but then it spins on a dime and breaks my heart

Second Chances

Summary: You and you boyfriend Lance have come a really long way together, but what happens when he overhears a conversation about your true feelings, and confronts you about it.

Lance Tucker X Reader

Word Count: 1508

Warnings: Some angst. Bad Language.

Prompt: “Will I ever be enough?” 

A/N: This is for the fucking amazing @just-some-drabbles 4K follower rom-com challenge! (Once again, Congratulations, you’re ridiculously amazing and talented). I really hope that this is okay! (And it fits well with your challenge! If it’s not, please tell me and I will happily re-write it for you so it does!) 

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A Lost Memory

Summary: Newt deals with a loss he believes he can never recover from with firewhiskey.

Request: “I would like angst and angst and tear my heart apart and smash it into the gutters. Regrets and tears and mistakes were made "I never want to see you again” HURT ME"

Word Count: 3,407

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by @red-roses-and-stories (I hope this broke your heart enough) but also tagging @caseoffics @dont-give-a-bother @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly–canthrope @benniesgalaxy @thosefantasticbeast2

You run your hand down Newt’s bicep, popping up onto your toes to rest your chin on his shoulder and peer over him to the papers in front of him. “Whatcha doing, babe?”

“Studying the reactive tendencies of various…” he trails off, brow furrowing as the liquid in front of him turns a deep violet shade. “Well, that hardly seems right.”

You giggle and fall back to give him space. “Be careful you don’t let Pickett fall in.”

Newt scarcely appears to process your words, giving you a distracted “hmm” in response.

You roll your eyes and slide under his arm as he scribbles something onto a note. Extending your arm, you let Pickett hop onto your hand. He squeaks away as you draw him to your side.

“Come on, Pickett, we’ll go make supper so someone here doesn’t let us all starve.”

Newt’s eyes crinkle with his smile as he glances up at you. “And who did you say exaggerates the most this morning?”

You stick your tongue out. “I still think you do it more often.”

Newt watches you whisper to Pickett as you walk out, and before he returns to his work, he checks the drawer to make sure the box is still there.

Thunder rumbles, a heavy roll that rattles the rack of vials on the table.

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Atomic Blonding(Because Of Course I Would)

I just saw Atomic Blonde yesterday and l wanted to write about it. I’ve seen a few people call it a “Bond Film”. I don’t agree; maybe if they’re comparing it to the Daniel Craig generation of Bond films, but it(like Craig’s run) is miles better than any of them from before him.

To explain that, and eventually get to what I LIKE about Atomic Blonde, this is going to have to turn into a critique of Bond films for a short time. To put it simply, Bond films are aesthetically spy movies, but there’s no actual “spying”, or any of the larger themes universal to “Spy” as a genre, involved in them.

In a Bond film(excluding Craig’s, which are an absolute sea-change), you know who the “good guys” are and who the “bad guys” are; it’s obvious, declared at the very start, and the villains act like mustache-twirling matinee stereotypes(and often with asinine racial, national, and sexual stereotypes thrown in as well). There’s no feeling of paranoia, or awareness of your own ignorance, or sense of unpredictable, ever-present malice, or unpredictable and lethal violence. In a Bond movie you know, exactly, what’s going on, and the plots aren’t just simple but obvious and predictable down to the sort of things Bond and his enemies are likely to say in any situation. There are some surprises, but they’re only there for flavor and affect; they have nothing to do with the plot or with characterization(which is equally flat and boring. And declared by their names). Bond’s enemies aren’t people with lives, agendas, objectives; they’re voiceless mooks and elemental forces that the Orderly World cannot, for some reason, touch. They are monsters for him to slay with his miraculous techno-gifts, handed down from the inscrutable yet affable Q. Bond’s a modern Perseus eternally repeating his quest to slay mythic beasts, minus the parental issues(until, as always, Craig). Most “Spy” protagonists are not unknowable, face-changing monster-slayers, silently defending the world from platonic Evil: they’re flawed, stressed-out, morally-compromised, sympathetic and charismatic yet ultimately unlikeable, human beings.

