"

"Oh, please," Jody rolled her eyes, flashlight toggle flickering mindlessly in her hands as she tried to stave off boredom. Honestly, Parker didn't know how she managed not to fall asleep with so little to do this late at night. She was yawning and she hadn't been here since the early morning like Jody had. "Your store is splendid. You've always had clients. Now, apparently, you just have more. Busy is still busy."

"Splendid?" Parker echoed, teasing the word in a mock British accent. She quite liked it; both the sound and the funky way she had to work her tongue. "No one has ever called my store splendid before, but you're right. It is a splendid store. Andy R from Angie's List can suck it."

"He left a bad review?"

Parker waved a hand at Jody. "He comes in once a month to ask if I have any new Tolstoy books in, and when I remind him that Tolstoy died a couple hundred years back, he thinks I'm being emotional and sassy. Asshole."

"Prick," Jody said in her very real British accent.

Parker liked that too. "Andy R is a total prick. Maybe that's the tagline that I'll put on my t-shirts. Or, a few, anyways. I'd bet Melissa would be happy to wear one with me. She does not like that dude."

"You're finally getting shirts?"

"Finally."

"See?" Jody gestured to her. "You are busy."

Parker rolled her eyes with a smile. It was endearing how much Jody cared about the success of her store—always inquiring about how sales are going, and dropping by when she has some time to pick up a new book—but they were surface level compliments at best. Her store wasn't going to beat out Barnes & Nobles for awards anytime soon.

She'd be lucky to finally have her shop registering on Google Maps as a business and not as just a big question mark like it currently was.

"Not for customers to buy, anyway. I just think it's about time I got my store name on a t-shirt. Everybody has t-shirts. I mean, literally everybody. Have you ever been to a thrift store? I have found some weird stuff in the dollar bin."

Jody tipped her head back in laughter. "I have seen some odd shirts. Mostly, though, they're shirts that you are wearing."

She shrugged. "What can I say? I love a good thrift store bargain. And a gimmick. And—well, anything to do with my store. All the more reason to start printing my own shirts. I can finally rep the place, you know? Plus, I am busier now. I might even be able to print a dozen tees without going bankrupt by the end of the calendar year."

Jody peered at Parker sideways, soda bottle in hand as she swished the lash few sips around in circles. "So, things are going well, then."

Parker tilted her head left and right. Things certainly were going better, but that didn't mean she wasn't still drowning in bills and ridiculous requests from customers that were absolutely not 'always right'. Even with the increase in revenue and constant presence of teenage girls from the local high school, she was stuck spending most of her day putting out fires. She could feel herself stretching thin lately with all the extra hours her and Melissa were putting in, and at some point over the last year she had gone completely nose blind to the musty smell of her store. Not to mention the fact that she was also fairly sure that the Bath and Body Works' plug-ins spread around her store were going to give her cancer one day (if the crusty moms were to be believed). But it wasn't the time nor the place to drop all of those fears onto Jody's lap; not to mention way too late to use the braincells needed to verbalize those thoughts.

So, Parker elected to ignore all of that. Instead, she waggled her brows with a grin. "Does that mean you'll buy a shirt?"

Jody shook her head, snorting. "You really are Colt's sister."

"Well, I'd hope so," she sniffed. "The orphan-in-a-box story always seemed a little too stupid to be true. As if someone would ever give this up," she tacked on, gesturing to herself with an impish smile.

The look was betrayed by her over-sized sweatshirt and messy braids. Not to mention the tattered jeans and filthy sneakers on her feet. But if Jody was laughing at her, she didn't say, and so the two women giggled at their inside joke whilst the set continued to spur to life around them.

An actress dressed in a delicate silk dress and high heels strutted past as they laughed; her hair was done up in perfect Hollywood glamor, sparkly highlighter on her cheekbones and a delicate pink eyeshadow painting her lids. With the fur slung over her shoulders, she looked like she had just hopped out of a Marilyn Monroe biopic, and when she tossed her hair, it looked like—well—a movie. It took Parker a moment to calm down from her laughter to recognize the actress from a popular CW tv show, and as she strolled past, she couldn't help but crack her neck to get a better look.

When she turned back to Jody, the camerawoman hadn't even seemed to notice.

"This is crazy," she said, tucking her legs up underneath her as she fiddled with the straps on Dan's busted helmet. The actress was gone now, and Parker tried to shake the bizarre feeling of being stuck in The Twilight Zone from her mind. "I know you work in the film industry, but, honestly... It must be so much fun doing this sort of thing all the time."

Jody snorted. "Sure," she echoed. "Fun."

"Isn't it?"

"I mean... alright, yes, of course it is fun. It's amazing to be behind the scenes, to see how movies are made, to know how much work goes into a three minute scene without any dialogue. I mean—I'm always learning new things, so it's certainly not boring," she said. But Parker felt like there was going to be more to her answer, and so she tilted her head in interest, prompting Jody to continue. "But... a typical nine to five certainly wouldn't hurt sometimes. Times like these, when we're stuck here until god knows when just so the director can perfect a shadow in one of the scenes or something else as miniscule... well, it can certainly test your patience."

Parker glanced in the director's direction, taking note of the two assistants that trailed after him with thick binders full of colorful notes, pens tucked haphazardly about their persons. "It's not always like this though. Right?"

Jody shook her head. "No, no. Of course not. Usually our shifts are much more normal. Even if the hours vary, they usually schedule morning scenes together, evening scenes together—you know. So it's not so tedious. And we're almost never here this late just for blocking. Sadowitz is on a tighter schedule for a few things since the New York scenes have to be shot by the first of the month. He's just getting in as many last minute rehearsals as possible so when they go to New York everything is set to go right away. Understandable, of course... I just wish he wasn't such a perfectionist sometimes."

Jacob Sadowitz was the up-and-coming director leading this sci-fi film, and though he wasn't that much older than Parker, he had already earned himself a fair share of accolades for his daring action films. Particularly, the box office had been impressed with his intricate fight scenes and stunt work in his latest movies. Just last year some veteran journalist had printed an in-depth essay commending Sadowitz' dedication to the craft, touching on how much research he put into his work to make sure everything was as accurate as possible. Based on his credentials alone it was no surprise that he would be working his stunt crew till the middle of the night until they were well-oiled machines.

Still, Parker wrinkled her nose tiredly. "Isn't there a quote about that? Perfectionism being the downfall of yada, yada, yada. Want me to tell him that? Threaten to call the union if you don't get to go home soon?"

The truck shook as Jody kicked her leg at Parker with a reprimanding tut. But, she was smiling as she did it, giggling under her breath in that way of hers. "He's not that bad. This is not that bad. I mean, sometimes, the schedule is so mind-bendingly awful that it's a wonder anything gets done... but it's hardly the worst I've dealt with. At least he treats everyone well. Well, he doesn't scream at anyone, I mean."

Parker blew a raspberry. "I can't even imagine. I think I'd get arrested for my behavior if a director ever screamed at me. No idea how you don't lose your shit on the daily."

"Oh, I've come close a few times," she chuckled.

The comment surprised Parker. Not because Jody Moreno was a woman that could take care of herself—obviously, she didn't put up with bullshit, and she didn't rely on anyone to get things done. Moreso because Jody had to put up with so much that Parker couldn't quite imagine a scenario that would have to be bad enough to cause the camerawoman to lose her cool. And if being yelled at wasn't enough, what was? Leaning closer, she needled. "You're serious?"

"Of course I am."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure I can even remember why anymore."

"So it's happened more than once?"

"Are you kidding?" Jody scoffed with a shake of her head. "The type of behavior you see on set is not something you'd ever get away with anywhere else. It happens every movie. Directors are just so..."

"Insane?"

"Hollywood," she corrected, gaze darting around to see if anyone was in hearing range of her complaints. No one was, though, and even if they were, Parker had a sneaking suspicion that the other set crew would be more likely to join in on the bitch fest than snitch about it. "I mean you wouldn't believe some of the stuff we have to put up with. The egos some of these directors have is absurd. Bad directors! Ones that shouldn't even be directing that act like they're Tarantino or Nolan. Throwing things and crying and blubbering like babies—"

"Oh, fuck off!" Parker cried, leaning even closer. "You're joking!"

Jody Moreno was not, in fact, joking. She looked scandalized just by having to recall the things she had seen. Something haunted in her eyes, but there was still a smile tugging at her mouth. Obviously, she saw the humor in it; even if it was fucked up. "I wish. I mean—grown men crying because something wasn't going their way or screaming because the sun is too bright." She made air quotes with her hands, showing that she was not joking in the slightest about this before inching towards Parker. Something twinkled in her eyes as she said, "I kid you not during my first gig ever, I had a director break down in tears because the lead actress wasn't pronouncing the word butter how he wanted her to."

"Butter?" Parker echoed incredulously. "Is there even a wrong way to say it?"

"Oh," she said, giggling. "You'd be surprised. Not to say that he was right in his little hissy fit, but her accent was so wrong. Awful, Parker. I'm telling you. The whole film—a disaster."

"Huh. Butter," she said with a giggle.

Jody giggled back. "No, it was more like boo-ter."

"Boo-ter?" she cried. "That's—no way. Butter. Butt-her. How do you even—bu-t-ter?"

The two women keeled forward in laughter at the ridiculous conversation. It was such a stupid thing for someone to cry over, but the longer they tossed the word back in forth in the most ridiculous accents they could imagine, Parker was beginning to forget how it was properly pronounced in the first place.

Was it—?

There was a scuffle of shoes, then a thump as Dan dropped his elbows onto the side of the truck bed with a wary glance towards the two women. He almost looked like he didn't want to get involved in the first place, but when the silent stare-off seemed even funnier than their previous conversation causing them to tip against the other in laughter, his curiosity seemed to outweigh his hesitation.

"Do I even want to know?" he asked.

"That depends," Parker wiped tears out of the corner of her eyes. "How do you say butter?"

Dan blinked at her. Then, slowly, he shook his head at them with a long sigh. "So, no, I don't want to know. I told your brother that leaving you two hens together would only lead to trouble. He doesn't ever listen to me, though, does he?"

"Oi!" Parker smacked him on the arm, scoffing. "Who are you calling hens?"

Dan waved a hand at her, before snatching the helmet off of her lap, and plopping it atop her head to say, "always clucking, you two. Colt's going to end up in trouble and he's not even going to know why. I'd feel sorry for him if he didn't still owe me fifty bucks. You aren't here to pay his debts, are you?"

Parker, helmet now hanging low over her eyes, adjusted it towards the back of her head with a scoff. "It's sins of the father, not sins of the little sister. What's he doing that he's going to get in trouble for, anyway?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no," Dan laughed, wagging a finger at her in as much of a patronizing manner as someone could manage after a twelve hour shift. She would have scowled if it wasn't so endearing; she always liked Dan. Mostly because he had a head on his shoulders when her brother was constantly looking for where he left his, but also because he was just as good at teasing as he was being teased. "I'm not falling for that one, Park. If you don't know, then you're not going to find out from me. Snitches get stiches, you know?"

"Whatever. He's awful at secrets, so if he is doing something stupid, I'll find out. I always do."

Dan mimicked talking with his hand. "What'd I say? Clucking hens."

"I don't cluck, I just point out all the ways he's spectacularly stupid in," she corrected with a waggle of the head. The movement seemed to jostle the oversized helmet too much, however, and it rapped her nose as it slid down her face. Parker adjusted it a second time with a huff, ignoring how Jody was snickering into her hand. "Speaking of doing spectacularly stupid things, Numbnuts doesn't need this helmet for this stunt does he? I think it's broken."

"They have straps for a reason," Dan pointed out.

The comment sounded far too much like a threat for her liking though and Parker just managed to bend out of his grasp before he could cinch the straps under her chin. She bumped into Jody, who only shook her head at the pair's antics, as her radio warbled with nonsensical chatter.

Parker side-eyed Dan. "Isn't there something you should be doing right now? Like—I don't know—working? Tying safety knots or blowing up an inflatable mat or whatever it is you do? I'm sure there's a building you could hurl yourself off of nearby if you'd rather leave the hens alone."

Dan rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "That's your brother's job, though, isn't it?"

And—oh, yeah.

Remembering the reason that she was sitting in this pick-up truck in the first place Parker planted a hand on the helmet so she could tip her head back far enough to see said brother standing about thirty feet up on a platform of sorts. It was the skeleton of a building, open staircases with haphazardly drilled in railings surrounding each new floor. It almost looked like something you would find on a construction site in lieu of a working elevator, but Colt didn't seem to mind the shoddy building from his spot at the tip-top of it where he was in deep conversation with the stunt coordinator. Jody had explained that this was the frame of whatever building he would actually be performing the stunt from; just a temporary set he could work with here before shooting the real thing, but from this point of view it just looked like a whole lot of OSHA violations to Parker.

As expected, he didn't seem to notice.

In fact, Colt seemed to be smiling an awful lot for someone about to be thrown off a building, and even though he was wearing a harness, Parker had to look away before the nervous feeling in her stomach ran off with her dinner.

"I still don't understand why he's doing this at midnight," she mumbled to no one in particular. The darkness seemed to creep in every corner, and Parker wrapped her arms around herself to stave off the chill. "Couldn't the stunt coordinator have booked this death trap during the day?"

"It's cheaper at night," Jody said. "Less people around, less unnecessary crew getting in the way."

"Plus, you know, if he does fall and crack his head open on the pavement it's a whole lot easier for an ambulance to get here without rush-hour traffic," Dan joked.

The truck physically rocked from how quickly the two women jerked their heads in his direction, and as if suddenly aware of how flat his joke had fallen with this particular audience, he threw up his palms before they could say anything.

"Shit. Sorry. I was just kidding, yeah? Stunt humor tends to be... bleak."

"Stunt humor is never funny," Jody said.

"Honestly, Dan," Parker added with the shake of her head. The helmet slid down her forehead once more, and she tossed the entire helmet behind her with a patronizing tut. "Read the room."

He sucked his teeth, grimacing at the ground. "Sorry."

"If he ends up in the hospital now it's all going to be your fault," Parker continued, digging her teeth in. She could have bleak humor too when she wanted, and Dan grimaced a second time as if he was just remembering that. "Don't stuntmen believe in jinx's? We need salt, now. You have any salt? Or, like, a rabbit's foot or—is it one crow's feather or two?"

This time, he rolled his eyes at her, looking a whole lot less apologetic about the situation. "I said sorry."

"Oh, well, I'll make sure Colt knows that when he's on a ventilator and having a machine do all his breathing for him. He'll be so touched, I'm sure."

"I said I was sorry!"

"Sorry! He's sorry! Jody, give me your radio, we need to cancel—"

Parker reached for Jody's radio at the same time that she got tired of their antics, and with a glare, Jody swatted Parker's hand away from her hip. "Honestly, you two," she tsked at them like a teacher scolding schoolchildren. And, like two schoolchildren being scolded, Parker and Dan avoided one another's gaze so they didn't bust out in laughter. "Now you have me worried!"

