#not him tryna cop a feel with his thumb
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Who is it?~ GhostFace
Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4, Pt 5, Pt 6, Pt 7
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It’s 2:04. You’re currently biting your actual finger as you wait by the phone. It has to ring. Soon. You place your medication in your mouth and take a tester sip of water, before swinging it back and swallowing the pill.
Ringgg! Ri-
“GAH- hello?!” You wipe at your mouth to dry away the water.
“You okay? Sounds like you swallowed a bird.”
Holy shit….this time…his voice is so much more raspier than the last time. He almost seemed to be talking softly too.
“I was taking medication…called me mid way..the sound scared me…choked.” Totally didn’t choke yourself over how excited you got.
“Really?…”
“Are…are you okay?…” You lean onto the counter, biting the pad of your thumb.
“Tired.”
“Tired?”
“Mhm…just woke up from a nap…almost missed our time.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t! I would have killed you, ya know?”
“Sorry, Ma’am…”
“Well, I didn’t know Matthew took naps…” you pull off the counter, heading towards your room.
He’s silent.
Why is he silent?
“Hello? Matt?”
“Wait.” His voice came out in a tiny whisper, you heard some shuffling and some drawers opening.
“O-okay…” you whisper back, getting into your room and laying comfy on the bed.
“Hello? Hello?” His Voice Echos and you smile.
“Hello? You die or something?”
“…remote ran out of batteries…”
You laugh a bit. “You’re kinda a dork, ya know?”
“Am I?”
“Ya…I was hoping you’d come watch me…was gonna take a bath…thought you might like it.”
“Oh don’t tempt me…”
“You can bring that knife you oh so lovingly love to talk about…”
“I have a question…”
“Shoot!- or stab away?” You giggle softly.
“Who’s that guy you like?”
“This again?”
“Now…why won’t you tell me?”
“I just…I don’t know…”
“You’ll feel guilty?”
“Maybe…”
“What’s he like?”
“Why? Do you wanna be him?”
“I wanna know what you like…”
“He’s..dorky, but he’s loud and handsome. He’s tall…like 6’4? He has soft light brown hair and blue eyes…he’s..he’s just so perfect…I can’t get him out of my mind. But…he has a girlfriend, and to be quite honest with you, Matthew, she’s so much prettier and cooler than I am. I’m not even tryna say that for compliments, she’s genuinely so hot…she’s A CHEERLADER! Like…and I’m just some nerdy goth girl…nothing special about me..but she also makes me sooo angry. Sometimes she talks and I just wanna stab her in the chest…gut her or something…” you find yourself mumbling the last part and it’s completely silent on the other end.
“H-hello?”
“You’re my dream woman…” The voice speaks, he almsot sounds delirious.
You can hear a sizzling sound and a slow release of air.
“So why don’t you do it? Stab her…gut her up…” His voice turns icy.
“W-what?”
“Kill her. Then take him for yourself..”
“I couldn’t possibly do that…”
“Really? Well, let’s see…2 years ago…a woman and a man where found mutilated and buried in a forest near a river.”
Your heart started beating. Heavy. Very heavy.
“Cops said that the man had a girlfriend…they weren’t sure how or why the woman was connected to the man or the girlfriend…but why don’t you hear my theory.”
“W-what…what are you talking about?”
“This lovely girlfriend…one day she walks in on her boyfriend…on her own boyfriend fucking another woman. The GF goes wild, starts screaming and hitting. It’s possible…possible the girlfriend didn’t wanna give up her virginity….so he cheats on her.”
“Stop.”
“Why?”
“Because…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So what does the little girlfriend do? She kills her dumb, stupid boyfriend. Guts him. Buries him in the forest…but oh no…the girl her boyfriend fucked, starts suspecting her…so what does she do? A) Deny, B) Murder the woman and bury her next to the boyfriend, or C) Leave.
“…”
“Answer…”
“I don’t know…”
“Yes you do…”
“I don’t.” You sob a bit.
“Don’t cry…ANSWER.”
“B! B!”
“Ding ding ding…correct…of course…the cops won’t ever think the sweet little girlfriend would EVER do anything like that…so they let her go…and she leaves…and she finds herself in Woodsboro, California.”
“Who are you?!”
“Does it matter?”
“YOU BASTARD! ILL-“
“YOULL WHAT? KILL ME?” His voice…it’s almost like he’s having fun.
You gulp.
“…why the fuck are you trying to act like someone you’re not. Stop fucking stuttering about not being able to kill a stupid teenage bitch and do it!”
You just gape for a bit..before you grit your teeth.
“Whoever the fuck you are…I’ll find you and kill you.”
“Really? Cause I’m all around you…and you don’t even know it.”
Click.
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I don’t know what happened…I just wrote until stuff came out. I actually apologize for this being caca. I JUST WANTED TO WRITE- please forgive me. Caca. Hehe.
#send me asks#yes yes yes#fem dom#fan fic writing#fan fic requests#fan fic stuff#fan fic reading#fan fic asks#stu matcher x you#stu matcher x reader#Stu Macher#Billy loomis#billy loomis x y/n#billy loomis x you#billy loomis x reader#sydney prescott#tatum riley#randy meeks#slashers#slasher x reader#slasher x you#slasher x y/n#horror#ghost face#ghost face x reader#matthew lillard#scream#woodsboro#I love Stu Macher#ghost face x y/n
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I feel like most of us agree that bob isn’t the jealous type, at least not outwardly, but what about rhett? 👀
BESTIE - this ask! I have a lot of thoughts on it.
I think Rhett could be the jealous type depending on the situation. I also think his reaction would be highly dependent on if he’s already together with the reader and/or if he had been drinking.
If he is not with you at the time but wants you, he'd just sulk in the corner of the bar, staring at you and getting messy drunk. Remember that moment with the cop car? Yeah. He’s a special boy. He might come up to you at the end of the night and say something vague about how pretty you are. Perry would definitely have to drag him away to sober up.
If he is with you and he hasn't been drinking, he'd probably tell the guy to knock it off and then be extra handsy with you, marking his claim. He would put his hat on you and situate you in front of him so everyone can see him running his hands up and down your body, kissing your neck, and whispering filthy things in your ear that make you squirm. He’d be the type to give you a prominent hickey.
If he is with you and drunk....he's gonna throw hands and get aggressive. Especially if you are uncomfortable.
I can see a situation where a guy starts hitting on the reader and she politely tells him no and to leave but he doesn’t back off. She would be amused because she knows Rhett is gonna take care of him and probably get jealous enough to fuck her stupid later.
On that note, have a little drabble.
Pairing: Rhett Abbott x F!Reader
Word Count: 320
Warnings: 18+ only. Explicit sexual content, jealous Rhett, rough sex, and questionable dirty talk.
You barely make it inside the apartment before Rhett’s flipping your dress up and pushing you to bend over the couch. You’re already dripping for him, turned on by the display at the bar and his talented fingers on the drive home.
“Do I need to brand you, girl?” He asks, pushing inside you with a groan. “So everyone knows who you belong to.”
You clench hard around him at the thought and he chuckles.
“You like that huh? Want everyone to know you’re my girl.”