Nor are there secrets to uncover or unravel for either the protagonist or the reader; merely banal details of execution to some monomaniacal, over-large plan to be thwarted. There are no allies to wonder at the loyalty and agenda of. There are no unforeseen, soul-crushing and lethal betrayals to barely, painfully, survive. There is no oppressive sense of danger, or the constant stress of artifice and the fear of discovery, or the dramatization and exploration of dissociation that instills. There is no desperate need to know what others know, to know their motivations, and to trust them in a situation where knowledge and trust will kill you quicker and more surely than anything else. There is no invitation to the internal life of the protagonists and their incidental victims; no reason to wonder why they are doing what they are doing, or what it has done to them. In short there’s no mystery, and mystery is fundamental to the spy genre and characterization in it.

Then there’s institutions. In Bond whether Good(the Cold War world-order and its Alphabet-Bureaus) or Bad(SPECTRE and, oddly enough, the global capitalist-aristocracy, which is synonymous with world-threatening crime in Bond films, which I consider a definite +), institutions are fundamentally trustworthy; providing missions, divine gadgets, information, and support to their agents, and playing little role beyond that. In the spy genre they are monolithic, unknowable, disloyal, and fundamentally compromised by the nature of their work, their objectives, and by the individuals that make them up. They are, simultaneously, forces of immense personal destruction, chewing people and their lives up and spitting them out with no consideration or care for the damage they do, and fecklessly helpless before the personal venality of their staff, and the political expediency of their managers and governments. The ultimate fate of every Spy protagonist is to be betrayed by the very institutions they’re working for in one way or another and so Betrayal lies at the heart of the genre. For instance Smiley, probably the most famous protag in the genre, has his life utterly destroyed by The Circus numerous times and his friends repeatedly killed and publicly ruined by it, is constantly doing things he finds morally repugnant in its service, is thus led into self-betrayal by it, and never once gets an apology or thank you for any of it. There is no Betrayal in Bond; at best, only femme fatales sent to trick the protagonist into danger with their bodies and his own horniness(which, of course, Bond is always completely Aware of and Prepared for, because he is a male competence-fantasy on top of everything else).

Bond Films are action Travelogues and sexed-up Boy’s Life fantasies about “the high life” of gambling, girls*, gadgets, glamour, tourism, and lazy wealth, with Patriotism, Guns, Murder, and ~Exotic Adventure in Foreign Locales~ thrown in for spice. They’re petty-trifles; dime novels; Basic misogynistic colonialist twaffle.

Atomic Blonde, on the other hand, does manage to fit into the Spy genre while also being an effective, not-too-deep, entertainment-focused action flick, much like the Craig Bond films(particularly the first one; they go down-hill fast) and The Man From U.N.C.L.E(2015). It is Motherfucking Both Things.

It is a solid, competent action flick with REALLY GOOD, substantive, driving, fighting, and chase choreography. These scenes are weighty and believable and not distractingly choreographed or fakey. It’s really hard for an action protagonist in a fight-movie to be completely 100% believable because what they are doing is fundamentally unrealistic(one person cannot fight a dozen people, and cannot predict with total accuracy what numerous other people will do in a fight simultaneously, dancing out of the way of attacks seamlessly), but Atomic Blonde and Theron’s performance comes as close as you can get, much closer than Bourne or anything else I’ve seen in Western cinema(The Raid is another good example, and a handful of older Hong Kong action flicks), and there is an extended combat sequence in the denouement that, I would say, pretty much achieves “fight realism”. They really paid attention to verisimilitude, it shows, and it’s entertaining as hell. When people get hit, it looks and sounds painful. Injuries have lasting, visible consequences. Knives and Guns are presented as the horribly dangerous, incredibly lethal, and fundamentally untrustworthy(anyone can use them. They will always let you down when you need them most) things that they are, and they are given the focus they deserve by the characters. Cars are terrible engines of humiliating pain and abrupt death. When Charlize Theron hits that man in the throat with her stiletto heel(not a spoiler it was in the trailer) it is Satisfying and winceworthy all at once, as is what follows it(it’s great, A++ Recommended, go see it). At the same time, there are also chances to see and appreciate the artistry of fundamentally unrealistic film fight choreography(like the apartment fight). But it doesn’t stop at being just a great action movie(which it is).

Atomic Blonde is a paranoid movie: from the very beginning it is about Trust, the emotions that create it, the betrayal of it, and the toll of establishing it, having it, and breaking it.

It is a mysterious movie: from the very beginning it is obsessed with what people know and want to know, spins along on what they don’t, and is fueled by lies, misdirections, and manipulations. What its characters(and the audience) know, want to know, think they know, want to believe, say they are doing, and are actually doing, are all pivotal to it and one’s engagement with the film.

