#trenton if you are seeing this shut the fuck up

[newhavenrp]

Is that JON BERNTHAL? No, that’s TRENTON COLIAR. The 44 year old BLOOD MOON - WEREBEAR ALPHA MALE is a SEARCHER OF FELLOW TIME JUMPERS. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be OBSERVANT & DECISIVE, but beware, they’re also known to be CONTROLLING & TEMPERAMENTAL. Their friends also say that they’re into COLLARS & SPANKING but don’t you dare trying SCAT, VORE with them.

(trigger warning: rape, mentions of miscarriage and abuse)

Some people liked to believe that Mother Nature favored those she deemed worthy. Well, that was just stupid.

Trenton’s seen more than his fair share of mating and marriage that was built solely on potential political power. Those that were close to the king wanting more power, those that weren’t as close wanting to get influence. Wanting to matter. He’d also fucked his fair share of married/mated omegas. Whether it was out of spite for their mates or spouses… Boredom… Whatever. Point was… His father was very much in the king’s good graces and thanks to the marriage and mating he had gotten himself with Trenton’s dame, the young bear learned at quite the young age that he could get away with almost anything if he used the right words on the right ears.

The Coliar’s name had a lot of influence and Tibberius Coliar wasn’t someone to be messed with or taken lightly. And Trenton took full advantage of the perks that his father’s name could bring him.

He presented early. And the mix of his being used to not taking no for an answer and the added Blood Moon aspect didn’t help in his being the easiest to handle because now there was no hesitation in him when he went after something, or someone, he wanted. The most affected victim of that mix would be Lord Sindra’s prized omega. Silas. Their cycles were synced when Trenton attended a ball at Sindra’s place. And his senses, refined with the perks of his Blood moon, caught the scent of an omega in heat and he simply forced himself on the newly presented omega. That one night, one knot set in place, one slicked and fertile hole and womb. A cub was born. Taj. Taj wouldn’t be the first of Trenton’s bastards. But it would be the one Trenton might have considered as his heir, if the male hadn’t presented as a lion a few years later. Just like the next two of his brothers.

Years passed, and Trenton kept his end of the deal of keeping his mouth shut so Lord Sindra could continue to brag about his strong seed and his prized omega bearing him strong heirs. Heirs that looked a lot like Silas. And Trenton. And nothing at all like Sindra. Much to Trenton’s amusement and Sindra’s growing despair. Up until the point Trenton was summoned earlier than he should. He knew Silas was expecting. He should be at least. But there he was. Flat stomach. In heat. Something felt off. But Trenton still took the omega. Bred him deep and as many times before, his seed took hold.

Months later, twins were born. He wondered if any of those two would present as a bear. He knew that Tibberius wouldn’t even consider accepting a lion as a Coliar heir. So Trenton secretly had hopes. Royal and Coliar blood mixed… Alpha Bear… His father wouldn’t have any other choice but step down from being head of the house and relinquish the title to Trenton now that he had an heir of his own. Well… Two. Since both twins presented as bears.

Trenton was pleased and plotting ways to have the twins come to his court since he no longer trusted Lord Sindra around his non lion cubs. Until he was summoned for his business with said Lord. And once again the summit had come ahead of schedule. Trenton wasn’t pleased with his suspicions. He was even less pleased to learn that his suspicions were true. Lord Sindra had spilled Coliar blood by causing the death of not only one, but two of his unborn cubs. And he wouldn’t have that.

He had been summoned to breed Silas. The prized omega. But upon seeing the tears in the omega’s eyes and the bruises on his belly, he was taken by rage. He could have killed Lord Sindra right there and then. The guards wouldn’t be around to save that worthless, knotless excuse of an alpha. Old, fat, stupid lord. But he also knew that he could not tarnish his family’s name by killing someone that had been under the King’s favor. So… Instead… He gave the Lord the dicking that the omega was supposed to take. Only worse. First… He fucked the Lord’s throat. Fuck him hoarse enough so he couldn’t yell for his guards. Even though he used the rags of the Lord’s own robes to stuff his mouth when he bent him over the chaise, in front of a mirror.

Trenton fucked Sindra mercilessly, even shifting into his bestial form, watching the old alpha buck, kick and try to scream for help, both his wrists painfully twisted backwards so he couldn’t escape the assault on his hole. He growled all sorts of insult while fucking that hole. Teaching the lord what happens when you enrage a Coliar. And how Trenton Coliar had the tendency of showing no mercy to those that got in his way. And after Trenton had breed that sorry excuse of an alpha deep and knotted his hole, Trenton just pushed him off and dropped his limp body on the floor, dismissing the omega that had bore witness to the merciless assault on his own master and still hadn’t raise a single finger to aid him. Which… Trenton rewarded him by leaving him alone for the following years. But then again… Sindra had called off the arrangement. No more breeding a prized omega of blue blood. Still, he found ways to keep an eye on his children. All five of them. While playing a dangerous political game, plotting for Sindra’s downfall and the rise of one of the twins as a Coliar. Oh he’d rather fight an actual war. Let his claws taste the blood of endless enemies. Instead… He attended balls. Slipped gossips into the right ears. Waited patiently until he could rid Lord Sindra of the title. The lands. The gold. The heirs. And he had no intention of failing.

Trenton still attended the illegal underground fights. He also got into bar fights. He still caused the death of guards and other people stupid enough to find themselves at the receiving end of his claws and mauling. By then he had gotten himself a new servant. A witch. The only non werefolk servant amongst those handpicked by him. Favored.

Said witch, Krydle, his new Puppy, would follow him around and heal him after a fight. He would also dispose of the bodies that fell by Trenton’s claws. An… Unfortunately regular occurrence whenever Trenton ingested more alcohol than it would have been recommended. He could get quite violent if provoked in that state. Even when unprovoked. The witch definitely had a hard time whenever his lord bear told him that he was going out for drinks.

Trenton would find himself falling into a comfortable routine. Plot. Play. Fight. Fuck. Sometimes maul… Rinse and repeat. Meanwhile, his father, Tibberius, was still irreducible about his plans for his own heirs while Lord Sindra lived. He had never been against spilling blood to get his goals in place. He had also watched his cubs grow up and present as alpha, every single one of them. While their dame… Trenton heard the rumors and tales of the things Lord Sindra would put Silas through. And after hearing that he had caused the omega to lose more cubs, Trenton decided that Sindra had done enough. Not because he took pity on Silas. But because it was about time someone reminded Sindra of his place. And it would have to be Trenton himself again.

Funny thing about being among the nobility and the court of the king… Try as you might to keep your secret… Servants talk. And word gets out. Eventually. So, it wasn’t really a surprise when he heard about Sindra’s blue blood prized omega escaping. He felt almost… Relieved for the omega. But also… He knew that it was time.

No matter how he plotted and played things, Sindra seemed well protected on every side Trenton tried to attack. So, he would go for the most fragile spot of the tiger. His ego. He tried to keep his sons’ names out of it, but it wasn’t really possible with three lions and two bears and not a single blond or tiger, the math wasn’t hard to do. So he just stirred the pot of the question about Sindra’s own usefulness. Being judged and made fun of behind his back, in his own house, during his balls. Sindra wouldn’t fall. So he would be humiliated. And Trenton would make it so thoroughly before he proceeded with the next step.

Walking into Sindra’s house like he owned the place, Trenton managed to bypass a good majority of the guards. Or maybe they were just not around as he made his way across the manor to find the pompous knotless lord.

Trenton would put him through the same treatment he did more than twenty years ago. But harder. Rougher. Merciless. Every drop of Coliar blood that Sindra had spilled by killing his unborn cubs, Trenton fucked and clawed out of him. This time basking in the screams of Sindra. No mercy was found in his heart for the man. And once the bear was done once again breeding and knotting the old useless alpha, he pulled the male off of his dick and tossed him aside like a discarded rag doll, finally taking him out of his uselessness by crushing his ribcage and his heart with it.

The bear would be found by his oldest and, still unbothered, would grab his clothes and leave. Taj would decide if Silas needed to learn that the tyrant and source of his nightmares was dead or not. Even though Trenton too had his fair share of guilt of the torments that had been bestowed upon the omega.

For weeks he thought that he had everything in his life under control and those wildest and most unpredictable factors were either reigned in or dealt with. But no rest for the wicked it seemed because Trenton’s most trusted and prized servant, Puppy, Krydle, had vanished. After an unfortunate incident. A body he didn’t want to dispose of. Trenton figured that the male he had killed may have meant something to little Krydle and that was one too many things the omega had wanted to do and so, Trenton found himself in quick pursuit after the witch.

The omega witch had almost made it safely into the village of Willowshire before Trenton caught up to him. And while for a moment he tried to just drag him back, he knew that Krydle now would forever represent a liability and as such, should be dealt with accordingly. And so he got to work, his claws finding their way through the omega’s skin, and when he was almost finished, the witch started laughing. Their lives were bound together. If Krydle died, Trenton sure would follow suit shortly after.

He held onto the omega, trying to stabilize him. He had worked too hard to finally get the pieces in place for a single spell to take him down like that. However… He would not have the chance to reap the fruits of his hard work. Because before he knew it, he was in a new environment. A new place. Somewhere he had no idea where.

Trenton didn’t know that there was magic protecting the limits of the village. But everything around him seemed too colorful. Too lively. Too noisy. He didn’t know where he was. But he also had to take care of Krydle. So he sought to leave the omega under the care of healers. Doctors as they seemed to call. And keep a close eye on him. He would not die because a puppy in his court decided to show some morals.

But that also offered him the perfect new strategy to keep his secrets safe and whatever happened that brought him into this new place and into this new time, he would learn its secrets. He was a quick study and very adaptable. He would see his plans to bear fruit.

No one would stop him.

Definitely, not a binding spell. 

[theuniverseawakens347]

Lee so hell bent and desperate to get a diagnosis SHES using me to diagnosis bitches who look like me n Daniel’s ex and friends to talk shit about me and then got Paula king faking a psychiatrists… Taylor senior … her house apartment up the street around the way from Paula Mitchell lee likes to keep the stalking slaves close to me n Tristan stuff - a sneak attack breaking in but lee you lame as fuck that unit is getting remodeled or did and is green…. On Ventura buy or pass the target by paul Mitchell… Kimora Jay sleeping in her car over there… thanks Lee get the info as I write this you stupid fucking bitch ass piece of a mother but you sooo fucking concerned w other moms STOP BEING A FUCKING KAREN EVEN THE HOUSE NIGGER HATES YOU IN FUCKING FULL… PAULA YOU TWO - TAYLOR SR WHY SHE PAYING UR RENT N PIMPING YOU MEN TO DATE .- “ she a female Tristan and I hate pops for Malik” … okay what Daniel got to do with this how you get his sperm for babies - DANIEL I DID UR HAIR AT SCHOOL YOU SEEN UGLY AS PERSONAILTY DAE DRESSING LIKE A WOMAN. Mhmm “ do you mind that” no he’s a friend* - faked it like the rest of weird easy money slave stalking cunt ass bitches. .. Paula Barton how you know Kimora Jay and Alissa morris from CSUN DAISY FLORES FULLERTON … grad w honors STUPID FUCKING LAW DEGREE FOR TINA OSHINUGA AND AJA MILES ANTHROPOLOGY N MORGAN SIMON UCLA GOT KICKED OUT OR LEFT CAUSE HE LOST HIS TRACK SCHOLARSHIP SO LEE ASKED HIM TO MURDER ME 2021 to get him back to school - MIACH AND HIM UPS DRIVING … HOW I STEAL PACKAGES W YOU - THE NIGHT MORGAN SAID HED COMMITT SUIDE TO MIACH AND MICAH CALLED ME TO COME OVER 1 am NICE RENTED G WAGON TRUCK JEEP … DONS BY THE PARK LABREA ACROSS KENNETH HAN… WHO HAD A SHOOTING !? MATEO WHY IS MORGAN A LIAR … OH HE SHOT SOMEONE THAT NIGHT AND DIDNT TELL ME SHIT WAS IT AFTER IMLEFT N SAID “ you calling MIACH out for doing weirdo shit but you faking a sliced to see if he cares about you you gotta be toxic too” and left AINT seen or heard from em since - THANKS AUG 17th 2021 - NOW SETTING ME UP FOR UR FUCKING MURDER CHARGES CAUSE YOU COWS BRAINS DUMBASS LAW KIDS LADERA VIEW PARK N HATE AJA BUT USED MY NAME THANKS TO MORGAN AND MATEO AND MICAH ( innocent) - Ian king … kj smith… Andrew Johnson when did you become a police office like Julian Jackson a fire fighter .. - yes Willie you can fight for me black Israeliten… Trenton graham look just like Jeff miles …. Miles printing down Crenshaw shut down when - clarity Basel hassoldt Torrance

[chaos-goblin-time]

yall motherfuckers take my zukka fic recs

1) Boomerangs and rainbows - mindbending

absolute fuckin banger of a fic, one of my favs

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar), brief Sokka/Suki (Avatar), past Sokka/Yue (Avatar) - Relationship, Sokka (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Katara (Avatar), Aang (Avatar), Toph Beifong, Ozai (Avatar), Azula (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar), Aunt Wu (Avatar), Various Characters, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Hopeful Ending, Angst, Humor, Slow Burn, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Torture, Canonical Child Abuse, Ghosts, Imprisonment, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Puns & Word Play, Zuko Joins The Gaang Early (Avatar), Fake Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, more like major character undeath and marriage of inconvenience, now features the world’s saddest bed sharing

2) Will we last the night - CSHfic, VSfic

amazing mutual pining + bedsharing

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar), Azula (Avatar), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Hurt Sokka (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Book 2: Earth (Avatar), Earth Kingdom (Avatar), Episode: s01e19-20 The Siege of the North, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sickfic, Enemies to Lovers, Sharing a Bed, Oblivious Sokka (Avatar), Mutual Pining, Huddling For Warmth, Sparring, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Miscommunication, There Is No War In Ba Sing Se, Sparring as Flirting, Episode: s02e13 The Drill, Zuko Joins The Gaang Early (Avatar)

3) Who is the blue spirit? - thericeraven also @emptyheadspace here on tumblr

beautiful hurt/comfort with some frenemies to lovers

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar), The Blue Spirit (Avatar), Zhao (Avatar), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Vigilante AU, the blue spirit vigilante au y'all have been waiting for, vigilante zuko, The Blue Spirit - Freeform, journalist sokka, sokka is writing an article about the vigilante, zuko works in the same paper as him and is trying to keep his shit from being exposed, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, zuko keeps scaring off people he's trying to save with the mask, Gay Panic, oh yeah they're like 20 plus in this fic, Domestic Fluff, Idiots in Love, they drink together, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Secret Identity, secret identity shenanigans™, iroh owns a tea shop, Disabled Character, sokka is thirsty someone give him water, they share a braincell but none of them fucking uses it, Minor Character Death, more frenemies to lovers negl, Past Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Near Death Experiences, Identity Porn, writing starts out a little questionable but it gets better I swear

4) Stragglers - thericeraven

fuckin chaos, zombies, and zukka lets gooo

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Suki/Ty Lee (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Jet (Avatar), The Freedom Fighters, Suki (Avatar), Ty Lee (Avatar), Kyoshi Warriors (Avatar), The Mechanist (Avatar), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, I'm not completely cruel, Getting Together, Gay Panic, Attempt at Humor, Mutual Pining, Past Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Past Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Idiots in Love, the kyoshi warriors play softball, this is a story about love and life and humanity and war, Minor Character Death, sokka rickrolls the zombies, and makes a flamethrower out of ax body spray, zuko gets tasered, and salts about beef jerky, they both meet their exes in the apocalypse, what are the chances

[foolondahill17]

for the writing asks: 🥺🤲💔

Doing this  🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in the feels?  Bedside vigil! Doesn’t matter who’s hurt in bed and who’s waiting anxiously for them to wake up, but something about the uninhibited tenderness gets me every time. Add in a little hand-holding while unconscious and I’m gone. 

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a WIP?  Sneak peak of the next chapter of “sickness and in health”: 

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the ache low in his back from sleeping on the couch all week. Maybe it’s the steadily simmering dread leftover from saying only a handful of words to Cas in as many days. Or maybe it’s just the smug look on Cole’s face when he makes an ugly crack about some celebrity sexual assault scandal. Either way, the rage stretching in Dean’s core ever since his and Cas’s argument snaps like a rubber band, and Cole’s shoulders are meaty and firm under Dean’s hands when he gives the other man a solid push away from the vivisected engine they’re both bent over. 

“Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth for once?” Dean shouts as Cole totters backward, shock quickly eclipsed by ruddy anger. 

“The fuck is your problem, Winchester?” he yells, regaining his balance. He immediately drops his back leg, braced for a fight. 

“You and your shit stupid voice are my problem!” Dean returns. “Can’t you just shut the fuck up?” 

“Fucking make me, Winchester!” Cole roars. 

Several things happen at once – Dean thinks: fine, drops his wrench and sends a first toward Cole’s arrogant face. Dean forgets that Cole’s got a career of special ops training behind him; he ducks Dean’s blow with ease and comes up swinging. Shouts of warning erupt across the garage. Strong arms wrap themselves around Dean’s arms, hauling him backward, which leaves Dean’s face at perfect target height for Cole’s fist, which lands solid against Dean’s jaw and sends crackling pain through Dean’s skull. 

“Hold it, chief!” Benny orders loud into Dean’s ear. Every time Dean’s ever been held from behind kicks in thirty-six year’s worth of instinct, and Dean jabs his elbow sharp into Benny’s solar plexus. Benny releases Dean with a wheeze, doubling over. Dean wrenches himself free in time to dodge another pair of arms that attempts to hold him back – this time Dean recognizes Garth’s scrawny frame and look of concern. 

Dean comes up for air long enough to see Lee Chamber’s got ahold of Cole. Fuck. Dean’s breathing hard. His head swims. There’s already a throbbing bruise swelling on his jaw. He raises his hands to shoulder height. 