“Yes.” You moan, fingers curling into the couch cushions as he speeds up. It’s rare he’s rough with you but you’re loving every minute of it.
“Where’d I put it, huh? Here?” he smirks as he rubs at the top of your ass. “Mmm, what about here?” He continues as he trails his finger up to your shoulder blade. “Maybe right here,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around your throat and pulling until your back rests against his front.
Your hands clutch his forearm as you hold on to him while he continues to thrust into you. He grunts, pressing his lips to your cheek. It doesn’t take long at all until you’re coming apart on his cock with a long, loud moan. He pumps into you once, twice more, and stills.
“Fuck,” he breathes, sounding wrecked. “You okay? Didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Mmmm no,” you promise him. “Just, ah, thinking about how I wished more men hit on me so you’d do this again.”
He laughs and drops his hand from your throat. “You tryna get me in another bar fight?”
“Maybe,” you say with a grin, turning to face him. You run your thumb over the cut on his bottom lip before leaning in to kiss him. “You look cute, a little busted up.”
“There’s something wrong with you girl,” he murmurs affectionately. “But I’m in too deep to get out now.”
✥
Taglist:
@mysticaldonkey
@letsfvckingdance
@ughdesireable
@goobieboobie
@maggiescarborough
@a-reader-and-a-writer
@wildbornsiren
@dumb-fawkin-bitch
@maria-allegra
@stormsouls
@the-hottest-lieutenants
@sydneyhlove
@cool-ultra-nerd
@nik2blog
@mayhem24-7forever
@xofangirlthingsxo
@skvatnavle
@ladyluckycreator2
@thebestandworstdayofjune
@ice-mans-world
#rhett abbott x you#rhett abbott x female reader#rhett abbott x reader#rhett abbott#outer range#outer range fanfic
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it’s angst.
“Sylv- you’re fuckin’ kidding me, right? You wanna meet up with him after everything he did to you?”
“Look, Tim, this ain’t personal, alright? As much as I hate him, he’s still Lori’s father. If… if he says he’s gonna do better- that he still wants her, I couldn’t live with myself if I stood in the way. It won’t be long, an hour at most. I’ll call you when I’m done.”
•••
Syl was right about the not taking too long part. She was home before the hour was even up, being walked to the front door by Steve fucking Randle of all goddamn people. That was the first sign something had gone horribly wrong and, had it not been for the baby girl asleep in Curly’s arms on the sofa, Tim probably would’ve done something Randle and the remaining few of the Curtis gang wouldn’t approve of. The kettle is on in the kitchen, Sylvia at the table with her head in her hands and a few crumbled Kleenex in her fist.
“You were right,” she breathes heavily. “God, Tim, I’m sorry. I-I thought I was just doin’ the right thing.”
“You’re alright,” he says from his spot in the corner. Steam singes his palm as he stirs the coffee grounds, taking each step slow and cautious before setting the mug out on the table. “But you’ve gotta tell me what happened, Sylvia. We can’t keep doing this little routine, doll.”
“He was just tryna scare me, I think. Brought some of his buddies from tiber- said I’d regret leaving him if I ever went to the cops about what they’d been doing while we were together. Evie was watchin’ the whole time, called Steve when things were gettin’ hairy. That’s why he drove me back here-“
“What do you mean, ‘when things got hairy’?”
Her eyes are bloodshot and red when Tim takes one hand, gently coaxing her to face him. “I called bullshit,” Sylvia admits tearfully. “That’s when the guys started sayin’ things- really awful things, Tim. I… I didn’t know what to do.”
“There’s nothing to do now,” he tells her, thumb running back and forth against her knuckles. “He’s never getting you alone. And he’s sure as hell never getting Lori back.”
“I’m sorry. I- I should’ve just listened to you-“
“Don’t beat yourself up about it anymore, yeah? You were tryna to do what was best for your kid, Sylv. I can’t be angry at you for that.”
I love that you feel it necessary to mark what’s angst and what’s not because god if you don’t make me cry with these-
From Steve walking her up to the door, to Tim comforting her as she cries and assuring her he’s not mad, this whole thing is perfect and I’m gonna read it again and again
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cold hands, warm heart
Pairing: Llewyn Davis x fem!Reader
Summary: Llewyn's cold and wet and he doesn't have a place to stay for the night, so you bring him inside. As one does.
Rating: E/M (18+)
Content warnings: explicit sexual content (unprotected p in v sex), recreational drug use (pot), strong language, reader has a broken foot, modern setting
Word count: 2.2K
A/N: This was my contribution for @sergeantkane’s Oscar Fandom (Valentine’s) Fic Exchange back in February. But since I was on a health-related hiatus, it got published on AO3. I’m finally posting it here. Obligatory: I’m more gifmaker than writer, English isn’t my first language, and my spelling is a wildly inconsistent combination of British and American.
For @wasicskosgirl
A flurry of pain-induced curses rises from two floors below and you peer down through the fire escape grille. A man, poorly dressed for the weather, with a headful of drizzle-softened Roman curls and a guitar case, nurses the stinging fingers of his right hand. They’ve narrowly escaped being amputated by the Allen’s heavy, faulty sash window. Yeah, Marty’s been meaning to ask the super to fix that.
“Hey,” you call down, your breath misting the frigid mid-February air, “you okay?”
He blinks up through snowflakes floating down like cherry blossom petals. “I guess?” He kneads his wounded fingers into the palm of his left hand. “Just so you know, I’m not breaking and entering. You don’t need to call the cops or anything.”
You know. You recognised him immediately. “It’s Llewyn, right?”
A frown knits his brows. Warily, he asks, “Do I know you?”
“Not really. I see you come and go every other week, though. Marty and Sue must really like you.”
“Like is a strong word," he says, with a snort. "I think they just have a high tolerance for my bullshit.”
Your baked laugh—too loud and girlish—echoes in the narrow alley. “Can you get in?”
He shakes his head. “Latch’s caught. Looks like I’m locked out.”
“They leave you a key?”
“They’re not that tolerant.”
It's not like you're shouting, but your voices carry in the close air and neighbours are already yelling at you to shut up. You laugh it off and wave Llewyn up to your floor.
He gives the window to the Allen’s apartment a forlorn, longing look—as if he just blew through Plans A through Z for the evening—and trundles up the rattling steel steps. His nose twitches when he gets to your platform and sees you wrapped up in an old comforter like a human burrito, nursing a hand-rolled joint. “That what I think it is?”
“It’s medicinal,” you say, innocently, nodding at the orthopaedic boot encasing your fractured foot and offer him the spliff.
He hesitates, like it’s some kind of trap, then shrugs out a ‘why not’ and sits beside you. “Llewyn Davis.” He offers you his hand, fingers poking out of frayed gloves.
You give them a cursory examination. “I don’t think there’s any permanent damage. Always hurts more when it's cold.” But, just in case, you don’t let go of his hand, incubating it between your gloves.
“That your professional medical opinion, Doctor…?”
He’s fishing for a name, which disappoints you, because you thought he'd remember. Most men remember the girl they get punched in the face over. “Dancer, not doctor," you correct, hoping it will jog his memory.