It is a movie about characters: I would not call it an “internal” movie because it is fast-paced and doesn’t dwell on or explore psychology, but it DOES focus and turn on the question of who its characters are, what they believe, what they feel, and what motivates them. The “central” plot objective, a genre-traditional mcguffin, takes a backseat to exploring the characters, is absent from most of the film, and is only questionably important to its resolution; the characters, their relationships, and the action they undertake are what draw you in and connect you to the story. Which isn’t to say its characters and what they do are all there is to it(like, say, Smokin’ Aces). While character-driven, I’d argue it’s also a story about narrative and how narrative defines and obscures self, and there’s some rich meta-dirt to dig into as a result.

I wouldn’t say it’s a movie about institutions, but they certainly play a central and heavy role. Their stability, how they change, their interest and objectives, the loyalty they demand, their fundamental disloyalty(anyone can use them. They will always let you down when you need them most), their impact on individuals and sense-of-self, and the monolithic threat they can pose to the individual; all are part of the backdrop, motivation, and plot-engine of the film which the characters are responding to. But the individuals living in them, how they do it, and their fundamental ability to undermine, confuse, manipulate, and escape them is, like I said above, even more central; both as the film’s action and as how it engages the audience. Maybe it would be more accurate to say it is a movie about people dealing with institutions? But lightly: it doesn’t dwell on this or beat you over the head with it.

So, in my opinion, Atomic Blonde is NOT a Bond movie: it is an action-oriented, character-driven, Spy Movie. It’s fun, engaging, and immediate. I definitely wouldn’t call it “cerebral”, but it wants to engage you on many fronts at once and it Respects the Forms of the many genres it sticks its toes into. Also, it’s wonderfully cast, beautifully shot, and effectively directed. And the romances in it are very light without being poorly done, and impactful to the protagonist. There’s a sex scene but it didn’t come off as voyeuristic, objectifying, or insulting to me and it creates a real, sustained personal connection, friendship, and intimacy, which I appreciate.

My one complaint, and this is the only really spoilery bit of this review because its unavoidable so stop reading here and skip to the next para if you don’t want to be spoiled for the movie, is how the partner in that relationship, Delphine, is written. As a character she’s fine, and she isn’t superfluous to the story or anything, but I just didn’t see WHY she was involved in espionage to begin with, or why her gov would put someone so inexperienced(or so the movie tells us) in such a dangerous place, and with zero apparent support from the French government. The lack of any French presence in the debriefing, when they had lost what appears to be their only agent in Berlin during this mission, was also peculiar, especially given the CIA’s presence. Delphine also dies. I didn’t find her death particularly out of step with the movie; the character who kills her had previously killed someone with improvised, if faster, methods, and the movie itself doesn’t present violence in a sanitized or glorifying way. But I do feel like it wasn’t necessary. I mean, the story beats leading to it are clear and sensible, even inevitable; her death follows genre conventions to a T. But it doesn’t really change anything for anyone. That might be the point though: the movie even comments on this by having the protag, Lorraine, say “you didn’t have to kill her” which is absolutely true. So, as a character beat showing the audience the dark side to Percival it makes some sense; by having him kill Delphine, the audience is more likely to approve of his killing later. And Lorraine’s anger about it shows us something about her as well, even if she was going to kill him anyway. Given all of this part of me wonders if Delphine was even real or just an invention of Lorraine to confuse her debriefers and help build her case against Percival, but that’s a different discussion. The point is that, while I wasn’t turned off of the movie by her death, I can def understand others finding it senseless and offensive.

Ok so, Wow, I had a lot more to say about this than I first thought I did. Hope everyone who read it enjoyed it, and I def rec this film owo

this is just me at 4am (welll, 5 now) trying to dig a but into trini’s character

Read on AO3


She was staring at the wooden table as if she could pierce a hole through it if she tried hard enough. Her skin was itchy and burning hot as if her blood was trying to escape her veins. She could hear her heart beating and felt it in her throat. The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock, punctuated with her mother’s occasional sighs.

Tick. Tock.

Trini shifts slightly on her chair.


She was counting the seconds in her head. Tick. Tock. Seventy-two. Seventy-three. She was trying really hard not to look up because she knew all too well what she would find. Her father’s sad eyes and her mother’s clenched jaw and stiff posture.

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Whiskey and church. Part 2.

Summary: Murphy takes you on a date and you have some fun. Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and smut.

