#adam: it starts with 'unfuck you'

[rius-cave]

Charlie: You have to apologize to Lucifer.

Adam: Fine.

Adam: 'Unfuck you' or whatever

PLEASE. THAT'S HOW I'M GONNA APOLOGIZE FROM NOW ON SDKFJDKGJFDG

[stardust-swan]

I'm convinced that the idea that "love is blind" is a pysop meant to brainwash women into settling for less. I always see beautiful women who clearly take care of themselves, dress well, get their lashes done, work out etc with boyfriends who look like they just rolled out of bed and put yesterday's clothes on. And I very rarely see this happening the other way around.

Men shill the idea that it's shallow for women to want someone who looks halfway decent but never hold themselves to this standard. They're so cruel to women they find unfuckable and treat women who they are attracted to but don't fit the societal beauty standard as dirty secrets (how many times have fat women talked about how men are happy to have sex with them but won't claim them in public because they think being seen with a fat woman is embarrassing?) The dadbod thing has been big for a couple of years while there has been no equivalent for mombods that gained traction (you know, the ones whose bodies actually went through physical changes due to pregnancy instead of just gaining weight from stealing their kid's snacks and watching the football instead of playing it).

It's so bad that even women shill this idea to other women. You have to ignore the fact that he never trims his beard and his daily outfit is a lint encrusted hoodie and sweatpants with a hole because if you don't you're shallow and not considering who he is on the inside too. We're told that being haggard shouldn't count as long as they have a good personality, and while I agree personality is important, a huge amount of men don't have good personalities. A lot of men are boring at best and a lot of them are just straight up assholes. Most of them aren't raking it in cash either to make up for their lack of looks and character. It's sad to see so many women doing the most for men who aren't particularly pleasant to be around, don't have money, and aren't physically appealing.

Men also shill this to eachother. I remember when I was a teenager there were huge hate trains almost entirely compromised of grown men against any pretty boy singer who got popular (Justin Bieber had it especially bad). They never did anything wrong (Justin Bieber's hate train was at its worst years before he started acting like a douche), men just hated them because they looked nice and girls liked them. They also act like any guy in real life who's comfortable with being attractive instead of purposefully making themselves unattractive to fit in with the other ugly men is gay and act bitterly when the men who actually make an effort get more female attention than a man who last showered three days ago. They act like women are catty bitches who hate prettier women when their egos are so fragile around men who look decent. There was even a recent study that suggested good looking men are at a disadvantage when applying for certain jobs, because their male colleagues feel threatened by them.

It wasn't always like this either. Not all that long ago it was expected that a man dress up nicely, wear cologne, style his hair etc when he was trying to court a woman.

When my mother was my age, she could just walk into a cinema and at any given time there would be films with leading men who looked like Leo, Depp, Brad Pitt, James Spader, River Phoenix, Will Smith, Denzel Washington, Brendan Fraser, etc. And now those World's Sexiest Men lists are filled with average or below average men and we're told that we're meant to cream our panties over guys who look indistinguishable or even worse than your average guy on the street. Right after this era my mum was young in was when the media started pushing this idea that we have to settle for unattractive men or else we're immature and shallow. There were a ton of movies with men like Adam Sandler pulling gorgeous 20 year old women just because they were funny. That stupid genre of movie where an awkward nerd pines over the cheerleader who is pining over a jock who's always portrayed as a bully that the cheerleader is framed as misguided or a bitch for wanting a handsome boyfriend instead of picking the nerd (even though the dork main character we're meant to root for also only likes the cheerleader for her looks and is just as much of an asshole as the jock) in became really popular around the same time.

Unsure of whether this is because of men complaining about beauty standards or other feminist concepts they only half understand (while female beauty standards never budge and have always and remain a much higher bar to reach than male beauty standards), or if men are just forcing this idea that looking like shit is cancelled out by telling a few dad jokes so that women will feel pressured into dating them no matter how busted they look just to not be alone.

[banannabethchase]

Mox calls Hangman out. Hangman flies out to Austin. Mox goads Hangman. Hangman realizes Moxley may have been talking about an unexpected "piece" Hangman might want. Chaos ensues.

~

So, for this fic, the kayfabe goes into the realm of "Dynamite happens on Wednesdays and Rampage happens on Friday independently of Dynamite" because of Reasons. AKA the fic didn't feel right unless I made it that way. Apologies for...whatever this is. Title from Radar by Britney Spears (like I said - this fic does not normal.)

~

Hangman Adam Page is watching AEW from his living room, yawning. But Moxley is going to be on. And he knows that asshole is about to talk some serious shit.

He takes a sip of soda, because he’d rather known exactly what his reaction is in the moment instead of letting it be clouded with alcohol. Plus, he hasn’t allowed himself a good Coke in a while, and it seemed like the moment.

He watches Ricky Starks eliminate the competition in a decent battle royal, but he can’t help but think that his, the one where his knee was busted and he ran in as the joker, when he fucked up his recently unfucked up knee and it was totally worth it, will always be his favorite.

He scrolls his phone during the commercials, forgetting briefly that he doesn’t have twitter anymore when he goes for the app and it’s off his phone.

“It’s a good thing,” he tells himself as he opens up Facebook. He seems the same people he went to high school with discussing their misery of Christmas shopping. He can’t relate – all his friends want are weird, specific, mildly disturbing things. He makes a note to pick up Silver’s elephant mask and Reynolds’ air fresheners when he goes out next.

And then he hears it.

“You think last week got a little out of hand?”

“Oh, god, here we go,” Adam sighs.

“In fact, I’m starting to really, really, like the Cowboy, Hangman Adam Page,” and Jon continues. Adam is rapt, focused on the guy as he goes off. He respects him, he does, but Mox is always so desperate for a fight that Adam’s halfway to taking him up on it anytime he sees him. Though Adam does agree with his views on the Jericho Appreciation Society and, infuriatingly, notices himself nodding along to Mox’s tirade.

He’s surprised, though, when his name drops from Mox’s mouth again. “Hangman Page,” he says, with his usual intensity, “you want a piece? You know where to find me.”

Hangman bites the inside of his cheek. “Fuck.”

The last time he got called out and didn’t show up, he was humiliated. Punk had made sure Adam wouldn’t have had a chance in hell to come meet him, to rise to the challenge.

Mox, unfortunately, had left the invitation open.

He watches the rest of the show with ideas slowly building. He won’t be able to go anywhere until tomorrow, late afternoon at the soonest – one of the horses is sick, and she’s skittish, so he has to be at home tomorrow when the vet comes.

When the match is announced, Adam actually leans forward in his chair.

Mox and Takeshita, the kid the whole locker room knows is going to outshine the sun in the next few weeks. This Friday. In Austin.

He’s got to get a flight in.

~

There’s no flights tolerable until later Friday than he’s comfortable, but he doesn’t check a bag and isn’t planning to stay long, so he, his carryon, and his backpack haul ass across the airport when he lands in Austin at 6pm to make sure he can get to the hotel easy.

He signs a few unexpected autographs and has to deal with more people than he’d planned, but he’s slightly calmer knowing he’s in the same city as Jon fuckin’ Moxley and his shit talking mouth. He tips the Lyft driver double because they didn’t ask him any questions and spent the whole ride talking about their cats, which was a much needed distraction. Princess and Munchkin were having problems, and the driver really listened to Adam’s advice about the individual time.

It all comes back when he gets one of the best hotel rooms and throws down his stuff on the bed, remembering where he is and why. He stretches a big, changes into something he’s willing to bleed in, and gets himself ready for the night.

At nine, he makes his way to the venue.

“Hangman!” Matt Jackson says, flustered. “I – you’re not on the card tonight.” He looks skittish. Adam can work with that. It’s better than the disdain and pity he’d been getting a few years ago.

“Somebody called me out,” he replies, shrugging. “Stepping up.”

Matt groans. “Oh, god, are you gonna get thrown out again?”

“I mean -”

Matt makes a weird, panicked laugh. “Actually, no, don’t tell me. I can’t know. Also, I can’t be involved in another fight.”

“Aw, will Papa Tony send you to time out?” Adam asks grinning.

“Shut up,” Matt says, but the shove at his shoulder feels friendly, and the strain has lessened. “Go be all noble and – and-“

“Cowboy?” Adam suggests.

“Yes, that,” Matt says. “Go be a cowboy.”

Adam nods at him and walks off, already glad to have made this trip, even if he doesn’t manage to catch Moxley.

He peeks around corners to find the place near empty, and hears the intro to the show start. He decides to hang back in the shadows, unsure if he wants people to know he’s here. Any of them could get the information to Moxley, and he wants his presence to be a surprise.

If he cranes his neck like a weird little giraffe, he can see most of the match as it goes on. He’s always impressed to see Mox wrestle, but his methods with the younger talent is a miracle in the making. Takeshita breaks out move after move, and Moxley counters them, the two going after each other with single minded drive.

Adam likes the way the man wrestles, but still wants to drop kick him down a stairwell. And maybe other things, too.

Mox wins with a particularly impressive move set, paradigm shift into a choke that knocks Takeshita out faster than is technically safe. He reaches for the microphone once Bryce calls it. “Haven’t seen the Hangman yet,” he says as Takeshita rolls out of the ring. His music drifts off to silence, and it’s all Moxley’s voice in the ring. “It’s weird he’d chicken out twice.”

“Fuckin’ bitch,” Adam growls, and he storms through the wings to the stage.

“Adam?” Brandon asks. “When did you get here?”

Adam doesn’t answer him, and Brandon must get someone to cue his music right on top as he powers through whichever tunnel is closest. The crowd goes absolutely berserk, but he’s not focused on them right now.

“Ah,” Moxley says, like they’ve just met for lunch, “Adam, how nice of you to join us. Thank you for proving me r-“

Adam doesn’t let him get out the last word, throwing a fist directly in his face. His fist catches Mox’s cheekbone, and the crush of bone and flesh is satisfying. It’ll leave a bruise, all right. He can’t slow his momentum, so he collides into Mox on the ground, throwing punches as a distraction so he can steal the mic from his hand. “You wanted me?” he asks, getting the hand not holding the microphone curled around Mox’s neck. “You got me.”

He's surprised to see Moxley grinning. “Glad to see ya, Cowboy. Didn’t want to make me a liar, I see.” And he twists them, pinning Adam to the ground, trying to lock in a bulldog choke. Adam fights out of it, kneeing Moxley in the gut and shoving him off. There’s other hands out here, now, far more than can reasonably be the man he wants to tear apart, but they all have their hands around their waists and one is trying to pry the microphone from his hand.

“Give me – quit that!” Adam yells. He breaks from their grasp and can barely see Mox through the throng of people. He’s doing that thing where his arms are behind his back, like he’s begging to get another fist to the face. “Saw your match with Takeshita,” Adam says into the microphone. He feels the people around him relax their grip. Good. “He might be better than all of us already, but you managed to beat him by locking in a choke. Sad you couldn’t do that to me.”

“Caught me off my game,” he says to Adam. Somebody must have gotten him a mic.

The clutter of people, of security and other wrestlers, thins, as they walk toward each other. Adam chooses to be calculated, careful. He can knock Mox out later. But this is the best place to issue a challenge. “Then next time, we’ll both be prepared,” Adam says, breathing heavily. He steps up to Mox, seconds away. He intentionally does not dart down to his lips. He does not. “Texas Death Match. What do you say?”

“Heard you got a little scared last time you heard of a death match coming up, Cowboy?” He’s laughing about it, practically jovial. “With Archer, was it?”

“We’re talking about the future, not the past,” Adam says, trying to muster a little more authority than Mox. “If we talked about the past, we’d have to discuss the championship we’ve both lost to those undeserving, and I don’t think we want to start that conversation.”

The crowd reacts to that one, and Adam pulls back a little bit to see their reaction behind Moxley’s head. It’s a mistake. Mox takes the moment to get a hand on the back of Adam’s neck and pull them forehead to forehead again. “I’m going to rip you apart,” he says, “and I’m going to love it.”

“Promise?” Adam says before he can hold it back.

Another monumental crowd reaction, and Bryce, the referee for the next match, is glaring at them, pointing to the stage. “Go flirt somewhere else,” he grumbles, and Adam’s just glad it’s out of earshot of the microphones.

He and Mox get hauled to backstage, where Tony is waiting with arms folded like a disappointed teacher.

“What the hell are you doing here, Hangman?” he asks.

Adam shrugs. “Mox called me out and I wasn’t going to back down like a coward.”

“Are we really doing a ‘who started it’ line?” Tony asks. “Now you’re stupid little feud has me booking a Texas Death Match early – we’d been thinking we’d put Yuta and Garcia in one of those once the Final Battle pay per view was over, but no, you,” he points at Adam, “had to go make a spectacle in front of Austin.”

“Better than Dallas,” Moxley grumbles, and Adam snickers.

“That’s it,” Tony says. He points to what looks like a closet. “You two. Plan your stupid death match. I want nothing to do with it. You two iron out the logistics. I have a show to run.” With surprising power, he pushes the two of them, probably too dumbfounded to react, into the small room, and shuts the door. “You don’t come out until the show’s over or you have a plan!”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Reminds me of high school,” Moxley muses. “Though your tits are a bit smaller than some of my dates for seven minutes in heaven.”

“Shut up and help me find a light,” Adam grumbles, pawing at the wall. He finds a switch and a whirring noise starts up from the fan, but no light.

“Yes, because we needed a breeze.”

Adam reaches out and rests his hand on something, then smacks it as hard as he can.

“What the fuck?” Mox asks. “You just slapped my ass.”

“What?” Adam asks. “How?”

“Found a bench,” Mox replies. “Trying to find a vent in the ceiling or something. Now quit groping me.”

Adam feels for the person-shaped object again and shoves as hard as he can. With a hoarse yelp, Mox crashes into the wall and Adam feels a sudden, sharp pain in his knees. “Goddamnit!”

“You did this,” Mox says, from below him. “You fucking idiot.”

“You’re the idiot,” Adam says. He moves his head, and bumps into a string. When he pulls it, the lights turn on. There’s a bench in front of him that must have crushed his knees, and Mox is crumpled on the floor, one leg on the bench and the other up against the wall. “Why the fuck did you think standing on a bench was a good idea?”

“Better than fumbling for a light switch that wasn’t there,” he grumbles. “Help me up, I’m stuck.”

“No,” Adam says. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Not in the position to, but thanks for the suggestion.”

Adam intentionally doesn’t move from where he’s standing so the bench won’t move. The ache in his knees will be worth the expression on Moxley’s face while he struggles.

“Move the fuckin’ bench.”

“No.”

Moxley’s response is to push at the bench with his leg as hard as it can, and it cracks into Adam’s knees enough to make him yell. He moves before he thinks about it, and Mox is up in a flash, his hand around Adam’s throat, pushing him up against the wall. “I like you a lot less than I did earlier.”

Adam can’t help but look Moxley dead in the eyes. “Yeah, well, feeling’s mutual.”

Moxley pushes off of him, then sits on a bench. Adam pushes the bench with his foot, and, before he knows it, Mox grabs his leg and twists it so Adam falls to the floor, flat on his back. “What,” Mox says as he kneels over Adam, “is with you and this goddamned bench?”

“What’s with you and trying to get your hands on me like this?” Adam asks, and it’s a fair question. His hand has slid up Adam’s leg to his thigh, and it’s not exactly the most normal thing that’s ever happened.

Moxley freezes, then his face splits into a dark grin. “You’re asking me why I want to get my hands on you?”

Adam shrugs. “You all but begged me to come see you tonight. And now,” he nods down to the hand that still hasn’t moved.

Moxley licks his lips. “I asked if you wanted a piece. Didn’t feel the need to clarify.”

Adam considers the moment. Most of his life has been consumed with the anxiety of whether or not he was making the right move, so focused on moving up and on that he never let himself fuck up until it was so bad he tears his own world down around him, surrounds himself with the shreds of his dreams like eighties wallpaper.  

But he’s never fucked up on purpose.

On impulse, he reaches up and presses a hand to the front of Moxley’s pants, and grins. “I could make an incredibly crass joke about your piece.”

Moxley cocks an eyebrow. “Or you could just fuck me on company time.”

Adam has enough time to bark out a laugh before Moxley’s mouth is on his, biting and hot and allowing for no input on Adam’s part. He uses the bench as leverage to haul himself up to get closer and push Moxley to the floor. He slides a leg between Moxley’s and pushes up, grinning at the way Mox groans at it. Adam immediately goes to the buttons on his shirt, but gives up and rips it off, buttons flying.

“You’re like a fuckin’ Hallmark movie lead,” Moxley grumbles as Adam bites at his throat.

“Yeah, but they never get to fuck in Hallmark moves,” Adam replies, punctuating it with a bite to Moxley’s shoulder. “Get your pants off.”

Moxley, to Adam’s surprise, pulls his pants off without a single word, and it’s an interesting change to what Adam had planned. “You like being told what to do?”