He glances at the boot. “Someone tell you to break a leg and you took them literally?”
“Funny. When you’re the wrong side of twenty-five old injuries start to add up.” You don’t want to embarrass yourself with the truth: that you tripped over your own feet.
Llewyn dips his chin into his scarf and wraps his free arm around his legs, prompting you to share your comforter. He huddles gratefully beneath it and you can feel the damp through your parka. “What happened to your coat?”
“I’m between coats right now. It’s—” He passes you the joint and tries a name on you that almost offends you. “Right?”
“Not even close. You really don’t remember me at all, do you?” Were you really that forgettable?
“Nonono—you're the pretty girl at the Allen’s New Year’s Eve party.”
You roll your eyes. That was almost smooth, except there were a lot of pretty girls at that party.
“Waitwaitwait, it’s—” His second guess is so close you decide to finally tell him who you are. A smile of recognition and realisation dawns on his face. “Yeah, that's it. I remember your boyfriend, too. Kind of a jerk, as I recall.”
“So were you,” you point out and Llewyn doesn’t disagree with you.
“I was kind of a sorry mess that night. I wouldn’t’ve hit on you if I’d known you were with someone. Your boyfriend gonna come out here and punch me for talking to you again?”
“I’m between boyfriends right now. And if it’s any consolation you were right about him: he was kind of a jerk.” But you don’t want to ruin your high by discussing your ex. You nod at the guitar case at Llewyn’s feet. “I’ve seen you perform a couple of times.”
“Yeah?”
“At Arliss and that place on West Twenty-Sixth—”
“The Owl Bar?”
“What a weird place.”
“I know, right? It’s almost creepy.” He steals a glance at you, looks away so you don't accuse him of staring. “Would I have seen you on, I dunno, like Broadway or something?”
“I was never that good of a dancer. I teach four-to-seven-year-olds the basics of ballet over at the Academy.” The snow’s coming down fast and heavy now and you brush the flakes crowning Llewyn’s curls. “Think we’d better get inside. You know if you don’t have a Plan B, you can stay here tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure something out.”
“Now?” It’s after midnight. “Llewyn,” you reason with him as he helps you to your feet, “unless you’re planning to murder me, my roommate and her cousin, it’s fine. Really.”
“You got a couch I can sleep on?”
“Couch is taken." You explain your roommate’s cousin has an audition at Julliard in the morning. Llewyn starts to say something about the floor being fine, but you cut him off. “You can sleep with me.” Shit, that came out wrong. “In my room I mean.”
◻️
It feels like you’re back in high school even though you’re a grown-ass woman and neither your roommate nor her snoring cousin would have any objections to you bringing someone home. You usher Llewyn into your cosy lamp-lit room and tell him to remove his clothes.
He blinks at you with lashes so stupidly long and thick you’re sure they brush his cheeks. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t mean all of them. Jesus. I’m gonna lay them over by the radiator, dry them out.” You grip a fistful of his sleeve. “I don’t know how many blocks you walked in the rain, but you’ll be lucky if you don’t catch a cold, or worse.”
Timidly, Llewyn shrugs the corduroy jacket off his shoulders. You won't understand until much later that it’s not being stripped down to his underwear that embarrasses him—he's not shy in that way. It’s your kindness. It’s unfamiliar to him; something he’s unaccustomed to navigating. While you hobble out to the living room as quietly as possible, he sits tentatively on the edge of the bed, figuring you’ll throw him a spare pillow and a blanket for the floor. So when you return and tell him he’s welcome to share your bed, he’s even more awkward and out of his depth. The floor is an option—whatever he’s more comfortable with (you make sure he knows that)—but you seem so comfortable and unbothered by his presence that he decides to take you up on your offer.
And it's not like either of you plan to have sex or that it even crossed your minds (well, maybe a little). It sort of just happens; born of an unspoken need that you both share, and it starts when Llewyn shifts restlessly and his hand brushes the skin at the small of your back where your tank top has ridden up.
“Jesus!” You stiffen beneath the duvet.
“Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I wasn’t tryna cop a feel, all right?”
“It’s not that—Are your hands always that cold?” It feels like someone backed you against an icicle.
“I can put the gloves back on…”
But he doesn't need to do that. You reach behind you for his arm and wrap it around you, lacing your fingers through his and your body heat slowly does the trick.
“Better?” His breath warms the back of your neck and he shifts to close the space between the two of you.
“A little.” You squirm and clamp your thighs together to stem the first prickle of the heat that’s begun to throb between your legs—involuntarily pressing the curve of your ass into Llewyn’s crotch. He responds receptively, even before an apology has formulated in your brain.
“Can I touch you?” His voice is husky, filled with the gentle promise of sex and you’re immediately intoxicated by it. If you’re really honest with yourself, your attraction to Llewyn was instantaneous; you’ve wanted him since that New Year’s Eve party. You think you might have left with him if your dickhead of a boyfriend hadn’t made a scene and Llewyn hadn’t escalated things.
In answer you guide his hand down beneath the waistband of your pyjama bottoms and inside your underwear. Llewyn pushes into the V between your thighs to palm your cunt and you roll onto your back, hoisting your hips and ass to get your PJs and underwear down over your thighs. He thumbs your clit with skill and attentiveness, as if he were strumming at the strings on his guitar. The appreciative moan that escapes you is muffled as his mouth meets yours. Tonguing at the seem of your lips, he plunges a probing middle finger inside you. Blindly, you feel for Llewyn's boxers and tug them down over the swell of his ass until his arousal bobs free and you’re both half-naked.
“Fuck,” you hiss as he slides a second finger, knuckle-deep, inside your pussy. With one hand threading through his thick dark still-damp curls, the other takes his length and begins to stroke him.
“You want me inside you, dove?”
“Yes.” Fuck yes. You know he’s just as eager for you when he begins thrusting into your palm.
Llewyn withdraws his fingers to help both of you out of your remaining clothing and then grips the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance. Your petulant whine at his aching, teasing slowness is swallowed by a gasp when he finally pushes inside your heat. With a curse of tortured ecstacy, he fills you, his breath hot and damp against your skin. For an agonising moment that stretches unbearably, he stills—to let you adjust to him, to appreciate the delicious fullness—until you half plead, half order him to move. Llewyn doesn’t need to be told twice, rocking into you with shallow, measured thrusts that build to a feral crescendo; rough, hurried, balls-deep and cervix-bruising. He tells you how good you feel, how warm and wet and soft you are and your pussy clenches around him as if to draw him deeper, wanting him to hollow you out.
“Can I cum in you?” He’s close to his climax, breathing heavily.
You tilt your head to nod against his shoulder and moments later Llewyn loses himself inside you with a cascading, half-choked moan of release. The pulsing knot at your core unravels, the walls of your cunt spasming to send warmth and eye-fluttering shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body. He fucks you through your orgasm, his pace slow and languid and sensual until you come down and he softens, his cum-smeared and pussy-slicked cock slipping out of you.