You threw another dress on the floor in frustration and groaned, flopping onto the bed with a huff. You felt like you had tried on every nice item of clothing you had for your date with Murphy, and you didn’t like any of them. You hadn’t seen Murphy in a few days, since seeing him at church. But you had been texting each other everyday, the thought of seeing him again was now anxiety inducing. You sighed and stood back up, looking through your clothes and coming across a simple black dress. You slipped it on and paired it with some heels, looking in the mirror at yourself.
“Guess this will have to do.” You sighed to yourself. You did some make up but kept it fairly simple, not wanting to go overboard, and you kept your hair down. Looking at the clock you knew Murphy would be here any time soon so you sat down and waited anxiously. You heard a knock and jumped up, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Murphy stood there in a grey shirt and black jeans, looking incredibly handsome. His hair was a little messy which just added to the unique charm that was Murphy MacManus. When he saw you his eyes lit up and he grinned from ear to ear.
“Ye look fuckin’ beautiful y/n.” He smiled at you and kissed your cheek. You blushed and smiled sweetly at him, even though it had been a few days since you saw him, you felt like you had become closer through talking everyday.

“You don’t look so bad yourself Murph.”You smirked up at him as you locked your door and linked your arm through his that he had offered to you.

The date was romantic, a nice dinner in a fancy restaurant, full of laughter and little touches here and there. The chemistry between the two of you was undeniable and you found yourself wanting to kiss him all night. After you had ate your food you spent some time just swapping stories and getting to know each other even more, as Murphy held your hand from across the table.

“Do you want to come back to my place? I have whiskey.” You offered with a coy smile.
“Wit’ an offer like t’at, how can a lad refuse?” He grinned at you and gave your hand a squeeze.

After he paid for the meal, not letting you pay a dime towards it, he helped you with your coat before taking your hand and leading you out.

“Best not drink too much t’is time love, aye?” He smirked when you reached your apartment, unlocking the door and going inside.
“And why would that be Murphy?” You asked without looking at him as you went into the kitchen and got the whiskey from the cupboard. You suddenly felt hands on your hips, feeling his warm breath tickling your neck, making you gasp softly.
“Because t’en I can’t have me way wit’ ye.” He whispered as he started to kiss your neck. You bit your lip and moaned as you tilted your head to give him more access, gripping the kitchen work top to steady yourself. He continued to place wet kisses along your neck and up to your ear, his breath making a shiver run down your spine. You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, your want for him even stronger than before.
“I haven’t been able t’ get ye out o’ me head since t’ moment I laid eyes on ye. I want ye y/n, I gá duit. (I need you).”He said in a low voice into your ear, his right hand travelling lower, hitching your dress up and slipping his hand into your panties. He groaned at how wet you were and nipped your neck as he started rubbing circles around your clit.
“Fuckin’ soaked love, ye want it as much as I do.” He smirked, making you nod, not able to speak as you were too preoccupied with what his hand was doing. Without warning he withdrew his hand, grabbing your arm and spinning you around. He backed you up to the kitchen counter until he was pressed against you, looking at you with a predatory look on his face. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you watched him carefully, before he crashed his lips onto yours. You moaned and he took the opportunity to invade your mouth with his tongue, his hand winding into your hair. His free hand slid down to your thigh and he hitched it up around him, so he could push himself onto you even more. You could feel how hard he was through his pants and you ground your hips to his.

He nipped your lip, making you moan, and he grabbed you by the ass, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around him, he moved over to the kitchen table, placing you on there as he hastily started to remove your dress as you unbuttoned his shirt. You slipped his shirt off his broad shoulders as he flung your dress across the room, leaving you in just your underwear. You blushed a little as he stepped back and took an appreciative look over your body and licked his lower lip.

“…Cosúil le bandia. (Like a goddess.)” He smirked as he caught your eyes, before he pulled you close and kissed you forcefully. He snapped open your bra which got thrown somewhere in the apartment, and he hastily unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. He shucked them off along with his boxers, revealing his impressive cock which stood to attention. He gently slid off your panties, dropping them to the floor and you wrapped your legs around him, bringing him close to you. You kissed him passionately, winding your arms around his neck and he lined himself up with your entrance, making you gasp against his lips in anticipation. He teased you a little, rubbing the head of his cock against your soaked slit and you let out a needy whine. He smirked into the kiss and thrust himself deep inside of you in one swift movement with a loud groan. Feeling him fill you up was amazing and your grip on him tightened. He had hold of your hips, guiding you as he started to thrust in and out of you. Your used your legs that were still wrapped around him, to push him in deeper, moaning at how good he felt.

