#deputy girlfriend

[dracomeir]

I decided to make my cowboy AU have Otis as the main character. Hehehe.

A shopkeeper called Gibbons convinces him to travel together westward to gain a new perspective on life, and to find his cousin who has turned to a life of crime after abandoning the family. Upon arriving at (fuck if I know, insert town name) a growing town on the west coast, he helps his travel companion with the shop while meeting new friends and foes. He eventually learns what family truly means, and sets off with Sheriff Boyfriend, and Deputy Girlfriend to put an end to Pico’s gang of bandits.

[asharaks]

CRITICALLY UNACCLAIMED FAR CRY 5 MENTION???? how many letters in asharaks ATE!! it’s nice to see another fc5 lover in the wild. the grip that game has on me (it could be so good if it was good could be so ) if you ever feel like talking about it i would love to hear any thought you have 💛

i’m gonna be 100% honest with you boss i read this message and was like To Be Honest i think this one’s beyond redemption — the far cry games are fundamentally about killing people in increasingly horrifying ways and numbers, for such deserving crimes as: being Drugged; being Brainwashed; being Foreign; and being Over There. far cry 5 is a muddled mess of a game without a clear message or storyline, and clearly exists for ubisoft to show off their super sick combat mechanics, WHICH, it must be said, are super sick. i love you wingsuit.

then i thought. hey ash. aren’t you right neow in the process of writing a far cry 5 fic in which faith survives. isn’t it a core tenet of your playthroughs that faith survives. and the answer to that is a resounding Yes.

SO: my far cry 5 beautiful vision. first, as mentioned above, faith lives. we find out more about her, about the position of Faith Seed; her terror of joseph is explored, her past as a heroin addict, the transition from rachel jessop to faith seed. the scared girl who was groomed by these men into their weird fucked up babydoll toy, the feminine face of the apocalypse — why do the brothers need a Faith, why do they need to seemingly recruit vulnerable women into this position of simultaneous power and dependence? is rachel jessop still in there, and what would it take to bring her home? so, we keep faith; instead of gunning her down, we save her, we bring her out of the bliss and into a place where she is — if not safe, because no one here is safe — at least advocated for, looked after, part of a community.

second: the deputy. i love my dep; i am at all times rotating them in my mind palace. but i would give them more intentionality: this person is a sheriff’s deputy with a capacity for incredible violence, who doesn’t bat an eyelid at being told to gun down local citizens en masse. ten minutes into the game, you’re hurling dynamite from a moving car while driving down the road. i’d lean hard into the nonverbal protagonist aspect, make ‘em more fucked up: more nightmares, more depersonalisation. why are they so vulnerable to the cult’s brainwashing? well, that’s because they’re already fucked in the head; their boundaries are eroded to nothing almost right away, their capacity to see other humans as people, their us-vs-them mentality: i want to see all of this explored properly, with more personal quests, more ambient dialogue, more to root the deputy as a person who lived in this town before it all went to shit and to explain why their first instinct in any situation is murder. also how they do that thing with their bones (break every single one then get up and walk it off).

if i was doing a serious rewrite of the game, i’d want to see, more than anything, more focus. i want to see thematic resonance, the bones of which are there but completely missed in the original. the ideas about pack mentality, about depersonalisation, dehumanisation, weaponisation — all those good -ations — with the deputy, with the thousands of same-faced enemies in the same outfits with the same hair. i’d make that more intentional, too: make it clear that the deputy is not right in the head, that these people they’re gunning down are a product of their own worldview. maybe half of them aren’t even real; by the time jacob gets done fucking with you, who knows! lean into that sense of heavy paranoia, the gaslighting, the impossibility of knowing who’s a friend and who’s an enemy: i’d make it much much harder to tell where reality ends and the deputy’s bloodlust begins, give the player more consequences for killing civilians and non-combatants, and a lot more fucked up dream/bliss sequences.

also, let the deputy experience feelings about the way they’re used. they’re turned into a weapon, put through incredible torture, brainwashing, abuse: they’re drugged, tattooed, flayed, exploded, set on fire, made to kill their friends. all of this should take a toll, and i want to see more of that. make it harder to tell enemies from a distance, slap friendly npc’s faces on some of those hundreds of bodies you mow down: lean into the horror of it all, emphasise the scale of the violence that the deputy commits. acknowledge that the deputy does all this because they’re told to, not because they choose to: they’re made into a weapon of war, and turned against people who used to be their townspeople, who they should have protected. and yes, as a cop that’s a tenuous thread but let’s be real ubisoft aren’t doing acab here.

the themes i personally see most clearly in fc5 are like… yeah the depersonalisation of it all. the dehumanisation. jacob’s brainwashing literally has you fighting faceless opponents, people with bags over their heads; more of that, even outside the red rooms, even outside the bliss: eliminate any sense of safety or control, any faith you might have in your perception of reality.

also, in an ideal world, the companions would have more depth and development, and more personal quest stuff; at the risk of turning this action game into a story based rpg, i think it would have benefited from having more relationship mechanics. not romance, but, like… companions react to the things you do. i shouldn’t be able to shoot a civilian in the head and have my companions shrug it off. the plot of the game itself is pretty weak, but frankly, no-one’s here for the plot: i don’t really have much i’d change there, except the absolute bastard of a final battle with joseph — i don’t hate the endings, but they don’t have much resonance for me, as the culmination of a game that was largely about exploration and doing mass murder in inventive ways. i think the deputy should die at the end, is my hot take; that guy needs to be put down like a sick dog.

i'd keep the seed brothers being psychosexually obsessed w you, bc otherwise what are we even doing here; i still think you should get to kill them, ideally with your bare hands, just to make it gayer and hotter.

[acorrespondence]

☔ !!

☔ Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Oh there absolute is and I was really hoping I’d get this one, thank you for sending it! The working title for this fic is “Six Places Wynn Duffy Might Be (But Probably Isn’t)” and it’s probably the most insane and cracky fic idea I’ve ever had—kind of inspired by Timothy Olyphant’s character in The Office—but I really really love it. It’s multimedia, and the basic premise is that Rachel sends Raylan a file with six different leads in it, all of them documenting the possible location and assumed identity of Wynn Duffy. Each lead is a crossover with a different other TV show. The first item is a transcript from Troy and Abed in the Morning, discussing whether or not the new security systems professor and women’s tennis coach at Greendale is actually some kind of disgraced/retired crime lord, based on the evidence that he made several strange comments: one a reference to the job not being exactly what he wants but “at least no one’s throwing bullets at me.”

The second is a town meeting transcript from Pawnee, Indiana discussing the presence of a new food truck run out of an RV called Win-a-Bagel, with some citizens concerned that it’s a scam and/or money-laundering scheme, while other residents argue that it’s not worth looking into and possibly jeopardizing their opportunity to win free bagels. The one after that is a transcript from a documentary about a paper company called Dunder Mifflin currently in production in Scranton, Pennsylvania; specifically, interviews with/about a new hire named Larry Mawkins, who according to his own reports was previously a very unpopular motivational speaker/life coach, until one day the lone member of his audience killed himself in the middle of the seminar. One colleague in particular, Dwight Schrute, has become convinced that it’s impossible for anyone to be that much of a general bore and total failure at life unless it was intentional to make people underestimate and dismiss him, leading to the theory that he’s on the run from either the cops or the mob. Their other colleagues weigh in on the realism and likelihood of this theory. However, Larry Mawkins has since disappeared without warning, having stopped showing up to work the day after a new hire named Danny Cordray joined the staff.

The next two were a lot more vague and sketchy and I was having trouble trying to find shows that Duffy-in-disguise would fit into. The one I got the farthest with would have been a newspaper article from Santa Barbara where Shawn Spencer claims that all of the houses in a recent string of “unconnected” robberies were in fact installed by the same man, despite all being from different companies. When police looked into it, they realized that none of the companies had been made aware of these installations. However, all the names used with the clients were fake names, so there was no way to track down the culprit, and the rash of robberies ended, leaving the case cold. After that, I had a couple ideas that I couldn’t figure out how to fit into the structure: either a loan shark or a rival banana stand owner (who possibly also sold drugs) in Arrested Development was one, and Darryl from Crazy Ex Girlfriend’s new boyfriend, whom everyone agrees is sketchy and probably a criminal, was another.

And then, of course, number six: an extreme (and therefore extremely blurry) zoom on the background of an image posted to Instagram, centered on someone who could possibly be Wynn Duffy, actually on a beach somewhere in Fiji—and lying in the sand next to him is a guy who looks suspiciously like Neal Caffrey ;)

(Ask Game here)

[deputyclover]

The Date

*Clover exits his Ford Bronco and heads to the other side and opens the door for Kanako.

Clover: Madame.

Kanako: Aw, thanks Clover!

*Clover leads Kanako inside as Martlet, Ceroba, and Rose watch from a rooftop.

*Clover walks in and gets the table he reserved where he and Kanako sit.

Clover: So, Kanako, what kind of things do you like?

Kanako: Well, I love just making overly complicated stuff, and sitting under a nice tree.

Clover: That's pretty cool! Mind if I talk?

Kanako: Sure!

*Clover then goes on a rant about his hyperfixations as Kanako sits, elbows on table, head in her hands, absolutely loving the autistic man in front of her.

*The food arrives, a large pepperoni pizza and Clover gives Kanako some of pizza.

Clover: Here you go!

Kanako: Aw, thanks Clover!

*The two happily talk as they eat pizza and when the two finish Clover pays and takes Kanako home.

Clover: Alright Kanako, that was fun!

Kanako: Yeah, it was.

Clover, blushing: D-do you want to be my girlfriend...?

Kanako, blushing more: Yes.

*Clover smiles as he kisses Kanako on the forehead.

Kanako: Awwww, Clover!

*Kanako grabs Clover's face and looks at him with love.

Kanako: You got to do it like this!

*Kanako kisses Clover on the lips and Clover's eyes widen and as soon as Kanako lets go, Clover falls backward and faints.

Kanako: Uh-oh.

[lulu2992]

Do you think the Seeds’ behavior towards the Deputy changes at all depending on their gender? I’ve listened to the arcade voicelines of John and Jacob and the things they say to female Deputy sound a bit… flirtatious. What’s your overall take on those voicelines? You’re probably aware of how the fandom likes to think the Seeds are sexually repressed and want to sleep with the Deputy. That is especially evident in the fanfiction. Do you think that the way they act in the arcade is canon or just a misinterpretation on Ubisoft’s part? Also, what about Faith? Would her behavior change at all depending on the Deputy’s gender? Thanks in advance.

In cutscenes, the Deputy’s gender doesn’t change anything... but the reason for that could just be that it was easier for the devs to only have one, gender-neutral version of the cinematics. Maybe, in theory, the Seed brothers would act a bit differently depending on the Deputy’s gender, but it’s also possible that they treat everyone with the same amount of (dis)respect. I like to imagine Eden’s Gate members don’t care about who people are or what they look like, and that what truly matters to them is what they do, but that’s up to everyone’s interpretation.

Now, are some of their Arcade lines really supposed to sound flirtatious? Maybe it was the intention of whoever wrote them (the game has 25 or so writers) because they thought it would be funny and/or make players uncomfortable, but it’s also possible that we are just over-interpreting and imagining things. And I may be too optimistic, but I want to believe that those lines wouldn’t be in the game if they were out of character.

As for Faith, some people in Far Cry 5 say that many men are attracted to her, but I don’t think that necessarily means she acts differently towards them; they’re probably statistically more likely to feel “seduced” by her than women. When it comes to the Deputy, since Faith doesn’t have gendered dialog and never uses nicknames (not even “Deputy”), I suppose she would behave the same regardless of their gender.

Also, in Far Cry 5, we have very little information about the Seeds’ sexual orientation and who they could potentially be attracted to. We know that Joseph had a wife and that John might have (had?) a thing for Mary May, but that’s pretty much it. I think it’s indeed possible that they’re “sexually repressed” considering what the Project’s rules are, but do they want to sleep with the Deputy? Well, whoever was in charge of the official Far Cry Twitter account in January 2019 humorously didn’t deny this possibility. Does that prove anything? Not really… But whether or not it was intentional, the game certainly leaves room for speculation!

[butterflyscribbles]

Wachowski Family HC List

Part 1: The Wachowski Origins

Buckle up bc I’m going way back straight out of the gate….the Wachowski family wouldn’t exist without two certain soulmates coming together after all.

- Let’s start from the very beginning….Tom and Maddie have at least known each other since grade school. In high school, they were part of the same friend group but Maddie had been dating someone else at the time. Tom had girlfriends “come and go” as his mom put it, but was single most of senior year.

- Tom was already en route to becoming a sheriff, having it run in the family and with his other two “lunatic” brothers on their way in to very different directions, he was on the way to being the lone and youngest Wachowski left to “defend Green Hills” once his dad retired. I lowkey feel like it’s actually something he never really wanted to do. It was more of a family obligation. However, he did like helping people (and he didn’t want to go to college) that was really the biggest draw for him lol.

- Maddie was the resident biology and animal nerd in her class. Her dad was a park ranger that worked closely with Tom’s dad at the sheriff’s office, especially for hunting/fishing license issues and animal control type calls. Watching her dad work was where she developed a love for nature and decided she wanted to be a vet.

- It wasn’t until one night senior year at a house party, Maddie’s boyfriend at the time dumped her just before prom. Tom, being a close friend and the upstanding “punch first, questions later” kind of guy we know he is, started a fight with the jerk that broke her heart. He skeedaddled with her from the party before Tom’s dad showed up to break everything up. ✨That was spark #1✨ They continued talking and hanging out more after that (it was also since then Rachel has been giving Tom the side eye).

- High school graduation came and went, Maddie went off to college and Tom stayed in Green hills and started training to become a deputy. He and Maddie kept in touch even when she was off studying. When she came back into town to visit her family, they would hang out and catch up.

- Tom’s dad passed away not long after he graduated and things were a bit rough for Tom at this point. His oldest brother didn’t even show up to the funeral and his other brother didn’t help much with the process. Maddie was a beacon of light in this darker point of his life.

- One weekend while he’s out driving with her during this time, they come across a fawn by the side of the road that (very clearly) lost its mom. Tom was an emotional wreck, not wanting to leave it behind. Maddie calmly helped scoop it up in some spare blankets in the back of his car and they took it to her dad so he could find the proper wildlife rehabilitator to send it to. ✨That was spark #2✨ They started dating the next day.

- Skip ahead a bit, they’re big in love. They move into a small condo type deal together once Maddie graduates college and starts veterinary school. Tom is working his three jobs to help her pay tuition: as a police officer, part time at a local sewing shop his mom used to work at, and taking odd jobs around town mowing, doing car repairs, landscaping work. He’s exhausted, she’s exhausted, but they love each other sm….they’re married 2 years later after he proposes on a camping trip (guess who was already on Earth and witnessed the proposal but was too young to even know what it meant at the time).

- Jump again, they buy their house after Maddie has been working as a full time vet for a while and Tom is promoted to sheriff.

- Maddie’s parents are both still alive and together though her dad is retired. Her mom wrote for the Green Hills newspaper for a good while on top of taking care of her and Rachel. Tom’s mom is also still kicking. She left her job at the locally owned sewing store when Tom’s dad passed and mostly just makes her living selling crafts and vegetables from her garden at the local farmers market while also giving local children sewing lessons. Tom is doing most of the supporting for her while getting some help from his one older brother who actually got his life together a bit and got a job in insurance. He moved back to Montana, but not to Green Hills. Tom hasn’t heard from his eldest brother in over a decade.

- They’ve been living in their house for about 8 years before the events of Sonic 1. They’re “too busy for kids” but they adopt Ozzy from a litter that was dropped off where Maddie works.

- Then we all know what happens next…

[dixons-sunshine]

The sound of muffled cries filled Daryl's ears. He stopped in his tracks and cocked his head to the side, trying to find the source of the sound he was hearing. He soon discovered that it was coming from Dale's RV, and against his better judgement, he walked up the steps and opened the door, hoping to figure out who was crying. However, he stopped in his tracks when he figured out who those cries belonged to.

They belonged to you.

The sound of feet shuffling caught your attention. You quickly wiped at the tears that fell from your eyes, hoping that you could shield your true emotions from the person's gaze, but you knew it would be to no avail. You simply sniffled and looked up, prepared to tell whoever that had entered to please leave you alone. However, your words got caught in your throat when you saw it was Daryl.

Daryl's cerulean eyes locked with your own eyes. He was awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs. He wasn't entirely sure what he had expected to do once he had found out who was crying in the RV. However, although his brother's voice rang through his mind, reminding him that “chicks crying was an automatic no” and that he should run, a strange feeling overcame him.

He wanted to kill whoever was causing you so much pain. Even though he logically knew that you could've been crying because of something else, something told him that it was your boyfriend, that Shane prick that made you cry like this.

“Ya alrigh'?” He mentally kicked himself for starting with that. You obviously weren't okay. He felt like a perfect moron.

You chuckled bitterly and shook your head. “Yep, I'm just peachy,” you told him with a fake smile. “But I'll be fine. Don't need you to worry about me. Go and do... whatever it is you do.”

Daryl knew that was your way of telling him to get lost. He didn't blame you; your last interaction with him hadn't exactly been all sunshines and rainbows. The two of you had formed a friendship that was blossoming rather beautifully, but then he had snapped at you, and he didn't blame you for not wanting him to pry into your life after that. However, he couldn't stop himself from saying what he said next.

“Want me to kill 'im?”

You looked up at him with confusion clear on your features. However, you quickly realized what he meant, and you decided to play along with the joke—what you didn't know was if you really wanted him to, he'd go through with it. “Please, or else I will. I can't have a murder charge on my record. How will I find a job?”

Daryl chuckled at your joke and shrugged. “I dun' mind takin' the fall, as long as ya visit me in prison.” He took a few steps further into the RV, getting closer to you with each step. “But seriously, what'd he do this time?”

“Lori's pregnant.”

Daryl didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what you meant by that. He was painfully aware of the fact that Deputy Dick—as Merle had so affectionately nicknamed him—hadn't been able to keep it in his pants, and so were you, Shane's actual girlfriend. Daryl couldn't explain it, but the urge to stab Shane for doing that to you was strong.

“And,” you began, snapping him from his train of thought. “I finally broke up with him. I'm mostly relieved, but I'm also... I don't know. I mean, I dedicated four years of my life to this man. I didn't expect it to end like this. Hell, I didn't expect it would end at all. We had our fights, but I never once thought he'd do this to me. And now he got another woman pregnant, and I don't even know if Rick knows. If he doesn't, how do I possibly break this news to him?”

Daryl didn't know how to respond to that. He hadn't expected to have all of that dumped onto him. Feelings and comforting had never been his strong suits, so he didn't know how to make you feel better.

You laughed bitterly and shook your head. “I'm sorry for dumping all of that on you. Just forget I said anything.”

No, he wouldn't have any of that. He may not be able to comfort you, but maybe he could distract you. And after seeing the flowers in the vase on the counter, he knew exactly how.

“Ya know that Merle was really into flowers when we were younger?”

You scoffed in disbelief, but when you saw he was being serious, your eyes widened in disbelief and a smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. “Seriously?”

