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twohearts-hs · 15 days ago

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Defying The Odds: 16 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 5.8k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Intimacy, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

In Tooele, Utah, the group of them drove aimlessly. T-Bag was still in the back, Tweener in the trunk and Y/N on Michael’s lap in the passenger seat while Lincoln drove.

“This is a new subdivision,” Y/N muttered. “Suburbia is boring as fuck. I wish to never be part of it,” she stated. Michael rubbed her arms.

“Noted,” he responded.

Lincoln stopped the car, glancing over to Michael. “The ranch is gone, Michael.”

Michael ran his hand through his short hair. “Well, the 5 million might not be.”

“And you gonna find it how?” T-Bag asked lowly. “What you got a divining rod tattooed on your ass?”

“Not funny,” Y/N muttered, leaning back, her head hitting Michael’s shoulders. However, she could not get more out because Michael lost it.

“I don’t wanna hear anything out of your mouth other than what your photographic memory spits out regarding that map!” Michael yelled.

“Michael, my ear,” Y/N muttered, holding her ear as the yelling went straight through it and he quickly whispered his apology.

“You watch your tone with me, boy,” T-Bag warned, glaring at Michael.

Michael moved Y/N slightly so he could face T-Bag. “I will watch you get tossed on the side of the road to fend for yourself, boy,” he retorted. “Because if you can’t remember where that silo was, you’re worthless to us, and I might just let Y/N hurt you a little more.” Then he turned back, holding Y/N once again.

“Yo, fools, let me out!” Tweener yelled which Lincoln told him to shut up.

“The map!” Michael barked.

“Ok, ok, all right, all right, all right,” T-Bag stuttered, eyes closing as he thought. “The ranch…the ranch was in the centre of a box. Sheep Road on one side, Kokosing Road perpendicular. In the centre of the property was a ranch house and the ranch house was surrounded by trees.

They got out of the car and walked around. A runner came by and glanced at them. Y/N shook her head…they did just come out of a dirty, broken car with four fugitives…

“Every tree here is a year old, at most. Except those,” Michael said as they stood far away from the house.

“Where is the silo?” Y/N asked.

Bagwell hit his head a few times before muttering, “Inside the trees. I wanna say on the left, but that may have been a barn. I remembered the best I could, gents and lady, but I didn’t know this place would now be smothered in tract homes, so you know, I’m sorry that I’m not Rain Man over here.”

“He’s no help,” Y/N muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Absolute no help.”

Y/N walked back in the car and they all followed as they waited for T-Bag to remember where the silo was. Y/N felt Michael his head against her back as she drew lines on his arm. Slowly, she took her hand and brought it to her lips. He smiled.

“I’m sorry for yelling in your ear,” he muttered.

Y/N smiled, turning around and kissing his lips quickly. “All forgiven.”

“Silo, silo, silo, silo, silo…” T-Bag muttered.

“This is stupid. We’re gonna get made out here,” Lincoln interrupted.

“Shut it. I think I remember. If I had to bet, I’d lay it all on the silo being on the left of the ranch house, inside the trees,” T-Bag explained, finally remembering. His face was right behind Michael’s crouching behind him. A shiver went up Y/N’s spine.

“No, it’s outside the trees,” Michael replied, smirking and staring ahead. Then he pointed. “Right there. You see those two trees? They’re shorter than the rest. They were all planted at the same time but those two didn’t get as much sunlight.”

“Something was in their way,” Y/N muttered.

“Yeah, a silo,” Michael responded. “Our money should be right there under that garage.”

“You better be right, boy,” T-Bag muttered.

“This isn’t a high-end subdivision, they slapped this place up overnight. The silo’s foundation might still be there. To save money, they probably laid the concrete for the garage floor right on top of it,” Michael explained. Leave it to the engineer to know everything about buildings. “We’ll dig straight down. If we hit the foundation, we stay. If not, we go.”

“Let’s do it,” Lincoln agreed, however just as soon as Michael opened the door, a blonde middle-aged woman appeared out of the house and grabbed her newspaper in a robe.

“Ain’t no problem that screwdriver to her temple won’t fix,” T-Bag muttered.

“We’re not hurting her,” Y/N mumbled, “you’re not hurting her.” She glanced back with a stare at him. “We are going to be smart.”

“People die all the time, boys. Especially you, little miss, the wrath of danger. $5 million comes once in a lifetime,” T-bag

“We gotta do something and it’s not gonna involve hurting anyone,” Michael stated.

“I got an idea,” Lincoln responded. “First, we’re gonna need some supplies.”

They drove out of the suburb again, parking as they got out. T-Bag was instantly angry, slamming his door and looking at Michael and Lincoln. “110%, I do not agree with this.” Then he slammed his hand on the car top.

“Everybody’s got to pitch in to make this happen,” Lincoln stated.

“But back in the big house, the boy proved he couldn’t be trusted,” T-Bag stated about Tweener who was still in thr trunk.

“Which is why we’re doing it here,” Lincoln replied. “If he gets caught in town, he won’t know where the house is.” Lincoln threw the keys to Michael.

“Besides, you’re the one we can’t turn our backs on,” Michael said to T-Bag before opening the trunk.

Tweener came out, eyes squinting, sweat across his forehead. “Oh, I could’ve died in there, man,” he said, climbing out.

“Well, guess what? I need you to do something,” Michael stated.

“I need you to do something for me,” Tweener retorted.

“I don’t think this is up for discussion,” Y/N muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I want my cut of the money,” Tweener ignored Y/N and continued.

“Well, we’ll talk once you prove we can trust you,” Michael replied.

“What do I go to do?” Tweener asked, eyes narrowing on Michael.

“I want you to go back to that garden centre and get everything on this list,” Michael said as Tweener snatched the list from him. “And gas up the car.” Then he handed him some cash. “We’ll meet you right back here in an hour.”

“All right.”

“And, David, don’t screw this up,” Michael threatened.

“This ain’t Fox River no more, man. Looking at the real deal now. But I want my cut. Back in an hour,” Tweener said, putting his hat on and getting into the car.

Y/N walked up to Michael and grabbed his arm. He glanced down at her. “I don’t trust him," she muttered and Michael just nodded.

Y/N stood next to Michael with her arms crossed over her chest as Lincoln opened the electrical box. Michael looked down at him and asked him how he knew about electricity.

“I used to steal copper wiring from transformer boxes, and then sell them on the docks, make a few bucks,” Lincoln told Michael. “When you were at school, of course.” Lincoln began to unscrew a few things.

Y/N looked over at Michael who looked at her. She sent him a smile but he reached out to cup her cheek, thumb grazing over her lips before pulling away. He noticed that T-Bag was staring at the lady in the window and gave him a glare.

“I was just looking, Pretty,” T-Bag muttered. “You got something pretty to look at, I’m a little jealous. What’s that old chestnut? ‘I can look at the menu. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna eat’.”

“We get in, we get the money, we get out,” Michael stated, voice firm. “That’s it.”

“No. Absolutely.” However, he continued to stare at the woman.

“Gross,” Y/N muttered. “Love being a woman.”

“We’re good. Now it’s up to the kid,” Lincoln stated, finishing his task.

The kid followed through but he popped a guy with a shovel while trying to get supplies. Bickering happened.

Y/N stood by the car, arms crossed, her eyes burning a hole into the back of Michael’s head as he explained the plan for their next move. The group was gathering supplies, all of them getting ready to play their parts as a fake trades company to dig up Westmoreland’s hidden money. She knew how these operations went—blend in, keep your head down, and get the job done. But the moment Michael suggested she sit this one out, something snapped in her.

“I think it’d be better if you stay out of this one,” Michael said quietly, but firmly, as if the decision had already been made.

Y/N scoffed, stepping forward. “Excuse me?”

Michael ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the others before lowering his voice. “Y/N, look, it’s not about you not being capable. I know you are. It’s just—”

�� “It’s just what? Because I’m a woman? Is that it?” Her frustration bubbled up, hot and sharp.

“Come on,” Michael sighed, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “A woman in a trades company is going to draw attention. We need to be invisible. The fewer eyes on us, the better. It’s not personal, it’s just strategy.”

“That’s bullshit, Michael!” Y/N snapped, her voice rising despite herself. “You’re always talking about how we’re a team, how I’m part of this just as much as anyone else. And now, suddenly, I’m not good enough?”

Michael’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I never said that.”

“No, but you sure as hell implied it.” Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You’re just pushing me aside because you think you know better.”

Before Michael could respond, Lincoln stepped in between them, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Time out,” Lincoln said, holding up his hands. “We don’t have time for this. We’re supposed to be focused on digging up that money, not digging into each other.”

Behind them, T-Bag leaned against the van, watching with a smirk. “Ah, trouble in paradise?” he drawled, licking his lips in that unsettling way of his. “Nothing like a lover’s quarrel to spice up a good old-fashioned heist.”

Y/N shot T-Bag a withering look. “Shut up, Bagwell.”

T-Bag raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. “Just saying, sweetheart. Ain’t no harm in a little domestic drama.”

Lincoln turned his glare to T-Bag, making him quiet down with a shrug before refocusing on his brother and Y/N. “Michael, she’s been with us from the start. Let her help.”

Michael looked torn, his eyes flicking from Lincoln to Y/N. He didn’t want to argue with her, and he certainly didn’t want to belittle her skills, but his mind was on the risk. He exhaled deeply, staring at the ground for a long moment.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Michael said softly, his voice edged with frustration. “It’s the optics. If this goes wrong, we’re all screwed.”

“I can handle myself,” Y/N shot back, her voice low but fierce. “I’ve been handling myself for years. What, you think I’m just gonna freeze up and blow it?”

Michael opened his mouth to respond, but Lincoln cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Enough. We don’t have time to debate this. We either work as a team, or we don’t work at all. Got it?”

The tension hung thick between them, but Michael finally nodded. He looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with conflict. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re in the car, you stay out of sight unless we need backup. We’re not taking unnecessary risks.”

Y/N clenched her jaw but nodded, her hands still balled into fists. She didn’t agree with him, but at least he wasn’t pushing her completely aside.

“Good,” Lincoln said, stepping back. “Now, can we get back to work? We’ve got a fortune to dig up, and I don’t plan on leaving empty-handed.”

As the group moved to gather the last of their gear, T-Bag gave Y/N a wink. “I like a woman with a little fire,” he said. “Makes things interesting.”