“Lay down.” He growled, looking at you with heat in his eyes. You lay back as instructed, looking up at him as he gripped your ass tightly and pulled you closer to him, your ass now hanging off the edge of the table and in his hands. He started to pound into you like a wild animal, making you both moan wantonly and you held the sides of the table to steady yourself, concerned for a moment that the table might break.

“Murphy!” You moaned and writhed on the table, starting to feel that familiar pleasure build up inside of you. He growled and his grip tightened, himself feeling like he was getting close to the edge but wanting you to cum first.
“Fuck, y/n, I’m gonna cum. Ye need t’…” Before he could even finish his sentence, you clamped down around him as you came blindingly hard, your body tensing as you cried out him name. Feeling you tighten around him, Murphy came too, groaning a string of profanities as he pounded you, riding it out and spilling himself inside of you. He collapsed on top of you, both panting and now sweaty, and he lay his head on your chest. You brought your hand up to his hair and started playing with it softly, now feeling sated and satisfied.
“Can I see ye again?” He asked quietly as he ran his hand up and down your arm absentmindedly.
“I’d love that Murphy.” You smiled as you closed your eyes and enjoyed the closeness you two shared. You had no idea what the future held for you both but you wanted to spend every second with him.
WWE Preference; #33; Please Don’t Give Up on Me

 *warning; there’s talk of drug abuse and addiction in Dean’s, if it makes you uncomfortable, skip it please <3**


Originally posted by cesaros-arms

           Please, don’t give up on me,” he mumbled as you sat next to him with your head down on the table on the kitchen island, his statement making you sigh. Being in love with a man who’s multi lingual is sometimes wonderful and also sometimes the hardest moments of your life.

               You’d gotten into a fight when you’d expressed your concern about a new women’s wrestler from NXT flirting with Cesaro in front of you, him wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they talked and he gave her advice while you were working in the ring with her. He didn’t understand that it was a big deal to have his hands on her, especially when you were in a relationship and in the ring with them.

               “I’m not giving up on you,” you told him lightly, reaching down to grab his hand and spin your chair to face him completely, your other hand going up to his cheek and your thumb rubbing on the stubble on his jaw. “I understand that where you come from, it’s perfectly normal to put your arm around someone when you talk and to be close to someone to you’re comfortable with but as your girlfriend, it makes me incredibly uncomfortable when she was giving you googly eyes,” you said and his eyes narrowed.

               “What does that mean? Googly eyes,” he repeated your statement and you sighed a little bit and bit your lip.

               “She was giving you the eyes that I would give you when I want to have sex,” you simplified for him and his eyes widened, his mouth falling open.

               “Oh,” he gasped, immediately peppering kisses over your face. “I’m so sorry love, I had no idea that that was what it looked like. I promise I’ll start paying more attention to faces then words,” he promised and pecked you gently on the lips.

 Dean Ambrose;

Trigger warning; drug use and talk of addiction*

I got hella emotional writing this so sorry for the feels**

Originally posted by moxleysmistress

               “Please don’t give up on me,” he whispered, his head low as he sat on the bathtub edge while you flushed the bag of drugs he’d recently bought down the toilet. “I know I’m a mess,” he grumbled, his head going into his hands as his breathing got heavy.

               You avoided his eyes, not sure what to say. You’d been with Dean since he started as Jon Moxley and as he was about to begin working with WWE, he needed to get clean, something he’d struggled with for most of his young life and something you’d tried to help him do for a long long time. You didn’t like Dean when he was high, that much was obvious. You’d never partake in them, afraid of what damage they would do and you didn’t like the void gaze in his eyes when he’d just had a few hits, like no one was home to take the message.

               “You are a mess,” you sighed and sat on the bathroom floor, looking up at him as your eyes connected. “Are you high right now? Is this my boyfriend I’m talking to or did Mox take over for the evening?”

               “Why do you say it like that?” he asked, sniffling as a tear slipped from his eyes indicating that he was your boyfriend and not the crazy one.

               “Because Dean, I need to know how to talk to you in this conversation because you are completely different when you’re high and I’ve been doing this for six years now and I don’t know how much more I can do this with you Dean,” you tell him, standing up and walking toward the door, leaning on the frame.