Daryl nodded. “I didn't know 'bout this until he was high one night. We were out on a huntin' trip and he had his nose all covered in some drug. He had jus' had a bad encounter with a boar he didn't kill properly. I was cookin' up some squirrel stew when Merle pointed out to a bunch'a flowers in the distance. “Do ya know what daisies represent?” he had asked me, real serious, too. Of course, I didn't know, so he told me, “They represent innocence, purity, but above all else? They represent new beginnings. We're gon' grab the bull by the horns and take the world by storm, lil' brother. They ain't ready for us Dixons, that's for sure.” Yeah, that was bullshit. Ain't much of our lives that changed.” Daryl cut himself off before he could ramble any more.

You smiled at him, your heart fluttering at the sight of his shyness. Was it just you, or was Daryl kind of stunning? “Daisies really represent that?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I looked it up. It actually does. M'surprised Merle knew that, though, but I didn't bring it up. Merle would just deny it and give me one hell of a beatin' if I did.” Daryl took a flower from the vase—a daisy—and extended it towards you. “What m'trynna say with that whole story s'that the situation with Shane and Lori definitely sucks, but ya can't let it get ya down. Be like a daisy. S'yer opportunity to start fresh. S'yer new beginnin'. Dun' let this be yer setback.”

A few beats of silence passed. Daryl was beginning to think that he had overstepped his boundaries, and he was about to pull back, mumble a “sorry” and hightail it out of there. However, you finally took the flower from him and sent him a small smile.

“That's actually kind of wise. Thank you.”

Daryl shrugged and took a few steps back. “Ain't nothin'.”

“Whatever you say,” you told him with a small smirk. It soon turned into a more genuine smile, however, when you glanced down at the daisy in your hand. “I needed that. Just... thank you.”

A moment of silence passed before Daryl spoke up with his usual nonchalant demeanour. “Yeah, yeah. No need to get all mushy 'bout it. Jus' can't have ya mopin' 'round camp and bringin' the mood down.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “There's the Daryl I know.”

And for some reason, as you looked up at him, you realized that you wouldn't want Daryl any other way.

[sematarygirls]

GONE  GIRL.                             masterlist

if you know the whereabouts of this person, please call 911 or contact the kildare county sheriff's department at 252-290-6688

       NAV ! Part Five. Part Six. Part Seven.

USB Evidence – Suspect Interviews

KILDARE COUNTY POLICE DEPARTMENT

EVIDENCE: USB-07-24-2023

DATE LOGGED: July 26, 2023

INTERVIEWS CONDUCTED BY: Sheriff Susan Peterkin, Deputy Victor Shoupe

FILE NAME: 003_SUSPECT_INTERVIEWS.PDF

INTERVIEW ONE.   RAFE CAMERON

SHERIFF PETERKIN: This is Sheriff Susan Peterkin interviewing the first suspect in the L/N Case of 2023. It is currently 2:36 PM on Tuesday, July 26th. [A STERN VOICE SAYS INTO THE TAPE, SLIGHTLY MUFFLED AND STATICKY. A SLIGHT BANGING SOUND IS HEARD] State your name for the record. [HER VOICE IS SLIGHTLY DISTORTED, LESS CLEAR THAN IT WAS A FEW MOMENTS AGO.]

SUSPECT ONE: Rafe [A MALE REPLIES, VOICE A BARELY AUDIBLE MUMBLE. A BRIEF SILENCE FOLLOWS, BROKEN BY SOMEONE CLEARING THEIR THROAT] Raphael Cameron [A CLEARER REPLY COMES]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: What's your relationship to Y/N L/N? [THE WOMAN'S VOICE COMES AGAIN, STERN AND DEMANDING]

RAFE CAMERON: Uh- I don't know- she was my girlfriend, I guess [HE MUMBLES AGAIN, SEEMINGLY UNCOMFORTABLE WITH WHAT HE'S BEING ASKED]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: You guess? [A BEAT OF SILENCE FOLLOWS, ALLOWING THE BOY TIME TO CLARIFY, BUT HE DOESN'T] What can you remember about the day she went missing?

RAFE CAMERON: I didn't see her that day [THE REPLY IS QUICK]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: That's odd [HER TONE IS ACCUSING, A SCREECHING SOUND ECHOES AS HER VOICE GETS CLEARER] Witnesses claimed to see you with her that day.

RAFE CAMERON: Who? Those pogues? [HE SCOFFS, CLEARLY AGITTATED] They're all liars.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Do you drive your father's truck?

RAFE CAMERON: Um... Sometimes, why?

[THE DOOR OPENS ABRUPTLY, A FAINT, UNKNOWN VOICE MUTTERING AN OBJECTION]: Sir, you can't go in-

???: This interview is over. I'm taking my son home. [A MAN'S VOICE SAID, LOUD ENOUGH FOR THE TAPE TO PICK UP CLEARLY]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Mr. Cameron, your son is legally an adult, and he has agreed to be here. [SHE ANSWERED CALMLY]

WARD CAMERON: Rafe, tell them you're through with the interview [HIS VOICE WAS DEMANDING AND HARSH, DARING RAFE TO OPPOSE HIM]

RAFE CAMERON: But dad- [HE TRIED TO OBJECT WEAKLY]

WARD CAMERON: Now. [THE VOICE GRITTED OUT]

RAFE CAMERON: I'm done with the interview. [HE ANSWERED, COVERING HIS DEFEAT WITH BRAVADO]

[A SCREECHING SOUND ECHOED THROUGH THE ROOM AND FOOTSTEPS RECEDED. A SIGH WAS HEARD BEFORE A WOMAN'S VOICE SPOKE.]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: This is Sheriff Peterkin. Raphael Cameron has opted to exit the interview early. Note that suspect's account of events contradicts with that of witnesses'.

INTERVIEW TWO.   EARL L/N

SHERIFF PETERKIN: This is Sheriff Susan Peterkin and Deputy Victor Shoupe interviewing the second suspect in the L/N Case of 2023. It is currently 4:48 PM on Tuesday, July 26th. [HER VOICE IS MONOTONED, CLEARLY RECITING A SCRIPT AND GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS]

SUSPECT TWO: Earl L/N [HIS VOICE IS GUTTURAL, RASPY, LIKE HE SMOKES ALOT]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: And yourrelationship to Miss L/N?

EARL L/N: I'm her father. [A LONG, AGITATED SIGH IS HEARD] Do we really have to do this?

DEPUTY SHOUPE: I understand your frustrations, Mr. L/N, but it's standard procedure. [A SECOND MALE VOICE CUTS IN, HIS TONE PROFFESIONAL]

[EARL MUMBLES SOMETHING UNINTELLIGIBLE UNDER HIS BREATH]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: We appreciate you coming in. We know this is a difficult time, but we need to go over some details to help with the investigation. When was the last time you saw your daughter?

EARL L/N: A couple days ago, I guess—the day they say she went missin'. I saw her in the morning before she left for her shift. [FABRIC RUSTLING]

DEPUTY SHOUPE: We have some reports that say you two argued that morning. Would you mind telling me what about? [HE ASKS POINTEDLY]

EARL L/N: [HIS VOICE RAISES ANGRILY] Are you insinuatin' that i did somethin' to my own daughter?

SHERIFF PETERKIN: [HER TONE STAYS CALM AND LEVEL] No one is insinuating anything, Mr. L/N. We just need to know all the details so we can find your daughter.

EARL L/N: Yeah, well, it was family stuff. I dont need no cops pokin' around my life, alright? Just find my girl. [HIS TONE IS LOW AND GRUFF AS HE SHUFFLES IN HIS SEAT]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Mr. L/N, I understand this is hard for you, but we need to know what was said in that argument. It could help us understand where she was headed or what state of mind she was in. [SHE PUSHES HIM FIRMLY BUT POLITELY]

EARL L/N: [SCOFFS] State of mind? She was a teenager. You ever met one in a sane state of mind?

DEPUTY SHOUPE: Reports say it got heated. Neighbors heard yelling.

EARL L/N: [INCREASINGLY MORE DEFENSIVE] So what? I'm tellin' you I ain't had nothin' to do with her runnin' off or god knows what else happenin', and I mean it. What I say and how I discipline my own daughter is my business, not anyone else's.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Look, Earl-

EARL L/N: I'm done sittin' here and talkin', alright? You should be out there trying to find my little girl, not treating me like a criminal. [THE SCRAPING OF METAL AGAINST CONCRETE CAN BE HEARD]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: This is Sheriff Peterkin. EARL L/N has also opted to exit the interview early. Note that suspect's was cagey and refused to answer questions regarding domestic dispute.

INTERVIEW THREE.   JOHNATHAN ROUTLEDGE

SHERIFF PETERKIN: This is Sheriff Susan Peterkin interviewing the third suspect in the L/N Case of 2023. It is currently 6:12 PM on Tuesday, July 26th. [SHE RECITES] State your name for the record.

SUSPECT THREE: John B. Routledge [A TENTATIVE REPLY COMES]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Your full name, son.

JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE: Right, sorry. [HE CLEARS HIS THROAT] Uh, Johnathan Booker Routledge.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: And what's your relationship to Miss L/N?

JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE: She's my friend, a really good friend. [HE ANSWERED SINCERELY] You don't think something bad happened to her, do you? [HIS TONE TAKES ON A CONCERNED EDGE]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Let me ask the questions, John B. [HER VOICE IS FIRM BUT NOT UNKIND] When did you see her last?

JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE: I saw her the morning she disappeared. I dropped her off at work.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: And how did she seem? Was she acting abnormal?

JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE: Uh, no, not really. I mean, she was a little upset, said she got into a fight with her old man, but... [HE TRAILED OFF, SHIFTING NERVOUSLY]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: And did she mention what this fight was about?

JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE: No, she said she didn't want to talk about it, just said her dad was a... [PAUSES DECISIVELY] well, she was upset with him, to say the least.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Okay, and you dropped her off at the Island Club, right? Did you see her anytime after that?

JOHNATHAN B. ROUTLEDGE: No, I was supposed to pick her up after her shift, but she didn't answer her phone, and when i stopped by the country club, her manager said she already left.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: And you didn't find that strange at all?

JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE: Well, I mean [PAUSES NERVOUSLY] I just- I dunno... I assumed Rafe picked her up, and she forgot to tell me. He did that a lot, yknow—picked her up from work. He didn't like her getting rides with me.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: And why's that? [HER TONE IS INQUISITIVE]

JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE: Everyone knows he hates Pogues. Besides, he was crazy jealous, hated when she was around anyone that wasn't him. It was seriously fu- [STUTTERS] I mean, messed up.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Right, well, thank you for coming in. I'll reach out if I have anymore questions for you.

INTERVIEW FOUR.   KIARA CARRERA

SHERIFF PETERKIN: This is Sheriff Susan Peterkin interviewing the fourth suspect in the L/N Case of 2023. It is currently 6:58 PM on Tuesday, July 26th. [SHE RECITES] State your name for the record.

SUSPECT FOUR: Kiara Carrera.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: And what is your relationship to Miss L/N?

KIARA CARRERA: She’s my best friend. [HER VOICE IS SHARP, DEFENSIVE] And she’s not just some case file, okay?

SHERIFF PETERKIN: I understand this is difficult, Kiara, but I need you to answer my questions. When did you last see her?

KIARA CARRERA: [EXHALES SHARPLY] The night before she disappeared. We were all at the chateau, just hanging out. She got a phone call and left early, said she was tired.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Did she seem upset?

KIARA CARRERA: [HESITATES] I mean… yeah, but she wasn’t saying much. We tried to ask her what was up, but she just kept saying she had to go.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Did she say who called her?

KIARA CARRERA: No. She just looked at her phone, went really quiet, and then got up like she was in a hurry.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Did you see the caller ID?

KIARA CARRERA: [SHAKES HER HEAD] No, but I know it wasn’t her dad—she’d ignore those. This was different.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Different how?

KIARA CARRERA: I don’t know—like, anxious. Nervous. She grabbed her stuff so fast she almost forgot her keys, and when I asked if she wanted me to walk her home, she just said no and left. I remember thinking it was weird, but… I figured she’d tell me later.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: But she never did.

KIARA CARRERA: [QUIETLY] No. [THERE'S A BEAT OF SILENCE] Look, if anything happened to her, Rafe did it. You know that, right?

SHERIFF PETERKIN: We’re considering all possibilities.

KIARA CARRERA: [LAUGHS COLDLY] Yeah? Well, do me a favor, Sheriff. Start with the obvious one. [METAL SCREECHES AGAINST CONCRETE AND AFTER A BEAT, A DOOR OPENS AND SLAMS]

INTERVIEW FIVE.   JACKSON MAYBANK

SHERIFF PETERKIN: This is Sheriff Susan Peterkin interviewing the fifth suspect in the L/N Case of 2023. It is currently 7:22 PM on Tuesday, July 26th. [HER TONE IS TIRED] State your name for the record.

SUSPECT FIVE: JJ Maybank.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Your full name.

JJ MAYBANK: [EXHALES SHARPLY] Jackson James Maybank.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: And your relationship to Miss L/N?

JJ MAYBANK: She’s my friend. One of my best friends. [HIS TONE IS FLAT, GUARDED]

SHERIFF PETERKIN: When did you last see her?

JJ MAYBANK: The night before she went missing. At the chateau. She left early. Got a weird phone call and bailed.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Did she say who it was?

JJ MAYBANK: No. But we all know who it was.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: You’re implying Rafe Cameron?

JJ MAYBANK: [SCOFFS] I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it. It was him.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: And you know this for a fact?

JJ MAYBANK: I know he wouldn’t leave her the hell alone. I know she wanted to get away from him. And now she’s gone. You tell me, Sheriff. What does that sound like?

SHERIFF PETERKIN: We’re looking into all angles, JJ.

JJ MAYBANK: No, you’re looking at us—at the Pogues. Because it’s easier than going after a Kook with a daddy who can make things disappear.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: That’s not true—

JJ MAYBANK: Oh, isn’t it? [HE LEANS FORWARD] If she were a Kook, you’d have the whole damn force out there looking for her. You’d have news crews, search parties—hell, you’d probably have helicopters in the sky and neighboring counties helping out. But she’s not, is she? She’s just a Pogue. And that means you don’t give a shit.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: That’s enough.

JJ MAYBANK: [BITTER LAUGH] Yeah. It is enough. Because while you’re sitting here wasting time interrogating us, she’s still out there. And if you don’t start doing your damn job, Sheriff, she might not be out there for much longer. [HE PUSHES BACK HIS CHAIR, METAL SCREECHING LOUDLY AGAINST THE FLOOR. THE ROOM FALLS INTO TENSE SILENCE BEFORE THE RECORDER CLICKS OFF.]

INTERVIEW SIX.   POPE HEYWARD

SHERIFF PETERKIN: This is Sheriff Susan Peterkin interviewing the sixth and final suspect in the L/N Case of 2023. It is currently 7:47 PM on Tuesday, July 26th. [SHE RECITES FOR WHAT FELT LIKE THE MILLIONTH TIME] State your name for the record.

SUSPECT SIX: Pope Heyward.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: And your relationship to Miss L/N?

POPE HEYWARD: She’s my friend. I've known her since we were kids

SHERIFF PETERKIN: When did you last see her?

POPE HEYWARD: The night before she disappeared. She was at the chateau with us. She left early.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Did she say why?

POPE HEYWARD: She said she was tired, but she wasn’t acting like it. She was distracted, checking her phone a lot. Then she got a call, and after that, she left in a hurry.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Did you see who called?

POPE HEYWARD: No, but… I have a pretty good guess.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Rafe Cameron?

POPE HEYWARD: [LEANS BACK, SIGHS] Look, Sheriff, I know you have to ask all these questions, but I don’t understand why you’re looking at us. We all know who the real suspect is.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: We’re looking into all possibilities—

POPE HEYWARD: Are you? Because it feels like you’re looking in the wrong place. She was trying to get away from Rafe. And now she’s missing. That’s not a coincidence.

SHERIFF PETERKIN: Do you have any proof Rafe was involved?

POPE HEYWARD: Proof? [LAUGHS, FRUSTRATED] No, Sheriff, I don’t have proof. But I have logic. Rafe was obsessed with her. Controlling. He’d show up at her work, unannounced. Pick fights with people who so much as looked at her. And now she’s gone. What more do you need?

SHERIFF PETERKIN: We’re following every lead, Pope.

POPE HEYWARD: [QUIETLY, BUT POINTEDLY] Then follow the right one.

[A HEAVY SILENCE HANGS IN THE ROOM BEFORE THE RECORDER CLICKS OFF.]

notes .ᐟ long ass part for yall (not proofread bc i'm lazy)

taglist .ᐟ @lovemesailor / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 / @riaras-everthroner / @memoirofasparklemuff1n / @st4rkeyl0ver / @starkeying / @stayonmars / @mileyraes / @davinashifts333 / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @or-was-it-just-a-dream / @elvislover1967 / @maybankslover / @sereneera / @venicebiatxh / @izurelia / @starkeysswife / @drewstarkeyspecs / @rafeysbangs / @jeonjungkaka / @laniirackssss / @vanessa-rafesgirl / @slyhersophia / @syd649 / @vivian-555 / @lmaowhatt / @xoxo-ada

                                ୭ৎ

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane’s Girl [11]

Part Eleven | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, chapter follows “Tell it to the Frogs” but dialogue and events are paraphrased.

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: Felt inspired while rewatching the Walking Dead for the thousandth time. I'm excited now that the reader has broken up with Shane, they can have more moments with Daryl. Let me know what you all think and if you want to be added to the taglist.

You finally convince Daryl to change out of his two-day-old hunting clothes, and while he’s gone, you try to make yourself useful; however, Glenn and T-Dog assure you that they can handle packing up the box truck with what little supplies the five of you need in order to survive in the city. Your eyes scan the camp, searching for any other tasks that need to be completed before you leave; however, your gaze lands on Rick and Lori, who are having a hushed argument by the RV. She’s unhappy with him, which you don’t find surprising — she just got her husband back, and now he’s agreed to leave to rescue a man he barely knows. But you know Rick, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knew he left a man to die handcuffed to a rooftop.

Shane and Lori may be able to live with that guilt, but Rick can’t — you can’t. There’s no way that you would be able to look Daryl in the eye if you didn’t go back for Merle. He may not be your favorite person in the world, but he still means the world to Daryl. And you know that if you had someone important in Atlanta — someone you needed to save — Daryl wouldn’t hesitate. He’d be the first person to volunteer to help you, followed by Rick — that’s simply the type of men that they are. Reliable. Dependable. Kind.

Suddenly, another set of eyes lands on you as someone notices your interest in the conversation happening between Rick and Lori. Based on the way your skin crawls, you know you shouldn’t look over, but your curiosity gets the better of you. Your blood runs ice cold in your veins as you lock eyes with Shane who is leaning against the RV, arms tightly crossed against his chest. His gaze, which you once used to find comfort in, is like daggers piercing into your soul. Jealousy is an ugly feeling, and it is written all over his face. But unlike the past several weeks, you make no move to comfort him. Instead, you tear your eyes away from him and return your attention to Glenn and T-Dog. Your hands rub against each other anxiously as you watch the two men bicker with one another. The scene would normally make you laugh; however, you can’t seem to find joy in the interaction when you can still feel Shane’s eyes on you from across the camp.