Y/N ignored him, her mind still simmering with frustration. She wanted to help, wanted to prove to Michael that she could be just as valuable out in the field as anyone else. But for now, she’d play her part, and hope the opportunity came to show him she was more than just someone to be protected.

Y/N sat in the car, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, her frustration simmering. She hated waiting, she was more of an action girl. She hated sitting still when she could be doing something. Her hand went to the dash storage and took the gun out, she cocked it and reloaded it a few times before throwing it back into the storage. Michael’s caution still stung, though she understood his reasoning. But being stuck here while the others worked made her feel like a caged animal.

Her eyes darted to the rearview mirror when she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. Two figures were approaching – C-Note and Sucre. She narrowed her eyes in confusion, then blinked in surprise. What the hell were they doing here?

Y/N opened the door and stepped out, her boots crunching on the ground as she walked to them. “What are you two doing here?” she called, folding her arms across her chest.

C-Note smiled, but there was a tension in his eyes. “Same reason you’re here. For the money.”

Sucre, on the other hand, grinned broadly as soon as he saw her, jogging the last few steps to close the distance. “Mami!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a tight hug. “It’s been a hot minute, huh?"

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at Sucre’s warmth, wrapping her arms around him for a brief moment. “Good to see you, Sucre,” she said, though her tone was tinged with frustration. Michael would not be happy. She pulled back and gave both men a look. “I’m guessing you’re here for the money,” she muttered.

C-Note nodded. “Yes, where is the rest of the group?”

“Inside,” she muttered.

“Why aren’t you helping, mami? You always help. Usually more than the others,” Sucre asked.

“Michael,” she muttered, “he’s being an ass, but that’s ok. Something about me not blending in.”

“That’s nonsense. Go help.”

Y/N nodded and looked over to the garage where the others were, her expression light with frustration. “Come on. I better let the boys know we’ve got company. This is about to get even more complicated.”

Sucre clapped her on her back, still in high spirits despite the situation and C-Note gave her a curt nod as they followed her to the garage.

As soon as she opened the door, and stepped in, Michael glanced up. “What’s wrong?” he rushed.

“We’ve got company,” she responded. Just then C-Note and Sucre entered.

C-Note took his hat off, grinned and said, “What’s up, Snowflake?”

Michael had his hands on his hips, head tilted slightly. “Well, as always, your timing is flawless.”

C-Note crossed is arms over his chest, muscles flexing in the black tee he was in. “I don’t follow.”

“Well, let me try and explain it to you. We’re trying to run something here and we can’t have people walking in off the street. Y/N, go back to the car,” Michael said, focusing on her.

Y/N kicked the ground and nodded, not in the mood to deal with their bickering. “Come grab me when you’re done,” she muttered, walking out.

Boredom, that’s what she felt. Complete boredom as she laid in the car, seat back and closing her eyes. Y/N walked back into the garage, hat on her head as she watched them. Michael glanced up and sighed. “Y/N…’

“Let me help,” she muttered, walking over to grab a shovel. “T-Bag is out as he’s injured so let me help.”

Michael nodded and they continued to dig. They hit the silo’s foundation which meant they just needed to hit the edge and dig around it.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked as Tweener spoke up.

“We got to stop in Tooele first and gas up the ride,” he muttered, scared of the wrath Michael would bring.

“I thought you already did that,” Michael responded, voice frustrated.

“Man, when the garden centre thing happened, I just forgot, all right?” Tweener responded.

Michael took a deep breath as Y/N rubbed his back. “I want you to go back into town. I want you to gas up that car–“

“–I can do it,” Y/N interrupted.

“No, you’re staying where I can see you,” Michael barked. Then he glanced back at Tweener. “I’m not driving around with millions of dollars in the trunk. Do you understand?” his voice was low, unwavering.

“Man, why do I gots to do it? The girl said she could–“

“–No, Y/N is staying. She needs to stay with me. It’s your job,” Michael said as Lincoln pushed him a little.

A car pulled up and Sucre went to go check it out. Y/N kept digging as Sucre explained a cop was here. Y/N threw the shovel down. “I’ll go get Michael,” she muttered as he left to check on T-Bag.

Y/N walked in the house, seeing the broken glass and panic struck her as she continued up the stairs to the bedroom. That’s when she found T-Bag holding the blonde woman, Jeanette, hostage with a small hammer.

“There’s a cop,” Y/N muttered to Michael who turned to look at her.

“I know,” he responded.

The woman officer came in, calling for her mother, but they stayed quiet. Eyes flickered between each of them, worried struck upon their faces.

“Stay here…stay quiet,” Michael said to them.

The officer began coming up the stairs, getting suspicious. She had her hand on her gun, as she slowly came up. Jeanette yelled which caused the officer to run faster to her, opening the door with the gun on them.

Y/N stayed still, hands up slightly as she stared at the woman.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Michael said.

“Back away and put your hands up,” she said.

“Just go easy,” Michael said, trying to calm the situation.

“Go nothing. She ain’t the one carrying the cards here,” T-Bag said, holding the hostage closer.

“Back away and put your hands up!” the officer barked.

“If I put my hand up, gonna take her jugular with it,” T-Bag retorted.

“Look, I don’t wany anyone to do anything stupid, ok?” the officer said.

Sucre came out of nowhere, trying to grab the gun, but the officer got him squared in the nose while pointing it at him. “Don’t move!” However, Lincoln came from behind her, grabbing the gun and mumbled something about being civil.

Y/N let out a sigh as she put her hands down. They took both women downstairs and tied them up. Michael looked to her and brought her into a hug, holding her tight. “It’s ok,” he mumbled, kissing her cheek. “It’s ok.”

As they got downstairs to where the hostages sat, Michael paced lightly, hands trembling as he looked at what was in front of them. “This is going wrong in every possible way.”

“This is stupid, man. We cannot do this,” C-Note barked, throwing hands up.

“Hat’s over the wall now,” T-Bag muttered.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” C-Note asked.

“We’re committed,” Y/N muttered. Bickering began as talked about what was next. Michael leaned over to Y/N and muttered, “Why can’t it be a silo in the middle of the field with no one around?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, “I guess this is our luck.”

They came back to see the hostages again and Michael looked at them with sympathy in his eyes. “Sorry isn’t going to mean anything to you right now, but I want to say it anyway,” Michael spoke to the woman. He was always sorry, always caring. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. One of two hours tops and we’ll be out of here, you have my word, no one will harm you,” Michael told them. Y/N was looking at the woman, but the one officer was staring at her, daggering shooting into Y/N’s eyes.

Michael walked over to Y/N and Sucre. “Keep your eyes open. Nothing happens to them…Nothing.” Then he walked away.

Y/N looked at them and that officer looked at her. She began to pace back and forth in front of the hostages, her eyes scanning the living room as the others continued digging up Westmoreland’s money. Sucre stood by her, arms crossed, glancing occasionally at her before returning his attention to the hostages.

The young female officer in the group had been gagged…both women had been, but she was squirming and making muffled noises, her wide eyes locked on Y/N. It was clear she wanted to say something, and Y/N sighed, pulling the cloth off her mouth.

The young female officer took a moment to catch her breath, her eyes fixated on Y/N. “I know you,” she said, her voice sharp but curious. “You’re the one they talked about at the academy.”

Y/N frowned, narrowing her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“The Black Beauty Murders,” the officer said, sitting up a little straighter despite her restraints. “Your case was part of our training in homicide investigations. It was a cold case for years. They said you killed six men. Everyone in the station called you, ‘The Black Beauty’.”

Y/N felt her blood run cold. It was not the first time she’d heard that title, but it always felt like a slap in the face when someone threw it at her. She kept her expression calm, but Sucre sitting nearby has gone quiet, his attention fully on the conversation now.

“You got the wrong idea,” Y/N said, her voice low, trying to keep her agitation in check.

The officer’s eyes gleamed with a nasty sort of interest, enjoying getting a rise out of her. “Rumour had it, you killed twenty men, not six. Some say you even enjoyed it. Taunted them, played with them–“

“–enough,” Y/N hissed. “You got the wrong person. I haven’t killed twenty men,” she said through gritted teeth. “I haven’t killed anyone.”

The officer smirked, leaning forward as much as he restraints allowed. “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say. The station loved your story as you had a victim in Utah. We studied you like some kind of celebrity. Bet you didn’t know, huh? The cops who couldn’t ‘t catch you were pissed. Spent a decade chasing ghosts. Then one day, all this evidence just appeared in Chicago and you were found at your apartment, cooking dinner when you were arrested.”

Y/N felt her heartbeat picked up, anger bubbling beneath her skin. She glanced at Sucre, who was watching the exchange silently.

“Ok, doll,” Y/N said, pushing off the cabinets and sauntering over to the officer. She kneeled down. “Black Beauty, huh? I wonder why they gave me that name? Perhaps it was the black dress I wore, perhaps the black heart they believe I have or the black gun I havered, but I never used it as it was always–“

“Knives,” the officer finished.

“Yes. Quick and easy. Untraceable. Those crime scenes were always cleaned to perfection…it wasn’t until my darling husband came and dropped evidence right at the police station’s door as we had an argument. Don’t fall in love with the wrong man, sweetheart. It’ll haunt you,” Y/N said lowly, smirking as she turned away.

Sucre watched the whole thing, walking over to Y/N and whispering, “She’s just trying to mess with you, Y/N.”

Y/N shook her head and looked back to the officer. “I was your favourite case, wasn’t I?”

She nodded. “Got to meet the celebrity, huh?” Y/N mused. The girl just stared at her. “I’m not going to hurt you though. I don’t like hurting people. It makes me upset. So, perhaps I didn’t do those murders. You can make your decision,” she muttered, walking away.

Y/N stood by the hostages, her arms still crossed, keeping a watchful eye on them. The young officer shifted uncomfortably and glanced up at her.

“Y/N?” the officer's voice broke the silence.

Y/N raised a brow, tilting her head slightly. “What?”

The officer hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a second before she spoke. “If you’ve got any sympathy left in you... I need my pills.”

“Pills?” Y/N echoed, her arms tightening over her chest as she tried to read the woman’s expression.

“For my baby,” the officer muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s heart sank, recognizing instantly what she meant. “Metformin... to prevent a miscarriage?” she asked quietly, her voice softening.