“Fuck off,” Moxley practically spits, arching up to grind against Adam’s leg. He’s hard and eager already, and Adam gets a grip over him, rough and demanding.

“Seen the way you like getting hit,” Adam laughs in his ear, in a not particularly funny way, “the way you like to put your hands behind your back, make it easier.” He bits down on Moxley’s earlobe, then pulls off his cock to spit in his hand, make the experience a little more slick. “You’re just begging somebody to shut you up, huh?”

“Wish you would shut up,” he groans, but the way he keeps pushing up into Adam’s hand at every word he speaks proves his lie. “Pants. Yours. Off.”

Adam’s glad he skipped the formal buckle for something a little easier to handle, and he pulls his hand off of Moxley’s cock just long enough to shove his pants down his legs.

“Hurry up,” Moxley says. “I’m not getting any younger over here.”

“Oh, bite me,” Adam says, and he gives up on getting his boots off, pants around his ankles like he’s a teenager fucking in the locker room again. He gets himself back on top of Moxley, who grabs for his cock and pulls, a little too hard.

“Fuck, do it right, at least,” Adam snaps.

Moxley rolls his eyes. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I’m not the one who’s gonna be begging,” Adam replies. He grabs Mox’s hands and presses them down to the concrete floor, then slides down his body to get his mouth on Moxley’s dick. He doesn’t give Moxley a second to breathe, goes at it like it’s the match and he’s going to win. Moxley pulls at him, but Adam doesn’t let go.

“Stupid fuckin’ cowboy,” he groans, and, when he tries to thrust into Adam’s mouth, Adam drops one of his hands and puts an arm across his hips, forcing him still.

Adam pulls off. “Sounds like begging to me.”

Moxley spits out a half dozen curses as Adam gets his mouth back on him, laughing a little at the way Moxley does everything he can to resist.

“Cowboy, I’m gonna-“

Adam’s ready for it, because he knows this is an unsung talent of his, and he’s swallowing Moxley down before he knows it, to the tune of Moxley cursing his name and that of all his ancestors. It’s the least romantic thing Adam’s ever heard.

“Fuck your great grandmother too, or whatever,” Adam says, “and get over here.”

Moxley needs a second to get back to normal, so Adam takes care of himself a little until Moxley slaps his hand out of the way and pushes him up against the bench so hard it slides against the floor and slams against the wall.

“God, I want to set that bench on fire,” Moxley says, hand working furiously against Adam’s cock.

Adam laughs, a little breathless. “We – we might have to, oh, fuck, do that later.”

“Yeah, Tony’s gonna be pissed.”

“Could you not talk about our boss while you’re jerking me off?” Adam asks, scrabbling to hold onto something. He grabs at Moxley’s shoulder. “Actually, do something useful with your mouth. Come on.”

Moxley glares at him. “Lay down on the bench so I don’t have to go all crawling on the floor. Unlike you, I have standards about what floors I lay down on.”

He sits on the bench, legs spread. “No standards about where you put your mouth,” Adam says, but he’s not able to say anything else with the single minded determination Moxley has with his mouth on Adam’s cock.

“Fuck – I – yeah, that’s good, but close, about to –“

Moxley doubles down on his efforts, then flips Adam the bird as he makes eye contact, and that just about does it. Adam comes down his throat with a wordless cry, and falls back against the wall. “I think you’re better at sucking cock than you are at wrestling,” Adam says, breathless. “And that’s saying something.”

“That two compliments at once, Cowboy?” Moxley asks, wiping at the corners of his mouth with his thumbs.

“Fuck off,” Adam replies.

Moxley climbs up on the bench next to him as the two of them come down from whatever the fuck they’d just done, and the conversation slowly turns to the death match. In the back of his head, Adam knows he should be panicking about this. But he doesn’t. It flows too easily into the discussion of the match, of what they want to do next. They want it soon, yes, but they want it to be good. The begin sending emails, planning the venue, deciding on the props they want. This should be awkward. It isn’t.

Adam’s phone rings. “I’m unlocking the door,” comes Tony Khan’s voice. “Show is over. You both better still be alive with good business plans behind there.”

Moxley reaches to the floor then grabs something, throwing it at Adam.

“Uh, yeah, we have some ideas,” Adam says. It’s only in this moment that the reality of whatever the fuck the two of them just did hits them. “Got some, uh, planning done.”

“Good,” Tony says.

Adam barely has enough time to pull on his shirt and make it look slightly less disheveled when the door is swinging open. Tony gets a look around the room and sighs. “You two get it all out of your system?”

“You could say that,” Adam says, but Moxley is shaking his head.

“Only reason he’s not dead is I’m waiting for the death match so I can kill him on national television,” Moxley says with a wolfish smile. “Get him nice and bloody for the cameras.” He lights up. “Hey, before that, can I concuss somebody again?”

“Fuck you,” Adam says.

“I’ve heard enough. You two are benched until your Death Match,” Tony snaps, pointing between the two of them.

“Heh,” Moxley chuckles, “bench.”

[actualmermaid]

This essay lives in my mind rent-free ​

And it was constantly on my mind when I was thinking about shared eschatology yesterday.

Christianity is telling me something specific. Christianity is telling me, a child of empire, to listen to indigenous people. The whole spiritual narrative of the Christian Bible, when read in reverse, is "your ancestors done fucked up. here's how to unfuck it."

From Mormonism specifically, I got the attitude of "find out who your ancestors were. Write their names down, get to know them, find every scrap you can, and we will become one family with all of humanity." My ancestors were incredible people who left Europe after suffering centuries of religious persecution. The church can NEVER be one with the state.

They were also yet another wave of European settlers. Mormonism gave them a "get your shit together and let's build a community" list of rules.

200 years later, my shit is together, but the community neither wants me nor reflects my values. But the "get to know your ancestors" part of it is incredibly spiritually meaningful to me and so many other people, and I want to bring that with me. I know where my individually named, individually loved ancestors came from. I've studied their cultures. I've read their diaries. They wanted us to know who they were, and why they left their friends and family behind. This is an incredible privilege.

Mormons don't believe in original sin. My ancestors, the people who most needed to hear that they didn't inherit Adam and Eve's sinfulness, came out of environments where religion was used as a tool to abuse and control them. This still attracts people--including my wife. Mormonism says "there's nothing wrong with you as a person."

I don't need that reassurance, thankfully. I know who I am, as the descendent of Europeans in a land that isn't my own. I do have a decent education and a decent set of values. My ancestors took slaves. My ancestors committed genocide. They are not blameless. I don't inherit their guilt, but I do inherit its consequences, and its responsibilities.

Christianity is a call to find the lowest person in your society, and help them. In every weak, poor, sick, injured, lonely person is the face of God. And because I inherited the consequences of my ancestors' sins, it is my responsibility to try and fix them. Share your food and shelter. Renounce wealth. Stop fucking everything in sight. Get some friends together and help some more people.

It's often said that America's original sin was slavery. That's true, but in the context of the "Europe must die" article, it's Europe we need to look to.

How to explain the history of Europe. Its original sin was empire, I think. Well, before it oozed empire all over the Americas, it was a place where money, state, and religion were all in each other's pockets. It was a mirror of Jesus' society. My ancestors were being murdered, and people were finally noticing. The Reformation happens. So, my Northern European ancestors rebel against the bloated, corrupt, decadent empire that was spiritually oppressing the poor with its "buy your way out of hell" monopoly money and killing people like the Lollards and Waldensians and Cathars. They said "fuck you. We want our religion back." Christianity starts to become decoupled from Empire.

I am not the child of the rebels, though my ancestors were, and I'm proud of them. I am the child of an imperial military officer.

If I put myself at the scene of the Crucifixion, I am the daughter of a Roman centurion, watching as people who look like my dad--maybe even my dad's friends and coworkers--nail a screaming Jewish holy man to a cross. They're doing it according to their own twisted sense of morality--that of law and order, and nothing else. Maybe he threw a rock at a money-changer, or something. Told them they were being hypocrites for exploiting God's law in exchange for money. He had to go.

I'm watching that, and I know it isn't right. Christianity is telling me that I, the child of empire, can still fix whatever the fuck went wrong here. Jesus was indigenous to his land. He had a message and a warning for those who sold their spirituality for earthly gain. He called others to follow him and heal the sick, feed the hungry, and return to the more merciful, more egalitarian way of their ancestors. I want to be his follower, and save my descendents from destruction.

So, I looked for the group of Christians who are noticing the same things that I am, and who acknowledge their own past role in causing these problems. This is where I encounter the people who understand society-wide repentance and striving to heal the wounds of the past.

There are other Christianities in America healing different spiritual wounds. This one is mine--the one that is trying to dig out its deepest imperial sins and fix them.

[thetorturerwrites]

Bucket

Snippet:  You were little more than a thrumming nerve. Your entire body throbbed inside your suddenly itchy sweater and leggings, aching and ready for him to do whatever it was he would do. That was the entire nature of your relationship with Adam. He told you what he wanted, and you delivered.

Notes: I wasn't sure I was going to post this because it is different from my regular Sackler, but I need to get it out of my brain. As always, this is an adult work, and there's not a lot about me that's fluffy. So, please be aware. Also, this is all the way behind the cut because it is just straight porn, y'all.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

Adam’s strong hands wrapped around your skull entirely. His fingers dug into your scalp, guiding you up and down again and again. He grunted at your whimper; the sound clipped by the stab of his dick against your uvula. Every salacious sound boomed in the empty theater.

On your knees between his, you clutched at his corded, jean-clad thighs, but the smooth fabric thwarted your every effort at keeping your balance. You slid against the stage's hardwood floor, only contained by his manipulative grip and his boots at the outsides of your thighs.

For the last half hour, Adam used your mouth to edge himself. He inched right up to the line where you’d taste that salty desire dribble out; and then, he’d back off, slapping his dick at the flat of your tongue with a lewd groan or allowing you to lick at the distended veins decorating his cock and wiggle your tongue tip into his weeping slit.

He was all you could smell, all you could taste. When he allowed it, musk and sweat tainted the air you breathed. You lapped at the tangy underside and head of his dick, swirling the slick around and around before swallowing it down on a delirious sigh.

Cock drunk from the first drop.

The longer he fucked your mouth, the more it swelled and numbed, and the natural apprehension of your throat to keep invaders out grew lax. That’s what he wanted. That was the goal — to park his massive dick into your throat as far as he could and cum down it.

His phone alarm blared, signaling the impending start of the next rehearsal.  He responded with an annoyed kick to send it skittering across the floor.

“Goddammit.” He tangled his fingers in roughly, jerking you back to the tip. He yanked his black t-shirt up and out of the way, baring that mouth-watering abdomen. “Hands.”

You were little more than a thrumming nerve. Your entire body throbbed inside your suddenly itchy sweater and leggings, aching and ready for him to do whatever it was he would do. That was the entire nature of your relationship with Adam. He told you what he wanted, and you delivered.

Blow job in the middle of the day, the park, the cab? Often. Pictures of your tits at three in the morning so he could jerk off when everyone else in the apartment was asleep? Check. Dirty bar bathroom fucking while his narcissist girlfriend waited? Of course.

He used you — however, whenever, wherever he wanted.

You reveled in it, in being his on-demand whore. Often, he didn’t care if you enjoyed it. He never worried about making you cum or being nice. You were at his disposal for every vicious fuck, for every lascivious, law-breaking adventure.

You picked up where his idiotic girlfriends left off.

And now? Now, you obeyed for the hundredth time, wrapped both hands around his straining, heated cock, and used them in tandem with your mouth, twisting and tugging. His arousal and the spit he coaxed from the back of your tongue combined to make every pass glide easily. Each obscene slurp and shuck echoed, a sinful chorus your heart beat in rhythm to. He moaned loud as you massaged and drooled and swallowed.  

The sounds he made had you rocking pitifully against nothing. Pins and needles shot through your calves and feet. Your quads burned; your head swam. But your breasts were heavy with arousal, nipples erect in that way that made you want to beg him to lick and suck them. Your pussy clamored, banging an intense, unrelenting tempo and soaking through the paltry fabric between your thighs.

“Think about this goddamn mouth more than I should.” He huffed and squirmed, unable to decide between the combination of lips and hands or the invitation at the back of your neck. “Can’t get Hannah to give a decent blow job to save my life. Shit, fuck, right there.”

You purred at his words and concentrated harder on relaxing your jaw and swiping your tongue along his length in response. This was the only praise you ever received from Adam — this comparison to whomever he was dating.

Clutching at your head, he forced you down, down, down until your nose nudged his groin and your throat, abused and beaten into submission, accepted his barrage. He growled and thrust in, pushy and pleased with himself.  He interrupted each gag with a new spearing of his cock. Barking another curse, Adam lodged himself so far into your throat he blocked your air supply and spilled straight into your gullet, denying you even the taste.

He was demanding, depraved, delectable.

He held you there a long time, until your fingers eased and your shoulders slumped with imminent unconsciousness. When he finally vacated your mouth, he held you upright by the throat as your brain came back into itself. He waited until you blinked bleary eyes at him and licked your swollen, cracked lips.

Pulling away, you took a dizzy moment to adjust your clothes sluggishly. You wiped the sticky spit from your face and nodded once, the only sign he ever asked for that you weren’t going to die or press charges.

He jerked his head towards the back door and grabbed his script from the floor.

“Get the fuck outta here.”

***

AS: Carmine’s. 15. Y: N. Too far. 30. AS: Fine.

Twenty-five minutes later, you strolled through the Italian restaurant’s door and paused at the attendant’s booth.  You were here to meet someone, you said, breezing by her with a smile as you had a dozen times before. For all she knew, you were a regular paying customer, not a booty call who was about to corrupt some recently cleaned surface.

Pointing yourself toward the restrooms, you hummed and strolled through the bustling room. You caught sight of Adam seated at an over-crowded table, surrounded by half-drunk, too loud people he looked close to murdering.

The scowl on his face promised any number of sinful things.

As soon as he caught your eye, you ducked down the dim hallway and into the ladies’ room to wait. Carmine’s was one of his favorite spots because of this particular bathroom — single occupancy, thick door, sturdy lock.

Minutes later, tall, dark, and menacing stepped in, slammed the door, and threw the lock into place. Hands on his hips, he leveled that annoyed gaze at you. Your breath hitched; your mouth watered. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes roamed from your favorite pair of come-fuck-me boots, along shapely curves accentuated by black skinny jeans. He lingered at the low swoop of your blouse and the rich plum coloring your full lips.

Somehow, his gaze darkened even further.

“You on a fucking date?”

He closed the distance in two irritated strides, prompting you to stand up straighter. Adam’s left hand pulled you in by your ass, squeezing and lifting you against him. His right found your breast to graze and swipe his thumb back and forth over the straining nipple. The lace bralette you wore left nothing to chance. You felt every nudge of the stiff peak side to side, sending electric current straight to your clit.

“Are you?” You met his eyes, a dare and a plea all wrapped up in one look. “You don’t care.”

Honey-gold eyes narrowed at you. Lush, pink lips hard lined. The hand at your breast lifted to your face and smeared the pretty lipstick all across your cheek, lending an air of just-fucked to your as yet unfucked appearance. You were loose for him from the first text, before you even walked in the door, but the sound he made melted your insides.

“You’re right.” Adam spun you to face the mirror and tore at your pants, nearly ripping the button clean off. “Don’t give a damn.”

Shoving the fabric down your hips, he impatiently tore your panties, pushed you further up onto the little counter, and dipped his fingers into the well at your core.

“Always ready for me, huh bucket?”

Your head dropped on a hushed groan at the pet name. Bucket. Short for Cum Bucket — his own personal sperm bank.

You didn’t need to answer; the evidence was clear. And before you could even plan the words, the fat head of his cock pushed past your puffy labia and broke the jellied seal on your cunt. You bit your lip hard to keep the whining noise from turning loud as he stretched you. It burned so goddamn good, and you lifted onto your toes for even an inch more.

Warm-up over, Adam gripped both of your hips and slammed forward punishingly. The force of it was so great, your mouth popped open on a hiccup, something between a delighted cry and a punch to the chest. Stunned, you planted your clammy hand on the mirror for some support, but he held you in place. His wide, determined hands kept your body right where he wanted it.

His pace was brutal. Hips pistoning, fingers digging in, teeth bared. All take and no give, he leaned further into you, pressing your abdomen against the marble counter so hard you knew there would be bruises. Each pass was frenzied, and the only thing that muffled the slap of his body against yours was the fact that the bathroom was next door to the kitchen.

The smell of sex mingled with spice and bread, coaxing a gurgle from your stomach. Starved in more ways than one, you arched your back and tipped your ass up further, earning a pleasured grunt from behind.

You knew the drill, and you held your breath. He hardly wanted to hear your sounds, often because he was muttering angrily or cursing at whatever bullshit happened over the course of the day. Your wailing was distracting, annoying, he said. You screwed your eyes shut to keep from watching him fuck you in the mirror, certain that you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet if you did.