“Okay. Fuck. Okay. Hands to yourself, Garth.” There’s blood in his mouth. He must have bit his tongue. He spits on the ground. 

“What in the fuck is all this racket?” Rufus bursts out of the office, anger blazing in his eyes. 

“Got it covered, Rufus, sorry,” Benny pipes up, voice still a little breathless. He presses a hand to the spot Dean hit him. Dean immediately feels guilty. 

Fuck. Shit. Panic rears suddenly inside his body. He hasn’t – Dean hasn’t snapped like that since he punched that douchebag outside of a bar and sent himself to prison. Cold sweat breaks out across his hairline. 

“That what I asked, Laffite?” Rufus barks. 

“Dean and Cole got into an argument,” Garth pipes up. 

“More than an argument from where I’m sitting,” Rufus says, face hard. “Oy fucking gevalt. Laffite, Winchester, Trenton – office. Now. The rest of you, does it look like fucking lunch break?” 💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?  Any time I write about Sam and Dean’s childhoods in any capacity I get the urge to bundle them both in blankets and kiss their foreheads. The first fic that comes to mind is counting. 

[dahliawolfe]

Something More

CSI NY fanfic

Danny Messer/OFC

The buzzing of her cell woke her. Grunting, Nora reached for the phone and flipped it open.

“Hello,” she rasped.

“Nora, we’ve got a case,” Mac Taylor said, no preamble.

“Gotcha, Dad. Text me the address, please,” she swung her legs over the side of the bed and snapped the phone shut, throwing it onto the nightstand. She hurried into a pair of jeans from the floor and turned to look back at the bed. “Yo, Messer! Up and at ‘em! We got a case,” she demanded, throwing a balled up sock at Danny’s head. She and Danny had been fooling around for a few weeks now. When a case was stressful (and they usually were) they met up and blew off steam. She’d known Danny for nearly 6 years, and he was her best friend. It was strictly no strings attached when they hooked up.

“Lemme sleep,” Danny begged tiredly. They had been up until after 2 a.m. working on finishing up a case. It was now a little after 6.

“No can do. Boss man called himself.” She slid into her lace black bralette and grabbed the first discarded t-shirt she could reach. She shoved her feet into her boots and stood. “Lock up, will ya? See ya there.” Danny gave her a limp wave from the bed, and she snorted. She threw her leather jacket around her shoulders and made her way down to her Tahoe.

…

The Crestmont loomed in front of her, and Nora took a second to peer up. This place had always given her the creeps. Shaking herself, she made her way inside, flashing her badge at the patrol officer out front. She made her way to the elevator, taking it all the way to the 15 floor. She could smell the latex and print powder as she stepped out of the doors. She smiled. It smelled like home. Even before Nora became an investigator herself, her dad had been doing the job, and he always came home smelling like the tools of the trade.

“Nora, over here,” Flack called, waving her over. She nodded and made her way carefully across the penthouse suite.

“What have we got” she questioned, grabbing gloves from her kit and snapping them on.

“Alexander Trenton. He was a judge. On his way to the Supreme Court.” Nora whistled and stooped to take a look at the body.

“Looks like a through and through. Execution style,” she remarked, standing up.

“Is that Danny’s shirt?” Flack questioned, wrinkling his forehead in confusion.

She froze and glanced down at herself. It was indeed Danny’s shirt.

“Oh, yeah. I spilled coffee on myself last night. He lent it to me, and it was just what I threw on this morning on the way out the door.” The lie was easy enough. She needed to be more careful.

“Hmm. Well, you might wanna change before Mac gets here.”

“Where is Father Dearest, anyway?”

“Mayor wanted a word.” Nora rolled her eyes.

“Of course.”

“You guys start the party without me?!” Danny demanded, coming out of the elevator carrying 3 coffees.

“Fashionably late, as always,” Nora teased, grabbing her camera to document the scene.

…

Nora was leaned over the desk in the print lab when someone spoke behind her.

“Detective Eleanor Taylor?”

“Nora,” she replied, placing her file down and turning around, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the light table.

“We would like a word,” replied the man; obviously a federal agent of some sort.

“We can talk in my office,” Mac replied, coming out of nowhere. He led the two agents and Nora to his office, where he shut the door.

“What’s this about?” Nora asked. She didn’t have time for their bureaucratic crap.

The second agent pulled out a file and passed it to Nora. “We believe you know this man.”

Nora opened the file and felt her stomach tighten. “Jared Weston,” she said, the words threatening to choke her.

“Yes. You attended North Peak Academy with him, did you not?”

“That was years ago. Why are you here? I haven’t seen him in 7 years.”

Another file was handed to her. She flicked through it briefly, spotting bloody crime scenes and pages of notes on victims. “Okay?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“In the last 6 months, 6 judges, 3 military personnel, and 4 police have been murdered from Virginia, to Boston, to Delaware. The M.O. is all the same. And all evidence points to someone with a serious grudge against the government.” Nora felt the blood leave her body. She thought he was just an angry kid. Mad at his parents. She never thought he’d do anything like this.

“If you know all of this. And you have evidence against him, why are you here?”

“We’re always one step behind, but we got a lead on his next victim.”

“Judge Trenton?” she questioned, feeling the pieces fall into place. The agents shared a confused face.

“We thought he was a possible target, but Detective Taylor, we think you’re his next target.”

“Me?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Weston has it out for you. We found his manifestoes on our last case. He talks about how you betrayed him. And how you’re worse than any of the others.”

“Betrayed him how?” Mac asked, speaking for the first time.

Nora swallowed against a dry throat. “I need a minute,” she croaked, slamming out of the room, and making her way as quickly as possible to the roof, bending over, roughly hugging herself in a demand for oxygen.

“Nora!” came the call, as Danny joined her on the roof. “Hey. Hey. It’s ok. What happened?” he demanded, pulling her into his chest.

“We were kids! We were scared! And we were pissed that our parents sent us to a fucking military academy! That place was hell, Danny, and he was the only bright spot of it! How the hell does this happen?!”

“Ok. Ok. Shhh. It’s ok. I’m right here. I gotcha.” He held her close, rocking her gently until she could breathe again. When he deemed it safe, he pulled her away a pushed a stray curl out of her face. “Now, tell me. What happened in there.”

“Jared went to North Peak too. And we bonded. His mom and dad were both in the military. And he hated them for sending him away to be trained to be like them. And I was mad and Mac for sending me away to a military school upstate. I felt like he didn’t want me. Like I was a fuck up and he wanted to get rid of me and have something better. So, we would sit behind the bleachers and smoke cigarettes and drink beer and rage against the machine. I thought it was all just angsty teenage bullshit. Then the towers were hit. And Claire was gone. And I was devasted. She was the only mom I’d ever known. And she was gone. And I was scared. I was so angry, Danny. I remember just screaming at the stars and demanding to know why any of that bullshit had happened to us. And Jared, Jared sat with me all night and screamed too. And the next morning, Mac came and took me home to finish my senior year at St. Agatha’s. And I never saw Jared again. Truth be told, I didn’t want to. He reminded me of how ungrateful, and angry, and hurt I was, and I didn’t want that. But then I became a cop. And I betrayed him. I left him. And I don’t know what happened to him. But now he kills people, Danny. And he wants to kill me. And hell, maybe I deserve that.”

“Hey! Look at me!” Grabbing her chin, Danny forced her to look up at him. “You do not deserve that. You were a child! And he was sick! And none of that was your fault! You did not do this! He did! You hear me?!” He pressed a firm but gentle kiss to her lips then her forehead and pulled her close again.    

…

“We want to put you on 24-hour protection detail,” the FBI agent informed her, once she had relayed her story to them.

“We can do that in house,” Mac stated, folding his arms over his chest. He knew his people could protect his daughter better than the feds ever could. She was one of their own, and they took care of their own.

“I’ll do it,” Danny quickly stated, jumping into the conversation. He’d followed her back inside when she’d finally gained the courage to come in.

“Ok, who else can take a shift?” the agent asked, raising a brow at Mac.

“No, I mean I can be with her 24/7 until we catch this guy,” Danny said, standing straighter. The agent snorted, but Mac nodded.

“Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Roger, Boss.”

…

Nora tossed her keys into the bowl by the front door and kicked her boots off. It had been a hell of a day, and she needed a drink and a hot bath.

“I’m making myself a rum and coke and I’m gonna sit in a hot bath for an undetermined amount of time. Make yourself at home,” she informed, stripping her tee off and throwing it somewhere to her left.

“Pizza tonight?” Danny asked, leaning over to look into the fridge.

“Sure. Extra cheese.”

͠

By the time Nora made it to the bathroom, she was down to her underwear. She had a cold glass of Bicardi and coke, which she sat down beside her claw foot tub, turning the water on, making sure it was hot enough, and adding some mint soak. After putting some music on her record player, she slid into the warm bubbles, sinking up to her neck. She sighed, feeling at least some of the day’s tension melt away.

͠

Danny peeked into the bathroom, admiring Nora. She looked like a goddess, head laid back, surrounded by bubbles, singing softly to the Frank Sinatra playing in the background.

“See something you like, Messer?” she teased, opening one eye and raising her brow at him.

“Very much so,” Danny replied, coming in to kneel by the tub, dipping his finger under the water. “But, pizza’s here.”

“Mmm. Good, I’m starving. Give me five, and I’ll be out.”

“Sure thing.” Before leaving, Danny leaned down and gave Nora a deep kiss. “Don’t keep me waiting,” he urged, heading back to the living area.

͠

When Nora emerged, she was wearing nothing but an overly large Led Zepplin t-shirt and a pair of black boyshorts. Danny had already set up the tv to reruns of The Golden Girls and had the pizza box open with a beer bottle on each side of the table. He gave her a grin. “Your feast, ma’am,” he joked, bowing for effect.

“Why thank you, sir. Truly, you do provide.” Nora took a seat on the couch, snagging the blue wool blanket from Danny’s end, snatching a slice of pizza, and hooking a beer with her ring finger and pinkie. Danny settled in close, lazily slinging his arm over her shoulder and sitting back with his own slice.

͠

“Fuck, Danny! Don’t stop!” Nora moaned, looking down to catch Danny giving her a cheeky wink, delving even deeper into his ministrations. And Nora was almost there, but then someone knocked on the door.

“Nora, it’s Flack!”

“Fuck!” she hissed, pushing Danny away from between her legs. “C-coming, Flack!”

“Two words you don’t really wanna hear when going down on your girl,” Danny commented, wiping his face off on the duvet. Nora frowned.

“Shut it, Messer. Your girl?” She huffed, standing to locate her discarded underwear, tossing Danny his jeans and making her way to the front door. She checked to make sure Danny was decent before unlocking the door and opening it.

“Flack, what’s up? It’s late, man?”

“Nora, there’s another vic. Mac wanted me to come pick you guys up.”

“Shit. Ok, let me get my pants.”

͠

“Jeffrey Conrad. 57. He’s an ex-homicide detective from Brooklyn,” Mac informed the second Nora got out of Flack’s car.

“Conrad? Why does that name sound familiar?” Nora questioned, grabbing a pair of gloves, ducking under the crime scene tape. Mac handed her a picture. It was of a greying man in a uniform. “Wait, Conrad. There was a kid at North Peak. Tyler…Tommy…”

“Trevor?” Mac replied.

“Yes! That’s it. Trevor, he was in our class. He killed himself a couple of years ago, I think.” Nora sighed, rubbing her temples. “He was always telling anyone who would listen how much of a bastard his dad was. I guess Jared blamed Trevor’s death on his dad.” Mac frowned. Nora could see that this case was wearing at him too. She tried not to give him a hard time. He was a single dad just trying to do what was best. And she knew he loved her, but she also knew how hellish North Peak had been. She gently touched her father’s arm. “Hey, listen. I know why you sent me to North Peak. I’m fine. Those other kids, their parents were terrible to them, but you weren’t like that to me. You and…” she gulped. “And Claire, you guys gave me a lot of good opportunities. You did your best. And I…I don’t blame you for anything.” Mac gave her a sad smile and nodded.

“I shouldn’t have sent you away. I’m sorry, Nora.” She gave him as soft smile.

“Mac! Nora!” Stella called from across the room. Sharing a brief glance at each other, Mac and Nora walked quickly to her side.

“What did you find, Stella?” Stella handed her a sealed envelope.

“It has your name on it.”

[brasskier]

First chapter of my six-part fluffy geraskefer modern AU holiday series spanning five years of holiday celebrations is up! 

Christmas 2016, or The One Where Flights are Cancelled. After a string of delayed flights and closed rail lines, Geralt, his new music teacher friend Jaskier, and his on-again/off-again girlfriend Yennefer find themselves trapped on Christmas Eve. Thank god for duty-free stores.

Read it below the cut or on my ao3

When Geralt first met Jaskier, checking an ID he was almost certain had to be fake (it wasn't; Jaskier was twenty-four), he slid off his coat to reveal an incredibly garish reindeer-emblazoned tie. At Geralt's judgemental stare, he shrugged and said, "work party."

"Pre-gaming or post-gaming?" Geralt gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Post." He settled onto the barstool, called for a Blue Moon - "and don't forget the orange slice!" - and let out an exhausted sigh before returning his gaze to Geralt. "It's just - it's my first year teaching, and I'm not really used to the political fraternizing, which is hard enough. But they nearly cut the music program before they ended up hiring me, so not everyone's exactly happy to see me there." He scrubbed a hand against his face, noting silently that he needed to shave. "Sorry, didn't mean to chew your ear off." Geralt shrugged again from the doorway. It was a slow, dull night, the usually thriving college-town bar nearly dead over winter break. 

"Not like I don't get paid for it." This elicited a chuckle out of Jaskier, who seemed to relax some. "You teach music?" 

"Yeah." He smiled fondly. "High school. Had every intention of making it big and touring the world, or maybe becoming principal trombone at the Phil. Just wasn't in the cards." 

"I'm not exactly familiar with classroom politics, but I know someone who might have some pointers." He was referring to, as he'd later reveal to Jaskier, his on-again/off-again, city councilwoman girlfriend. 

"I do like Christmas, you know," Jaskier's voice came again from the bar, between sips at his beer. "Just not the parties." 

"Humbug." Jaskier giggled again, swiping the foam mustache off his lip with the back of his hand. "Geralt, by the way."

"Jaskier." He sat in contemplative silence for a moment. "What time do you get off?" Geralt's brow furrowed, startled by the question. "It's just - I just - sorry if that was a little forward." He heaved a sigh. "My apartment's decorated. Thought you might like to see it." 

"Hmm." He glanced down at his watch, then up at the bar, empty save for Jaskier and a handful of other patrons. "Ten." Jaskier's face lit up. 

Decorated, as it turns out, was an understatement, and Geralt couldn't help but gawk as Jaskier led him through the threshold of his tiny apartment. A beautiful, grand tree stood in the corner of the living room and stretched so tall it nearly scraped the ceiling. Tinsel and garlands adorned the doorways and the arch leading to the kitchen, a buffalo plaid throw was carefully folded on the back of the couch, and a single stocking hung just below the television. Lights snaked around the perimeter of the room, warm white and snowflake-shaped. 

"Do you like it?" Jaskier asked pleadingly, shattering the protracted silence.

"It's cozy," Geralt remarked. It really was. He flopped unceremoniously onto the couch while Jaskier disappeared into his kitchen.

"Jack or moscato?" He called from the archway, holding up a bottle of whiskey in one hand and white wine in the other. "Sorry, I don't have much right now." 

"Jack is fine." He gazed around the room absentmindedly. "On the rocks." Jaskier returned before long, pressing a glass of whiskey into his hand before sipping at his own glass of wine. 

"Wanna watch something? I have Netflix." Geralt, against his better judgement, shrugged and agreed.

Jaskier was back at the bar not even a week later, excitement flashing across his face when he laid eyes on Geralt. To his credit, Geralt was keenly aware that the man had never visited the bar in his life prior to last week, let alone frequented the establishment. He just decided some things were best left unsaid.

Speaking of unsaid, Jaskier was in love - it was obvious from the way he’d follow Geralt around like a lost puppy. Started lingering around the bar every evening, choosing the seat nearest the door every time, inviting Geralt back to his apartment just as frequently. And Geralt would usually accept, watch stupid movies through all hours of the night until his new music teacher friend inevitably passed out, and then silently creep out of the apartment.

It was three days before Christmas, and the chatter of choice for the evening was holiday plans. Jaskier, as it turned out, had a flight to catch back to Jersey. 

"The worst part's taking NJ Transit down to Lettenhove," he groaned, nursing a bay breeze complete with the little paper umbrella. "It's always delayed coming out of Newark." Geralt himself had plans back in the mountains of Vermont, mainly dinner and then watching his younger brothers play football with nothing but shorts on in the freezing cold over a few cigars with his old man. 

"I have a layover in Newark," he remarked idly. Yennefer - who had hit it off interestingly with Jaskier, to say the least - was heading to New York, and he'd arranged his first flight so they'd be on it together. Which meant it was way earlier than he liked.

"What time? Maybe we'll run into each other." Jaskier looked way too excited by that possibility, leaning back on the bar with all the composure of a middle-schooler. Geralt, despite his best efforts, couldn't help but find it endearing.

"8:15," he grumbled, exasperated just thinking about having to be at the airport at 6am. Jaskier's head perked up.

"Delta?" He asked, grin growing impossibly bigger by the minute. Geralt nodded, and Jaskier was already tearing through his phone to pull up the app. "What gate?" 

"Hold on." He fished his own phone from his pocket with a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his boss wasn't nearby, and pulled up the screenshot of the boarding pass Yen had sent him. "B4?" Jaskier nearly fell off the barstool.

"Geralt," he squeaked, struggling to right himself. "We're on the same flight." Just as soon as he'd regained his composure he lost it again, doubling over with laughter. 