You jump as a hand suddenly grabs your shoulder from behind, but you relax as your head twists, and you spot Daryl standing beside you. His face twists in worry at your response to his touch, and you feel the familiar sting of guilt creeping into the forefront of your mind.

“You ‘lright?”

You manage to nod at his question, but you can still see Shane’s imposing figure over his shoulder watching you intently. Daryl follows your gaze and moves to block your view of the former deputy. He ducks his head slightly, meeting you at eye level. Unlike Shane, Daryl’s gaze is overflowing with warmth and sincerity.

“He say anything to you?”

You shake your head in response, but Daryl doesn’t seem convinced. You don’t blame him for his skepticism as he takes in your shell shocked state.

“He’s just been watching me.”

You say it in a nonchalant tone because you know that it shouldn’t be affecting you as much as it is. After all, you’re the one that broke up with him. But you still can’t seem to shake off the feeling that you’re not safe around him anymore. Daryl throws a cold look over his shoulder at the other man, who seems to get the warning and finally turns away from you. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as your body automatically relaxes now that you’re no longer being watched.

“You ain’t gotta worry about him anymore.”

You nod at his words, but Daryl can still tell that you don’t fully believe him. And he doesn’t blame you. He’s worried about what Shane would have done to you if you had broken things off with him in private. The fact he escalated that much in front of everyone is concerning, to say the least. And he didn’t miss the way that Rick’s face twisted into surprise as he watched his best friend treat you with such disregard. He doesn’t know the man well, but from what little he’s seen and from what you’ve told him about the sheriff, he knows that Rick cares for you. It makes him feel a little better knowing that at least one other person in camp has your best interests in mind.

“You ready for this?”

Daryl won’t admit it, but he feels conflicted about you joining them on their little ‘rescue mission’. On one hand, he doesn’t want you to have to face the horrors that are out there in the city. You’ve been pretty sheltered from the reality of the situation you’re in by staying at the quarry camp; however, he knows that at some point, you will have to come face-to-face with this new reality, and he’d like to be there when that happens, to ensure your safety. On the other hand, he doesn’t want you here with Shane — not when both he and Rick are leaving. He knows that you are strong, and if you told him to ‘fuck off,’ he’d listen, but he doesn’t trust Shane. And if he were to do something to you when he was in Atlanta, he’s not sure he’d be able to forgive himself. But the last thing he wants to do is make decisions for you — he doesn’t want to control you. He doesn’t want to be Shane, but he wants to keep you safe. This is all new to him — having someone to care about and protect.

“You okay with me coming?”

Daryl’s brow furrows at the question.

“Don’t need my permission to do nothin’.”

A small smile graces your features, and before you can respond, Rick finally joins you both. He gives you a kind smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s exhausted — you can tell by the way he carries himself.

“We should talk after this.”

You give him a nod. He’s right — you have a lot to catch him up on. He then switches his attention to Daryl, who is still standing by your side and watching your interaction with the former sheriff.

“Ready to go get your brother?”

Daryl scoffs while adjusting the crossbow slung across his back.

“Bout damn time.”

Rick’s brow furrows as he watches Daryl jump into the back of the box truck. You laugh and give him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“He grows on you.”

Rick looks down at you with a weary expression before shrugging his shoulders.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You hop in the back with Daryl and T-Dog while Rick gets into the driver’s seat and Glenn navigates from the passenger seat. It takes a little under an hour to make it to the outskirts of the city. Daryl spends the ride sharpening his crossbow bolts beside you. His shoulder bumps into yours every so often due to a sudden pothole or turn; however, neither of you makes an effort to move away from the other. When the box truck finally comes to a stop, Glenn looks back at the three of you nervously.

“We walk from here on out.”

Daryl nods and gets up before extending his hand down to you. You grab his hand, biting down a smile as he pulls you to your feet with ease. To your surprise, Daryl doesn’t immediately release your hand. Your brow furrows — from what you know about Daryl, he isn’t necessarily comfortable with physical touch. Your breath catches in your chest as you look up at him and notice he’s already looking down at you. You’ve grown accustomed to the callousness in Shane’s gaze, so you’re taken aback by how Daryl’s steely features soften as he regards you.

But, before you can think twice about the moment, T-Dog clears his throat. You pull your hand out of Daryl’s gentle grasp and take a step away from him as you both look at T-Dog, who is still sitting on the floor at the back of the box truck. T-Dog raises his hand expectantly towards Daryl. Daryl scoffs, rolling his eyes at the man before exiting the box truck. You try to laugh off the awkward encounter before you grab T-Dog’s hand and pull him to his feet. He looks down at you with a playful expression.

“So, are we going to gaze into each other’s eyes as well or…”

You shove him away, making him laugh.

“Shut up.”

T-Dog raises both of his hands in surrender, and you both hop out of the box truck, joining Daryl, Rick, and Glenn. The laughter between you and T-Dog dies as you take in your surroundings. You haven’t been to the city since before the dead started walking. It’s worse than you imagined. Daryl looks at you, noticing how your expression shifted once you exited the truck.

“C’mon.”

He motions for you to follow him as Glenn and Rick take the lead. And you fall into step beside Daryl as you become acquainted with the new world. 

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[dracomeir]

"Take a seat, and have a meal. Then we'll sing to seal this deal."

Establishing a new town on the west coast during the gold rush, the Dearest family are known to help others start a new life no matter what your past was. There are rumours of them being devils or demons that make deals to do so however. Some say those who don't keep their end of the bargain have lost their souls, or end up in the jaws of Coyotes outside of town. No one has saw them looking like fiends though. Maybe you just had one drink too many, friend.

[ocake]

good cop, bad cop

► ghost x female reader x soap

cw. smut, 2x1, dubious consent, oral, piv, angst, mc is traumatized; policemen! boys are there to ‘save’ her, a fair amount of infighting, obsessive/possessive behaviors, hinted stalking, hints and allusions of foul play, corruption, freeze response, soap is unhinged; ghost is the more ‘moral’ of the two but just as bad, p with plot, 18+ content

an. about 10k words of a fic i procrastinated on since Christmas :] anyways u can read this on ao3 if u want & reblogs/love is so so appreciated <33

The tires crunch over a gravel driveway.

There’s always the familiar face or ten in their line of work, but hers is a pretty one they find themselves wishing to both avoid and see more often.

It’s the neighbors who’ve called this time.

To be fair, the ringer usually varies between the grandmother next door or the guy and his daughter, but the little lady herself stays quiet. People care for her though, whether she’s aware of that yet or not.

Even the cats (bold: curling up to Johnny’s calf and sniffing his boot laces, Simon unable to shake them from underfoot) seem to hold some special affinity for her- because they walk the boys right up to her porch steps and purr. Must be their way of repaying her for all the cans of tuna she leaves out for them in the evenings.

It’s not the first time deputies have been dragged out this far down rural roads on behalf of the scared little thing next door, and Johnny has this nasty stirring in his gut that tells him it won’t be the last.

Domestic cases always struck a certain chord in Simon. Familiar but bitter. All that made it worser was the fact that it was near impossible to put it onto paper so long as the abuser in question walked the thin line of just plain shitty and bad-tempered and- yeah, okay, that guy definitely hits his girlfriend. It’s a liminal space that vermin like her boyfriend get to tread freely in; legally-speaking, they’ve broken no law until legally-speaking, the girl is dead. Found dumped in some ditch or crammed in the closet in a heap of bloody blankets.

And fuck if that doesn’t sound just awful.

Ghost has seen too much for one man alone, but his stomach twists at the idea all the same. He’s become a little fond of her. He hasn’t made any real attempt to deny that, and Johnny can only poke him for it until he’s accused of the same.

That bastard is a free man, as it stands, but Simon’s heard the yelling, you know. Caught the tail-ends of some verbally-scathing fight. His barbed words that leave her with unshed tears and near unresponsive when Johnny performs a wellness check while Simon pats down the fucker. Pulls him aside to tell him very politely to find some shitty motel for the night or someplace else to bum at.

That- those not so subtle warnings both men generously give to the douchebag- are not exactly permissible by the law they so rigidly uphold. But Ghost can’t really help the hostility that burns in his gut when he catches those glossy doe eyes quickly darting away from his as if he’d strike her in the face if she dared hold eye contact- and a few heavy touches during protocol pat-downs never fail to make the wanker obedient. Wards him off for a night or two.

Fuckin’ coward.

Johnny’s heard the dishes break before. They’ve never seen the bruises, though. Hard, physical evidence to tuck into a yellow file for an eternity in the metal bin. And she’s too frightened to offer him up and admit his crimes. Too scared to fess up to ‘em.

(As if being on the receiving end of his drunken fist makes you a fucking accomplice—

Oh, hardly, love. Hardly. Simon’s tried to tell you so with as much of a stoic face he can manage in brief chats before either hauling Romeo off to a 24hour holding cell or flipping the bird in the direction of the local inn. But you’ve got your head in the sand. Your heart in your mouth and your words on autopilot.)

N-No, sir, I’m fine, really. I swear. He just— We’re fine.

Trained dog.

Loyal mutt.

A good girl. Too good, maybe, for her own good.

It’s frustrating, a bit. But Simon understands, he does. Soap can’t fault her for that, either. She’s scared. It’s a traumatic response if they’ve ever seen one.

When they unload from the patrol car, Johnny tips his cap to a curious, familiar onlooker and she gives him a knowing frown. The caller, probably. She’d have to be interviewed or asked a few questions at minimum (the rudimentary stuff, like, so what’s going on tonight, why’d you call us out here?)

—But all that for later.

All that for after they ascertain she’s okay.

The absence of her boyfriend’s rusted pick-up in the gravel road is noted with a corrugated brow and an un-stuffing of Simon's hands from his pockets. The Scotsman nearly trips over one of the plastic geese stood in the lawn because he’s too busy reading his surroundings.

Bastard could’ve taken her… Maybe it finally reached the boiling point. The POS heard the familiar dial of nine one one and booked town with the poor thing in tow. Finally blew both their brains out like he’d been wanting- relayed by a very concerned Mrs. Smith from across the street with a shake of her cane.

She’d said she’d heard awful things come from the trailer home. That that young man needs Jesus. And the girl a real man to love her.

We’ll see about it, ma’am, Johnny’d said with a warm smile, the more socially gifted of the two, about gettin’ that bloke an audience with the big man upstairs.

(As for the latter part-… Well. He’ll keep it professional.)

Simon’s heart is knocking in his chest by the time he knocks on her frail door; it could blow down with a puff of cigarette smoke. It has before. It’s on its last leg, now. Has been for two months. That fucker needs to be put in a psychiatric ward if not a dungeon. If not a headlock where Simon's arm is so tight his ugly mug pops off and fucking rolls.

Any man who hits on their woman or the fairer sex warrants a response like that. Quick and efficient. Violent, very.

Johnny throws a nervous glance around the sordid trailer park and briefly contemplates scribbling down possible witness accounts- that neighbor is still on standby, after all- but the curtains rattle timidly at the window and he quickly forgets the thought.

Johnny’s antsy. Very antsy. Tonight feels different, somehow, the situation more urgent like it’s climbed steadily to its zenith. The air is balmy; early summer carries a fading warmth in its evening winds, and the salty reminder of the sweat beading on Soap’s forehead. Slicking his palms.

Many thoughts cycle through his head in that segment of time where he and Ghost crowd her tiny concrete steps, waiting for a sign of life opposite the door. Anything at all before one of them kicks it down.

They’d have reason to.

Seconds feel like hours. To hell with it— Johnny’s always been well-versed with the art of exaggeration— it feels like they wait there for decades, his heels clipping a restless tune against the cold grey, Simon’s shadowy hues fluttering with an uncommon anxiousness.

“Takin’ her time, ain’t she?”

“No tellin’ what happened, Ghost.”

“Could’ve ran with her... Taken off.”

Fuck. Yeah. That’s the shared fear, huh? Johnny begins to broil the more he’s left to his own inner dialogue. Not just because of the heat.

The brunet adjusts the shiny gold badge pinned to his muscled chest even though it’s perfectly in place, and forces a dry, harsh laugh. It lacks humor.

“That thing’s a skip on wheels… cannae have made it too far, aye? Who knows, perhaps we can intercept ‘em…”

Already assuming the worst has already happened: a learned habit integral to them both.

Ghost gives a grunt, and thus concludes their chat.

Fuck. He should’ve killed that bastard while he had the chance. To hell with not having enough proof of wrongdoing, he’ll do it now! If that bastard musters up enough stupidity to pull back up the bend, Johnny will shove a pistol to his fuckin’ head and turn off the bodycam—

He swears to that big man upstairs—

When the door finally, slowly opens, she’s hiding behind it with a shiner.

✦✦✦

Gloved hands certainly don’t deliver a cushiony touch when they help the thief into the backseat of the cruiser, but considering his brutish personality, Ghost is almost gentle.

Almost.

The suspect (although, the guy was quite literally caught with his hand in the tip jar; there’s very little speculation to be had on just what happened) isn’t their guy— their guy being the doped up asshole that split town and has yet to return to the shitty trailer park— unfortunately. But Simon, quite unexpectedly, wishes it was.

It’s fine, you know, unresolved leads and targets. It’s too common in their line of work to actually hold any real ire against. If they did, cortisol levels would be at an all-time high.

At least,… it’s usually fine. The occasional thug or do-badder will weasel out from law’s tight fist and ditch town, and then Ghost and Soap will have one less useless piece of shit to worry about until they do decide to come back.

The boys mostly take it like water off their backs. Easily. Sometimes frustrating, but what can you do?

They have a town- a familiar web of individual livelihoods- to keep safe right here, and what they won’t do is jeopardize that by embarking on some long, drawn-out journey when results aren’t even promised. For some asshole, no less, that’ll probably end up OD-ing or stabbed in some back alley by another one of his kind.

It’s cruel, but they chose that life. It’s only right they die in it. Simon thinks as much, at least. He made it out of the shithole while he still could, and he has zero regrets turning his back on his past. There’s always a choice. Always.

But this guy- the doll’s ever the romantic boyfriend—

Ghost tightens his palm unwittingly. The petty thief he’s tucking into the car winces and Ghost grunts in response, withdrawing his arm without much concern- but it does help him to refocus.

The job. Yes, that’s right. He’s on duty. Shouldn’t be thinking of her. Well, more than it’s required of him, anyway, extending from the bounds of what’s professional for a veritable enforcer of the law.

The door shuts with a clink and then Simon makes it all of five steps, wrapping around Price’s black and white-painted car, before the big guy himself stops him.

What he’s met with is a somewhat dissatisfied glare. (Not hostile by any means, no, the geezer has his cranky streak, sure, but he’s always been more lenient with him and Johnny... But dissatisfied.)

Capt’s eyes, a kind brown, wrinkle in preparation to scold him.

“Gettin’ a bit ahead of ourselves, are we?”

“Wot?”

Tan, leather-covered fingers move to adjust the cap on his head, “Held our guy a li’l snug back there, didn’t you?” And then suddenly, that singular trace of warmth in his eyes peters out into a steady, sort of paternal exasperation. “I’ve said it before, Simon. Getting rough with them will land yourself into a world of shite- last time, I was barely able to cover for your arse. D’you think Shepherd would look the other way again?”

Ghost sniffs. Blinks slowly— feels a prickling in his chest that time has made almost foreign- a prickling called shame- and kicks dirt over it. He glances from the positively pissed brunette to the cab behind him, spotting a hunched silhouette in the back of it, before looking back to Price.

“Don’t think he’d be particularly pleased.”

That earns him a curt clap on the shoulder and blunt fingers that actually manage to rattle him- but just slightly. Considering he’s creeping up on forty years old, John has done a laudable job at warding off a full-fledged dad bod (although, with his new baby boy on the way, it’s a nearer thing), but the dad strength is absolutely there. Oh, a hundred percent.

“No, he wouldn’t,” he says with a smile too tight to be fully genuine. Too curved. Simon’s observed it from a distance, and usually it only means trouble for whoever’s on the receiving end of it, but while his superior is in fact bristled over his minor transgression, it’s more an outburst of stress than anything else. Simon won’t lose his head for it.

Ghost’s acquiescence must dredge some sympathy from Price though, because he lets out a deep sigh and softens his grip on the blade of his shoulder.

“That case with the doll’s toying with you, innit?” The call-out is sudden, not foreseen.

“You’ve been reviewing the paperwork all week. Look, lad, you n’ Soap are my best men. If I get a call, I’m sending you two out first. If your head’s been screwed with- I need you to screw it back on,” His voice is calmer now, more genuine, too. It carries an affable, yet no less firm tone; the menthol whispers of cigarette smoke. Simon can hardly believe he made it a sentence without fishing one out from his pocket and lighting it, but right now isn’t the time to congratulate the old man on making it a day without falling back on his favorite vice. He used to say he’d eventually quit, but now he’s dropped the pretense entirely. He never will.

Captain’s words hit, though, in a way that’s a bit unanticipated from the blond- but he supposes it’s only natural that if he’d ever be read accurately, it’d be by his senior.

He pats Ghost on the shoulder one final time, “Don’t be chasing after shadows, alright?” If that muppet wants to run? You bloody let him. ‘Member: even if we don’t get to him right away, something else will.”

Chasing after shadows? Ah, that’s one way to put it. Actually, Ghost isn’t even so sure anymore if he wants to find the girlfriend-beating bastard: Price just got done lecturing him over poor conduct (not for the first time), but Simon knows that once he gets his hands on that slimy son of a bitch, there will be a whole lot more to mark him up for- poor conduct the least concern.

Maybe it’s for the better. Letting it go.

“Yes, sir.”

Simon delivers him a stiff nod, and then they part ways: the older one stepping for his car (if Simon cared more, he’d say a small prayer for the poor asshole in the backseat, in for a bad time if he tries to spark conversation with the grumpy driver), Ghost heading for his own vehicle with his cohort waiting inside.

The Scotsman is probably stewing in his own impatience, high as his energy levels are. Simon’s almost surprised he doesn’t approach the car and see his nose pressed to the fogged window, but—

“And Simon,” a gravelly voice calls.

He turns around.

“Relay that to Soap for me, would you?”

—Maybe it’s more than inherent, overabundant stamina that’s got his partner in cleaning up crime so wired.

…Maybe that whole case with the doll- the big blowout with her quote on quote boyfriend and his leaving after striking her in the pretty face-

Maybe it’s screwin’ with Johnny’s head, too.

✦✦✦

There came a time, after all his unfulfilled promises, vows to bettering himself- your relationship- that hope became the equivalent of stupidity. Naivety.

It’s only been two weeks since he slammed the door on your face and booked town, but you’re still reeling a little. The impact of it shook the home. Shook you. Over the course of a handful of days, you experience a strange dichotomy of tiredness and short bursts of energy that convince you you’re happy— for an hour or three, until the absence of him sinks in all over again. He left. He left you. And you’re glad for it. You’re safe for it. You’re destroyed.

How could he- How could he fucking leave you? After he made you this way?

Breathe.

The reminder comes in a bitten voice. Claws its way from the kinder recess of your brain, whatever is left of it.

Breathe.

That’s right. There’s still life left in the tank for you.