But a whimper escaped, and you clawed at the sink. It was too much, too fucking good to bear in silence no matter how hard you tried.

His panting and grunting was music, and you pictured every shiny, veiny inch disappearing into your sizzling cunt. He didn’t care if you came, but he could drive you there, drive you crazy, the way he bottomed out, the way his sheer size filled you into your guts, the way he pushed and pulled and moved you to his liking.

Fucking you like this, in the bathroom of such a fine family establishment, was vulgar, disrespectful. His girlfriend and her friends were right outside, drinking and carrying on, but he was in here with you, hollowing out your pussy for his freight train cock.

It was mean and rude and shameful.

Addicting.

Something changed this time, though. You hurtled fast towards the kind of blinding orgasm only Adam could deliver, struggling to keep your mouth shut as you did, when his firm hand wrapped around your neck and lifted your back into his chest. He tightened his grip and hissed in your ear.

“Open your eyes. You think some suit can fuck you like this?”

The sight that met your peeking was carnal candy. His face was flushed and right at your ear. Your mouth hung open, letting strangled sounds of pleasure squeak free. He buried his dick far, far, far into your cunt and gripped the soft swell of your stomach for leverage. His fingernails dug in, and you could do nothing but brace, hold on, quake.

“Some college frat asshole gonna make you cum like I do? You know you want to. Almost there aren’t you, bucket? You think I don’t know when you cum?”

That was it. That’s all it took to send you reeling. Your body lit up, constricting around the angry cock inside and pulling a volley of curses from its owner. A long, muted ‘ffffffuck’ dripped from your lips right before the rest of you followed, shaking through the orgasm and the hot flood of slick that accompanied it.

It was liquid fire leaking down your thighs for him, a delicious loosening of every muscle to draw him in even further, and he rewarded you with a loud groan and a vicious bite to the shoulder.

He fucked you through your high mercilessly, never stopping the rough, quick pace. Pushing your torso away, he wrapped his hands back around your hips and furiously crashed into you until he snarled and emptied his cock, painting your insides with a fresh coat of Adam.

He was right.  Nobody could fuck you like that.

Slumping against the mirror, you mewled at the cool press of the glass, grateful for the temperature change. You bit your lip as he pulled out, already feeling empty in the wake of his use. Managing to make your legs work, you pulled your clothes back into place and reached to turn on the faucet so you could wash away the mussed make-up, but he caught your hand and turned you to face him.

He tipped your face up by fingers at your chin.

“Fucking tramp is what you are.” His voice dropped, and it seemed like almost a muse to himself, something you weren’t supposed to hear. “Never prettier than when you’re crying and filled with cum.”

Your brow furrowed, lost in this moment because you didn’t know what to do if he was praising you without comparing you to Hannah or whoever it was today. You could count the times he looked you right in the face on one hand, and you looked away, not wanting to go down the rabbit hole of how beautiful he was.

“Wear it like this. Show everybody what kind of whore you are.”

He dipped his head, bit your cheek, and spun out of the room. You mashed your lips together and took another long moment to get all of your shit back together. Slipping out, you tucked your hands into your jacket pockets and slithered through the crowd towards the door.

“Miss?  Hey shit, are you ok?!?”

You knew what it looked like. He knew what it would look like, too; that was the point.  It looked like you’d been assaulted in the bathroom. And to explain the disheveled clothes, the messy hair and smeared make-up, you’d have to say no, I let this guy I know fuck me while you all ate ravioli. You’d have to say no, I wasn’t assaulted; I’m his tramp, his whore, his on-call cunt.

For a flash, you contemplated doing just that, mulling over how the words would sound, would taste on your tongue.

Deciding against it, you ignored the concern and tossed a brief look over your shoulder to your at-will tormentor before disappearing out into the street.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Rigid fingers encircled your upper arm, gouging at the tender flesh through your dress shirt as the body attached to those fingers yanked you backwards into the janitor’s closet. You shrieked, pushing at the human column who kept you pinned in the corner.

“You come when I ask you, that’s it. You don’t fucking follow me here with my girlfriend like some goddamn stalker.”

It took a full 30 seconds to register the person grousing at you.

“I know the rules, Adam.” You fished out your badge and held it up for him to see. “I work here.”

He seethed for another heartbeat, then another. It was almost as though he wanted to be angry at you, at something. He snatched the badge and looked from you to it and back again.

“Didn’t know dirty sluts could get regular jobs.”

“Pay me.” It was blunt, and it shot out of your mouth before you could think better of it. “Till then, a girl’s gotta eat.”

His hypnotic eyes flashed, and he licked his lips, taking a step closer to you. Swallowing to wet the wicked dryness of your throat, you scooted back until you hit the wall, clutching your bag between you and him. You weren’t sure you meant what you said, but it was too late to take it back.

He looked at you like he wanted to eat you, and your body rose to the very idea of his mouth between your thighs. And then you thought how much better your shift would be if he fucked you first. A sloppy, rough ride to get you through the day.

“Wha-” Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to look at his face and not lower to see if his dick was hard in those navy blue slacks. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Some bullshit writer thing.” He leaned into your personal space and licked up the salty bead of perspiration at your temple. “But now I’m thinking about stuffing your filthy cunt full of my dick.”

Your agreement with the notion must have played across your face because he shoved your badge in your mouth, turned you around, and pushed your cheek against the cold slab wall. His deft hands wasted no time in sending your black dress pants to pool around your ankles and tugging aside your panties.

No warning, no checking to see if you were ready. He did exactly as he said he would; he stuffed his hard length into you, stretching and tearing, making you bite down on the plastic card.

Your eyes stung, tears smudging mascara and eyeliner into a globby blur. You scratched at the wall and squirmed through the pain, but Adam didn’t miss the way your hips moved, the way your ass wiggled against his groin. It didn’t matter why or where; you would always be ready for him to fuck you. Even if it hurt.

“Nasty, eager, goddamn slut.”

It was fast, frenetic. He pounded you so hard your eyes crossed. The full scope of your relationship coalesced in this moment. He fucked you blazingly quick, only worried about himself, and you flailed like a rag doll, a whore toy for his amusement.

You whimpered, unable to stop the noise even though you knew it wasn’t welcome. You carved little white divots into your badge with the death grip you had on it. Adam growled behind his own gnashing teeth, pulled you down onto his dick good and deep, and spilled into your waiting cavern. In a matter of two minutes, he finished with you and left.

It had been some time since it was that fast. Your head swam, caught in the murky middle of euphoria that only you, only your body could get him to do that and the ache and pulse he always left you with, the edge you seldom got to drop over.

It was the worst, and best, sort of torment, a masochism that got you through day after day.

***

“What’s wrong?! Are you dead?!”

You shoved your earbuds in and answered the phone in a panic because nobody made phone calls these days, especially the person on the line.

“Not dead. Where are you?”

You sighed, relieved that Adam wasn’t injured but unsure if he had lost his mind. Phone calls were against the rules.

“Working. You still haven’t paid me.”

His laugh soothed your nerves a bit; and like always, you waited for him to tell you what he wanted.

“Are you fucking anybody else?”

The question surprised you. This entire conversation surprised you. None of this was normal behavior for Adam, who spent all this time telling you he only wanted your mouth, your pussy. You weren’t sure what this was, but you knew to your bones it had to be part of his game.

“Nope. Should I be?”

He released a heavy sigh, the sort where you’ve finally sat down after a long day. You pictured it; him stretched out and relaxed. You only ever saw him relax the brief bits of time it took him to put his clothes back on.

“Can’t say no, can I? Probably shouldn’t be fucking around with me, cheating all over the place.”

“I’m not the cheater.” You half hoped he could hear the sneer, his comment souring your gut. “You are. I’m just a single gal with terrible judgment who likes to get fucked.”

“Yeah, you do.” He chuckled again, abandoning the self-loathing for something else. “Do you touch yourself when you’re not with me, bucket?”

You chewed your lip until it hurt. Even the mention of that name, the dirty things he called you, set your insides to warming, skin to flushing.

“Ah... no.” You winced because this wasn’t the sort of conversation you imagined having with anybody. Your masturbatory habits weren’t exactly noteworthy. “No, I don’t.”

“Why?”

“It.. uh... it makes sex better.”

“You don’t always cum when I’m fucking you, though. What do you do then?”

You sighed in defeat because you would do whatever he wanted, tell him whatever he wanted.

“Wait. I just wait.”

“Why?”

“Fucking hell.” You rubbed at your flaming cheeks and forehead. “Because it hurts, alright? You happy? Why are we talking about this?”

“Don't pretend to be shy. I’ve fucked you all over the city. Tell me what hurts.”

You could hear it now, a quiet rustling, a shift of his body, the slight change of his breath. He was stroking himself; you were sure of it. The very idea emboldened you.

“Fine.” You huffed, exasperated, and tried to settle, pressing your back against the wall. “It's this ache that never gets better. Everything stays swollen, and there’s this throb that’s always there. Once I cum, that goes away, and I have to start all over.”

“So, you don’t like to cum?”

You pondered the question, tapping your fingers restlessly. The answer was simple, but you didn’t want to say it out loud.

“No, I do. If it's been weeks of that deprivation, the orgasms are pretty amazing, but the in between is sometimes better. It keeps the memories fresh when I’m alone.”

Which was always.

“Does it hurt right now? Are your tits sore? Pussy wet and aching from being empty?”

The stutter to his voice confirmed it; he definitely had his dick in his hand. You shifted on your stool, spreading your legs apart far enough to push your pussy down against it. If you arched your back a little, your shirt grazed your skin in such a teasing way.

“You’re thinking about my tits now?”

He grunted, cursed under his breath.

“Think about you all the time. Your mouth and how you drank my piss that night.” He groaned and shifted again. You could hear him fucking his fist now. “How you’ll fuck me anywhere I want. Your cunt and how tight it gets when you do cum. Feel like I could fuck you every day, and it wouldn’t be enough.”

Struck dumb, you blinked hard at your monitor, unable to tell if this was honesty or manipulation. Players always played the game.

“Adam...”

“Hnngfuck. You don’t say my name enough.”

“You don’t say my name at all!” The heavy moment lifted, and you laughed because there was a part of you that doubted he even knew your name. “You call me bucket.”

“Guh!” Short, choppy gasps wafted through the phone, conjuring all manner of salacious imagery and staining your panties. “Came in you three times that day. You were so fucking pretty on your knees for me.”

“You did.” You nodded at nothing, eyes not even focusing anymore. You didn’t think he remembered the times he spent with you, let alone the first time he called you by a pet name. “Twice in my mouth and once in my pussy.” 

You debated the next thing you wanted to say, not sure if it was even worth saying, but you jumped off the bridge. Terrible judgment. 

“I even bought a shirt that says bucket.”

This was bad. Catching feelings for Adam would be so easy and yet monumentally stupid. Luckily, reality stepped through the door and headed for your window.

“Customer. Gotta go, k Adam? Bye.”

Ripping out the ear buds, you shoved them, your phone, and everything that just happened away.

***

AS: Remember where I live? Y: Y AS: Stop ducking me AS: 6pm AS: Wear the shirt

You stalled at the door, unable to bring yourself to knock. This was risky, dangerous, and you knew you should turn right around and go home. Bringing your side piece into the home you shared with your partner was an all-around asshole move.

Yet, here you were.

He wasn’t wrong; you had been ducking him. That call was too close, filled with too much potential. So, you let it sit, went on dates and outings with your friends, spent a lot of time purposefully misplacing your phone. None of it was enough, not nearly enough to make you stop thinking about Adam. Or the way he fucked you.

But if you did this, you weren’t sure you’d recover.

Decision made, you spun on your heel, shaking your head no. Can’t do it. Won’t. He must have opened the door right at that moment because his big hand caught you around the wrist and tugged you to a stop.

“Hey, where the fuck are you going?”

You dared a look over your shoulder and found him standing in the doorway in a dark button up with the sleeves cuffed at his elbows, tattered blue jeans, and bare feet. Looking like the damn devil himself.

He didn’t see it the first time; so, you shook your head for his benefit, but you couldn’t say out loud that you were leaving.

He took that silence as invitation and pulled you towards the door, as though he didn’t have the magnetic pull of the sun himself. Back at the threshold, he hooked a finger under your chin, tipped your head back, and swept a feather-soft kiss across your mouth.

“Miss me?”

Your brain short-circuited, and you stared at him, unable to formulate any kind of response.

He’d never kissed you before.

One taste wasn’t enough for him, though, because he snatched up your face into both hands and laid a kiss on you that singed you to the very tips of your eyelashes. Those pillowy lips you’d only ever seen in a hard line moved against yours in the best way, and the satisfied sound he made blew through your resolve to leave.

He seemed to know the very second your tension somewhat eased. He hunched down, slid your arms around his neck, and lifted you onto your toes so he could walk you into the apartment. Slamming the door behind you, Adam leaned you into it for support and slid his knee between yours, pinning you right there.

You still weren’t certain what to do, and it kept your face tight, anxious. Something rumbled against your chest, tickling your nipples as he broke the kiss. Your brow knit, and you tried to focus on his face. Long fingers slid around your throat loosely, the thumb at your chin keeping your head tilted.

“Relax. Let me taste.”

He nipped at your jaw, tripping a shudder that rushed down your spine. The next pass he made at your mouth came with the tease of his tongue along the seam of your lips. Your chest seized; you clutched at his shirt and squirmed in his hold. And then, his tongue curled along yours, cinnamon sugar and Sriracha spice. You thought you might die; you certainly didn’t mean to whine the way you did, but it escaped before you could catch it.

“You’ve swallowed so much of my cum, I expected you to taste like me.” His raspy words smeared a trail down your throat as his hands slid up to find skin under the hem of your shirt. “The rest of you taste this good?”

Your instincts screamed that this all was taking too long. You never had this much time, and he was wasting it with kisses and pretty words he didn’t mean.

“You.. ah..” You pushed at his shoulders to get him to look at you. “You don’t have to say those things. We both know I’m a sure thing. So, maybe let’s skip that part, yeah?”

“You got somewhere to be?”

“No, but Ha--”

“Good.” He licked at the shell of your ear and curled his fingers into your ribs. “Cause I’m in the mood to wreck you.”

Adam slanted his mouth over yours once more, stealing any further objection. His kisses were hungry but unhurried, and he explored your mouth as though he had all the time in the world. He unbuttoned your jeans and slid his hands down beneath the waistband, cupping and kneading your ass, teasing at the edges of your panties.

Those fingers that mainly dug bruises into your hips dipped between your legs, sliding along the sticky fabric. He pressed open-mouthed kisses all along your jawline and neck, biting sexily beneath your earlobe. Your hips rocked against his caress of their own accord, your body starving for this kind of touch from this particular man. Dubious, you chewed the inside of your cheek to keep your erratic tongue in check. It was likely that if you got too loud, all of this would end.

“Stop doing that.” He tugged at your lower lip, watching the corner of your mouth quiver. “Wanna hear you.”

Caught in his confusing web, you glued your eyes to the ceiling. If you looked at him, those feelings you tried so hard to skirt would come barreling back.

“Adam... what is this?”

Finding his way into your panties, he slid his long fingers between your slippery labia and against your oft-neglected clit on a pleased purr. You choked on your own spit, fisted your hands into his shirt, and pushed at his shoulders on reflex.

“Something new.”

It was subtle, intimate, the way he stroked your pussy, and it pushed you right up to that cliff in no time flat. Shaking inside your skin, you dropped your head against his shoulder. For weeks now, you rode that line, the sharp edge of denial; and in only a few passes of Adam’s thick fingers, your body was ready to jump off.

“M’gonna.. shit.. Ad-am!”

A loud, pained groan ripped from your throat when he pulled his fingers away, dangling you right there on the verge of bliss. This was more in line with the man you knew. This cocky asshole who could play you like a violin.

“Noooo, not yet.” Hasty now, he pulled off your clothes, tossing hoodie, shoes, and jeans over his shoulder. Catching sight of your white tank with ‘bucket’ painted over your breasts in script, he paused, gaping. “That’s the best fucking thing ever.”

His hands were suddenly everywhere. Shoving your arms away, turning your face to his for voracious kisses, groping at your aching breasts underneath the shirt. He palmed and rubbed and tugged at your flushing tits, all while whispering in your ear how he wanted you to wear that shirt all the time, wanted to paint it with his cum.

When he pinched and rolled your nipples, a low tide of pleasure wracked your body, pitching you into a tremor. Your cunt contracted and twinged, bending you towards its tormentor on a strangled moan. You couldn’t help it; your body could only handle so much. Adam’s eyes flashed, dark and glittery. He said he always knew when you came, and it seemed he was right.

“Think we can do better than that, bucket.”