"So's Yennefer," he added, and Jaskier shrugged.

"Well, then I'll be sure to pack my trombone." Geralt couldn't stop the snicker that escaped him at the sight of Jaskier's shit-eating grin.

For as much as he might wax poetic about the prospect, Jaskier absolutely despised a white Christmas. Which, just as well, is exactly what they got. He was shivering in just the time it took to flee his Uber and shuffle into the waiting warmth of the airport. Security went blessedly quickly, as it tended to at six in the morning - precisely why he settled on such an early flight. (Nevermind the fact his parents practically demanded it of him.) 

He was nursing a venti peppermint mocha latte - light and sweet, with an extra shot of espresso - when Geralt appeared at the edge of the terminal, and he patted his instrument fondly when Yennefer waltzed up behind him. 

"Geralt!" He exclaimed, rising from his seat and wrapping his free arm around him. "Yennefer!" She held a hand up as he moved towards her.

"Not so fast. I'm not sure if I like you yet." His face fell briefly, but he laughed anyway. 

"Can take the girl out of New York but not the New York–" he began to joke, but Yennefer cut him off with a roll of her eyes.

"Save it. I'm from Connecticut." That finally, properly, seemed to shut him up, and he nestled back into his seat with his coffee. She softened a little. "Where are you going?" 

"Me? Just south Jersey," he perked up. Geralt looked like he had something to add, but before he could the gate attendant started boarding calls.

The flight was thankfully brief, if a little turbulent. Geralt spent the journey playing peacekeeper in the middle seat, while Yennefer idly read some news articles she'd saved on her phone, and Jaskier slept soundly against the window, curled around his trombone. 

It was midday when they arrived in Newark. Yennefer was teasing Jaskier for managing to pass out despite the massive cup of caffeine and sugar he'd consumed, Jaskier was trying his best to put together a groggy retort, and Geralt decidedly just wanted them to shut up. At least they were all about to part ways, and he could enjoy his next flight in – shit.

"Flights to Vermont are cancelled," Jaskier's words, urgent and harried, snapped him out of his thoughts. 

"Fuck," he growled under his breath, eyeing the departure board. Sure enough, in bright red letters, his flight was delayed until further notice, with a little asterisk telling him to download the app to keep up-to-date with any developments. 

"I'd offer to let you join me," Yennefer began with a deep sigh. "But you know how my parents feel about you." Geralt ran a hand down his face. Just his luck, wasn't it. So much for cigars with his old man.

"You can come with me." Jaskier's voice was so uncertain, so small, he almost didn't hear it. "My parents haven't had a chance to hate you yet." Geralt groaned.

"Sure. Why not?" He forced a smile across his gruff features, and Jaskier met him with a toothy grin in return.

"Beats this shithole." He glanced around, trying to find his bearings in the busy airport. "Let's grab some lunch before we head out, yeah?" Geralt nodded before turning to Yennefer.

"Joining us?" She shrugged.

"As a wise man once said, 'sure. Why not?'" The wait at McDonald's wasn't terrible, so they shifted eagerly into line, and all but devoured their food the moment it was in their hands. 

"Right, so," Jaskier began between mouthfuls of Big Mac. "Northeastern Corridor down to Trenton, and my parents will pick us up there." He peered over his burger at Yennefer.

"Northeastern Corridor to NY Penn," she replied flatly, the straw of her drink stained with deep burgundy lipstick. They tossed their trash and headed off towards the train terminal, and, at the very least, Geralt would only now have to deal with one of them at a time. Except god, it seemed, was laughing at him that Christmas Eve. 

"Are you kidding me!" He'd never seen Jaskier so worked up - though, granted, he'd only known him for a month. "NJ Transit's down!?" He flung his arms about dramatically before squatting right in the middle of the station, head in his hands. Yennefer quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Is he… Okay?" Geralt shrugged, fitted a palm on Jaskier's shoulder. He gazed up at him, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. 

"Fine, fine." He pressed his hands against his knees and shifted to his feet. "Now what?"

"We're stuck here," Geralt groaned and heaved a breathy chuckle. "Merry Christmas, huh?"

"Wait…" Yennefer held a finger up, face drawn in thought. "Won't they put you up in a hotel?" Geralt hummed, and ran a finger along the massive, glowing map kiosk, searching for the nearest Delta help center.

They did, in fact, put him up in a hotel, and he did, in fact, agree to let Yennefer and Jaskier tag along. Not before stopping at one of the duty-free shops and snagging as much overpriced liquor as his wallet would allow, of course. Jaskier cast an appraising eye at his haul, shook his head, and wordlessly extracted his trombone from its case. Thank god for all those solos he'd memorized in college.

"What the hell are you–" Yennefer began, but cut herself off when the first dollar bills landed at his feet. "Oh." A few more followed, and then some more, and within a few minutes a crowd had gathered, phones out and pointed at him. He ate up the attention, playing to the crowd for another twenty or so minutes before excusing himself and collecting the cash that had collected at his feet. He bought yet more alcohol, and they departed for the hotel.

It was small and held only the bare essentials - queen bed, TV, bathroom, and the world's smallest fridge. He popped open a bottle of whiskey before he even bothered to kick his shoes off, tilting his head back and taking a deep swig before grabbing the bottle of wine still in the bag and holding it at arm's length for whoever wanted it next. 

"Thank god," Yennefer sighed, yanking it from his hand. It was a deep red that matched her lips. Jaskier dumped his bags in the corner and fished out one of his bottles of vodka. 

"Cheers," he called, raising the bottle to the air, and Geralt and Yennefer held theirs up as well, clinking the three together. "To Christmas!" They dissolved into laughter, shoes discarded randomly across the floor, limbs splayed across the bed, and alcohol sploshing precariously. 

When Geralt cracked his eyes open the next morning, early light was slipping through the blinds, a series of texts from Delta informed him his new flight was set to leave in four hours, and, well. Yennefer was naked in his arms, which he supposed wasn't entirely surprising. He shifted up against the headboard, rubbing sleep from his eyes and gently extricating himself from her unconscious grasp, jarred by the rattling of liquor bottles. His feet were about to finally hit the floor when his heart nearly stopped, and he paused urgently. Yennefer wasn't the only one he'd shared the room with…

"G'morning?" Came a breathy yawn, and soft brown hair poked up from the blankets. Fuck. He planted his feet firmly below him and scanned the room for his scattered clothing. "G'ralt?" Brown hair was followed by scrunched eyes, a half-ajar mouth, and a splotch of pink on his cheek where his hand has been pressed against it in his sleep. Geralt cursed under his breath and plucked up his underwear.

"Did we…?" He half-asked, not daring to finish the question. Jaskier - naked, for the love of god, stalked around the bed to Geralt's side and pressed a kiss on his cheek.

"Yes," he said warmly.

"All of us?" Jaskier nodded and hummed, following suit in tracking the remains of the previous day's outfit. "And… did we… did we like it?" Jaskier laughed, soft and breathy.

"We had a great time, Geralt. Relax." He slid his sweater over his head.

"Right." Finally he spotted his pants, and stepped into them unsteadily. "Suppose we should wake her?" Jaskier shrugged.

"Probably." They roused Yennefer, who also seemed to have a better recollection of the night before than Geralt, and was none too surprised. Breakfast was a brief affair in the hotel lobby, all of them downing cup after cup of shitty black coffee and basking in afterglow. Finally, at long last, they bid their goodbyes and parted ways. Geralt could finally get some peace, quiet, and alone time. On the flight to Vermont, he found himself missing the two anyway.

[awkbo0b]

Two of a Kind:2

A/N: Thanks for everyone who is reading and thank you for the notes! I havent been active on tumblr for a while but being able to come on here and post an idea I have for a fanfic and having people actually like it warms my heart.

Summary of the first part: Mae is visiting her cousin, Tony, in Outer Banks and little does Mae know, she just ran into JJ! Here’s there link for Two of a Kind:1 if you havent read it yet.

Warnings: underage drinking, usage of drugs, swearing

~~

I join Tony who is now with a group of girls near the fire. “Hey! Hope I didn’t miss much of the party.” I mention as I take a drink of my beer. The girls all smile at me and begin to introduce themselves. I didn’t bother remembering their names since I probably won’t see them again after tonight. The conversation drifts about boys that they go to school with, who they all have crushes on, and some of their plans for the summer. I turn to look at the water to notice that some people have gone swimming. I smile to myself thinking about how beautiful it is here. 

“And Mae here is an unique artist,” my attention is pulled when I hear Tony mention my name, “ she is able to turn anything into a complex drawing. It’s truly amazing.”

I smile, “Honestly though, you should see Tony’s photos.” I try to turn to conversation away from me. As much as I love my art, talking about it isn’t something I enjoy. “She normally does landscapes like her parents, but if you put a model in front of of her,” I puff my cheeks and let out a whistle, “it’s breath taking what she can do.” as I compliment Tony I notice her tuck her hair behind her ear. “No need to act bashful T!” I exclaim. Tony raises her nose a little higher, showing her confidence. “If you haven’t seen her work yet, you are really missing out.” I finish off my beer.

“Tony, I knew you painted but how come you never mentioned photography?” The girl standing on the other side of Tony ask, she has pin straight, black hair, and is wearing glasses that look like they are from the 20′s fashion era. I glance at Tony already knowing what she is going to say.

“Well I mean, my parents both are photographers. They capture such unique angles in landscapes. And it kinda feels weird to follow in their foot steps that closely. Look at Mae,” Tony throws her arm in my direction, “her parents are sculptors and she paints and draws. Different medias.” Tony’s word slur together as she speaks.

The girl with black hair give Tony assuring smile that she understands, “I get it, girl.” Her words also slurring together then pulling Tony in for a hug. The sudden wave of emotion fills the small circle.

“Well, before I join in on the touchy feeling stuff, I’m going to grab another beer.” I inform once Tony pulls away.

“I think I better give myself a minute.” Tony hiccups and then raises her bottle, “Once I’m finish with this one of course.” The girls around us giggle and Tony does too.

“Alright dude, I’ll be back.” I make my way towards the coolers. I notice a group of people sitting on a log near the water. A small lantern is lit. I notice blondie and three others, two boys and a girl. As I continue to watch, being the creepy people watcher that I am, I begin to see that they are passing around a joint or blunt. Whatever it is, they are smoking weed.

Once I reach the coolers I come up with an idea. I grab two bottles instead of one and then turn towards blondie and his group. They are all talking and laughing at things that are said as I approach. Blondie, who is sitting on the end, shoots his head up first, then the girl who i can now see has longer curly hair. She offers a friendly smile.

“Hey, you don’t look familiar, Are you a tourist?” The girl ask, then the other two boys look in my direction too. Just as I am about to introduce myself blondie cuts in.

“She’s rude, that’s what she is,” Blondie has a playful smirk on his face. I laugh at the comment.

“I guess I’m technically a tourist, but I wouldn’t consider myself rude.” I wink towards blondie as he take a hit from the blunt, causing him to cough.

“Whoa dude, you’re coughing? who even are you?” says one of the boys as he laughs taking the blunt from blondie and takes a hit. He is wearing an unbutton shirt with a bandanna tied loosely around his neck. His hair has intense volume that would make any girl jealous.

“Shut the fuck up, just inhaled wrong.” blondie mutters still trying to catch his breathe. “And even if you are somehow not rude,” blondie’s voice still strained from the coughing but is now talking normal, “what brings you over here?” He questions me. The blunt continues down the row of friends, ending with the guy with dark chocolate skin.

“Was wondering if I could take a couple hits with you?” my voice ends with a little squeak, a littler nervous as to how blondie will react. All three friends are looking back and forth between us. I let out a small laugh. “I brought a truce,” I hold out the extra bottle of beer towards blondie.

“Hmm,” blondie pulls his hand up to cup his chin to appear as if he is really thinking hard on this one. I bite my lip starting to feel a little awkward. “Mae was your name right?” Blondie takes the bottle from my hand and pants the empty spot next to him,

“Yes, yes it is blondie.” I sit down and the friend from the end passes the blunt to me.

“For the love of god,” blondie places his elbows down on his thighs, shakes his head then looks my way, “please call me JJ.” JJ winks as I take my hit from the blunt.

“JJ it is then.” I try to say in a flirty tone. Everyone laughs and then begins to introduce themselves. I try my hardest to remember these names, because deep down I would want to see them again.

~

We finished the blunt, the boy with the crazy hair, who i think is John B, claimed he could roll the next one. Kie, the girl, and Pope, the one with chocolate brown skin, laugh at John B as he struggles.

“Come on man. I can do this shit with my eyes closed.” JJ moans throwing his hands up in the air. Another round of laughter roars from us. I remembering that I came here with Tony, who was at her drinking limit when I last saw her about  forty-five minutes ago. I look towards the bonfire to see her white dress almost glowing from the moon light. She is dancing with her group of girls, clearly have a good time. “How do you know the misfit kook?” JJ’s voice startles me, even though it was only loud enough for me to hear.

“What do you mean misfit? She seems to be fitting in fine to me.” I look towards JJ genuinely confused as to what he was meaning.

“She moved here two years ago, most of us have been here our whole lives. The kook life style is passed down from generation to generation. People who move here with kids, don’t normally end up fitting in.” JJ explained.

“I feel like I am a perfect example of that.” Kie raises her hand. “I’ve lived here for a while but never seemed to fit in, so here I am with the pogues. Plus the kook life style is too much for me.” Kie scrunches her face in disgust. I nod taking in what both of them are saying. 

“She’s my cousin, and my best friend. And I guess I’m kinda getting at what you guys are saying, but we might need to go over it again when I’m sober.” I let out a laugh, and so does everyone else.

“I like this girl.” Pope says.

“Isn’t your family some kind of artist?” John B ask.

“How would you even know, dude.” JJ sneered, earning himself the middle finger from John B.

“I think I remember Sarah mentioned it, dick head.” John responds.

“Actually yes, we are. It kinda runs through the family.” I state.

“Oh yeah, your family is the Clemonds right?” Kie ask almost jumping off the log, “my dad has some of Sadie Clemonds photos in our restaurant!”

“Yep, that’s the family name.” I give Kie a smile.

“Hold up, your whole family is just filled with artist?” JJ ask not believing it.

“Yeah, in some way, shape, or form.” I giggle.

“You’re parents are Chloe and Trenton right?” Kie is now standing she is so excited.

“Yes ma’am,” I answer.

“I would love to see their work sometime”

“I can help arrange that,” I raise my hand to give Kie knuckles.

~

A/N Hey guys thanks again for all the notes on the first part! I am adding in my author notes for the 3rd part as you read this! I guess this is a good time to say that there will be a slow burn between Mae and JJ. So I hope you all stick around long enough to see it! I’ll be adding a tag #TwoOfAKind to this one so it will be easier to find it.

This might be a little odd but if you guys have any questions about my characters ask them and i can go into more detail about it in the net part! Also if you have any request for something to happen I’m all ears!

Thanks again for reading and for all the notes, 3 part should be up soon. Please continue to like/reblog. Love you all! 

UPDATE: I HAVE MOVED THIS FANFIC TO WATTPAD, HERE IS THIS LINK! LOVE YOU ALL THANK YOU FOR TE NOTES!

[caltropspress]

Notes on Pink Siifu’s NEGRO

You and anybody else who wants to get their random vicarious kicks off White Power can stay the fuck away from me. 

—Lester Bangs

Tell a nazi he can suck my dick. —Pink Siifu, from “SMD”

My first contact with white america was marked by her violence, for when a white doctor pulled me from between my mother’s legs and slapped my wet ass, I, as every other negro in america, reacted to this man-inflicted pain with a cry. A cry that america has never allowed to cease; a cry that gets louder and more intense with age….A cry? Or was it a scream? —H. Rap Brown (Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin), from Die Nigger Die!

it is the hour of conflict, antagonism, struggle the world turning autumn in warpaint everything silently prepares to scream —Amiri Baraka, from “Disorder”

1.  

White institutional power operates to negate or suppress. To that end, white institutional power bestows awards on singular figures when it’s convenient. Let’s call one such example Kendrick Lamar. Pulitzer Prizing DAMN. is white institutional power taking cover. This, in no way, defangs DAMN. But it does provide crowd control. Pink Siifu, meanwhile, won’t be awarded a Pulitzer for NEGRO. If he did, I’m confident he’d pull an Adrienne Rich, telling President Clinton to choke on his National Medal for the Arts, seeing as how the U.S. gov’t drives “the demonization of our young Black men.” Siifu would be PE boycotting the Grammys on the grounds of Black invisibility. Or John Lennon relinquishing his membership in the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire because, well, empire (see: Biafra).

2.

NEGRO is what happens when Three 6 Mafia goes full bandolier, full decolonization, full Thomas Sankara. When the emphasis is on the 666 sirening[1] across white cop foreheads, reflecting off Makrolon face shields. Siifu cites and channels Sun Ra, June Tyson, Death, and Bad Brains, but you also hear the mass hysteria of Abbey Lincoln’s vocal cords trembling, of Max Roach’s We Insist! in a street brawl showdown with the LRAD. Basically, it’s Ornette blowing sax in a riot, harmolodics like incendiary devices.

3.

“FK” is the primal scream reaction of hearing the news another one of your people has been killed, snuffed out. Suffer through our screams, it says to the listener. And “out of body, out of mind” distorts what we see with what we witness. It’s the re-played, re-tweeted, re-shared visuals of Black death.

4.

At moments, NEGRO sounds like Aaron Dilloway organizing a chapter of the White Panther Party.

5.

Siifu’s lyrics are a Stokely speech draft. His artistry is prismatic, shattered pane glass: crust punk, jazz cat, marching band drummer, hood ballerina, noisemaker, bareknuckle emcee. His lyrics should be run off on the mimeo and saddle-stitched into a chapbook for Totem Press to publish.

6.