The officer looked at her, something shifting in her demeanour. She seemed to catch the sudden glossiness in Y/N’s eyes, the vulnerability barely masked. “How far along were you?” she asked, her voice gentler than before.

Y/N’s lips tightened for a moment, her gaze drifting to the side as if trying to avoid the weight of the conversation. But she couldn’t. “Sixteen weeks,” she whispered, the words heavy on her tongue. “Before I lost her.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air seemed to still between them.

“I’m sorry,” the officer said, her tone soft, and for the first time, sincere.

Y/N swallowed hard, pushing past the lump in her throat. “Where are your pills?” she asked, her voice barely steady.

“In the drawer,” the officer replied, nodding toward the kitchen. “Top one.”

Y/N moved without a word, heading to the kitchen and opening the drawer. She found the pills easily, grabbing two and filling a glass with water before returning. Kneeling down, she handed the officer the pills. “Here,” she whispered, her voice catching slightly as she helped her take them. “How far along are you?”

“I’m two months. I just had my first trimester sonogram on Tuesday,” the officer muttered, her hands trembling slightly as she took the water from Y/N.

Before Y/N could respond, Michael and Lincoln appeared in the doorway. Michael’s eyes narrowed immediately, noticing the wetness in Y/N’s eyes.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone sharp as his gaze flicked between the two women. He stepped forward, his concern quickly turning into suspicion. “What did you do?” he demanded, his voice tightening.

The officer shook her head quickly, her eyes wide. “I didn’t do anything.”

Michael turned to Y/N, his expression hardening. “Y/N, what did she say to you?”

Y/N glanced up at him, her emotions barely in check. “Nothing,” she muttered, brushing past him and shouldering his arm as she did. “Just... reminiscing.”

Michael frowned, watching her walk away, his jaw clenching. He turned back to the officer, still trying to make sense of the situation.

“She told us about the baby she lost,” the officer explained, her voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

Michael’s expression softened, but the frustration still simmered beneath the surface. He glanced toward the direction Y/N had gone, his heart twisting. He wanted to protect her, but he knew better than to push her right now.

However, Lincoln didn’t waste a moment. “Keys to the car, where are they?” Lincoln asked in front of Jeanette. Michael looked over at Y/N, who was wiping his eyes. His heart went out to her, but Lincoln was about to make a stupid decision.

“Just hold on,” Michael said. Lincoln grabbed the keys and began to walk. “You can’t do this, Linc. We’re five minutes away in there,” Michael said following after him.

“We’ve been five minutes for four hours,” Lincoln responded.

“Just give me some time,” Michael pleaded. “Be patient.”

“You think I give a damn about the money?” Lincoln asked.

“I’m doing what’s necessary!” Michael yelled.

“You’re afraid to fail,” Lincoln bit back. “You’re afraid this big plan of yours ain’t gonna work out. You want to get caught proving you can pull this thing off, be my guest. LJ’s out there. I’m gonna get him.”

Y/N focused on her fingers in the kitchen, playing with them as she glanced at the hostages.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” the officer said.

“You didn’t,” Y/N responded.

“Was it with the mobster associated with you?” she continued to ask.

“Why all the sudden questions?” Y/N asked, voice getting a little aggressive, being walking off to go back to Michael.

She got to the garage, seeing him digging.

“OK?” he asked.

“Yup,” she mumbled back, grabbing a shovel. She stood next to Michael, beginning to dig when C-Note spoke up.

“Yo, this is going to take all day. We need more manpower,” he said.

“You know, standing around jabbering ain’t gonna get the dirt out of that ground,” T-Bag smirked.

“All right, that’s it,” C-Note replied, grabbing Bagwell and throwing him into the hole. “Son of the bitch.”

Y/N stopped digging looking over and sighing.

The door opened and Sucre stated, “We got to roll.”

“Why?” Y/N said, voice confused.

“They got Tweener. It was on the radio,” Sucre explained.

“Did they say anything about where we are?” Michael asked, holding the shovel.

“I’m not hanging around to find out,” Sucre responded.

“Well, maybe you should,” C-Note mumbled, spotting something in the ground. Michael looked down and then Y/N as they spotted some paper sitting in the ground. “Maybe you should,” he repeated, brushing the ground and looking up once he found what he was looking for. “Maybe we all should!” Cash…a whole lot of cash was there in front of them. Everyone was grinning and hollering as they found what they were looking for. Slowly they packed it all, excited and talking about what they would buy with the cash. Y/N just sat there staring…that was a lot of money.

Someone appeared looking for Jeanette and Michael got rid of him, thankfully.

Y/N continued to watch them with the cash, hoping nothing fishy goes down. Once Michael was back, everyone packed the cash into the backpacks before T-Bag threw cash at each of them.

Sucre came back, gun pointed at them. “Drop the bag. No one’s going anywhere.”

Y/N watched with a loud sigh escaping her as she shook her head. Everyone put what they were holding down. Parallelised, everyone was.

“What the hell are you doing, man?” C-Note asked.

“Sucre,” Michael whispered. “Whatever it is you want…”

“I want the money, all of it.”

“What, are you robbing us?” C-Note questioned in disbelief.

“The money was never yours to begin with,” Sucre responded. “This is about business. $5 million worth of business.”

“So, this is how it’s gonna go down, after everything?” Michael asked, voice low and hurt. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

“You just figuring that out?” Sucre hummed. “The backpack…Now!”

Y/N watched as this unfolded…

“Don’t do this, buddy,” Michael whispered. However, Sucre took the bag.

All of that for nothing. Y/N was in disbelief once again. It felt as though the plan was falling apart and the fear in her for what would next haunted her.

Michael was her only chance of freedom otherwise, she would be back in the hands of the mob.

Fear consumed her.

Here you go!

Hope you enjoy :)

I had so much fun writing this.

Much love,

Ava <3

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@enha-stars @wonuskie @believeinthefireflies95 @esposadomd @peachmartini @rougegenshin @lindsayjoy444 @fearlessswxft

#michael scofield imagine #michael scofield fanfiction #michael scofield smut #michael scofield x reader #michael scofield #prison break imagine #prison break fanfiction #prison break x reader #prison break #lincoln burrows x reader #lincoln burrows

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reavenedges-lies · 5 months ago

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Typing this as I listen to the podcast however this is posted after it's over.

Confirmed by multiple sources including internal that Muruelo is walking away from his ownership rights to the Arizona Coyotes

The Special Use Permit would've added about a year (8-10 months) to the land buying process with the already tight schedule

Muruelo Jr stated today that they would not be looking into a new site for an arena

The Letter of Intents to buy land that Muruelo had on other plots were found out to not be zoned for an arena. As such would've been up for referendum

We Do Not Know What Will Happen With The Branding and Records

This is closure- Now we start from scratch.

Once Official™ new ownership groups will be able to apply for a new expansion team

The NHL while stating it is not in expansion mode Atlanta is already a front runner and shoe in with an arena

We still just need a new arena, however the 5 year idea of getting the team back may not be feasible

The Roadrunners may not be in Tucson for much longer as they are still owned by Muruelo and will most likely be moved into his new Reno based arena that should be opening 2026.

The Roadrunners may also not be the Utah Hockey Club's affiliate team for much longer depending on their ties with the Smith group

"I'm sorry Coyotes fans that you can feel elation over losing the [poor & unstable] ownership"

Bettman needs to vet ownership better, and ownership groups need to make and keep local relations with political and community leaders

Petey called in from the ESPN Afterparty with many Cameos from reporters

Injury news- McDavid & Draisaitl are both very injured and the injury reports will probably be very deep on both sides

There will be an interview with OEL in the future by Craig S. Morgan

#yotes lb #arizona coyotes #alex muruelo #phnx go

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chasedbyatlantic · 9 months ago

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comfort crowd, joel miller

masterlist summary: IN WHICH — joel miller shows you and ellie how to properly play golf, he's in it to win it - without a doubt.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, pre-jackson era!joel, female reader, no use of y/n, implied relationship, ellie being the comedic relief, these three being a happy and loving family, mentions of weapons, swearing. lmk if i missed anything!

wordcount: 2.7k

a/n ha..haha... (im in denial). guys i thought this was really funny and this was my brilliant idea. plz i hope u love it LOL. remember to like, comment, reblog and follow for more! xoxo.

—

You hated lawn chairs for as long as you could remember. The pain of your skin getting lodged between cracked pieces of plastic, your skin slipping and sliding off from the seat when there was just a slight temperature change, you could name five thousand different things. Yet, right now, those were the least of your worries. A nice lawn chair propped up at the top of a house, overlooking the entire street. You were far from complaining, Joel as well.

The two of you not only walked for the entire day without taking any breaks, but had to keep up with Ellie, your 'special mission'. The little girl, immune to everything, was the fastest and most talkative kid you had ever came across, apocalypse or not. You were hesitant at first, as anyone would be, but grew to trust the girl with your life. She did protect you a handful of times, your reflexes not as keen as they used to be.

The three of you were in South Dakota right now, your car breaking down in Iowa and having to walk the rest of the way to Utah. You knew the whole thing was sketchy after Boston, but Joel was set in his ways. You never questioned that man, you feared that he knew too well to put the three of you in a bad situation.

The three of you were in the outskirts of some suburban town, already done clearing the street. By the amount of runners, and the walls built around, you could tell people used to live here. Not many people, five or six people at most. This place had reminded you a lot of Bill's place, though, you weren't sure if that was a good thing.

You were ripped out of your thoughts when you heard Ellie's voice ringing through your ears. "Do you wanna hear a construction joke?" Your hand fell onto your forehead, blocking out the sun that highlighted your face too much for your liking. A small 'Leave her alone, Ellie.' was heard from behind you, Joel wanting you to go back and rest. "Awh, fuck you Joel- you ruined it!" Ellie had complained, which only made you laugh, "But, I'm still working on it, the joke."

You had actually laughed, despite not wanting to. Her jokes were so bad, if there was an award given to the worst jokes ever said, Ellie would win it by a landslide. "That fits him, ya'know." You nodded your head over to Joel, who had made his way in front of the two of you, and knelt down to search through his bag. Ellie rose her brow, giving you a questionable look. "He was a very good fixer-upper."