And then he was on his knees, pressing you into the wall by one hand at your stomach and tearing your panties out of the way with the other. His lips connected with your cunt on a loud moan, and your brain stopped working. Your knees buckled, unable to keep you steady as he lathed your sex and thighs with messy, slurping kisses.

“Adam,” the desperation in your voice was terrible. “Jesusfuckinghell.”

Your pitiful, pleading noises only made him double down. His kisses came rougher, harder, and he sucked your clit until you shouted. Tears pricked at your eyes, but all you could do was beg. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

But of course, he stopped.

Flush against you, he trapped your trembling mouth to share your taste, grunting as you tangled tingling fingers into his hair to keep from buzzing right out of your body.

“Want you to crawl to my bed, bucket. Put that pretty cunt up so I can see.”

The world stopped. You blinked rapidly, feeling like someone had doused you with ice cold water. Pushing him away, you shook your head and tried to disentangle your limbs from his.

“Y-you want me to crawl,” your face dropped into a scowl, anger diffusing through your already heated chest and neck, “To Hannah’s bed?! Fuck you, Adam. No. That’s too much.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he tugged you back into place beneath him and nudged your nose with his. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over your mouth until your gaze softened from fury to confusion.

“My bed.” His voice was soft, his eyes searching. “No more Hannah. Or Jessa. Or anybody.”

You blew out a long, uncertain breath, letting it lead right into the question. “... when?”

“The night you hung up on me. Couple hours after that.” He drew lazy circles on your hip with his fingertips. “Found out I got a part I really wanted after I talked to you, and you were the only person I wanted to celebrate with. Been trying to pin you down for weeks so I could tell you.”

Something new, he said. You looked up at him with wide, shining eyes, trying to decide if he was telling the truth.

“I want you around. When I wake up at three a.m. because I want to fuck you so bad. I wanna take you to new restaurants so we can cheapen up their bathrooms. Wanna call you bucket in public so people think I’m crazy. Think I owe you about a thousand orgasms, and I wanna give them to you.”

Twisting out of his hold, you shook your head. Unstable, fuzzy on your intention, you leaned against the couch while you slid your jeans and shoes back on. You looked everywhere but directly at Adam and dodged his hand when he reached for you.

“Can’t do this right now.”

With a crash of the door behind you, you ran out of the building with no particular direction other than away from him.

***

“Fuck, that’s it.”

You tangled your fingers in soft, raven locks and scratched at Adam’s scalp. That was your handle to guide him up and down, side to side. He hummed into your slick pussy, lapping and sucking so loud someone had to have heard.

On his knees at the little sink, he buried his face far between your thighs, nudging your clit with his nose and jostling it ever so slightly with each vulgar kiss, each smacking pop against your labia. Brushing his mouth and cheeks through the syrup shining on your skin, he murmured praises about how amazing you were, how good you tasted, what a filthy thing you were to spread your legs for him in this grimy bathroom. His words tumbled away with the spear of his tongue, replaced by your wanton whimpers. Gripping your legs to keep them apart, he tongue fucked you until the things coming out of your mouth made little sense.

Smacking his hands away, you tugged on his hair to draw Adam up to stand. He cupped your face and smothered you with a tart kiss. It was his turn to whimper as your fingers worked the belt and buttons of his pants, wiggling them open and down his hips.

“You’re sure?”

"Mhm. Debt paid." 

You bit at his swollen lips and nodded, untucking his heavy, hard dick and scooting to the edge of the sink. For weeks now, you treated Adam the way he had treated you for so long. You called him when you wanted to cum, and you put him on his knees wherever you were.

His lips, his tongue, his fingers — all worked every time you called, but you didn’t let him fuck you. And you didn’t return the favor.

All you could think about right this moment was getting his dick inside of you. You pinched a hot drop of want from his inflamed cock head and relished the needy groan that accompanied it. He hesitated, as though he didn’t want to ruin it; but finally, he lined himself up and struck, rocking his hips and shoving, shoving, shoving until he bottomed out.

He whined into your neck, gripping your hips in that possessive way you didn’t realize you wanted so badly. You clung to his shoulders, thighs cinched around his wide body. He filled and stretched you so goddamn good, but it was the things coming out of his mouth that sent you careening.

“Shit, that’s good. Missed you so fucking much. Can’t believe it's been this long since I’ve been in your cunt.”

Like so many times before, Adam held you in place, his broad hands anchoring you to the sink ledge so he could pound into you with abandon. The slide of his dick was mind-numbing, and you bit into his shirt to keep from shouting.

The tingle first started in your toes. It slithered up your calves and jerked your knees together at Adam’s sides. It had been such a long time since you’d had him inside you that your pussy squeezed tight, earning a growled string of curses at your ear. Your clit was so engorged and aching that his light touch sent your yelp echoing in the little room. Redirecting his hand, you bit down on his thumb and watched his gaze change.

In a second, he was old Adam, punishing and wickedly wild. He forced his thumb further into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue, making the saliva pool around it. Your eager moan was louder than you intended, but it only made him fuck you harder, faster.

He liked it when you were quiet, but he liked it more when you were loud. Liked it even better when you were loud in public.

“Greedy girl, aren’t you? Always ready for me to fuck you stupid.”

You tipped your pelvis into that perfectly tantalizing angle, where the drag of his cock head rubbed against those spots that made you see stars again and again, and you ignited. Everything tensed, toes curling, fingers quivering. Your cunt clenched around him so hard, his thrusts turned violent, forcing you to accept him deeper and deeper.

You wailed his name into his shoulder, unraveling completely from your white hot center outwards.

With his cock seated far inside your ravaged pussy, Adam latched back onto your clit, rubbing the hard nub in quick circles to draw out your orgasm. You shrieked and batted at his hand again, but he caught your arm, drew it behind your back painfully, and bit into your neck.

“If you want my cum, bucket, you’re gonna have to milk me for it.”

His hips kept moving against yours, the slightest of thrusts, but it was his fingers, his evil fingers that ruined you. They never stopped moving at your clit, even when you begged him for a breath. They slid down around your weeping entrance, where his cock stretched you, and back up, bringing a fresh coat of slip to help his fingers fly.

Your eyes slammed shut; your face scrunched up tight and mute. He dropped his mouth to the crook of your neck, cinched your arm more firmly behind your back, and growled as your cunt convulsed for him a second time. You couldn’t even shout; all you could do was keen and quake.

It was enough to push Adam over. He jerked against you, grinding and losing himself to the obscene pull of your spasming pussy. He moaned your name into your pulse and clung to you frantically.  His voice hitched, and he poured into you so hard you heard him sniffle, overcome with the blinding pleasure of it.

When your breathing returned to normal, and the aftershocks subsided, he helped you back into your clothes since your legs were still wobbly. He even tied your shoes.

“Don’t worry.” He bit your cheek the way he used to, the way that was unique to the two of you. “We’ll tell the manager you had a seizure or something.”

Chuckling, you snuck your hand into his; and this time, you left the bathroom together.

[opaquestrategies]

Books I’m looking forward to reading in 2022– I was tagged by @evilhole

Notes:

1) I always have a sense of what is lurking unread on my shelves, but I’ve never articulated a plan as concretely as this—I usually just depend on vibes to choose what to pick up next. This was a fun exercise!

2) I finished the last grad school application yesterday which means I’ve just barely started the clock on an eight month stretch where (if things work out how I want) I will have the most time to do entirely self-guided reading that I’ll get for the next few years. I really want to make the most of that. also, I really want to unfuck my attention span back to something closer to when I was eleven and could consistently get through ~75-100 pages in an afternoon and out of the pace social media and youtube have got it running at where I feel ready for something else after 3 pages. and the best way to do that is probably just aiming to read a lot. 

3) Henry Adams and George Marsden are for academic projects I have cooking and are the ones I’ve already dipped into (I’ve also read a handful of the Didion essays as they were being passed around online after her death, but only picked up an actual copy from the library last week). The rest are for fun.

4) @evilhole for real let me know when you pick up The Dispossessed because I’ve been wanting to read that for awhile now and it’d help / be neat to have someone to talk about it with.

5) I considered putting Ulysses on here because it would be a fun #stunt to get it read by the Bloomsday of its centennial publication anniversary but there’s the order of operations problem of like. I still haven’t read tHEE Odyssey straight through and I feel like I should do that before Ulysses. and also Ulysses is fuckin LONG and I’m not entirely confident that i’ll even LIKE it. so like. we’ll see if it happens. I’m not gonna commit to it.

6) wow, new elif batuman truly is the tumblrina literary event of the year.

tagging @tolstoyshchik @curtailedwhale @aahsoka @theraisincouncil and @animesemplemcpherson if you want to do this...and also anyone else who likes this prompt!

[shardminds]

okay i know in the grand scheme of things it’s been about 5 minutes since i got into spn and about 4.5 seconds since i started following spn blogs on tumblr but i just want 2 share some stuff re: what i would have liked to happen in my ideal ending. spoilers below.

number 1, sam and eileen endgame. after losing her in 15x18 and trying so hard to hold it together, sam’s quite obviously devvo’d. man’s a mess but he can’t let himself fall apart. 15x19 happens and everyone chuck disintegrated faster than communion wafers comes back and the FIRST thing sam does? calls eileen. high tails it out of there. speed limits who? there’s a heartwarming moment. maybe an ‘i love you’ or maybe not but it’s touching and heart wrenching and everyone cries and it’s nice. there you go, sam winchester. not only did you help save the world, but you got a happy ending in the process. eileen moves into the mol bunker. don’t @ me. she’s also great with miracle. and, in the long run, kids.  

number 2, deancas. my whole thing is, if they didn’t want canon deancas ending, why have cas confess? like i get the empty deal and i understand ‘happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. it’s in just saying it’ but... if u didn’t want people to swarm on the possibility of deancas... why include it at all? especially for it to never be mentioned again. for cas, a man/angel/being of celestial intent that had spent like... 12(?) years at this point in sam and dean’s lives. you’re gonna tell me they just... let him sacrifice himself and then dip? ok. seems we have been watching different shows. or the same show from different perspectives. so, hear me out. dean says it back. maybe not in as many words or he pulls a hans solo ‘i know’. okay so they beat the shit out of The Literal Abrahamic God later to supercharge jack faster than shotgunning three monster energy mango locos ever could and leave chuck belly up in the mud like the invertebrate he proved himself to be and jack is Thee God now and dean just straight up asks. give that to me. give me the “please, jack.” and dean, so close to breaking, holding himself together with nothing but pure strength of will and residual adrenaline. give me jack’s reluctance, give me his admission of not wanting to mutate into the same megalomaniac chuck proved himself to be,using the winchesters as chess pieces in his own game. give me his humanity. the parts he inherited from kelly. give me his humanity and his grief and his loss and—castiel was his father, for fucks sake! he lost a father and a mother and he’s about to lose the only family he ever had. yes, he’ll be omnipresent—a perk of the job—but he’ll never be there in the way they want. so let him do this. there’s like a whole genesis parallel, you know all ‘the lord said let there be light, and there was light’ only not as on the nose as that. jack’s one selfish act before he himself, combined with amara, ascends. he does his whole speech. i’ll be in every drop of falling rain etc etc and then he dips. only, he’s gone and when dean turns around. cas is there. boom. 

there’s no kiss. no explicit ‘hello look at this confirmed gay angel and his human hunter ??sexual friend making out’ because that too much too fast. dean has spent the past 15 seasons trying to unfuck himself from the damage john winchester left behind (the nun hunt on his 17th birthday? lebanon? i will meet john winchester in the pit.) and as close as he is to finally just allowing himself to be himself, he’s not quite there yet. but the relief on his face. the—i’m gonna say it—love in his expression. cas’s confession clearly affected him, just look at 15x18. maybe dean doesn’t know what that means yet. maybe he does. but there’s a hug. an embrace. one of those that says ‘i don’t know why or how i like you, fruity little angel man, but i do and i’m not letting go’. it lasts a beat too long. maybe there’s tears. i’ll leave that up to jackles jacting joices.

number 3, michael sacrifices himself to save adam. OKAY SO THE WHOLE MICHAEL STORYLINE IN 15x19? BULLSHIT. especially with the adamichael scene in 15x08? where it is canonically confirmed that, after spending a real life decade (which is OVER ONE THOUSAND YEARS in hell time. 4 months = 40 years so 10 years or 120 months = 1200 years) trapped in the cage together, they became friends and shared control of the vessel. michael considered adam his guide on earth. michael. MICHAEL. M I C H A E L. seeing how spn painted him as one of, if not, THE most powerful and fearsome angel? man’s whipped. and then he loses adam when chuck has his thanos snap moment. imagine sharing a vessel with someone for twelve. hundred. years. and then being completely alone in a world you don’t know. how maddening for there to be only silence in your head. the fact that they then rammed this bs of him being jealous of lucifer for being ‘daddy’s favourite’ was exactly that. bullshit. no no no, my friends. michael was playing his own game; crossing the winchesters for chuck but actually, crossing chuck for his own gain. he learns of the winchesters plan to utilise the fact that jack is the power hungry equivalent of a shamwow and uses that to his own gain. i haven’t figured out the particulars but when chuck beats the shit out of michael, he kills the angel but leaves the vessel (think like jack at the end of s14). michael the winchesters think michael died a snivelling god fearing soldier. and then, when jack does his whole thing, up wakes adam. the winchesters take him in and explain what went down when he, you know. and adam lets them know that no, michaels not like that etc etc he did it for me etc he did it to save me. michael’s fall was imperative to the destruction of god. and, for that, he will always be remembered. adam’s not a hunter, but he stays at the bunker anyway. he has nowhere else to go. 

number 4, episode 15x20. what do you mean dean and sam both die? not in this universe i carry inside my head they don’t! this episode is just a bunch of scenes from throughout the years. you might think it boring but i think it’s great and this is my post so u can’t tell me what 2 do. dean opens up a bar for hunters a la 14x10 and has pictures on all the walls of all the fallen hunters and friends that have helped them throughout the years. you want a picture on the wall for a friend you lost? sure! just bring a photo and tack it on up there. out of sight, kept to the wall of the office, they keep pictures of the non-humans that helped. it’s private. a reminder. sam and eileen stop by a couple times a week if they can. jody and donna make the rounds with the girls too if work allows. or they come on their own. the girls are old enough to take care of themselves now. claire pops in when she can, always bringing a present for cas (despite him reprimanding her for doing so) and dean is always happy to see her. she doesn’t text enough. 

sam sets up the bunker as a base for hunters again, trying to get a system up and running like before where hunters can check in and get help and use the weapons and resources they have for cases. 

they don’t deal with heaven anymore. they haven’t seen jack since he disappeared but they also haven’t had any angel troubles either. maybe it’s because there are so few. castiel helps a lot as he still has his grace—although he’s still unable to teleport and he seems to be aging, trapped in some kind of space between. not angel and not human and definitely not nephilim. he’s powerful and powerless at the same time. he doesn’t complain about this, knowing what it means. it’s a kindness. 

rowena is also on side, mostly, although she has her own gain in mind always. they have the stray demon that pops up every now and again but she– uh... prefers to make an example of them using her own methods. sam has learned not to question it. she teases him incessantly, as usual. 

also, stay at home dad sam. eileen jumps back into hunting. they’ve had conversations—arguments—about it before. he doesn’t want to turn into his father, driven mad chasing mary’s ghost if something were to happen. she refuses to even entertain the thought of that. yelling “you are a lot of things, sam winchester. your father is not one of them.” and at the end of the day, there’s a mutual trust there and he knows she won’t put herself in unnecessary risk, and he 100% roped dean in to jumping on as backup if and when she needs it. the kid(s) are raised love and cherished and surrounded by family. sam also learns how to sign one handed with a baby on his hip. it’s adorable.

anyway we never have to find out about heaven because no one dies thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[nightwingshero]

Hold Me Down Chapter Three

Here’s that stuff. It’s a long one, which is shocking. I’ve been doing a lot of writing recently, but I tried to get this done before I focused solely on my commission queue. I figured a nice, long chapter would be good to put out for Wren content. @dieguzguz @ja-crispea y’all can laugh at Jacob now, lovelies!

I didn’t fidget often. Not anymore, at least. Those kinds of things were drilled out of you immediately. Maybe that should have been my first red flag, the way that he broke down every little tick that made you human and unique. But I suppose that would have been a needle in a haystack, and what 12-year-old kid looks for those kinds of things when someone saves them from the system? None of them.

But here I was, bouncing my leg as I sat in the chair, my table by the front window, giving me the perfect view of the people going about their day. I envied them, so wrapped up in their own little worlds. What I wouldn’t give to unfuck my life. Wishful thinking got me nowhere, though.

As much as I would have loved to allow myself to disassociate, I had too much on my plate that needed to be handled. And just being in this fucking restaurant was risky. I couldn’t help my mind wander to Rowan. All these years…I sighed, throwing a glance around the room. She didn’t recognize me, but what had I expected? There was at least eight years between us. She was someone that I could look up to, someone I was close to until she left. Someone I aspired to be as Dutch put her on that pedestal. At the end, it was all just bullshit.