You peel the covers off you and slink to the bathroom. A girl peers back from a dirty mirror. Familiar but not. It’s a small effort to mask your shock that stares from your reflection- because for a moment, you’re stunned at just how tired you appear. You look unhealthy. Sad. Like… damaged goods.

And you miss him. You really, really think you do.

You’re much better off without him- that’s obvious. That’s never been the question, whether your general wellness would be vastly improved as soon as he sunk back into whatever hole he crept from. No, what you constantly found yourself questioning was whether or not you’d be able to recover after the whirlwind that is your boyfriend finally swept through. Would anybody else love you, was what your internal dialogue begged to know. Could anybody else love you?

What does that word mean, anyway? The girl in the mirror offers a weak chuckle. And then she releases her white knuckles from the marble counter- and she tears up the more she keeps her eyes steady on the bruised right one.

It’s a new low, even for him. His fist was too heavy, too fast, hurtling at you at a speed that left you with no time to react.

It’s a quiet affair, when you begin to cry.

Salty, bitter. Furious girl.

Truthfully, you were never quite allowed to be angry- or express any sort of emotion for that matter- so long as he shared the now empty slot of the bed beside you, but now that he’s disappeared, that wrath hugs you like a weighted blanket.

You hate him. You love him. You—

You wrap yourself in that heat. Sleep in it.

You wish you made good on all your countless, brittle promises to leave him before he up and decided to beat you to the punch- and in more ways than one. In this stupid trailer home, the lack of your (ex? does this equate to his dumping you?) boyfriend shuffling around chips away at you; the air feels stale, like there’s too much of it for you alone. Simultaneously, you can’t get in enough of it.

The world is closing in on you. Your chest hurts. Your veins heat with rage and brokenness, your pulse begins to jump sporadically and then you begin to hyperventilate every couple hours or so. Saying under your shivering breath, come back home. I’m sorry. I’ll be good- (and then, trying to recall ever not strictly minding your p’s and q’s around him-)

I’ll be better.

Ah, you’ve heard that one before.

It’s weird to hear it played back to you in your own voice, though, because it’s usually not you trying to butter him up and convince him to stay, but the other way around. You suppose the tables have sort of turned now, but still… You… You’d never hit him- not like he did you. Just the thought of it spears between your ribs and twists in like a corkscrew.

A feeling of disgust settles in its wake.

Oh, he’s left you so, so screwed, and yet the chief concern that possesses you all night is this:

Wherever your baby is, does he miss you, too?

✦✦✦

You think about leaving. Starting anew, somewhere.

Part of you has half the brain to want to plan it out, lay out a big meticulous blueprint for your life- carefully mark dots on a map and connect them with a newfound resolve. You’re young still (even if it feels you’ve seen it all, like he’s aged you). Hardly twenty two. When you were a little girl, you’d somehow come to the simple conclusion that all humans lived until the exact age of one hundred; if that’s true, you’ve got just shy of eighty years left in the tank.

You could make it.

The other piece of you doesn’t care for the destination- so long as it’s away.

In the corner of the yard, towards the side of your little home, sits a trashy RV your boyfriend bought as a scrap to remodel later. He never did. You guess he never will. Sometimes you curl up by the window and stare at it, dream of painting the rusted lines a girlish pink or refurbishing the weathered seats with neon leather.

You would be crazy and in love with life, traveling all over the country without giving so much as a rat’s ass about anything or- or him.

Your family hardly has the room in their heart for you. You’re no prodigal daughter, just a welcome absence in a bitter, hollow home. Between scars that don’t ever quite heal (because time is not an apology, as much as you may ache for it to in their stead) and a basal fear that you’ll step through the front door and turn twelve all over again, there’s no real want inside of you to go back to that place ever again. Maybe it’s why it was so easy for you to leave, to fall headlong into the pretty lies of a pretty, albeit temperamental man and decide to let him close the door of his pick-up behind you.

So… where do you go?

You don’t know.

You don’t know.

Your piece’a crap boyfriend left and took his piece’a crap truck with him. Doubt it’ll even carry him fifteen miles before it pops its tire and swerves him into oncoming traffic or a post on a street he swears wasn’t there when he blinked. There’s always the option of an uber or asking the kind old lady next door to use hers for a quick grocery trip, but without a means of transportation, you’re more or less stuck here.

You swallow a thick lump in your throat, dust your red knees off when you stand, and will yourself to pretend you don’t care about any of it. Any of it at all.

Bare feet swish over the crumb-ridden kitchen vinyl and you make a mental note to sweep it later. It’d be good to properly clean this place up, especially now that the number one mess-maker is gone (tossing his empty cans everywhere, leaving cigar butts by the kitchen sink and his thin flannel button-ups on the arm of the couch).

If you’re really trapped here, you might as well—

A knock draws you from your muddled thoughts. Just like that, the haze thins out; when you peek through the curtains and spy a familiar deputy, hands tucked under his armpits as he idly sways on your porch stoop, a clarity washes over you.

…Oh, right. Other people exist. It’s not just you in this world.

He’s whistling something. You hear it as he waits, trading energy between the balls of his feet, patience leaving in subsequent ticks on his face.

…But you’re a mess right now, no makeup, no bottoms, just a long shirt and panties, and one of your braids have unraveled in the short span you’ve spent just twirling and trudging from quiet threshold to threshold—

Another rap at the wood, piercing blue eyes catching yours as the curtains flutter shut with a surprised gasp- and you know you’ve no choice but to answer. He’s seen you. You can’t pretend he didn’t. That… would be awkward.

It’s… fine. You can just hide behind the door when you answer, like last time.

He’s a cop, anyway. You’re sure he’s seen it all.

Whatever happened with you, and your case?

It’s the usual.

✦✦✦

He’s here again.

Well, they both are. But sometimes they feel synonymous to each other- because they’re both endlessly gracious to you (in their own ways; Johnny is more open with his kindness, Simon more subtle) and have lent a hand more times than you can count. They both wear the same uniform, in any case, cloaked in the signature, police-issued garb and a thick belt to keep their gun and cuffs (and hands, when they don’t know where else to put them).

That’s mostly Johnny, though. In the past few months, you’ve learned a few things about him over impromptu housecalls and rides to the local market (because you’re literally stuck here otherwise, until you find a way to get your shit together), tucked in his passenger seat with your knees in your arms.

First of all, he’s a good guy. Not like some of the sleazy cops you see on television who abuse their impunity and talk from their ass every time they wave someone over with their hand. Johnny’s got a fairly big head, you’ll give that much, but his ego is all pretty harmless. Makes you think there must be someone back at the station holding a tight ship, because otherwise he’d have cut free from his leash a long time ago. He’s a big dog. You can tell he likes to bite, yes, but only the bad guys- which is actually a comforting thought.

He’s good to you, to the elderly woman next door and her little rascal grandson who spams your doorbell until you agree to come out and look at the frog he caught. You’re thankful for Johnny’s presence in those times because he’s like a buffer between you and the things you can’t handle, a well-meaning but boisterous little kid a part of that.

The brunet sends him off with a ruffle of his hair, saying, ‘Alrigh, alrigh, leave the woman alone now, aye? Scamper off to yer gran, sure she’s worried boot where ye’ve gone,’ then he turns back to you on the porch step with a smile and takes a bite of his sandwich.

Secondly (and this falls under the first category you suppose, but this is more significant in your mind), he’s patient. Knows there’s something wrong with you- with your situation, that it’s left you a little sour and weak- but he never presses the envelope when it comes to the seedier details. I mean, the station’s already taken your formal story as well as the accounts of neighbors, so it’s not like he doesn’t know…

Even as he looks you in the eye, with his cerulean, rapt gaze that you swear doesn’t blink sometimes, you think he might be turning over the tale in his head. It’s one as old as time: girl falls in love with a fucked-up guy and pays for it.

Johnny stares hard, but he never stares like he’s judging, no…

Admiring, if nothing else. Albeit you’re not so sure what there is to admire— you’re some backroad hick with scars still fading and a sort of social clumsiness that only comes from rickety relationships and the hesitance to brush your fingers with his because they’re big and calloused and he could use ‘em to hit you. But he doesn’t. He never does. You wait for the blow and wait forever.

Ghost is like a ramrod. In all regards.

He doesn’t bounce from heel to heel all the time like his Scottish counterpart, wired with endless energy, no, he stands straight and tall and with his hands at his side. Big and unmovable. His eyes are a soft, dark brown but they’re cold. You were sure that first time you’d met him that he felt nothing- a man made of steel and the dents that misshape it. He seemed heartless.

It took a little time- and lots of careful observation, much overthinking- to realize it, but you were wrong. Simon is kind. (And you do call him that now, Simon; you’d said it on accident, but he didn’t seem to mind or shoo you off by saying something about oh no you gotta call me by my sign ‘cause i’m a big bad cop blah blah blah. He’d let out a microscopic breath and his lashes fluttered, and with a dip of his chin to acknowledge your profuse apologies, he’d muttered, s’alright. And since then he’s been Simon.)

And things have been alright, lately.

The boys drop by (sometimes alone, sometimes with the other in tow) for growingly frequent visits and sniff around your weedy little square of property like hounds, but they don’t find whatever the hell they’re looking for. Your boyfriend, probably. You think his scent’s gone cold ‘cause they haven’t found him yet.

You’ve never asked them.

Never mentioned it at all.

And again- thank God that neither of them prod for more information from you, but sometimes you see the silent question in their eyes. Aren’t you curious what’s come of him? Your boy?

But you don’t intend on spilling your heart out to these two kind-hearted, not quite strangers— not when they’ve already done so much for you.

There’s a little wriggling worm in the back of your head that begs to ask just why they’re so adamant on checking up on you at least thrice a week, but you don’t voice that either. It’s a somewhat harsh theory, but they’re probably just makin’ sure you didn’t kill yourself.

…‘Cause that’s what you are now, right? That’s how everyone’ll see you as. Pathetic and fragile like a tattered cardboard box with red tape plastered on each side.

And… It’s okay. You think you’ve come to peace with it. Ain’t nothin’ the folks around here can throw at you that’ll leave a mark; your mama and old man and ex-boyfriend did plenty a good job at that, and there’s also nothing they can say to hurt you because the voice in your head already screams it all.

That’s not to say your heart has hardened, though. No- it melts a little when Simon pulls out the barstool and mutters a soft thanks for the peanutbutter and jelly you fixed up for him. It even gives a weak little stutter when you unlatch the door and scamper off, Johnny’s eyes tracking your bare legs as you run to find shorts, his breathless chuckle ringing behind you.

Even then, in your old daisy dukes, he’s looking.

Stealing glances when you’re behind the counter pouring him lemonade; you assure yourself he isn’t.

He’s… a cop and, although he’s a whit flirtatious, he’s damn near programmed to survey every personage he comes across. With you, he’s looking for bruises and scars and- and you know what? He’s probably not even looking at all (even if you feel his eyes, that stark blue stare that harbors a hunger only men can really carry, burning into your profile long after you turn).

If somebody told you you lost it, you wouldn’t hurt for it, you’d just shrug and quietly understand.

Hey— The heat is certainly doing no favors for your mind fog: Lately, crowded on your narrow concrete porch step with Simon, you’re even deluded enough to think you feel his gaze on you, drifting along the slope of your cheek with an interest that frankly feels misplaced as you’re rambling on and on about the craziness of Honey Boo Boo.

(“Yeah, sweetheart? When you make supper tonight, put it on the telly. I’ll give it a look while I eat.”)

(“Y-You might lose your appetite. It’s not really a show you watch while eating-“

(“It’ll be fine.“)

He doesn’t tell you it’s impossible, that men like him never stop hungering. It’s hardly imaginable, anyway, to lose his appetite when you’ll be sitting there beside him, curled up on the sofa with a plate, pretty as fucking ever as he humors some shitty reality show for you.

He’s never told you, either, how gorgeous you are. Sometimes it’s all he wants to say because horrifically enough, he thinks you don’t know it, that all your self worth and awareness has been birched out of you by that asshole- but he quietly decides to leave that to Johnny.

That bastard’s always complimenting you. Even in the more private setting of their patrol car, bumping through familiar routes, the Scot’s running his mouth about how sweet you were today and how much that fucker didn’t deserve you and— fuck professionalism, can’t he just touch you? Just once-? Just. Ach, bloody hell, Ghost, I’d kill a man just to grab a fistful of her pretty hair and smell. Wannae hug her and wipe away all her fuckin’ memory of him.

Oh, he knows.

Simon will admit this much, with hands that clench the wheel and slacks that tighten a fraction at all the very vivid images his cohort paints for him of their doll: Johnny is annoying- endlessly annoying- but he’s right.

You’re perfect. Sugar sweet. Simon licks over his teeth without thinking when he’s talking to you (contentedly third-wheeling a conversation Johnny’s pulled you into) and feels his mouth water up. He wants to hold you, too, scorch away any and every idea of that shitty old boyfriend of yours, and tuck away your bangs that you let fall in your face because you’re instincively trying to hide from him.

Kindred and beaten. He wants to tell you you’re the same- but still, so much better than him.

…But all that for later.

✦✦✦

At your table, he digs into lasagna with a fork and foregoes cutting it into smaller bits with the knife. You suppose he can make anything digestible; with big enough teeth, you never have to worry. Beside him, Johnny drums his fingers- ungloved, his jacket folded with them on your sofa- on the wood and flashes you a smile when you catch his eyes.

You’ve hardly finished half your plate when you realize Johnny’s is empty. And now he’s just staring, sapphire hues remniscient of arctic plains skimming over you as you dip your chin to scoop dinner into your mouth.

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking when he looks at you, what it is he’s seeing. You’d never admit that you feel a little unnerved by it. Even the fact that the two policemen who worked your case have become a tangible piece of your reality feels… Perturbing, almost. Four months scurry past with fast feet and leave you blinking back the dust. They weaseled into your sad little life in their own respective ways and you had nothing to say against it.

They were professional. Until they weren’t, until they were friendly.

And then they were friendly—

Johnny’s teeth, white and perfect, sharp under the buttery light of the fixture overhead, glint at you. You’re made to feel inexplicably self conscious by it. He says- with a tone that feels oddly suggestive, like there’s some hidden meaning to it- watching you with utmost interest as you eat, “Was fuckin’ delicious, hen. Ah think ah wannae second plate o’ it. Ye got some more?”

—Until they were not.

Bravely, you glance over to Simon and he’s wolfing down the last few spoonfuls. And he’s watching you, too, from the corner of his eye like some bird of prey.

Reaching over to gingerly pluck a napkin from its holder, you dot the corner of your lip (really just as a way to distract yourself as they stare) and offer a smile. “Y-Yeah, ‘course,” you nod backwards toward the stove where the tin sits, cracking a joke. “Just gotta get there before Simon does.”

It doesn’t exactly lighten the weird tension in the small space of your trailer home, but it alights Soap’s face with a dazzling grin. Johnny’s laugh is harsh, quick. Too amused. Once, it’d felt like a reward, like an audible confirmation that you were acknowledged in a pleasant, uniquely human way. It wouldn’t earn you a soft slap to the cheek (a wordless warning) or a cluck of a disapproving tongue. Johnny and Simon weren’t like that. They were good.

Two good men.

Your mouth feels dry.

Unease lodges deep in your throat. You swallow it down with some iced tea but it remains after the gulp.

So… maybe they aren’t exactly friendly anymore, or professional- like their shiny gold badges on their chest would demand of them- but they still showed up whenever they were called. Still shooed your crude, reckless boyfriend off the street when he was drunk and causing disturbances. And that day when he ran off and left you—

They were there for you.

Nobody else is there for you.

So yeah, okay, maybe this situation is a little strange, you’ll admit that much, and you vaguely wonder if their boss back at the station is even a mite aware of what his underlings get up to in the short windows their patrol trips will allow- but it’s not like you’re used to normal.

The boys are just a tiny bit weird with how they’ve been starting to forego the polite knocks and enter on their own accord, with how they hover when you’re cooking and how Johnny will absentmindedly pull you onto his lap on the couch before you squeak and alert him to reality- the reality that you’re just some stupid domestic case he handled, not his girlfriend. But you’re weird too, aren’t you? I mean, by that logic, you’re so, so far gone.

Damaged goods, a voice rings in the back of your head. You don’t thank it for its provision but it helps to steel your nerves, the reminder that you can manage these things because they’ve already struck you once before.

B-But again— I mean, your ex-boyfriend did leave you messed up… so maybe, just maybe, it’s all in your stupid head after all. You’re making these mountains out of molehills when it comes to their behavior.

Simon sets his utensil down. “Nah, go ahead, Soap. I had my fill,” he comments, and he’s right, he had a massive serving- but his gaze, umber and intense, consistently flickers back to you.

Your kitchen— no, your whole world— feels heavier with every cocksure syllable that comes out his scarred mouth. “Gotta save some room for dessert, anyway.”

You roll your suddenly dry lips to moisturize them before chiming, “d-dessert?”

You’d thought supper was it for tonight. You only have so much groceries to ration with the budget you’re losing and recipes to pull out your sleeve. In any case, the plan for this evening was to make the boys dinner (because they arrived- without prompting, per usual- and you figured it was the polite thing to do), and then send them on their merry way.

Once Johnny gets his seconds, they’re gone.

They’re supposed to be.

T-They’re staring- the both of them still. Staring hard.

Ghost snags your attention. Keeps it leveled intently, maybe a little nervously, on him. Johnny is just a blur of brown hair (his stupid mohawk he has no right to rock), sun-speckled skin and electric blue eyes beside him.

Ghost is all darkness from where you sit- pale skin broken up by colored scars, a black thermal and shadowy eyes; the only highlight in them, white and blocked, is the small portrait of yourself looking back at him. She looks healthy. But she still looks frightened.

“Dessert, pet,” he solidifies, gentle but firm. No room to argue here. He’s a cop anyway, not like you could get a good speaking point in when the threat of being cuffed will always dangle somewhere overhead.

But! They would never do that to you. Abuse their power. Abuse their manhood, hold your womanhood against you. Simon and Johnny are not like your boyfriend. Ex. Ex-boyfriend. They’re not.

“I- I don’t understand,” you laugh. “I don’t have anything to make.”

Johnny perks up, as if it’s his job to placate you, “Dinnae worry, bonnie. Ye’ll see soon enough. Me n’ Simon here got a lil’ somethin’ ta repay ya.”

“Wh- what, like a cake or something?” With a shake of your head, you pinch your brow and try to make your humor seem solid, real. But in the back of your head you know they’re trained to spot the faults, the little fractures in even the most rigid of personalities; to pin them and capitalize off them.

“I didn’t know it was my birthday.”

Soap chuckles again. There’s no doubt in your mind his mirth is genuine. “Ach. Not quite... Reckon you’ll be feeling like it, though,” he assures, unruffled as ever as your world spins. Not his world, he is fine from where he sits. “Happy li’l lass on her birthday.” It’s strange to see excitement- so audacious and stark- glimmering on a grown man’s face, but it’s there in abundance, softening weathered lines into an almost boyish look.

You’re fooled into a second of peace by it, until he shoulders the conversation- and the unspoken omen of it- over to his buddy.