"Oh, he's going to be fine," Dan assured her.

"Fine," Parker echoed.

"Well," Dan hedged after a moment, and Parker was already snickering before she heard what he had to say. "Physically he'll be okay. It's all safe, he's harnessed in, the mat is made for this sort of thing. But, mentally, you know..." Dan trailed off as he glanced up towards Colt. "He'll be the same he always has been."

"Oh, stop it!" Jody chucked her empty soda bottle at him.

It bounced off his chest with a dull thud, and Parker had just tilted forward in laughter when there was a bullhorn somewhere on the far side of the set. The three tilted their heads back just in time to watch Colt lurched off the platform, arms swinging wildly as if he was falling to his death. And just when Parker's stomach clenched in concern because—what if?—he hit the mat with his own dull thud. Air started hissing out of the inflatable in seconds, and as it pooled around him, Colt's first response was to give everyone on set a thumbs-up.

"Well, there's definitely something wrong with him," Parker said after a long moment of silence, letting out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Dan was already walking away from whatever she was about to say, and needing an audience, she turned to Jody knowing the woman would sympathize. With a jerk of her thumb, she sighed. "I mean, why else would he do this for money? Honestly?"

Jody hemmed and hawed for a moment before giving in. "Because... he's an idiot?"

"Because," Parker agreed, finishing her own soda with an eyeroll as her brother traded high-fives with one of the other stuntmen, "he's an idiot."

---

...

Parker rolled her eyes, watching the little green message bubble filled with "..." blink yet again on the phone screen before her. It had been repeating this message for the last hour of her life; an hour that she was now never going to get back thanks to the idiot on the other end of the messenger app, and as her neck twitched with a painful crick from the angle she had been staring at her phone, something even more painful burned behind her eyes.

She should probably stop staring at it; could definitely do with some dinner, a nice glass of water, and maybe some Ibuprofen. Wine wouldn't hurt either. Nor would a cigarette, a nice warm shower, and a few hours lying vertical in her bed. Somewhere unplugged, where she didn't give into the temptation to glance at her phone; the very phone in her hand, that she could ever so easily tilt her wrist to see if maybe, in her spiral of misery, he had—

...

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, head thumping none-too-gently against the table.

It hurt a lot more than it should have, but it was cool, too. The scratched up wood smooth against her cheeks as she worked on evening out her breathing. Her neck felt better like this; shoulders too. Hell, it just felt good to lay her head down after the week that she had. Felt nice to let her eyes flutter shut, to let all thoughts turn off, to just breathe in, breathe out, and—

Her phone buzzed, and Parker ripped her head up off the table so quickly the room spun before her.

But whatever hope had caught in her chest fizzled out like a popped balloon upon seeing Colt's name on her screen.

The message read, "I thought we were gonna be sombrero buddies :(" with an attached picture of her brother wearing a sombrero and sunglasses, holding a heavily packed taco, a still smoking grill in the background. She recognized it immediately as the one at Dan's, before remembering that she had been invited over with some of the other boys for tacos and margaritas earlier that week. No wonder her brother looked so put out.

"Son of a bitch," she said a second time.

She meant it, too. Parker was pretty sure that tacos and spicy margaritas was the cure for every ailment in life. Or, you know, the spiritual kind anyway. They certainly didn't help when she broke her arm a few years ago; but they did lift her spirits immensely.

"What the hell is going on over there?" Tom's voice echoed from the other end of the room, and suddenly Parker was reminded that she was not alone in her misery.

She glanced up to find him staring at her with furrowed brows, a hand on the hip of his leather NASA flight suit as Betty and Sasha fiddled with the material. It was his final character testing today, along with the creation of the highly coveted look book, and while her brother wasn't needed for this sort of thing, Parker had jumped at the chance to spend some time with Tom specifically so she wouldn't spend all day thinking about work.

Son of a bitch!

She winced, waving her phone at him. "Oh, just Colt. He invited me for dinner tonight over at Dan's and I totally forgot. He's going to be pissed. He's all alone wearing his sombrero."

"Colt is going to be pissed because he doesn't have anyone to wear a sombrero with?" Tom asked in a scathing tone. She would have corrected him if it wasn't... well, accurate. She loved her brother, but sometimes he got upset over the littlest of things. Particularly when he felt like she was doing something without him. "He does know that he's an adult, doesn't he?"

"Oi, be nice. That's my brother you're talking about."

"You shit on him all the time."

"Well—" she waved a hand around flippantly, flabbergasted at even having to defend against such an accusation. "Duh! He's my brother. But you don't have that right, Ryder, so pack it in before I report you to, like, HR or whatever."

Tom rolled his eyes as Sasha tugged on the length of his right pant leg. It all looked good; professionally made, snug in all the right places, and the perfect backdrop for his bright eyes and shiny teeth. In fact, he looked even better than she thought he had looked before, and Parker was just about to ogle him as he was turned left and right by the seamstresses when her phone buzzed a second time.

She plucked it up, disappointed yet again to see that it was from her brother and not from the eBay seller.

"And what on Earth is with that?" Tom's cloying voice echoed a second time.

She pulled her attention away from her phone long enough to notice the cross furrow of his brows and the tightness of his shoulders.

"With what?" she asked, not sure where this was coming from.

He gestured to her phone, sniffing when his hairstylist teased a few strands of hair off his forehead with a comb. "You've had your nose in that thing since you got here. You have a hot date that I don't know about or something?" he snarked.

And—well.

Parker had to physically bite down on her bottom lip to stop from laughing. Not only would that further piss him off, but with the people in the room, it likely wouldn't be great for his image either. But the idea that Tom—Tom Ryder, the same man whose face was plastered all over town—would be upset that he wasn't given her undivided attention was fucking hilarious to Parker.

Honestly, men. They really were just children.

Smothering out her smile, Parker turned her phone face down against the table. "Okay, alright, I'm sorry. There's this guy over in Wrightwood that has a print shop, or inherited one or his Dad just demolished one or—I don't know," she paused to wave a hand around, earning an eyeroll from Tom. "Whatever. I'm trying to convince him to sell me a box of mystery novels from his collection. He's being unnecessarily difficult about it, though."

"Who is this guy?"

"Melissa's dad's second cousin or something. She showed me his eBay profile last week and he's been dragging me over the coals for the past couple of days about whether he'll sell to me or not. He wants an absurd up-front price that, even if I could pay, I would never pay, but he also hasn't sold anything on eBay before so I think he's getting kind of desperate."

Tom, still cross, but now slightly more interested, arched an eyebrow at her. "Why are you buying stuff off eBay?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you think I have a print shop hiding in my apartment? I know you haven't been there yet, but it's not that big. I think it has an occupancy limit of five."

"Five?" he echoed dumbly. To that, she did laugh, but then she glanced back at her phone and realized that she likely wasn't going to get anything good from this idiot even if he did sell to her. As was her lot in life, nothing seemed to work out her way. Knowing this, Parker let her head fall onto the table with a hollow thump, something miserable prickling in the back of her eyes. Maybe that's why he let that particular comment go without any further mocking. There was the shutter of a polaroid camera snapping before he spoke again. "Well, why are you worrying about this now?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's Sunday." She tilted her head sideways on the table to peer over at him. He wasn't mocking her, but given the team of people quite literally fixing his air and clothes for him at the moment, she doubted he understood what she was going through either. "Can't you deal with it later?"

"Like... when I'm busy working at the store?"

"You're always working at the store."

She tutted; half in humor, half about how miserable that statement about her life just was. "Well, duh. That happens when you own a teeny tiny little shop that, for some reason, seems to be actively trying to bankrupt you. I think there's a malevolent spirit the real estate agent didn't tell me about. Or, like, it's built on haunted burial grounds or something. I've broken three lightbulbs this month, and fell off a ladder yesterday just trying to fix the stockroom fan. Which, by the way, I still don't know how it broke, but something is not right with that thing. I don't think they should squeak so much. It sounds like a pig. Or... like a dying cat. It's unsettling."

Tom must have sensed something in her lackluster tone because he almost seemed concerned when he asked, "don't you have employees to do that stuff for you?"

"Uh, employee, singular. And you've met her. And, half the time, I wonder if she isn't the malevolent spirit that's out to make my life miserable," she said. Meant it, too. Just that week Melissa had insulted her style in three different slang terms that Parker had to look up on Urban Dictionary to understand. Honestly, she could handle being "old", what she couldn't handle was having to put work in just to know she was being insulted. That crossed some sort of imaginary line. "Besides, she only works a couple shifts a week, and she's more for cleaning and stocking than real, managerial stuff. Or anything that might require her getting more than two feet off the ground. I'm not paying liability insurance."

He frowned at her oddly. "Don't you have to—?"

"I mean, don't get me wrong, Melissa is great. But she can't do everything, and I can't expect her to do more than she already has as a part-time employee."

"Why don't you hire a manager then?" he asked as if that was a conclusion she hadn't drawn herself.

She might have told him to fuck off for mansplaining right then and there if Tom's question hadn't been spoken in such a earnest manner. Or, as earnest as someone like him could be. Most A-listers like him wouldn't even be giving her the time of day, let alone listening to her problems, and at the very least Parker took some comfort in the thought.

"Good idea, but I think there's about a thousand other things I need to do before I can budget for a manager. Like, I should probably pay off my car at some point. Then get liability insurance. Then get car insurance," she counted off.

Sasha and Betty laughed into their hands, both women just as amused by Parker as the first time, and with another snap of the polaroid camera, the group shifted to making sure the right picture had the right information in the tag book for future reference.

Tom took the reprieve to snag two bottles of water from the mini-fridge before he was sitting down next to her. He wasn't slumping—she didn't think Tom Ryder could slump—but from the weight of his shoulders it was obvious he had been having a long day too.

"You can't afford anyone else?" he asked in spite of that.

Parker uncapped her bottle with a sigh. She didn't even have the energy to be disgruntled by how different their lives were. What he had, he had because he earned it, and Parker made sure to remember that rather than resent that as she took a long dreg of water. "One day I can. Just... not today. I need to have a more steady revenue stream before I can start thinking about anything like that, and to get a more steady revenue stream I have to be willing to work all hours of the day. Even if it's just to haggle with some prick still living in his parent's basement for a box of Hardy Boys books. Turtles on turtles and all that."

"I have no fucking idea what that means," he said, blinking at her, and this time he was so earnest that she couldn't have doubted him even if she tried.

She shook her head with a laugh, already feeling better. "Do you feel like Mexican food after this?"

"Dan's?"

"I have an open invitation," she said. They'll be cool with it if I bring you, she meant. And from the way he pursed his lips, it was obvious that he understood that too. But, he also seemed tired sitting next to her, and Parker could feel that same sort of weariness in her own bones too. "Or... we could get pizza?"

"Pizza is all carbs."

"Mhm, you're right. We should definitely get pizza," she nodded as if he had made a really good point.

"Can you afford that?"

"Are you kidding?" Parker clutched a hand to her chest. "There's always money for pizza. That's like budgeting one-oh-one, Ryder."

He didn't make a comment about how that was probably a stupid way to spend what little money she had, and Parker didn't bring up the fact that she knew he would pay for it later anyway. He always did, even when she made a big deal about wanting to pick up the tab, Tom had yet to let her pay for anything when they were together. She supposed it was easy for him; just muscle memory at this point in his life.

But to her it meant a lot, and she always did her best to make sure he knew that.

Just at the crest of his elbow sat the photographer's polaroid camera, and while the ladies were busy taping everything down and scribbling notes in a variety of pen colors, Parker reached past Tom to grab it.

"I've never had a polaroid camera before."

"Never?"

She picked up the camera, aiming it at Tom, and without hesitating he tilted his head up, eyes down, mouth curving open just a centimeter in that way that looked so effortlessly good that she almost forgot to snap a photo.

"Son of a bitch," she said when it printed, the photo glossy and warm in her hands. "How do you do that? Is that what mewling is?"

"Don't—don't say that," he laughed at her, grabbing the camera from her hands to point it at her. Parker's response was the opposite of his, however, and when the picture printed, it revealed an awkward looking Parker, mouth half open in argument, eyes a little too squinty, hair all sorts of a mess.

"Oh my god!" she shrieked. "Give me that!"

But Tom was faster than she was, and when he tucked the picture into the pocket of his jumpsuit, laughing so heartily that the ladies glanced over at the pair with their own curious smiles, Parker could only catch her face in her hands with a furious blush.

"Tom!" she hissed, smacking him. "It's not funny!"

"You just—it's not—come on, here," he said, shaking his head at her. She was still scowling when Tom grabbed her chair and tugged it by the leg until their thighs were pressed against one another. His body radiated heat as he tossed his free arm over her shoulder, cheek against cheek, and she felt the rumble of his voice more than heard it as he directed her. "Just smile, Park, Jesus. Don't look so stiff."

She tried to shove him off her, only to fail, and as Tom laughed at her, Parker couldn't help but laugh herself.

The photos were crooked, one slightly blurry, and in neither photo were they looking at the camera. And though she still didn't look great, nowhere near as good as him, Tom looked happy in the photos as he laughed.

Parker decided right then that she could live looking like this if he looked like that.

---

Crave Cafe was just as quaint during the off season as it was during the busy summer months, and though it was surprisingly vacant for a Saturday afternoon, the cafe never actually felt empty to Parker. All the tables were dotted with cute decorations, the chairs all stuffed with hand-stitched pillows and dollar-bin cushions that added an eclectic nature to the darkly painted walls, and the jukebox in the corner never failing to fill the lapses of silence with something soothing. For so many reasons this spot had always been one of her favorite places for coffee in LA, and after a long week at work, Parker couldn't help but take a deep whiff of the cinnamon and coffee bean scent that lingered in the air.

"There you are," Harry greeted from behind the counter. He looked a little out of sorts with how empty the place was, the counter spotless and clean from wiping it down too much, and as he grinned at her arrival, Parker was more than happy to be of service to her favorite barista on this side of town. "I was wondering if you'd make it over today."

Parker ambled closer with a tut. "That's almost insulting, Harry, of course I would. It's Saturday, isn't it? What sort of person would I be if I broke tradition with no good reason?"

Harry swung a pink towel over his shoulder, grinning as he started tapping away on his kiosk screen. "The usual, then?"

"Plus, a cookie, please."

"Really living big theses days, huh, Parker?" he teased.

She bent her hip at the counter, watching as she always did as Harry started fiddling with the expensive machines lined behind the counter. She never understood which thing did what, but she did know that anything made by Harry was about to be phenomenal. As steam rushed from one of the metal prongs, she promised herself that one day she would buy a top of the line espresso and latte machine for her kitchen.

Of course, she'd had to learn how to use it, but... well, dreams were dreams for a reason.

"Yeah, well, I always had a weak will when it came to your baked goods. Is this the same recipe as last year, or did you change it up?"