Giving a look around, the place seemed dead, but I had to keep in mind that I was in the door the second the damn place opened. I didn’t care much for the old rustic country style, to be honest. It wasn’t my style, but god did it resonate the same aesthetic of its owner. I could never say a word against that. I furrowed my brow a bit as I caught sight of one of the other customers here. The man was sitting in the middle of the room at one of the two-chaired tables facing the window. If I had been on a job, I would’ve chosen the same seat, it was perfect. You could see what was going on outside while keeping an eye on the entrance, and it was deep enough in the room so he could easily check the exits and the coming and going of the employees.

I eyed his clothes, trying hard not to scoff. If I had to label him, it would be hipster mountain main with the big dark beard and flannel. Slowly, I grab my cloth napkin, quickly hiding a knife under it as I placed it across my lap. Was I paranoid? Probably. But after thing that had happened, I wasn’t about to take a chance. Not by a long-shot.

I turn at the sound of the bowl being set down in front of me and I wrinkled my nose. “What the hell is that?” I asked, glancing up at the blonde.

Mary May sighed heavily, placing a hand on her hip with a shrug. “Casey is experimenting, trying new things.”

“You sure he isn’t trying to poison me instead?” I looked wearily at the dish as I poked around with my spoon.

“It’s greasy and unhealthy. He said it would do you some good and that he’d cover it.” She wiped her hands on the white apron wrapped around her bright blue flannel. Was that a fashion thing I had missed out on? “Says that you’re his favorite, so gotta treat you special every now and then.”

I threw her look. “He saw my face. That’s what you’re saying.”

Mary May gave me a sheepish look. “You do look pretty rough, Wren.”

She wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, so there were dark marks under my eyes, but that was nothing compared to the massive bruise on the side of my face with the split lip. The back of my head was still rather tender from being knocked out and if I wasn’t so adamant about getting out of here, I would definitely be planning my revenge. I don’t normally leave a score unsettled, but things were heating up way too quickly. “Yeah, your locals here are super friendly and welcoming, by the way.”

Mary May pulled out the chair across from me, sitting down as she leaned against the wall, resting her arm over the back of the chair. “Someone I know?”

“Depends. Have you heard of the Drubmans?” I asked, taking a bite. I chewed a bit, discovering it to be some sort of stew that I couldn’t pin down. I made a face at the unexpected heat to it, eyes watering as I tried to swallow and clear my throat. “Holy shit.” I gasped out.

“The Drubmans? Like, I-will-sell-you-this-boat Drumbans?”

I looked up at her exasperated expression and pursed my lips. “You couldn’t have fucking warned me—”

“I’m sorry, I took you for someone who knew not to do something stupid.”

“Stupid--? I’m not from here, Fairgrave! You and Sharky—”

I was caught off by the sound of the front doorbell, a young brunette rushing in. His brown eyes landed on me with a smile and wave, before his brows furrowed at my appearance. “Hey, Wren. What happened to your face?” he asked, walking closer to the table as Mary May gave him a stern look. “You look like shit.”

“And you’re late.” Fairgrave taunted, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Good to see you too, Xander.” I muttered, taking another bite, forgetting momentarily what I was eating. I made another face as he laughed.

“Ah, yeah. Casey is playing around with the Brunswick stew. Has a kick to it, doesn’t it?”

“Can I have a cheeseburger, for fuck’s sake?” I wheezed before taking a drink of water. Xander nodded, grabbing the bowl and tugging at my ponytail playfully before walking away. Mary May sighed, leaning forward and resting her elbows against the table as she watched him go. I frowned. “Everything okay?”

“Xander has been coming in late more and more. His head is always somewhere else.” She threw me a rueful smirk. “Apparently he’s been seeing a little blonde thing on the side. Married, too.”

I scoffed, leaning back as I placed the napkin and knife back on the table. I threw the man another glance to see him playing on his phone as he continued with his lobster mac ‘n’ cheese. “What a fucking cliché. That’s so damn disappointing. What’s her name? Have you met her?”

“Nah, he says they have to keep it on the downlow. Swears they’re the new Romeo and Juliet.”

“They both die in the end.”

“That’s what I told him. And then he told me that they lived in the movie.” Mary May laughed with a shake of her head. “That’s when I realized that he was referring to that stupid kid’s movie with the gnomes.”

“I don’t have any words for that. At all. I couldn’t even attempt to bullshit my way through that conversation to save my fucking life.” I replied as I tried to fight the laughter, but I was failing. Mary May sobered up a bit, giving me a serious look.

“So, the Drubmans is why you wanted to meet then?”

I sighed, watching as my fingers played with the napkin, rolling and twisting it. “I need to get out of Atlanta, May. I…I’ve gotten into a lot of trouble, a big shit storm.”

“How big we talking?” she whispered. I glanced up at her, playing with one of my chain earrings, swaying with my movements.

“Two detectives showed up at my place yesterday morning. There’s a fed in Atlanta that’s taking a look at some of the criminal activity. They’re wanting me to play ball or I go to prison. And this,” I pointed at my face with a sickly-sweet smile. “Was Hurk Drubman trying to blackmail me into helping his family.”

She let out a whistle. “Two sides breathing down your neck? Fuck. Who’s the target? Like, what’s the motive?”

I glanced around before I leaned in. “Remember that gala? The one you said would be a good hit?”

“Yeah?”

“You never told me it was for the Seeds, May. I ran into John Seed.”

Her eyes widened, the shock having her lean back. “No…no, the tip was on Charles Laney. I didn’t say anything about the Seeds—”

“It was John’s event and his man—”

“Charles was not in John’s pocket when I handed you that tip, Wren.” She pointed at me, pursing her lips. “John Seed wasn’t even on the radar. And John never attends his own events, it would be unlikely for you to run into him regardless.”

“Well, he attended this one. And he caught me.” I shake my head. “Honestly, it was my fault for not digging deeper, making sure I had all the facts before making the move.”

“So what? You had a little run in, and he caught you? And you’re not dead…because…?”

“Yeah, that’s a long story. But at the end of the day, I refuse to be in the crosshairs of two rival families and the fucking cops.” Mary May frowned at me as I bit my lip, my hands shaking. “I need out of here as soon as possible. I lost most of my money in L.A., so I don’t have enough to get my ass out of the country and to get a comfortable set-up going. But I’m hoping Sharky could give me some sort of deal, and I can get him back later. He knows I’m good for it.”

She nodded slowly, deep in thought. “He could. And you getting overseas would put some good distance from the feds, and I think that’s the biggest thing.” She chuckled, throwing me a smirk. “Such a shame you can’t start over and hire John as your lawyer. Now that is something I would pay to see.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not a fucking chance. That arrogant asshole would drive me to murder, I swear it.”

“Oh yeah?” she cocked her head. “No chance of the two of you working together?”

I narrowed my eyes at her as Xander returned. I threw him a smile before he walked away. Grabbing some ketchup for my fries, I threw her another glance. “What are you getting at? I know your scheming face when I see it.”

She just shrugged. “I don’t know why you don’t come clean. Just tell them what’s going on, you know? You scratch their back, they scratch yours. I know Seeds are a crime family, but they’re still a bit honorable with how they work. It won’t go unnoticed.”

“Yeah, about that.” I dipped a fry in the red sauce, popping it in my mouth. “I had another run in with the baby brother last night. I held him at knife point, kinda ruffled his feathers a bit. I think that bridge is beyond burned at this point. He’ll probably kill me the next time I see him.”

“Jesus.” She breathed. “You know, as approachable as you really are, you definitely know how to make enemies and choose them, too. I think that you might’ve shot yourself in the foot on this one, Wren. John Seed is a powerful person, it’s better to have him as an ally than an enemy.”

I wrinkled my nose at her in disgust. “You’re kidding me, right? Did you not hear what I just said? Look, I came here to keep my head down, and you and Sharky both insisted on me coming here—”

“Because we can help you!” Mary May insisted in a hushed tone. “We have your back, Wren. You were in deep shit, and I know you don’t want to admit it, but you needed the help. You can’t do everything on your own.”

I sighed, looking away. She wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t help it. You learn quickly to not lean on other people, and Dutch’s way of teaching it…I flinch as flashes of that damn fire flit through my mind. “I’m not used to working with other people, Mary May. And I appreciate the help. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.” It’s quiet between us, but I paid it no mind as I pop another fry in my mouth. “But that aside, working with John Seed would’ve been a terrible idea. I steal from the rich that don’t deserve the wealth they have. That’s 99% of them, by the way. Working with someone that I would’ve easily made a mark isn’t in my best interest, because I assure you, John Seed is the perfect example as to why I do it.”

Mary May only hummed, but that was fine. It gave me time to eat the burger Casey whipped up for me. It wasn’t fair of me to believe that this was on Mary May and Sharky. I was the one that mis stepped when all they wanted was to help me. The fiasco in L.A. cost me dearly, and I wasn’t about to jump from one mess into another. It was nice to have people on my side for once.

“But they dropped by my apartment before letting me go. Drubman’s men, I mean. Destroyed my apartment and everything. The threat was pretty clear, May. If I stay any longer, I’m either going to die or get thrown in prison. Hurk said that once the Seeds are taken down, I get to walk away and stay out of prison. But I’m not stupid, he wouldn’t let a liability like me walk away. He’ll probably kill me right after, so I don’t have an out. I don’t win in this scenario, and I’m not interested in walking myself to the Devil’s door.”

“So, what do you need?” Mary May asked, finally speaking as she stole a fry.

“I need to know where Sharky went after the shake down. Where has he been laying low?”

She frowned, glancing at me curiously. “Sharky wasn’t approached by anyone. He’s been working at a tattoo parlor a few blocks down. I thought you knew that?”

“I thought he ghosted and went into hiding after I told him the job went sideways. And it kinda made sense after what happened yesterday. They said they shook him down.”

“Yeah, right.” She snorted. “Sharky wouldn’t ever give you away. You know that.”

I smiled, pushing my empty plate towards her. “I know. But I have a bag packed at home. I just need papers and I’m gone.”

“Where you gonna go?”

“Hmm. Maybe Greece. Somewhere nice and relaxing. I think I deserve it.”

Mary May chuckled as she stood, picking up the plate as she went. “Well, you make sure you stop in and say bye before you go. Don’t forgot us little people.”

I watched her walk to the back and disappear. Part of me was disappointed, honestly. I had high hopes for this working out, but things heated up way too quickly, and there was no way out. Running was never my forte, I hated tucking tail. But my game had been off since L.A., and I just needed a damn break. Peace and quiet to help me think over my next move and let things cool off.

Standing, I finally make my way out of the restaurant and into the bright sun. I was ready to get the hell out of here, despite growing a bit fond of the city. I tried hard to not get attached, but sometimes I couldn’t help it. Mary May and Sharky were the only friends, or allies, I allowed myself to have. It went against everything that I had learned from Dutch. No emotions, no attachments. We couldn’t afford it, and that mattered was the job and the family. That was the only concern you should ever have.

Turning, I began my way down the sidewalk, slowing as a red head pushed off a black SUV and stood there, opening the door. Her braids and ponytail gave her a female warrior look that I couldn’t help but admire, but the dark sunglasses shielded her eyes. Unease twisted in my gut as I stopped. White tank top, dark blue jeans, and biker boots that I definitely wouldn’t want against my throat. I turned around and froze, the man from inside standing behind me with his hands in his pockets.

“So, I guess I wasn’t paranoid, then.” I said icily.

He gave the smallest hint of a smile. “No. Good instincts, though. Impressive.”

“Now, we’re going to need you to come with us.” The woman called and I frowned.

“I don’t think so.”

The man cleared his throat. “Ah, I think it would probably be best. We wanted to give you the option to come quietly, rather than jump you. We thought this would be more polite and our boss insisted.” I weighed my options as people went about their day around us. “You won’t be harmed, I assure you.”

Finally, I sighed. “Fuck it. Let’s go.” I stepped in the back of the SUV with a roll of my eyes. I was leaving either way. What was the worst that could happen?

 I eyed the building wearily. I had expected a warehouse, or maybe a strip club. Possibly an auto shop or a fucking marina, at this point. But a dark glass skyscraper wasn’t at all what I was expecting. I kept throwing my new friends weird glances as they escorted me to the building. To say I was underdressed was an understatement, but saying I stood out like a sore thumb was more accurate. Faux leather pants, heeled combat boots, with a loose black tank top stood apart from the suits and dresses of the white collared professionals milling around.

The leather jacket was unorthodox, but it helped hide the knives I had strapped to my forearms. I felt a spike of anxiety as we talked across the shiny floor, the three of us taking our own elevator. Patience wasn’t a virtue I possessed, and once I made a decision, I usually worked actively to make it happen. So, being dragged here was making me feel as if I were about to burst out of my skin. I was ready to leave, to get as far away from this damn city as possible.

The elevator doors opened, showing a private office space. It’s a dark modern style, something of good taste I could appreciate. But it’s completely empty, and I wonder if maybe this is where the CEO spent most of his time, assuming this was one of those kinds of businesses. What the hell did I know? The lack of people wasn’t exactly encouraging though. I follow tall dark and handsome with the woman following close behind as he led me to another room.

It was a conference room with dark windows and a massive tv mounted on the wall. It’s a beautiful contrast of wood, grey, and black. Glass sputnik lights brightened the room just a bit, and taking in the rest of the room, I come to a halt. His blue eyes are watching my every move, and I shiver because I can almost feel the way they travel over me.

“Oh, fuck me.” I muttered, but the room is dead silent, so it travels. John’s lips turn into a coy smirk, and my next step is calculated. My brain is racing, taking in the space, the exits, everything I needed if shit hit the fan. I feel the shift coming over, the calm and calculated mask as I step into a role I knew like the back of my hand. It was like slipping into warm water slowly until you finally went under.

“Oh, darling, I appreciate the offer, and I’ve thought about it. But,” John replied with a click of his tongue. “You’re just not my type.”

I returned his coy smile with one of my own, walking slowly towards the table and deeper in the room. “Never thought for you to have such a good sense of humor, Johnny. It’s hilarious, you believing you ever had a chance to begin with.” My black nails drum against the back of an office chair, and at the opposite head of the table, I caught eyes with none other than Joseph Seed himself.

While John sat to his left, his wife and sister sat closely to his right, as far away from me as possible. Taking a quick note of the oldest brother’s absence, I recalculated as the woman continued to follow me, but the male guard stayed at the door. The only exit I could really find, unless I threw a chair through the glass wall. I squeezed the chair as I smiled at Joseph. Seemed sturdy enough.

“I’m very glad you could join us. Thank you for being so kind to accept the invitation.” His voice is calm, soothing almost, and as gentle as his eyes. It threw me for a loop, because you didn’t ever expect the head of a crime family to be kind or polite.

“With all due respect, I don’t believe I had much of a choice in the matter. But I appreciate you not kidnapping me off the street. Your…colleagues don’t practice in the manners you’ve displayed.”

His brows furrowed as his wife threw him a confused look. I hesitated for a second, catching John’s narrowing eyes as he tilted his head. So, they weren’t very aware of what the Drubman’s had been up to, which meant they probably got tired of me sniffing around. I was about to continue when movement to my right caught my attention.

I go rigid for only a split second, allowing myself just that momentarily slip as Jacob Seed enters the room with Rowan right behind him, a quick brush of her hand against her stomach. Our eyes catch, and this time, I know she recognizes me. It’s ice, at first, that enters my veins, much like that night. But slowly, and surely, it begins to boil.

She smiled at me, soft and sad, but I’m careful. Oh, so careful as the porcelain of my skin shows the same smile that I’ve shown the rest of them as she speaks. “Hello, Wren.”

My eyes don’t leave her for a second, and while I appeared at easy, almost nonchalant, inside my muscles were coiling like a snake, ready to strike at any second. “Rowan.” I keep my voice light, a slight lilt that only barely hides the sickly-sweet venom dripping off the tip of my tongue. It’s a light tread, almost a nudge, to test the waters. This is no longer about the family in the room, its just her and I, in our own dance. “Long time, no see.”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” She agreed, slowly making her way down the length of the conference table, both her and Jacob walking towards John. I turn on my heel, walking around the opposite side as I trace my fingers across the tops of the chairs.

“And here I thought you didn’t recognize me.” I slowed as she came to a stop, resting her hands on the back of a chair. She looked good, genuinely. It pissed me off even more, fueling the dark twisting sense of betrayal in the pit of my stomach. She knew, of course, how this game worked. But the 12 years without her gave me the element of surprise. Rowan hadn’t learned my habits, hadn’t learned my tells because she hadn’t been there to see them.

“I would always recognize you.” She breathed out, a glossiness settling in her eyes. “Even though you were still pretty young the last time I saw you.”