“Tell her, Ghost. Lookit her- haha, she’s a curious one. Bet she’s jist as eager, aye?”

“Don’t get ahead o’ yourself, Johnny,” Simon murmurs, before his jaw flexes and he says after a thoughtful beat, regarding you quietly, “You’re scarin’ the girl.”

Are you scared?

You don’t know anymore. But if you are, you’re glad for their telling you about it. It’s hard to discern your feelings otherwise. You need the waving red stop signs and green lights to inform you of what’s happening inside of you and if it’s allowed.

It’s as pathetic as it is necessary.

As you clean up dinner, the boys circling behind you like vultures to roadkill as you helplessly busy yourself with the dishes as a last try at warding them off, you wonder where your baby is.

You wonder if he misses you there.

✦✦✦

It’s such a big stretch.

It takes your breath on the way in and when he bottoms out, you find yourself wishing for the couch to swallow you up in one of its crevices; you could disappear there and join the collection of missing pennies and dimes and go brainless for a bit. That’s a reprieve you don’t find, though, not here.

You should get those ideas of self autonomy and rest out of your pretty little head. You’ll always fall into the hands of some man- your abusive boyfriend or otherwise.

Four are roaming you, now, with all the reverence in the world but you don’t know how to respond to that touch. Soap’s fingers leave your forehead after he removes the lock glued there with a tut of his tongue, perspiring at your temple as your insides accommodate to the slow intrusion.

Simon thinks you’re something plucked from the renaissance era, your hair splayed around your head in a halo, one hand balled to your breast while the other presses into the cushion with discomfort.

The cushions are floral, a sage, ratty green patterned with what looks to be blushing carnation and their sprawling vines. It frames you perfectly: a nymphet in her garden, at home, with a distinct look of distress that’s almost painterly as he bullies his cock inside. It’s not like it’s the first time you’d laid on your back for a man- your ex- but it’s been a while, and even then it wasn’t anything this big.

Simon is monstrous and intimidating. You feel as if you’re being deflowered all over again. Startled and sweating.

“Gentle, Simon,” is all you can hope to plead for as, from your side, by the arm of the couch behind your head, a corded set of legs lumber over and stop.

Ghost lets out a grunt over you, voice strained as he stills his hips for a few moments. He’s kind enough to give you some time to adjust, but you think he needs the breathe as well. You fit him tighter than a latex glove and it’s hard to think, let alone make a reply but he manages.

“Being ‘bout as gentle as I can be, sweetheart.”

Inches from your head, Johnny bends over to ruck down his jeans and the too-tight, pesky denim, letting out a curse when he can’t peel them off fast enough. It’s been made very obvious just how eager the two were to become acquainted with you in a more physical way, but it’s Soap who takes the cake in embarrassing himself for it. Though to be fair, he doesn’t seem to mind much, kicking off his pants when they pool at his ankles, untucking himself from his briefs with urgency.

“Ach. Ye better be gentle with her. We owe her tha’, don’t we? Although…” Soap starts, a certain glint in his electric blue eyes that’s reminscient of glowing orbs between dark trees at night- the gaze of a beast- when you glance up. Your eyes are bleared when he cups your jaw under his palm and stoops over, sampling a weirdly affectionate kiss before grinning. That smile is just as predatory, even as his eyes soften into a delirious sort of fondness.

“S’pose we already did her some big favors, aye? Fixing things around her place, mowing the yard…” he drawls, “we even took oot the rubbish for our li’l babe.”

Simon stills at that. Tenebrous, heavy eyes dart across the bridge of your nose but you just moan and try to roll on your side to evade the fat cockhead that slithers through your walls, dead to all else but it. He lets out a deep breath, shifting impossibly closer on his knees and regathering your legs in his hands before giving an experimental thrust in. Testing the waters. Testing if you’re a screamer or a whimperer.

Johnny’s a whisperer— muttering filth in your ear as he awkwardly bends down again and collars you with a wet kiss to your neck. This whole arrangement feels less like a raunchy, impromptu hookup and more like two mutts pissing on a fire hydrant to mark it as theirs. Albeit, the brunet would call it your birthday, because this is a gift to you, right?

He looks like he’s got something to celebrate, anyway. Handsome face weighty with arousal as he gives his hardening length a few strokes, but his body language conveys mirth as he rocks on his heels.

“Isn’t tha’ right, pretty girl? Yeah? Ye don’t have ta nod yer head- jist go on and give Simon a nice li’l squeeze— Simon, d’ya feel her? Fuck. Yer so much better off without that—“

“Johnny,” the blond warns, and as Simon readjusts you once more for extra comfort, pulling you closer on his cock, you watch through a blurred lens as the strange fog in oceanic blues clears out, long lashes fluttering over drooping lids.

For whatever silent conversation of theirs you’re not privy to, Johnny acquiesces. Dust settles in the wake of that feral, almost victorious glint in the Scotman’s eye. He’s just a whit gentler as he straightens his spine and guides himself to your lips.

And, you know, in some parallel universe maybe you wouldn’t be sucking some good-cop-bad-cop’s cock as he feeds it to you in second-long segments. Puts you on a sort of portion control- but your belly already feels full with his buddy as he begins to set a slow pace, heeding your earlier plea, and you’ve not much appetite for it but he’s a giver anyway.

No, you’d be traveling on the road and cursing over potholes in a refurbished RV and in love with life—

“Fuuuckin’ hell,” The taste of him draws you back to real life. He’s salty, hot. Your lips wrap around him clumsily and you do your damnedest to not gag as it curves down your throat. He’s massive in his own right; thick and veiny and ready to go even if you hesitate at first.

Simon clamps his eyes shut, wanting to block the sight of his mate’s cock out, and Johnny’s crinkle with pleasure.

He hisses through perfect white teeth. “Wooh. There ye go. What a goooood fucking lass. Ye seein’ this, Simon-?”

“Tryin’ not to.”

“-Och- she feels so bloody good. Bet her pussy’s even sweeter-“

“Reckon it’d feel even better for all three o’ us if you shut your gob, Soap.” Simon snips, wetting his bottom lip as it gets hot and dry in the room and your small living space whirls with the patent smell of sex and sweat. It beads at your forehead, clumps up on the underside of your thigh that the blond keeps hitched up; trickles over the girth of his fingers and your face. When he spots it there on your jaw, he’s tempted to bow down and lick it up. Johnny’s member sliding in and out of your parted lips- swollen from all the prior kissing- wards him off well enough, though.

Head lolled on your shoulder, a calloused but bizarrely gentle hand supporting it as you hollow out your cheeks for Johnny, your eyes flit over to the coffee table. You barely catch it over the din of groans and loud vulgarity interwoven in sounds of praise- the vibration of a phone- but it’s there amidst the slapping skin and deep breaths and makes you look over.

Your phone screen lights with a message. Interest piques in you as you rapidly blink back the clouding of your tear ducts, thankful for the relief even if only mental to coax you from your present situation: the hands and fingers and eyes raking all over you.

It’s a notification of some sorts. An alert, you think, but not the atypical kind from a contact saved in your phone. It seems like it’s from an official account but you only spy the tail end of it before your screen fades to darkness.

“Lookit me, pet.”

We regret to— Identified— Something something- you’re not paying it all that much attention anymore because Simon aims a palm at your tit and gropes it, keen on the small whimper you reward him with even if it’s muffled around Soap as he cants himself past your stretched lips. Johnny likes it, too, practically preening as he tightens his clutch in your hair and croons down at you, rocking his hips into your wet, fucking divine mouth with a growing loss of self restraint.

He gets it, he has to be considerate and all— but damn it all if your tongue doesn’t feel fucking perfect as it licks up the flushed underside of him as his engorged tip squelches at the back of your throat.

You’re everything he dreamed of and then some.

Ghost’s voice, again, slithers through the barrage of noises as he seeks the wet heat between your thighs. “Sweetheart, have a look.”

You don’t really know if you want to, but you do have a look. Your eyes flit up to his before following his own to the juncture of you both, his fat cock spearing you open— the proof of it jutting in a subtle bulge along your abdomen. It’s horrifying. Something straight from an alien movie- a parasite wriggling inside you— but when you instinctively clamp down, Simon groans and looks like his breath’s been stolen when he meets your eye again. “Good girl. You’re a good girl.”

There’s a haze all around you. Sickening. Dizzying. The boys smell of the world outside and distinctly masculine; they don’t kick their boots off at the door and rather track all the mud inside- tainting you with it. This was your space. After your boyfriend left, it was supposed to be. And you were meant to be free.

Johnny lets out a long string of expletives as he nears his edge, heavy balls hitting your chin every so often when he presses the envelope on just how far he can reach down your throat before you start hurling out dinner. These two individuals were the only ones there for you when your whole world, without warning, started to cave at its middle, and you were always grateful for that, endlessly. But when the brunet comes down your trachea with a roar, holding your head in place as you gag, and tells you with a breathless grin to thank him for it-?

Fire lashes in you.

Your brow corrugates. A flash of anger, indignant and humiliated, arises from the baser part of you and the blond leans over you to slap Johnny away. “Gentle my fuckin’ arse. Don’t make her swallow that shite. Now piss off, lemme finish alone w’her.”

The gleeful look on Johnny’s face withers into a scowl. “What?! That’s no’ fair! C’mon, she knows it was just a joke. Tell the ghost, sweetie, tell him ye want me ta stick around.” He winks. “That it tastes good.”

After grudgingly swallowing it down, there’s certain moment where you just splutter, desperate to catch your breath as the cop- almost ruefully- slides his dick out from your mouth and deliberates on tucking himself back in. Then, Simon takes your face in his big paw and guides your eyes to his, his own dark caramel ones simmering with something intense, unable to be named.

“You don’t want him stickin’ his nose in our business, do ya?” He all but grumbles, “he’s had his turn-“

“With her mouth! I can go again once yer finished, Ghost,” he pops up a pointer finger, “dinnae underestimate—“

Briefly, Simon pauses, tosses him a quick look and barks, “Quiet, Johnny. You’ve had your go at her. Told you we should’ve bloody waited, she’s hardly ready for one o’ us, let alone both. Y’just couldn’t fucking wait?” (You get the inexplicable inkling that he’s making an indirect address to something else, then.) He sighs, steadies himself, refocuses on the moment and the way your cunt feels as it hotly mouths him in, lapping at his veiny sides. “Hop off it a moment, lad.”

Soap scrunches his nose. “She’s a strong woman. She can take it. Think ye should stop selling her short-“

“Both of you just stop already!” you murmur through the gap your hands make as they seal over your flushed face. You bushwhack yourself with the boldness of it all. It was long past the due time to grow a backbone but it was getting late and you were cranky and you still had to finish tidying the kitchen as soon as the boys took their leave. They’ve overstayed their welcome and as the reality of it all dawns upon you, the initial freeze response thaws into irritation.

“You two are both leaving right after—!”

A laugh, harsh and vigorous, cuts you off. “Ach, I don’t think so, hen. Cannae get rid o’ us that easily.”

Confusion reshapes you. Your face pinches and you look between the men anxiously as Simon resumes his pace again, clasping your hips on both sides as he drives himself home. You gasp and lie back again, fully recumbent as you cover your mouth. It makes you go numb all over again, the warmth of his body over yours stifling, his girth stretching you out deliciously as he repeatedly hits that one spot in you that points all rational thought to the door.

“But y-you have to leave—“

“Well,” Johnny cuts you off, then, and Simon doesn’t bother straightening him out this time. He lets him talk. He supposes, anyway, that for as dedicated as he is to his good cop role, he’s really no better than Johnny in this singular regard.

With you.

Blue eyes twinkle with delight. Simon’s grunting over you, his small sounds of pleasure picking up in volume and frequency, and you get the idea he’s gonna come soon.

Soap chuckles, knowing something you don’t, “Yer right, actually, hen. We are leaving. But yer comin’ with as well, aye?”

(Fuck your bastard ex-boyfriend for never fixing up that piece of shit RV in the back. Fuck him fuck him fuck him.)

✦✦✦

It doesn’t take much for Price to get Simon’s attention. A short, yet no less urgent word over his walkie is what has him in this time.

When he walks in, the chief greets him with a tight smile over the rim of his coffee mug and nods to the seat opposite his desk. “Simon, good to see you. Sit.”

So Simon does. He takes a few steps forward (it’s all it takes for his long legs to reach the center of his office), shuts the door behind him, and pulls out a chair. John’s desk is messy, though the blond knows that’s not how he prefers it— paperwork piled up in a small mountain, nearly spilling off the mahogany edges; there’s hardly even enough room for his steaming drink or the shiny little standee with his name on it, but he manages in one way or another.

Dark hues appraise the clutter for a second too long before finally returning the eye contact expected of him. He’s not used to feeling uncomfortable, Simon, but the more the clock hanging overhead the door clicks, the more Simon readjusts himself in the almost too-small leather chair and awaits his superior’s words.

They finally come. “You know why I called you in here today?” Simon’s also not used to feeling like a disobedient child called to have a chat with the school’s principal, but it crosses his mind for a moment anyway. He wets his bottom lip, and gives Price no verbal response. Better to wait it out, he thinks.

The brunet’s smile pinches as he gives a few fast blinks.

Ghost spots something, then, amidst the hodgepodge of documents and wayward pens. Under the small desk light with a crooked neck, by the phone stand, a yellow folder lay. It’s opened, unlike the other ones— and the tip of something peeks its head out, cold and black.

A videotape, he suspects- and a whole plethora of thoughts hail down on him, briefly, shadows revolving behind his brain- before returning the stare of the man in front of him.

Ghost sniffs. “…What you got there?”

Lightless, mildly curious eyes bore into warm brown ones. Searching for something.

A silent moment passes, but very slowly. Price ultimately looks down to the object in question and takes it in his big paw, untucking the rectangle-shaped item inside. He gives it a shake as he speaks, and Simon reads the diminutive wording scrawled in sharpie over a white label.

The date is a familiar one.

“This,” he starts, a sage sort of look in his eye as it widens- peers into Ghost’s soul and scours it- “is the motel a town over, one week ago.” He points his chin, with unwavering eye contact, to a crisp paper atop the stack, “and that’s the owner’s report of the body we found in one of the rooms. Any o’ this ringing a bell?”

Simon, boredly, or maybe thoughtfully, looks off to the side and offers a small, one-shouldered shrug. “You didn’t put me or my partner on that case,” he says simply, “Can’t say I’m familiar.”

He doesn’t exactly intend on it sounding like an excuse- and to Ghost’s credit, it doesn’t: his deadpan tone is too good for most of anything to slip through— but he wonders if his chief is regarding it as a truth or an alibi.

A beat passes. John smiles.

And as a reply to that, he folds his hairy hands over his desk and leans forward to emphasize his following sentiment; he speaks in a low murmur but it’s clear to the blond. Crystalline. He nods to Simon as he does, or maybe he nods to himself.

“It’s a familiar face, though, the body we pulled from the closet. A real fuckin’ mystery, innit? First thought I had was- how the fuck are we gonna break this to the poor doll? But I never got the chance to think long and hard on it. You know why?”

Another segment of quiet comes and goes. The blinds of the office are pulled, sealed shut, the event of any potential onlookers or nosy colleagues peering in precluded. It’s just him and John right now, but Simon can’t help but feel like the big man upstairs is looking too, that omniscient, godlike gaze tracking him, and he gets a feeling no different than it when he’s stood under the crosshair of another asshole’s gun.

He sniffs again, asks without much interest, “Why?”

His overling says with what seems as puzzlement but Simon knows very well is not: “Because the doll’s been reported missing yesterday by a neighbor. Said she hasn’t shown for a day and her grandson saw a car come and go.”

Ghost blinks and looses a sound that’s equally a scoff as it is a sigh. “Hell of a way to start off the week, yeah? Poor bird flew off… Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“She doesn’t have any means to, though. Fly off.” Price leans forward even more but Simon holds staunchly, perfect poker face and all. “Got any ideas, lad?”

“Called an uber, likely.”

A laugh, harsh and short. “An uber, yeah.” A deep sigh of exasperation through his nostrils- and then all semblance of cordial conversation between two officers goes out the window.

“You want to be honest with me, now? Or do I gotta drag Soap in here? M’sure he’ll have your stories tied up in one pretty bow for me, mm? All nice n’ neat? Or did you even fucking think that far ahead?!”

Johnny? That motormouth? Hell no. This situation is already fast to flee Simon’s hands, but it’ll all go to hell in a handbasket as soon as that gobshite’s involved. Mactavish can hardly maintain an inside voice (one that’s broken entirely when the doll’s brought up), and the blond knows he’ll flub with an alibi, entangle himself in a position he’d be hard-pressed to get out of. It’ll be one crazy match of twister that’s almost funny to think about but neither men laugh, rigid and sober.

Ghost swallows thickly. Wets his lip again; all his movements kept simple and slow. His heart skips just once, though. The phantom hand of guilt knocks at his heart. Simon buries it down before he opens his jaw again, “What d’ya plan to do, Captain?” Is all he says.

He has no real proposal here. It’s not his or Johnny’s first mishap, but it’s unclear whether or not he’ll be covered on this one— or if he even can be, what with the shiny black videotape inches away, hard and real.

Proof of wrongdoing.

Price maintains eye contact for another tense handful of seconds more before his gaze dips. He looks down at the tiny tape his hands dwarf, considers something. Careful and meticulous, mulling it over in his head.

Shadows pass through Simon’s.

…Better to wait this out, though.

The blond watches Price’s severe visage lessen by a fraction. He tucks the tape away. Reseals the folder and slips it beneath the mammoth stack of papers on his desk. Ghost doesn’t know all the nitty-gritty, who’s seen that tape or if it’s been duplicated, in possession of another but for what he can see here and now, it’s been buried.

“…About what, lad?”

Simon blinks. Price flashes a close-lipped smile, warm eyes just a bit too crinkled to be considered kind- not that Simon’s ever gave away his guise- and folds his hands.

The flaxen badge on his crisp uniform glints when Ghost, betraying nothing, rises from his chair- and it nearly blinds him on his way out.

He stops at the door just before leaving, though, as if his legs are bound by some inexplicable force. He looks partially over his broad shoulder, just halfway to make the clarification.

“…She’s alright, for the record. Safe.”

“I know, Simon. I know.”

Ghost hears the crisp sound of upright papers bumping against wood.

A cue to leave. He takes it.

Home is waiting for him, after all, with open arms. And knowing that Johnny’s no doubt doting all over her— okay, home is waiting for him with open legs, too.

Bastard just better not be hogging up all her attention.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hello! may i ask for some advice on writing women involved in the mafia? i'm having difficulty finding realistic ways women involved can be inducted (aside from being a wife), work, and climb up the ranks when the italian mafia was quite patriarchal, conservative, and catholic. thank you very much!

Writing Notes: Women in the Mafia

Mafia - hierarchically structured society of criminals of primarily Italian or Sicilian birth or extraction. The term applies to the traditional criminal organization in Sicily and also to a criminal organization in the United States.

Investigations conducted by U.S. government agencies in the 1950s and ’60s revealed that the structure of the American Mafia was similar to that of its Sicilian prototype.

In the United States, the organization had adopted the name Cosa Nostra [Italian: “Our Affair”].