               “You tell me you want to be clean and you want my help and then I find you in the bathroom with a dime bag,” you exclaim, punching the doorframe, splitting your skin from the impact and crying out as you shake it harshly, blood seeping through the wound. “I don’t want to give up on you but I don’t know what else I can do.” You tell him and glanced at him as he stands up to assess your hand in concern. “What you’re doing, is like watching me punch this wall, me telling you that it hurts but then punching the wall again,” you explained, tears streaming down your face now.

               He pulled you toward him and hugged you tightly to his chest, crying as well, knowing he was only hurting the both of you. “I can’t lose you Dean, I’m never going to give up on you but you can’t give up on yourself,” you tell him quietly as you stand holding each other and sobbing, trying to figure out your next move after he wraps up your hand.

 Finn Balor;

Originally posted by prowrestlingnow

               “Please, don’t give up on me,” he begs, his thick Irish accent coming out even heavier as he stands in the middle of the hotel room, watching you pack your bags as you sigh and throw another shirt in your bag, ignoring him. “Please don’t ignore me,” he whispers, making you turn around and glare at him.

               “How does it feel?” you replied angrily, hurt flashing across his face but more of a sadness for knowing that he made you feel that way. “You know what Finn, I travel on a redeye to surprise you at NXT, to tell you that I’m going to be able to stay and be with you for two weeks and you tell me that you don’t know if that’s going to work with how much work you have leading up to you moving to Raw where I won’t be able to see you for longer periods of time,” you tell him as you zip up your bag and begin to move to the bathroom to pack up your toiletries.

               “Baby, I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know that you were coming and the draft happened and they revealed me moving up to the main roster-,” he began but you stopped him and turned around even more angry.

               “No, no. no, no, no, no! This is not about work! You are making this argument about work,” you yell at him, “You make everything that’s wrong with our relationship about your work. It’s not about what you’ve said wrong or how I feel, it’s about work! I can’t do this anymore Finn,” you say, suddenly quiet, your broken expression breaking through your hard exterior and his heart breaks that he’s caused you this much pain.

               “I never realized that I was making you feel this way,” he whispered, fearing running through him that you’d leave.

               “No, you wouldn’t, you don’t see our relationship anymore Finn, that’s the problem,” you whispered, moving back out of the bathroom and throwing your toiletries in your bags.

Let me tell you a story about love.

The first time was the worst, I think my world shattered that night, everything around me just kind of fell apart and I couldn’t do anything about it. First it was the coming home late, started out at two nights a week, the “oh I have to stay for work” story, yeah I’ve heard that bullshit before. Then shortly after it became a Monday through Friday type of thing, and eventually somewhere along the line you never walked through that door at all at times. The tears started rollin’ in, I never thought my body could produce that much liquid, it was like a sea in my own goddamn bed, and I was drowning and I couldn’t get out. I can still smell that alcohol upon your breath, how you’d come lay down next to me and feed me lies, but the bags that dressed your eyes exposed the truth, and out came the wrinkles across your face, but was that really from the stress? Then came the classics, makeup on the shirt, another women’s scent - wasn’t my scent for sure, I would’ve never put a dime down for cheap ass perfume like that. Then the aftermath, your tears now with countless apologies and so much begging. My ears hurt after a while, you were telling me one thing but my heart was saying another and my head began to spin, so many circles. I really didn’t know what to do so I made it long enough to your realization that I was the one for you, and so I stayed.

The second time hurt a little less, you really had me fooled thinking the first was the last. But it started again, the late nights, the alcohol, the distance, the fighting, the makeup and good lord, that goddamn cheap ass smell, pick someone with a better nose for god-sake next time. But you see I had some experience this time around; had my bags packed by the door and the kids in my hands, all I had to do was take a few steps and I didn’t need to come home to this anymore but I stopped. One look at you and I couldn’t walk away. So I put the kids down and the clothes back in the drawers and ate dinner that night with a twisted smile and dark eyes looking across at me, I was trapped.

Then came another and I really wanted to walk out that door this time but I stayed, for the three little ones, I guess it was always that way. You see you attract what you know, and you do what you know - my own mother was treated like shit and she stayed and so, I did too. It’s a cycle that I didn’t break when I really should’ve, it’s a cycle that needs to end. I took it up a notch, packed everything, the furniture, the toys, the clothes, even you and I dragged us one hundred and fifteen miles away from this hell hole. You needed a break, you needed to be forced to clear that intoxicated head of yours and just maybe I’d be able to get you back. See I kept running from my problems that it led to me starting a new life, but your past catches up to you, it always catches up to you.