Harry poured her coffee into a to-go cup, twisting the foam at the end to create the image of a leaf, before carefully sliding it towards her. Right before she could grab it, however, Harry pulled the cup back, warning, "I know I say this every time, but it is literally boiling right now, Parker. Don't drink it yet."

She laughed as if that hadn't been exactly what she was about to do. "I know," she said, smiling a little too keenly for his liking. "I won't. Promise."

He didn't seem to trust her, but eventually he gave up and slid the cup towards her side of the counter. The second he moved away she grabbed the cup, finger dipping into the foam—which, of course, was also scalding hot—and to hide the fact that she had just burnt herself, Parker licked some foam off her finger with a bland smile. "I was just... taste testing."

Harry suppressed a sigh to toss her a cold rag, and as Parker cleaned off her finger, he started making Melissa's pumpkin spice latte. "The cookie is a different recipe this time. Marin wanted to try something new, so make sure you tell her what you think. It has nutmeg and hazelnut in it. I think it's a little too much, but Sarah really likes it."

"Nutty," she joked.

"And hopefully good."

Parker waved a hand at him, testing the temperature of the cup once more, before catching Harry's stern look. She tucked her hands before her back with a glittering smile. "I'm sure it'll be amazing. If I get to eat any of it, anyway."

Parker didn't mention the fact that Melissa had a nasty habit of eating any and all pastries she brought into the store without so much as leaving a crumb for her boss to taste. She figured Harry didn't need to know all that information. Besides, on the off chance that Melissa was actually a Gremlin like Colt had theorized, she was still trying to figure out what the rules were for feeding her, and the last thing she wanted was to have Harry cut off their main source of lunch.

As if he understood all that without her having to explain, Harry shook his head at her with a laugh. "Yeah, well, you may as well scarf it down now before you head back over. I know we joke that you're my number one customer, Park, but I would have understood if you didn't have time to stop over today."

Nothing he said had any bearing on the Melissa being a Gremlin vs not debate, and Parker tilted her head at him oddly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm flattered that you would want to stop in here, but I don't know how you found time to with that whole mess going on. I couldn't even park in my own parking lot this morning, you know that? Kudos to you for finally stealing my customers, but... sheesh. I'll never understand how you pulled this one off."

Huh.

Well, that made even less sense than before and she had quite literally been debating whether her employee was a creature from an 80's fantasy horror series. Sensing that she was missing something important, Parker peered out the front window with a frown. She had noticed a lot of people milling around outside, but she had walked from the post office so she didn't have to deal with traffic, no parking involved. "I'm not—what do you mean?"

It was then that Harry seemed to sense her confusion, and suddenly the pair were sharing matching looks of confusion. "Um... didn't you come here from your shop?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. And while it wasn't unusual for Melissa to take morning shift on Saturdays lately, suddenly, there were a thousand possible scenarios flickering through her mind of all the things that could have gone wrong since Melissa opened that morning. Panic welled in her chest, and Parker tried to laugh through it, struggling to explain herself. "I crashed at Colt's place last night without my phone charger. I dropped it off to charge while I ran some errands, but I came right here to get lunch, so I didn't grab it yet. Melissa was working this morning."

Oh god.

Melissa was working this morning.

"Oh my god," Parker slapped a hand onto the counter, suddenly worried that either her shop was on fire or that her only employee had died. "She's alright, isn't she? Oh my god! I haven't checked my messages yet—!"

"Jesus, no, Parker, it's okay!" he interrupted her before she could have a full blown panic attack in his cafe. He lifted his hands to placate her, and while Parker took a deep breath, she noticed how busy the outside street seemed to be. Awkwardly laughing, he rubbed his forehead. "Nothing's wrong. Definitely not wrong."

"Oh," she said, blood slowly rushing from her head. "Good."

He blinked at her, and Parker blinked right back.

"But then why—?"

There was a ding from the far end of the counter, and Harry gestured at her to wait as he grabbed her to-go bag. She could smell their freshly toasted sandwiches across the counter, and when Harry plucked a cookie out of the display, her stomach twisted in nervous knots.

"No phone," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head at her. "Wow. That's... So, you haven't checked social media or anything today? Or talked to Melissa."

Her reply was a hesitant, "...no?"

Harry stared at her for a long moment, before shaking his head with another, surprised laugh. Like it had been startled out of him. Feeling even more confused, Parker frowned at him helplessly from her side of the counter. "Maybe you should just head over, then. Melissa could probably use the help right about now."

"Help?"

"And, uh, listen if you ever want to do some sort of deal with Crave, I'd love to talk to you about it," he added on as she numbly scrabbled for her credit card. The machine beeped as he continued, "you know, a punchcard sort of thing; buy two books gets fifty percent off coffee here, or something like that. Lots of stuff we could do, really. But we can talk about it later."

"Um... okay?" she nodded, so bewildered that she almost forgot to grab her coffees off the counter. Harry waved at her as she went, and Parker nearly smacked into the glass door as she waved back. "See you later, I guess."

The moment she stepped outside she bumped into a throng of girls standing on their phones, snapping photos. They reminded her a lot of Melissa; dressed in cute outfits, hair done up for the occasion, makeup a tad smeared beneath the eyes from grinning too much.

"Um, excuse me," she called, angling past one of the girl before running into two more identical ones. In fact, when Parker actually picked her head up to look around, she realized that the block was crawling with people. Mostly girls. Teen girls.

Mostly teen girls that seemed to be waiting in a line for—

Parker's coffee hit the sidewalk with a splat.

"Hey!" one of said girls cried at her, angrily shaking coffee stains off of her white sneakers. But Parker didn't notice much of anything she hurried down the block, bag smacking into every third person as she tried to weave through the thread of people. "At least say excuse me!"

The crowd of people got more tightly packed as the line curved, and Parker stopped square in the middle of the street to gape at the sight in front of her.

Every square inch of her store was packed with people. Girls, boys, thirty-year old blondes snapping photos of every angle and squealing delightfully when the picture came out right while their boyfriends hung out front with matching looks of boredom. People were even spilling outside from how crowded it was, and she had to physically push through to step inside.

"What in the f—?"

Parker was just about to owe a ten dollar bill to the swear jar when a familiar head of hair snapped up from the other side of the front counter.

Melissa didn't look much like Melissa. Her curls had fallen over the course of the morning, wayward tufts of frizzy hair tucked behind her ears as she worked on bagging an order. There were flecks of mascara smudged along her cheeks, her lips were lacking their normal peach glossy glaze, and as they made eye contact, she looked half dazed.

"Parker!" she hissed, trying not to sound shrill but definitely not sounding calm. "Where have you been?"

Not knowing what to say, Parker lifted her sandwich bag and latte into the air, helplessly fumbling for words. "I—I was getting us lunch. What is going on here?" she cried, angling behind the counter before someone else was the victim of her wayward coffee. "Is everyone on crack or something? What did you do?"

"What did I do?" Melissa echoed with a scandalized glare, a broken manicure jabbing in Parker's direction as the next person in line awkwardly set their books on the counter. "What did you do? Why haven't you been answering your phone? I've been calling you all morning!"

"It's been like this all morning?"

"Uh, duh!" Melissa shrieked. The noise caught the attention of some nearby customers who looked concerned by the high-pitched noise. In unison, Parker and Melissa smiled at the customers, offering one-handed waves until their attention drifted elsewhere. Stiffly, they started on the next customer's order why talking out of the side of their mouths at one another. "You need to check your phone. Like, right now, Park."

"I can't," she hissed back, still speaking through a smile. Her store had never had this many people in it before, and suddenly she was wondering if she should move liability insurance higher on her list of things. "I left it at home."

"Oh my—" Melissa grunted under her breath, still smiling, and when she finished ringing up her customer, she quickly snatched her phone from her back pocket. The next customer in line seemed annoyed that her attention was taken away, however, and as she fiddled with it, Parker worked through the girl's pile of books. "Honestly. Of all the days that you don't have your phone on you... I mean, it's the twenty-first century, Park! Always have your phone on you!"

"Okay, maybe save the lecture for later," she chirped back as she finished ringing up the order. The girl paid with a credit card, and on she went, receipt waving in hand just as someone else took her place. "Just catch me up with what the hell is going on right now, please."

Melissa's response was an exasperated sigh before she was shoving her phone into Parker's hand, and retaking her spot at the register.

At first, Parker had no idea what she was looking at.

It was a picture on Instagram. A picture of her storefront, taken from across the street, framed to look aesthetically pleasing, and with some sort of boho filter on it that actually made the place look prettier than it really was. A nice picture, definitely, but not a good explanation as to what the hell was going on.

"Why are you showing me a picture of my store? I know what it looks like. I bought it."

Another customer went out the door as two more potential customers stepped inside, and Melissa sighed so heavily Parker was pretty sure they could feel the gust of wind on the other side of her double paned front windows.

"It's not the picture that matter, dummy!" she chirped, still smiling, before she was nudging Parker with her elbow. "Just—look at it!"

Parker was about to give a very childish retort about how she was looking at it, when she actually looked at it. It had received hundreds of thousands of likes since it had been posted last night, and while she clicked on the caption, a flood of new comments were being added by the second.

"Biggest question anyone asks if how do I prepare for an audition," the caption started. "Sometimes, it's easy. Sometimes you got to get your hands dirty and do some reading to get in the mindset of the character. In honor of filming starting this week, here's a s/o to my favorite hole in the wall bookstore in LA."

There was a flurry of hashtags—all ridiculous and stupid and so innately self-centered—that before she even checked the profile, Parker had a very strong feeling about who the original poster was.

Who else had this kind of social media following? Who else could do this?

The profile pic was just as pretty as he was: tomryder

Parker scanned the post a second time. Then a third. Then a fourth. Then, when she still felt like she wasn't processing it right, she glanced up at Melissa.

"Is this...?"

"Yup," the girl said.

"It's—this is his account?"

"Uh-huh," she said again.

Parker slumped against the counter, gaze raking over the horde of customers prodding around her store like it was a damn Barnes & Nobles. No, better. Because this was officially the bookstore that inspired the Tom Ryder for his latest role. NO Barnes & Nobles had ever done that. "This is all because he—"

"It had three hundred thousands likes this morning," Melissa added, not even waiting for Parker to get around to asking about that. And while the teenager seemed like it was no big deal, when she glanced up at her boss, her eyes were sparkling and her mouth was curled at the side. Obviously, her fascination for Tom Ryder had not disappeared. "Yeah. I know."

"This means..."

"That you're officially cool now?" Melissa chirped; somehow scathing and ecstatic at the same time. "Trust me, I know. Our lives just got a whole lot better, Park. I mean—look at this! We're so the coolest people here. I can't wait until school on Monday."

Parker nodded, feeling like her entire body was buzzing, and not quite hearing anything else that Melissa was saying. She just kept seeing the post over and over in her head. She had tried so hard not to need things from Tom, and he had proven time and time again that he was more than happy to give them.

For a long while, she had suspected that doing things for others—throwing parties, picking up the tab, paying for the alcohol—was just natural to him in his life now, a way that he had adapted to Hollywood stardom.

Yeah, you're welcome. I usually get paid twenty grand for doing something like this.

But that didn't quite fit the narrative anymore, did it?

"Excuse me?" a voice called out, interrupting her thinking. Parker blinked to find a twenty-something year old girl staring at her, hands timidly picking at one another. "Um, sorry. Do you have any Frank Herbert books? I looked, but didn't see any."

"Uh... yeah," she hedged, shaking any thoughts she had away. Right now, she would work. Later, she could deal with the rest of it. "Yeah. Right this way and I can show you what we have, and if you don't see any you like, I try to get sci-fi as much as possible so I can try to have new stuff this week. I might even have some extras in the back..."

The din of noise threatened to drown Parker out as she worked with her customer, but no matter how frazzled her tired she was, every time the bell tinkled with someone new coming inside, Parker found herself smiling a little bit brighter.

#falling without a harness #the fall guy #tom ryder #tom ryder x ofc #tom ryder imagine #colt seavers #jody moreno #the fall guy imagine #the fall guy series #series #parker seavers #imagine

37 notes · View notes

leftistfeminista · 11 months ago

Text

Junta abuses of Socialist women in Plaza de la Constitución

From Las mujeres torturadas por la DINA

As soon as she heard voices, she tried to get up from the mat. She had her eyes blindfolded and felt sick. Despite this, someone roughly grabbed her and shoved her into a garbage truck. After being detained for seven days in the underground of Plaza de la Constitución – located in downtown Santiago – Patricia Herrera, a 19-year-old militant of the Socialist Party, was transferred to Londres 38 along with her party comrades who were imprisoned with her. Patricia was very weak after the repeated rapes and beatings she suffered at Plaza de la Constitución.

Neither her body nor her mind were responding well. In the main hall of Londres 38, located on the first floor, prisoners had to wait to be called for interrogation. However, Patricia was never called for this. Her health condition prevented her from moving. Days passed, and she remained motionless in the mansion located in the heart of Santiago. After several years, thanks to the accounts of other comrades who were there, Patricia has been able to reconstruct her past in this place.

June 27, 1974 was a cold and cloudy day. Like every Thursday, Patricia went to classes. She was in her first semester of Business Administration at the Catholic University. As soon as she finished her last class, she set off for her home in the Cerrillos commune. One block before arriving, she felt that something strange was happening. As she continued walking, she saw more cars than usual in her neighborhood and sensed an unusual movement. While she walked, she felt that something could happen to her, however, she never imagined seeing her mother outside her house talking to some men dressed in civilian clothes. Without saying a single word, they approached her violently, tied her hands, put tape over her eyes, blindfolded her, and put her in a vehicle. "At that moment, I thought my life was over. I felt very helpless. I had the feeling of falling into a black hole, into a hole where I didn't see where I was going to end up. It was the feeling of falling into a bottomless pit," she recalls.

After several years and thanks to a lawsuit she filed—where various witnesses helped her reconstruct her story—Patricia remembers that the same day she was arrested, she arrived at Plaza de la Constitución. She had been kidnapped by the Intelligence Service of Carabineros (Sicar), and days before being detained, her partner at the time, Luis Alvarado, and a group of socialist militants had also been taken to that place.

They abruptly got out of the car and took her to the underground, which currently corresponds to the parking lots of La Moneda. Upon entering that place, they left her on a mat just as she came in the car: blindfolded and tied up. Patricia was completely out of it. Hours later, she heard footsteps approaching. She didn't have time to think when a man put a gun to her stomach and began to rape her in front of all the people there. Patricia tried to defend herself with her feet, but it was in vain. "I had never had sexual relations before. That night I felt like I was dying. Besides, everything was very fast, the arrest, the beatings, the rape, I never had a chance to regain my strength," she explains.

Several days had passed since her arrest. Her health was deteriorating, and she still had a fever. As was customary when they arrived at Londres 38, the agents sat the prisoners in wooden chairs lined up. However, every time they tried to sit her down, one chair after another fell. They hit her and put her back in the chair, but it never worked. Her body couldn't support her. Finally, they gave up and left her lying on the floor. "In Londres, I was completely out of action, I wasn't in any condition to be interrogated," she explains.