There. I come to a complete stop as I feel it, the rip in my chest as my blood pounded in my head. I keep smiling as I move my hand to fidget with the sleeve of my jacket, casual as ever. But there’s a millisecond that feels like minutes, where my eyes finally sharpen on her. The eyes have always been, and always will be, the mirror to the soul, and hers widen when she takes a glimpse of mine, because she knows it’s too late. That my fingers have brushed the cool metal of my knife.

She only has time to take a step back, and that was something I indulged her. Because it’s the next second that knife is gone, and my elbow is smashing the face of the red head behind me. I twist around quickly and grab a handful of hair as Rowan cried out, my knife hitting its mark as I smash Viking Princess’ face against the table. Twisting her arm, pressing and trapping her body with my hip, I pull her Glock out with my right hand.

Rowan’s eyes catch mine once more as she holds her shoulder in shock, blood soaking her shirt as she stares down the barrel of a gun that’s aimed right at her face. Cool and calm as ever, my breathing stays even, but I’m a hurricane on the inside and for the first time, the Seeds see my true self.

“Jane!” a soft cry pierces the air as the little sister rises from her chair, but before she could rush me, Joseph’s wife pulls Faith close to hold her. I glance down quickly, connecting the dots. I realize then why the woman was familiar, and now Faith’s significant other finally had a name. Jane.

Rowan laughed, meeting my eyes with something shining there that I can’t pinpoint. “Ah, there she is. I was wondering when you’d drop the act. Always have been good at changing faces, huh?”

Jacob was at Rowan’s side as she gripped the knife, breathing heavily through the pain as her face pinched. Jacob threw me a dark glare, his blue eyes on fire. “You’re lucky you missed, girlie.”

“No.” Rowan hissed as she pulled the knife out smoothly from her shoulder, eyeing the blood that stained the custom blade. Something crossed over her face, but it was gone when she met my gaze once more. “She didn’t miss.” Rowan her hands in defense, taking a small step forward. “Did you?”

I don’t say a word as I watch her gently place the knife on the table. It’s hard to keep my composure as I seethe, the loathing and hurt oozing out of me like toxic waste. I hated every word that fell from her lips, a nostalgia she had no right to, not anymore. The pain in my chest was worse than I could have imagined and that’s when it hit me just how buried this feeling had been. How it still bothered me…I had never moved past it.

“Never thought of you as a gun person.” She nodded to the Glock I aimed at her.

“People change.” I replied, my voice hard. I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, so I spare him a glance.

John is still reclined with his hands folded in front of him, but even I can tell he was more tense than he was minutes ago. There’s a hard edge to his jaw as there’s a burning in the depths of his irises. He takes it in, and for once, I don’t know how to feel. I hate how vulnerable I am, that my mask is gone and there’s no going back. All for the sake of the absolute wrath pumping through my veins for someone I believed I was close to. I hated giving into the instincts, leaning into what Dutch had built me into. And I hear a click of a gun as the hairs on the back of my neck rises, that telling sensation running down my spine as the other guard points his gun at the back of my head.  

Rowan hums as she examines the wound. “They sure do. You’ve improved since I last saw you.”

“And you’ve gotten slower, Rowan. Can’t say I’m exactly shocked.” I sneered. She stops, looking at me with deep regret and I hate the way my heart tugs at it. I hate my hand is beginning to shake the slightest. This was always my problem, why Dutch always told me I would never be like Rowan. I was so emotional, so empathetic that it would almost become a liability. And all their eyes were on me.

Jacob stepped forward. “Drop the fucking gun—”

Rowan placed her bloody hand on his chest, pushing him back. “If she was going to kill me, she would have already, Jake. She wouldn’t need the gun, the knife would have found my throat before Jane got slammed against the conference table.” She sighed heavily before jutting her chin out. “She’s proving a point.”

The way she says it, like I’m a petulant child that didn’t understand the adult’s conversations, made me feel like bursting out of my skin. “No. No, I’m so done with this shit. What’s going to happen is you’re going to tell Lumberjack Steve to back the fuck off, let me walk out of this damn room, and building, and let me get the fuck out of this godforsaken city, because I have had it with this fucking love triangle that you’ve dragged me into.” I snapped.

“Love triangle?” Faith asked, her soft voice breaking.

There was a clearing of someone’s throat before Joseph’s soothing voice joined the tension. “I believe there was a mentioning of colleagues—”

“Yes,” I snapped, my eyes finding John’s once more. “Hurk Drubman Sr. sends his regards.” I reveled in the slight shock he gave away, the way Joseph leaned back and exchanged glances with Jacob. For once, I felt I had finally been able to shake this arrogant asshole and his family. I had leverage, I had information, and I felt that, for once, I was the one holding the cards.

John clicked his tongue as a look of discontent settled on his features, and he began tapping his fingers against the table. “He hit you?”

I swallowed as his gaze weighed on me, my heart picking up in pace. “His men snatched me off the sidewalk last night for a little conversation. And well,” I gave him a cheeky smile. “You know how charming I can be, John. Except Hurk is a bit less tolerant than you are.”

“Wren, I’m sorry. We had no clue.” Rowan breathed out and my face twisted in disbelief as my eyes pinned her down.

“You’re sorry?”

She closed her eyes momentarily, but it was obvious that this hurt her just as much as it did me. This reunion was nothing short of painful. I was just too angry to care for hers. “You have to understand why I had to—”

“I was 15!” I snapped, my voice rising an octave. The tears began to pool as full on rage began to break through the walls that I had spent so long building to keep her at bay. “I was 15 years old, and you left us behind!”

“I foolishly believed you would be safe with Grace, Wren. I thought you were better off where you were—”

“With him?!” I shrieked. Scoffing, I shook my head at her. “You were the only family we had left, especially after what happened with Eli.”

Rowan paled and I get a sick, dark satisfaction from hurting her. Reminding her of how deep she was before disappearing. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret what I did.” She whispered.

I swallowed. “I thought you were dead. We all did. He told us you betrayed our family.”

“I always had eyes on the inside. They went silent after a while; I didn’t know what was going on. Grace stopped corresponding—”

“Grace is dead.” I replied, my voice breaking. Her dark brown eyes go wide as she stumbled back. Jacob placed a hand on her lower back, but she doesn’t register him.

“You did it.” Her voice breaks, making her almost squeak out her words. “You passed his test.”

I shook my head, my mouth twisting. “No Rowan. I didn’t.” I swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat to no avail. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it. She…”

“She what, Wren?”

I’m visibly shaking, the gun quivering in my hands, but I’m too scared to put it down. Too worried that I’ve gone too far to turn back now. I needed to get the fuck out while I still had some semblance of control. “Doesn’t matter.” I ground out. That’s a rabbit hole I can’t afford to go down, the guilt still all-consuming. “I’m packing my shit and I’m leaving.”

“What stuff?” the man behind me asked. “We’ve been by your apartment—”

“Yes, and I’m sure the door was wide open!” I snapped sarcastically. “Hurk made sure his men gave me a nice reminder of the shit I’ve been dragged into.”

Joseph stood, placing his hands on the conference table. “Ms. Blake, I understand that you are in a bind. Please. Put the gun down and let’s talk. I believe there’s a solution for all of us.” I gave an uneasy glance around the room. John’s dark look and Jacob’s murderous glare wasn’t at all reassuring. As if reading my mind, he spoke again. “You won’t be harmed, you have my word.”

I throw a look at Rowan, and she gives me a quick nod, but I don’t know if I could trust them. The thought of getting roughed up again seemed exhausting.

“Randy, stand down.” Joseph called. The man behind me lowered the gun and stepped away. “Whitney, why don’t you take Jane and Rowan to get cleaned up.”

The woman I assumed to be Joseph’s wife stood, nodding and dragging Faith with as she walked towards Rowan. He raised his brow at me, and I looked away, slowly lowering the gun and stepping back. Jane shot up, her hand going to her nose as she glared at me.

“You broke my fucking nose.”

“That’s enough, Jane.” Joseph called.

She whipped around, fire burning in her eyes. “Joseph—”

“Enough.”

His voice sent a chill down my spine, and I’m reminded that this man is dangerous. That he isn’t just someone that has been nothing but kind since I’ve been here. No, he’s someone that I need to keep a distance from. So, when he looks at me again, I feel my walls come back up.

“Please, have a seat.” Joseph gestured to the seat in front of me as he sat back down. Looking down, I wrinkle my nose at the blood on the conference table. Moving down a chair, I pull it out and take my seat as I was left alone with the brothers.

The silence is almost deafening as I try to get comfortable. I finally glance at Joseph. “You wanted me for a reason, I take it?”

“Yes.” Joseph gave a gentle smile. “John spoke rather highly of you.”

“Doubtful.” I muttered, making John throw me a shit eating grin.

“It has come to my attention,” Joseph continued, ignoring John and me. “That you have found yourself in quite the predicament.”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“Hmm, yes. I’m sure the FBI haven’t exactly as been any more gracious.”

I paled immediately, and I have to fight the urge to kick myself. I recalled Hurk Sr. briefly mentioning ties in the police department, but I didn’t stop to consider this a possibility. My heart started to race. “What are you talking about?” I breathed out.

His smile never wavered as his eyes seemed to see straight into my soul. “A friend of ours has brought some…unfortunate news.” His attention shifts from me to the door as he straightens just a bit more. “And he’s finally decided to join us.”

My face pinches in confusion as I turn my head. And for once, I don’t school my expression to hide my shock. He’s nervous, and you can tell by the way he tugs at his cheap suit. His gaze is downward as he walks in. Jacob grips him by the shoulder tightly as his eyes finally find mine.

“Pratt.” My voice is detached and firm, trying hard to recover but failing miserably. I can’t hide my distaste for the detective.

He doesn’t say a word as John gives him a malicious smirk. He clears his throat. “Blake. Didn’t uh…I didn’t know you were going to be here.” He mumbled.

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Detective Pratt has done his job well, informing us that there’s a certain…ploy in place against us.”

I casted him a venomous glare. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I hissed.

He swallowed, shrinking into himself under Jacob’s heavy hand. I fought the urge to lunge across the table. If he had kept his mouth shut, I would’ve been long gone by now. But instead I was here, probably about to get a bullet in my head for fucking with the wrong family. John’s taunting voice warning me over and over to leave his family be made my teeth clinch tightly, wounding my pride. Lovely.

“I’m sure there are some hard feelings here, and I understand. But I’m sure you can understand loyalty, Ms. Blake. You can’t fault him for doing his job.”

His words don’t ease a fucking thing, on the contrary, it made me feel worse. “I understand.” I heard myself say, as if I was on autopilot. Slowly, I was switching into survival mode.

“Good. Now, I appreciate your incentive to move on to another city, and I will be more than willing to help you with that.”

“But?” I asked, meeting his eyes once more, and ignoring John’s intense stare.

Joseph let out a small chuckle. “Nothing gets by you, does it dear?”

“Kind of my job to not let it.”

��Ah, yes, that’s fair. Well,” he took a second to clear his throat before continuing, leaning forward and folding his hands on the table. “I have a proposition for you. I understand that the FBI are circling around you, so to speak. Asking for my family in return for your freedom.”

“Which we know is very unlikely to happen.” John added. I gave him a sharp look, trying to figure out if he was being serious or just an obnoxious ass, but I came up empty. Its weird, watching this man go from a cocky asshole to someone who is serious and all business. It occurred to me that I was finally seeing him in his lawyer role. “Chances are they’re going to use you to get what they want, and then from there, they’ll gather a case against you. You will either go down with us or be thrown in with whatever organization you originated from.”

“And now there’s the issue with the Drubman family.” Joseph cut in, taking back control of the conversation. “Clearly they saw an opportunity.”

“They claim to have ties in the police department.” I replied, eyeing Pratt.

“None of that is shocking in the slightest. Hurk Sr, if nothing else, is resourceful. But you have two groups that are weighing down on you, pressuring you to infiltrate and destroy my family.”

There’s something dangerous in the gentle gaze he gives me, and this is the first time I became truly terrified of Joseph Seed. I fight the urge to glance at John, because why would I? And I hated to admit this, but a part of me naively believed he would protect me from his older brother. It was foolish, because I was the enemy. I was the threat to him and his family, and I was answering for it.

“Then let me leave.” I whispered, finding myself desperate to be relieved of his pointed gaze. “Let me get the hell out of here. It would solve both of our problems.”

“But, unfortunately, it wouldn’t.” I frowned as he sighed, glancing at his hands briefly. “That would only serve one party, and it would be extremely short lived. Burke is very determined to keep you in his pocket. John explained to me that you would not be allowed to leave the city, not risking you disappearing from his radar.”

“Doesn’t take a big-time lawyer to state the obvious.” Pratt muttered.

Joseph and John gave him an unsatisfied look as I whipped around. “No one fucking asked you, asshole.” I snapped and he glared at me. I couldn’t explain my irritation towards the man, but something about him set me off. Maybe it was the fact that he reminded me of a weasel, the little shit. “You have some fucking nerve—”

“Language.” Joseph correct softly as Jacob squeezed a little too hard, making Pratt flinch.

“Quiet, Peaches.”

I couldn’t help the way I smirk or the way I quirk a brow at him. Peaches, huh? His glare at me intensified, but I brush it aside as I brought my attention back to Joseph. “So, Burke isn’t going to let me go easy?”

“Neither of them will.” Joseph corrected. “Not now, after they’ve gotten their hooks in you.” I turned and glared at the table, my skin crawling at his verbiage. I hated the idea of someone pulling the strings to control me. It was infuriating. “Luckily, we can work this to our advantage.”

“What is it that you want from me?” I asked, my irritation barely contained. I knew I wasn’t going to like this, and while they were scheming, I was trying to figure out a way to get the hell out of this alive. Just because I was willing to listen, didn’t mean I was willing to comply.

“I want you to do what you’re supposed to do. Or what you are being told to do, I mean.” Shooting him a look, he continued. “You’re going to work for me, Ms. Blake. John tells me that you are very skilled at keeping up pretenses—”

“You mean working a mark? As a con artist?” I asked with a raised brow.

His mouth twitched before he continued. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to put it. My offer is that you work for us, pretend to infiltrate our family, while feeding the false information we give you to both the feds and Drubmans. In return, you have our protection from both.”

I scoff as I lean back in the chair with my arms crossed. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

“Apparently not, darling. Or at least, that’s what it looks like from where I sit.” John taunted. I immediately threw him a death glare, ignoring the sting to my ego. I was ready to claw those pretty eyes of his out.

“John, that’s enough.” Joseph reprimanded, throwing him a pointed look. “It’s not just protection, Ms. Blake. This is only temporary.”

“So you say.” I replied warily. “With all due respect, things like this are never temporary.”

“No, I suppose you’re right. Though, I’m not like most people in this…lifestyle. My family, we keep our word. And I give you my word. You do this, not only will you have protection, but I will personally see to it you find your way out of this city safely. We can set you up somewhere of your choice. You will also be properly compensated for your time and help.”

“That’s awfully generous of you.” I responded suspiciously.

“There’s nothing in this world that’s more important to me than my family, my people, Ms. Blake. What you consider generous, I consider a necessary investment to ensure the future of the people I care about.”

I hesitated, completely baffled by the passion in his eyes. I clearly underestimated this family, because I wasn’t expecting that. “So, I pretend to work for you? Is that it?”

“No,” he leaned back, putting his foot on his knee. “That would be too risky. It puts you in the path of the feds and our competition, and neither of us want that. No, you’re going to become engaged to my brother.”

I stared at him before quickly looking at Jacob. Him? Wait…no, he was married to Rowan, wasn’t he? Did I pick up the vibes wrong? No, that can’t be…

My eyes widened as Jacob’s smirk did the same. I immediately turn to see John staring at Joseph incredulously. Oh. Oh.

“Absolutely not—”

“Oh, there’s no way in hell—”

“Brother, we didn’t discuss—”

“That little shit? Just kill me—"

“This is a bad idea, I assure you—”

“He’s an asshole—”

“Enough.” Joseph spoke out, silencing both of us as he raised his hand, and then turned to John. “You’re the only one of us that this could work with. You’re the only one that isn’t either engaged or already married.” He turned back to me. “I can’t hire you as an assassin, con artist, or anything thing else similar to that. That wouldn’t be infiltrating, not in your style, at least. This needs to be believable, and that’s not the way to do it. You understand, don’t you?”

I open my mouth to protest, but I close it when I realize that everything that he’s saying is right. I avoided violence, so me being added to their ranks wouldn’t make sense. No, my technique was always more subtle, taking a different approach. If I were doing this for real, it wouldn’t have been much different than what he had planned. The difference was the man sitting next to him.

John threw me an icy look, clearly not happy with the turn of events. At least that was something we could both agree on. I couldn’t help but think how much of a shame it was, in a different situation, he could have been charming. The first few minutes of knowing him had been pleasant.