“SMD” samples from Ivan Dixon's 1973 film The Spook Who Sat by the Door (“Do you hear me, man?...I am BLACK!”). Just like dead prez sampled the dialogue before Siifu on “We Want Freedom.” Siifu and dead prez are bedfellows, for sure, but Siifu's head rests on a pillow of static. It’s the friction that electrifies.

7.

NEGRO is the art of de-arresting in audio form. As the comrades at Mask Magazine have stated, de-arrests “are beautiful,” reminding us “the law and the state are not supernatural forces.”[2]

8.

I’ve always felt uncomfortable using the word freedom. It’s a word that’s been co-opted and gutted to the point of parody. I subscribe only to a different form of freedom, one articulated in noise. Suicidal Tendencies’ “Freedumb” cuts it: “Peace through politics is a fallacy—that doesn’t exist.” Liberation more seriously expresses the extinction agenda. Poor Righteous Teachers taught the curriculum out of Trenton, on “Freedom of Death”: “Consciousness—it’s a must / Just avoid the wicked, wicked ways of this pale Caucasoid.”

Regardless, we see freedom, liberation, knife through even with Siifu’s orthography. Revolutionary thought requires revolutionary language. Ask the Combahee River Collective. Come correct. Fuck autocorrect. Remember womyn. Siifu spellings like: nxggas, eye, tyme, iono, and the evergreen ameriKKKa. The abbreviated words—eliding letters wherever possible—don’t reflect self-censorship so much as the mindmaze of a harried man. Deliberate typos demonstrate no faith in the system. It’s like if Bon Iver (see: “22 (OVER S∞∞N)”) decided to forgo BLM symbolic gestures (Mahalia Jackson) and straight-up encouraged looting. Siifu is CAPS LOCK happy, too. We’re witnessing the joy of militancy.

9.

To begin with, it must be said that former African slaves and their ancestors have been the avant-garde of everything in this country. There’s no culture in America, in this American wasteland, without us. There’s no classical music; there’s jazz, and that was invented by us. And besides that, America has nothing to offer the world and it never has. —Idris Robinson, from “How It Might Should Be Done”

Siifu in the audience of the Congress of Afrikan Peoples, and Baraka imploring him like, “Get up, Pink Siifu.” It’s nation time. But on “Nation Tyme.,” Siifu groans, I’m tired…can’t fall…asleep. Black rage, of course—but what of Black insomnia? The French revolutionaries abolished the calendar. CPT, so, is rightly weaponized. “I feel fettered by Western time,” Gregory Pardlo writes in “Colored People’s Time.” Punch clocks need punching, smashing. I saw Baraka roll up to a conference panel late as fuck once, cane-walking right down the center aisle, shameless, commandingly.

In a somnolent slur, Siifu says, “They treat me like I’m wasting away / I know I’m worth more than they pay.” What of these capitalist definitions of work? What of productivity? What does it mean to monetize every waking moment? He’s been quoted as saying, “I ain’t have to work for no white man.”[3] “Nation Tyme.” picks up there.

10.  Feel like deadmeat. They say I’m deadmeat.

“DEADMEAT” is a pig siren stuffed into an industrial-grade slaughterhouse grinder. It sounds the way Alan Vega's sculptures look—hazardous masses of electronic junk, like wires raveled inside a homemade bomb, like buzzing viscera. 

I want to see Siifu perform it at the Meat Locker, a cellar club in the underguts of Montclair, New Jersey (s/o the dramacydal Outlawz). The place is dingy and bedecked with feces—a venue befitting a GG Allin opener. GG Allin, a racist, who also hated cops. Who, on “Shove That Warrant Up Your Ass,” a track that appeared on the posthumous Brutality & Bloodshed For All album, sang, “You say I broke the laws in your state… / Your courts and cops should all be hung.” Allin hoists a headless, legless, armless torso on his hip in the cover photograph—a slab of meat. Like the Beatles with baby doll parts and prime cuts in their laps, bloodless butcher coats on the original Yesterday and Today (1966) artwork. Like the papal kill floor in Francis Bacon’s “Figure with Meat” (1954) with its tapestry of offal. But what you don’t get from Bacon, or the Beatles, or GG Allin is what Siifu needs us to hear. What Siifu tells us is the reality of corporeality is that cops continue to make carcasses of Black people.

11.

That cellar club can be scream therapy, can be cell therapy. Siifu brings us there—to the darkest, dampest corner of the Dungeon Family’s dungeon. Big Gipp, speaking self-defensively: “Try to separate me from the blood / Is disrespect like you coming in my home and not wiping your feet on the rug.” It’s echoed in Siifu addressing the question of his audience: “This [album] is for black people, but I know white people are going to fuck with it. I’m mad cool with that. I just want everyone to know, before they come through the door, that this is a black house and you have to respect my people.”[4] The theme of respect as it relates to a sense of home, to cultural tourism, is paramount in both. Everyone’s got to know their place. No listener should approach ignorant of the auction block. Siifu’s noise refuses the separation of kinsfolk and his stubbornness makes the dungeon shake—he is rightfully “tough, dark, vulnerable, moody,” and, on NEGRO, he has a “definite tendency to sound truculent.”[5]

12.  

“ON FIRE, PRAY!” eventually grinds the brakes to a cavernous slowjam pace. “Blood on my body / Blood on my face.”

13.

The racist dog policemen must withdraw immediately from our communities, cease their wanton murder and brutality and torture of black people, or face the wrath of the armed people. —caption on Huey Newton photograph

NEGRO’s album cover, painted by Junkyard, is a call-and-response. Pink Siifu is a portrait of exhaustion, slouched, shirtless like Huey was when he was released from the Alameda County courthouse in 1970. It’s a tableau like Huey in that rattan peacock chair was. Eldridge Cleaver orchestrated it, right down to the zebra rug.

If you squint, the glimmer of Siifu’s gold fronts looks like his jaw is wired shut. Of course, violent threats are routinely directed at Black people—that's how the system operates. Media is often behind the scope. Relentless orders to “shut up,” to silence yourself, police yourself. We know this from David Wojnarowicz, photographed with his lips sewn shut, blood dripping like shadows, in “(Silence = Death)” from 1989. The violent threats on queer life are kin to those on Black life. But Siifu, like Wojnarowicz, refuses the censorship. After all, those aren't wires—they're the glint of his grill. Siifu is dribbling blood, too, and those black splatters across the flag are like pen bursts—ink poisoning for all. If you squint, the mind’s eye might see the Pan-African flag.

The flag above his head recalls Jasper Johns’ flags: elliptical, non-patriotic, made slop-bucket sloppy from newspaper shreddings and other detritus, i.e. amerikkka is a trash heap. At least the stars are black in the “Flag (Moratorium)” rendition. Bullet hole dead center, too.

If all goes well, the riots going on—bless them—will go on interminably. Sly Stone’s customized flag with black in place of blue[6] and sharp solar-flared suns in place of Betsy Ross geometric stars is yet another parallel to Siifu’s flag. Like Sly, Siifu isn’t opposed to police ambushes. They both know you’ve got to grin at the gun of the devil. (“Don’t you mind people grinnin’ in your face,” Son House sings eternally.) Citizen takes on cop on “Thank You For Talkin’ To Me, Africa”: Bullets start chasin’, / I begin to stop. / We begin to tussle. / I was on the top. Just the same as Siifu on “SMD”: “Iono why eye ain’t shot ya.” Or on “run pig run.”: “Kill a cop / Left a pig dead.”

14.

We can't disparage any aggressive protest on the reductive grounds it's aggro or violent. I think of Pam Echols in Milwaukee in 1968. Siifu’s assertion of you are my enemy on “steal from the ENEMY” corresponds with Paris’s sophomore and shadowy album, Sleeping with the Enemy. Like on the corrode-ode “Coffee, Donuts, and Death”:

You get poached when you fuck with black folk. Said it ’til my voice was hoarse. I ain’t down with excessive force, But of course I wasn’t heard so I’m silent now. Black folk can’t be non-violent now. […] The only motherfucking pig that I eat is police.

Which is to say, try no pork, ameriKKKa.

15.  RE: punk

Think of Bad Brains playing CBGB’s in 1982. Lester Bangs writes of a woman in the scene who referred to Black people as “all these boons.” He tells us a Black friend of his believes the clubgoers “[strive] to be offensive however they can.” Anti-Blackness plagued CBGB’s and nascent punk like vermin, a pestilence. A white woman in the music business claims she “liked [Black people] so much better when they were just Negroes.” These anecdotes are culled from Bangs’ 1979 Village Voice piece entitled “The White Noise Supremacists.” He notes Ron Asheton’s predilection for “swastikas, Iron Crosses, and jackboots.” He cites Ivan Julian, guitarist for Richard Hell and the Voidoids—one of the few Black individuals to grace those inchoate punk stages—as saying “whenever he hears the word ‘n-----’…he wants to kill.” He calls Nico a “dumb kraut cunt” for her brazen, Third Reich-ish brand of racism, which was no industry secret. Bangs even implicates himself, quoting an earlier article: “…it’s the n-----s who control and direct everything just as it always has been and properly should be.” He meant this, somehow, as a compliment.

16.

On “we need mo color. Abundance,” there’s no innocence left in asking “tell me your favorite color.” Siifu answers rhetorically, parenthetically, melanin. Don't settle for forty acres of color—demand abundance. Take, loot in abundance. And don't be contained by the gendered parameters of “pink or blue.” “You can have any color you like” suggests the limitless possibilities if you move your mind beyond the imposed parameters.

The “favorite color” invoked on “we need mo color. Abundance” becomes abundantly clear on the following track, “BLACK!”

17.

“ameriKKKa, try no pork” starts in a slurry of radio static, news reports of Black death. Black, Black, Black, Black. Sped up. Slowed down. Drag the progress bar. “Progress,” ha.

18.

“run pig run.” See the pig / Run away / Run, pig, run. Like a Dick and Jane basal reader. Like picking your favorite color. Like a Three Little Pigs fable. Like huffing and puffing. These are childhood exploits for childhoods that aren’t allowed to be. As long as the Kenneth and Mamie Clark doll experiments keep providing the proof, there can be no childhood innocence. So it's a carnival game in the meantime: See a pig / Shoot a pig. Huffing and puffing: Run, pig, run.

19.

"myheartHURT" is the safehouse after the shooting. It's the cooldown, the chillout. The hypnagogic nightmare. It's vaporwave minus whiteness. We all know Biz had the vapors before Daniel Lopatin. As if DJ Screw was just an apparition, a codeine cloud. The fact remains, Screw's phantasmagoria hovers above all our heads.

20.

The wail of distorted police sirens introduces “Chris Dorner.,” a track gleefully indebted to Ice-T and Body Count’s “Cop Killer.” Repetition was a popular device and it still is: die, pig, die. Chris Dorner has achieved folk-hero status in anarchist circles and beyond since he waged asymmetrical warfare on the LAPD. His manifesto has been published as a zine.[7] “No one grows up and wants to be a cop killer,” he wrote. Begs the question.

21.

“faceless wings,BLACK!” nods to Frank Castle[8], a figure who may or may not be recoverable from militias and thin blue liners, despite Gerry Conway’s best efforts.

22.

White institutional power operates to negate or suppress. Pink Siifu, through NEGRO, refuses suppression and negation. Siifu delivers a hole in the head, and it’s sublime.

Footnotes:

1  “The Law comes sirening across the town.” Gwendolyn Brooks, “THE THIRD SERMON OF THE WARPLAND” from RIOT

2  “De-Arrests are Beautiful.” Mask Magazine.

3  “The Necessity of Pink Siifu’s Rage.” Marcus J. Moore. The Fader.

4  “Pink Siifu’s ‘NEGRO’ is a Riotous Mix of Jazz, Rap and Punk.” Max Bell. Bandcamp Daily.

5  Baldwin, the god.

6  “What did I do to be so black and blue?” (see: Armstrong); light a reefer and listen to the phonograph (see: Ellison)

7  Research and Destroy New York City. https://researchdestroy.com/

8  https://archive.org/details/PunisherPigs

Images:

Emory Douglas work (detail), courtesy of Sean Stewart archives | Makrolon face shield, Google Image Search result | Amiri Baraka performing at the Congress of Afrikan Peoples (screenshot) | Alan Vega light sculpture (photograph) | GG Allin Brutality & Bloodshed for All album cover | The Beatles Yesterday & Today album cover | Francis Bacon, “Figure with Meat” (detail) | Goodie Mob “Cell Therapy” (screenshot) | Splitting up a family at auction, Public Domain | Huey Newton Black Panthers Minister of Defense, photographed by Blair Stapp, 1968 | Andreas Sterzing, David Wojnarowicz (Silence = Death), 1989 | Sly and the Family Stone There’s A Riot Goin’ On album cover | Jasper Johns, “Flag (Moratorium)” | Pam Echols punching cop, 1968 (photographer unknown) | Sid Vicious, nazi (photographer unknown) | Emory Douglas work (detail), courtesy of Sean Stewart archives | Biz Markie Goin’ Off album cover | Oneohtrix Point Never Memory Vague album cover 

[kenzieam]

The Tutor - Chapter Two

Pairing: AU Bucky X Levi

Rating: M (my usual, lovelies)

Warnings: language, drama, angst, mentions of abuse

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@iammarylastar​​​​​​​​​​​ @captstefanbrandt​​​​​​​​​​​ @jewels2876​​​​​​​​​​​ @moonbeambucky​​​​​​​​​​​​ @badassbaker​​​​​​​​​​​ @everythingisoverrated​​​​​​​​​​​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​​​​​​​​​​ @oliviastan17​​​​​​​​​​ @igothroughphasesalot​​​​​​​​ @sashli​​​​​​​ @lorilane33​​​​​ @pinknerdpanda​​​​​

I KNOW I’M MISSING TAGS, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT IN

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Levi the jock needs help in high school and her twin brother, Steve, volunteers his newest friend, Bucky. Seemingly just to piss her off, Bucky accepts but soon realizes there’s more to the Levi than she lets the average spectator see.

There’s some definite movement in this chapter, my lovelies.... Enjoy!

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Word Count: 2700+

“Are you going to Clint’s Halloween party?” Levi asked, looking up from her notebook. Her grades had improved steadily in the last few weeks and she truly didn’t even need a tutor anymore, but neither she nor Bucky had brought this up. Their tutoring appointments had morphed into mutual study sessions that were an unspoken commitment; every day that Levi didn’t have some type of practice she and Bucky would wait for each other outside of school after last class and walk over to his house.

Levi had even adopted his bean bag chair as hers and was currently sprawled in it, her long legs pretzeled and resting on the edge of his desk, auburn hair coiled into a messy topknot. Bucky was lounging in his desk chair, his feet resting on the desk against Levi’s and was twirling a pencil idly in his hand as he considered her question.

“I doubt it, why? Are you?”

“I don’t know… it’ll probably be the same shit as every other time. I mean, Olivia Newman will get drunk and puke on her entourage, Kendall Simmons will get in a screaming match with her boyfriend, Ethan Michaels and then they’ll end up fucking in the bathroom-”

“Fun.” Bucky commented dryly.

“Trenton Steele and his stoner buddies will accidentally set fire to something. Someone will dare Clint to jump naked into his pool again and he’ll treat us to a helicopter show first-”

“Jesus, is that what happens at these parties?”

“You’ve never gone to one?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well, although it sounds like fun… I have better things to do.”

“Like what?” Levi teased, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“Like tutoring losers.”

“Ouch, touché.” Levi winced dramatically, then sobered. “Do you really think that? I’m a loser?” There was a new depth in her voice, as if Bucky’s answer really mattered to her.

Bucky looked up in surprise, frowning slightly. “No. Lev, that’s not what I meant. I don’t think you’re a loser,” he paused, weighing his next words. “But I do like hanging with you more than going to parties.”

“How would you know? You’ve never been to one. You might be right up there with Clint.”

Bucky shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “What did you get for question four?” He asked, effectively changing the subject.

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

By eight pm Halloween night, Bucky had taken his two little sisters around trick-or-treating then fed them supper and put them to bed while his mom answered the door to ghosts and superheroes non-stop and was now up in his room, the door shut and a slasher movie queued up to watch. He wondered how the party was going and whether Levi had gone with anyone, then told himself to shut up.

It didn’t matter what Levi did.

They studied together and that was it, she didn’t think about him any more than he thought about her and, come the end of the year, she’d jet off on the scholarship he’d helped her get and that would be all. Bucky would end up in community college because, although they were financially secure again after his mom had landed the well-paying job that had brought them to this town, for too long after his dad had died, they’d struggled, financially and otherwise. There had been too many nights it had been Bucky caring for his sisters while his mother mourned silently in her dark bedroom and, while a scholarship was definitely possible, Bucky couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them. The hero worship gaze from eight year old Maddy and six year old Sarah as he stepped into daddy shoes for them, reading them stories and scaring away bedtime monsters while their mom struggled to gain back both financial stability and confidence in herself to survive without her husband were something he couldn’t and didn’t want to walk away from. He would live at home and continue to help while he went to school, even if there were more and better opportunities out there for him.

Thinking about his dad made his left arm ache and Bucky rolled his shoulder with a grimace, considering going downstairs to warm up the hot pack he would then wrap around it to try and stave off having to take a painkiller but a knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.

“Trick or treat?” Came a playful call and Bucky felt a rush of surprised delight, striding to the door and yanking it open.

“Lev? I thought you were going to Clint’s party.” He grinned, stepping back so Levi could enter.

Levi sauntered past, swinging a loaded treat bag. She was dressed in a tight green tank top and camo cargo pants with heavy army boots and, as she turned around, Bucky saw ‘Major Babe’ printed on the shirt. The shirt was cut high on her hips, exposing bare skin above her web belt and the thin straps of some strange black harness looped over the swell of her breasts. A set of WW1 era pilot goggles perched on her head and two black grease lines darkened her cheekbones, as if she was about to go duck into the bushes for reconnaissance and she grinned widely at him.