Rapes, forced nudity, and groping by the guards of the prisoners were constant in the underground dungeons of Plaza de la Constitución. "There, not only did I suffer successive rapes in front of everyone, there were also humiliations and groping even harsher than the penetration itself. They felt all-powerful towards us and it was like: 'Realize the situation you're in'. To them, we weren't people," she says.

Patricia was lying on the mat with her eyes blindfolded in Plaza de la Constitución when suddenly she smelled the unmistakable scent of hot sopaipillas. One of the guards who was eating touched her arm and said, "Today it's very cold, it's raining, and I have daughters like you. Take this," and he handed her two pieces of sopaipilla in her hand. Like never before, she enjoyed that bit of food, which gave her the strength to keep surviving and sleep for an hour. For Patricia, the days passed very slowly in that place. She doesn't remember being given food—apart from that piece of sopaipilla. It didn't matter if she menstruated or needed to defecate: she couldn't go to the bathroom, let alone shower. Her body weakened day by day.

Political prisoners not only suffered torture and sexual violations. Humiliations and sexual humiliations were also a way to break them and weaken them. Patricia was lying on her mat when the guards made her and the rest of the prisoners in the room get up. With blows and shoves, they took them to another place in Plaza de la Constitución. They stripped them naked, lined them up, and then made them march. "They laughed out loud at us. Suddenly they made us jump or bend over, and obviously we obeyed or else they could kill us. That's another type of torture," she recounts.

She was lying on the floor while the other prisoners were sitting in the chairs of Londres 38 waiting to be interrogated. Reduced to a lump, Patricia was in such precarious conditions that the agents decided to take her to a doctor. One of the guards violently lifted Patricia by the arms and took her to a room where Álvaro Vallejos, better known as "Loro Matías," was. He was a prisoner, a medical student, and a militant of the MIR who had been detained for several months in Londres 38. The moment they took off Patricia's blindfold, both of them realized the bad conditions they were in and that they couldn't help each other. He signaled to one of the agents, indicating that he was not in a condition to examine her due to his health condition and how delicate she looked. Upon this, Patricia was pushed out of the room and returned to where she was before: the floor.

Not understanding very well what was happening, she was lifted from the floor by the agents and put into a vehicle to be transported. Like her party comrades, she arrived at the Four Alamos prison camp. Several years later, through the accounts of people who saw her while she was imprisoned, Patricia learned that she was in Londres 38 for approximately seven days. During that week, she was never interrogated by the agents. Her passage through Plaza de la Constitución left her so weak that her memories are practically non-existent in that place. Upon arriving at Cuatro Álamos, they separated the prisoners into men's and women's cells.

Patricia, as the only woman in her socialist group, was alone in one of the cells. The days passed, and little by little, she recovered. Despite the detainees being in precarious conditions, at Cuatro Álamos, they had the possibility to eat and be without blindfolds inside the cell, unlike their time in the torture centers. "The food was left outside the door, it was disgusting, but the fact of having food helps you. That allowed me to regain strength to keep surviving because it was better than what I was before," she comments.

#political prisoners #women's rights #feminism #marxism-feminism

7 notes · View notes

bigsunflowergang · 1 year ago

Text

Wrd2mydeads🎵🎵

just feel like sharing my NY drill playlist with y’all bc i use a lot of them in my fics !

**= favorite …. you guys should listen !!

speed racing- kay flock (🔓) ft. blovee

triple threat- sdot go, naz gpg, & jay hound

raggy- spliffhappy

psa- kay flock (🔓)

is ya ready- kay flock (🔓)

penthouse- 41 (jenn carter, kyle richh)

insecurities- 41 (tata)

**black ops- faZe kayasan, 41 (jenn carter, kyle richh, tata, dee billz), c blu, kenzo balla

**joker- 41 (jenn carter)

**deuce- 41 (jenn carter, kyle richh)

d & d- blockwork & sha ek

wna- sdot go

shock- 41 (jenn carter, tata)

**wait- 41 (jenn carter, kyle richh, tata)

get home- set da trend (setty b)

evil twins pt. 2- sugarhill ddot & notti osama(🕊️)

everybody shot- 41 (jenn carter, kyle richh, no kartii, jerry west)

ayo bri (remix)- sugarhill keem (🔓) ft oy quan (🔓)

**catch up- bbg steppaa ft. dd osama

catch up pt. 2- bbg steppaa ft. dd osama

shot in the party- sha ek

o’s let’s do it (original)- dd osama & deeplay4keeps

keep geekin’- gooddayray ft. dthang gz (🔓 free my man my man)

**on the radar freestyle- jayklickin & jstar balla

**on the radar freestyle- dthang gz (🔓)

move it- sugarhill ddot

gzz box- dthang gz (🔓)

**breakin bad (okay)- sleepy hallow ft. sheff g (🔓)

**stop cappin- sugarhill ddot

eternal- dd osama

**2055- sleepy hallow

**bunny hop- dthang gz (🔓) ft. tdot (🔓 free the whole RPT)

free swindle- k. sixmade ft. 83baby, 3stripes, and dd osama

ice cream truck- sugarhill keem (🔓)

without you- dd osama ft. notti osama (🕊️)

take trips- sugarhill ddot ft. jstar balla

**can’t wait- sugarhill keem

see red- 41 (jenn carter, tata)

headshot- lil tjay, polo g, and fivio foreign

blame on me- j.i. the prince of new york

**talk facts- dthang (🔓), bando gz (🔓), and tdot (🔓)

**FUCKING FREE RPT.**

movelook- sugarhill keem

**movelook (remix)- sugarhill keem ft. blockwork

designer- sheff g (🔓) ft. sleepy hallow

imagination- mo kartii

throw- lil mabu & dd osama

dream- sugarhill ddot

sexy & i know it- sugarhill keem (🔓)

la lokita- jstar balla

wait for you- jayklickin ft. dd osama

missing- crazy james ft. dudeylo

**on the radar- enphamus

flock at the flockas- sugarhill keem (🔓)

wtf- sugarhill keem (🔓)

evil twins- sugarhill keem (🔓) ft. oy quan (🔓)

**shake it- kay flock (🔓), cardi b, dougie b (🔓) ft. bory3000

**opponent- dthang (🔓)

caution- dthang (🔓)

**like- dthang (🔓) ft. bando gz (🔓)

whoopty- cj

no remorse- sugarhill ddot

**many men- lee drilly (🔓)

don’t play with it- lola brooke ft. billy b

make it lit- kenzo b

**friday night- edot babyy (🕊️)

**red ruby da sleeze- nicki minaj (👑)

**stack it- bando gz (🔓)

dead opps- dd osama ft. notti osama (🕊️)

touch the ground- edot babyy (🕊️), sha ek, & sugarhill keem (🔓)

**wedgie man this, wedgie man that- dthang (🔓)

wild west- bigga bzz

**opp huntin’- kenzo balla

how you every o shot- cj goon, 30, sha ek

explosive freestyle- dudeylo

**bizurk- 41 (jenn carter)

**on gang- 41 (jenn carter, kyle richh, tata)

**being honest- kay flock (🔓)

**brotherly love- kay flock (🔓), dougie b (🔓), b lovee

tcardi- kay flock (🔓), dougie b (🔓), lilskrap 1090, justo b

opp spotter- kay flock (🔓) & blovee

**scene- dthang (🔓)

bestie- sleepy hallow

**deadly- nesty gzz ft. say drilly (🔓), lee drilly (🔓), e-wuu

EOS- yagi b, set da trend, dougie b (🔓)

public service announcement- lee drilly (🔓)

**4 for 4- leeks g bando ft. lee drilly (🔓), kay hound, bando gz (🔓)

**freak on- lee drilly (🔓)

habits- dthang (🔓)

get crazy- sugarhill keem (🔓)

no suburban pt. 2- sheff g (🔓)

**drill k pt. 1- tae porter

**50 for 50- blockwork

oyk- nas ebk (🔐 keep that nigga) ft. set da trend

dead gz- kenzo balla

**get back- sha ek ft. pj glizzy (🔓)

this is new york- scar lip

**stuck in my ways- dougie b (🔓)

**no ozone- cblu ft. set da trend

**muddy- pj glizzy (🔓)

bffr- kenzo b

**spinnin’- bbg steppaa & sugarhill ddot

300 bluntz- jayklickin & buba 35

**wrecc- 83baby & jayklickin

not in the mood- kay flock (🔓), lil tjay, & fivio foreign

**keep it 100- dougie b (🔓)

**me, myself, & i- kay flock (🔓)

fetty- 41 (jenn carter, tata, kyle richh)

**kant lack- kenzo balla & faZe kaysan

cuz we did- 41 (tata & kyle richh)

**princess diana- ice spice (👑) & nicki minaj (👑)

**deli- ice spice (👑)

*************************************************

in my miles era rn but can’t forget my husband man free dthang, free bando, free RPT & drilly gzzly 💔💔💔 free doa, free pj glizzy, free the ed twins FREE NEW YORKKKKKK

#dthang gz #bronx #brooklyn #new york #drill music #free the guys till i see the guys #only thing a ngga get from me for free is free the bros🔓#dthang gets out this year #RPTTTTTTTT 4SEV 4SEV #y to the gz g to the sky never put a o before my y #i’m a civilian #she cheat i cheat we even like #e1610 miles #miles morales x reader #miles morales #e42 miles

38 notes · View notes

hogansheroestournament · 1 year ago

Text

The winners from Round 1b!

One in Every Crowd

The Prisoner's Prisoner

Crittendon's Commandos

Man in a Box

The Safecracker Suite

The Schultz Brigade

Happiness is a Warm Sergeant

Cuisine a la Stalag 13

How to Win Friends and Influence Nazis

Reverend Kommandant Klink

Everybody Loves a Snowman

Hogan Goes Hollywood

That's No Lady, That's My Spy

Killer Klink

I Look Better in Basic Black

Hogan's Hofbrau

Tanks for the Memories

A Klink, a Bomb, and a Short Fuse

The Klink Commandos

Praise the Fuhrer and Pass the Ammunition

The Pizza Parlor

The Most Escape-Proof Prison Camp I've Ever Escaped From

Top Hat, White Tie and Bomb Sights

Is There a Doctor in the House?

Hogan Gives a Birthday Party

The Purchasing Plan

The Swing Shift

Movies Are Your Best Escape

The General Swap

The Flame Grows Higher

The Experts

Carter Turns Traitor

The Battle of Stalag 13

Reservations Are Required

An Evening of Generals

Will the Real Adolf Please Stand Up?

The Gold Rush

Flight of the Valkyrie

Klink vs. the Gonculator

Information Please

Color the Luftwaffe Red

Two Nazis for the Price of One

The Prince from the Telephone Company

The Great Brinksmeyer Robbery

Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London

To the Gestapo with Love

German Bridge is Falling Down

Hogan's Trucking Service...We Deliver the Factory to You

D-Day for Stalag 13

The Tower

The Missing Klink

Art for Hogan's Sake

The Softer They Fall

The Great Impersonation

The Big Picture

Klink's Masterpiece

One Army at a Time

Heil Klink

Operation Briefcase

Hogan Springs

Is General Hammerschlag Burning?

Go Light on the Heavy Water

The Hostage

Hold That Tiger

#Hogan's Heroes #tumblr bracket #bracket #poll tournament

8 notes · View notes

darthbreezy · 1 year ago

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole

Crowley was positively a black cloud unto himself by the time the Bentley pulled into SoHo. Tips and work trucks filled an already crowded Wickber Street, but miraculously, one work crew decided to knock off for lunch - preferably somewhere near Bethnall Green, even though it was only 10am. He parked the Bentley in front of Fell's Bookshop and made an imperceptible gesture, rendering the cell tower out of service, at least for a little while. Hell would pay it no mind, nor offer any commendation if it had, but old habits died hard.

Besides, hearing the raging tones of what he assumed was the contract owner, shouting at the indifferent labourers gave him a thread of glee, and his step was considerably lighter as he crossed the threshold of the shop. ** Aziraphale was sitting at his desk, nose buried in a book, eyes wide and seemingly oblivious to Crowley, who cleared his throat dramatically. Dropping his book in his lap, the angel practically squealed as his glasses bounced humorously around his face as colour creeped up from his collar. ''Oh... it's just you.'' he sighed. ''That's all right then. Crowley paused where stood. Did Aziraphale feel it too? The something? Or... ''I hate it when they do such noisy renovations,'' the angel sighed. ''But they seemed to have stopped for now...''

''Needed to park...'' Crowley replied absently. The need to just get out of London, even for a little while was like an itch. ''So, lunch?'' ''Did you see the name of the new establishment, across the street?'' He replied, as if he hadn't heard.''Give me Coffee, or Give me Death... Madam Justine - that lovely woman from Margaurite's - she laughed and called it, 'Café a la Petite mort'... ''Coffee of Little Death?'' Crowley replied? ''So what? Bad book translations run rampant in this part of London!'' He repressed an involuntary shiver. He really wanted out of the city. He danced a little in place. ''Look, I found this lovely little place in Eastborn. You can even bring that silly little book if you'd like!'' ''Book? What book? I don't have any idea what you mean!'' The colour now very prominent in his cheeks. ''The one you were holding in your blasted hand!'' ''Oh dear. Fine, If you must know, I was reading up on... on human intimacy...''

***

TBC

#aziraphale #crowley #good omens #fanfic

3 notes · View notes

becameundone · 1 year ago

Text

BOLD what applies.

SUBJECT: TOMO KATSUMURA.

VICES ; smoking | drinking | illicit drugs (mostly stuff like coke and ecstasy) | prescription drugs

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 headcanon. 」#ignore me if i don't put a hair length in for some of my muses i don't like describing hair styles ASDFGHJ #i have to do more research before i say this outright but tomo's probably got some mild kinda bipolar disorder i think :pensive:

5 notes · View notes

emmansbusphotography · 6 months ago

Text

The Black UBE

UBE Express 2104

Company/Owner: Ultimate Bus Experience Express, Inc./Airfreight 2100 (Air21) , Inc.

Chassis Manufacturer: Daimler Truck AG (Mercedes-Benz)

Chassis Model: Mercedes-Benz O500U 1726/59

Engine Manufacturer: Daimler Truck AG (Mercedes-Benz)

Engine Model: Mercedes-Benz OM 906 LA

Coach Manufacturer: Manufacturing Commercial Vehicles (MCV)

Coach Model: Mercedes-Benz/MCV eVolution C120 LE

Engine location: Rear

Seating Configuration: 2x2 Seats, Side-Facing Seats

Seating Capacity: 30 passengers + 1 driver

Type of Service: Public Utilty Bus

Type of Operation: Premium Airport Shuttle

Classification: Airconditioned Bus

Route: PITX (Parañaque City) - Ninoy Aquino International Airport Terminals 1, 2, 3, 4 (Pasay City)

Franchise Route: PITX (Parañaque City) - Ninoy Aquino International Airport Terminals 1, 2, 3, 4 (Pasay City)

Transmission: A/T

Speed: 6 forward, 1 reverse

Suspension: Air Suspension

Shot Location: Mindanao Avenue cor. Kennedy Road, Parañaque Integrated Terminal Exchange, Asiaworld, Bay City, Parañaque City

Date Taken: December 3, 2023

NOTE: Errors may be evident with this description. Corrections will be done once verified.