Llewyn shifts to your side, pillowing his head in the crook of your neck, arm slung across your breasts. Your bodies are sheened with cooling sweat and you pull the covers up over you before fisting your hand into his locks. A trembling sigh escapes him and his grip tightens around you, holding onto you like a drowning man hanging onto a buoy. Your bladder feels uncomfortably full and your cast-encased foot itches like a motherfucker but you don’t move. You don't let go of Llewyn Davis, either.
◻️
“You know I’m playing at The Small Blues Club tonight,” he tells you at the door, whispering because the Julliard cousin is still fast asleep on the couch.
“I did not know that,” you say.
“It’s over on Bleecker. You could come…if you wanted—that is, if you’re not doing anything. I don’t know what your plans are…if you have plans.” He rambles uncertainly. In the snowed-in, washed-out watercolour dawn there’s something diffident and a little standoffish about him; as if he knows the light exposes him for what he really is: a struggling musician trapped in a Kafkaesque existence, the future bleak as the New York skyline in winter. Probably not something a pretty ballet teacher with an apartment and a good credit score would be interested in. “Maybe I could buy you a drink afterwards? I know I’m kind of doing things ass-backwards but I'd really like to see you again. Last night wasn't just—”
“On Bleecker?” You rescue him from himself. He’s so wrong about you: you are interested. “What time should I be there?”
Llewyn scratches his forehead like you've surprised him with a complex math problem. “Any time after seven?” Like it's no big deal; trying to conceal his excitement the way people who are used to being disappointed often do. “That mean you’ll be there?”
“It’s not a date,” you warn, in your most serious teacher-voice.
“Oh, no,” he agrees, nodding along earnestly, “definitely not that.” It's his eyes that give that give him away: big and brown and puppyish, and smiling.
You both know it definitely is.
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In My Mind x 06
The greater the power,
the more dangerous the abuse
- Edmund Burke
---
The lounge is peppered with generations of blackness. A couple of teenagers who appear to be all on their own sit together, drawn to each other by no other factor other than age and circumstance. They look up as you pass.
Around them, a group of women with children talk while HGTV plays and four men play cards.
"Nia. Down here," Erik calls and following his voice, you go down a short set of steps into an open court. At one end, teen boys are hoopin, but on the other end you notice a chair is set up and a man is giving haircuts right on the floor. He's taking off a man's white afro, shaving it down while five men stand in a broken line.. talking and waiting. "They all got interviews," Erik points proudly, following your gaze. "They each took classes here in Zone 3, that's where our classrooms are, I'll show you that next, but this right here is a big deal."
"Hell yeah it's a big deal, I want some of this," you point to the barber's clippers.
Erik snaps to it, literally snapping his fingers to have a chair brought over and when you gesture to the barber, he happily shares a pair of his clippers with you. Without an extra cape, one of the men calls on the teenage boys who fork over a towel that you use to drape around your first client. It's ghetto, but you weren't prepared with a kit and he's fine with it. He says he trusts you, whatever you do just make him interview-ready and you do just that, not noticing that Erik has left until you look up halfway through client number two. Erik is gone, somewhere, but it's cool because you're in your element and these men are more grateful than most clients you work on regularly. They act like you just gave them money in their pocket, which you can see if they actually get the jobs.. You just keep cutting hair until the line is done and high five your partner. By the time you finish cleaning up, disinfecting, and trade info with the other barber, Erik is back and gesturing for you to follow him out again.
"Wow," you grin. "Did you see the magic. The MIRACLE I worked on that hairline," you clutch the air proudly knowing he could see it. "This is why I do what I do. You see his face? PRICELESS! I hope I get a-" His finger raises cutting you off and his phone goes to his ear quickly.
"-update," you mumble, offended until you see his face darken all lightness gone. You strain to hear the voice on the line, leaning in.. wrapping your arm around his bicep to put your ear close to the phone. All you catch is Bluebird.
"Bluebird," you repeat, echoing the word from earlier when you'd first arrived. He keeps the phone to his ear, watching the far point of the hall and a teenage boy in a red shirt appears at the end, sprinting in your direction. Skrr, he collides into Erik's chest and almost slips in a panic, breathing hard, but Erik steadies him. There are scratches on his arms and a little dirt on his cheek, you notice, reaching out quickly like a mother. Poor thing, he's frantic.
Erik grips him up by the upper arms and squeezes his shoulders looking him square in the eye. "Aye. You're okay.. You're okay!"
Panting, the kid can barely answer. Erik pins him under his arm and walks him to the lounge sighing loudly on his way back. He looks like he's a million miles away, his feet moving on their own.
"Sick of this shit," he mutters along with some things too low to hear. "This building process ain't moving fast enough! We need more funds, more materials. We need weapons! Combat training modules! Drills!" His eyes have gone crazy. You walk fast to keep up beside him.
"Erik."
"I need more money.."
"ERIK!"
"WHAT."
"Calm the hell down! What's happening?"
His eyes roll and he speeds up back to the front desk. Looks like the tour is over. There's an older black man in a pinstripe suit with grey hair who you haven't met. Erik casually directs him down the hall from where you came and hoists himself onto the desk to sit.
"Ghost and Slim..," he asks looking to the guy on skates who puts a thumb up. Erik nods.
"They ain't going back to jail no time soon," Donnie chuckles.
"I'm going to get coffee, anyone want some," the girl with the feed-ins sighs heading to the hall.
"Sugar, no cream," Donnie stretches.
"I remember!"
A second later two white male officers approach the door, pulling on the handles that don't budge. You all stare through the tinted glass as the cops knock on it and wait, cupping their hands to try and see through the glass but no one makes a move to open the door.
"How you like the center so far," Donnie asks watching you. It's like he can feel you're nervous and confused.
"It's great, you guys have it all. Wish we had a place like this in Macon, I'd volunteer."
"Actually, we're looking at building in Atlanta sometime in the next two years, so you should get your chance," he nods.
The phone rings but no one answers. Everyone knows it's the cops.
"That breakfast though. Y'all be eating good," you grin ignoring the elephant in the room. The guy on the skates chuckles lowering his head before skating around the space, twisting his feet in and out as he spins to imaginary music and the snap of his own fingers.
"Show off," Erik jokes. "D, sit ya ass down somewhere cuh."
"Ayo let me be free," he sings dancing on his skates, his eyes flitting to the doors.
Seeing a flash of motion everyone looks. Getting angry, one cop kicks the door trying to cave it and fails. He tries to rattle the handle to no effect before spitting on the sidewalk. The other stares at the door with hands on his hips before grabbing his walkie talkie. They wait it out a few more seconds before splitting and one takes a walk. It's clear he's looking for another entrance.
"Anyway," D mutters, rolling around the room, seemingly unbothered.
Erik looks out watching the police who's talking on the walkie talkie. He steps over to Erik's car looking inside through the window and into the backseat before walking to the opposite side of the building.
"What's going on," you finally ask.
"Pigs out campin, tryna catch a nigga slippin," the guy on skates says.
"And they had one.. Till he ran," Donnie adds.
"The hell? What happened?" Confused, you know it has something to do with that boy who came running through. "Did they hurt him?"