I’ve realized now that people never change, we all fall back into our old habits and sometimes, some people just can’t be saved. Ten years later and this was the last one. Maybe there were more in between but sometimes it’s better not knowing. But I got fed up, I really couldn’t do it anymore. I tried, I honestly did but I spent twenty years holding onto this burden and it was time to let you go. There comes a time when you finally reach the point where you’re tired, and it’s not giving up or quitting, it’s walking from everything that’s holding you down so that you could live again. I needed to find myself again, this game got old and so I finally left. But I did this all because I love you. I know your weaknesses, they didn’t, I know what could ultimately send you down a rabbit hole, they didn’t, and I knew that if I had walked out that door several years ago, my kids may have grown up without a father. I was your support, I was your foundation, you couldn’t have done it without me and I didn’t know any better, but what I did know was you and so I stayed.

—  c.f. // “the cycle”
AH Origins: Gavin

AH Origins explores how the Fake AH Crew came together. Their heists, their origins and their rise to power.

The first story is Gavin’s origin.

America wasn’t as glamorous as it had looked in the movies. Gavin might even go as far as to say it was a let-down. Still, there was a pulse here. He liked that. There was movement, and people, and the city never slept. Los Santos was different to Oxfordshire in every way, and that at least was an improvement.

It was 3 am on the east side of Los Santos. Gavin sat at the bar in O’Reilley’s, sitting on the same stool he’d been on since 10pm.

One more drink. That was it. He flipped a coin in to his beer.

‘God save the queen,’ he muttered.

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Random Lyric Starters (Part Three)
  • "It was cool, breaking rules."
  • "It's gonna be a bitchin' summer."
  • "She is a pageant queen."
  • "Nothing matters, so we might as well."
  • "Just like dust we settle in this town."
  • "I'd wait all day just for a maybe."
  • "I kinda fell in love with a Palm Spring's trailer park."
  • "I tried to kill the pain."
  • "I just wish I'd told you nevermind."
  • "I felt really small under Mount Rushmore."
  • "Must admit I'm pretty nervous."
  • "It's now or never."
  • "I'm just not right for you."
  • "He is the basketball star."
  • "There's nothing I can do to make it go away."
  • "We were only 15."
  • "I'm hung up."
  • "The neighbor boy taught her how to french kiss."
  • "I got too big for my britches."
  • "Nobody knows."
  • "There's no turning back."
  • "I guess I just got lost."
  • "I'd be everything you need."
  • "Do it while we're young."
  • "I would stay."
  • "Look at you."
  • "I can shine with my own light."
  • "I've had my picture made with Willie Nelson."
  • "I know you probably have a man."
  • "I'll pick you up at the liquor store."
  • "She's the kind of girl you marry."
  • "All I really wanna say is I need ya babe."
  • "I was raised by a good time."
  • "You won't dream that big."
  • "We won't end up like our parents."
  • "It might seem strange."
  • "Let me be me."
  • "All safe and sound."
  • "I'll never see the light of day."
  • "Daddy's got eyes in the back of his head."
  • "That's all I'm ever gonna be."
  • "We think the first time's good enough."
  • "Everyone is waiting on the bell."
  • "I'm too tired to fight."
  • "Where I'm from, we started young."
  • "Is this as perfect as it seems?"
  • "That's all I've ever wanted from this world."
  • "I'm just a dime store cowgirl."
  • "I heard Wonderwall bleeding through your headphones."
  • "There's so much more room for running."
  • "I'll still call my hometown home."
  • "It don't matter if you don't believe."
  • "Excuse me, miss."
  • "Nevermind."
  • "Call them girls."
  • "I thought that you should know this."
  • "Here's the funny thing, she's not a day older than 18."
  • "School is finally out."
  • "If you ain't got 2 kids by 21, you're probably gonna die alone."
  • "I'll never find my heart."
  • "Just cause it don't cost a lot don't mean it's cheap."
  • "She's in her room grounded."
  • "You don't even know my name."
  • "That's what tradition told you."
  • "Come and party."
  • "I'm not a beauty queen."
  • "I wanna know who you are."
  • "Those California stars could never steal my heart."
  • "Any minute the cops are coming to get us."
  • "I'd rather be alone than lose you."
  • "We get bored so we get married."
  • "Just let me be myself."
  • "She's too young to read."
  • "It ain't slowing down."
  • "She won't love you like I would."
  • "Move your body."
  • "If not tonight, maybe tomorrow."
  • "She wants to fly, and never look down."
  • "We are so alive."
  • "Say that it's okay."
  • "You wouldn't dream that big."
  • "I could tell you now."
  • "Maybe I regret not loving you."
  • "Mary just don't give a damn no more."
  • "No dating till you're eighteen."
  • "It's so sad to think."
  • "The sun is shining down."
  • "I'm shook up."
  • "I'm so tired of waiting for you."
  • "What I got is all I need."
  • "She's the one you wanna carry into your brand new home."
  • "We can fit one more."
  • "How could you understand?"
  • "Look at me."
  • "I don't ever do this."
  • "They got her whole life on lockdown."
  • "Please, would you one time?"
  • "My cell phone's dying."
  • "I'm happy with what I got."
  • "Look at who we could be."
  • "But then there's you."
  • "Ain't what you want, it's what you know."
  • "I've been watching you for days."
  • "I guess it's alright for right now."
  • "I have bigger dreams than living in this town."
  • "All I really wanna do is be next to you."
  • "It don't matter where I'm going."
  • "She's in her bedroom."
  • "Every time I look at you, I can hardly say a thing, my head starts to spin, and it hits me then, I love you."
  • "Maybe for a minute."
  • "Ain't no way in hell they're catching us."
  • "She looked better in white than I ever could."
  • "I'm lovestruck."
  • "I think of who we could be."
  • "Put your hands up."
  • "Tonight, she's tucked inside her tiny little town."
  • "Maybe it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do."
  • "If you happen to be unattached."
  • "Every time you look at me I could go crazy, but I don't."
  • "I don't wanna drown."
  • "We're all gonna run, when the police come."
the law of falling bodies (act ii)

