#bb 19

[echofades]

STATION 19 | 7.03: True Colors

[orb-the-watchman]

I've wanted to make this joke for SO long

[firestorm09890]

if you start shipping discourse of any kind in the notes of this I'll fucking meteor mirage your ass but

[mustbebunnys]

Maya Bishop // Station 19, s07e03, True Colors

[starfiresky]

Kingdom Hearts?

More like Kingdom B R O K E N Hearts 💔

[clowndensation]

love all the posts where people live and die by whether astarion approves of you. like wdym. getting to whine and complain is literally one of his favorite activities. it's actually unhealthy to keep your vampire too overly pleased.

[thewingedwolf]

people on twitter are bitching about cory and all his “expletives” and i need these gen xers to stop being so fuckin uptight & not pretend like every other word out of every houseguests mouth in the aughts wasn’t bitch or slut.

[nugulover69]

[lonestarbattleship]

USS LOUISIANA (BB-19) arriving in New York hHarbor and docking in Hoboken, New Jersey.

She is dropping off the 59th Regiment, Coast Artillery from overseas. The regiment was in action for 68 days, but lost only two men during World War I.

Photographed on January 27, 1919.

NARA: 26433477, 26433573, 26433589, 26433705, 26433609, 26433607, 24686

Library of Congress: sn83030214

[mayasdeluca]

nightskyeventsitalia Did anyone say “duos”? @dsavre @spampistefania @greydamon @albertofrezza #ConfrontTheFire

Ph: @cr_circe & @caporale_leonardo

[acourtofquestions]

"We met someone. Who set us all down a path I fought against until it cost me and others much. Too much. So you may look at me with resentment, Yrene Towers, and I will not blame you for it. But believe me when I say that there is no one in Erilea who loathes me more than I do myself."

"For the path you found yourself forced down?"

"For fighting that path to begin with--for the mistakes I made in doing so."

"And what path do you walk now? How shall the Hand of Adarlan shape its future?"

[vanosslirious]

SMii7y: So, you have a radio, right, Matt?

Blarg: Yeah, but I don't know how to use it.

SMii7y: Pull that bitch out, when it starts going up to the red, it means someone's near.

Blarg: Okay. Well, it is, it is, brown.

[br1ghtestlight]

bob's burgers writers/voice actors/animators trying to finish season 14 episodes now that the writers/actors strike is over

[boy-armageddon]

Personally I think the little phenomenon w/ Johnny Whitney writing a just genuinely sort of devastating song once per every record or so (or twice! take, well, Take Me to the Sea 4 example. actually three times maybe. talking about specifically georgia + my organ sounds like… here and also bonetrees and a broken heart a little. also also As Brass And Satin just feels utterly melancholic in its near entirety) is that he just wakes up face down covered in blood in the studio, his own or someone else’s he can’t tell, shaking and grasping some shoddily scrawled out lyrics on a rlly very old piece of paper. The rest of the band might be like “johnny what the fuck happened” and he just springs 2 his feet like “oh haha nothing :> im fine don’t worry. nothing happened!!!!!!! anyways i have this cool new idea 4 a song wanna hear” and any time anyone tries 2 ask about it he immediately dodges the question and moves on2 a diff topic. He can explain what it’s about, but any time someone asks about the inspiration he gets nervous and is like “ohhh ummm. I 4got! Any other song though lol” and doesn’t wait 4 an answer. that’s just a theory though a Seattle theory

[mustbebunnys]

Maya Bishop Blue eyes → Heart eyes s07e01

[i-am-still-bb]

No. 19

“I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.” | Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Alt. No. 3

Brass Knuckles

Characters: Kili, Bolg, OCs Rating: T AU: Fast Car (formerly Dead Batteries) Words: 1619

Direct continuation of No. 18 - “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened” / Blindfold (Tumblr)

I feel like the prompt gives you all the warning you need?

--

Kili watched his back after that. He took the long way home. Walked past his apartment building to circle back. He did not know how much information Cameron had shared with them. Kili had moved since he had called the agency that Cam worked for. But Kili knew that it was not hard to find someone if you put your mind to it. There were property deeds, accident reports, alumni newsletters; all of which were easily accessible. 

He had thrown that post-it note away in the nearest trash can after he left the El. 

But he remembered all of the listed medications. Some he could have just purchased. He could have taken the medicine to the counter, presented his driver’s license, paid, and left the pharmacy with a little plastic bag containing medicine that could either be used to treat cold symptoms or to make meth, buyer's choice. 

But he didn’t.

And then there were the medications that were harder to acquire.

And he did not even think about ways to get his hands on those in a way that would not get him fired and arrested.

And he did not see anybody who seemed to be watching him. He did not see the man with scars again.

By Thursday he had relaxed a little bit, only to wake up Friday morning full of tension and nerves. He went to the gym early and spent more time zoning out to an audiobook and following the workout that an app had generated for him. He felt better afterwards, but still jumpy and nervous. 

And it was getting noticed. 

Tauriel and Ari had noticed when he was out their place for their biweekly Wine Wednesday where they ate disgusting amounts of takeout, drank wine, talked, and maybe watched a couple episodes of whatever show they were currently binging as a group. 

Kili brushed it off. Said that there were talks about a union walk out and he wondered what would happen to the people that needed their medication if that happened. That quickly led them down a well trodden path of arguing at each other about insurances, unions, nonsensical laws, and poor working conditions in a variety of contexts. 

And Kili’s ill mood was forgotten. 

For the first time he wished he worked for a large pharmacy. The chances of some remote CEO caring about Kili’s sex life were lower. And even if the CEO cared Kili would likely never have to see the person who had been on the receiving end of those images and that video. 