“I hit up the neighborhood instead,” she laughed. “You wouldn’t believe the difference in handouts when the dads answered the door instead of the moms.”

“I can imagine.” Bucky replied, swallowing hard. Levi had never worn something so tight or revealing before in front of him and Bucky felt an unwelcome heat rise in his chest. Sure, he’d noticed that Levi was a female and attractive, but it had never really hit him until now just how much so.

Mischief sparked her amethyst eyes into windows to galaxies and her grin was infectious. She shook the bag. “You have a bowl or something?”

Bucky ran downstairs for a big mixing bowl and when he returned, Levi poured the bag into it, humming happily to herself as she stirred her fingers through, searching for her favorites. The sight of all that bare skin was way too distracting for Bucky right now and the reason why it was so distracting was something he didn’t want to think about right now either, so he strode to his dresser and pulled out one of his long-sleeved Henley’s.

“You cold?” He asked, hoping the universe would have mercy on him.

“Mm, yeah. Just give me a second.” Levi disappeared and Bucky heard the bathroom door close on the second level. While she was gone, he turned in a distracted circle, searching for something to do, something to divert his suddenly itchy hands.

I wonder if her skin is as soft as it looks. His inner voice, turned traitor, mused quietly and Bucky firmly told it to fuck off.

Levi reappeared, the black greasepaint scrubbed off her face and pulled on the red shirt then took the bowl, collapsing onto Bucky’s bed, leaning against his headboard with a groan of contentment.

Forcing himself to act normally, for Christ’s sake he’d sat beside her innumerable times before without spazzing, Bucky sat beside her and grabbed the remote, turning on the movie and accepting the bowl of candy Levi passed to him.

His right hand gripping a sweating glass bottle of pop, Bucky let himself get lost in the movie and the candy bowl ended up pushed down between their knees. For lack of any other place to put it, he rested his left hand on his thigh but it only made him more aware of where Levi’s right hand was and, about halfway through the movie, he gave up fighting the new voice in his head. Tentatively, he reached over, still watching the movie and brushed Levi’s hand. She jolted slightly, glancing at him, but didn’t pull away and Bucky eased his hand into hers, their fingers interlinking, palms touching. They glanced at each other almost shyly, but neither spoke and they looked back at the movie, both hoping the other couldn’t hear the increase in their heartrates.

Nearing the end of the first movie, Bucky felt Levi rest her head against his shoulder and little frissons of delight shivered up and down his spine. She didn’t move when the first movie ended, and Bucky bent to look into her face. She was half asleep and smiled dreamily at him.

“Let’s watch another one.” She whispered.

“Okay,” he whispered back.

Within a few minutes, Levi had fallen asleep, her breathing steady, her body completely relaxed against his. Bucky kept watching the movie, feeling a strange mix of enjoyment and relaxation; a shy hope that movie nights became another part of their friendship.

Feeling ready to nod off himself, Bucky glanced at his cell phone and saw it was closing in on 11:30. He texted Steve and asked if the twins had a curfew.

Yeah, midnight. Why? Steve answered almost immediately.

Levi and I were watching a movie and she fell asleep.

That’s where she is, I was texting her but no answer. 😊 Want me to swing by and pick her up?

Yeah, okay.

Okay, give me ten minutes and watch out, she doesn’t like being woken up.

Laughing emojis made Bucky wonder if Steve was serious or not, but either way, he needed to wake the supposed beast, so he stopped the movie and leaned over slightly.

Unwillingly he noticed how nice her hair smelled, like apples and some type of light flower and Bucky gritted his teeth, telling himself firmly to piss off.

“Lev.” He murmured quietly. He reached over with his right hand, the one not still clasped in hers and pushed at her thigh, just enough to jostle her slightly. “Levi, wake up.” He pushed again, a little harder and squeezed her hand at the same time, his lips brushing her temple.

Levi inhaled sharply, her eyelids fluttered and gave a sweet little moan. Before Bucky could pull back, she tipped her head up, eyes still closed and pressed her lips to his. Electricity shot though him at the union and he went rigid in shock for a moment, before surrendering into it and kissing her back. The connection was sweet and tender but all too short as her head tipped again and Bucky pulled back reluctantly, eyelids fluttering and a blissful smile on his lips. He opened his eyes, parted his lips to speak, to tell Levi how hot and sweet she was, to confess that maybe he was already falling for her a little bit and how he wouldn’t mind at all doing that again but froze as Levi remained silent and ice shot down his spine as he realized she was still asleep. Pulling away in mingled embarrassment and shame, Bucky dropped her hand like it was on fire, his heart slamming in his chest.

Shit. SHIT. Now what?

“Levi.” He said louder, his heart thundering in his ears. “Wake up.”

Levi jolted slightly, lifting her head and opening her eyes. Bucky felt a flash of terror as her eyes locked on his – what the hell was she going to say, what was he going to say? - but she only yawned and stretched.

“Mm, what time is it?” She asked, running a hand through her hair.

She didn’t remember kissing him. That was somehow worse.

“Uh, 11:30.” Bucky stumbled for words, a strange sense of disappointment flooding him. But why? Hadn’t he just dodged a bullet? This would just complicate things, it was better all around that Levi didn’t remember kissing him and Bucky didn’t mention it again.

Then why did that make him feel so empty?

Levi yawned again then reached over and punched him gently in the arm. “What? Why are you looking at me funny? Was I snoring?”

Bucky shook his head, scrambling off the bed and cursing himself internally for his complete lack of chill. He valued Levi’s friendship way too much to fuck it up by catching feelings or getting all touchy-feely but still, for those few seconds when their lips had been touching, their breath mingling, Bucky had felt… complete.

“It’s almost midnight-”

“Shit!”

“No, it’s okay. Steve’s on his way to pick you up.”

Levi sagged with relief and Bucky cleared his throat uncomfortably. The subject hadn’t really come up lately, but Levi hadn’t taken any more ‘sick’ days or shown up to school with suspicious bruises either.

“How has that been, with your stepdad?”

Levi sank back on the bed, crossing one leg under the other and lounged back against his pillow. Bucky clenched his fists, fighting the urge to sit down beside her, to cradle her face and brush his thumb along her cheek, pull her close for another tender kiss, to breath in her scent and maybe whisper his newly discovered feelings, heart pounding as he hoped desperately that she perhaps felt the same.

“Good, actually. I mean, my grades have gotten way better and, I don’t know, I’m calmer at home now. I don’t push his buttons and he doesn’t push mine. We still argue but it never gets out of hand like before.” She pulled distractedly at the bottom of his shirt, which Bucky privately thought looked way better on her than it ever did on him. “I’m not kidding myself that it will actually last though. I’m still getting out of there, going for the scholarship. Let Mom be happy with him, I’ll visit on major holidays.”

An unexpected pang in his chest at her words, Bucky swallowed, searching for something to say. Stay, he wanted to beg. Stay here, with me. But he couldn’t ask that of her, he didn’t mind his cage, but Levi was too beautiful a bird to be held.

Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it. “Steve’s here.” She rose gracefully then pulled at the bottom of the shirt to remove it.

“No, keep it.” Bucky blurted.

Levi smiled, and was that a touch of sadness there? “Better not show up at home wearing some guy’s clothes. Steve always has an extra hoodie laying around.” She removed his shirt and laid it on the bed.

Some guy?

Levi darted forwards and, before Bucky could process what she was doing, pecked his cheek gently. “Thanks, Bucky. I had fun tonight.”

Bucky cleared his throat before managing, almost gruffly. “We should have movie nights more often.”

Her smile lit up his room, or maybe he was just finally noticing how it always had. “That’d be fun, yeah.” She winked at him before turning to leave.

“Don’t eat all my candy.” She teased and then she was gone.

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

Bucky’s new awareness of Levi continued as did his keeping it a secret.

Movie nights were added to their friendship but, by some unspoken agreement, they’d not held hands again and, while Levi had fallen asleep a time or two, she’d never sleepily answered his gentle nudges to wake with a sweet, dreamy kiss either.

Today, the two of them were going Christmas shopping after classes ended. Levi had been introduced to Bucky’s little sisters one day after school a while ago when Bucky had tried juggling watching them and studying with Levi, and they’d all just ended up chilling on the couch watching Frozen. The girls absolutely idolized Levi, gazing at her like she was some kind of Disney princess and she was going to help Bucky pick out the perfect presents for them.

Steve was waiting outside when they emerged, lounging against the brick wall of the school and called out when he saw them emerge.

“Hey.” He yelled, moving to step towards them, but his phone ringing caught his attention suddenly. Frowning, he put it to his ear. “Mom?” His expression went from confused to alarmed. “Mom, slow down!” His eyes flicked up to Levi’s before he started speaking again. “No, slow down… what happened?” Levi reached his side and he grabbed her upper arm to hold her still as he continued to shout. “Brock? What… Mom, calm down, we’ll be right there.”

“Steve, what the hell?” Levi screeched. Bucky stood rigid at her side, staring at Steve with wide eyes, compelled to comfort Levi somehow, to hold her, but frozen in place.

Steve stared at the phone in shock for a beat before looking up at Levi with disbelieving eyes.

“Brock is dead.”

[downspiral-dreamer]

"[I] trusted [you]." - SEND ME A NUMBER AND I’LL WRITE A MICRO STORY USING THE WORD OR PHRASE { Knowing the bullshit you've been through I figured this could be therapeutic. }

this is the meme, feel free to send more in, but like hell this is gonna be a micro story, i got carried aWAY

~ * ~

       “I trusted you.”

      The words left Ronan’s lips, deadened, emotionless; the calm before the storm. He could feel pain and rage and despair roiling inside of him, twisting and coiling around his heart and squeezing tight. But those first words, they were cold. As cold as Ronan wished he could be. As hard as he wished he could be so that the tears stinging the back of his eyes would stop.

      A long silence fell over the basement room, dark and heavy like a clouded night. Daniel didn’t speak, scratching at the back of his neck, refusing to make eye contact. The signs of a boy trying to find a lie that would fit just right in his mouth, to feed to his opponent, to attempt to sweeten a situation gone sour long ago.

      Finally, he spoke. “It’s not like that. You’re getting mad about stuff that isn’t true.  I told you, it’s not that I like Trenton more, it’s--”

      A wave pushed up through Ronan’s throats and he felt as though he might vomit, but instead a shout tore free. “Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, Daniel. Can you just tell me the goddamn truth for once? Is it really that hard?” Ah. There came those stupid tears.

      Daniel turned away to continue pushing belongings into his duffel bag. “I am telling the truth, you’re just overreacting. I’m not ready for a relationship right now, that’s all.”

      “I’m gonna say something here, because unlike you, I can be honest.” Ronan gritted his teeth, trying his damnedest to remain steady. Just for a few minutes longer. Just to make sure that his fiance - ex fiance - knew what was what. “I looked through your messages. Okay? I looked through them all, the ones you had with Trenton. You know, the ones where you talked about how much of a burden I was, about how much you hated that I couldn’t keep a job. I saw all the shit you called him, special ‘nicknames’ you said you reserve for special people. So can you maybe, just MAYBE, stop lying for five seconds and just admit it?”

      More silence. Ronan stood motionless by the bed, watching as the man he had fallen in love with continued to pack, saying that he would be going to stay with a friend until he had had a chance to ‘recuperate’ from the ‘pain’ of having to break up for his ‘own mental health. The friend was unnamed, but it didn’t take much for Ronan to know he was going to Trent’s house. Not in the slightest. That’s where he had spent most of his time the last few weeks anyway.

      Daniel continued to stay silent, having finished packing up his more essential belongings, and moving to take his vest off the hook in the wall. Ronan remembered how he had helped Daniel find that vest, how he had walked two miles in pouring rain and thunderous skies to get superglue so that Daniel could put the patches he was so excited for onto the vest.

       “Be honest for two seconds before we never fucking talk again.” Ronan wasn’t sure why, but he needed to hear it. He needed to have it said to his face. Not just in messages behind his back.

      Daniel made a sound between a huff and a grunt, a noise of annoyance.

     “Just admit it. You never loved me. Or if you did, you only loved me until I stopped being useful to you. The moment I got too sick to work, to bring in money, the moment I became too tired to fuck your ‘play partner’ for you to watch, then whatever you thought was love went away. Is that it?” Ronan stepped sideways, blocking Daniel’s route to the door.

      “Stop acting like a child. This is why we’re not together anymore.” Daniel attempted to move past. “Knock it off.”

      “No, don’t even try that shit.” Ronan didn’t move. “I’m not acting like a child. I’m asking for one honest fucking answer from the man I was gonna marry. You know, the man who had engagement rings picked out? What are you gonna do with those? Throw them away? Send them back so you can get your precious money back?”

      Daniel shoved past him, and despite how much he wanted to chase after the other, sobbing and cursing and yanking on the back of his shirt to drag him back, Ronan didn’t move, only watched as Daniel made his way to the stairwell that would take him to the front door.

      “I fucking trusted you when you promised you would love me no matter what.” Ronan spoke the words only loud enough to be heard from the boy ascending the stairs. “You made me believe love existed and just like everybody else, proved that I only mattered for as long as I was useful to you. Don’t forget that.”

     He could hear the door slam upstairs. Knew that he would not see Daniel again. Knew that Daniel couldn’t hear him. But he finished the sentence off anyway.

      “I hope you remember that. I hope what you did fucking haunts you when you try to sleep at night.”

[smol-and-grumpy]

Dear Dean (Chapter 8)

Re-post

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jamie Blum)

WC: 5.4k

Summary: After taking Saint Lo, by sheer dumb luck, Lieutenant Dean Winchester from the 29th Infantry Division, Baker Company, received a truckload of replacements for his platoon that was falling apart. Little did he know, that one recruit would change his life forever.

Chapter Warnings: Fluff and there’s some adult things in it but I don’t wanna give too away too much

SERIES MASTERLIST

August 14th, 1944

Dean was whistling as his platoon stood at attention. He hadn’t been in this good spirit in what seemed like months, but today was a good day. Maybe because he finally found some time to meet Bambi after dinner.

“Sir.” Bambi looked up at him through her thick eyelashes, her large brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Can I help you with something?”

“Actually, you can.” He shifted his weight awkwardly, trying to keep his stomach from doing summer salts. What was he, fourteen? He’d been with women before, just not like that. None like her.

“Care to elaborate, Lieutenant?” Her smile grew, challenging him.

“I need your assistance at Twenty-one hundred hours, Bambi. Needs to sort through ammo supplies. See if we still have enough.”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant. I may be busy. That’s around the time that Trenton tells his wild tales about his newest love interest. I can’t miss that, sir.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow, as if to ask her ‘seriously’?

She smirked in response. “But I guess I can do it for our fearless leader. Since you’re asking so nicely.”

They’d been tip toeing around each other, unconsciously and consciously touching when their hands would meet, and Dean felt himself blushing every damn time. They’d sit across from each other during meals, their eyes meeting, and toes brushing under the table. It was like there was a magnet pulling them together by their chests. He ached to kiss her again.

She would ask him questions, even when she knew the answer, just to get him to come closer. 

“Where does this piece go on the rifle again, sir? The bolt, isn’t it? I never can quite get it right.”

“Just takes practice, Bambi.” He said with fake annoyance. “Let me show you.”

He’d lean over, pressing his palm to her back.

She’d sit up a little straighter and bat his hand away. There were eyes everywhere, and just because she was a woman didn’t mean that it was any less dangerous for them to be together.

“Don’t tell them, Dean. You have to promise me. I can’t go home, not now.” Her fingers were laced with his. “Not while my brothers are out here somewhere. I just can’t sit alone doing nothing.”

They’d stand too close. He’d feel her breath on his skin, and he would jump in the opposite direction. Tension was high, to say the least. He couldn’t wait to get her alone, even to just talk. When he was with her he wasn’t a superior officer talking to his private. He was just Dean, and she was Jamie. There was something unbelievably peaceful about that.

But it was only Oh-nine-hundred, so it was still a damn long way to go, but Dean couldn’t help feeling giddy.

Right then, Dean was trying his best not to think about her soft lips on his. Not to think about how she tasted on the tip of his tongue and how his name sounded whispered, breathless on her lips.

She’d got under his skin, snuck up on him and crawled inside. She was a spitfire and Dean was glad that he she wouldn’t let herself be tamed. Not by him, or anyone else. Somehow it made him worry about her a little less. There was no question that Jamie Blum could take care of herself.

“Physical training at Eleven-hundred-hours. You’re dismissed.” Dean shouted and his men walked away with some yes sirs.

Bambi looked back to him, her nose wrinkling with the smallest smile. If he hadn’t been staring so hard he wouldn’t have seen it. She turned her head and went with Trenton. Dean really couldn’t wait for the evening to arrive. He’ll be meeting Bambi at Twenty-one-hundred hours at their spot which Dean scouted over and over to see if it really was safe. He was thankful that he was her platoon leader so it made it less suspicious. Maybe he was wrong, but Dean liked to believe it. It made him a little less sick to his stomach at the thought of getting caught. Worst case scenario they’d think they were queer, shoot first and ask questions later. Best case scenario, they’d find out she was a girl, and they’d send her home. Neither were options that Dean wanted to explore.

Of course his plans would get thrown out of the window when Castiel called for an emergency briefing at Twenty-thirty-hours. They would move out in less than 48 hours toward Brest. Another combat. Another city to capture and it was a big one. They talked about what would happen and Castiel gave them the little intel he had. Telling them that they would notify their men tomorrow after the morning briefing. It was just informal for now. The meeting was long for an informal one, though, and Dean flipped his wrist to look at his watch. It was Twenty-one-oh-two. He was already two minutes late. Dean turned his attention back to listen to Castiel, but shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

“Winchester, somewhere you need to be?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, sir.”