Joel cut you off, "A contractor." You had nodded your head at that, "The best one'n Austin that is." You had added to his comment, and he could only let out a laugh. Ellie had asked him what a contractor was, and he explained it as you shut your eyes and just- enjoyed the sun for a moment. It was hot as fuck outside, you didn't deny that, but not having to drag your feet across the hot pavement for the next while was so damn nic-

Splash. You yelped as your eyes shot open, scanning the surrounding area. You weren't sure if it were your survivor instincts, or this just really fucking pissing you off, but you were ready to pounce on whoever did this to you. In fact, you had taken out your knife that was tucked away in your waistband, the sunlight reflecting heavily off of the blade.

You turned your head, to see not only Ellie, but Joel laughing. Ellie was one thing, but Joel too? This had to be some inside joke or something, you thought to yourself. "I'm going to fucking kill you guys." You did everything in your power to suppress your smile as you stood up, put your knife back in your waistband, and launched forward. You grabbed onto Joel as he did nothing in his power to stop you, just standing there with his arms crossed and a smile to his face, but Ellie? Oh no, she ran back, and to the other side of the roof.

"Alright," You admitted defeat, "One's good enough for me, run away while you can, Ellie." This brought an even bigger smile to her face, she was having fun with this. Sometimes, you forgot Ellie was just a kid. Ellie didn't have a childhood, not whatsoever- the poor girl lives in the fucking apocalypse, for Christ sake. If she wants to have fun like this, let her. You had planned to talk to Joel soon about not dropping her off with the doctors in Salt Lake City, but who knew if he would even consider that.

The three of you played around for a while longer, careful not to get too close to the edge of the roof and have the possibility of falling off. You three were acting like a family, maybe not the sanest one, but a family. After these months out by yourselves, you may as well be family. You would take a bullet for Joel or Ellie, within a heartbeat.

"Alright, Joel." You had replied, "Whatever you say." He could only chuckle as he folded his arms now, leaning against the space beside the window. You had abandoned the lawn chair, and were now laying down right in front of him. It was uncomfortable for you, but he was definitely not complaining about you being there. You two weren't officially a couple, but you acted like it. Kisses being exchanged here and there, the occasional hand holding, sleeping in the same bed every night. You had claimed it was because it made you sleep easier, which wasn't totally wrong, but you knew Joel loved it.

"I'm tellin' ya'," He held his hands up un defense, "A degree in doodlin' was stupid, ya' could've saved a shit load'o money." You two were conversing about your lives before the apocalypse, school and what not. Ever since Ellie brought up the whole contractor thing, it had been on your mind. You met Joel when he and his brother Tommy (you think it was) had started to fix up your house, but the project never got finished due to- well, everything.

"'Kay, Mister 'I fix houses'. Not like I would’ve gotten a job, anyway." You could only laugh at this, "Plus," You added, "I only minored in arts. My major was environmental biology." Joel went back to crossing his arms, his brow cocked back. "My girl's a biologist, eh? Best get you to Utah too, ya' can help'n restoring the planet." He let it slide off his tongue so easily, his girl. It felt too innocent coming from him, knowing what he would use that little pet name for all too well. Though, you liked when he did that, he wasn't much of a PDA man so it was nice when the two of you were alone like this.

Speaking too soon about being alone, Ellie had popped back out of the window and basically gave Joel a heart attack. You brought your hand over your mouth to cover your laughs as Joel shot you a look, and Ellie yelling a quick 'sorry!'. Though, she was excited about something. "You will absolutely not believe what I fucking found while snooping around!" Joel turned his glare from you over to Ellie, "Ellie," He began, "You know what I told ya' 'bout lookin' in these homes." He set a rule with her at the start of this mission, that she would never explore more than they needed to. For example, in this house, he didn't want her to look around and find photographs of the previous homeowners and grow- attached, in some sort. You weren't really sure, you found the rule stupid.

"Doesn't matter, I was bored as fuck." She then tossed this case over, it landed in between of you and Joel. By looking at it, you would've assumed it was a guitar case, though, it was too skinny to be a guitar. Following suit, another smaller and more round case may it's way over, hitting the first and landing beside it. "Guess." Your eyes moved from the cases to Joel, having no clue what this could be. He shared the lost look, both of you turning your attention back to Ellie.

"Ugh, you guys are such grandparents." That had to be an insult, you thought to yourself. Joel, yeah sure, but you? No way. Before you had time to bicker with the girl, she reached forward and started to unzip the cases. You were pelted with small balls in a matter of seconds, not processing what they were yet. It was only after actually picking one up from the tens of them that were on your lap, that you realized what they were.

Golf balls. Ellie had found a golf set. Thank god for these rich South Dakota folk, for a nice and big roof, and now this. You hadn’t golfed in twenty years, so this was going to be so much fun. You looked up to see how Joel was reacting to this, he looked to be somewhat interested as well. "Alright, before we do anythin'," Joel started as he got up, "Clean these up and we'll do everythin' in an orderly fashion." Even if he was acting like an old man right now, he was your old man.

Ellie did so while Joel helped you up, a reassuring hand placed on the small of your back and the other intertwined between your fingers. You were surprised, this was the most affection he had showed you around Ellie. Though, you weren't complaining. After what felt like forever (once again, no complaints), he let go and Ellie turned in unison. "I have to admit this, nobody laugh. I have no fucking clue how to golf."

Before the man beside you had time to reply, you did for him. "Joel'll show you, he's the best golfer outta the three of us." You brought your arm up and rested it on his shoulder for a moment, before giving him a few reassuring pats on his chest. "Go get 'em, tiger." He was annoyingly staring at you, knowing this would only amuse you.

"Get two clubs, kid." He ordered Ellie, (gently) shoving you off of him. He shook his head at you, eyes lingering for a moment too long, before moving over to the edge of the roof. He would find a way to get you back, you could feel it. As Ellie searched through the bag to find the tallest club, you went over to find a few tees. Once the tees were in hand, and the case of golf balls in the other, you made your way over to where Joel was.

As you set up the tees and golf balls in an appropriate place, just on the edge of the roof, Joel started to explain this whole thing to Ellie. She looked mesmerized, the few times you turned your head to see this. Joel acting like a teacher and all to her was sweet, when he usually treated her like an adult. Not that Joel was Ellie's father by any stretch of the way, but it was nice she got to experience a father-daughter moment right now. It warmed your heart too much.

After Ellie was taught the correct form, Joel moved her in front of the tee and ball, helping her get the correct stance before swinging. It missed, by a foot. This sent you through the roof (figuratively, not literally), you couldn't help yourself. Ellie was a bright red from embarrassment as she cursed you out, and Joel couldn't help himself either.

Ellie swung twice more with added force each time, before successfully hitting the golf ball. it went flying, not far, but high. "Good job, kid." Joel congratulated her, despite just laughing about her misfortunes prior. You rose your hand up beside her head, she replied with a high five and you two giggled. Since Joel's job was done, he now picked up his club and went to the tee set up to the right of Ellie. You followed suit with the left.

It took you a moment to get back into the swing of things, the last time you had moved your body like this was- well, dealing with runners. After a swing or two, it came back to you like you had been playing golf for the last twenty years. Joel too, from the looks of it. He let out a complaint or two about how this would strain his joints, but you guys were planning on spending a day or two here anyway.

Eventually, the three of you had came up with a game. Whoever could punt their balls the farthest wins. It was simple, really, but there were little roadblocks in the way- cars, mailboxes, you name it. Ellie's golf balls were blue, yours were red, and Joel's were yellow. You had counted down from three, indicating when all of you could start.

Three. You placed your feet in the appropriate position, cracking your neck just a little. Ellie twisted the club in her hand, as if it were a pencil or something. Joel stayed calm, his club resting on the floor.

Two. You rose your club into the swinging position, focusing on the middle of the red golf ball right in front of you. Ellie took notice of what you were doing and copied the motion, she was eager to hit it on the first go this time. Joel slightly raised his now, still sluggishly moving.

One. You started to move your club to hit the ball, Ellie too. After both of yours were hit in sync, you could hear Joel's being hit after. Your eyes made their way over to him, to examine his strategy, he was still remaining calm. This annoyed you, to say the least.

The three of you went through thirty golf balls each, eventually punting at your own pace. You were the first to finish, feeling pretty proud of yourself of where the balls had landed. Ellie was next, she was proud too. After not golfing for her entire life, this looked pretty promising. Joel was last, no surprise to that. He took his sweet time and finished around five minutes after you and Ellie were done, only earning snickers from Ellie.

"Alright," You told the girl, "Go down'n check who made it the farthest." She obliged, a small 'yes ma'am' before taking off for the window. Your eyes followed her with a smile to your face, "Havin' fun, aren't ya'?" Joel asked. You turned back around to face him, "Not as much as you are, clearly."

He knew he was acting cocky, and was for the past little while. Though, since you definitely didn't seem to mind, he kept up the act. "Ya'know what would make this even better?" He asked you, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left. You tilted your head, indicating that you were waiting for a response. "A golf cart." Before you had time to slap him for his ridiculous request, Ellie was yelling something from down the street.

You averted your attention from Joel, and now at the girl. She was mouthing something, that only you were able to understand after she repeated herself four times. Joel. Joel had won, for fuck sakes. "Well, shit." Was all you could say. He, on the other hand, was ecstatic, the most ecstatic you had ever seen him. For a moment, while he acted like that, you enjoyed it. Joel was having fun, that's what had mattered- he had to let loose every once in a while too.

After a moment, he collected himself once again. The same grin plastered on his face, though, as he folded his arms across his chest and watched as Ellie ran back over to the house. Before she came up, he nudged your shoulder. "Today was fun, eh?" He asked you, which had earned your head nodding almost too quick as a response. "Y'ur a pretty good golfer too, I guess." He admitted. You could only laugh, nudging his arm back. "Not as good as you, Mister Winner. Ya' should've skipped contractor school and went pro golf."

—

comfort crowd, conan gray

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mydaddywiki · 4 days ago

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Rick Majerus

Physique: Heavyset Build Height: 6'1"

Richard Raymond Majerus (February 17, 1948 – December 1, 2012; aged 64) was an American basketball coach and TV analyst. He coached at Marquette University (1983–1986), Ball State University (1987–1989), the University of Utah (1989–2004), and Saint Louis University (2007–2012). Majerus's most successful season came at Utah in the 1997–98 season, when the Utes finished as runners-up in the 1998 NCAA Division I men's basketball tournament. Majerus was inducted into the College Basketball Hall of Fame in 2019.