From the 1950s, Mafia operations were conducted by some 24 groups, or “families,” throughout the country.

In most cities where syndicated crime operated, there was one family, but in New York City there were 5: Gambino, Genovese, Lucchese, Colombo, and Bonanno.

The heads of the most powerful families made up a commission whose main function was judicial.

At the head of each family was a “boss,” or “don,” whose authority could be challenged only by the commission.

Each don had an underboss, who functioned as a vice president or deputy director, and a consigliere, or counselor, who had considerable power and influence.

Below the underboss were the caporegime, or lieutenants, who, acting as buffers between the lower echelon workers and the don himself, protected him from a too-direct association with the organization’s illicit operations.

The lieutenants supervised squads of “soldiers,” who often had charge of one of the family’s legal operations (e.g., vending machines, food-products companies, or restaurants) or illegal operations involving prostitution, gambling, or narcotics.

By the late 20th century the Mafia’s role in U.S. organized crime seemed to be diminishing.

Convictions of top officials, defections by members who became government witnesses, and murderous internal disputes thinned the ranks.

In addition, the gradual breakup of insulated Italian-Sicilian communities and their assimilation into the larger American society effectively reduced the traditional breeding ground for prospective mafiosi.

Sicilian Mafia

Hierarchically structured organization of criminals in Sicily, Italy.

Made up of a coalition of criminal organizations—called “families” or “clans” in English and cosche (singular, cosca) in Italian—which engage in extortion, smuggling, gambling, and the mediation of disagreements between other criminals.

The term Mafia has become synonymous in English with organized crime, but technically Mafia refers only to the Sicilian organization and its Sicilian American counterpart in the United States.

Women in the Mafia

Men have dominated the history of organized crime as bosses, capos, soldiers and associates.

They traditionally relegated women to servile roles as prostitutes, shills, dancers and servers.

America’s La Cosa Nostra and Sicily’s Mafia are old-style patriarchies.

In Mob movies, females typically portray mothers, wives, siblings, girlfriends, “molls” and, at best, crime-wise, low-level smugglers.

The Mafia is a criminal organization renowned for being "full male chauvinists" (Pizzini-Gambetta 1999, 257) where no woman has ever been admitted into in.

However, despite their exclusion, women have featured in norms upheld by this criminal group.

The Mafia is usually depicted, especially by the media, as a conservative, male-dominated organization, but it is probably less backward and more flexible than the rest of society would like to think and believe.

A "good" woman of the Mafia is expected to dedicate her life to her family and especially to her husband.

Women who participate in Mafia's illicit activities are usually unemployed and live in the most deprived areas of Sicilian cities.

These types of women are quite easy targets for Cosa Nostra.

Usually they are contacted "through an intermediary (so that, if captured will no be in the position to tell anything about the organization) and to offer them a relatively easy way to make money, selling drugs in the areas where they live, usually from their own homes and frequently using their children as couriers" (De Pretis 1996, 5).

These are the types of activities that women tend to be selected for.

Different from men, women can move freely in their environment without arousing suspicions in the police.

In addition, with the growth of the international drug trade (particularly towards the United States), which enabled the Mafia to expand, the organization was forced to "employ" more workers, including women.

Women took advantage of prejudice: they passed unsuspected across international borders, where the presence of female customs officers to search them was exceptional.

It is also important to note that "although these women are recruited primarily as a criminal force, they often have to accept sexual intercourse with their referents, who regard this practice as their own right" (De Pretis 1996, 6).

It can be said that for long time, the Italian law favoured female criminals and indeed their partners, albeit indirectly.

For example, Mafiosi used women's names to register companies, properties and bank accounts.

It can be claimed that the system worked perfectly for the honoured organization because "women, even wives of high-ranking Mafiosi, were considered beyond suspicion. Since there was not legal definition of the Mafia, there was no way of connecting a bank account in a woman's name with a drug smuggling ring" (Longrigg 1997, 18).

Anti-Mafia crackdowns by Italian police started in the 1980s with stringent new laws.

According to the investigative news website TransCrime, while Italian courts indicted only one female boss in 1989, they indicted 89 of them in 1995.

Male bosses headed for prison commonly hand their assets over to their wives or sisters. Even though women made up only 2.5 percent of those sent to prison for Mafia-linked crimes, they controlled a third of Mafia financial resources.

Women have served as acting bosses in Italy’s major crime families, including the ’Ndrangheta and Camorra.

“There is a growing number of women who hold executive roles,” Gaetano Maruccia, an Italian police commander in greater Naples, told The Daily Telegraph newspaper in 2009. “They are either widows or wives of husbands who have been put in prison. They hold the reins. They’re very good at mapping out strategy, even sharper (than the men).”

Example: Maria Licciardi

Naples, Italy, is the home of the Camorra, a group of savvy, ruthless organized criminal clans that try to work together but have a history of deadly internal clashes.

By the late 1990s, during a murderous feud among Camorra cliques, a Neapolitan woman in her late 40s, Maria Licciardi, materialized as the boss of one of the largest Camorra families, the Secondigliano clan.

In 2001, while a fugitive from the law for two years, Licciardi made it onto a list compiled by Italian police of the nation’s thirty most wanted criminals.

Licciardi was born in 1951 in the Secondigliano section of northern Naples.

Some came to regard her as a boss within the Camorra organized crime group from 1993 to 2001.

Her ascendancy to the apex of a Camorra crime group occurred as women were stepping into leadership roles in the syndicate left open by men arrested, imprisoned or killed in the 1990s and 2000s.

That trend continued alongside battles won by Italy’s criminal justice system.

Some wives of Mafia bosses will cut and package cocaine and heroin for their husbands at home while also performing traditional family duties such as cooking, cleaning and raising children.

While men mostly handle the violent side of things, some of these women are as capable of making threats and extorting money from victims, and running drug sales operations, as their male spouses. Licciardi was one such person.

She grew up with a close-knit family deeply involved in the Camorra syndicate. Her father served as a clan boss.

She seized power as a “madrina” (godmother) in the Secondigliano clan after police arrested her two brothers, Pietro and Vincenzo, and her husband, Antonio Teghemi.

She took over the mantle to manage the clan’s prostitution, drug trafficking, cigarette smuggling, extortion and other rackets.

Smart and practical, steeped in Camorra business, she conversed with various male Camorra bosses, listening, debating and taking action as their equal.

During the late 1990s, Licciardi gained the confidence of the “guappos” (bosses) of twenty warring criminal gangs within the Camorra in Naples.

She used her skills as a negotiator to convince them that fighting was bad for business and unity would bring more money for everyone and avoid bloodshed.

Her view held sway in Naples. For several months, there were no Mob-related slayings in the city.

Then, a gang war erupted over a substantial shipment of heroin from Istanbul:

The cache was not refined, too strong and posed a deadly risk for users. Licciardi rejected the drugs and ordered the load returned.

A rival clan, the Lo Russo, disobeyed, snatched the drug supply and sold the powder in small bags.

As it turned out, the heroin was indeed too pure to use, and nearly a dozen addicts died on city streets.

Publicity about the deaths led police to arrest various known local hoodlums. The fragile union Licciardi created fell apart.

Rival Camorra clans began to rebel.

Over 8 days, they shot several of her clan’s people to death.

One of her nephews died in the clashes.

Licciardi fought back with her gunmen.

Within a few days, in revenge, she allegedly had 14 people murdered.

Police believe Licciardi commanded the deaths of about 30 people in all.

Her petite stature emboldened some to assign her the nickname “la piccolina,” or the little one.

Others named her the “Camorra Princess.”

Still, she proved herself as unabashed as her male counterparts in ordering people killed.

Neapolitan police came after her with an arrest warrant in 1999.

Police raided the meeting of 13 Mafia bosses and arrested them, but Licciardi eluded the cops.

She went into hiding until officers pulled a car over outside Naples, and recognized her in it, in 2001.

Since then, Licciardi has been in prison, living under the harsh conditions of isolation from the outside world as dictated by Italian law for convicted Mafiosi.

She has dropped out of the limelight, but not from her clan’s rackets.

In 2009, Anna Maria Zaccaria, a sociologist at Naples Federico II University, told the Associated Press: “She’s in prison, but she still commands.”

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Thanks for this request, I found this quite interesting. You could use stories like Maria Licciardi's as inspiration. And additional stories I found [1, 2] that you could do further research on, since this is a really long post already. Hope this helps with your writing!

[ticklygiggles]

Lunch break | Asaba Harumasa x Mocha [n$fw]

Commissioner's OC | PPYMIA COMCO

A/N: Collab with always precious and beautiful @ppystkposts commissioned by @kusuguricafe! We hope you enjoy this, thank you for your support!

Big thanks to always wonderful @lovelynim for beta reading this fic and also for providing the images used in this fic hehe mwah love

Friendly reminder that we still have two free slots!

Summary: Harumasa has a little visit during lunch break.

Words: 2.7k

Reports, reports, and more reports.

This was, without a doubt, the most mind-numbing and soul-crushingly dull aspect of his job, and, of course, the one he detested the most. As he sat there, staring blankly at the endless stream of paperwork, his mind inevitably wandered to his stunning girlfriend.

A goofy, soft grin spread across Harumasa's face at the mere thought of her, his heart skipping a beat that sent a delightful shiver coursing through his chest and down to his stomach. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and he felt embarrassed for behaving like a smitten schoolboy with his first crush, unable to shake off the silly, lovesick feeling that had taken hold of him.

As he glanced at the clock on the wall, he realized that lunchtime was fast approaching, and a wild, impulsive idea suddenly came to his mind. He swiftly grabbed his phone and opened the messaging app, his fingers flying across the screen as he navigated to her chat, a sense of excitement and anticipation building in his chest.

He chuckled to himself, feeling exactly like an excited kid. He quickly glanced behind him, making sure the Deputy Chief wasn't around and that Soukaku and Miyabi had their nose buried in their own work, (something he should be doing as well), and quickly answered her again:

Boosted… well, it didn't matter. He quickly typed again:

His heart pounded against his chest; somehow he felt the exact nervous anticipation he had felt when he mustered the courage to ask Mocha to be his girlfriend. There was really no reason to feel so terribly nervous, but he was desperate to see her and get away from the stress these annoying reports were causing him. His heart skipped a beat as his phone vibrated in his hand with a new notification. He straightened his back and read the new message, letting out a sigh of relief. 

Those five minutes, followed by the agonizing wait until lunch time, felt like eons to Harumasa. The clock's hands seemed frozen in place, refusing to move. He would glance up, convinced that a good ten minutes had elapsed, only to discover with great horror that a mere sixty seconds had ticked by. He fought against a loud whine, frustrated to the core. 

Finally, after three eternities, it was lunchtime and Harumasa jumped up from his chair, making it spin. 

“Ah, Harumasamasa!” Soukaku’s voice stopped him. “Are you having lunch with us?” 

He groaned internally as he turned around to look at her and Miyabi, smiling the kindest smile he could muster. “Not today. I'm having a little visit over lunch break, I need to go pick them up now– I'll see you later!” 

He dashed out of the office and the building, quickly spotting Mocha near the entrance. A warm, loving smile spread across his lips as he approached her with silent steps, almost tiptoeing, her back facing him. Grinning mischievously to himself, he stopped just a couple of steps away from her and leaned close.

“Did I make you wait long, beautiful?” He whispered against her ear, making it twitch, and he laughed loudly as Mocha jumped nearly out of the stratosphere. Mocha's tail hairs stood on end as she quickly turned around and hit him in the chest. “Ouch?” Harumasa said with a smirk.

“You scared me!” She said with a pout that Harumasa couldn't resist pinching tenderly, making her whine. “Is this how you say hello?” 

He grinned, leaning down to steal a tender kiss to her lips. “Hello, beautiful. You look stunning today, what's new~” he purred and seeing her adorable pout morph into a shy smile, he knew he had won her over again, his heart fluttered. 

He laced his fingers through hers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze and guiding her into the building and into the empty office. Mocha had been there a couple of times before, but she always seemed adorably surprised by it all. 

“That truly looks boring,” she said as she checked a few forms piled up over Harumasa’s desk. “Now I understand why you always procrastinate.” 

He chuckled softly, sitting back in his chair and reaching out to grasp her wrists, gently pulling her onto his lap. Mocha's soft giggles filled the air as she wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, her tail wrapping around his waist. Harumasa gazed at her adoringly as she took in every nook and cranny of the empty office.

“It's quite scary with just the two of us here,” she said in almost a whisper and Harumasa chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle his face against her neck. 

“It's not as loud and fast paced as your cafe, is it?” She shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she felt a tender kiss being pressed to the side of her neck. The sensation sent shivers down her spine, and she sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. Harumasa smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“N-Now now…," she giggled, her voice trembling as his hand caressed up her thigh, slipping under her skirt to tease the soft skin. "Masa~ we're in your office," she reminded him, her voice laced with laughter as his fingers lightly tickled her thigh.

Harumasa mumbled against her neck, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "Hmm, doesn't matter," he whispered, pressing his body flush against hers. "They're all having lunch somewhere."

A soft little mewl escaped her lips as another kiss was pressed to her neck and Harumasa felt a shudder run down his spine. 

“There are cameras, though, we better-” 

She began, but her words abruptly cut off as she suddenly jumped off Harumasa’s lap, catching him off guard. To his surprise, Mocha grasped one of his wrists and dragged him towards a closet in one of the corners of the office. Harumasa’s confusion deepened, but he didn't resist her. Instead, he extended his other hand, giving her a playful spank that made her squeal and blush. Mocha shot him a playful glare over her shoulder as she opened the closet door and unceremoniously pushed Harumasa inside. He chuckled, still confused. 

“What are you- mff-!” Mocha slipped inside as well, closing the door behind her and immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him into a passionate kiss.

Harumasa hummed in approval, moaning softly against her lips as his hands grasped her waist, pulling her close against him. Their hips met, rubbing slightly against each other, filling the little closer with soft sighs, whimpers and moans. 

“This is so naughty,” Harumasa said breathlessly, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips. When he woke up that morning, he would never have imagined that he’d spend his lunch break satisfying another kind of hunger with Mocha in a closet in his office. 

She grinned, her eyes half-closed in pleasure, as she pressed herself closer to him, their bodies flush against each other. Her breasts crushed against his chest, sending a flush of embarrassment through Harumasa's cheeks. 

“Don't pretend you don't love it,” she whispered against his lips as she started to unbutton his shirt, each button revealing a silver of Harumasa's skin to her gentle, teasing touch. His skin erupted in goosebumps as her fingers danced across his chest.

Harumasa's heart pounded against his chest as he looked at Mocha's beautiful face, her delicate fingers undoing each button. His eyes were filled with affection and dark with lust. Mocha could make him feel a hundred emotions all at once with just a simple glance. He wanted to cherish and protect her, almost possessively, and, at the same time, wanted to take her, to claim her as his own in every single chance he got. 

His fingers, trembling slightly as if this was his first time with her, sneaked under the hem of her shirt and she grinned, visibly shuddering as he squeezed her waist, digging into the flesh, making her bite her lip in a vain attempt to stifle a moan. 

“Someone's been very naughty today,” she purred, her tail lazily swishing from side to side as she started to untie his tie.

Harumasa smirked, leaning down to place a soft peck to her lips. “Don't pretend you don't love it,” he teased, grinning. Mocha chuckled, her cheeks blushing pink.

“I do love it,” she admitted with a nod. “But I also think you need a little punishment.”

Harumasa's eyes sparkled with lust and amusement. “Oh? Don't threaten me with a good time, kitten,” he whispered, blowing cool air against her ear, making her squeal and her ear twitch.

She glared at him playfully, seizing his wrists from her waist and binding them with his tie. Harumasa gasped, looking at the door of the closet out of instinct before he looked back at the cute bow she had created.

Mocha grinned mischievously at him as she lifted  his arms, hooking them around her neck. Harumasa sighed, blushing as her eyes roamed over his exposed skin. She licked her lips like a hungry lion. 

This certainly was… new. She really wasn't one to try different things during their intimate times, but he couldn't say he was against it.

Harumasa chuckled softly, shuddering when her fingernails grazed the skin of his stomach, his flesh waking up with goosebumps as she traced the contours of his abs. He squirmed slightly, choking on a soft squeal as she circled his belly button. 

“It tickles,” he mumbled with a soft gasp, his body jerking away from her touch. 

Mocha grinned, tracing the curve of Harumasa's hip bones. “It does, doesn't it?”

His heart jumped and his eyes widened in realization. He shook his head. “N-No! Not that, M-Mocha, please!” 

“Shh shh shh.” She tiptoed to reach his lips, kissing them once. “Someone might hear you,” she purred, her fingernails dragging up and down his sides, making him arch with gasps and whimpers that eventually morphed into giggles and soft squeals.

Her touch was gentle, just like the caresse of a soft feather, almost itchy– tortuous, yet, somehow, kind of nice. A sudden burst of laughter escaped Harumasa's lips as her nails danced along his waist, sending shivers down his spine. 

He wanted to lower his arms, but he knew that would put pressure on her neck and he understood why she had chosen that position. Mocha knew he would do his best to not hurt her with any harsh movement. Harumasa whined, giggling again as her nails dragged against the back of his ribs.

“Thihis is so unfahahair, Mocha! Why are you even- ahahaha! Wait! Wahahahit!” 

Ugh, he really was too ticklish for his own good, it was almost embarrassing. Some simple squeezes to his waist were enough to have him giggling like a stupid kid, and twisting his body from side to side, trying to shake off her teasing, wiggling fingers.

“Does it tickle, baby?” She asked teasingly, giggling along with him as he jolted and squealed. “You're so terribly ticklish, are you not?” 

Harumasa whined again, the volume and desperation of his laughter increasing as she moved lower, her thumbs rubbing deep, maddening and so horrendously ticklish circles into his hips that nearly had him shrieking with laughter. 

“Stahahap! I'm seheherious! I fuhuhucking- ahahahaha! Plehehease!” 

“Oh my, oh my, what language is that?” she teased, squeezing his hips in a frantic pace that had Harumasa throwing his head back with loud bouts of laughter. 

Mocha's random ideas always seem to catch him off guard. Instead of the steamy moment he was expecting to have with her, she'd chosen to torment him with tickles, knowing full well that he–

“AHAHAHA! NO! No, nohohot thehehere! PLEHEHEASE!” He leaned against the cold metal wall of the closet, shifting back and forth, trying to get away from Mocha's wicked fingers that had found a place under his arms, tickling his poor armpits as if her life depended on it. 

Harumasa laughed nearly in hysterics, the back of his head banging against the closet wall, as if he wanted to distract himself from the overwhelming sensation. Mocha laughed, but her fingers didn't stop for a second. 

"Stop that! You'll hurt yourself!" she scolded him, but her lips were spread in a wide, playful and mischievous smile as she pinched the ticklish never right in the middle of Harumasa's armpits. 

Harumasa shook his head, his cheeks bright red and his tears twinkling in his eyelashes. “STAHAHAP! You k-knohohow I'm sihihick! Thihis wihill mahahake mehehe- AHAHA! Plehehease!” 

Mocha rolled her eyes fondly, pressing herself a bit more against him to pin him against the wall, but a soft gasp escaped her lips when something poked at her thigh. 