second part of indie au:

lots of things happen.  carm is trying here. elle is trying, too. and dad just wants everyone to be happy.


‘these, our bodies, possessed by light. tell me we’ll never get used to it.’
- richard siken, ‘scheherazade’


you want to help Elle with her dysphoria—something she had to explain to you quietly, after dad had turned off the smoke alarm and remade your hot chocolate and tucked you both into the couch in the den with the blanket your baka knit you.  She told you her body doesn’t feel like hers, sometimes, especially when she dresses in her ‘boy clothes’—she had said this with distaste, her nose crinkling at the thought of her loose tank tops and dropped crotch pants.  You told her she has always been beautiful, no matter what she wears, and she blushed prettily before nudging your thigh and telling you to ‘shut up, you angelic bitch.’

So you and Elle raid your closet the next morning, after you wake her up with a tickle attack.  Dad had said it was okay for Elliot to stay the night, as long as it was fine with his parents.  She had flinched at the pronouns and the name, but you knew she wasn’t ready, so you just said ‘thanks, dad.’

When you attack her, she squeals grumpily and tries to roll away.  You straddle her quickly, and she laughs and laughs until her hands hit your upper thighs, and then she stops.  You don’t mean to, but you hold your breath, and you both blush bright pink as you slowly roll off of her and onto the floor.

‘Well.’  You scuffle your feet before shrugging.  ‘Let’s get to it, beauty queen,’ you smirk at her, and Elle smiles, a tiny little thing, as she pushes herself out of bed.

‘I don’t know how well this will go,’ she mutters, resting her chin on the top of your head.  ‘You’re literally the tiniest little Eastern European waif I’ve ever seen, my dude.’

‘Tiny? Fuck off, Elle.  I can still kick your diva ass.’

She looks at you incredulously, then just picks you up and slings you over her shoulder.  You shout and laugh and bang your hands on her back, but she just twirls you into your closet before dropping you onto your laundry pile.  ‘You were saying?’ she smirks at you, and you have only ever seen her this free and open on the stage.  So you don’t say anything, just roll your eyes and stand to find some clothes.


elle was right: the closet didn’t go well.  You are like maybe five-foot-three, and Elle is at least five-eleven, so your dresses looked like t-shirts, and your shirts looked like crop tops, and Elle looked very dejected.

‘Hey, zogu, no worries, we’ll just—’ and you scramble up and shout down the stairs.  ‘Dad!! I need to go shopping!’

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