Too bad he was such an arrogant prick.

“Look, I’m not exactly down for an arranged marriage. Especially to him.”

“It wouldn’t be real, obviously. You both will pretend to be in love for the public, the feds and Drubman will believe you’re doing what you agreed to do. Being engaged to John will offer you protection on all fronts, and that’s important with the attention you’ve gathered.”

I’m quiet as I take it in, weighing my options. I couldn’t leave, that was no longer an option. And slowly, piece by piece, everything fell into place. I eyed Pratt, and that’s when it clicked. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You still can say no, of course. But I think you know what will happen if you do.”

I hated his soft voice, hated how polite and gentle he was, because it hid how fucking clever and manipulative he was. Saying no would give me freedom to get the hell out, but that would be my only choice. They knew, so any chances of working myself out a deal with the feds was off the table, and there would be a target on my head from the Drubman’s. And it occured to me the real reason Pratt was here. I swallowed. He would take me in on the spot, with just a word from one of the brothers. Not even that, he would have to for Burke. I clenched my teeth. I’ve been played.

“You promise me a safe way out?” I asked softly, trying my best to keep my rage at bay.

“I promise.”

I sighed, eyeing him with distaste. “Fine. I’ll help you. But I don’t have to actually marry him, do I?”

The look on John’s face told me he had been offended, but Joseph ignored him. “No, not really. If we play everything correctly, this will be over in a few months. We can get away with a simple engagement.”

“Good. I can handle that.” I replied. Anything to keep me from getting thrown in the ocean tied to a concrete block or prison. I could handle a few months cuffed to this idiot to get the hell out.

“Hmm. At least she’s an upgrade from that Holly girl you were running around with.” Jacob muttered. “Kinda gives you a way out, Johnny. Keep the crazy broad off your back.”

John shot him a look. “Shut up, Jacob.”

“Just sayin’ you really know how to pick ‘em.”

“Fuck y—"

I rolled my eyes and stood. “This has been fun and all, but I’m gonna go ahead and go. We’re done here.” Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out, shooting daggers at Pratt on the way.

I smashed the elevator button repeatedly, becoming more and more impatient by the second as I heard approaching footsteps. “Where are you going?”

The sound of his snobby tone made me groan. “Please go away, I’ve had enough of you for the last 24 hours. I need a break from Your Holiness.” I almost cried as the elevator doors dinged open, desperate for my escape.

“That’s awfully rude of you.” John said with a twist of his mouth. “And don’t you think you should be coming with me?”

“Are you kidding me?” I laughed as I pressed the lobby button. “I’m not staying with you, if that’s what you’re suggesting. As far as I’m concerned, as long as there’s no ring on my finger, I can enjoy my personal space while I still can.”

I smirked as I had the absolute pleasure of watching the doors shot to John’s reddening face. It was short lived, however, because I collapsed against the wall with a heavy sigh. I was exhausted to say the least, and there was nothing I wanted more than to curl up and hide in my trashed apartment.

  “What the hell is going on?!”

To say I was shocked would have been an understatement of the century, but the fury underneath was quickly approaching the surface.  I was absolutely looking forward to falling face first on what was left of my bed. So, it was a bit of a shock when I found movers taking my stuff out of my apartment, piece by piece. Spotting the landlord, I rushed over.

“Hey! Did you hear me? What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped, pointing at the apartment.

She was middle-aged, my landlord. Grey and brown hair in a bun as her bangs brushed her forehead, and no matter the weather, she always wore a shabby sweater. She was the strangest woman I had ever met.

“The tenant gave a notice, so we’re cleaning it out for the next one.” She replied with a frown, eyeing me up and down.

“The tenant…? I am the tenant!” Was she daff? I paid her rent every month, always on time and never short. We weren’t friends, but we were civil and polite enough.

She raised her brow at me before looking at the pages on her clipboard. “So, you’re ‘Duncan’ then?”

I gapped at her like a fish. Duncan? Who the fuck was Duncan? “What? No—”

“Then you’re not the tenant.”

“I’ve been living here for the past six months!”

“Under Duncan’s roof. It’s in his name, dear. Positive side, he’s going to be the one responsible for paying for the damages. But there’s nothing I can do, I’m sorry.” And with that, she turned, walking away with finality.

I tried to take a deep, calming breath. As much as I loved him dearly, I was going to kill Sharky. The only alias he was supposed to use was one of mine, but clearly, he had other plans. Turning to leave with a huff, I stop short. This time I can’t help my fists clench as Randy and Jane stand there by the top of the stairs. I could see the bruising on Jane’s face starting to form and the redness of her nose almost made me feel sheepish.

“You’re supposed to come with us, John sent for you.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me?” I asked, feeling exasperated. But when they didn’t laugh or even crack a smile, I realized John’s men had zero sense of humor and I was officially fucked. I’d never felt so cornered in my life and I had to fight the instinct to run and get the hell out of there. “Of course you’re not. Fucking Christ.” I ran a hand over my face as Jane smirked.

“You’ll learn pretty quick that John usually gets what he wants.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

[callowaysrose]

who: inside the mind of adam ward.  when: a continuation of @lilyshale meme post. requested by: no one. i did this to myself. 

--- unholy fucking shit.  

  normally you’d think there’d be a rule about your fucking client walking into your townhouse unannounced, but apparently that rule was out the window today and there was no such thing as personal space - even in your own room. granted, what he was feeling right now was a mixture of arousal - something he shouldn’t have been feeling for his client, as her eyes scanned his body, towards his nine inch length and then towards his abs. was she counting? - and the instant need to unfuck this, but the more she stared and their eyes locked, the more he didn’t want to pull his stare away from her, that was until she went rushing out the door and was yelling from the other side of it. 

“i’m sorry!” 

she apologized, and while he understood why she apologized, she was unaware of what had occured just a few minutes ago, in the bathroom just a few feet away from her. adam was doing far worse. he was imagining how she’d taste on his tongue, his hand working back and forth against his hardened cock, her image in his head at all times. he could feel himself harden all over again.  fuck. she’s still out there. 

the body-guard threw on a pair of sweats, hanging low as he quickly opened the door, finding her on the other side of it. “you’re fine...” he was adamant on not allowing his eyes to scan any part of her body. she was kinsley, his client. the one he had a duty to protect, but god was it become more difficult.  “i’m off-duty today..” he answered the question her heard before, the electricity between them, present, and while he’d never admit, not out loud, not to the rest of his men, he appreciated the few moments he got with her alone. “but...” he didn’t like the idea of going out with her without his comms, his taser, his gun. her life 

“lets order in.” this was normal conversation, yes? this was his normal tone with her, despite the fact that his eyes never left hers, he didn’t dare to take them way from her. i shouldn’t be fucking doing this, his thoughts were loud but he didn’t want to listen, no. he wanted to be buried inside of her. to stop thinking about the professionalism of it all, he wanted to give her the best fucking orgasm kinsley barlow had every fucking received. 

unfuckingprofessional, adam. this was dangerous. more so, because adam knew he couldn’t let his thoughts run wild, he couldn’t let himself think like that when she was right in front of him, alone. “what were you thinking?” he continued, trying to continue the conversation, trying to distract himself. oh, fuck it to hell, we both know what you were thinking and i was right there with you. no, but he was trying to unfuck this, not fuck her. heh, both sound like rather good options. “although, before food,” he started, his muscles contracting as he straightened up, rubbing his mouth just slightly.  “ if you stay here any longer, i’m not entirely sure how long i can keep my hands off of you.”

[silkywishes]

(Most of) The RWBY Villains Ranked by How Fuckable They Are

1. Vernal: hell yes. have you seen this absolute butch masterpiece?? she could dropkick me and i'd thank her

2. Neo: you knew she'd be this high up i don't have to explain myself

3. Hazel: not only is he a total beefcake but he'd take care of you. those arms were not just made for punching, but also for holding you lovingly

4. Emerald: one of the few villains who actually has her shit together, and she's super good looking to boot!! the kind of villain you could start a family with

5. Ironwood: look i know he's a tyrant but he's a HOT tyrant. some people will fight me about the tyrant part but no one will fight me abt him being hot

6. Sienna Kahn: see above

7. Cinder: it's a REALLY BAD IDEA but we've all thought about it

8. Roman: (michael jones voice) he's a bottom if i've ever seen one

9. Tock: hhhhhhhh lizard lady hot

10. Salem: you'd probably die but it'd be worth it

11. Mercury: you could but he'd be a dick about it, so like. what's the point?

12. Little Miss Malachite: i'm into it, but i'm pretty sure she'd make you part of her spider mafia and i'm just not ready for that kind of commitment

13. Raven: we all saw how well this worked out for tai. you could but she wouldn't stick around to cuddle

14. Corsac & Fennec: i honestly don't know which one is which and they're about as sexy as nuns

15. Lionheart: only if you're a furry and you're in desperate need of a bottom

16. Tyrian: you'd definitely die and it wouldn't be worth it

17. Cordovin: only if you're maria

18. Watts: absolutely not. this slimy mustache man is not worthy of being in your or anyone else's bed. he spends all of his time brooding uselessly or hunched in front of a computer. he's good with his hands but at what cost?? if you wanna fuck an angsty twig of a man who wears far too many rings, just fuck qrow instead!!!

19. Jacques: you know what's worse than one unfuckable slimy mustache man? TWO unfuckable slimy mustache men!! willow schnee can tell you from experience that this is a poor idea. when people say "fuck the rich" this is not what they meant.

20. Adam: no.

[thisdayinfavrd]

January 17, 2009

Don't you hate it when you walk into a room and can't remember what you're doing with your life?   @scottsimpson (Scott Simpson) – 74

No more Circuit City? But where will I go to browse for items I eventually buy online?   @badbanana (Tim Siedell) – 45

Jesus Christ, Obama *still* isn't president? What's the holdup, people?! This economy isn't going to unfuck itself, you know.   @Moltz (Moltz) – 41

I'm probably not ready for marriage until I stop thinking of it as "winning a person."   @strutting (Jay Hathaway) – 37

Aw, I love when Roommate and her boyfriend come home drunk and fighting. It reminds me of old times. Like last weekend. And the one before.   @zolora (Theresa Couchman) – 36

Your body is a wonderland. Mine is Kamp Krusty.   @nick (Nick Douglas) – 36

"Sushi who?" "Sushi, um, put celery on elephants!"  Our child tells knock-knock jokes Rumsfeld-style: just plunge in with no exit strategy.   @adamisacson (Adam Isacson) – 33

Doing karaoke and someone is singing _A Whole New World_ from the Disney show _Aladin_. Just now realizing that song is about anal.   @detweiler (Detweiler, Brian) – 33

The mob still holds the record for the number of bodies put into the Hudson.   @Moltz (Moltz) – 33

"48 sky puppies slaughtered by terrorist pilot" PETA reports.   @Remiel (Remiel) – 32

This is a particularly significant Martin Luther King weekend. White people, I want you to ski like you mean it out there.   @jimray (Jim Ray) – 31

The voices inside my head sound like Gilbert Gottfried and Fran Drescher having sex at an extremely uncomfortable noise level.   @thedayhascome (Josh Hopkins) – 29

My least favorite time of year: The dark winter days between ordering and receiving Girl Scout cookies.   @badbanana (Tim Siedell) – 29

A bird in the hand is a poor choice of melée weapon.   @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 28

Yay! I won the "Who will Emerson take her first step toward?" sweepstakes!  Oh, and my daughter just took her first step.  Still, yay me!   @toldorknown (Arch Stanton) – 27

I'd better get the lint brush. These cat hairs aren't going to shift to a slightly different position by themselves.   @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 27

Down in the basement the VCR & CD player have started a support group with the corded phone & cassette deck.   @joeschmitt (Joe Schmitt) – 26

Whenever I hear that STDs are on the rise I see an opportunity for an intimate lubricant by Purell.   @awryone (Josh Donoghue) – 25

I should never have pretended I speak Japanese. I think I just ordered a bukkake sushi.   @ttseco (Theo Tsecouras) – 25

Snuggie discovery #4: It has sleeves. It does not have a fly. But it is machine washable.   @texburgher (Geoff Barnes) – 24

[alltimebestbooks]

Every One Should Read 100 Books

1. Can't Hurt Me: Master Your Mind and Defy the Odds 2. The Secret 3. Rich Dad Poor Dad 4. The 5 Love Languages 5. The Purity Myth: How America's Obsession with Virginity Is Hurting Young Women 6. The Power of Positive Thinking 7. Think and Grow Rich 8. Psychology of art 9. 7 Habits of Highly Effective People 10. The Magic 11. The Magic of Thinking Big 12. The One Thing 13. Sapiens 14. Eat That Frog 15. Unlearn 16. Influencear 17. How to Win Friends and Influencear People 18. The Six Pillars of Self Estreme 19. Freakonomics by Stephen Dubner and Steven Levitt 20. Originals by Adam Grant 21. Hillbilly Elegy by JD Vance 22. Endurance by Alfred Lansing 23. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, by J.K. Rowling 24. Romeo and Juliet, by William shakespeare 25. Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck 26. Mini Habit 27. The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger 28. Benjamin Franklin: An American Life 29. The Story of My Experiments with Truth by Mahatma Gandhi 30. Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou 31. Dreams from my Father by Barack Obama 32. Abraham Lincoln 33. The Monk Who Sold Feerari 34. My husband and other animals by Janaki Lenin 35. Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World by Jack Weatherford 36. David and Goliath by malcolm gladwell 37. Richest Man in Babylon 38. Willpower 39. Deep Work 40. Meditations by Marcus Aurelius 41. The Power of Positive Thinking 42. Confidece 43. 1,000 Books to read before you die/Mustich 44. Mindset 45. The Law of Human Nature 46. The Man who Mistook his Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks 47. The E-Myth Revisited 48. The Wealth of Nations, by Adam Smith 49. Feynman's Lectures on Physics 50. Atomic Habit 51. Educated 52. A Long Walk to freedom 53. Dear Stranger, I know how you feel 54. Thinking Fast and Slow 55. The Greatest Story Ever Told...So Far 56. Why evolution is true by Jerry A. Coyne 57. The Age of reason by Thomas Payne 58. Batman 59. Mastery 60. The Alchemist 61. Awaken the Giant Within 62. The Game 63. The way of the superior man 64. Eleven minutes 65. The pilgrimage 66. Extreme Ownership: How U.S. Navy SEALs Lead and Win 67. Emotional Agility: Get Unstuck, Embrace Change, and Thrive in Work and Life by Susan David, PhD. 68. So Good They Can't Ignore You: Why Skills Trump Passion in the Quest for Work You Love by Cal Newport. 69. Tools of Titans: The Tactics, Routines, and Habits of Billionaires, Icons, and World-Class Performers by Tim Ferriss. 70. The Compound Effect 71. The Power of Habit 72. Good to Great 73. The subtle art of not giving a fuck by mark manson 74. The 80/20 principle by Richard koch 75. GRIT 76. The Obstacle Is the Way: The Timeless Art of Turning Trials into Triumph by Ryan Holiday 77. The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are by Brene Brown 78. Mans Searching For Meaning 79. The Power of Subconsious Mind 80. The Intaligent Invester 79. You Can Win 80. The 4 Hours Work Week 81. You Are a Badass 82. How to Stop Worrying and Start Living 83. Start With Why 84. Lifes Amazing Secret 85. Flow 86. 5 AM Club 87. Miracle Morning 88. Unfuck Yourself 89. Make you Bed 90. Stop Doing that Sh*t 91. The Millionare Fastlane 92. Steve Jobs 93. Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda 94. THE KITE RUNNER 95. TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE 96. FIVE PEOPLE YOU MEET IN HEAVEN 97. Peak: Secrets from the New Science of Expertise by Anders Ericsson and Robert Pool 98. Security Alanysis 99. Spin Selling 100. Business adventures

[queennicoleinboots]

This Week, I Wanted to Destroy the Minds of MANkind

A/N: An anti-gay slur is present, alternate universe, adult diapers present, lots of PMS, hints of feminism (sorry, Joebear and Albear)

I was 30 feet tall in an alternate universe where all females were dominant. Unfortunately, we needed MEN to reproduce. My husbear was more than happy that men were necessary. He believed men were dominant. Haha not here, baebae. Maybe on Earth, but not here.

"I NEED PENIS!!!!" I yelled as I stomped on small huts. I then sounded like Godzilla.

"Holy Shit the world is ending!" Garfield said as he ran for dear life.

Kissy pounced on him and then started to roll on and kick his ass.

Duke the Ace of Dodging and Riley the Ace of Riddling ran the fuck out of this reality.

Joebear sighed.

Albear looked at me and said, "Here we go. More feminist bullshit. Been around it all my life. Mama Bear was a feminist. It's true. They revolve their whole world around feminism!"

Garfield purred and laid next to my foot after Kissy beat his ass.

Joebear laughed and said, "Garfield loves his mommy."