0 notes

savagesneversleepnyc · 11 months ago

Text

CUJO AND THE DARTS

He stepped out of the van looking smug.

She was not impressed. It had been a very dry spring and the boxes that were filled with DART driven dreams were hungry to house the DENDROBATIDAE..

LICK TOAD AND TASTE THE COCK

(the low monotone voice said from the behind the black curtain of the cube in the back of the service station next to old highway #7 that leads out to the dead oil field)

The cages in the basement made the entire service station like a swamp. They had bought the property because they knew about an old aquifer that was not protected and could be tapped easily.

This would be very important for breeding and cloning the dart frogs. Producing METHAMPHETAMINE had been quite lucrative but it was time to diversify into a more organic income stream. One that required less dealings with machine gun wielding cartel hoods than soccer moms who simply couldn’t find a reason not blow their brains out while awaiting the NAIL SALON tech to dry the GEL NAILS.

The gas station also served BOBA and shitty TACORITOS.

The girl behind the counter greeted people with profound indifference so as not to leave any impression. This was a skill handed down to the ladies of plains from GRAMS to TIKES. This quiet and profound facade of majestic confidence and indifference was one of the first things that the men who wielded long steel cannons and slayed the thunderous hoof’s into silence.

The gaze that penetrates and deflects the eye of the beholder is older and bolder than the eyes that could ever spy upon them. She would give change and say thanks always like a burden of admission that you took something from her that you would now owe her for in perpetuity.

As the man descended deep into the double wide trailer he’s sunk in the ground behind the station, the smell of FROG FECES rumpled his stiltskin hairs on the back of his neck more profoundly with he step lower into the bunker. The low groan of the small creature in the dank expanse below was stark. The smell would envelope him first then, the quiet dampness would hold his feet firmly down. The whole place seemed in order. All the sub bass systems that kept them very happy and stimulated in the manner that would produce the most potent and unctuous DART essence would be emitted freely.

HOWEVER, the secret was to allow the generations of DARTS to stack up and not touch any component of the organic conversation that was instigated within the microcosm of the bunker.

As he begrudgingly began to select his annual brood of several dozen prime specimens to harbor the blood line safely in his OAXACA breeding facility. He’d chosen a remote inlet with natural fortifications to prevent molestation by his sinister rivals. The entire DART movement and revolution had been started by him in a different iteration of his journey prior to the accident that would divert his focus from malice to alchemy and mysticism

The sound of several large truck all pulling up in a convoy disturbed the incubator of DART magic to remind him that the vision would always attract the eyes and hand of greedy lessers who sought to unwind the thread by which he alone hung,

It was very simple what would happen next.

The girl behind the counter pressed a large red KILL SWITCH button next to the cash register. Very large steel plates dropped over the enclosure of the service station. She sighed and grabbed her backpack, begrudgingly making her way to the broom closet that hid the hatch the station’s own self contained bunker with full cozy accouterments. She chuckled as she pulled the submarine style hatch shut and pulled the wooden handle that brought the piss stained rug over the hatch above. She turned on the close circuit display spread and popped open a LA CROIX.

The four SUV’s all faced a completely armored station on a windswept plane just skip north of the border.

The man took his seat at his console and grabbed a hold of his trucker mic to welcome his guest.

WHO GOES THERE? YOU CAME WITH MANY PEOPLE UNANNOUNCED! I’M CURIOUS HOW I CAN BEST ASSIST YOU?

The first 3 SUV’s doors popped open and 8 men stepped out holding assault rifles and tactical armor. The headlights of the 4th SUV blinked and gave a honk. The men all broke into a tactical formation moving forward around the back of the station with GUNS pointed to unload as they approached.

AH.. I SEE THAT YOU COME BEARING GIFTS

The man at the console snickered and pressed a fat yellow button next to his left hand. As the squad stormed around the back of the station in a very tight and contrived tactical formation a spread of simple lawn sprinkler sockets popped up from the back of the yard.

AHOY HOY!!! LET US BEGIN

The man proclaimed quite plainly over the speakers. The little girl rubbed his tiny paws eagerly from her perch below the station.

An AIR HORN sounded from a small shed that was roughyl 50 yards off on the edge of the MESA began to come to life. A pounding and growing sound began to emerge from the shed.

The men of the squad looked down at the sprinkler heads that were now whizzing away sounding like a siren scream as a bright yellow gas rushed out them all but obscuring their line of sight.. The men began gasping and running like headless chickens to escape the footprint of CANARY STRAINED ANTHRAX MUSTARD GAS the man had cooked up fresh for them. 5 of the squad flopped like a side of beef sliding off the hook into the grinder.

They twitched and gasped briefly as the remaining three scampered away desperately for cover. The shed was still chugging away as they caught their breath awaiting a command from the boss in the last SUV.

The man rubbed his eyes and turned to look back at his beloved DARTS. He yawned and thought about having a tea once the mess was cleaned up.

He picked up the trucker mic again and spoke.

HE WHO CONTROLS THE SPICE SHALL CONTROL THE UNIVERSE!!

He quit simply but firmly proclaimed.

The sides of the ominous chugging shed exploded outward at this time exposing the NAVAL grade anti aircraft cannon that was pointed at the last SUV. The remaining men made a sound that almost was audible prior to the sound of the 4th SUV and ALL of the SUV’s being blown back from the service station in a typhoon like wall of metal, fire and motion. The sound carried like a phoenix rising from the very sandy earth that lay below. A deep and calm vacuum of space embraced them all as the shell collided with the front right axel of the SUV in a delicate and almost liquid like manner. The sheer weight of the shell is over 100 pounds. This is essentially a small refrigerator that collided with the DENALI SUPREME to brew up a human and meat stew fit for a king.

The little one opened up a bag of chips and picke up her trucker mic.

HEY!!! DO YOU GUYS LIKE DOGS!? I LOVE MY DOG CUJO!! GET TO KNOW HIM!!

With that she gave a strange and guttural sound that brought the sleeping monster who had been quietly sleeping next to her. He awoke, seeming like he was not done napping but was hungry as always and would gladly break up his down time for some TCB and a bit of light exercise. She rubbed his wet nose on her nose and purred at him.

OK BOY. GO EAT NOW

With that she pressed a button that opened a decent size dumb waiter contraption that CUJO sauntered over to casually. His stride deep with steps that sought to shake his sleep and prepare his chop to dine.

CUJO put all his weight in the box and it clicked, a small compartment on the bottom right corner opened and a small portion of cool fresh water appeared for him to enjoy. A proper amuse bouche before the sun would constrict doggie pupils into pinpoints searching for meaty calves of screaming men who didn’t put on pants one leg at a time that day expecting to see all the stuff.

A bulkhead hatch sprung up on the far side of the station and CUJO stepped silently off the pad. His pure white fur gleaming in the sun. He was a mutt of too many varieties to ever discern but was every bit of 150 lbs of muscle and mind that simply love his people, the DARTS and a solid meal after a good nap.

The men looked at each other from their hiding places.

The sound of the burning and still vibrant conflagration that was quite actively barbecuing their retaining into HUMANO BARBACOA was a little disconcerting and made hearing the dog impossible…

CUJO snuck up behind the first man and closed his windpipe with his mouth and gently let him go to sleep forever… CUJO was taught to smell and not see. But he loved to see the look of the men when he made them know he was the one who would be escorting them to the other side of the great river of death.

The next man could quite plainly see the dog approach but had lost his weapon in his hastle to escape the MUSTARD GAS DEATH GARDEN and tried quite pitifully in vain to ward off CUJO’s amorous advances with a fully extended right hand that CUJO latched onton and drove his head directly into his back, breaking it out of the socket and ripping it clean off his arm. CUJO had been trained in a brutal form of DOG TAI CHI that allowed him to BREAK things using weight against the anatomical structure of the THING he chomped onto. This was not something that any HUMAN could show or teach.

The many who begat him were of a certain bloodline that believe in devotion and brutality. Dogs in the pecking order slide in different directions but will ultimately stand to man’s side always. His blood knew that this was only a matter of contextual dominance. By credo they would only serve a just master who acted in a purer manner than their predecessor.

CUJO was ready to just start chewing an arm in his mouth but knew that the JOB was not yet done. The 3rd man had made a run for the hills and now looked like a wide receiver chagrin downfield desperately hoping fate and skill will collide in glory.

This really pissed off CUJO. He was not in the mood to go for a run at all but knew it would only make the meat more tasty as he enjoyed it. With that, he dropped the dripping man arm and let out a tiny sniff of desert dust. His weight and girth galloped with haste consuming the yards between him and the last man panting for breath and struggling to run full sprint and unholster his GLOCH.

CUJO’s eyes blazed forward as fountains, a saliva splashed on the sand he displaced with his mass pounding forward at the weaker and slower critter rapidly losing the tiny shred of space that separated them from the inevitable.

CUJO likes to get really close and let the prey feel him ready to chomp but not so they actually slow down out of pure fear… The man began to shit and piss himself violently. This really only made CUJO more mad as he was never in the mood for shitty piss soaked food.

So he latched onto the ACHILLES of the man with his lower jaw and flipped him like a rag doll in motion and then barrel rolled himself (as he had been taught) and brought his own weight crushing the guys body as they rolled over several time with the rapid sound of bags of nuts being smashed with a heavy iron hammer.

CUJO let go and left the bloody broken sack of human meat for the coyotes and buzzards to enjoy. They prefer meat to be coated in fear and feces.

CUJO cooly rolled himself in bloody sand until he felt clean of his deafed foe’s plasma and poo. He gave himself a stern shake and could see the man and the girl standing by the service station. A wrecker and roll out dumpster slowly crept across the plain toward them to remove the smoldering remnant of the ZETAS who came to play.

1.26.24v 9:59: AUX MORTEM AB CHAO

reges antiqui in sanguine fuderunt

#uziego #savagesneversleep #videoart #nyc #savagesneversleepnyc #nycWRITTER #bkWRITTER

0 notes

vivacapital19 · 1 year ago

Text

Invoice Factoring California Factoring Company

Letting the factoring company verify the client’s credit for you is an efficient way to find out who you need to do business with down the street after you move on from using the factoring company. It’s in your best curiosity to find Invoice factoring services los angeles a financial companion who offers non-recourse factoring. Non-recourse factoring is much more helpful to your trucking company. The only real advantage to recourse factoring is that it is a bit simpler to get.

In-person buying won't go away, but many retailers must proceed adjusting their store footprints to stability each forms of client spending. Dallas is a spot of limitless alternative with a novel history and tradition, infused by productiveness and rising prosperity for businesses and careers in today's most promising trade sectors. Thank you for your invoice factoring la curiosity in General Business Credit monetary services. We specialize in various buy financings for new/used heavy obligation vehicles and trailers. Increase your income and decrease your working prices, all while keeping your money in your pocket. Hana Financial Inc. specializes in factoring, asset-based lending, and U.S.

We really respect our shoppers and we work onerous to grasp every set of challenges. That’s why our client retention rate is among the best los angeles factoring company many highest in our trade. Have you ever turned down or prevented a model new sales alternative because of a customer's cost terms?

And it’s not an all-or-nothing proposition; CF allow purchasers to choose and choose which invoices they want to factor. Since 1958, Hilldun Corporation has provided Accounts Receivable and Factoring services to companies primarily based on each purchase orders and invoices. Over the years, some of the iconic manufacturers Hilldun has worked with embrace Tommy Hilfiger, Betsy Johnson, Marc Jacobs, Alexander Wang, A.L.C., Golden Goose, Amiri and lots of of others. During these instances Factoring company los angeles of elevated uncertainty, carriers have modified or even elevated their expectations of what they're looking for in a monetary companion. This shift has required elements to be extra proactive in their approach and search for significant methods to increase worth and not using a significant enhance in cost to the client.

The articles and analysis help supplies obtainable on this website are instructional and are not meant to be funding or tax recommendation. All such info is offered solely for comfort functions only and all users thereof ought to be guided accordingly. This last entry displays the truth invoice factoring los angeles that the factor collected $92,000 cash and kept $85,000. If the factor collects more than the quantity advanced, the surplus is turned back to the original holder, as well as any uncollected accounts. If the assigned receivables are insufficient to repay the factor due to bad debts, the original holder must switch further receivables.

Invoice factoring and invoice discounting are both kinds of asset backed finance aimed to help businesses launch cash that are tied in invoices. There are a number of financial institution and non-bank suppliers of invoice finance, from giant instutions to small various funders, every providing different propositions and options for patrons. Long payment Factoring company in los angeles, ca terms in digital promoting make invoice factoring an excellent supply of funding for startups in the industry. Typically, the maximum invoice FK Construction Funding will cover is $5M. It takes a few week to turn into totally set up as a consumer and get funded. According to Coker, they don’t charge setup, underwriting, or other hidden fees.

And so, throughout a lunch break, some house owners had been so certain that Carson would win that they checked out of their rooms. Two rows of black SUVs idled outdoors the lodge, able to go to a close-by top factoring company los angeles personal airport. After Iger left the ballroom and returned to his suite, Jones said, "He stated he paid us. Last time I checked, that money is coming from Disney shareholders, not him."

0 notes

yottakitsune · 2 years ago

Text

No Yellow Brick Road

I spent a long time listening to Accord's rambling about what made this timeline special. The key thing was that it was just so fast. What had happened in this world in two years should have taken over a decade, and it was theorized that it was likely due to having come into direct contact with the gods. More than once, I rubbed at my head a little confused. "Come on. It's not that hard to understand."

"It kinda is. I wasn't built with incredible processing power. 2B's kinda dumb. At least compared with other Androids." It was weird having a set limit on intelligence. "But maybe having a soul can fix that?" I gave a shrug. "I'm kinda off the edge of the map now."

Accord gave a saccharine smile; all customer service and no warmth. "That's your adventure, isn't it? Survive as something new?" She pulled Iron Will from my hand and looked it over. "Good work for something that should have rusted away to nothing thousands of years ago." She kept walking away as I tried to take the ancient blade back. She rubbed a strange machine across its surface, and some of the rust was eaten off. "This should give it another few centuries. If you can find me more of these, I'll upgrade it more."