Majerus was a fan favorite and cult figure around college basketball, known for his portly, rotund figure and his quirky, jovial personality. The portly coach was unabashed in his love of food, always quick with a restaurant recommendation for whatever town his teams were playing in. He enjoyed bratwurst, a sausage popular in his native Wisconsin which is fitting as I would have loved to feed him my love sausage.

Born in Sheboygan, Wis., Majerus graduated from Marquette University High School in 1967, attending Marquette University. After graduating from Marquette in 1970 with a bachelor's degree in history, Majerus was hired by McGuire as a full-time assistant in 1971. After three years as head coach at Marquette, he became an assistant coach with the Milwaukee Bucks for the 1986–87 season. After a stint at Ball State University for two seasons, Majerus accepted the position at Utah in 1989, leading the "Runnin Utes" to a 1996 sweet 16. Majerus worked as a game and studio analyst for ESPN from 2004 to 2007 before accepting the head coaching position at Saint Louis University.

Majerus, married once for two years in the mid-1980s, childless and dated the same woman the last 25 years of his life, famously lived in a Marriott hotel near the University of Utah campus; everyone knew where to find him. Majerus has been in a state of health risk for many years before dying of heart failure in a Los Angeles hospital on December 1, 2012. From what can tell, he was a jovial, crude, basketball-obsessed coach who had nice tits, packing something big and didn’t mind being nude around people. Sounds like my type of guy.

Head Coaching Record Overall: 517–215 Tournaments: 19–12 (NCAA Division I) 8–4 (NIT) 3–1 (CBI)

Accomplishments and Honors Championships NCAA Regional—Final Four (1998) MAC regular season (1989) MAC tournament (1989) 6 WAC regular season (1991, 1993, 1995–1997, 1999) 3 WAC tournament (1995, 1997, 1999) 2 MWC regular season (2000, 2003)

Awards 5× WAC Coach of the Year (1991, 1993, 1995, 1997, 1999) MAC Coach of the Year (1989)

College Basketball Hall of Fame Inducted in 2019

#Rick Majerus #mydaddywiki sports figures #basketball coach

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deer-rising · 28 days ago

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(tomswifty-fr) lair id #327532 ! Anyone is fair game except the fodder and project tabs in my den

@tomswifty-fr

I Pick Porphyria!

I Love a desaturated rosettes! I got very confused for a while wondering Why she had No Eyes but its just that the Sanddune Rags match so well you can't even really tell they are there! I think she looks nice and very apt for a Spooky Winter Ghost she is exactly how she Should be, y'know? Runners Up - Albion (he looks like a storybook? teh stars and the purple and green? lol), Montogomery (funny business boy TV anchor), Toothpaste (just lvoes him), Utah (BURNT! niec) and special shoutout to the whole horses tab I loved to see all the weird and wonderful way you can put a horse on ur dragon :D

#lair favs

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transit-fag · 1 year ago

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thoughts on utah public transit?

Needs more amtrak lines

The front runner seems cool, I like that it is getting electrified

Salt Lake City has an impressive Light Rail

In general seems very car oriented though

Too republican to be transport leader but isn't doing the worst

Not a transit thought but it is very Mormon

#asks

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hannahssimblr · 9 months ago

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Chapter Eighteen (Part 2)

There are no family photos on the walls of this house, which is entirely different to my home. My mother framed everything, because I was the only child, and therefore everything I did and every milestone I achieved was wonderful and amazing. There’s a photo of me, eight and smiling on the day of my first communion that has pride of place on the mantelpiece next to my parents wedding photos, as though my first reception of the body of Christ (a wafer) was as important as their vow to each other. I was cute back then, but it’s easy to track my progression from cute child to awkward teenager by simply following the path of photos on the wall above the television, where I am immortalised forever in my school uniform, picture day after picture day, year after year until they mercifully stopped taking them at the end of primary school and I was free to duck away and hide my braces and acne from any and all cameras.

There are no such records in the Turner house. There are no notches on the door frames that measured the growth of the children, no ancient crayon drawings still stuck to the fridge, or, for the extra special ones, framed on the wall where visitors can see them. There’s no sad, punctured football in the back garden, or Ribena stain on the carpet, and I can’t see what’s inside the cupboard under the stairs, but I guarantee there’s no outsized roller skates or fad toy from Christmas 2002 stuffed in there either. This house is like somebody opened an interior design magazine and bought everything on the page.

Jude climbs on a chair to reach a box, way up high on the very top of a bookcase. He settles next to me on the sofa and lifts the lid without any of the reverence or intentionality I feel it deserves, and hauls out a handful of photographs.

“There are before me.” He says, and I don’t care about those ones. His mother is very beautiful, and when she’s young even more so, but Collette Turner is of about as much interest to me as I am to her. When he hands them to me I just leave them on the coffee table and poke my fingers around in the box with him until we find the ones from November 1991.

“There I am.” He says, and rightly so, there he is. A tiny baby screaming in his mother’s arms as she, looking like a child herself stares bemusedly down at the pink, squirming thing in her arms. “Apparently all I did was make noise.” He says. “Nothing has changed there. I also wasn’t cute.”

“You weren’t.” I agree, but I like the photo anyway. Even in these first minutes of his life there’s something furious and uncompromising about him, all clenched fists and red face. He’s so tiny. My heart swells for him.

“I did get cute though.” He says, putting another photo into my hands of him at maybe two years old, wearing nothing but a nappy and a pair of cowboy boots. He’s standing on wobbly little legs on some dirt path, while sandstone pillars and jagged rock formations soar up into the sky behind him. It’s the kind of landscape that you only see in cartoons.

“Did you see the road runner when you were there?” I deadpan.

He smirks. “That’s Bryce Canyon. My great aunt brought me along on a trip with her kids. I think I was two.” He flips it over to where Sept. ‘93 is scrawled in blue biro. “Almost two. Her kids were in college at that point. I think there’s photos of us all.” He has a quick shuffle through the stack and withdraws several more from Utah, mostly of him being held, or cuddled or kissed on his chubby cheeks by four twenty somethings who look like extras from Seinfeld. Looking at their faces, their patterned jumpers, their floppy haircuts brings back a sense-memory of what it felt like to exist in the nineties. That pervasive smell of cigarettes and the old, brown plastic ashtray on my uncle’s table. The cuffs of light wash jeans and the creases in my cousin’s white sneakers as I tied and untied his shoelaces beneath the kitchen table, and Paul Simon’s Obvious Child, and our old TV that spit out white noise and wobbled until someone banged it with their fist to set it right again. I feel as affectionate towards those snippets of memory as I do about this tiny, cowboy boot wearing Jude, perched high on his cousin’s shoulders.

“Is that your great aunt?” I wonder, pointing to a ruddy cheeked woman in her early forties that crouches down with her arms around him at the base of a sandstone pillar.

“Yes, Maureen.” he’s mentioned her before in passing. I know that her husband was in the military, and that they lived all over the world for years. When he retired they settled in New Mexico, and she and her family were in the picture a lot when Jude was a child.

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“When I was fifteen, but it’s not always easy to find the time anymore. She calls me every Christmas and on my birthday, and sometimes she sends me gifts.” He brushes his thumb thoughtfully over the photo. “You know, I miss her. She was kind of like my other-mother for a while.”

“Maybe you should go and visit again.”

“Yeah, I’d really like to.” He digs through the box and pulls out a more recent one of them both from 2007. They’re standing in her kitchen with their arms around each other, and she’s short and round, and he’s so tall and gangly with a wooden beaded necklace on, and they both have the biggest smiles. “Maybe I’ll go in the autumn.”

“Definitely! I think that’d be amazing.”

“It’s just weird because it’s hard to know where I’m going to be then, you know? Now that I’m graduating from college I’ll have to, like, look for a job.” He says it like it’s a dirty word, and there is the tiniest twinge of anxiety in my belly.

“Something will work out.” I say passively. I’ve tried not to think about what’s going to happen after college, and whether or not he’ll decide to move back to Ireland again once he finishes his final project. We’ve just avoided the conversation, even though sometimes during our long talks we bring us right up to the knife’s edge of it before we stealthily change the subject, but I soon have to acknowledge the elephant in the room, and it’s that we don’t know where he’ll be in six months. We don’t know what things might look like between us, and neither of us knows yet what he wants.

“Yeah, definitely.” He says hopefully, and I take the photo of him and Maureen so that I can take a closer look.

“2007.” I murmur. “You were so dreamy. I wish you’d seen what I looked like in 2007, it’d be like a jump scare.”

He chuckles. “No way, Evie.”

“I had cystic acne and braces,” I confess. “I was so ugly.”

“You haven’t even brushed up against ugly in your entire life. And I had braces once too, believe it or not.”

“Oh I’d believe it.” I feast myself on the view of his immaculate teeth. “Did your dad do that?”

“He did, and funny you should mention him, because he’ll probably be home soon. Do you want to endure an awkward, socially inept conversation with him or do you want me to take you home?”

“Oof, tough choice.”

Jude takes all of the photos from my lap and from the table and taps them gently into formation before stacking them back into the box where they’ll no doubt sit there unbothered for another few months or years, dusty and forgotten atop the bookcase.

“Let’s get moving.”

Jude’s car idles outside my apartment for half an hour, because every time I try to get out I look over my shoulder at him and feel compelled to kiss him goodbye, just one more time.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a great kisser.” I say as his lips slide from my mouth to the curve of my jaw, and his fingers caress the nape of my neck. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Back of my hand.” He murmurs. “Glad you’ve noticed, I’ve actually never kissed a girl before.”

“Oh shut up.” I snicker.

“You know, if you think I’m good with my mouth you should see what else I can do with it.”

I breathe out a laugh, and my body shivers so intensely from head to toe that I have to twist out of his grip. This is full-on dirty talk. I don’t know how to do that. I should probably give him a slow, seductive smile and say something like “Well why don’t you come upstairs and show me?” But I obviously don’t. I say “Oh.” and then laugh way too loudly which completely dissolves the sexual vibe and he goes from looking flirtatious to amused. “What?”

“I mean, you can come in if you like, I know I owe you one but full disclosure I haven’t shaved in days.”

“Are you trying to lure me in with handjobs and hairy legs?”