I picked up Garfield and put him in my palm. I pet him in my hand.

Garfield curled up in my palm and continued to purr.

"TINY CLASSIFIED ADS are the answer to PMS!" Joebear yelled. "So is listening to Tony Robbins and Robert T. Kyosaki!'

"Yep. We were told that in the 90s. More feminist bullshit," Albear said. "More seminar shit. Fell for it in the 90s. So done with it."

Garfield wagged his tail, walked around in my paw, and purred.

"Maybe women should get their own 1-900 numbers," Joebear said.

Colonel America laughed.

"Those are adult lines," Albear said.

There was another 30-foot-tall female. She looked exactly like me, except that her hair was only waist-length, and she was wearing a diaper. She was PMSing, too. And her diaper wasn't clean. I could smell blood and feces. She cried and sounded like Godzilla as well. Sigh. Another thing to deal with.

I took her to a private knook in the woods and tried to find a replacement diaper for her.

Joebear was on his computer and putting in codes to deal with trying to calm the environment in this reality.

I had yet another copy of me fighting Peter while laughing. Peter sounded like King Kong because he was 30 feet tall. Ha! I was as tall as Peter.

"What the fuck? I'm not tall anymore!" Peter yelled.

"This is a woman's world! Of course not!" my clone said as she laughed and kicked him in the shin.

Albear was calling 1-900 lines and handing the phones to angry women. Kissy attacked the main phone.

Lindsay was running around in a royal maroon princess dress and a large gold crown. "Carrington!!! Where are you?! It's almost Thanksgiving! Have you bought the turkey yet?!" she screamed.

"I'm on my way to the butcher now, Queen Lindsay!" Carrington said as he scurried off in a hurry.

"I bought several!" Joebear screamed as he launched $120 20-pound turkeys in the air. He was feeding Amazonian women from all over.

Meanwhile, I had removed my first clone's dirty diaper and watched that thing quickly get eaten by angry female cochroaches, beetles, flies, bees, dogs, Venus Flytraps, and worms. Some of the plastic had been swallowed by the Earth.

I then turned on a shower hose and sprayed her with it. I washed her hair with natural shampoo and started to wash her face.

"I hate to bother you, but I'm thirsty," she whined.

I sprayed water in her mouth.

"Does anyone want OJ?" Albear asked.

"Do you mean O.J. Simpson?" Colonel America asked as he rode Murphee the Ace of Munching in the woods. Murphee the Ace of Munching also started eating what was left in my clone's diaper.

Albear blinked. "Huh?"

O.J. Simpson appeared and yelled, "Wow! Naked women!"

Joebear showed up with a jug of orange juice, a carton of ice cream, and a bag of chips. He sat down and started eating.

"Damn you fat!" I screamed.

"Don't make fun of me, Bae! I haven't eaten all day. Do you understand what a maniac I feel like! I feel like Randy Savage right now!" Joebear screamed before he growled and continued to eat.

"Would anyone ELSE like any orange juice?!" Albear screamed.

"Yes, please!" my clone and I screamed.

Albear threw jugs of orange juice at us, and we drank.

"Thank you," I said as I continued to spray my clone's body.

"Yes, thank you," my clone said as she moved around to let me spray everywhere.

"You're welcome," Albear said before he took the empty jugs and left.

Joebear and Murphee the Ace of Munching were eating. Colonel America was laughing and drinking Sam Adam's Oktoberfest beer. O.J. Simpson was jacking off.

And I was giving my clone a bath and continually spraying her lady parts. Unfortunately, I had to shave her, too. I even spent extra time washing her butt.

I conditioned her hair with coconut oil and rinsed her off before I dried her with a hair dryer.

She was laughing, dancing, and enjoying herself as the hot air hit her body. Once I dried her completely, a large clean diaper fell out of the sky and hit me on the head.

I looked up and saw a plane full of female monkeys waving at me.

"Thank you," I called before wrapping the diaper around my clone's butt. She helped me adjust the tabs before hugging me and going about her day.

Kissy meowed loudly and grew into a 25-foot-long cat. Oreo suddenly grew to be 50 feet long. Both of them meowed loudly.

When Joebear was finished eating and talking to the cats, I went over and mauled him. Then, I kissed his face and belly. I licked the underside of his belly.

"Oh no! I gotta poop!" Joebear said as he hauled ass on all fours away to shit on a tree that was 40 feet away.

I laughed and found Murphee the Ace of Munching barking at my diapered clone. Colonel America was tapping her right shin with his Shield.

"SO BIG!" Joebear yelled.

I cracked up and sprayed water in his bear butt. He was laughing as he scrubbed his butt with a bar of soap.

"Bae! This is fucked up!" He said as he laughed and washed his bear genitals.

"It needs to be done, sexy beast!" I said as I hosed my bear off.

Kissy and Oreo waited for him and meowed loudly.

Joebear laughed and said, "You big bitches!" He then got on Kissy's back and rode away. Oreo laid down and meowed before she got up and searched for Albear.

"When you return, I want business!" I screamed.

My diapered clone then picked up Colonel America and Murphee and carried them around.

Peter and my other clone were still fighting and laughing.

Garfield climbed a tree and meowed at me before laying down on said tree and purring. I pet him. I was getting sleepy.

O.J. Simpson made monkey sounds as he was ejaculating all over the place.

I laid down and curled up near a tree.

--------------------------------------------------

Joebear was singing "Disarm" by Smashing Pumpkins in my ear.

"I love this song, but I was asleep, Bae! Lay down," I said.

He laid down and sang "New Year's Day" by U2.

"Thank you, Bae. Much better," I said.

Colonel America yelled and started singing along. Murphee the Ace of Munching barked to the rhythm of the song. He then spoke, "Windows 10 may not be bad after all! Please, for the love of God, let Windows 10 be the savior for makind against PMSing women!!!"

Depeche Mode's "People are People" started playing in the background.

Joebear and Albear sang along loudly. I was playfully beating both of them to the beat of the song. Kissy was meowing to the beat of the song. I kissed Joebear and Albear rapidly on the cheeks. Joebear beat himself to the beat of the song. I chuckled.

My diapered clone also beat Albear and Joebear.

"Baes!!!" Albear and Joebear yelled.

My diapered clone and I were making Murloc sounds.

Colonel America laughed as he tried to control my diapered clone. Murphee the Ace of Munching started singing "Smooth Criminal" by Alien Ant Farm.

Meanwhile, Peter screamed "OH YOU JUST WANTED TO BE A BITCH!" to my other clone.

"You're goddamn right I did! You're the one that told me to fuck off after I offered you peppermint coffee and suggested you not buy a faggotty ass Mac Computer. That shit is too retarded even for you!" she yelled.

"I had to! I was trying not to get your ass in EVEN MORE trouble. You're not the only fucking female who regularly exists in my house!" Peter yelled.

Metallica's "Enter Sandman" was playing in the background.

I was beating Joebear to the beat of the song. Joebear and Albear were singing the lyrics. Joebear drank a sip of salt water while Albear growled. Joebear coughed and screamed.

Kissy, Garfield, Gabby, Oreo, and Murphee the Ace of Munching headbanged. Murphee the Ace of Munching howled.

Colonel America laughed while my diapered clone put on a black robe and laid down to sleep.

--------------------------------------------------

Garfield rubbed up against me while Joebear, Albear, Colonel America, Peter, and Murphee the Ace of Munching were imitating Smashing Pumpkins and playing "1979."

Joebear and Albear were born in 1979. Colonel America was 30 years old in 1979, and his life was just then starting to get unfucked. Peter was 15 years old in 1979, and females of all ages worshipped the ground he walked on. Murphee the Ace of Munching wasn't even thought of in 1979.

The diapered clone woke up from her nap. All three of my clones were sitting in angry chairs.

Joebear, Albear, Colonel America, Peter, and Murphee the Ace of Munching were now playing "Angry Chair" by Alice in Chains.

Pauno, my Greek God friend who looked like Dionysus, came out of the woods to listen to Albear, Peter, and Joebear screaming the lyrics.

"Lost my mind, yeah

Can't find it anywhere

Corporate prison, we stay

I'm a dull boy, work all day

So I'm strung out anyway

Loneliness is not a phase

Field of pain is where I graze

Serenity is far away

Saw my reflection and cried

So little hope that I died, oh

Feed me your lies, open wide

Weight of my heart, not the size, oh

I don't mind, yeah

I don't mind, yeah

Lost my mind, yeah

Can't find it anywhere

I DON'T MIND!!!"

Murphee the Ace of Munching barked angrily. Colonel America was beating the drums with his Thor hammer.

Pauno then started singing "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" by Smashing Pumpkins. The other five clowns started playing and singing along. Kissy was meowing along.

The three of us clones got out of our chairs and beat on Joebear, Colonel America, and Peter.

Oreo screamed at Albear and chased him around on the stage.

Meeka the Ace of Mayhem, a Chinook that was a mix of Australian and German shepherds, flew out of the woods and was barking straight at Murphee the Ace of Munching. She was barking to the rhythm of the song.

Murphee the Ace of Munching flew off the stage and barked repeatedly at Meeka the Ace of Mayhem. They were barking, growling, and fighting. They even pawed the ground to find a spot to lay on.

Pauno sang "Polly Wants A Cracker" by Nirvana. Peter, Joebear, Albear, and Colonel America were playing the song. Joebear and Albear was beating themselves to the song.

My clones and I made Murloc sounds to annoy the men. Men must be destroyed, lol.

Female dinosaurs were roaming the Earth and knocking over the male Giants before they started eating them.

My clones and I grabbed food from woods and farms and started feeding Joebear, Albear, Garfield, Colonel America, Peter, Murphee the Ace of Munching, Gabby, Pauno, and Fredbear. Fredbear was a random half-human half-black bear who joined in some festivities.

Joebear burped himself and playbeat me in appreciation.

[master-thief-gray-shadow]

1-154 Answer everything you pussy

Fuck.

Name: Not telling.

Age: 20 going on 21

3 Fears: Dying young, being a general failure of a person, spiders

3 things I love: My cat, peanut butter, literally everything in Las Vegas

4 turns on: Futanari, femdom, girls with abs, animal ears/tails

4 turns off: Scat, vomit, ugly faceless guys, mindbreak

My best friend: My cat my right hand my buddy Adam, who I’ve known since first grade

Sexual orientation: Gay

My best first date: Haven’t had one ahaha

How tall am I: 5′2″

What do I miss: The blissful lack of awareness of how fucked up the world really is

What time were I born: Around 10 PM, I think

Favourite color: Silver

Do I have a crush: Yes, several

Favourite quote: “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!”

Favourite place: My room, probably

Favourite food: Roast beef sandwiches

Do I use sarcasm? Noooooo, I neeeever use sarcasm

What am I listening to right now? My brother watching YGOTAS in the next room

First thing I notice in new person: Hair, probably

Shoe size: Men’s 7

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: Brown

Favourite style of clothing: Loose and casual

Ever done a prank call?: Nah

Meaning behind my URL: Gray Shadow has been a handle I’ve had since middle school and I’ve never had the heart to change it. The Gray part comes from my name and the Shadow part is just adolescent edginess. The Master Thief part only came about when I found that Gray Shadow was taken.

Favourite movie: Star Wars

Favourite song: Either Cutie Panther or Anemone Heart

Favourite band: μ’s

How I feel right now: Kinda tired

Someone I love: My brother, honestly

My current relationship status: SIngle

My relationship with my parents: Pretty good, actually

Favourite holiday: Halloween

Tattoos and piercing i have: None

Tattoos and piercing i want: Some simple rings in my ears, and then maybe some tattoos of cats or dragons or something

The reason I joined Tumblr: Memes

Do I and my last ex hate each other? No because I don’t have one

Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts? Sometimes

Have I ever kissed the last person you texted? No

When did I last hold hands? God, I don’t remember

How long does it take me to get ready in the morning? 10 minutes

Have You shaved your legs in the past three days? No

Where am I right now? On my bed

If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me? Not sure, but preferably a family member

Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? Reasonable

Do I live with my Mom and Dad? Yes

Am I excited for anything? My birthday which is coming up next month

Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to? My dad

How often do I wear a fake smile? Never. I smile for real or not at all.

When was the last time I hugged someone? Two days ago

What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me? I would be happy for him because the kiss was an accident and my feelings for him are platonic

Is there anyone I trust even though I should not? I think there are more people I don’t trust even though I should

What is something I disliked about today? The fact that my internet was shitting itself during Nintendo’s E3 conference

If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? Daisy Ridley

What do I think about most? Food, probably

What’s my strangest talent? I can put my legs behind my head like a pretzel

Do I have any strange phobias? Not really

Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? Behind

What was the last lie I told? “No, I can’t work on Thursday”

Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online? Video chatting

Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens? I’m not sure about ghosts, but I definitely believe in aliens

Do I believe in magic? I wish I could, but I don’t

Do I believe in luck? Not particularly but I am mildly superstitious

What’s the weather like right now? Warm and clear

What was the last book I’ve read? Zeus Grants Stupid Wishes

Do I like the smell of gasoline? A little

Do I have any nicknames? Sometimes people call me G, and at least one person just calls me Gay

What was the worst injury I’ve ever had? Someone once accidentally cut open my hand with some scissors. Fifteen years later I still have the scar.

Do I spend money or save it? Save

Can I touch my nose with a tounge? Yes

Is there anything pink in 10 feets from me? Yes, candy

Favourite animal? Cats

What was I doing last night at 12 AM? Getting ready to go to bed

What do I think is Satan’s last name is? I dunno. McDevildude?

What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it? Intensive Care Unit by Renard Queenston. It’s a song I associate with a simpler time in my life.

How can you win my heart? By putting up with my shitty, difficult personality

What would I want to be written on my tombstone? “Wait, I’m not done yet!”

What is my favorite word? Unfuck

My top 5 blogs on tumblr: I don’t think I have a top five, but my favorite blog, content-wise, is probably k64corruptions

If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say? Stop being dicks to each other

Do I have any relatives in jail? Not that I know of

I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power? Illusions, probably

What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on? Are you a good friend?

What is my current desktop picture? μ’s in suits

Had sex? …

Bought condoms? No

Gotten pregnant? Hell no

Failed a class? No, but I’ve come close

Kissed a boy? Yes

Kissed a girl? No

Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain? No

Had job? Yes

Left the house without my wallet? A few times, back when I first started carrying one around

Bullied someone on the internet? No

Had sex in public? No

Played on a sports team? No

Smoked weed? No

Did drugs? No

Smoked cigarettes? No

Drank alcohol? YES

Am I a vegetarian/vegan? No

Been overweight? No, but I’ve come close

Been underweight? No, but again, almost

Been to a wedding? Yes

Been on the computer for 5 hours straight? Yes

Watched TV for 5 hours straight? Yes

Been outside my home country? Yes

Gotten my heart broken? No

Been to a professional sports game? Yes

Broken a bone? No

Cut myself? No

Been to prom? No

Been in airplane? Yes

Fly by helicopter? No

What concerts have I been to? I don’t go to concerts

Had a crush on someone of the same sex? I’m gay. What do you think the answer is?

Learned another language? No, but I want to

Wore make up? No

Lost my virginity before I was 18? No

Had oral sex? No

Dyed my hair? No

Voted in a presidential election? Yes

Rode in an ambulance? Yes

Had a surgery? No

Met someone famous? Yes, Micheal Shannon

Stalked someone on a social network? No

Peed outside? Yes

Been fishing? No

Helped with charity? No

Been rejected by a crush? No because I don’t confess to my crushes

Broken a mirror? Yes

What do I want for birthday? A Nintendo Switch, a brewing kit, and a bottle of expensive liquor

How many kids do I want and what will be their names? Ew I don’t want kids

Was I named after anyone? No, but I was almost named after my grandma Gladys. Almost makes me like the name I was given.

Do I like my handwriting? It’s legible and that’s what matters

What was my favourite toy as a child? A stuffed bear named Baby

Favourite Tv Show? Probably something on Travel Channel IDK

Where do I want to live when older? Somewhere up north. Or California.

Play any musical instrument? I used to play piano

One of my scars, how did I get it? I have a bunch of scars on my chest from when the family cat scratched me up when I was little

Favourite pizza toping? Bacon

Am I afraid of the dark? Only when it’s pitch black

Am I afraid of heights? They make me nervous but I wouldn’t say I’m afraid

Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad? Yes

Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end? Yes

What I’m really bad at: Getting things done

What my greatest achievments are: Winning a relay at camp once

The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me: I don’t know, I’ve probably repressed it

What I’d do if I won in a lottery: Move into an apartment in a big city somewhere and buy a bunch of fancy electronic gadgets

What do I like about myself: Not much, honestly

My closest Tumblr friend: Either @nui-the-super-lesbian or @imgayandasinner

Something I fantasise about: Being successful and having a romantic partner who puts up with me

Any question you’d like? Fuck you what other things could you possibly want to know about me?