Iron will was lighter now, but some of its edges had returned. It almost felt... happy? Could a sword feel joy? I gave it a few practice swings. I noticed a small pack taped to the rather sizeable flat of the blade. I pulled it off and opened it up. "I'll keep that in mind," I said as I went through the contents. A fake ID and some other important documents. "Thanks." I let go of the blade, and it returned to hovering behind my back as I looked over my new identity and committed it to memory. "So what should I do about the Maso? If it's making Legion, this world will never progress."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. The touch of the gods has already faded. The Maso you have is contained in your Black Box is fine. It's new Maso. You're not radiating it anymore." She flipped through her book. "And you're more or less fine on that front. Just don't put too much strain on that box. You can't transfer to a new body." She flashed that saccharine smile again. "Not without a hefty payment to yours truly."

I rubbed my forehead. "Of course. So, how does that work?" Clearly, she was putting me through a tutorial.

"Well, first you die. Then I bring you a new body, or repair the old one. I should have plenty of odds and ends for that. If you get a new body, you lose all your stuff. Unless you pay a premium for equipment retrieval." She closed her trunk and tossed it into the truck. "Well, you should be set from here." She hopped into the cab and pulled the door shut behind her. "Not sure what else to tell you. Just keep going, and you'll be fine." She started up the engine and took off down the road before I could ask for a ride.

I followed after as the rift to the World Tree wavered and faded, and time resumed its standard flow. "Could have at least gotten me to the next town," I grumbled. "Though..." I said as I looked around the fields. "...at least I'm not in Antarctica anymore. I guess I'll take what I can get." I put my sword away and started walking at a more brisk pace in the direction Accord went. She had to have been headed somewhere. Hours passed, and the fields never changed or broke. The sun began to dip below the horizon with only the occasional barn or farmhouse having broken the endless fields. It wasn't until the moon had risen high and full into the skies that I could see lights on the horizon. When I finally arrived, it was the kind of small out of the way town you only stopped in because you already lived there.

I stopped in the local motel and paid for a room for the night. Now half the country away from my old home, I felt I could relax after I killed the lights and locked the door. I took a deep breath and flopped onto the bed after I briefly forgot how heavy I was now. While I wasn't tired, I did need a break from the constant crisis. The last thing I remembered before I went idle was the red glow of the neon sign outside.

#nier aureum #nier automata #nier au #fanfic

1 note · View note

mybandnames · 2 years ago

Text

Glam Rock - Rounds 1 - 3

Tipper, Deathsponge and Glitter Bag

Today we're looking at three bands whose history spans three decades of hope, desperation, near-misses and failure tied together by one rather beautiful, if largely unsuccessful, man.

And that man was Jan Vorlorne, who was born in the UK to Dutch parents in 1960. Jan, or Jonny as he became known, got bitten by the band bug in his early teens after seeing an early Slade gig in the Red Cow pub in their home town of Wolverhampton.

One cheap guitar later and Jonny Starbright, as he christened himself, was only three chords away from fame and fortune. Or so he thought. In fact it turned out to be only 30 years away.

His first stab at success was the five-piece band Tipper, which he formed in the last year of secondary school. The name came from his father's job, which was driving the tipper trucks that removed the earth and rubble from the new roads that were part of the post-war UK re-building boom.

Tipper were everything a young man of those times could dream of: loud, poppy, and a very large girl-magnet. Initially the band got a lot of attention, partly because they were cheap and available at the drop of a mirrored hat, and partly because they promoted themselves as Dudley's answer to Slade. As the rivalry between Dudley and Wolverhampton (the so-called Car Wars) was quite intense at the time, followers were easy to amass.

Eventually though, with no success under their belts, the other members (except his loyal bass player, Huggy Moonshine) tired of Jonny's mission and the band folded. Jonny however, was undiminished, and after a brief pause and very little self-reflection, went on to form Deathsponge.

While Tipper were fast but fairly unfurious, Deathsponge were exactly the opposite. By now Black Sabbath had been in the charts with Paranoid and their early albums had a lasting effect on Jonny. Under his creative genius Deathsponge brought together the two genres he most loved. Heavy metal with a distinctly downbeat and drudgey life view, and the uplifting and very bouncy pop music of Slade.

This curious mix led to songs such as 'Dress My Corpse in Spandex' and 'The Glitter Ball of Doom Wreaks Havoc', both of which featured on their self-made single (1981). By then though, Glam Rock had run it's course (unless you lived in Germany and the Netherlands). Sadly, though, this lofty point in the band's career proved to be no higher than much of the Dutch coast line.

The third and final act for Jonny came about after an encounter with Alvin Stardust, who's own history (albeit littered with actual hits and musical success) inspired Jonny to re-board the fame express via Disco-Funk, with the very much more upbeat and joyful, Glitter Bag.

Still desperate for success, Jonny's final thrust at pinning his name to stardom, was a cheap and very cheerful take on Disco (having also realised that getting people to dance is very good for popularity). Designed to be instantly likeable by anyone who heard them, the band seemed not to have noticed that Disco had also had its last chart-based hoorah, so despite their ability to move the dance floor, the chances of moving the hit parade were exactly nil.

Despite this, Jonny carried on with the band which found a certain level of success (and a reasonable career) on the nostalgia circuits in Germany, Portugal and Italy. Given his previous experience with several musical genres, he was often able to play three times on the same bill - a feat unmatched to this day by any artist alive or dead.

Sadly this commitment also took it's toll on his heart, and he died backstage after a particularly hectic performance at La Discotex in Milan in 2013. His spandex-covered body was returned to Dudley where he was celebrated with a low-key funeral attended by friends, fans and family, many of whom sang their favourite of Jonny's songs during the service. Afterwards, a few of his ex-band colleagues performed his music at the after-party, where it was also mooted, in a speech given by loyal bass player, Huggy Moonshine, that Windmill Street be re-named Jonny Lane in his honour. A suggestion so far ignored by Dudley city council.

0 notes

tenaflyviper · 3 years ago

Text

Remembering Betty White's Legacy:

(January 17, 1922 - December 31, 2021)

Today, the world lost more than just a beloved television icon.

Though she later became known as the "First Lady of Television", Betty White put her early career on hold during World War II in order to join the American Women's Voluntary Services. Beforehand, she had worked in radio, theater, and modeling (the latter in spite of film studios telling her she "wasn't photogenic"). She drove a supply truck by day, and at night she participated in send-off dances for servicemen shipping off to war.

In 1954, she got her first nationally aired television show, The Betty White Show. During a time in which men still dominated the entertainment industry, Betty was given full creative control of her show, and even hired a female director to run it. This was long before the feminist movement began its rise to prominence.

The program frequently featured black tap dancer Arthur Duncan, to the point where he is credited as the first black series regular on a talk/variety show. Betty and the show were both heavily criticized, and threatened with boycott from many viewers in the South. Betty stood her ground, and famously replied,

"I said, ‘I’m sorry. Live with it.'”, before giving Duncan even more screen time. Sadly, repeated changes in time slots--and the resulting lower viewership--eventually led to the show's cancelation not long after.

Aside from being an entertainer, Betty was nearly just as well-known for being a pioneering animal rights activist, and was very passionate about animal conservation.

She donated to numerous animal charities (and a few human ones, too!), including:

American Humane Association

Morris Animal Foundation

Helen Woodward Animal Center

PAWS/LAPetco Foundation

SPCA-LA

GLAAD

Elton John AIDS Foundation

NAACP

Human Rights Campaign

Red Cross

American Heart Association

Special Olympics

St. Francis Food Pantries and Shelters

St. Jude Children's Research Hospital

And several others.

Over the span of her seven-decades-long career--which Guinness World Records officially certified in 2014 as the longest ever for a female entertainer--she took home five Primetime Emmys, one competitive Daytime Emmy, a lifetime achievement Daytime Emmy in 2015, and a Los Angeles regional Emmy in 1952.

She left behind so, so much more than that. From being "The First Lady of Television" to "America's Grandmother", Betty White touched the hearts of millions--both human and animal alike. She may no longer be with us on Earth, but she has many friends where she is now.

#Betty White #R.I.P.#This woman will always be important to me #Thank you for being a friend Betty #And yes--that gorilla is Koko #The man is her late husband--Allen Ludden

296 notes · View notes

robins-egg-bindery · 3 years ago

Text

chosen family by Trickster88

Harry meets Peter at four and a half (four and three-quarters, Harry insists, because adults always tell him he’ll understand things when he’s older, but he’s old enough for it to be annoying). Harry's playing in the sandbox at Oscorp’s daycare (kinetic sand, actually, because what’s the point in being a cutting-edge, fortune 500 company if you don’t have the newest stuff) and Gregory Haskins stomps on his sand castle. Harry’s eyes fill with tears of frustration as Gregory laughs and steals the Tonka truck out of the sand, but before he gets the chance to wail, Peter is there.

Peter has a mop of soft, chestnut curls, and kind, brown eyes. He has dimples in his cheeks when he smiles, every so gently, like Harry is a baby deer he’s afraid of spooking, and Harry blinks at him, surprised.

***

Or, Harry and Peter, over the years. MCU with Harry Osborn

art by @heyboydraws, fic by @thwip--thwip

92 pages / 25,534 words

Title Font: Brightness Inverted

Body Fonts: Garamond, Arbery, Absender, October Crow

Read more on the process below the cut!

Now, onto the how!

I typeset in Microsoft Word; I realize now that my margins were set wrong (and the second book I've printed, which is still in the binding process) - but this taught me a lot! It's honestly probably better to have the fic at this reduced size; it feels like a nice, short novella.

The cover paper is Thai Marbled paper from Paper Source, and the end papers are Nepalese handmade papers I purchased from McManus & Morgan, a paper shop local to LA that's been here since 1923! I wanted an emeraldy-gold look, since those are Harry's colors - and the duo book cloth from Colophon Bookarts seemed like a good pair. The black streaks on the marbling spoke to me as the darkness that permeates Harry's life, as well as a not-so-subtle nod to the Venom plot at the end of the book. Still, the gold in his life shines through. I chose two different endpapers for the same reason - Harry's life starts out grey and somewhat bleak, and ends happily ever after, in a warm gold. All in all, the color coordination worked out better than I could have imagined!

I used a bunch of different fonts in this fic to help the story jump off the page, and it was really fun! I also played around with different effects, like so, to help emphasize emotional moments:

I think it adds something!

I printed on Speckletone Madero Beach from the French Paper Company, 70lb text weight. It has a nice feel to it, a cool recycled look, and is a good combination between cream and white. Not sure if I'll stick with it forever, but it makes it feel like a real book!

Last but not least, my edges. Ho boy. I tried to hand trim and totally failed...I won't make the same mistake again! I ended up sanding down the edges to mitigate the error and it's still serviceable. Overall though, I'm very pleased! Ha, do I get to say I'm self-published now?

#me myself and i #process #bookbinding #fanbinding #fanficbinding #marvel #fanfic binding #fanfic #avengers #harry osborn #peter parker #parksborn #spiderman

91 notes · View notes

some-kindofgnome · 4 years ago

Text

tastes so bitter (tastes so sweet)

You’re driving back from an out-of-town mission with Hawks when your car breaks down on a very sparsely-populated highway. While you await relief, things get... personal.

characters: takami keigo (hawks) x f!reader

word count: 7.1k

warnings: smut (18+ please!), car sex, pro hero!reader, angst, emotionally unavailable hawks

notes: ta-dah!!! the car sex fic! this turned out way longer and way more feelsy than I ever intended it to be. but I’m grateful for the chance to show you how I play with plot and emotion as well as some good porn. porn with feelings, y’know?

EDIT: The supremely talented @la-saffron has created an absolutely spectacular piece of artwork for this fic! Please go and look at it right here, it’s really quite splendid

Masterlist

The shadowy trees on either side of the highway cast a chill across the pavement as the sky went dark.

It was far from sunset, but the woods were so tall and thick that the light had disappeared from the road a long time ago. The overpriced navigation system laid into the dashboard of Hawks’ luxurious car was no help at all; not when you were taking the only road for miles around.

The highway narrowly passed for two lanes, winding precariously down from the mountains. Dotted with reflective yellow signs- deer crossing, bear crossing, creatures-of-unimaginable-horror crossing. Bigfoot himself could have wandered into your headlights and you barely would’ve flinched.

But that was to be expected, given where you’d come from.

That day’s mission brought you both far, far away from the city. There was a national forest about three hours away- one of the biggest in the country- and you and Hawks had been called in at the crack of fucking dawn to drive all the way out to the woods and investigate some ‘strange reports,’ as the rangers cared to call them.

Most park rangers knew what they were seeing when guests came in from the woods reporting abnormal happenings. Nobody was truly immune to fear, though, when faced with the impossible.

Whether there were paranormal creatures lurking in those woods or not, you couldn’t have been sure. But after spending the day exhausting both your quirks combing every spare inch of those woods, you were relieved of your overnight duties by a group of other, more nature-savvy heroes.

Hawks had been miffed, but too exhausted to argue. He didn’t like to think he’d been overshadowed. You were just thankful to be going home to your own bed.

“Okay,” you sighed, nursing the last of a lukewarm soda from a burger joint at the edge of the only one-horse town you’d passed through. It was a pretty unassuming stop for dinner, but you and Hawks both agreed that the burgers were way too good to be sold to so few patrons.

Keigo was driving, with one palm splayed lazily across the bottom edge of the wheel. His scarlet wings stretched into the backseat, draping over the shoulders of his black leather backrest like some bizarre kind of seat cover.

The fact that his car was so luxurious was not lost on you- although you were more surprised to find out that he had one at all. Hawks seemed like the last person in the world to need a car, after living in a fantastic downtown penthouse. And owning a pair of wings, come to think of it.

He owned it because he could. And because he knew how good he looked in the driver’s seat.

“What?” He turned a curious eye toward you, though he never quite pulled his gaze from the road.

“I know we started this conversation on the way here,” you began, “but… we never exactly finished it.” You swirled what was left of the ice chips in the bottom of your cup, considering the best way to voice your thoughts.

“Alright.” He sounded vaguely amused, slouching a little further down and drawing an idle palm over his feathered hair. “Shoot.”

“Well…” You trailed off. “You’re kind of… a city guy.” You were already starting to talk with your hands. The racket coming from your half-drunk soda was proof enough.

“What makes you say that?”

“You are,” you defended. You let a playful edge creep into your tone. “And the agency’s kind of a city thing.”

“Am I really as one-note as you’re making me out to be?” He was chuckling. Your cheeks were going hot. You weren’t sure how this became a personal conversation, but you were determined to steer it in the proper direction. You course corrected.

“I just mean, we don’t take a lot of jobs outside the city. Like… ever. So, what’s with this one? Why this call?”

He didn’t answer right away. When you glanced across the car, he was licking his lips and appearing to be, very genuinely, thinking.

“Well,” he began. There was an immensely appealing depth that wore around the edges of his voice when he was deep in thought. You hung on tightly, trying your best to hide how intently you listened.

“I was just… bored, I guess.” He gave a lazy little shrug. His eyes were still trained on the windshield, but you could feel the weight of his urges. He wanted to look over. You turned your head, willing him to.