“Feeling enticed?”

“You bet.”

I lean back against the passenger door and wrap my arms around myself. “Well, whatever you want to do is fine.”

His expression is funny as he takes me in, my body language, the metre of space I’ve managed to carve between us, and his eyebrow twitches sceptically. “I don’t want things that you don’t. You know that?”

I nod.

“When you want me to come in, I’ll come in, but you don’t have to do things for me just because you think you owe me.”

“I will want to.” I say. “Just later.”

“Well lucky for you I’m busy the next while. I’m in the last weeks of my thesis and I really need to buckle down, so if we’re fooling around it will probably not do wonders for my concentration.”

I pout. “But I’ll still see you?”

“Of course, I’ll always make time for you.” He pulls me into him by my wrists and kisses me one last time, and I’m starting to wonder how I’ll ever be expected to kiss another man again when he pulls away from me. “It’s time for you to get out of my car. I’m wasting diesel.” He teasingly shoves me away and I scramble for the handle and scurry out onto dark streets wet with rain as he springs forward to smack my arse.

“Later, alligator.” He says, and I shut the door behind me with a thunk.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3

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bearterritory · 7 months ago

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Bears Nearly Win It All

Cal Gymnastics Team Places Close Second at Championships

FORT WORTH, Texas – From virtual irrelevance to the very doorstep of a national championship, the scene at Dickies Arena on Saturday afternoon was not lost on Cal women's gymnastics co-head coach Justin Howell.

The Golden Bears finished as runner-ups at the 2024 NCAA Championships, narrowly finishing second to national champion LSU with a team score of 197.850. It was a culmination of a record-bashing season for the Golden Bears, who among other benchmarks won their first-ever outright regular season conference title this season.

"Given every challenge and obstacle that has been in our way every step of the way, to be here competing for a national championship on the final night and finish as runner-up to an amazing LSU team – there really are no words," said Howell, who took over the program in 2013 and became co-head coach with wife Liz Crandall-Howell in 2018 after she spent six years on the Bears' coaching staff. "I never doubted the vision that Liz and I set out with when we started coaching together. To get to a place where everybody – not just our team, but everyone else around the country – believed we can compete with the very best is a special place to be. We knew it wouldn't happen overnight."

The Bears finished the 2012 season ranked 49th in the country, the year before Howell took over as head coach. Two seasons later, Cal was a top-20 team and now has finished in the top 10 in each of the past five years.

The Golden Bears were led by another phenomenal performance by sophomore eMjae Frazier, who scored at least 9.9 on each of the four rotations. Junior Mya Lauzon tied as vault winner with a 9.95.

Fellow Pac-12 foe Utah placed third with a 197.800 and Florida was fourth at 197.4375.

"Our expectation now is to certainly compete with the very best on the final night of the national championships," Howell said. "This experience will be invaluable to everyone returning on the team. They know what it takes and what it feels like. I think as a program we have learned a lot. This is the expectation moving forward."

The Bears began the meet with a strong balance beam score of 49.4750, led by Frazier's 9.95. After a 49.3750 on the floor exercise dropped them to third, the Bears finished up with terrific rotations on both vault and the uneven bars, notching a 49.500 on each. Frazier (9.9375) and freshman Kyen Mayhew (9.9) led the way on vault while Frazier (9.9125), senior Gabby Perea (9.9125) and junior Maddie Williams (9.90).

Cal moved past Utah and into second place with its final bars scores.

The Bears will lose Perea and fellow seniors Andi Li and Elise Byun from this year's season but returns a core that should make the program one of the national favorites again next season. Li and Perea were both All-Americans.

"I'm incredibly proud of our seniors," Howell said. "They are incredibly talented and were recruited by a lot of phenomenal schools. They chose to come to Cal and be part of this journey, and they will have memories the rest of their lives."

#Go Bears!#UC Berkeley #Roll on you Bears #Cal sports #This Is Bear Territory #Go Bears #California athletics

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wileys-russo · 8 months ago

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To the anon who is confused about the wsl and why there is no playoffs it’s because there are what’s called feeder leagues. The NWSL does not have a G-league that feeds into it. If you don’t know what a feeder league is, it’s basically like when we went to school how if you lived in a certain area you would go to a certain middle school and high school (if you moved a lot think of it like a draft day where those that were in college can go pro, in this case college would be the feeder league).

WSL is more like a “who can hang with the big dogs” and “who still needs to work more on themselves” most of the European leagues have this pyramid style where multiple lower leagues feed into one another and the one right below the big leagues get to send one or two teams up (these teams are usually the champs of the previous league and the runner up). So for example let’s say that Bay FC and Utah Royals were a team that already existed and the NWSL did have a feeder league we’ll just call it the SWSL and let’s say that league consisted of 12 teams including the two mentioned. At the end of the season based on the playoff system Bay FC won and Utah were runners up they get to move on to the NWSL and whatever two teams were at the bottom go to the SWSL because clearly they need to work on themselves. But if we were to use the WSL method where it’s based on points Bay FC would not have gone up because they couldn’t reach the top half of the board because they were 19 points down and ultimately 6th in the league. In the WSL you have the FA cup (which I think is played with the other lower leagues), the Conti Cup (I think that’s also with lower leagues don’t quote me), UWCL (other leagues from other countries compete), and then the league cup. The NWSL at least when I first started watching had a challenge cup.

So Playoffs to me are so weird because with the NFL you have wild cards. The only competition where I have seen wild cards is the UWCL and that’s because some leagues don’t have enough funding to really have two teams from their leagues to really have a stable spot. Best example is Juventus and Eintracht Frankfurt this year. Juventus was second in the Italian league but Eintracht was 3rd in theirs. Eintracht weren’t considered the favorites to move on but they beat out Juventus to compete in the UWCL. I think the biggest reason overall that the NWSL does playoffs is because 1. You don’t have any other leagues to worry about, 2. You don’t have like 3 other competitions, 3. All of the NWSL has better funding so most teams or on a level playing field, and 4. Because literally all of our sports have a playoff style going on and that’s what most Americans understand better vs the Europeans are just like “you had literally all season to try and be at the top and you couldn’t even break top three why should you be a champion if your points are still 6”.

It’s really confusing I know but if that anon want to DM me they can and I will do my best to answer and maybe I’ll make a PowerPoint that I can post at some point.

‼️‼️‼️

#answered asks

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jgroffdaily · 1 year ago

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Jonathan has recently been in Seattle after working in Vancouver, but here’s an interview from November 2013 about his favourite cities, holidays and travel memories. Including:

Q. Your “Frozen” character, Kristoff, is a mountain man. Are you an outdoorsman as well?

A. My mom’s a gym teacher and she and my dad were both athletes. So we were always an active family. Ever since we were little, we did long bike rides. I’m a runner and I hike and I love being outdoors and doing all that kind of stuff. But I’ve never been on a proper camping trip. I camped outdoors in our backyard! (Laughs) I’d love to take a week off and camp in Yellowstone. Maybe I could be a hardcore camper. But not the kind who doesn’t need an actual bathroom. So scratch the hardcore part. (Laughs)

Q. Do you like cold-weather destinations?

A. I do! Last year I went to Park City, Utah, with my family and we skied and stayed in a lodge. That was fun. I hadn’t skied in a while. My mom took me skiing when I was little. I was maybe in the fourth grade. A snowboarder hit me from behind! He was a grown man, so it hurt.

Q. What was the first trip you took as a child?

A. It was to Disney World when I was five years old. My mom did a 50-day countdown. Every day before the trip, she would videotape us and we could talk about our upcoming trip or sing a song from Disney. We were so excited. The trip lived up to our expectations 100 percent! I didn’t even mind waiting in the lines to go on the Peter Pan ride and everything. I have to say, I actually love waiting in lines at amusement parks with people who you like. It’s fun. I had a friend who came to visit me from London last year and we went to Disneyland. Anyhow, now here I am in a Disney movie.

Q. Where is the most romantic destination?

A. I’ve honestly never had a romantic vacation. I need to change that right away!

Q. What are your top five cities?

A. I lived in Chicago shooting “Boss” for three months and it was gorgeous. But if I was going to place the cities in my favorite order, it’d be New York for sure. It’s my absolute favorite! Then Lancaster, Pa., Rome, San Francisco and Chicago.

Q. What makes a memorable vacation?

A. Being able to travel by yourself and feeling at home. I went to Rome by myself and just had the most incredible experience there. I went in the summer and it was so sexy and the food was great. I love sitting outside and people-watching. The vibe in the city was amazing. And then to visit the Sistine Chapel was mind blowing. I have to say that when I was in Rome, I ate my face off!

Q. Where have you traveled to that most reminded you of home?

A. I spent some time in Portland, Ore., and the mountains there reminded me of the mountains in Pennsylvania. It was so pretty with the leaves changing.

#jonathan groff #interview #2013 #frozen

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fantasykim · 3 months ago

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Lack of Dystopian Shelves

my favorite genre to read is Dystopian. but when I go to book stores and libraries, I find myself surrounded but an utter LACK or sections or even shelves dedicated to this genre. and every time I ask about it, i'm always told-

"there aren't enough Dystopian books to have a whole section for them."

lies. LIES I TELL YOU!!!

in UTAH every Barns and Noble has a shelf dedicated to books written by one man! Branden Sanderson. most of his are dystopian, just put him in a dystopian section instead of giving him his own shelf- like COME ON!

I can list a dozen Dystopian novels off the top of my head!

The Giver. Divergent. Hunger Games. Fahrenheit 451. Matched. Legend. Maze Runner. Uglies. Perception. Scythe. The Selection. The Red Queen. Shatter Me. Red Rising.

I could go on, but why? I've made my point! a simple google search could give you more!

If I were to walk around and pick up every dystopian book I've read in a library, I would have enough for their own section. and yet, still no dystopian section?

so what is the real reason?

with a little research, some say that less and less dystopians are being written, so there aren't as many NEW ones.

first of all, I highly doubt that.

second of all, if that's true, why would authors be writing less and less of something that sells REALLY REALLY WELL- it doesn't add up!

so with a little more research, I'm told that Dystopian books are the most likely of ay genre to become banned.

okay. fine. I can believe that. but so what? that's never stopped us from reading them! not even when book bans were so serious they would burn every copy they found! we still found ways around it!

so WHY do we not have a dystopian section?

some people have told me that it's because it's a 'sub genre' and so it can't have it's own section. and to that I say

POPPYCOCK!!!