No one replies. You head back down to the lounge, walking fast, and see the boy in the red shirt surrounded by people with stamped hands who tend to him. There's also the old man in the pinstripe suit.
"I didn't steal anything! I swear to God. On my mama, nigga. They some bitchass liars. I didn't do nothing." The boy is frantic, desperate for everyone to believe him as he pleads and the other man in the suit is trying to calm him enough with a hand in the air to get a complete story.
"Son?.... Calm down," he speaks in an even voice, palm high. "I'm a lawyer... and I want to help you... Tell me what did happen," he says, "From the beginning."
9:15 AM.
Kyren Scott, age 14 (and a half) and very tall for his age walks into a corner store, heading straight to the cold drinks in the back. He wears a red t-shirt, black Nikes, and jeans. His hair? Bald fade. He also rocks a chain his mama gave him for his birthday. "What the fuck y'all looking at," he snaps to the men behind the counter who watch him. He picks out a Peach Arizona and a bag of hot chips. Opening the bag, he eats a chip and turns when a voice with a accent yells out angrily. They're talking to him, the two Indian men behind the counter, but he can't fully understand them because of their accent. They slip into their native language. He's not used to it. He kisses his teeth eating another chip. "What? Don't nobody understand what y'all niggas talmbout," he smacks.
The more they talk, he can understand "thief" and "hoodlum" but it all sounds racist. Neither of those outdated words describe him. He gets angry, yelling back about how they're racist. They don't know him. They don't know his life. He roasts them as he would a bully in school and they go toe to toe with him, a child.
He has $10 in his pocket from the money he's made on his own, selling candy. He's never stolen anything.. not from them. He walks toward the register to pull out his money, just so he can leave though he's pissed off by their name-calling and assumptions. The two men freak out seeing him reach down and they threaten him.
"Police are on their way," is a phrase he understands. His father is in jail, but his father DID do it. Irritated that they'd go so far for nothing, Kyren pulls out his money, which they take, pointing to the door for him to "Get out."
"Not without my change," he waits, refusing to leave without his hard earned money. To him, $10 is a lot of snacks. "GET OUT," they yell.
By that time, the police arrive having been nearby and looking for trouble. Not many questions are asked. Kyren is grabbed and forced to the ground on his knees then his stomach by two officers who use their full body weight and force his arms behind his back, yelling at him to "STOP RESISTING." Meanwhile he yells, "What did I do?! I didn't do anything! That hurts!"
They get rougher and Kyren yells out, crying as he can feel pressure on his arm. It twists in an unnatural direction. "Shut up," they yell, kicking him in the side, holding him down as he flinches, feeling like he may need his old asthma pump. It takes the distraction of a car rolling by bumping Fuck the Police, shooting their police cruiser in the side with a big bright blue paintball for them to ease up enough for Kyren to fight, bucking, flipping over and dashing out, making a run for it on foot as they chase him. They hop in their car following him with a report that he'd stolen from the store. When they catch him, they throw him down on the ground and he rolls away, escaping again because he's too quick and active for them to keep up. On foot, he runs to the place he's heard from friends his age living in bad situations. They said that when they couldn't be home, this place was safe. He ran there hoping it would be safe for him and when he got there, he panted giving a brief summary of events to the three behind the desk. They pointed him down a hall and he ran until he saw a big man in a suit who looked strong and smart, like he could help.
"I just kept running," he says and the lawyer nods. Shaking your head, you go back to find Erik.
"Do you understand now," he asks as you stop in front of him. He's still seated on the desk. "Why I need your help. Shit is real out here.. You got the power to do shit and you ain't using it.. I want you to see this up close. Look in these people faces and say you ain't helping me do exactly what needs to be done."
"What? Don't act like I'm some great black hope," you snap. He's not about to pull this guilt trip on you again like he's so noble and you're an Aunt Tom when you've felt his bloodlust and seen it clearly in his eyes. Yeah he has a plan for good but he also has a mind for murder, something within him that you can feel so strongly it's like it's inside you. You shiver. "You're so full of it," you mumble. "Don't flip this on me! I SAID I'd help you once so I will. What YOU do with this one time determines if and HOW I help you again." Stepping closer you whisper, "So if I were you, I wouldn't lose my cool just to sock it to the man once and feed my bloodlust."
"Be very careful of how you talk to me," he warns coldly. "Everything I do is for my people.. and some hairdresser.. with no life experience outside of Georgia and minimal knowledge of politics, war, foreign affairs, police, law," he counts on his fingers, "..ain't finna tell me SHIT about how I need to fight. Tuh! Either you with me... Or you need to go cuz you don't even wanna BE in this area right now if you ain't."
"You think you're gonna punk me is that it?" Your head cocks to the side to send him a message. He can't intimidate you, hairdresser or not.
"I'd think very carefully," he warns. The others keep their eyes averted like they can't see or hear, the air thick with discomfort.
"Is that a threat?" You step forward. "I think you know where I stand, but I'm not a weapon and I won't be used by anyone but God. You, Killmonger, are no god."
Donnie sighs, getting up. "I'm bout to watch some TV, D, join me in the lounge.."
"You know what, I'm going too," you announce as they look at each other. Leading the way you're the first to go.
@thickemadame @just-juicee @kenbieeereadss @honeytoffee @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @justgetitoverwith0
Paragraphs got jumbled on transfer but I fixed them.
#original#erik killmonger#killmonger#erik killmonger x reader#erik x reader#erik stevens x you#erik stevens x reader
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The Right to Remain Silent
Summary: Beth's FBI. Rio's... not.
[A/N: This is an unfinished work that I scrapped but I’m posting because of this tag game. I rounded out writing three of the main parts of the first chapter that I already had mostly done so it would be readable, but like I said, it is most certainly unfinished; there are whole middle chunks missing that I never got around to writing.]
**
“Ruby, do you think there's any way back once you're a bad person?”
She can almost hear her best friend frown on the other end of the line.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you've crossed over, do you think it’s possible to find your way back?”
There’s silence for a moment. Then Ruby lets out a breath.
“I… I guess it depends how far you went. How bad what you did is.”
“The worst.” She swallows. “The worst possible everything.”
**
One week earlier
**
Beth’s feeling really good about herself.
So good that she’s even considering buying everyone in the office coffee. She thinks she’ll drink hers here, though. At least her first cup. She’s still high off yesterday’s bust and she doesn’t need the humdrum of today spoiling it just yet.
The barista smiles at her, catching her eye, then winks and goes ahead making her usual order.
“Lemme get that for you.”
Beth turns. There’s a guy beside her facing forward, his collar up, but he’s looking at her from the corner of his eye.
She smiles. “That’s not necessary.”
“Oh, but I wanna.”
“No, thank you,” she says more firmly, letting the smile go.
“Oh, c'mon darlin,” he says, voice smooth as honey. “How else’s a guy s’pposed to get a beautiful woman’s attention?”
This gets under her collar then seeps into her bones, sending a shiver down her back. Weird. Weird.
“Well, I'm married.”
She’s still trying to process this – a man hitting on her – when he suddenly turns to face her and, oh.
“Since when has that ever stopped anybody, Elizabeth?”