“Probably sounded like bullshit, now that I think about it,” he confessed, “but if there really was somethin’ freaky in those woods… I dunno. I wanted to see it.”

You resisted the urge to snort.

“Maybe you should start a ghost hunting branch at the agency.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he protested. This time, he really did drag his eyes away from the road for a second. They glinted playfully in the dark. You got a flash of pearly canine from the barest hint of a grin, but it was enough to put a stupid smile right across your face.

A sickening thud from beneath the hood zapped any false confidence you’d been building. There was a dull pop, then the engine died.

“What the- shit.” Hawks scrambled to put both hands on the wheel, navigating the car with what momentum remained over to the narrow shoulder. The tires hit gravel and soft mud, rolling pathetically to a stop and settling in damp silence.

“What the hell was that?” You leaned over the dashboard as your pulse came down from near-terminal velocity. There were half a dozen lights blinking away on the dashboard- symbols you couldn’t understand.

“Not sure.” Keigo was doing his best not to sound too perturbed. As a result, he was just perturbed enough.

You knew what those lights implied, though. Service due. Oil change due. Battery maintenance due.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, “when was the last time you took this car in for service? It’s a miracle you even made it out of the goddamn garage.”

Hawks was in the process of mashing the engine start button like an arcade game. When you spoke up, he pushed it down and held. The engine gave a dull, sad sort of sputter, but nothing roared to life.

“Look, look,” he dismissed, waving a hand in your direction as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I don’t drive this thing that often, okay? I’m gonna go check under the hood.”

He climbed out of the driver’s side and slammed the door before giving you the chance to remind him to pop the hood. For a minute, you let him wallow in his mistake, watching gleefully as he pried at the seam of it. Finally, you unbuckled yourself and leaned over, flicking the release for him.

He gave an unamused glance toward the windshield and lifted the hood, obscuring all but the very tips of his drooping wings from view.

After about fifteen seconds, he ducked back into the car with a rush of cold air behind him. He rubbed his palms together as you watched, arms folded over your chest.

“So?” You prompted. He gave a sideways glance in your direction, blowing into his chilled hands.

“So what?”

“Oh my g- what’s wrong with the car?” You tried your best not to let panic set in.

“I don’t know. It’s just a bunch of pipes and wires under there. They didn’t exactly give me a map of the thing when I bought it.”

You’d seen Hawks pull people out of burning buildings before. You’d see him think on his feet, devise a plan and act on it in the blink of an eye. Usually, he was impulsive. Confident. Clever.

Tonight, on the other hand, he was demonstrating a very clear affinity for money over brains.

You flopped into your seat, scrubbing your hands over your face. You were not going to freak out. You refused to. It didn’t matter that Keigo had suddenly become useless in the face of disaster. You were heroes, even if you had to save your damned selves.

“Oh,” he quipped from beside you. “Still got bars. See?” As you peeked over at him through one cracked eyeball, he waved his illuminated phone screen at you. “It could be worse, kid. If this were a horror movie, this thing’d be dead.”

He tapped away on the screen, seeming very pleased with himself. Even his wings gave a little ruffle, draping themselves smoothly over the back of his seat again.

“I’ll call us a tow. We’ll be outta here in no time.”

A few minutes later, you had a map pulled up on your phone while Hawks’ brow creased deeper and deeper.

“Uh-huh.” His voice had taken on that irresistible deepness to it again, but this time it was sending pangs of dread through your gut.

“Right.” He brought a palm up to smooth over his jaw, fingertips bending and pressing idly against the patches of scruff that dusted it. “Y-yep, yeah, I understand. Fifty miles is a long way. I know it’s gonna be a lot to send a truck that far. But-“

As he was abruptly cut off by the other end of the line, those idle fingers slipped up to his temple, pressing inward and rubbing in stiff little circles.

“Okay. Alright. Yeah, I guess we’ll wait, ‘cause there’s not much else we can… I understand. Yes, thank you. Thank you. Okay, we’ll be here. Or within a ten-foot radius. Thanks. B-“

He blinked rapidly at the screen as he pulled it away from his ear. “Have an excellent night, sir,” he muttered under his breath. He let out a deep sigh, lifting a hip to tuck his phone away again.

“They said they would send someone,” he said, “but the depot is, like, fifty miles from here. Could be a couple of hours.”

“A couple hours?” That cold dread was settling into your chest again. So much for sleeping in your own bed.

“Yeah. C’mon, get out.”

“What?” You glanced past him at the frosted driver’s side window. “It looks freezing out there.”

“Well then, you’d better bundle up. C’mon. I’m gonna fly us back to the city.”

“No way. Hawks- Keigo.” You grabbed his arm and squeezed tightly as he made to get out of the car.

“What?” Exasperation was creeping into the edges of his voice. The sides of his gaze, too, as he landed against the seat back with a thud and turned his cheek to look at you.

“You’ve been flying all day. Your wings are shot. You’re not flying anywhere.”

“What? They’re fine.” He gave the appendages in question a defiant flutter and a cloud of expiring feathers floated into the backseat.

You folded your arms across your chest. Hawks gave a frustrated growl.

“What do you suggest, then?” He retorted in fierce opposition to your silence. “Just sit around and fucking… die of old age before the tow truck comes?”

“Oh my god, you’re the number two hero,” you snapped back. “When did you become such a drama queen? Yes, we’re going to wait. Like a normal person would have to.”

“I’m not being dramatic; I’m presenting you with a legitimate solution and you’re ignoring it!”

“If you try to fly us both out of here, you’re gonna hit the ground before we’re halfway home. And then we’ll be really stranded, with no water and no shelter. So, if you’d like to fly back all by yourself, I can’t stop you. But I’m not going to let you kill both of us.”

“Fine!” Hawks’ cheeks were flushed with temper as he kicked the door open and clambered out of the car. He kicked it shut again so hard the whole body rocked, and for a moment you were left, trapped in shocked silence.

He was really going to leave you out here. Alone.

Half a dozen heartbeats passed before his boots crunched on the shoulder and he wrenched the door open again, flopping back into the car with an immense sigh of irritated defeat.

“Fuckin’ freezing out there,” he muttered as quietly as possible.

You wanted to punch him.

“You ready to wait?”

His wings stiffened behind him, then drooped so lowly they seemed to disappear into the backseat. He looked at you from the corner of one tawny eye.

“Yeah.”

For the first hour, you honestly enjoyed yourself. As soon as Keigo accepted his fate, he got much closer to his usual mellow self. You finished off cold fries from dinner, listened to true crime podcasts on your phone, (you listened- he talked over the whole thing) and played a few ruthless games of hangman on a couple of napkins you found in the glove compartment.

You’d spent a lot of time with Hawks in a professional capacity. As partners, you took most of your missions together. You were well-versed in the way that he liked to think, the way he approached a job, a conversation. You worked well with each other and you were drawn to his quick wit and laid-back humour. Even if he was a piece of work at times, you made a strong team. But you didn’t do a whole lot of hanging out.

“Okay, that’s it,” he chided as you added an extravagant top hat to the completed, dressed hangman scrawled onto the inside fold of your last napkin. The word he’d failed to guess was ‘patience,’ and the irony of his struggling was not lost on you.

“Aw, c’mon,” you protested. “You’ve still got gloves and a bow tie left.”

“No, no, no.” He held up a palm, shaking his head. There was a good-natured grin curling his lip as he bowed toward the door. “I’m callin’ it. I gotta take a leak.”

You snatched your soda cup from the drink holder, clutching it protectively against your chest.

“You’re not going in here.”

Next, it was Hawks’ turn to shoot you a deadpan stare.

“How about in the woods? Is that allowed?”

Your cheeks went hot. “It’s pretty dark out there.”

“Aw.” Hawks shoved the door open. There was an unfamiliar glint to his eye as he tossed a mischievous look over his shoulder. “Guess you won’t be able to sneak a peek, then.”

You slammed your fist into his back. “Shut up and go take a piss.”

As the car door clicked shut, you turned the other way out of sheer habit. All you could see in the opposite window was the reflection of your own face. Maybe it was just the dim light, but you looked exhausted. Keigo had seen you caked in blood, streaked by mud and soot before. But you’d both been awake since four o’clock that morning and there was a special kind of ugly feeling that came with overtiredness.

You were dreaming about the first thing you’d do when you got home again when Hawks climbed back into the car. He looked considerably brighter as he ducked inside, and he brought a flush of rich, earthy forest-smell along with him.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t find it in the cold out there,” you quipped. Payback.

But Keigo just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Close the door,” you whined as the frigid air from outside finally reached your bare arms. “It’s already cold enough in here.”

“Aw,” he crooned, tugging the door shut behind him. “You scared of a little cold now, kid? It’s not so bad out there. Feel.”

He lunged at you, ducking rapidly to rub his frigid cheek against your shoulder. You let out a terse yelp and squirmed, trying to shove him back amid a sea of chilled giggles. He got a few passes of his icy skin on yours before you both realized how close you’d gotten.

Hawks cleared his throat and scooted away from you. In the bare light from the shitty overhead lamp, you were starting to see the outline of a flush creeping into his cheeks.

The light abruptly went out, leaving you in darkness again.

“Tell me something,” he mused, grabbing for the abandoned takeout bag and digging a hand into it. He produced a tiny wrapped square and tore it open with his teeth, removing the folded alcohol wipe from inside and gliding it with impossible grace over his fingertips. He eyed you sideways.

“How come we don’t hang out more?”

Your chest went cold. You’d been dreading that question all night. Longer than that, even.

“What d’you mean?” It was a gut response, but you instantly kicked yourself for even attempting to play dumb.

“You know,” he chided, dumping the wipe back into the paper bag once he was finished with it. “We work. We do interviews together. We do those bullshit PR functions together. I’ve known you- what, two years? And we’ve never even been for a drink. What gives, kid? Don’t tell me I grate on you.”

“I get plenty of you on company time,” you retorted. You were starting to panic. You weren’t ready for this conversation, but it didn’t seem like you were going to be rescued by the timely arrival of the tow truck.

“Okay, okay, I’d take that,” he laughed, “if you hadn’t agreed to take this mission with me. C’mon, this wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five gig.”

He paused. “Come out with me this weekend.” He nudged your shoulder with a bony elbow. You tried your best not to snap.

“Stop,” you pressed quietly. “You know why we don’t.”

The smirk slipped from Keigo’s face.

“What? Why?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Wait a second, there’s an actual reason? What the hell is it?”

The confusion was genuine on his face. Hawks could be a smarmy little shit when he wanted to be. But you could tell he wasn’t fucking with you.

“Oh my god.” The words slipped out like a deep breath. Your hand drifted to your mouth as cold shock ran over your skin. “You really don’t remember.”

“No.” His confusion was bordered with fear. He sat back a little, letting his eyes drift over your expression. “No, I really don’t.”

You swallowed hard. You should have known that you’d have to talk about this eventually. But he didn’t even remember the night that had been changing the way you acted around him for nearly a year.

“Last Christmas,” you began. Your breath was so short that it put a desperate hush to your voice that you absolutely hated. You revelled in your ability to act casual around him, but the more probing he got, the harder that composure was slipping.

“At the agency gala. You remember the party, right?”

Hawks rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and I got trashed.” He paused. Realization dawned on his face, and he shot you the deepest, most sincere look of concern you’d ever seen. Even more sincere than the look that crossed his face when you got shot off the roof of a house and broke a rib.

He leaned forward.

“Did I do something?” He swept a palm over his mouth, fingertips dallying at his chin. You knew exactly how he felt in that moment. You’d been there before, too, realizing that you’d lost control. Blacked out. Understanding that you might have done something you were going to regret.

“You really don’t remember a thing?” It was your turn to be horrified. How could something that consumed your every thought stay so damned far from his?

His fingers were still curved around the point of his chin. He’d gone white, and he shook his head as his eyes cast down to his lap.

“You fucking kissed me, okay?” You snarled with a whip of frustration. “There was mistletoe and you kissed me under it and-and Christ, I can’t believe you.”

“What? What?” He demanded as his voice grew defensively sharp.

“I had no idea what you were gonna do. What you were gonna say, what was gonna change between us. I showed up to the agency the next morning and your hungover ass acted like nothing had ever happened.”

“Of course I did,” he defended, “I didn’t think anything did happen. Oh my God, did I really kiss you?” His wings were coming to life all of a sudden, bristling on either side of his seat. There was a dull whisp as one edge of them brushed against the window. They seemed to expand, along with his horror, to fill the entire car.

He pushed further. “Well, did you… did you want me to?”

You could see where his thoughts were taking him. The answer was an impossible dilemma. To lead him further down that path would not only be cruel, it would be untrue. But to tell him the truth- that you had wanted it- would be to shatter the fragile illusion of casual, platonic intimacy that you’d been building over the last two years.

You chewed your lower lip. Hard enough to hurt.

“Oh god, you didn’t,” he gasped. That was enough for you to lift your chin and shoot him a sudden, sad, pathetic little look.

“Jesus,” he gasped again, deeper this time. “You did.”

“Look,” you snapped. “I was never gonna say anything to you. I was never gonna push it. You didn’t feel that way and I knew that and I just wanted to work.”

He told you enough about his personal life as it was. Every date he swung in from on Monday morning, every Friday night he spent preening in the last hours of the workday hurt enough already. If you’d grown close, fallen harder, it would’ve become too much to bear.

“What do you mean, I didn’t feel that way? What way don’t I feel? How could you even know that?” He was beginning to raise his voice back at you and the adrenaline was pushing you way too far to listen.

“Because you never said a fucking word to me about that kiss! You pretended like it never even happened, Kei! What was I supposed to think!”

“If you’d asked me, you woulda known that I didn’t speak up ‘cause I didn’t remember a goddamn thing!” Keigo jammed a finger into his temple. His golden eyes flashed. He was so fucking hot when he was angry, but this was not a fight you ever wanted to have.

Luckily for you, he was having it without you.

“What do you want me to say to that?” He snarled. “Huh? What- you want me to tell you that I’m sorry for not having psychic powers? That I’m sorry I didn’t hire a mind-reader to tell me what the fuck was going on with you?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. You were on the verge of tears.

“I-I never-“ you began, but Keigo beat you to the punch,

“You know, maybe I noticed that you were actin’ funny around me. And maybe I should’ve asked. But maybe if you ask yourself, and if you really, honestly give yourself the truest answer, you’d be able to admit that you knew how I felt about you. That you always knew.”

“Of course I knew!”

Your response echoed raw and deafening in the silence of the car. You’d lost your temper and shouted it at him with every decibel left in your breathless chest. Your fists were clenched atop your frigid thighs as you bent over in your seat, shivering. To your immense embarrassment, warm tears trickled down the sides of your nose.

He was right, after all. Every sideways smile he’d given you was just a little too broad to be friendly. Every time he caught you by the hand, he held it just a little too long. Every time he offered you the crook of his elbow at a stuffy charity gala and every time he poured you into a cab at the end of the night, he promised to take good care of you. Every time he looked at you at all it was with a depth that you had recognized, but never understood.