The answer was good enough for Cas. He asked if they had more questions, and Dean hoped that Gabe would shut his mouth. He was always the goody-good boy. Trying to crawl up the ass of whoever was CO.

Castiel looked at their faces and when no question came, he dismissed them and Dean let out an exhale.

Dean walked with the others to their billets, then excused himself, saying that he had to check the latrines because his platoon had latrine duty. He looked at his watch when he stood outside of his billet building. It was now Twenty-one-twelve. He was already 12 minutes late. She was probably gone. He started to run then, as good as his healed up ankle would let him.

He was out of breath when he arrived in front of the supply room and looked around to see if someone was following him. When the coast was clear, he pushed the door open just enough to wedge his body inside and closed it behind him carefully.

It was dark already, only the faint light from the night sky shimmered through the windows and his eyes needed time to adjust to the darkness.

Dean didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know if she was still there or if she was already gone. He took a tentative step into the room and was about to call out for her when he was thrown off his balance by her body. Jamie jumped on him with a faint shriek and a huffed giggle. She hooked her legs around his waist, still laughing as she rested her forehead on his. “You’re late, sir.” She whispered against his mouth before she kissed him. He could still taste the coffee on her lips as he smiled into the kiss. He held onto her thighs to keep her up.

He paused the kiss to let out a breathy, “Sorry,” before he walked her further into the room, with one hand secured around her waist and one hand at the back of her neck. He pulled her closer, to the back of the room where the darkness would swallow them whole.

Dean pressed her back against the far wall, kissing himself stupid on her taste. He smiled as he felt her cheeks heat up against his. She held his face between her hands, letting her fingertips brush against his heated skin before she went further down, unzipping his jacket. Her fingers danced along his suspenders. She pushed them down on either side. Dean gladly let her. He shrugged his combat jacket off one arm after another and pinned her back against the wall when he was freed of the fabric.

He was busy with her intoxicating kisses, the way she pushed her tongue into his mouth without any preamble, the way the tip of her tongue tickled the underside of his. He felt how his dick started to swell at the new found excitement. It had been too long since the last time he did this very thing. He rolled his hips up, this time fully aware that there was no friction to be met, but she moved down a bit, grinding down on his bulge. Dean breathed out a strangled moan into her mouth.

She tapped on his arm, and he let her down. She leaned her back against the wall standing on her toes, as Dean continued to kiss her. It was all tongue and teeth, too fast and probably clumsy. She was inexperienced, but hell, if it wasn’t perfect. Dean’s heart was thumping hard and he couldn’t remember when he’d ever been that excited. He recalled that it was probably never.

Bambi’s hand were on the front of his pants, the pressure of it made his dick twitch and Dean jerked a little as she ran her fingers over the length of him through the fabric. He bit down on her bottom lip in the process; the friction was too sudden and fuck, he wasn’t prepare of how good it would feel. “Shit, sorry,” He whispered, his forehead on hers and she giggled, looking up to mold her lips back to his again.

Her small hands were quick on his belt working it open, the clink of metal echoing in the tiny space. She loosened his buttons with deft fingers, and Dean tried to do the same but immediately abandoned his mission, because he was way too impatient to work them open. He wanted to feel her. To connect. His hand squeezed it’s way past the buttons of her combats, and then he pushed past the elastic of her cotton army underwear and cupped at her sex with the heel of his palm, his fingers threaded through her slick. She bit down on her already red and swollen bottom lip, and Dean could even see in the dim lighting, that she was flushed. Her cheeks were burning up and Dean almost forgot his ministration from how cute she looked.

His fingers parted her folds and Dean held in his breath when he felt her getting wetter. He lowered his head to hers, kissing her again, his nose bumping against hers clumsily, and he smiled against the corner of her mouth. His fingers worked her open while he circled her clit with his thumb. He groaned into her mouth when she pushed her hand into his underwear and he jerked his hips away from her touch a little. Her hands were damn cold, and Dean needed a second to compose himself. Jamie was grinning cheekily and he kissed it away like he had always wanted to the past few weeks.

His hard cock was twitching and throbbing in her small hands and she worked his shaft, rubbing him the right way along his lengths, the pressure was perfect. Dean had a lot to compare her to, but he didn’t want to. If he was being honest, he couldn’t remember anyone but her in that moment. It was more than he thought it would be. She slipped her other hand into his underwear too, cupping his sac and twirled his balls in her palm, and he thrusted his cock into her fist gently. When she thumbed his slit and let her fingertip that was coated in precum brush over his sensitive string of nerves, Dean almost lost it and he had to stop with his ministration, taking his hand out of her pants to brace himself against the wall, mumbling curses to himself. He was not going to last with the build up. It’d been too long, and she was too fucking perfect. His elbows were resting on either side of her head as he kissed her again, breathing unevenly in to the kiss and his heart was pounding out of his chest. He kissed her again and again. All over. And still it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Fuck.” Dean let out another hot breath, as he rest his forehead on her shoulder, his nose bumping against her throat.

“What?” She whispered, breathless.

She looked up with a glint in her eyes and Dean chuckled softly. Not the good kind of chuckle, it was a chuckle that said I’m a stupid fuck and I can’t believe that I came here without a solid plan.

“I wish I still had the condoms they gave us for waterproofing when we crossed the channel. Fuck…” Dean buried his head in the crook of her neck, smelling the familiar smell of soap and camouflage cream. Both of her hands now worked his dick and shit, if she didn’t stop, he won’t be able to hold it in any longer.

“You used them all?” If he wasn’t mistaken, she looked a little jealous.

Dean could almost hear the sinking of her heart and he felt her releasing the grip around his cock. Actually, he was glad about that because it gave him a breather.

“No.. oh no, no. I abandoned them at the bottom of the sea when I got rid of my haversack.”

“Oh..”

She smiled, and laced her arms around his neck to scratch at the short hair at the base of it. Dean closed his eyes, it felt great.

“We still could, you know…” She stood on her tip toes and whispered against the shell of his ear. Dean looked down to her, his eyebrows raised.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to, Dean.” Her large brown eyes bore into his. “I haven’t had my period, since before I was drafted. You could pull out.”

He frowned at that, the lines on his forehead showing. Then she smiled again, her hand cupping his cheek, her thumbs brushing along the scruff before she spoke. “I want you to.”

“I..I –”

It was probably not the best thing Dean could do, but god knows how much he wanted it too.

“Sir, if you don’t do it, I swear I’ll–”

Dean kissed her, cutting her off and he murmured a, “Yes, Ma’am” into her mouth.

She toed off her boots and it left Dean stunned because they were already unlaced. “Always be prepared, Lieutenant.” She said with a wink and if Dean didn’t feel anything for her before, he sure as hell would then. But that was irrelevant because he was head over heels smitten with her.

Bambi pushed him away to shimmy herself out of her combat pants and rid herself of her jacket when Dean watched her. He put his palm to his mouth and spit on it before he took his cock in his hand, fisting it up and down as he waited for her to finish getting out of her clothes.

She wiggled out of her pants, and lost balance. She slipped on the pant leg and fell on her face clumsily and Dean didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help the laugh that threw his whole body back and logged itself in his throat. He composed himself quickly, though. Remembering that they needed to stay quiet and almost kicked himself in the ass for not being more careful.

She stood up again soon after, hitting him across his chest for laughing at her, and it hurt, but Dean totally deserved it. She met his eyes and swatted his hand away from his dick and grabbed it roughly, tightening her grip around his length and squeezed a little too tightly. Dean hitched his breathing and he guessed that he also deserved that.

He looked down to see her grinning at him.

“Jump,” He whispered holding his arms out, ready to catch her.

“How high, Lieutenant?” She giggled as she jumped up into his arms. Dean wrapped his arms around her tightly, pinning her back against the wall.

“You sure about this?” He asked her again, lowly, because if she wouldn’t be, he was ready to back out of it. But she nodded and Dean pressed his lips to hers slowly in response, drinking her in. Bambi, the one he could never have. The kisses were demanding and all want, weeks of pent up energy. She tugged on his hair, proving that she needed him just as much as he needed her. He licked her bottom lip as he lined up his cock at her entrance, brushing the tip through her slick before he pushed his hips forward, sinking himself into her hot heat. She hitched her breathing and tensed a little from the pressure, but she didn’t tell him to stop. He stalled for a moment, resting his forehead on hers, their breathing mingled. “You okay?” He asked her and waited for her okay, before he pushed himself in another inch.

Dean worked his hips forward gently, sinking into her tight pussy, inch by inch, and fuck, it felt so fucking good that he had to stall when his pelvis was flushed to hers. They were there, connected on the inside, skin on skin with no space in between. An inaudible moan rolled off her tongue and the sound alone almost made him lose his shit. It was a moan that got under his skin and paired with the stimulation, it felt like heaven and beyond.

She was crawling at his back, holding herself up. “Dean?”

“Huh?”

“I won’t break, you know.” Her eyes were alert, bright and expecting. Those fucking eyes.

“Yeah.. uh.. I know.” He said, his heart was pounding fast and he was sure that she could feel it through the fabric of their shirts. “I… just… fuck, Bambi, I won’t last long.” He ran his fingers through her short hair.

She laughed at that and Dean should’ve maybe felt embarrassed but, he didn’t. Instead he listened to the sound of her laugh, drinking it in, memorizing it to keep it in his mind forever.

Dean moved, thrusting his hips forward into her and she kissed him, her breathing ragged with each thrust. She squeezed her hand between the two of them as she began to rub at herself while he fucked into her.

Jamie left open mouthed kisses on the corner of his mouth, sucking at his jaw, dragging her teeth along his throat, and Dean moaned at the sensation overload.

“Shit, Dean.. I.. ah..” Jamie came with a whimper and his name that rolled off her lips like the sweetest melody Dean’d ever heard. He couldn’t count how many times he’d imagined hearing her say his name like that. Wrecked and breathy, her lips still smelling of his skin. Her thighs pressed against his waist, squeezing it hard in between as her walls cramped down on his dick, holding it captive and fuck, it was all too much. Too tight, too good, too damn perfect.

“Shit..fuck,” Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he moaned and pulled out, but it wasn’t fast enough. He had already spilled half of it inside of her and the rest was visibly on her inner thighs and the floor. He let her down quickly and took a step back before running his fingers through his hair, his eyes wide. “Shit, Bambi. Fuck, I’m sorry. Shit. It shouldn’t have happened. I fuck.. I shouldn’t. Shit!” Dean lowered himself onto his knees, his legs felt wobbly all of a sudden.

He’d fucked up.

He put his dick back into his pants and buttoned it up before he sat himself against the wall some inches away from the spilled cum. Jamie got dressed quickly and came to sit beside him quietly.

Dean clasped his head in his hand and rubbed through his hair. Back and forth, back and forth. “Shit, Bambi. I’m sorry…” He sounded like an old record. Repeating himself over and over.

“Shhh..” She moved closer, hushing him as she laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

“I.. I, just.. really haven’t done it for a very long time and I guess, I miscalculated. You were so fucking tight too and it.. fuck, you were perfect, alright.”

Dean didn’t lie. Last time he hooked up with someone it was back in England and he was drunk then, didn’t even really remember what happened when he woke next to a broad in the middle of the night. He jumped out of the bed, scrambled around the floor for his clothes and was glad that he found a used condom near the bed, so at least he still had enough common sense to use one. Unlike now; and he knew that it’s also on him.

She smirked at that. “Dean, really. It’s ok.” She repeated again and Dean frowned at first but he spread his arm for her to curl close to his body. Dean kissed the top of her head, his lips lingered there. Her short hair pricking him a little, but he didn’t complain.

“Thanks.” She said then and Dean looked down at her. Her doe eyes looking back at him.

“For what?”

“It was nice Lieutenant. I’d love to do it again sometime.” She was smiling cheekily.

Dean blushed at that and he hoped that she didn’t see it. “Yes, Ma’am. Come here.” He maneuvered her over his leg to sit between his thighs and he let her lean the back of her head on his chest.

“Do you know that you’re less grumpy nowadays?” She asked out of the blue and tilted her head to look up at him.

“What’s that?”

“Yeah, the men said that they don’t know what happened to you but apparently you got soft and you smile more.” She giggled and shifted herself to her side, so her face was resting in the crook of his neck and he was holding her with both arms.

“Is that so?”

“Haha.. yeah.” She laughed. “Did you know that they used to call you Grumpy?”

He’d been called many things in the past and he knew that his platoon had a nickname for him, but he didn’t know what it was. When he heard the name, he frowned down at her. “What?”

“Grumpy. I mean, you gave them the name Dopey and Sneezy. So…”

“Who said that? It’s Tran isn’t it?” Dean murmured and she just shrugged.

“Not going to kiss and tell, Lieutenant.”

“Remind me to put his name in for latrine duty from here on out until we get Hitler’s head on a stick, will ya?”

“Oh, come on, cut him some slack,” She punched him in the chest playfully. “And in his defense. You were really grumpy.”

That was probably true. Dean has no valid explanation for why he was such a stick in the mud, and he was not going to deny it.

They stayed a little while longer, sitting there in the comforting dark silence. Jamie fell asleep in his arms, listening to his heartbeat against her ear. Dean really didn’t want to wake her, she looked peaceful. He’d seen her sleep before, but never quite like that. Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were completely at rest. Her face looked relaxed, beautiful even. He smiled down at her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. He had to be the bad guy, and wake sleeping beauty, because at Twenty-three-thirty-hours he had to check their billets.

“Hey.” He mumbled, kissing her awake.

“Shit, what time is it? I should be heading back.” Jamie jolted up when he kissed her.

“So soon?” He joked, but he knew that their time was up. There was never enough time.

She stood up and held out a hand for him to take. “Yeah, my platoon leader is really strict. He’ll come by every night at the same time and if someone’s not in their bed, he tends to be dramatic and raises hell. You know, being all tough and puffing out his chest, hanging out his alpha male behaviour and all.”

Dean got on his feet and hugged her around her waist. He lowered his head to whisper in her ears. “He sounds like an asshole.”

“Ugh.. he is. But I like him.”

“I bet he’s a handsome asshole.” Dean kissed her lips one last time before he let her go out first. He stayed behind a couple of minutes longer, just to be safe.

Before he went for inspection, he read Sam’s letter that he didn’t have the time to read earlier. He tore up the dirty envelope and took out the pages. There was dried blood on it too and shit, he hoped that Sam took care of himself.

Dear Dean,

Never fucking joke like that ever again, alright? You know that you’re not funny and the fact that you almost died is even less funny. I should court-martial you. Fucking jerk! I bet I would find a good reason to do it, too. Especially after you said that you did something stupid. What did you do? Steal Cas’ socks? I know what a goody soldier you are, and I can’t say that I’m not worried when you, of all people, tell me that you did something stupid.

Dean, please don’t do anything stupid, alright? I have my hands full here. I can’t come and get you out of military jail. They won’t even let me. I’m begging you. Don’t do anything stupid. We want to get out of the war alive, remember?.

But honestly, even if it was something stupid, I still believe that it’s something that could be fixed. You could always fix things, Dean. Remember how you keep fixing my bike? I kept breaking it, thinking I could do stunts with it. Thankfully I never broke more than my leg. How could you not have told me to stop?

I’m good, though. Jess wrote to me. She’ll keep waiting for me to come home. Shit, Dean, I wanna go back home. Wanna see Jess again. I think I’m going to ask her to marry me. You think it’s too soon? Or stupid? I know that you’ve kept mom’s jewelry in your desk drawer at home. I know that her wedding and engagement rings are in there and I also know that you’re the older brother and you can call dibs on it but since you have no one to propose to - and don’t take it as an offense, alright, because you and me both know that I don’t mean it like that - would you mind.. I mean, would it be okay for me to propose to Jess with it? I know mom would have wanted it to, I just wanted to double check with you, is all.

By the way, Anna wrote to me, too. She said that you were not writing back to her. Now, I know that it’s not my place, but maybe you should tell her that you don’t feel anything for her, because even though I love you brother, but I’m not doing the dirty work for you. I have to clean up other people’s messes on a daily basis and I have got no patience left for your mess.

Keep yourself alive, jerk!

Sergeant Sam Winchester

August 17th, 1944

The back of the deuce-and-a-half was uncomfortable to say the least. One and Two platoons were cramped in narrow spaces, and Tran just fell asleep on Jamie’s shoulder. She let him sleep, though. Even though she felt his saliva wetting her jacket. They didn’t get to sleep a lot, and she could hear all the whimpers at night when the men would jerk awake with nightmares. They usually were not able to go back to sleep because they wanted to escape the faces of fallen friends and gaping bullet wounds. War did that, it invaded even the quietest places of your mind, nestled in, and stayed with you.

Jamie didn’t really get a lot of sleep herself, but apart from the dark bags under her eyes, her spirits were still high. She scanned the men around her, looking for the familiar face of Dean and there he was, laughing and joking with Harvelle. When he saw her looking, he grinned.

“Tran!” Dean shouted from across. “Hey! Corporal Tran!”

Jamie shot Dean a look that said so much as it’s ok, let him sleep.

“Tran!” Dean shouted again, waking him up and Tran jerked, slurping up a string of saliva.

“Sorry.” Tran mumbled and she smirked at him, telling him that it was alright. “What’s up, sir?” He shouted to Dean, his hand wiping away the sleep from his eyes.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re not soiling all of Bambi’s shoulder, is all.” Dean replied with a cheeky grin, thinking that he’d done her a favor, but Jamie was having none of it.

“Sir, I can speak for myself, and Tran clearly needed the nap. I haven’t seen him sleeping so peacefully in days.”

She could see that Dean wasn’t impressed with her talking back at him like that in front of his men, but he said nothing. Just curled and uncurled his fingers into fists before he took out the tin of cigarettes and lit up one.

“Bambi, I need to see you when we get off.”

“Shit.” Tran murmured to her. “I’m sorry, Blum. You didn’t have to stand up for me.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be alright.” She said, dismissively, her eyes never leaving Deans.