Her mouth falls open – at his appearance, at the tattoo, at him knowing her name – but he doesn’t give her the chance to speak.
“Sit down.”
There’s no room for arguing in his tone, face stony in an instant, and she follows him to a table with her heart fluttering in her throat. There’s a cat-like fluidity to the way he walks and she takes this in analytically before sitting, back straight.
She folds her hands into her lap, trying to shake off the surprise.
“What gang are you affiliated with?”
“Shit, first you don't want me to buy you a drink now you wanna take down my pants?”
There’s something about him – the lewdness? His smirk? The way he takes her in with gleaming eyes? – that unnerves her, but she tells herself it’s still just the shock letting it all get to her.
“How did you find me?”
He sits back in his seat, folding his hands; almost mocking her own posture.
“You raided a warehouse of mine yesterday.”
God. She clears her throat.
“You want your money back?”
She’d caught the line of his gun beneath his jacket; is slowly trying to survey the café to figure out if he’s alone.
“Naw. See, you asked how I found you,” he points at her.
“So then what do you want?”
Now he leans onto the table, steepling his fingers.
“Your hubby, he ain’t a real stand-up guy, huh?” He makes as if to give her a chance to speak then barrels right ahead. “Fucked around on you then getting himself into debt with some real rough guys.”
Breathe, Beth. Breathe.
“What are you talking about?”
He seems amused – he knows more than her and he’s relishing it.
“He been real flush lately?”
And she wants to say no instantly, but – he’d suddenly paid for the house after they’d been struggling to make the payment. He’d said he’d sold a car, but…
“You’re trying to bribe me,” she says, voice tinny.
“Nah,” he scoffs, laughing like she’s told a joke. “I’m tryna keep the limbs on all your loved ones. Y’know, they’re called loan sharks for a reason.”
Her hands are no longer folded, wringing each other.
“H-how are you going to do that?”
He shrugs cavalierly. “You need money, I got lots of it. We could be friends, and I like helping out my friends.”
He watches her, waiting, but she doesn’t react; doesn’t respond. She’s frozen, too stunned by this influx of information; this situation.
Not only had Dean torn their family apart, he’d also put them in danger? And she’d left her children with him to take this assignment; to get away. And now her babies could end up being collateral in more ways than just that one.
“Your hubby’s in the hole for ten grand,” he informs her, leaning over the table a little. “So I’m thinkin… a cool thirty gees?”
She stares.
“You’re going to pay me thirty thousand dollars for doing nothing?”
“Naw, darlin; nothin’s for nothin.”
“So what do you want?”
“Colleague of yours, an agent… Donnegan?” She nods and he continues: “Had a drug bust a week ago. My intel says the pills are still in your evidence room – I got a third party who’s real interested.”
“You’re insane.”
He grins, delighted, as if this is a compliment.
She shakes her head. “I can’t just take evidence, that’s not how things work!”
He shrugs. “Bat your lashes, sign it out for another ‘investigation’ – whatever it takes. I’m sure you’ll think of somethin.”
Before she can say anything – say whether she’s going to do it – he jumps up, kicking his chair back as he juts a thumb outward.
“That’s my boy, Mick.”
She follows his finger to see a tattooed man standing outside.
“He’s gonna take care of you. Make sure you got the details for the drop; that you all set up for payment.”
And then, with a quick squeeze of her shoulder, he’s gone.
**
She nearly growls when Dean’s voice finally crackles across the line, greeting cheery.
“Hi, you.”
“Tell me right now and don’t lie to me: did you get money from loan sharks to pay for the house?”
There’s silence for far too long, loaded.
“Bethie, I was going to tell you—”
“Oh my god,” she sucks in a breath.
“But, see, I knew you’d react that way!”
“Because you put our lives in danger! Do you know what those people do to the families of people who don’t pay them?”
“I know this all seems really scary, but it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
He’s always done that. She’s been a cop for years and he still makes it sound like she’s a little girl who isn’t capable of anything.
Even Bethie – she’s started hating how he’s always babied her name.
“What’s not as bad as it sounds, Dean?” she humours him.
“These aren’t the guys you’re used to, these are good guys.”
“They’re loan sharks.”
“No! Well… yeah. But they were really worried about our situation and so understanding when I couldn’t pay last month—”
“Oh my god, we’re already behind?”
“Beth. Bethie. I’m going to take care of it, ok?”
“No.”
She looks up from the floor to the evidence locker.
“I am.”
**
[Beth does the drop, gets paid then is forced into having dinner with Rio, after which he drives her to where she’s staying and invites himself inside]
Rio walks around, inspecting the place as she stands frozen by the entrance-way table.
“You have guys around?”
“I told you I was married.”
He turns back to meet her eyes.
“And I told you I know he's a dirtbag.”
“And that gives me permission to sleep around?”
His lip quirks up a little.
“Kinda does, yeah.”
“Well, I’m not that kind of person.”
“And what kinda person is that?”
“Vows mean something to me.”
“Like the one to serve and protect your country?”
And this jerks down her back, just like he wanted it to. He’s smirking and she’s driven forward, seething.
“So this is what you do? You recruit people, pay them, come and scope out their homes for when you need to intimidate them later?”
She wants to take him down a notch, wants to figure out how to get under his skin too, but he doesn’t seem bothered by her tone.
“Naw, house calls ain’t usually my thing.”
“So then what are you still doing here?”
He’s looking at her strangely, shoulders jerking as he comes closer.
“If you wanna know what I’m doing here, Elizabeth, you gotta stop thinking like a cop and start thinking like—”
“A criminal?” she snickers. “Quantico already taught me that lesson, but thanks.”
He smiles, eyes gleaming.
“…A woman.”
And now the shiver down her back is different – but it’s half anger. Is this why he’s here; is that why her? Because he’d wanted to sleep with her?
“Why did you choose me?”
It’s maybe the first thing she’s said all night that seems to throw him.
“’Scuse me?”
“Mick told me that there were other options – better options – but you chose me.”
“He’s got some loose lips this week.”
She folds her arms.
“Why?”
He stares back at her, seemingly conflicted, then backs up to lean against the table.
She waits and it’s a long few seconds before he finally speaks.
“I was there the day of your bust. Was rollin by to check on shit, y’know. But then I saw what was goin on and pulled ’round to the west side of the building.” He hesitates, eyes on the floor. “Saw you.”
He says this like it’s supposed to explain exactly what he means, but she shakes her head in confusion.
“Ok…”
Now he looks up, though not quite at her.
“While you was havin your… personal moment.”
Oh, god.
Everything had suddenly hit her – what Dean had done, how much she’s missing her children and the girls – and she’d had to excuse herself for a few moments.
But she tries not to cower; not to show how endlessly humiliated she is.
“So you chose me because you saw me cry on the job?”
Rio blinks slowly, thoughtfully. He swallows.
And when he speaks, it’s soft; nearly inaudible.
“I chose you ’cuz it looked like you needed choosing.”
And she should breathe, should force air into her lungs, but instead -- instead she finds herself stepping closer.
She doesn’t breathe, doesn’t think, as her legs brush against his.
His eyes are on her, warm and wanting – god, when last has anyone looked at her like this?