Kili worked for a family owned pharmacy that was nestled into the corner of a suburban neighborhood. He knew many of the customers. He asked how people’s babies were doing. And he knew the owner, he attended the Christmas parties, and enjoyed any of the “team building” weekends. So even if he kept his job he would probably quit and seek employment elsewhere, probably in a different city, very likely in a different state. 

On Friday his miscounted pills, almost gave Mr. Peterhof Mrs. Peterson’s prescription for blood pressure instead of his anti-rejection medication. He was distracted at best. He thought about leaving early, but decided against it. He did not know these men well enough to know if they would stop the store manager, Rebecca, who would be closing up if Kili was not there.

“See you on Monday!” Rebecca said cheerfully, waving to Kili as he was finishing up the last of the prescriptions that were slated for pick up over the weekend. 

He worked slowly. 

In November it got dark early. The large windows that faced the street now just reflected the dimmed interior of the store. Instead of letting him see the rest of the world they let him see double of the rows of pop, candy, snack foods, and baby diapers.

The hair on his neck stood on end. He felt like he was being watched. He watched his reflection as he got closer to the front doors. Locked. Just like they should be. Walking back to the pharmacy counter he stiffened; that sense of being watched had only increased. 

He paused when he was filling a prescription for Oxycontin, the Albrecht kid had just had surgery on his ACL, what if he just…

No. 

Kili recounted the 15 pills. Sealed the bottle. Put it in the little plastic bag and sealed that bag with its tamper-evident seal. And hung it on the rack with the rest of the As. 

The stack of orders was completed.

Kili sighed. He hung his white jacket up, pulled on a bulky denim jacket and a beanie (a half-assed attempt at altering his physical appearance along with the scruff he had let grow over the last couple of days). He pulled down the metal gates, locked them, checked the front door again, before exiting into the back alley. That feeling of unease did not fade. He kept thinking that he saw things over his shoulder, or reflections in the mirrored glass windows while he did these final few tasks. 

The lock clicked in place when he shut the door.

The alley was dark, red brick and dumpsters barely visible. He fixed his gaze on the light of the street where cars and people would be. 

The voice was low, but clear, “Working late?”

Kili startled, hands going to the strap of his cross body bag. He felt the brief flash of a desire for something to defend himself with. 

“No,” he said curtly. 

“You’re normally off by 6:30,” the shadow separated from the wall between Kili and the warm glow of the streetlights. “And it's nearly 8.”

“Busy weekend,” Kili said brusquely. “Lots of work to do.” He did not stop moving. Hoping that he would just be allowed to keep going. 

Then another shadow was there. This one was even larger and standing directly in front of Kili. 

“Do you have my order?” the first man said, now behind Kili. 

Kili turned to keep both of them in his sights. “I… I do not.”

A speculative noise, “Why?”

Kili swallowed and tightened his grip on his bag. “It’s not possible.”

“There’s always a way.” He walked behind Kili, forcing Kili to keep turning, now only seeing one, now both, now one. 

“There’s not. I’ll get caught.”

“But I’d still have my order.”

Kili wanted to ask, “And what about me?” But was sure that he already knew the answer. 

A distinctive click. Kili’s blood ran cold. He had not heard it in years, but he knew the sound of a pocket knife blade flicking open and locking out. A sound he knew well from years spent in the club house. Nori had a habit of flicking open a knife, closing it, flicking it open, again and again. A nervous tick, a habit that always made him seem a little menacing. He would be talking with you about different motor oils, the movie he saw that weekend, the video game he was currently playing through, but that blade would be be going snick, click, snick, click, like a metronome. 

“I hate having to ask for things twice.”

Kili’s whole body tensed. Waiting for contact.

“But I will.” 

Click. 

The blade closed. 

Kili exhaled. Relieved that he would have maybe another week to figure out what to do. 

And then he was dropped to his knees. A blow slammed into his lower back, angling up under his ribs. And he forgot how to stand. 

“But Jean here is going to make sure you remember to fill our prescription next time.”

Another one made his vision flash and spin. 

Kili fought to throw off his back. And when he was pulled over onto his back to another fist raised, light flashing on the brass knuckles he was able to throw up an arm, blocking the blow. Kili kicked Jean’s inner thigh, just above the knee.

Jean grunted and dropped to one knee. 

Kili grabbed for Jean’s arm, pulling it close, pulling Jean off balance so that Kili could flip them, giving him the upperhand. He straddled Jean’s waist grappling to get an arm around the other man’s neck. The martial arts classes he had taken for years at the suggestion of his college therapist were finally coming in handy, but his hands did not quite remember the move. His hands slipped, and Jean’s hands were free. Kili fought for control again. He was sweating and cursing the heavy jacket. His hat had fallen off. He grunted in effort as he forced Jean’s arm flat. Before he could take the hold further though, an arm wrapped around Kili’s throat, applying expert pressure, enough that Kili was lightheaded in moments, weak in a few more, but not enough that he lost consciousness. 

“That was not a smart move, Kili,” the voice growled in Kili’s ear. His hot, rancid breath was the last thing that Kili remembered before there was the glint of the brass knuckles again and his vision went dark, then his hearing stopped and he knew no more.

—

Kili was stiff and cold when he woke up. He was still in the alley. He fumbled around for his bag and found his phone. It was just past midnight. He shivered and collected himself. Everything hurt. His face felt swollen. He gingerly felt for the margins of the swelling, wincing as he pressed more firmly, trying to ascertain the level of damage. 

He winced, pulling his bag over his head. That was when he saw the note pinned to his chest. It was another post-it note, with a handwritten list and another date—next Friday.

Kili straightened. He had earned a reprieve of one week.

--

Taglist Everything@silvermoon-scrolls @metztlilua @i-am-pinkie

Fili/Kili @dubhlachen