Harumasa widened his eyes, looking down at the same time Mocha did, her fingers coming to a sudden stop as they both looked down between their bodies. 

He gasped in horror and Mocha's mouth fell open. “Ohoho~ do you want me to take care of that?” 

Harumasa shook his head almost desperately, finding a way to unhook his arms from around her neck and reaching down to try and catch Mocha's hands that were starting to unbutton and unzip his pants. Why on earth was be hard?!

“M-Mocha!” He pleaded. “B-Baby, I don't think- oh, fuck~”

Mocha giggled softly. “Oh yeah, that feels so good right?” Her hands had pulled down his clothes in the blink of an eye, his pants and underwear pooling at his ankles. Harumasa threw his head back as she began to stroke his hard cock slowly, so painfully slowly. Shivers of pressure ran down his spine, causing him to arch his back and slowly roll his hips. 

“M-My lovely, ngh! Oh shit, faster please, faster- ack! N-No! Nohoho, wahahait! Nohot tihihickling!”

While her strokes became faster just as he had asked, her other hand had also sprung into action. Harumasa squirmed, trying to press his arms to his body as much as possible. But Mocha's fingers were slender and deft and she didn't struggle to sneak back under his arm to tickle his armpit once more.

Harumasa's voice was a combination of hysterical laughter, broken moans, ragged breathing and the occasional whimper, he was a complete mess. Hating the tickling, but loving it at the same time, his hips moving quickly as he fucked himself into her hand. 

“Fuhuhuck~! Angh! More, more~” he begged, tears of laughter, pleasure and desperation streaming down his cheeks. 

Mocha giggled softly, her cheeks flushed as her eyes studied Harumasa's expression. He cried softly as her thumb swept against his tip, teasing the glands just as she knew he loved it. 

Harumasa moaned loudly, his mind overwhelmed with the sensations that seemed to come from all sides. The tickles moving from his armpit to his ribs and then to his hip, Mocha's hand jerking him off, and even her lips, which had begun to move on his neck, leaving wet kisses on all the places she had memorized were sensitive. 

He felt his body tense, his breathing becoming more frantic, his eyes crossing. He was on the edge, it only took a small push to be able to cum in Mocha's hand. Just a little– 

Two knocks on the door. “Asaba-kun.” It was Yanagi. “Lunch break is almost better cut it out before…” 

Yanagi's voice faded as his eyes rolled back, cumming hard. Mocha pressed a hand against his mouth to muffle the moans as he came undone under her ministrations. Harumasa trembled with pleasure, his cum dripping from Mocha's hand as she milked the last drop of his release. 

Yanagi's heels softly faded away. Of course, she didn't want to be there when Harumasa and Mocha came out of the closet in a mess. Harumasa gasped as Mocha slowly pulled her hand away from his mouth, a trickle of saliva connecting his lips to her palm. 

As he returned from his high, his eyes met Mocha's and he grinned lazily. 

"I think I'll get an administrative report," he said with no concern in his eyes and Mocha laughed lightly. 

“I think you're going to be in a lot of trouble," she said with a bit of empathy in her voice. 

Harumasa hummed. “Maybe…” He looked at the watch on his wrist and then looked at Mocha with a mischievous smile. “Untie me. We still have five minutes.” 

Mocha blinked. “Five minutes for what- ah~!” 

Feeling Mocha's wetness on his fingers almost made him cum again. Five minutes was definitely more than enough. 

[paintedpawcat]

my clangen OC, Redstar of MorningClan! in my head she's the protagonist of my clangen run. she has the ambitious trait, and hated her fail deputy brother, beetlemallow. so she killed him and took his job. also her girlfriends keep dying of greencough and sending her into months long grief spirals

[persevereforahappyending]

A Legacies Secret |7|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: Language, Talks of Murder

Word Count: 5.1k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Tara sat in her hospital bed with you right by her side, your arms were crossed, and your eyes were looking down at your shoes. Tara had been sleeping when you messaged her, she didn’t know what happened until you came into the room with an arm around Sam. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she saw you help Sam into a seat at the table near Tara’s bedside. You had moved to her bedside and quietly told her what Sam told you, that she was attacked by someone dressed like Ghostface.

Richie had come into the room a second later, his headphones in and his eyes still glued to his phone. You didn’t say anything, but Tara noticed the way your eyes tracked Richie’s movements, the way he looked up and instantly ran to Sam’s side, like a caring boyfriend would. Tara had been sleeping, she didn’t know when Richie had left the room or how long he had been gone.

You hadn’t said anything, but Tara read over your texts, her eyes widened when she read that Vince had been killed and you were the one to find his body. She was happy that Judy seemed to not question you too long, it meant she at least believed you were innocent, or she didn’t have any evidence against you and no grounds to hold you. Tara was going with Judy knew you were innocent though.

Tara noticed the little bit of blood on your shirt and your shoes, the shoes you kept staring at. She wanted to ask you if you were okay, she couldn’t imagine what was going through your head. You weren’t friends with Vince by any means, you complained almost every time he was at the bar. That didn’t mean you could just brush off finding him dead, seeing a dead body of someone you knew, or anyone for that matter would be traumatizing. Tara didn’t want to bring it up with everyone in the room though, she knew you wouldn’t talk about it, especially with Amber there. 

Amber had come rushing into the room a few minutes after the deputy guarding Tara’s room told them the sheriff was on the way. Tara didn’t question it as Amber said she came as soon as she heard what happened. Tara probably should have, she had just woken up, she sent Wes a quick text but that was it, unless he and Amber were together there was no way she could have known so quickly, unless she was already on the way to the hospital. 

A few minutes later Judy came in, checking on Tara before she started questioning Sam about what happened. Tara didn’t know the whole deal between sheriff Hicks and Sam, she just knew all those times she woke up in the middle of the night to red and blue flashing lights outside her window, usually followed by Judy dragging Sam to the front door, sometimes in cuffs, before handing her back over to their mother. 

Tara wasn’t blind to the fact that Sam caused trouble. Even though Sam didn’t hang out with her anymore, even though she never talked to Tara about the trouble she got into, Tara knew it wasn’t good. Tara noticed the little things, like how Judy would hesitate before allowing Wes to enter the house when she dropped him off for Sam to babysit. Tara figured if Judy was still allowing Sam to watch Wes, then the trouble, she got into couldn’t have been too bad but maybe there just wasn’t other options for babysitters, or she didn’t want to suddenly send Wes somewhere else when all his friends were being watched by Sam. 

As Judy went over what happened with Sam, though she tried to remain professional, Tara caught the hint of distrust in her voice. She didn’t think Judy didn’t believe Sam, more that she didn’t want to be there and that she thought this was all somehow Sam’s fault. Tara wasn’t sure how being attacked by a psycho was Sam’s fault, she didn’t care what Sam did in the past, she came back when Tara was hurt and that’s what mattered. 

“I got a body outside a bar and then you get attacked here,” Judy directed at Sam, pacing back and forth as Sam continued to sit in the chair as if she were being scolded. “You said the call came from Amber’s number?” Sam could only nod. 

Sam had barely said a word since you brought her back to the room. Tara had tried talking to her, but she never responded. When Judy got there, she answered her questions and began to recount what happened, but her voice was distant. Tara didn’t know what Ghostface said to Sam over the phone or what happened when he attacked her, but it was clear Sam’s mind was somewhere far away. 

“So?” Amber said. “We know he cloned my phone before when he attacked Tara.” Despite questioning why, the call coming from her number mattered, she still handed the phone over to Judy to confirm there were no calls to Sam. 

“And,” Richie said, speaking up for the first time. Tara was surprised he was saying anything, he barely said a word since Sam first introduced him, he just sat in the corner of the room on his phone. “I’m just spit balling here, you’re the killer,” he looked at Amber, then Judy. Amber crossed her arms, glaring at him as if she couldn’t believe he dared question her. 

“And where were you when all this happened?” Judy crossed her arms directing her attention to Richie. That was a good question, Richie was the only other one in the hospital with them at the time and with Tara asleep she definitely couldn’t be his alibi. 

“I was…” Richie closed his eyes and sighed. “Watching Netflix.” Tara caught you rolling your eyes out of the side of her eye. It was in no way a good alibi, if Richie was involved then it was a terrible lie to choose. 

“Ooh, yeah, super solid alibi, bro,” Amber snarked, nodding her head. 

“So, where were you?” 

“I was questioning Amber and her friends at the sheriff’s station,” Judy answered for her. She handed Amber back her phone after thoroughly going through it, seeming to not find anything suspicious. 

Tara wasn’t fully surprised by that; she didn’t know the details but one of her texts from you mentioned her friends’ causing problems at the bar. You mentioned Vince trying to start shit with Chad. Tara definitely wasn’t surprised by that, she witnessed Liv dating Vince over the summer, she knew how he would still text her occasionally and still come into the video store trying to flirt with her. Tara assumed Judy brought the others in not long after talking to you, if they had had any sort of confrontation with Vince, they would all be suspects now. 

“Yeah, I came as soon as I heard,” Amber said. “But you know, the Netflix alibi is good too.” 

Tara saw you furrow your brow at Amber’s words, but you still didn’t look up from your shoes or say anything. Tara had a feeling she knew what you were thinking though. If Amber was being questioned by Judy at the station it would make sense how she heard about the attack on Sam and arrived so quickly, she could have overheard an officer or Judy could have told her herself. Amber was her best friend but even she couldn’t deny that Amber getting to the hospital a few minutes before Judy was pretty suspicious. 

“Both of you stop it,” Judy sighed. 

“You’re going to put more cops on her room, right?” Sam asked, finally looking up at Judy. 

“Yes,” Judy said instantly. “And I can move you to a private floor. Deputy Vincent knows what he’s doing, you’ll be safe.” 

“Like we’ve been so far?” 

Judy gave a tight-lipped smile. “Samantha let’s step outside?” she nodded towards the door. She worded it like a question, but Tara knew it wasn’t actually a question. 

Sam sighed, making sure to give Tara’s uninjured hand a squeeze before she got up and made her way out into the hall. Tara couldn’t blame her sister’s hostility; she was attacked by Ghostface and then while she was sleeping Sam was attacked by Ghostface in the hospital she was in. The hospital was supposed to be where Tara was going to get better, where she was meant to heal, not where she could get attacked by Ghostface again. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep again knowing Ghostface knew where she was, and he had been there just down the hall from her room less than an hour ago. 

“Hey,” Tara whispered, looking up at you. You still hadn’t moved from leaning against the wall, but you turned to face Tara when she directly talked to you. “Are you okay?” 

You let out a sigh, parting open your mouth slightly as if you were about to say something before closing it. You glanced over at Amber and Richie who weren’t even looking towards you or Tara. It didn’t seem to matter though because you just shrugged and slumped back against the wall, Tara nodded, she’d just have to ask again when the two of you were actually alone. 

“Well, she remains a delight,” Sam mumbled as she came back into the room. 

“Are you okay?” Tara asked, sitting up in her bed slightly. She didn’t know what Judy wanted to talk to Sam about but clearly it wasn’t a pleasant conversation, though Sam didn’t seem too affected by it. 

“Would you mind giving us a second?” Sam asked, looking at Amber and Richie. “I need to talk to Tara.” 

“Come on Netflix, let��s go,” Amber said, though she didn’t seem thrilled about Sam asking them to leave. 

Sam stayed by the door, playing with her fingers as she looked at Tara and glanced towards you. You looked up, seeming to notice Sam was waiting for you to leave as well. You pushed off the wall, not even seeming like you’d fight to stay and hear whatever Sam wanted to talk about. 

“You good?” you asked, still looking at Tara with the same softness you always did, even after experiencing what you went through earlier that morning. Tara nodded; she wanted you to stay but whatever Sam wanted to talk to her about, it was clear she wanted to do it alone. “I’ll be right outside.” You kissed the top of her head then made your way out of the room, quietly closing the door behind you. 

“Do you remember when dad left?” Sam asked. 

“Parts, sure,” Tara said, scrunching her eyebrows as she watched Sam. 

They hardly talked about dad leaving when he left, let alone years later. Tara asked questions about where their dad was and when he was coming back, no one ever answered her and one day their mom snapped telling her he was never coming back. After that Tara just stopped asking, as she got older, she figured their parents got into a fight, she was always curious but never wanted to press the issue. Part of her always thought maybe it was her fault, he had left so close to her birthday and never called, or sent her a card, or anything. She wasn’t sure why Sam was bringing this up now though, it seemed they had other priorities besides their broken family. 

“I was eight, I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” Tara said, watching as Sam walked away from the door and around to the front of the hospital bed. 

“It has to do with it,” Sam said. Tara’s face went from one of confusion to one of caution, she didn’t know what Sam was about to tell her, but she knew it wasn’t anything good. “Do you remember how mom used to keep those boxes up in the attic?” Tara didn’t nod or anything, she still wasn’t sure where Sam was going with this. “Well, I was up there once, when I was thirteen, looking for Christmas presents. And I found these old diaries she kept from high school.” 

“Sam, what does-”  

“Please, I just-I have to do this.” Tara’s eyes fell, she didn’t know what Sam was about to tell her, but she knew she didn’t want to know. “So, I found these old diaries and I knew it was wrong, but I read some anyway because mom got pregnant with me in high school,” Sam shrugged, giving a sad smile at the memory. 

“And I thought it’d be cool to see how her and dad got together. How romantic it must have been,” she gave a small chuckle. “So, I read some,” her face fell again. “Only it wasn’t romantic. Mom was dating dad, but she was in love with this other guy, and he got her pregnant.” Tara’s eyes widened at this information, having an idea of where this was going now. “She told dad it was his and that’s why he proposed senior year.” 

“Sam what are you talking about?” Tara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t know why Sam had to drop all this on her now, she already knew their family was messed up, she still didn’t see what that had to do with their current issue though. 

“And I’m sitting there in this attic and I’m thirteen,” Sam continued, completely ignoring Tara’s question. “And I just found out that my dad isn’t my dad.” Tara looked at her sister with shock, she couldn’t imagine Sam going through that at such a young age, at any age, she never knew anything like this had been going on, she was only eight at the time. 

“So, I go find mom in her bedroom and I’m screaming at her and shoving this diary in her face, and I didn’t even realize,” Sam shook her head at the memory. “That dad was standing right behind me.” Sam’s eyes began to fill with tears and Tara waited for Sam to confirm what she assumed. “He didn’t know. He found out right then from me.” Sam nodded, trying to keep herself together. “He left that night. He left because of me.” 

Tara shook her head. “No,” she whispered. She needed Sam to understand that she wasn’t the reason their dad left. Sam might have been the reason their dad found out their mom lied to him, but she certainly wasn’t the reason he left. Their mom cheated on their dad and then lied to him about it, that wasn’t on Sam, that was all on their mom. 

“Mom never forgave me,” Sam was quietly sobbing but still trying to keep herself together. “And she made me promise to never tell you because you were so young. And that’s why I changed,” Sam walked around the bed to be at Tara’s side, kneeling down so she was at eye level. 

“And I got distant and weird with you,” Sam continued sobbing as she got further into her explanation, Tara had never seen her sister that upset. “And I went out and started doing every drug I could get my hands on until I couldn’t take it anymore and I left town.” Tara began shifting in her bed, this was all so much to take in and she still wasn’t sure how this related to a psycho trying to kill them. 

“I just couldn’t be around you anymore Tara,” Sam admitted quietly. Tara stopped moving at that, she didn’t know why their father not being Sam’s birth father made Sam not want to be around her anymore, they were still sisters it wasn’t like it changed anything for Tara, it wouldn’t have changed anything for her back then, she still loved Sam. 

“Not only because I destroyed our family that night,” Sam continued. “But because those diaries told me who my real father was.” Tara’s eyes widened as she waited for Sam to say what she was about to say next. “It was Billy Loomis.” Tara turned her head; Billy Loomis was Sam’s father. Billy Loomis was one of the original killers, he was the mastermind that started it all. Sam’s relation to him was the reason Tara got attacked. 

“And somebody knows, and I think that’s why you got hurt,” Sam confirmed it, someone knew she was the daughter of a serial killer and now these new psychos were coming after Tara because she was Sam’s sister. “And I’m so fucking sorry that I never told you and that I ran away. I’m so sorry-” 

“Get out,” Tara said, cutting Sam’s apology off. 

“Tara,” Sam begged. 

“You’re gone for five years. Five whole years,” Tara’s voice got louder. “And then I get stabbed, and you want to come back, and you want to drop all this shit on me?” Tara ignored the tears beginning to fill her eyes. 

She couldn’t believe it, she was so happy to have her sister back, but the truth was Sam didn’t come back because she wanted to or because she cared, she came back because she felt guilty. Tara was attacked because some psycho was inspired by Sam’s birth father and was trying to send her a message and now Sam felt guilty. 

“No,” Sam shook her head. “I swear I thought I was protecting you.” 

“Protecting me from what?” Tara yelled. “The truth?” Tara shook her head. She didn’t care who Sam’s real father was, Sam was her sister and that was all that mattered to her, but it didn’t seem to matter to Sam. 

“No, no, I,” Sam shook her head, clearly trying to gather her thoughts. 

“Sam.” 

“Please, Tara.” 

“Sam, I need you to get the fuck out.” Tara didn’t want to be harsh, but she couldn’t deal with all this now, she couldn’t deal with it when Sam was right there. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said again, still trying to apologize. 

“Sam,” Tara said much harsher than before. 

“Please,” Sam said desperately one more time. 

“Get the fuck out!” It wasn’t her first choice, but Sam clearly wasn’t responding to her attempt at asking nicely. 

Sam was taken back by her harshness, anymore apologies died on her lips, and she sat back. Tara tried to ignore the way Sam was crying as she got up, seeming to finally listen to her. A few seconds after she yelled at Sam the door swung open and Tara saw you standing there, your eyes instantly on hers, silently asking if she was okay. Your eyes then went to Sam, though there was no softness like when you looked at Tara. You stepped aside but kept your hand on the door, holding it open for Sam. You didn’t say anything but if Sam hadn’t gotten up from her chair and rushed out the room right then, Tara was sure you would have tried forcibly removing her. 

You let the door swing close behind Sam and instantly went to Tara’s side, taking the spot Sam had just been. “What happened?” you reached up, brushing a few strands of hair out of Tara’s face. She looked over at you, her tears finally threatening to fall. “Are you okay?” 

Tara shook her head. You looked back at the door Sam had just left out of. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” you said. “Just let me know what I can do.” 

Tara smiled, lightly laughing as she brought her one good hand up to wipe away her tears. It wasn’t even nine in the morning, and you had already found a dead body, been questioned by the police, and now you were trying to comfort Tara, even if you didn’t know why. Tara wouldn’t need to tell you anything that was said and you’d still do whatever she asked. Tara was sure she could ask you to kick Sam’s ass and not let her back in the room and you’d do it, you’d probably be confused but you still wouldn’t press her for answers. 

“Sam’s dad,” Tara rasped out. You said she didn’t need to tell you, but she didn’t want to lie to you, you needed to know. She was attacked and now you and all her friends were most likely in danger because of this. “Sam’s dad is Billy Loomis.” 

Your eyes widened; Tara had never seen your face go so white. “Wha-How?” you shook your head. 