***

They’ve been waiting for orders as they stopped short of a tiny village. “We’ll be pairing with Easy company.” Dean said calmly as he took a knee to show them the map that was propped on it.

Someone was shouting from the back. “Thank god not Dog!”

“Shut your mouth, private.” Dean growled before he went on. “We’ll be clearing these houses on the west before meeting the rest of the convoy here.” He pointed at the red dot where the trucks would be waiting for them to take them further towards Brest. “Any questions?”

When none was forthcoming, Dean folded the map and put it back into his webbing before he nodded at his men.

“Bambi, I still need to talk to you.” He singled her out and they fell back as Baker and Easy company marched towards their objectives.

“What is it?” She asked him bluntly, even though she probably knew what he’s going to say.

Dean fell into step beside her, his breathing was heavy. “About Tran. Listen, I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t need your help.”

“Just thought that you’d be annoyed that he was drooling all over you, is all.”

She stalled. “Really? Is this what it’s all about? Or are you jealous?”

“No.” It came shooting out of Dean like a bullet. Which, Jamie thought, meant that he probably was. She didn’t get it. They weren’t like that yet, were they?

“It’s fine, Dean. I can take care of myself. Hell, I went through Basic and Saint Lo without your damn help. You even made my life miserable, but I’m still here.” She walked again, faster this time, intending to leave Dean behind. She didn’t have time for this bullshit.

There was the sound of shells up front and they all crouched down. The platoons seeking out their leaders to go over strategy. “Rifle squad, move in on the left flank. The others, move right, prepare to lay down base of fire to support Easy company.”

Jamie was about to jog up to catch up on the rifle squad when Dean held her back. “What now?” She hoped that Dean could hear the annoyance in her voice.

“I don’t want you there.” He just replied, as he pushed her towards the other squad and they move up right.

“Where do you want me, sir?” She made it clear that he couldn’t overhear the annoyance in the tone of her voice.

“No further than five feet away from me.” He said as he stomped away, leaving Jamie to catch up on him and she ran, breathing hard as she finally reached him. “And that’s not negotiable.” He was hissing at her before he crouched down and pulled her with him, their rifle pulled up to their shoulders, as they waited to give fire support.

A mortar hit a couple of feet behind them and Dean shouted “Run!” before he sprinted across the street, his rifle pulled up to fire in the direction of the source. She tagged along and was never more than five feet away from him, as she’d been ordered.

There was another loud hissing, and there it was. She could see the mortar shell that flew high above, as if it was in slow motion. Jame stopped firing and looked at the shell and how it was flying directly at her. Of course that couldn’t happen, but in that moment, it did. Everything moved too slowly, but she couldn’t move. She stood there, frozen in space. All she could hear was a scream, and suddenly, everything went black.

CHAPTER 9

[bobasheebaby]

In the End- Crimson Rain chapter 17

Pairing: Bastien x Liza; Liam x Raven

Word count: 2,310

Warnings: angst, character death, gun violence, grief

Summary: Emmaline’s put to rest.

A/N: I honestly don’t know if the pain is over yet. My muse is having too much fun with this. Thank you to @sirbeepsalot for being my sounding board. 

Series warnings: Mobster AU, there will be violence, and death. Possible NSFW to come. Possibly dark and deals with pregnancy loss. If you ask to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I own my OC’s, the rest I’m simply borrowing from PB for a bit.

Twenty years ago; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania- Bastien/Olivia:

Olivia stood by the covered grave. Gone, they were both gone. She was all alone in a strange city with no one she knew. She looked up at the firm hand on her shoulder. Well almost. She knew one person. They were all she had left. All her family abandoned her, left her on her own. She kicked the dirt, not caring that her red patent leather shoe was now caked in damp earth.

Stupid parents dying. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew the news stories were full of shit. No Nevrakis would be taken down by a mugger. Stupid papers and their stupid lies. Stupid aunt who couldn’t be bothered to show up. She hadn’t seen her in nearly two years, she should have known she wouldn’t show now. Except now if her aunt didn’t want her she had no one.

Her small hands curled into fits by her sides. No one, she had no one. No one wanted her. She saw the stories about Liam’s mother, he still had a father who loved him, friends and family. She envied him.

“It’s time to go home.”

She looked up at him confused. She had a home, her parents took her from it. She moved to a new city but it wasn’t home. She had no family left, not who wanted her. “I don’t have a home, not anymore.”

“Sure you do.” Bastien dropped his head at her intensified confusion. “You’re going back with me.” He paused, how do you tell a six year old her aunt didn’t want her? “I’ve spoken to your aunt…”

“She didn’t want me, did she?”

He stared at her stunned by her behavior. He’d expected tears, but all he found was anger. “No.” He shook his head sadly.

“Okay. So I’m going to a home? Like the orphans?”

“No, you’re staying with me.”

“Why?”

He sighed. How did he tell her that he wasn’t sure what Constantine was capable of and if he’d try to come after her because of her parents?

“Will you tell me the truth?”

“What?”

“If I come with you, will you tell me what really happened to my parents?”

She’s too smart for her own good.

“I know they weren’t mugged. My dad was too skilled, my mom too.”

“What if I promise to tell you everything when you’re older?”

“And now?”

“Now, I’ll tell you they underestimated someone they shouldn’t have.”

She nodded. “My dad was going to teach me how to use knives, will you?”

“Of course.”

She looked up into his steely eyes. “Okay.”

Present day; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania:

Three days ago...

Liza gently brushed out Hope’s long chestnut locks, removing any tangles and knots before she applied the bleach. She hated the way Liam was treating her and would do anything to make her feel cared for and wanted in their lives. She still felt bad about excluding her from the wedding, even though Hope had assured her that she understood. She would do better for her,

starting now. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand, but I’m sure we can think of something we can do to help with the funeral even if Liam won’t include you.”

Hope drew her eyes down to her hands where they rested on her lap. “Why should I even bother?” She needed to get used to not mattering. She had been so loved and supported in the nursing home by the patients, nurses and doctors, she needed to learn to accept that Liam saw her as the enemy. She was what tore apart his family, he would never treat her the way a brother should.

“Hey, don’t talk like that. You matter, Liam is just an ass who doesn’t know any better because he grew up without her. Constantine poisoned his mind against Bastien.”

Hope nodded solemnly. “What could we even do? He already picked everything, the funeral home, the casket, she’s being buried in the family plot next to the man who is the reason she was locked away in her head all my life.”

Liza put down the brush. “We could do flowers, big, huge bouquets of flowers.”

Hope shook her head. “I wouldn’t even know what flowers she would like. I mean she said the lilies in the arrangements at the nursing home were pretty but were they her favorite flower?”

“Irises.”

Both women turned at his statement, taken by surprise to see Bastien standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Emmaline’s favorite flower was the Iris, though Constantine refused to let her have them for some reason.”

Liza smiled as a plan unfurled in her mind. “Perfect. We’ll get a large gravesite arrangement full of Irises to put in front of her headstone, a memory of you.” She squeezed Hope’s shoulder. “And a bigger fuck you to Constantine.”

One year ago; Trenton, New Jersey- Hope:

“Hope, why don’t you go out and have some fun?”

Hope looked up from her textbook, her steely eyes locking on her mother’s warm chestnut full of concern. “I’m fine right here mom.”

Her mother sighed. “You’re so young, your entire life shouldn’t be cooped up here with me.”

Hope gently covered her mother’s hand with her own. “Mom, I like spending time with you.”

“Just promise me when I die that you won’t bury me.”

Hope’s eyebrows knit together. “Mom, don’t talk like that.”

“Promise me, please. I don’t want to think about you always sitting in a cemetery to be close to me.” Her chestnut eyes pleaded. “Cremate me, buy a fancy urn and put me on a shelf if you have to, but I don’t want you to waste your life visiting my grave when you could be living.”

Hope swallowed nodding. Her mom was healthy, besides the memory loss, she wasn’t sure what brought this on, but she knew there was no use arguing. “I promise mom, no graves, no cemeteries, I promise.”

Present day; Trenton, New Jersey:

Funeral home...

Hope was filled with the overwhelming desire to leave. She didn’t want to be here, not today, not ever. This day wasn’t even supposed to happen this soon, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. This isn’t what she wanted. Everywhere she looked around the opulent funeral home it screamed mourning, but they were mourning a woman who was already long gone. Where was the mourning for the woman that struggled everyday for years to even remember that she had a child let alone her name? Why was Liam so intent on mourning the woman who had already been grieved instead of the woman who was lost?

Hope glanced around the crowded room, she didn’t recognize anyone present. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes landed on a large candid photograph that had been blown up. The picture was of her mother, but she didn’t resemble the woman she knew. The woman in the photograph looked happy and free. She had a large smile on her lips, her eyes crinkling at the sides in a way she’d never seen before. On her lap sat a young boy, looking up at her with a face full of wonder and joy. The picture instantly reminded her of everything she never got to have with her mother because one man couldn’t stand to lose.

This was a mistake. A huge gigantic mistake. She shook her head sadly as she turned to leave. This day wasn’t about the woman she knew, it wasn’t about her mother. Everything in this room screamed one thing, you don’t know her. She had always known deep down that she didn’t truly know the woman locked inside her own mind, but to see it displayed so clearly felt like a sucker punch to the gut. I shouldn’t have come here. This is for him, not her. A hand on her shoulder stilled her, she looked up meeting sparkling emeralds.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I shouldn’t be here Olivia. This isn’t about my mother, the woman I knew. This is about him and what he lost.”

“That may be so, but he doesn’t want you here.” She nodded to the front, Liam standing near the closed casket with his hands clenched at his sides, a scowl on his face.

Hope nodded. Staying would be claiming her right to be there, and piss him off in the process. She wouldn’t allow him to completely shut her out, this was her mother too.

Cemetery...

Hope slowly walked along the soaked pathway to the gravesite where she would forever be drawn. She gave a small half smile as Liza slipped her hand into hers. This was all still so new to her, she grew up in a strange family where the woman who raised her was her mother’s doctor and her mother was locked away.  She wasn’t used to having people who genuinely cared only for her, not the wellbeing of the patient as well. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to the feeling of the motherlike love that Liza offered her so easily. Even Olivia with her sternness was kind and caring in her own way. She had hoped when Liam claimed her mother she would have a sibling, yet he always treated her with cold disdain. She barged into Olivia’s home without warning and was given a much warmer welcome. She had come to believe she would do this on her own, until Liza had stepped into the nursing home and protected her like she’d known her all her life. She would remain forever grateful for Bastien and Liza, but how long would it last once she was no longer in danger?

Hope stopped, freezing in place as she spied the brilliant platinum blonde hair. What is she doing here? Her blood boiled. Liam took full control and yet the reason for today was walking towards her.

“What’s wrong Hope?” Liza questioned as she felt the younger woman start to shake.

“It’s her.”

“Oh Hope, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Madeline dabbed at her eyes with a lace trim handkerchief. “For Liam to allow you to be treated so…”

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Liza growled through clenched teeth. She released Hope’s hand, stepping forward, standing in front of Hope as a protective barrier. “I should fucking kill you right here!”

Madeline laughed, though her eyes belied her worry. “Who the hell are you?”

Liza stepped forward. “Your worst nightmare.”

“You can’t kill me here, you’ll get caught.”

“I’m not worried.”

Madeline straightened her back. “You should be, you clearly don’t know who I am.”

“I know you think you’re more important than you are. I know you clearly have no idea who I am. I promise you I’m way more powerful than you might think.”

Madeline rolled her eyes. Just another delusional soul, I can handle her easily. Her eyes went wide as Bastien and Olivia stepped up behind Liza and Hope. Who the hell is she?!

Liza smiled. “As you can see I’m far more connected than you are. But I have the backing of two families, while you’ve been thrown out of yours.” She lowered her voice so only Madeline could hear. “You take one step near my family today and I will end you no matter who may see.” Madeline blanched. “But make no mistake, mine will be the last face you see.”

*

Liam had been angered when he saw Hope at the funeral home. He had thought that shutting her out of the planning would be enough to show her she was neither needed or welcome. He didn’t need her spreading lies about his father, confusing his men.

Their trust in him had already been shaken when he’d allowed Liza to live after the failed hit. He was on even shakier ground with his men when the truth of who shot his mother and that she’d survived came out. If Hope even hinted that his father had anything to do with it he’d be done. He couldn’t lose his men, his empire. He wouldn’t allow the Rhys family and their control of New Jersey end with him. He wouldn’t permit her to unravel all that his family had built.

He was able to ignore Hope easily enough. The whispers that spread at Bastien’s presence made his blood boil. But the sight of the ever familiar platinum hair is what nearly sent him over the edge. How dare she show up here after killing my mother?! He moved to approach her, freezing as he watched Liza put her in her place. He hated how she had spoken to him at the nursing home, but she managed to put fear into Madeline’s eyes. How the hell did she do that?

A flash of brilliant blue against the grey headstone pulled him from the impending scene. That’s not what I ordered! He snatched the card from the large bouquet.

For my mother who I never really knew. You shall forever be missed and grieved, never forgotten. I am sorry I have failed in the one promise I made you.

Always the bright spot in your dark,

Hope

He crumpled the card in his fist, the rage boiling up. Raven placed her hand on his shoulder, “not here. If you don’t want them to question you must remain calm.” She didn’t agree with anything he’d done since his mother’s true passing, but she would always stand by him. She would never outwardly question him and make him look weak.

Pop

The rustle of wings and the call of startled birds broke through the stillness. They whirled around towards the direction of the disturbance. They watched as people scattered screaming in confusion. Only four moved calmly through the commotion. What the hell did they do now?!

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

Taglist will be reblogged.

[ra-lek]

top 5 mr. robot scenes?

ohh alright yeah lets do this. i love this show to pieces, i love the way it’s shot and put together, love the song and color choices- i’m ready

obviously, mr robot spoilers ahead! please don’t read further if you’re not caught up.

1. season 03 episode 01 - “i fucked society alright.”

- hello yes this scene was fantastic. the perfect introduction as to where elliot stands in this particular season. he’s radiating confidence for the first time in a while and he’s furious- with himself, with the revolution and, now more than ever, with society. i personally thought his entire monologue read like a poetry recital. the pacing rami delivered the speech with was incredibly captivating- and that, compared with the utter chaos around him as he walks down the street, is some high quality stuff!! when he stops in front of the wall memorial in that perfectly symmetrical shot, there’s thunder to put empashis on all people who’ve lost their lives because of fsociety- like a HUGE reality check- and the scene change at the end with a red, dangerous light as elliot says “fuck me”?? i fuckin’ felt all of that.

2. season 03 episode 06 - “does everybody know something i don’t?”

- i don’t think there’s a single show that fits the quote “the higher you rise the harder you fall” than mr robot. not only for the characters, no, but for the viewers especially. throughout the entire episode elliot & mr robot fight over control, it’s intense and it’s frustrating and you can feel how incredibly difficult this is on both of them. we’re lead to focus and put all our faith in elliot here, cheer him on to save this fucking building- so once he did?? it was like a huge sigh of relief- him and mr robot did something TOGETHER and it was so, so satisfying. exCEPT NOPE NOT AT ALL. as elliot pushes through the small group of people and stands in front of that tv, all background noise cuts off completely so the news can come in more clearly; and it’s crushing. when the end credits roll, you can still hear the news- and i absolutely loved that. i loved that i was forced to look at a black screen (basically nothing) as i listened to that devastating report. it made you feel hopeless, which i’m assuming was the intention.

3. season 02 episode 12 - “patient predator”

- or, as it’s more commonly known, the FBI board scene. because FUCK if that wasn’t incredibly executed. but then again, the reveal scenes in mr robot are some next level stuff altogether. the song playing throughout this whole thing, “the moth & the flame”, is great! it’s slow and calm, kinda representative of the python approach dom explains. i loved this scene because it told us hey, the FBI are, in fact, not just dragging behind these mastermind hackers like clueless little flies- but they freaking got them down to a T. the zoom-in on elliot’s eyes on the photo, and then the switch back to darlene like a silent communication between them?? like, they got us huh? gOOD stuff. give that song another listen!

4. season 02 episode 07 - “let’s shake on it”

- the prison reveal scene. this has to be on here because i seriously DID NOT see that coming. the moment krista’s face changed into this sickly pale concern my mind started overheating like oh boy what now. and HO did that buildup deliver!! again, the song choice (sound & color) was incredible- the eerie beginning it has did nothing short of setting the mood right- and after that it’s just incredible camerawork. elliot’s way of “coping with it” had been so hopelessly longing for normality, and it really put a lot of things into perspective! i still can’t believe some nerd on reddit figured this twist out in advance, tho.

5. season 03 episode 08 - “because you said you were sick.”

- okay so ‘don’t delete me’ might be my absolute favorite episode. it was the turning point of the season and it was so, so important. in so many ways. it started off harsh, it had been incredibly hard for elliot to find something to keep holding onto after seeing how deep the rabbithole goes. so as the episode goes on, as he’s spending time with trenton’s brother (brb crying)- aka this annoying little brat who bickers with him every chance he gets, he’s coming to realize that his work isn’t over. in fact, it’s only just starting. and the fact that that WHOLE rush of motivation came from a small, seemingly insignificant act of kindness is SO real. it’s in the little things. my heart broke into so many pieces during that episode but god was it a great one. 10/10 could use a lollipop right now.

dAmn that was a lot longer than i thought it’d be! i’m sorry about literally not being able to shut up about this show. so yo if youre still reading i encourage you to tell me what your favorite scenes were & why, im up for mr robot discussions 24/7

[tequila-clifford]

Not the anon from that question, bu still lowkey curious about your NYC story?

Lorddddd, here we go, okay. SO Kortni and I are from Maryland, Amanda (@angelbabycal) is from Philadelphia, obviously a lot closer to NYC; 3 days before the show, Kort and I went to stay with Amanda. 