Dystopian is no sub genre! it can have sub genres in it! like fantasy, or romance, even mystery! I've seen historical fiction dystopian! I've also seen historical fiction romance. and action romance. and mystery romance. oop- but Romance get's it's own damn room!

where is my dystopian section?

if heart stopper can be put in four different spots (fiction-graphic novels-romance-LGBT) then having multiple places for the same book is simply not the issue.

I do not understand why I can not go to a library or book store and just go to the shelf full of books I want to read! most other people can!

Horror! Romance! Fantasy! Thriller! cookbooks!

but I can't get a single table with a few books laid out with a sign that says- "don't miss out one some of the classic dystopians!"???

I want justice!

I will write 100 Dystopian novels if that's what it takes to just get a section dedicated to all dystopian novels in a book store near me!

if someone has more insight on this, please, I need to know why so I can fight against this!

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blindrapture · 4 months ago

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THURSDAY JULY 21ST, 2011 (Who Once Ruled the Streetlights)

9:31 AM Rabbit hole hotel. Rock solid fake beds. I tried calling some room service, a voice on the phone accepted my order, there was a knock at the door, and when we opened up, there was no one there, just a tray of food on the ground. I ordered a mushroom burger. Donnie got a korma.

9:44 AM Eaten. I guess I should write some explanations, huh? Well. I had to leave the library, I had to think things through. It's. Really fucking sad to know that she's dead. She was someone I knew, someone I had history with, someone who, all things considered, did actually help me not feel so totally alone for a while. I had dreamed of getting to meet her one day. I was scared that our breakup would have meant she wouldn't want to see me, but, like, I can't even confirm that. Maybe it wasn't as bad as all that. Maybe she would have wanted to come with us. I could have talked Donnie into it, I think. Donnie would have liked Anna. They're both really sweet and… ..did I even really know Anna all that well? Do I even really know Donnie...? We do talk. I don't write everything down. We chat about the world as it once was, and our gripes with school. Donnie had British schooling, which has its differences. Donnie also grew up with a lot more British TV than I did. And she'd seen a lot more American movies than me, as American movies get distributed everywhere, and I.. well, okay, it's complicated. My parents were film buffs. It sometimes felt like there was always a movie on at my house. But they were often black-and-white movies, or off-beat 2000s comedies that dad found really funny, or the myriad thrillers and supernatural horrors that mum loved. I watched kid movies. And TV. So much TV. Dad did show me Watchmen in theaters when that came out. Donnie's seen all the classics, the Ghostbusters, the Blade Runner, the Bourne movies, the Back to the Futures, the Breakfast Club, something about a Wong Foo. Hell, Donnie watched Samurai Jack when it was on TV. I didn't watch any of those. I did see some Samurai Jack, but it was always too slow for me. What did Anna watch? I remember her mentioning Donnie Darko. Neon Genesis Evangelion, definitely never got around to that one. She talked a lot about musicians like Ben Folds and Foxy Shazam. And she talked a lot about that Homestuck. I think, of all those things, I was familiar with Donnie Darko. Donnie is too. But, like. Media is all I really know of people. And some details about how people feel about their families. A loose idea of what creative things people like doing. Is that, like. Is that just an internet friend thing? Is it also just a me thing? It doesn't... come naturally to me, to just chat about anything else. What is there? Sports? Card games? I guess, for adults, there's jobs. I'm not even that good at talking about food. So, like. So. It's not that bizarre, to feel a little bit of sadness and then move on. ...I hate that I feel it. And I hate that I feel expected to move on. And I hate that I'm.. just.. going to. And, like. Another option is vowing revenge. But she died in the Cipher Realm. And we killed the Cipher. We got that revenge. … Anyway.

9:50 AM So I left the library, I went out the Door, I came to Utah. I felt what I was going to feel. And I found the slender man. A slender man? He watched me from a doorway as I passed through. I didn't even notice him at first. I just noticed a lot of fallen leaves gathering under my feet. The last thing I remember is looking around, noticing him. Then.. Donnie was sleeping next to me in this hotel. My journal is blank for those missing days, except for those tally marks again. I can.. I mean, I can take a guess as to what happened. I went with the slender man somewhere. I killed for him. I marked each kill. He's the slender man. In the stories, that's the kind of thing that he causes. I guess it doesn't have to have been kills? It could have been fucking pill bottles stolen from college students, for all I know. Masks bought from Wal-Mart and decorated with creepy black marker. Donnie says she doesn't know about all that, that when she couldn't find me in Castle Dale she ultimately decided to head west. First she walked, dragging her rifle on the ground behind her, my journal in a pocket in her now-tattered combat suit. Then she found a car and drove until night fell and she slept in a gas station. She considered sleeping in one of the many department stores or supermarkets she passed, but the bigger buildings out there could hide all sorts of threats. That night, she didn't notice anything, but the journal still had the tally marks come morning. So she kept moving, driving through interstates, switchbacks, and national parks. She occasionally saw small packs of travellers, and even less occasionally passed another moving car. More often, she saw a dog, always waiting for her at the towns she drove through, always already there. She didn't stop for it. In between CDs on the car stereo, she could hear cawing, sometimes screams, and sometimes gunshots. Night fell for the second time, and she started looking for good empty buildings, when she drove through another road-sized rabbit hole and ended up in a desert at daytime. And she kept driving, at least until the car got jammed by sand and she couldn't get it unstuck alone. And that's when the Thunderbirds came. Blacking out the sky in a tremendous storm, convincing her to stay in the car and grip her gun. They flew in circles, cawing a cacophany, whipping up a wind that morphed the sands in front of her, building a hotel of desert brick that rose out of the ground. Immaculately carved. And then there wasn't a single bird in the sky, and the hotel's lights were on. Sign said The Lookout. So she waited a few minutes, bracing for jump scares, before going inside and getting a room. And this time, late in the night, she heard the door open. And saw me walk in. And saw me collapse on the bed next to her, writing the tally marks in the journal, then pass out. She says she stroked my hair a little before she fell asleep. She says she's just glad I'm back. ...me too.

10:00 AM I talked with Donnie as I wrote all this down. I thanked her for keeping my journal safe. And I apologized for going off by myself, which was dumb. "I had the feeling you weren't gone for good. I'm starting to.. get used to how all this works." All the Fear stuff? "You." o_o;; "I never did tell you, did I? That.. friend of mine, who I wanted to go to Nebraska for. He was my ex." Oh… "There's been anxieties in my head, for sure. I've wondered if, in our travels, we'd find him... dead. Or even alive. Honestly I don't know which makes me more anxious. Because, I needed him at the time to help me get through a.. thing with my mum. My parents' divorce... my mum's alcoholism." Yeah. That makes sense. "But, did I really know him that well? Was I just using him, in a hard time?" I don't know about that. I don't know how friends work, I guess, but that also means I don't know if taking advantage works that way. I mean, I guess I don't know the whole story? But I don't need to. If he's willing to focus on you when you need the company, that's... friendship. "Is it romance, though?" Uh. o__o;; I'm even more ignorant on that one. "When his own life got stressful, he didn't depend on me. He just cut it all off. Said he didn't need me around for this." That's.. different, then. So you thought maybe you'd be able to find him and show him that you can help? "Yes. That's.. pretty spot-on. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this." holding my hand. I think we do understand each other. :) "Was it like that with you? And Anna?" Y'know, I.. don't.. actually know? I think it's more likely that I proved I was too caught up in my own problems to be able to help with hers. Or maybe even.. to even really listen to her. "You think? So you don't actually know." No. I didn't want to. "Then you're being too hard on yourself. And you clearly want to know now." Now when it's too late, yeah. "I think you're going to feel that for a while." Yeah.

10:13 AM Well, we've set out. Went to the elevator. This hotel has thirty-two floors, and our room was on floor thirty-one. ...can we see the top floor? "Uh. Sure?" Sorry, just. 32 is my favorite number. .w.

10:14 AM Floor 32, here we-- that's blood. Blood all over the walls. Just like one of my Japanese animes… "What?" Metal Gear Solid. "That's an anime?" No, it's-- y'know what, forget it. Just keep that rifle handy. "Okay. And you keep Tiger Stripes handy, okay?" Yes, ma'am. :)

10:15 AM End of the hall. Door 417. "Why can't Xanadu ever keep its numbers straight?" The door's locked. Looking back, already something's changed with this hallway. The blood splatters on the walls are humanoid now. Except for that one. The far end of the hall is a tall human in a black business suit. If he has a face, we can't see it. This fucker again. DONNIE YELPED WHAT The human-shaped blood things are full-black now. They're shadows. They're.. the Victims. Some of them are hanging around us, and some of them are approaching the slender man. ..door 417 opened. I think we're being ushered inside. The slender man is leaving. Is he.. scared of the shadows?

10:16 AM Inside Room 417. It's.. just another room. But the shadows, the Victims, are hanging around the chairs and beds. Like they're trying to sit, like regular humans. donnie "Did.. they just save us?" "It has no power here. Not in our hotel." You can talk?! a shadow nodded. donnie "I didn't think the slender man was scared of shadows." "He isn't. But that wasn't the slender man. That was one of Xanadu's constructs." Oh shit, lore. Please go on. Constructs? "With the coming of the red sky, Xanadu grabbed onto many of the Fears and dragged them into dark worlds. It took their forms and created many shadows." Shadows, like you? "We are the Victims, as we were once human like you, before we were lost in other worlds." shit. "What Xanadu did to the Fears it ensnared is somewhat different, which we believe to be because a god will cast a far greater shadow than a human will. We are humans who have lost our bodies. Xanadu's constructs are new beings, clones, carrying on a wholly different will." So. So Xanadu has the slender man trapped? donnie "We saw him in that factory! That must have been him!" "If you recognized what you saw as the slender man, then you have not seen him, you have not seen what has been done to him." Maybe we just saw another construct. "You have likely seen many constructs. Xanadu has taken multiple Fears." Why would it want to.. clone them? "It is likely not a conscious act. It is the operation of many systems." Right, yeah, 'cause it's a whole universe. I get it. donnie "So, the, uh, real slender man. Should we... try to... rescue him?" looking at me "You will not make it to his prison." another shadow "His oubliette!" another shadow said something about a 'plonk level?' now the shadows are all arguing.