She’s frozen now, has gone as far as she can, and he straightens up. Then his hand is slipping past her hair to cup her face, angle it up to his. And he’s so warm and she shouldn’t be doing this, but she can’t think to stop; can’t remember why she should be running in the other direction.
When he kisses her, it’s soft. Softer than it should be; softer than he should be. It makes her gasp a little and then she’s pressing closer, kissing him back harder because it feels so right even though it’s all so wrong, wrong, wrong.
She whimpers as his tongue slips past her lips and then his hands are on her hips and before she knows it, he’s spinning them around, lifting her up onto the table, and by the time her legs are spread around his hips, she’s forgotten every vow she’s ever taken.
**
Rio sips at the bottle of water.
From her pillow she watches the inked bird bob with his Adam’s apple.
Then her eyes go to the tattoos at the back of his arms. Angry red scratches run down them, a reminder of her that he’ll take home tonight.
“I like this place.”
Her eyebrow rises in surprise.
“You do?”
“Yeah,” he nods, “looks like a criminal hideout. Doesn't suit you.”
She doesn’t know if this is an insult or a compliment but follows his gaze to survey the huge industrial space.
“Well, it's nothing like my house, that's for sure.”
Sitting up in bed, she wraps her arms around her knees with a sad little breath.
“Every time I think about it, I like this place a little more.”
“That why you volunteer for it?” He looks amused by her visible surprise. “Might not know much about coppers, but I know nobody of your rank's stayin in a dump like this against their will.”
She stares at him for a moment, weighing up the cost of the truth, then looks away.
“I took it because I wanted to punish myself,” she admits quietly. “You know, no creature comforts.”
Not while her children are without her; are robbed of their mother, who’d willingly taken herself away.
“But then I realised I feel more comfortable here than the home I left.”
He watches her for a moment too long before snickering in a way that comes out more forced than he probably intends.
“That's real damn sad.”
“Yeah.”
What more is there to say? Especially to him, of all people?
“I'm really tired.”
She moves the sheet higher up onto her chest in what she hopes he’ll take as a hint. There isn’t going to be a second round tonight, not like normal. Things had gotten too personal and that’s not what this is. Although she still has no idea what it is.
He sniffs in some kind of amusement.
“That a lifelong habit?”
“What habit?” she asks sharply, looking back at him.
He’s up, beginning to dress.
“Only openin up to people you know ain't stayin; who you can push away.”
She stares back, surprised. Offended.
“That's not what I'm doing.”
“Ain't it?” He stands from putting on his shoes to regard her. “Ain't that why you kissed me back to begin with?”
“No.”
He smiles a little.
“You should be a better liar, Special Agent Boland.” He pulls on his t-shirt then shrugs, grabbing his jacket. “But it's cool.”
He’s ready to leave, expression filled with his signature brand of guarded amusement.
“...Takes one to know one.”
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Based on this post.
im gonna do what rebekah did and discuss the potential of oc /oc ships. However i have 10 of them on this blog and i will not be doing this 45 times so im limiting myself to active ocs only, which puts me at 16, which is still a lot but this blog is for me and im a slut for my own characters. (I tried to do it in the tags but tumblr cut me off cause its lesbophobic.) lets get crackin.
gildy/anyone: no. thats grandma. now this isn't to say that i won't ship gildy with anyone; i have before and will again; but it's got to be someone her own age which no other oc is close to (rip to that one npc who made magic ceramics in her first campaign that i was tryna date before the campaign fell apart)
Verdict: No Cradle Robbing
craving/tov: oh GOD it would go so bad . they both hate themselves so much and manifest it as a brusque aggressiveness they'd fucking attack each other within hours. even a one night stand might be pushing the limits of their patience.
Verdict: Do Not Recommend
craving/ezra: i would LOVE to watch these two sit down and talk about philosophy; because they have genuinely the exact opposite takes on life. they both got dunked on and had someone important taken from them at a young age and craving said FUCK IT im gonna be mean since the world hates me and ezra said FUCK IT im gonna be nice and hope the world loves me back eventually. and it would be so fucking interesting to see them try and convince the other why they're right. however. should not date.
Verdict: Bad Romantic Material
craving/nissy: this would go literally the exact same way as nissy and zier. like the ExACT same way. they'd find each other attractive at first; make it a few weeks or something; the sexiness would wear off and they'd find each other insufferable but Not want to break up because they're stubborn and also getting something out of dating the other one. (craving likes that nissy's rich and also his cool shadow guy; nissy likes that craving's all about 'fuck the system' and also maybe a teensy little bit is into the idea of getting a glasya pact too). if they were to meet nakoria in this universe they also would both fuck her and then not tell the other about it.
Verdict: Hilarious But Unsustainable.
craving/ebbie: i literally can't even conceptualize this. i c. i can't. i think ebbie would be genuinely terrified of craving.
Verdict: No.
craving/roona: Ohhhhhhhh YES baby. mischief squad in the fucking HOUSE. they would get along absolutely fantastically i think. No impulse control, so many crimes! neither of them would really be ones to try and make it work long term but they'd have a fucking AMAZING couple months together and part on good terms. Plus craving has a thing for short girls
Verdict: Good Short Term Ship.
tov/ezra: other people would ship them because they have such similar vibes. but i dont think either of them necessarily would want to date for exactly that reason. now you might say but didnt tov fall in love with savra because they have similar backstories? yes BUT they're at very different points in their recovery. ezra and tov are too close. come back to it once both their campaigns are over and they might make a very sweet couple.
Verdict: Slow Burn 250k Words
tov/nissy: i feel like tov would take one look at nissy and kind of just. leave. nissy would be into tov tho. he likes the rugged bad boy vibes. he'd think he was mysterious and handsome. and we know he seems to have a thing for sorcerers.
Verdict: One Sided Crush
tov/ebbie: they'd get along Really well but it'd be more of a mentor/mentee dynamic. they both like to build things and want to find simple softness in the world but don't trust that they can have it. ebbie has a much more excited and babbly demeanor bc he's a Loud Anxious and tov is much more laid back and calmer because he’s a Quiet Anxious. tov would see him as a kid that’s probably gonna turn out ok, but i dont know if he’d really be able to tell that ebbie’s got some fucked up in there. ebbie would be way better at seeing through tov’s walls, and would follow him around almost like a lost dog bc tov like. Actually Gets Him and he wants to learn as much as he can and you know what if there’s a baby crush there, there’s a baby crush there.
Verdict: I Hate To Say It But This One’s A Notice Me Senpai
tov/roona: roona would call tov a narc within 30 seconds of meeting him and any Possible feelings on his end would die instantly. Roona would be far more into teasing him than into him. It’d be a cute dynamic where they act like they can’t stand each other and insist that they’re not even friends but like when it comes down to it, they have a fairly good time together and will defend each other against anyone else trying to fuck with them. Bonus Points for them both being super gullible.