7/20/2014 We had been running errands all day in preparation for the trip: Getting waters and snacks to put in our backpacks and getting what we needed to make our posters for the show. We finally got back to Amanda’s house and after eating dinner, we immediately started working on our signs (I will include photos of them at the end of this post) Let’s estimate and say we started working on them around 5pm??

7/21/2014 We worked straight through until 6am (about 18 hours without sleep at this point), at that point we were taking turns to shower and packing up our bags, whoever wasn’t in the shower was using a hair dryer on the signs. We were being picked up at 7am and taken to the train station in Trenton, NJ. When we got to the station, Kortni was in charge of getting the tickets, WELL, she accidentally got the amtrak (or however tf you spell it) tickets which were like $200 EACH so that was STRESSFUL. I think we had like an hour until our train got there, so we were sitting, waiting. Then I started to feel sooooooo sick ( probably wasn’t the best idea to have been drinking all night while making our posters) I made approximately 27 trips to the bathroom in the span of an hour and I was FREAKING OUT bc we were about to get on a train to NYC and I was sick as fuck, but I was NOT about to bitch out and not go to this fucking concert. When our train arrived, I was finally starting to feel a little better; I went right back to stressing when the 3 of us got separated on the train bc there was so many people. We made it to Penn Station (and reunited) around 9:15am, I think? We had never been to NYC, none of us, so we found a map and made our way to Rockefeller Center (around 10 am?) to get our wristbands. When we finally got there, there was no one in giving out bands, but it was impossible to miss all of the other people from 5sos Fam, (when Luke tweeted about the fam literally taking over the city, he wasn’t lying) so we asked around and found out where to go. We finally found the line with other fans to get wristbands (10:30ish), and idk security I guess(?) was putting people into cages barricades. LET. ME. TELL. YOU. these barricades each had 25+ girls and they couldn't have been larger than the size of a parking space, we sat for OVER 3 HOURS. IN THE SUN. IN THE MIDDLE OF JULY. We had been awake for about 25 hours when we FINALLY got our bands and were released from band jail, but not before being told that we could NOT wait in Rockefeller center for the show, and that if we came back before 6:30am the following morning, we would be escorted away by the police. Oh, I failed to mention, WE HAD NOWHERE TO STAY BC WE HAVE VV GOOD IDEAS WITH VV BAD PLANNING. So, we had about 16 hours to kill before they opened the barricades back up for the show the following morning. So, we essentially walked around the city the entire time; which’ is not a v smart thing to do when A. you’re wearing vans and B. you have thick thighs. (y’all KNOW what I’m talking about). Later in the afternoon, the 3 of us went to Build-A-Bear to make ourselves Ninja Turtles: Michelangelo for me, bc Michael. Donatello for Amanda, bc Cal. Leonardo for Kortni, bc Luke. And we made Raphael for Guro, bc Ash. So now, on top of our backpacks, we were also 3 dumb asses carrying around stuffed Ninja Turtles. Like I said, v bad planning. Throughout the day, we met tons of people from the Fam which was AMAZING, even stuck together as a big group for awhile walking around the city and to what we thought was the boys hotel (but i’m not about all that stalker shit so we only stood across the street for maybe 20 minutes before we went our seperate ways) At this point it was probably close to 10 pm, we had been awake since noon the day before and we were running on adrenaline. We decided we needed to go change into the clothes we’d brought for the show and to clean up however we could. We walked for about 45 minutes to Grand Central (taking our time bc we had hours to kill still) to use their bathrooms and freshen up then we sat on the floor there for probably close to an hour charging our phones and trying to get even a little bit of rest.We didn’t want to get in trouble for being there so we eventually left and slowly made our way back towards Rockefeller Plaza. These places are not that far apart, but i’m telling you, after walking nonstop all day, it felt like hours. 

7/22/2014 It was 1 or 2am when we finally got to a place we could sit down, of course as soon as we did, we started dozing off and CAN’T DO THAT IN NYC we were told by police that we had to move, so up we were again with another like 2 and a half hours before the barricades would be opened So we walked some more until we decided to stop and finish getting ready; obviously it was still dark outside, so us getting ready consisted of one of us holding the flashlight on our phone and one of us holding a front facing camera while the other did their makeup. When we were just about finished, we saw people RUNNING towards the plaza. IT WASN’T EVEN 5:30AM AND THEY HAD STARTED LETTING PEOPLE INTO THE BARRICADES. OUT. OF. ORDER. So the wristbands that we had with numbers in the 100′s (meaning we should have been in the second group) now meant absolutely nothing AND bc we were told the barricades wouldn’t be open until 6:30am, we were now in the second to last group. We sat in those cages barricades until they finally started letting people in, and when I saw them letting in every single group ahead of us, I was literally fighting back tears. The Today Show is 100% GA so we were packed in tight, and I have been to GA shows before so when I tell you tight, I mean TIGHT.  We stood for about 35 minutes before the boys came out for their soundcheck and fans behind us immediately started trying to push their way forward (like where tf you think you’re gonna go? We are literally in the Azkaban of concert seating rn) . We were so far back that we could hardly see the tops of their heads. The 3 of us literally felt like we were dying, I don’t know if you’ve experienced like 40 hours of no sleep, (plus walking 80% of those 40 hours) but it really fucking hurts. Amanda and I were leaning against one another to literally keep from collapsing, our legs felt like jello and we were dizzy from exhaustion. THEN the girl standing behind me NOT ONLY started kicking my legs AND “accidentally” pulling my hair, SHE WAS TRYING TO STEAL MY NINJA TURTLE FROM MY BACKPACK. Now if this had been under normal circumstances, I would have given her a warning before literally beating her ass for putting her hands on me, but, I was in no condition to start and altercation. The boys finshed their soundcheck, which I now have zero recollection of, and we tried to hold out until they came back on. After about 30 minutes (if that, honestly this part is pretty fuzzy bc i was half dead) we physically could not stand anymore, we flagged down the nearest security guard and asked if he could let us out. They had the streets blocked off a 1/4 mile in each direction surrounding the plaza, he told us that we had to be outside of the perimeter once we left the barricades. We were devastated but the alternative was to be carried out by medics bc there was NO WAY IN HELL we would have lasted in that crowd. Let me tell you, when you work that hard to see your favorite band, when you’re so fucking close and then it doesn't happen, it’s awful. When you work that hard to see your favorite band, and they start their set, the second you’re outside of the 1/4 mile radius, it is soul crushing. I’m pretty sure we cried the entire way to Penn Station. It was barely 8am and our train back home didn’t come in until 4pm. We finally made it there and slept in the chair all day. refusing to speak of anything that had happened, and then slept on the train home. We walked back into Amanda’s house without peeping a word about “How was it?!” and we passed out on her floor for 16 straight hours, woke up to pee and eat, then crashed for another 12.

 I am telling you, that entire New York experience remains one of the most disheartening things I’ve ever gone through,  It made me lose hope that I would ever meet them or even see them again. I had spent so long defending them to everyone who made fun of me for loving them so much, then to go through that, I like mentally shut down. I know that sounds dramatic, but that makes it no less accurate. I became inactive on my blog and essentially gave up, I tried to move on from 5sos and I regret it so fucking much. Now I’m 23 and loving them more than ever because I finally realized how much they got me through and that no ones opinion of them matters but mine. 

Amanda's poster front and back

My poster front and back

I’m sorry this was hella crazy long btw 😅 but yeah. That's my NYC story.

Ask is always open!

[holylulusworld]

Opposite Sides - Part 7 - Burning Rage

Summary: Working at a diner never brought you much attention until not one but two Winchesters show interested in you…

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Reader, Mobster!Sam x Reader

Characters: Charlie Bradbury, Cole Trenton, Arthur Ketch, Toni Bevell

Warnings: angst, language, tension, mentions of characters death, grief, protective Dean/Sam, both men are brothers but hate each other, one girl between two dangerous men, mobster business, characters death, implied characters death, violence, blood, murder

Opposite Sides Masterlist

“You and I, Dean. United we will kill them all…”

Blood. Everywhere Dean looks is blood before he flattens against a wall to fire his gun again and again until the last enemy drops to the ground. 

“That’s what you get when you try to hurt our girl,” Sam grits out, pressing his hand to a wound at his stomach.

“Damn right, Sammy,” Dean grins, as he reloads his shotgun. “Only Ketch and our favorite Toni bitch Bevell are left. Let’s get that piece of shit and rip her apart.”

“I’m right behind you brother,” smirking Sam checks on his shotgun. “Our men take the others down. We will take care of Toni. I reserved a special place in the darkest corner of hell for her.”

“She will go down screaming our names,” running toward the office Toni is hiding in Dean growls. “I will slit her throat open. Toni Bevell will suffer before she dies. There will be no mercy for her.”

Rage. Unadulterated rage runs through the brothers veins when they kick the door to Toni’s office open. “Winchesters!” Ketch yells, firing at the brothers. “I will kill you.”

“Maybe another day,” Sam grunts, aiming his shotgun at Ketch’s head. “Sleep well in hell, lap dog.” Ketch’s grin fades when Sam fires his shotgun without giving his opponent the chance to hit him with a bullet.

Ketch drops to the ground, grunting a word Dean can’t catch as his life ends.

“No, Ketch!” Toni screams panicked as no one is left to protect her.

“Do you feel this?” waltzing into the office Dean narrows his eyes. “Panic. Fear. Hopelessness.” Sam slams the door shut, making Toni flinch as he seals her fate when he stands in front of the door, blocking the only way out.

“That’s exactly what our girl, Melody, felt back then. That’s what Y/N felt when you tried to kill her not hours ago,” Sam huffs when Toni starts to beg for her life.

“Ready if you are, Toni...”

24 hours earlier…

“We will be back in a few hours, sweetheart,” Dean pecks your forehead, hating he must leave you alone for a few hours. “Cole and five of our men will stay here with you. Charlie will check on the security system.”

“I don’t want you to go, Dean. Can Sam and you not stay here? I’m scared that woman will hurt you,” sniffling you wrap yourself around Dean. He’s taken aback but remains silent as you seem to seek the brothers closeness lately.

“Dean and I will be back soon, Y/N. Stay at the mansion and don’t leave, okay. Everything is going to be alright,” Sam pecks your hair, not wanting to leave you either. “When this is all over, we are going on vacation.”

“Vacation,” humming Dean pecks your cheek. “Can we have a nice cabin and a fireplace? I like snow and it’s going to get cold soon.”

“Dean, I guess she wants to get snowed in mobster style,” Sam snickers looking down at you. “Imagine her on a bearskin in front of the fireplace,” you make a face, but a giggle escapes your throat. “Naked.”

“Dirty girl,” Dean muses. “Wants us all to herself. I can tell,” he nibbles at your throat, smirking as you whimper silently, “I want you all to ourselves too.”

“Promise me you won’t get hurt, Dean,” you pout, looking up at Sam. “I want you both to come back. Don’t leave me too.”

“Promised, sweetheart.”

“Promised, baby girl.”

“No, Cole!” Charlie screams in terror. “They are coming through the front door. I can’t stop them. Someone hacked the system. I got no control.”

“Take Y/N and go to the panic room,” Cole grunts. “Now, Charlie,” he screams before he storms out of the room to make sure Charlie and you can escape your attackers.

“Y/N, come with me,” Charlie grasps for your hand to run toward the panic room. “Hurry, we will need to reach the door…,” the redhead screams when the door bursts open.

“Look what we found here,” Ketch snickers, aiming his gun toward Charlie’s head. Charlie squeezes your hand, looking at Ketch with wide fearful eyes. “I think we only need one of them,” you scream when a bullet hits Charlie’s forehead. 

“NO! Charlie,” you fall to your knees, grasping for your friends’ hand as her blood runs down her face. “YOU MONSTER!” 

“Calm down, girl,” Arthur shrugs, slowly walking toward you. “I had orders to get one girl alive, not two. She shouldn’t have hacked into our system more than once. What a waste,” he smirks, holding out his hand. “If you don’t want to end like her right here and now, come with me.”

“Fuck you, asshole,” you spat into his face when Ketch forces you onto your feet. “You want to kill me, do it,” grinning you glare up at the man killing your friend. “If you kill me, Sam and Dean will come for you and your boss. You won’t be her lap dog much longer,” backhanding you Arthur smirks as your head lolls back.

“Shut up, bitch. You’re nothing but a hole to them. Do you honestly believe they love you? A chewing toy, that’s what you are to them,” you spat into his face again. 

“Pathetic little man, that’s what you are. Hitting a girl. Killing Melody. Playing the sex toy for Toni,” Cole spats, limping into the room. “Your backup is dead, just like your right-hand man Mick. I suggest you move your ass out of this house, or I’ll end your life.”

Cole bluffs. He’s got no bullets left and he knows, within the next minutes he will lose consciousness, but he plays for time to protect you. “OUT OF THIS HOUSE! Now.” Cole yells, hiding he’s bleeding heavily.

“My bad,” Arthur glances at you before he steps backward. “I should’ve killed you first, I guess,” he shrugs, looking at Charlie’s lifeless body. “Poor little kitten. I must leave you alone now…”

“Y/N, oh-god,” Dean wraps his arms around you, holds you tightly as Sam tries to process, he almost lost you too. “He killed Charlie, Dean. He just…” hiccupped sobs leave your lips and Sam feels his heart clench in his chest.

“Baby girl,” smoothing his hand over your hair Sam meets his brother’s eyes who tries to blink the tears away. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

“Slapped my face, nothing else. Cole protected me,” you sniffle, hiding your face in Dean’s chest. “Charlie didn’t even have a gun. He just shot her. There was no reason to kill her.”

“Ketch is not a man who leaves witnesses, baby girl,” Sam brings you into his arms as Dean covers Charlie with his jacket. “He would’ve killed anyone to get hold of you and hit Dean and me again.”

“I want them to suffer, Sam,” looking up at Sam, you sob. “Can you kill them for me? I want Toni and Ketch to regret they ever knew my name.”

“We will take care of Charlie and the men we lost. After, we will bring you to a safe place and take care of Toni and Ketch. Their lives are forfeited…”

Now...

“This wasn’t anything personal, Dean,” Toni’s eyes dart from Dean’s face to the shotgun in Sam’s hand back to her dead lover on the floor. “I only tried to get on top.”

“Nothing personal,” Dean slams his fist onto the desk Toni is hiding behind, making her flinch. “You manipulated us. You killed Melody. You killed Charlie. You tried to kill Y/N and have the guts to tell me this was never personal?”

“That’s business,” Sam huffs, aiming the shotgun at Toni’s head. “We do what we must to survive and stay on top.”

“Oh-we get it, bitch,” Dean unlocks his shotgun, aiming it toward Toni’s chest. “We will do what we have to do now too.”

“Ready if you are Toni…”

The last thing Toni sees are the two men she tried to part before two shotguns end her life…the bloody way...

“You’re bleeding,” gasping you check on Sam who tries to hide the deep gash on his stomach. “I told you to not get hurt. Let me check on your wound.”

“We are alright, sweetheart. I can fix Sammy’s wound, don’t worry,” Dean pecks your lips, hoping you won’t smell the blood on his skin. 

“I will fix his wound, Dean. I wanted to become a doctor, remember?” Sam hums, more concerned about your well-being than the scratch on his stomach. “You need a shower, both of you. I can make you a sandwich and you can tell me everything…”

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< @cybervigilant​ cont. from answer.txt! >

::𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝙴𝚕𝚕𝚒𝟶𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚆𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚝? 𝚢/𝚗?

𝙸𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎. 𝙰 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 — 𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑. 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕. 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕. 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎. 𝙼𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎’𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍. 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚝. 𝙷𝚎'𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎, 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎?

There were times when Elliot just shut down. Stopped talking. Zoned out. This of course was less effective with Mr. Robot who could hear his thoughts. He was a part of him whether Elliot wanted him or not. Elliot’s eyes were closed as he tried to shut Ed out the best he could. He wouldn’t try to banish him to the inner corner of his mind again. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Elliot just needed – to think. Or not think.

𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋.

Elliot’s hands lifted to press his hands over his ears, the buzzing of the arcade machines was bothering him. The crackle of electricity in the lights above him. The voice in his mind, it was all irritating him. Back against one of the skeeball machines, Elliot rocked forward into his knees, arms dropping to pull them to his chest.

𝙸𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍? 𝙸’𝚖 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎. – 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎. 𝙷𝚎'𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎? 𝙸 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙸 𝚍𝚘. 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘.

Finally, Elliot slowly raised his head to look up at Mr. Robot. A part of him knew he wasn’t really there but his brain was subject to forming delusions and he was subject to hallucinations. All of which muddled together and seeing Mr. Robot was some sort of coping mechanism perhaps or perhaps not. It was as if his brain had given him a friend even. Though that ‘friend’ had tried to kill him a few times. “Alright. Where do suggest we go?”

        THEY’D TAKEN THE TIME to flick on the main circuit breaker when they’d walked in, but Mr Robot had wanted to leave since the moment they’d arrived. With Trenton and Mobley gone AWOL, this meeting place was just an empty husk. A place from 8340R3: it was no U53 to them anymore. Even if it was a safe place emotionally, mentally, it wasn’t physically. Not anymore. He watches Elliot hide out against the skeeball machine, the way he used to do back at home when he’d have a breakdown, when everything was fuzzy on Mr Robot’s end.

        “ ANYWHERE’S BETTER’N here, Kiddo. I know you don’t like it at your mom’s, and I’d be more than happy to get the fuck outta there, but this place? It isn’t good for us, either. Makes my skin crawl, all right? The Feds...” OH, SHIT. WAIT. ELLIOT DOESN’T KNOW THE FEDS HAVE ‘BURNED’ THIS PLACE. I GOT THAT FROM DARLENE, NOT HIM. “ The Feds could be onto us, by now, with all the fSociety Fakers that’ve been on TV lately, all right? C’mon. Please. Let’s get outta here...”