10:22 AM "The least we can do is tell them..." Yeah? Tell us what? "Who the slender man was." "Who Xanadu wants him to once again be." "The Beast." "The Beast." "THE BEAST!" o__o "Understand, word gets around when you live as the absence of light. There is nowhere we cannot go, often unnoticed. And we are Victims who are stuck here in Xanadu." "We have heard the insectoids speak of their tales. We have heard the gingerbread poetry cycles. And there are many voices without bodies that speak until spoken to…" "Tiresias says a lot more when he thinks he is alone…" They’re forming one large shadow on the wall: A four-headed, four-horned dragon. All heads overlap in one single orb. "The Beast was the firstborn of Sanche, a far more ancient name. We will always be part of his great misdirect. It is said that all gods answer to one of Sanche's thousand names. But the Beast…" "The Beast embodies Fear and betrays it. He once ruled the streetlights, leading us home like a wise and dark shepherd. His power was born of our anxieties. A robe of blood and shadow cover his torso, a scepter of black fire and branches speak for him after he swore his vow of silence." "The Beast removed his own face in order to ensure his silence." "The Beast was the leader of the gods."

(Attached: "This is all true.")

"Perhaps he will break free of Xanadu of his own accord, return to Earth, and be our leader once more." "Would he want to, after he was so betrayed?" "Xanadu did not reach out and grab him. Someone on our side forced him into his prison." "But even if he does not want to, he must. He is the only one who can challenge the Lamb." "The Beast and the Lamb. The Beast and the X. The Beast and the Harlot. This is the triad of the end." ..wait. I’ve been hearing that name a lot lately. What is the Harlot? The Victims are forming a shadow of a naked woman with a bull’s head. "Tiamat was never meant to kill Marduk.” “She is our creation myth. We have her to thank and her to blame.” “She watches over us all, influencing our decisions, challenging our assumptions. It is she that will sacrifice her vessel to usher in a new age: The Beast would use her to end the world, and the Lamb would use her to bring us to Rapture. Unless she finds it in herself to control the Lamb.” Huh. And so who is the Lamb? The shadow of a man, arms outstretched, feet of a bird, tail of a scorpion, in a coat, with a circle around his dog-like head. “The terminal messiah, follower of the Blind Man’s Book, he lies down on Broadway always in the presence of enemies.” “It is he who will face the Beast in the Final Battle. If the Lamb wins, Rapture comes. If the Beast wins, the apocalypse may last for years.” “Should the Beast win, Fear will follow in eternity’s shadow until the sun is finally put down. Should the Lamb win, the sun will never.” Are you saying we’re going to die either way? "October 21st will decide.” ..THE COMING OF RAPTURE IS OCTOBER 21ST?! October 21st, asdfghjkl; That’s only three months from now. "It is literally three months from now." O_< ..it’s been exactly two months since the apocalypse started. It feels.. much longer than that.

10:52 AM As I was saying that, we just... got un-rabbit hole'd. No more Room 417. No more prophetic Victims. Hell, no more hotel! We're.. standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk. People walking by us, regular people. But.. a blue sky above.

10:55 AM We're in Las Vegas.

11:43 AM So, uh.. we’re definitely in Las Vegas, Nevada. It looks completely normal. The cars look a little more beaten than normal, but they all pretty much work. And people all look.. human! We went into a restaurant and asked around about this place. This city has been renamed New Sanctuary. It’s kept safe by the local police force– privatized, mind you– which is the NS division of the Rise Against Fear Anon guys. They do a really good job. When Donnie asked about the blue sky, the guy we asked said it’s provided by the “ants of the sky.”

12:34 PM Nobody’s wanting to talk much. Everyone does their job, carries onward ever forward. The advertisements, in newspapers and on billboards and on TV, allude to Fear presence, though never anything specific. It makes me want to just get a job somewhere, myself, so I’m not left in the open for Fears to get me.

2:52 PM ..what's that. Two men in black who I can't focus my eyes on. Walking into an alley. do you want to see?

55555:4444 PM The alleyway stretches, far, into fog. A blur in a suit and hat is just visible farther down. I.. ope Donnie grabbed my shoulder. You're.. here too? "Don't." What? "Don't go after the Musicians, Jordan." I.. didn't realize you were here. "Is this the kind of thing you do when you go off by yourself? Go staring into the face of gods?" It might be. I never really believed in gods before all this, I don't think. I'd go staring into something else. My own soul? The sad reality of the people around me? "I don't want you to do it anymore. Not without me to pull you back." ...a hissing static sound from behind us. where the musician was. "He's trying to pull you away. He wants you to go out there, all by yourself. Don't you see?" The... the Fears aren't all monsters, Donnie. ._. We've been meeting so many, EAT, Tiresias, the Victims, who've proven that. "How do you know that? How do you know they're not filled with cruel deeds they've done to other people?" I don't! Obviously! But "But what? Do you think you're just luckier than everyone else?" No! Well, I have no opinion on that and I can't, because luck is unverifiable. "Then what? Talk to me, Jordan! Please!" I!! Don't think they're going to do anything physical to me! The Musicians especially, they're all about the mind. And I'm good at my own mind! I'm not good at a hell of a lot of things, but I am good at my own damn mind, okay? "Not good at.. what?! Jordan, you've been the best boyfriend I've had! You've kept us both alive!" I.. boyfriend? kisssss "They're preying on you, baby. They're leading you away from me so they can separate us for easier pickings. They know the other Fears, dummy. If they don't kill you, they know someone who will." ...yeah... that's a point. >_< "You hear me, you jackasses?! You won't separate us!!" don't. please, don't make them angry… "Heh. So you do think they're dangerous." Well, so far I've just been taking the risks myself. I don't want to lose you. D: "You selfish asshole." Point taken! more kissing ....so. Where do we.. go from here? "What, you want to do it here? You want them to watch?" No! God! I meant where do we physically go? Just, the way we came in? "Oh! Um. We can try!"

4444:55555 PM The streets outside the alleyway are just as fuzzy. Text on signs is just a bunch of unruly scribbles. "That sky looks like static with pastel colors." Yeah. "Sorry, just trying to come up with more descriptions for you." :) ..you think I need the help? Am I not doing a good enough job? "You're doing fine, silly. It's your journal. Your little... project." Is that what it is? My project? "..you're the one who's supposed to tell me what it is. Why do you write this stuff down?" So I can remember it later? And it gives me something to do the rest of the time. "Then it's your project." Okay. :)

333:22 PM "Excuse me." ..a Musician behind us. Donnie's not having it. "We're not here for you." "We can see that." a second voice, that's the other musician "Do you want us to let you out of here?" Yes! donnie's holding me back "Can't we find our way out by ourselves?" "If you wish. We will make it so you believe you are leaving of your own accord." "....okay, well, maybe you can just let us out, then." see, donnie? they're capable of reason! "yeah, they're not dogs. of course they can reason." then please, can I just talk to them? "absolutely not!" hnnng Sorry, guys. She says I'm not allowed to talk to you. :( ":(" ":(" "they didn't really say that. you just wrote that." "We will get our chance."

5:07 PM We just appeared here, back in the alleyway. I guess we didn't really go anywhere. "No, but time's passed." So it has. "So we should.. try to make some progress while it's still light. Get a car, get moving. If your EAT is to be trusted, you're wanted in California, remember?" Hey, yeah! And maybe, on the way, we'll find another deep rabbit hole so we can find the next Cipher! "No, we shouldn't." ....oh, fuck. Right. Well, can we just find somewhere, like, a cafe to sit in for now? I wanna go over that journal again, since I wasn't here for it. I want it to sink in. "It's a date."

5:34 PM The seventh Cipher will bring the next set of seven-things, followed by the last set of seven-things, and at the end of all that, Rapture will come. So, the Ciphers are making Rapture come. "According to Tiresias." But you kinda trust him. "Sure." And, I mean, Tiresias is also the one who told us about the Ciphers in the first place. It feels weird to not trust him on this point when we clearly trusted him enough to go after the Ciphers in the first place. "Sure!" But, at the same time, it's also weird that he would offer the correction. That kinda paints his word as unreliable? "Or, it paints him as someone who is willing to admit being wrong." Well, sure. "Do you two want a refill?" Yes, please! hey donnie "yeah?" how are we gonna pay for this? "pay?" we. walked into a cafe, a genuine cafe. "yeah." and sat down. "and sat down." and ordered drinks. "...it's been a while since we've last needed money, okay, I did kinda forget." well, we can just. ask. I mean, what kind of people would be running a cafe, uh, two months into the end of the world, where society in general is shifting its priorities, and still expect people to have cash?

5:42 PM Fucking Americans. Well, I'm washing dishes tonight. I kinda suspect this is how they operate the cafe in the first place, just give people drinks and then ask them to clean up because they owe it. ...that's not an awful model, actually. BUT I'M CLEANING UP OTHER PEOPLE'S STUFF TOO

9:10 PM While I worked my shift, I got to talking with the others, the cooks and the busboys and whatnot. I asked them about those "ants of the sky." They're robots, or something. Got different answers. Something flying in the sky that provides a blue color? People around here are a bit too.. placated. Apathetic? Words. Like they've been talked into working jobs so much that they don't really consider there's a world outside anymore. There's just no time to. Is that a thing? But, if they were talked into it, then surely they can... talk their way out of it? ...talking isn't some alien thing…

9:22 PM Donnie met me outside and took me on a walk. She hasn't found any place to stay that doesn't ask for money, but she did find a free car! She wants to drive us out of the city, get some distance done for the day, then pull over somewhere where we can sleep. She's an angel!

9:46 PM ............Donnie? "Mhm?" Why are there police sirens everywhere we go? "Oh, I don't know."

9:47 PM ..........this car wasn't free, was it? "I did not pay money for it." And you're putting some distance between us and the city for other reasons. "My clever little boyfriend! Such a brain on him." ......just, drive fast, okay? "I plan on it."

(Attached: "The Beast, the Harlot. The Lamb, the X. The Sea, the Blood. The Sampo, the Mechro. And I, eternity's cutting historian, and you, my always book. All that happens in these pages relates to one of these. All that happens in all Totality relates to one of these. I have it on good authority: I've seen it all happen.”)

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#ogtrib #oh god the rapture is burning #ogtrib act 2

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