“But look at us, Kei. Look at what we do to each other.”

You sniffled, scrubbing tears off your cheeks with the heels of your hands. He reached for you, seeking to comfort, but his hands twitched midair and he drew back instead.

“Yeah,” he croaked. You tossed a glance in his direction. He looked more dejected than you’d seen him in a long time. He rested both hands on top of the wheel, the rest of his body sagging against the seat back.

“Except now I’ve told you,” you continued. “And now we both know, so everything’s fucked no matter what.”

You were met with silence. The truth was dawning on you. You hated to even consider it, but it felt like what needed to be done.

“When we get back to the city,” you started. Hawks interrupted you with a low rasp of your name.

“No, when we get back, I’m giving you my resignation.”

“Fuck, stop.”

Keigo lunged, grabbing you by the back of the neck and pulling you toward him. He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. The warmth of his closeness weighed on you like a heavy quilt. You couldn’t even pretend not to be immensely comforted by affection from him.

“I’m not gonna let you do that, kid.”

You were both drawing deep breaths- slow, rolling gulps of air that matched over gradual time. You licked your lips, bracing your chilled palms on his shoulders. Your fingertips brushed the very edges of his feathered hair, dull and soft in the dark.

You’d talked each other down from bigger, badder edges before. But this one had sharp, jagged rocks waiting at the bottom. This one, you were going to have to jump from together.

“I can’t do this,” you pleaded. “I can’t keep myself away from you like this.”

“Don’t.” His voice was hushed and so achingly tender, like he couldn’t take the command himself.

“I can’t-“

“Then, don’t.”

He was firmer this time, and the pad of his thumb brushed the bottom of your lip. He pulled back just a hair, grazing the tip of his nose across yours. The heat of his breath puffed over your lips and his blonde eyelashes threatened to tickle your cheek.

He drew in a slow, calculated breath.

“Lemme kiss you. Lemme try again. I’m not gonna forget it this time, I swear.”

“Keigo, please.”

“Just lemme try. Just once. I’ll never ask you again, if you don’t want me to.” He pulled back the rest of the way and your body keened at the loss, but he looked deeply into your eyes. Deeply like he’d never been allowed to look before.

You licked your lips. Considered it for half a heartbeat. Then you gave a slow little nod.

“Okay.”

To your surprise, he didn’t lunge again. He took his time with you. He cupped your cheeks tenderly between his bare palms, memorizing the curve of your face. He stared, taking you in like this. At his mercy.

Finally, he leaned in and captured your mouth in a soft kiss, heartbreakingly loving. You responded eagerly, blossoming beneath his touch and bracing your hands on the broad plane of his chest. Your fingers curled in the fleece that lined his coat.

You kissed back with near-desperate urgency, shamelessly showing him how touch-starved you’d become. Dating was pointless when Keigo stole your whole heart every time you showed up to work.

The quiet press of his tongue had your jaw going slack in his hands. Your kiss went needy all at once, and he licked into your mouth with a hunger behind his movements that you never anticipated sensing from him.

You broke from him first, turning your cheek to him as your lungs burned. Your mouth was swollen, and you gasped greedily for whatever stale air lingered between you. He grabbed your chin and forced your eyes back to his.

His gaze was fearsome. Ravenous. You were powerless beneath it.

You combed your fingers through his hair like you’d always wanted to, settling your palm at the nape of his neck. Your own voice was nearly unrecognizable, nothing more than a feral growl.

“Get in the back.”

Hawks took one look at the narrow gap between his seat and yours and sat up, nudging the driver’s side door open. He climbed eagerly into the road and then back into the back seat, settling in the center with his legs and wings splayed wide.

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to wiggle out of your boots and pants and slam dunk everything into the foothold of the passenger’s seat. You climbed over the center console in your underwear and settled into his lap.

Even though you had to bow your head against the cushioned ceiling, it was a holy sensation. Your thighs settled perfectly into the crooks of Keigo’s legs, and his hands slid so naturally over the curves of your hips. It was as if you’d done this before.

You kissed him again, using the weight of your newly boosted height to descend hard and loving against his lips. He grabbed you hard by the ass, drawing you smooth and tight against his hips.

“God,” he groaned eagerly into your mouth.

“You’re so. Fucking. Perfect,” you hissed back into his, and he squeezed you harder, breaking his lips from yours to trail a hungry path of kisses along the edge of your jaw. His scruff scratched at your chin just like you imagined it would. You loved him like this- trimmed, unshaven. The rougher, the better.

“Don’t say that,” he purred dangerously close to your ear. “You’ve seen me at my worst.”

You tried not to grin, remembering Keigo barfing over the balcony of the Plaza after one too many charity-benefit martinis. Keigo caked in ooze after cutting open that sludge villain from the inside. Keigo on the verge of tears, just a few minutes ago.

“I still think so,” you pressed, and he smiled against your cheek. His wings, tired and bruised but majestic as ever, stiffened proudly. They were capped firmly by the cramped space that surrounded you, but the feathers that spread across the back seat were sleek and graceful.

You dug your fingertips between his jacket and his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his torso all over. He did his best to shrug it open, but the material was caught up on his wings- no getting it off now.

He wound his hands into the hem of his shirt and tugged it up for you. The skin you could feel by slipping your fingers underneath was all you were going to get.

Not that it mattered to you. It was far more than you’d let yourself so much as picture before. While you felt your way across his heated abdomen, he dipped his head to your pulse point. He scraped the points of his teeth across your tender flesh, making you sigh and shiver. He pressed a hand to the small of your back to keep you close and nibbled all the way down to your neckline, leaving a trail of tiny welts in his wake.

They would fade by morning. Tonight, the feeling was enough.

He glided smooth, tender fingers up your sides. You straightened, letting him wedge your long-sleeved t-shirt up around your shoulders. You had to bend even further and press your forehead awkwardly against his shoulder to wrench it off. Once he peeled the fabric over your head, you tossed it haphazardly toward the front seat. Keigo was already going to work on his fly.

The tender press of his erection had grown apparent by that point, stiff and needing down one thigh of his thick pants. You reached between your legs and palmed it indulgently. There was an answering throb of arousal in the pit of your belly as you felt the shape and thickness of it trapped against his body, and an even stronger one when his hips pressed into your touch and he gave a low rumble of approval.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he crooned. With his pants unfastened, and the bulk of his cock shifted to the stretchy pouch of his undershorts, he slid a fingertip down the plane of your belly and curled two graceful digits between your thighs.

“Are you wet for me yet?” He shot you a deep, lustful stare. You rocked your hips against his fingers, hopeless in resisting the pleasure he offered. Keigo nudged the crotch of your thong easily aside, dipping his middle finger against your slit.

He sucked a sharp breath through clenched teeth as you gave a simultaneous yelp of stimulation. When he looked up at you again, he bore a sly little grin. You’d seen it a thousand times before, but never with such desire. And never all for you.

“You’re drippin’, kid.” He arched his palm, slipping that finger slowly upward and easing it inside you. There was no stretch, but the sensation of intimacy- of being felt in such a way by those hands that you’d never dared to fantasize about- was intoxicating in its own right.

Keigo was, apparently, feeling it, too. His eyes were deeply lidded, glazed completely by his own desire. The tip of his cock had found its way over the waistband of his undershorts, weeping shiny precum against his stomach and the bottom of his shirt.

He curled a blunt fingertip inside you, massaging your tender front wall. The feeling rappelled up the column of your spine and brought deep trembles forward. It brought fresh handfuls of wet slick from your depths, gliding down his palm and between his fingers. He took the hints your body offered and rubbed faster, watching the way your expression morphed from desire to pleasure.

“Stop,” you hushed, leaning forward and pushing your lips to his. He drew his hand back from you immediately, settling it on your thigh. The wet little print it left against your skin wasn’t lost on you.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” you replied. “Just ready for you.”

He gave a low, loving little chuckle and shifted beneath you. “Can’t hold out any longer?”

You smiled into his hair. “Don’t want to.”

“Fair enough.” His smile was even, but the tug in his voice betrayed his fraying nerves. It thrilled you to know that you weren’t the only one putting way too much emotional stock in this. It was immensely validating to discover that he’d been anticipating it, too.

He wiggled and squirmed against the backseat, shucking his pants and underwear down over his thighs and letting his cock pop out. It bobbed against his stomach- thicker than you’d imagined- framed by a trimmed scruff of tawny hair that disappeared under his shirt.

“Fuck,” you sighed in spite of yourself.

“I know, right?” He rasped. He reached for you, cupping your jaw. He brought your forehead down to his, giving a weak laugh. “What the hell have we been waitin’ for?”

“We just needed the bottle episode to shove us together,” you giggled. “C’mon, we’re a walking trope right about now.”

“We’re about to become a different trope if you don’t let me fuck you.” It was his turn to play the desperate card. But the ache between your thighs had not dulled, even a little.

He wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft and you lifted your hips. He gave the heated tip a playful little swipe along your slick slit, but his game backfired when both of you let out tight cries of sensation.

You rocked your hips forward, taking his tip eagerly inside. The sensation was toe-curling, made even better by the way he held you tightly against him, nosing at your ear and kissing any patch of skin he could reach.

He brought his free palm to your ass as soon as you were situated, helping you slide the rest of the way onto his cock. With your knees braced on either side of his lap and your feet pressed tightly against the front seat, you let him bottom out. And for a moment, you just sat there.

“Jesus,” Keigo sighed, lolling his head against the seat behind him. You still had your head deeply bowed, trapped in the space that seemed just an inch too tight.

“I…” Your thighs shuffled. Your hips gave a little squirm. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. Keigo cracked an eye and lifted his chin, sensing a problem.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just…” Your cheeks went hot. You licked your lips. “I can’t move.”

His gaze cast downward, to the place where you were joined. He took in the press of your thighs, the curve of your neck. He snorted.

“No, you can’t. C’mere, kid, I gotcha.” He planted that palm on your ass again, drawing your hips forward and up, as far as you could take them. Your head and neck bowed with the rest of your back as he draped your upper body over his chest and held you tightly against him.

Then he planted his feet and gave one good, deep thrust. Your innards gave a jerk. Oh, fuck.

“That’s it,” you panted into his ear. He nodded tensely.

“Yeah?” He prompted. “That’s workin’ for ya? Alright, alright. We’ve got this, kid, c’mon. Lemme show you somethin’ good, okay?”

One thrust sent you spiralling. But the rhythm that he dove into- steady, tough, fluid- sent every nerve through your body into meltdown. You were entirely incapable of dealing with such pleasure, combined with the emotions that swirled through your lovestruck brain.

It felt as though you had been holding out needlessly for all this time. Like all the hurt and frustration and heartbreak you shed over him would be evaporated, now that you understood that he wanted you like this, too.

Like that was all there was. You, Hawks, and the free love you could now share.

“I’m n-not-“ Keigo stuttered, piping up after a series of breathless pants and airy groans, “n-not gonna last much longer, kid, you’re… really gonna make me feel it.”

“Yeah,” you breathed back. You looped your arms tightly around his neck, tilting your hips forward. You could feel the barest hint of stimulation when your clit brushed his belly, so you leaned into it- aching for your own release.

His rhythm doubled as the intensity of your pleasure spiked dangerously high, and when you gripped him hard and rocked your hips in time with his, there was a low, warning pull that echoed all the way up to your throat. You were close. Very close.

Your head dropped backward and Keigo leaned forward, drawing his mouth up the vulnerable column of your throat. He panted hard and heavy against your pulse point.

“That’s it, kid, that’s fuckin’ it, baby, oh, God, I’m g-gonna f-fucking… I- shit, I- can’t… fffuck!”

Keigo let a vicious roar tear from his throat as he reached his vibrant peak. His erratic thrusts brought you to a tight little climax, too, and you clung to him and whined and rode through the pleasure as he fucked madly up inside you, spurting messy shots of cum into your depths.

Gravity took hold of his pleasure, dripping it onto his shaft and pooling it in a sloppy mess between you. And when it was all finally over, you collapsed against his body and you both stayed, airless and spent, wrapped tightly around one another.

It was the bright flash of headlights on the back of his neck that brought you to the surface, moments later.

The inside of the car was warm and stuffy and damp. Had you just come in from outside, you might have realized that it reeked of sex. Sweat and breath and fluid and feeling. The windows were near-opaque, fogged by the dampness of your lovemaking.

It was a moment you might have loved to capture, if you weren’t about to be so rudely interrupted.

The light in your rear windshield was bright white and flashing orange. Unmistakable.

“The tow truck,” you wheezed, scrambling off of Keigo’s lap. “Oh, fuck.”

“Get dressed,” he muttered weakly, already scrambling to get himself cleaned up and decent. He was far more dressed than you were, so you did your best to climb back into the passenger’s seat and slide back into your own clothes. You banged your shin hard on the center console, and your head on the ceiling as your body flailed in retaliation. You crumpled into the front seat and nearly kneed yourself in the mouth trying to scramble back into your pants.

By the time you climbed out of the car, fully dressed, with a few additional bruises, Hawks was already standing on the shoulder, talking to the driver. The driver was wagering a few guesses on what might be wrong with the car. Hawks’ eyes had already glazed over.

“Hey,” he greeted, as he spotted you emerging over his shoulder. He introduced you quietly to the driver before the ballcap-wearing, bearded man spoke again.

“Yeah,” he gruffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll give you a lift to garage nearby. It’s kinda late, but he keeps weird hours. I bet he’ll take a look for you, it’s prob’ly an easy fix.”

“That sounds great,” you gushed, clasping your palms together. There was a lot of stiffness settling in around your hips and thighs. You couldn’t be sure if it was a result of the compromising position you’d nearly been discovered in or the whole lot of not moving you’d done for hours before that.

Either way, it felt good to stretch your legs.

“You c’n go ahead and hop in the back,” the driver directed, waving the key that Keigo had apparently already given him in indication. “I’ll get you hooked up, no problem.”

Keigo opened the truck door for you, and you climbed over the passenger’s seat into the back. He followed closely behind you, tugging the door shut and slouching into the opposite side.

You sat in silence; hands clasped between your knees. A confusing air settled between you.

You felt vulnerable and raw and moony. You wanted to hold his hand and curl up to him in the back seat. Kiss his cheeks and tell him how good it was, tell him how much you felt.

For you, though, it could never be that simple. There was no free love for heroes like you.

Pay later, always.

Keigo felt the weight of your gaze. He turned to meet your eyes and shot you a thin smile. You’d seen the look that he’d turned to hide from you, though.

The truck driver climbed into the front seat before words could pass between you. But you didn’t need to hear them to know what they were going to be.

You didn’t need a warning to understand what Monday morning at the agency was going to look like.

#hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #boku no hero academia #mha fanfic #my hero academia #bnha fanfic

943 notes · View notes