“Guess, mom cheated on dad back in high school,” Tara said bitterly, shaking her head. She couldn’t be surprised; this was just typical of their mother. Before her dad left, everything had seemed fine but that was probably because her mom got everything she wanted, she wasn’t the girl who had a child with a murderer, because she lied, she had the picture-perfect life, on the outside at least. 

“I’m sorry,” you continued to gently run your fingers through Tara’s hair. 

“It’s why my dad left.” Tara shook her head, their mom lied to him, and in turn he abandoned all of them. He might not have been Sam’s birth father, but he raised her, Tara didn’t get how he could just walk away from Sam after being her dad for thirteen years. Tara was his biological daughter and he abandoned her as well. “It’s why Sam left. It’s why-” 

“It’s why you were attacked,” you cut her off. Tara had never seen such anger burning behind your eyes. 

“It’s not Sam’s fault.” You looked away from her, she could see your jaw clenched as your glare burned a hole through the door. “It’s not her fault.” You looked back at her, nodding until you finally unclenched your jaw. Tara was pissed at Sam, but she didn’t blame her for being the reason she got attacked. “Whoever’s doing all this knows though.” 

You nodded. “So, what next?” you sighed. “If they knew the truth, then attacking you wasn’t a mistake.” 

“It was probably to lure Sam back to town.” Tara looked down, she hadn’t even thought of that before, targeting her to get to Sam made sense, Tara was the only thing that could bring Sam back to town. “Which means they left me alive on purpose.” 

Her eyes widened and began filling with tears, the only reason she was alive was because that’s what Ghostface wanted. She didn’t survive because she was strong or because the police arrived. Ghostface toyed with her, he hurt her, and he wanted her to make her think she was going to die, only to let her live. The only reason she was alive was because Ghostface allowed it. 

“Hey,” you whispered softly, drawing Tara back out of her head. “None of that.” You used your thumb to gently wipe away her tears. “You’re alive and that’s all that matters.” 

The two of you had a few more minutes of peaceful silence before someone knocked on the door, followed by the deputy watching over Tara entering the room. The deputy held the door open for Tara’s doctor to enter as well, who was rolling in a wheelchair. 

“We cleared a floor,” the deputy said, resting his hands on his belt. “It will just be you, me, and an officer near the elevator. Any nurses or doctors will only come up if needed and of course those you’ve authorized,” he gestured towards you. 

“Thank you,” Tara said. 

The doctor pushed the wheelchair closer to the bed and locked it in place. You gently put Tara’s good arm around you while the doctor had her tuck in the injured arm. Working in sync, you and the doctor lifted her up and helped her to the wheelchair. The doctor had it setup so Tara’s leg was propped up. 

“I got it,” you said, taking the doctor’s place behind the wheelchair. 

Tara could only look at her surroundings as you pushed her in the wheelchair, following the officer to her new room. It was a short elevator ride, and the doctor was right behind them, helping Tara get settled once she was in the room. The room was definitely an upgrade, there was only one bed this time and it was a bit bigger. The officer smiled, giving her a small wave before he stepped back outside to take his post. 

“Are you okay?” Tara asked, her eyes followed you as you looked around her new room, giving a nod of approval. 

“I’m fine,” you said, moving to sit by her side. “What about you? I know you don’t blame Sam but that couldn’t have been easy to hear.” 

Tara shrugged, she shook her head, she couldn’t even process what Sam told her. She’d take time to process that their mom cheated on their dad and that Sam’s biological father was a serial killer after the whole Ghostface thing was settled, assuming she and everyone else made it out alive. 

“It wasn’t,” Tara admitted. “But I’m not the one who saw someone killed earlier.” 

Your eyes fell, you reached out slowly intertwining your hand with hers. “I didn’t see him get killed,” you mumbled. 

“You saw him die.” You gripped Tara’s hand a bit tighter and started rubbing circles on the back of her hand with your thumb. Tara learned early on in your relationship that it was something you did to comfort yourself when you were feeling anxious. “That’s not much of a difference.” 

“I didn’t even like the guy,” you whispered, wiping your eyes with your other hand. “But he died alone, in the dirt, outside a fucking bar.” You looked up at Tara and she could see how red your eyes were already. “Choking on his own blood.” You shook your head. Tara’s own eyes began to fill with tears, she couldn’t imagine seeing that in person, to literally have to watch someone’s life leave their eyes. “Nobody deserves that.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tara whispered. “I never should have made you go to work.” 

You broke out into a laugh, even through your tears you smiled. Tara gave a small smile at her joke. “You’re right,” you nodded. “It really is all your fault.” 

Tara took her hand out of yours but only so she could lightly slap you. “Asshole.” 

You were quick to snatch her hand back. “We’re going to get through this,” you said softly, tilting your head as you stared into her eyes. Tara had never felt more love than when you looked at her, you were her world and with one look she could tell she was yours. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Tara whispered. “How did I get so lucky?” she truly didn’t get it, her dad left, her sister left, her mom might as well have left, but somehow, she found you through it all. 

“You have amazing taste.” 

Tara rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re such an ass.” You only chuckled at her response. “Now, come here.” A smile broke out across your face, and you didn’t hesitate to get up from your seat. 

You were gentle as you put your hand over Tara, careful not to actually touch her. Tara knew you were being careful of her injuries, but she really just wanted to grab you and kiss you quickly. Tara decided you were taking too long, so when you were hovering over her, she just leaned up and stole her kiss. 

You broke the kiss a second later to laugh at her. “Impatient,” you mumbled against her lips before leaning back down, connecting them again. 

A couple hours later Tara was sitting comfortable in her hospital bed with you by her side. She had turned on the TV, flipping the channel until she found something that you both enjoyed and would be good to fill the silence. Her attention was brought away from the TV by her phone’s incessant buzzing. Tara finally rolled her eyes and picked up the phone, expecting it to be Sam asking her when she was allowed to come back. Tara furrowed her brow when she saw it was from Mindy. 

“What?” you asked. “Who is it?” 

“Mindy,” Tara mumbled, shaking her head as she read through Mindy’s texts. 

“Are they stopping by? Did something else happen?” 

Tara shook her head. “Everyone’s gathering at her and Chad’s to go over suspects.” Tara glanced at you, catching you roll your eyes. “She wants you there.” 

“No,” you shook your head. 

“Just go.” 

“Why? They’re your friends.” Tara glared at you. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.” 

“Deputy Vincent is right outside.” You gave her an unimpressed look. “Judy made sure I’m on a secure floor, there’s a deputy outside my door, and one down the hall.” Tara smiled when she heard you let out a little huff. “I’ll be fine for an hour or two on my own.” 

“I don’t like this.” 

“If it’s someone we know then you’ll all be in one place anyway.” You scoffed at that. Tara needed to reevaluate how she could convince you she would be fine. “It will give you the chance to change,” she looked you up and down. “And maybe shower?” 

“Are you saying I smell?” you leaned back, holding a hand to your heart. 

Tara wrinkled her nose. You didn’t smell but she knew since she was attacked the only places you had been was the hospital, your job, and the police station. She might not have been able to literally smell you, but she wouldn’t prevent you from taking a shower. 

“You still have blood on you,” she pointed out. You let out a sigh, but Tara knew she had won. “Maybe you can learn something useful, Mindy has seen all these movies before.” 

“We’re not in a fucking movie.” 

“Please,” Tara begged. “I’ll text you every ten minutes.” 

“Promise?” 

“I was joking,” she chuckled. “But if that will give you peace of mind then yes.” 

“Fine,” you sighed, standing up from your chair. Tara smiled, she didn’t know why you tried arguing with her, you both knew you’d cave one way or another. “But only because I need a new shirt.” 

“Thank you,” Tara smiled up at you, happy to know she got her way, like always with you. 

You rolled your eyes and leaned down, giving her a long kiss. “I’ll be back in one hour,” you whispered as you pulled away. 

“One or two,” Tara shrugged. 

“One.” 

Tara gave you a soft smile and nodded. She might have gotten you to agree to go change and listen to Mindy’s theories on this new Ghostface, but she knew she was at her limit. You would go do those things but would make sure you were back with her within an hour.

[iamalasagnagirl]

Pls, pls, pls I need more WLW book recommendations!!!

Adults, YA, spicy, soft, I don’t care. I just need wlw books because I want to switch from fanfics only to actual books as well

Okay, here we are, enjoy :)

Bright Falls Series by Ashley Herring Blake: 1. Delilah Green Doesn't Care -> Delilah Green swore she would never go back to Bright Falls - nothing is there for her except memories of a lonely childhood - but when Delilah's stepsister pressures her into photographing her wedding with a guilt trip and a large check, Delilah finds herself back in Bright Falls once more. She plans to breeze in and out, but then she sees Claire Sutherland, one of Astrid's stuck-up besties, and decides that maybe there's some fun (and a little retribution) to be had, after all. 2. Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail -> For Astrid Parker failure is unacceptable. When Pru Everwood asks her to be the designer for the Everwood Inn's renovation, which will be featured on a hugely popular home makeover show, Astrid is thrilled. However, Astrid never planned on Jordan Everwood, Pru's granddaughter and the lead carpenter for the renovation, who despises every modern design decision Astrid makes. Is she going to pursue the life that she's expected to lead or the one that she really wants? 3. Iris Kelly doesn't date -> Everyone around Iris Kelly is in love and she’s happy for all of them, truly. Iris doesn’t want any of that—dating, love, romance. She’ll stick to her commitment-free hookups. There’s only one problem—Iris is a romance author facing an imminent deadline for her second book, and she’s completely out of ideas. Perfectly happy to ignore her problems as per usual, Iris goes to a bar and meets a sexy stranger, Stefania, and a night of dancing and making out turns into the worst one-night stand Iris has had in her life. To get her mind off everything, Iris tries out for the lead role in a local play, a queer retelling of Much Ado About Nothing, but comes face-to-face with Stefania, whose real name turns out to be Stevie. Desperate to save face in front of her friends, Stevie asks Iris to play along as her girlfriend. Iris is shocked, but when she realizes the arrangement might provide her with some much-needed romantic content for her book, she agrees. As the two women play the part of a happy couple, lines start to blur.

Falls from grace by Ruby Landers -> Savannah Grace and her band were huge stars in Nashville. Now enlists Noah Lyman - an indie musician - to help her break out of country music and make a name for herself for once and for all. They have to spend the winter in Savannah secluded vacation home in the woods of Vermont, and Noah brings along his best friend Brynn Marshall and pretend she’s his wife? After all, what could possibly go wrong?

The secret of you and me by Melissa Lenhardt -> Nora hasn’t looked back. Not since she fled Texas to start a new life. Now she can live—and love—however she wants. The only problem is that she also left behind the one woman she can’t forget. Now tragedy calls her back home to confront her past—and reconcile her future.

Books by Haley Cass: - Those Who Wait and the follow-up Forever and A Day -> Spencer Sutton, the daughter of a congressman, and Charlotte Thompson, New York City’s youngest deputy mayor, meet on SapphicSpark, a women-seeking-women dating app. Sutton isn’t built for casual, and Charlotte needs to keep a low profile as the race heats up. In spite of that, a friendship blossoms as Charlotte helps Sutton navigate the dating world. - Down to A Science -> Ellie Beckett is a scientific genius finishing a Ph.D. at MIT, sitting on her stool at her favorite bar, putting the final touches on her thesis - her life is predictable and comfortable enough, until the night Mia Sharpe walks in to play pool with some friends and things are never the same again. and On the same Page -> Riley Beckett met Gianna Mäkinen their first year at Boston University, and it changed everything for the both of them. She knows Gianna doesn't do romance or relationships, and she knows nothing could ever come between them. But when a holiday party mix-up sets in motion a domino effect of changes, Riley has to question everything she thought she knew about their relationship. What, exactly, does Gianna mean to her after all? - In the Long Run -> Taylor Vandenberg is busy running a successful travel blog. Brooke Watson and Taylor’s younger brother have been best friends for the majority of their lives. It means that even if Taylor isn’t physically present, she’s always been a part of Brooke’s most monumental life experiences. When Taylor lands back in Faircombe for an extended stay, it leads to more run-ins than Brooke would like. And more feelings than either may want to admit. - When You Least Expect It & Better Than Expected (I haven't had a chance to read them yet, but I have seen them recommended a lot)

If tomorrow doesn't come by Jen St. Jude -> On the morning Avery Byrne plans to end her life, the world discovers there are only nine days left to live: an asteroid is headed for Earth, and no one can stop it. As time runs out and secrets slowly come to light, Avery fights her way home to save the girl she has been in love with her whole life. But can Avery also learn to save herself and find hope again in the tomorrows she has left?

Kiss her once for me by Alison Cochrun -> Ellie had a Christmas Eve meet-cute with a woman at a bookstore that led her to fall in love over the course of a single night. The next year, Andrew, the shop’s landlord where Ellie works, proposes a shocking, drunken plan: a marriage of convenience that will benefit both of them. They make a plan to spend the holidays together at his family cabin to keep up the ruse. But when Andrew introduces his new fiancée to his sister, Ellie is shocked to discover is the mysterious woman she fell for over the year before.

6 times we almost kissed (and one time we did) by Tess Sharpe -> Penny and Tate keep almost kissing. It’s just this confusing thing that keeps happening. You know, from time to time. For basically their entire teenaged existence.  They’ve never talked about it. They’ve always ignored it in the aftermath. But now they’re living across the hall from each other. And some things—like their kisses—can’t be almosts forever. 

Nottingham: the true story of Robin Hood by Anna Burke -> (A retelling of Robin Hood's story with a Female Robin and wlw couples) After a fateful hunting accident sends her on the run from the law, Robyn finds herself deep in the heart of Sherwood Forest. All she really wants to do is provide for her family and stay out of trouble, but when the Sheriff of Nottingham levies the largest tax in the history of England, she’s forced to take matters into her own hands. Relying on the help of her band of merry women and the Sheriff’s intriguing—and off limits—daughter, Marian, Robyn must find a way to pull off the biggest heist Sherwood has ever seen.

Forget me not by Alyson Derrick -> Stevie has a terrible fall. And when she comes to, she can remember nothing of the last two years—not California, not coming to terms with her sexuality, not even her girlfriend Nora. Suddenly, Stevie finds herself in a life she doesn’t quite understand. And Nora finds herself…forgotten.

It goes like this by Miel Moreland -> Eva, Celeste, Gina, and Steph used to play in world-famous queer pop band called Moonlight Overthrow. But after a sudden falling out leads to the dissolution of the teens' band, their friendship, and Eva and Celeste's starry-eyed romance, nothing is the same. Until a storm devastates their hometown, bringing the four ex-best-friends back together. As they prepare for one last show, they'll discover whether growing up always means growing apart.

Dominion Series by J J Arias: 1. Losing Control  -> Talent agent Adriana Ortiz’s world is rocked when she’s thrust into the tumultuous orbit of Roxy, the raw, enigmatic pop rebel with a notorious edge and a guarded heart. Tasked with steering the wild Roxy on a whirlwind tour, Adriana boards Roxy’s opulent tour bus. The nights are filled with roaring crowds, but it’s the electric tension between Roxy and Adriana that sets the air on fire. A forbidden connection that threatens to consume them. Is the wild, unbridled Roxy worth the risk to Adriana’s career, or is she just another woman falling victim to Roxy’s charms? 2. Fighting for Control  -> Lola Barros is a rising talent agent burning with ambition. Carmen Vargas is a dedicated lawyer poised to conquer the legal field. Their shared high-rise is the only thing these two powerhouses have in common. After a trivial parking mishap snowballs onto a full-blown feud, Lola and Carmen are thrust into unconventional anger management sessions and their fiery rivalry gives way to smoldering desire. But yielding to desire isn't straightforward. Between the shadows of demanding careers and familial expectations, their love is tested. Can Lola and Carmen find a balance between ambition and affection? 3. Relinquishing Control  -> Natalia Flores rules her exclusive talent agency with an iron fist, brokering blockbuster deals while keeping everyone at arm’s length. But beneath the cold exterior lies a heart that yearns to be understood. Enter Professor Samantha Reyes—brilliant, fierce, and unwilling to let Natalia manipulate her way into the film rights to her book. Their encounters spark with tension and undeniable chemistry. In a world where control is everything, can two powerful women let go of their fears to find a love that’s worth the risk?

11:59 by Erica Lee -> TJ Edmonds has created a whole brand around not getting attached to other people. She has a best-selling novel and a popular phone app both dedicated to helping people stay detached from their significant others, so they don't get hurt. But the only reason she can move on so quickly now is because she still hasn't let go of someone from her past. It's easy to guard her heart when she no longer has it to give away. TJ texts Brooke everyday at 11:59 pm with no answers. What happens when, in a moment of weakness, this someone reaches out to TJ?

Price and Prejudice and the city by Rachel Lippincott -> Seventeen-year-old Audrey Cameron has lost her spark. After an embarrassing run-in with her ex-boyfriend, she’s told that she needs to get back out there and take risks. What she doesn't expect is to be transported to Regency England! Lucy Sinclair has her own problems when Audrey lands into her life, claiming to be from two hundred years in the future, it's a welcome distraction.

Never ever getting back together by Sophie Gonzales -> Maya and Skye are invited to star on the reality dating show Second-Chance Romance, to compete for their now famous ex-boyfriend's affections while the whole world watches. Skye wonders if she and Jordy can recapture the spark she knows they had, but Maya has other plans.

The art of us by KL Hughes -> Charlee and Alex fell in love at nineteen and dated for four years. Theirs was an enviable love — evergreen and growing. Unbreakable…Until it broke. Alex’s job now brings her back to Boston, after five years. When, by chance, they meet again, Charlee and Alex are swept up in a whirlwind of heart-rending history, tossed between past and present, and lovers old and new. Will their lingering connection be enough to convince them that some loves are meant to last? Or should the past remain in the past?

That secret something by Emily Wright -> Rebecca Lawson is off-limits. Jess knows this, but Rebecca has captured her heart for as long as she can remember. She’s sporty, tall and confident—all the things Jess is not—but most of all…she’s her best friend Lily’s sister. But when Jess and Rebecca are forced to spend time together the forbidden feelings intensify and sparks begin to fly. Amidst the chaos of raging bridezillas and other wedding disasters, can Jess resist temptation for the sake of her friendship?

The seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid  -> Aging and reclusive Hollywood movie icon Evelyn Hugo is finally ready to tell the truth about her glamorous and scandalous life. Summoned to Evelyn's luxurious apartment, Monique listens in fascination as the actress tells her story. From making her way to Los Angeles in the 1950s to her decision to leave show business in the '80s, and, of course, the seven husbands along the way

That summer feeling by Bridget Morrissey -> Turns out you're never too old for a summer camp romance. Or a change of heart. When a divorced woman attends a sleepaway camp for adults only, she reconnects with a man from her past - only to catch feelings for his sister instead.

Some of these are my absolute favourites, I've lost count of how many times I've read them. I cannot get enough of "the bright falls series", "One the same page", "Those who wait", "The secret of you and me" and the last entry "Falls From Grace". No matter how many times I read them. And sometimes I wish I could read them again, as if for the first time, if that makes sense. Anyway, I have a lot more titles. Let me know if you want them or not. Enjoy the reading