Verdict: Only I Get To Be Mean To Them
ezra/nissy: on paper, they’re both like trying to be heroic good guys and struggling a little bit, so they should get along. But like in practice. Oh my god. they couldn’t fucking STAND each other but they’d have to because they’re trying to do the same things more or less and like, Ezra is trying SO HARD to find selflessness in Nissy and Nissy is trying SO HARD to make Ezra care literally At All about himself, and anyone who interacts with them trying to adventure is kinda just like uh ...... you know i’ll just wait while you two work this out.
Verdict: Buddy Cop Dynamic
ezra/ebbie: i really don’t have strong feelings about this one like, i think they’d get along fine. they’re both just kinda dudes trying to do good and they’d vibe with each other but they’re not quite as similar as ebbie and tov to have any kind of strong dynamic. it’s like when two bus drivers wave at each other while passing in the street and its like YAHOO for one second and then they’ve passed each other.
Verdict: If You’re Into Bland Ships To Self Project On
ezra/roona: very good friendship dynamic here. ezra knows that there’s good in roona and is content to wait with her while it worms its way out, and roona is glad to have someone to check her and occasionally get talked into doing some stupid shit. ezra gets a new baby sister, roona gets a second vinny.
Verdict: It’s Familiar But Not Too Familiar
nissy/ebbie: ajskdfjsdjfisdjfsakfdjfdsakljfisaodf sadfkdsajfasdjfasfsdfjsiof hsadfjsdfsahfsdfjsdoifhsdf
Verdict: Hhsdfkjasdhiuf
ebbie/roona: so. ebbie has had to deal with an unstable 11 year old before, and keep her out of trouble, and roona has had a vinny to pull her out of bad situations before, so they like. Half understand the dynamic between them. Ebbie’s too much of a pushover though, or Roona’s too little of one, and so instead of like being a voice of reason that actually stops the bad ideas ebbie’s more just getting dragged into situation after situation that he is NOT comfortable and having to smooth everything over when all’s said and done. and like, they still enjoy each other’s company when they’re not in deep shit. they both lean pretty heavily towards same gender rather than not, so like they probably wouldn’t be into each other, but there’s a slight chance.
Verdict: Disney Channel Original Movie Protagonist + Scared Best Friend Dynamic
nissy/roona: you’d think it’d go badly, and by all accounts it should, but it doesn’t. nissy loves how spontaneous and wild roona is and loves the freer side of him that it brings out, and roona likes nissy’s careful intelligence that can be equally well applied to proper societal actions and also stupid pranks. low wis gang gets each other’s impulsiveness and doesn’t judge when things go wrong, but they’re always by each other’s sides to help get the other out of a pickle. they both stick out like sore thumbs in a crowd and don’t mind bouncing around from place to place because home isn’t really somewhere they want to head back to, but it’s alright, because they have consistency in each other. god fucking damn it i’m actually into this.
Verdict: Bastards In Love
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Branjie Fic | Take Me Back to the Start (3/?)
Title: Take Me Back to the Start
Summary: Everyone remembers their first love. Not everyone carries those feelings from childhood to senior year. Yet Brock is starting his last year of high school while still longing for the relationship he lost five years ago. Meanwhile, José is at the top of the food chain and seems to have it all together. But maybe their story isn’t over yet.
Word Count: ~3.1k (this chapter) / ~9.6k (total)
Relationship: Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo)
Rating: T (so far)
Read on AO3
After a couple of weeks, Brock and José found that working together was a second nature for them. They worked in sync, they listened and learned from each other, and while Brock was still unsteady about choreographing for a group, he felt that as a duo, they could actually come up with something that would win that qualifying position.
It was their fourth or fifth meeting - this one on their own time - and they were pretty sure they’d laid the groundwork for their routine. And they were pretty damn proud, if they did say so themselves. “Hey, what time is it?”
Brock reached around and grabbed his phone. “About a quarter to six. Why, you got somewhere to be?”
“Yeah, kinda.” He’d promised Kyle they would go see a movie that night, and he tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach that begged him to flake out. As José got up to leave, he turned back towards Brock with a soft, apologetic smile. He hesitated just a bit before speaking, almost as if he were willing away his nerves. “Listen, uh, my birthday’s coming up soon. I’m not goin’ wild or nothin’, but I’m having a party. And you know I can turn up at any party. Anyway, I want yo’ ass there.”
Of course, Brock knew exactly when his birthday was - he always felt especially lonely on that day. Early on, he used to reminisce on the birthdays they shared together, but lately it had become much easier to simply ignore it entirely. Either way, he brightened right up at the invitation. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Promise.”
José’s smile brightened. His heart was beating a little faster whether he liked it or not. “Yeah, you will,” he confirmed with a light laugh before they said their goodbyes. And he must have still had that smile plastered on his face when he reconvened with his boyfriend because he was getting an odd, borderline angry look.
“You enjoy your ‘practice,’ babe?” he asked with a suspicious raise in his brow.
“Why you gotta say it like that, huh?” His cheeks flushed red, which he could only hope didn’t come off as guilt. “It is practice. This shit’s important. You know that.”
Kyle rolled his eyes, “I also know you guys were a thing for years. And no, I don’t care that you were kids. Years are years and you can’t deny that.” Having known both boys for almost as long as they knew each other, he had witnessed tiny snippets of their relationship firsthand, leaving no room for denial.
José glared and grit his teeth. “The fuck are you accusing me of, huh? Tryna make me look bad to take the heat off yourself?”
The accusation earned him an annoyed scoff and a lack of eye contact. “Oh, cut the fucking temper tantrum, José. I’m just not gonna sit around while you have some Step Up fantasy with someone you’ve already had feelings for.”
“Don’t you think if I was tryna make that happen I woulda left yo two-timin’ ass already? You didn’t do shit to earn a second chance but beg and cry for it. And now you wanna point the fucking finger at me? Don’t even go there, boo.”
His rant must’ve made the impression he’d hoped for, as Kyle went silent and hung his head like a scolded child. “Okay, I get it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you like that, I do wanna have a good night with you.” He offered his hand out to the smaller male, waiting in anticipation to see if he’d still take it.
And he did, despite the fact that the nagging sense of doubt inside him was still there. But that was the first sincere sounding apology he’d ever gotten out of his boyfriend. That had to count for something, right? He would certainly keep telling himself as much if it meant he would be able to enjoy their date night.
------
“What do you mean you don’t know what to get him?” Courtney furrowed her brows, shaking her head incredulously. “I thought he used to be like, your entire world.”
Brock grimaced. “And we haven’t spoken in five years. I don’t know about you, but my tastes have changed since middle school. He could be a whole new person in that way, and I don’t wanna look like an idiot in front of him.”
Steve had his hands shoved into his pockets as they walked past store after store in the mall. “Why don’t you just get something like chocolates? Everyone loves chocolate, you can’t strike out on that,” he suggested.
But he waved that off, shaking his head. “No, no, that’s a cop-out. I’m not some distant relative that only comes around for the holidays. I want something that tells him that I care about him… but not like, overly so, you know?”
“Not really.”
“I just don’t want it to seem like I don’t give a fuck. Because I give several fucks. Constantly.”
Courtney placed her hand on his shoulder as they walked into a Macy’s. “I think it’s sweet that you want to show you care. But you shouldn’t overthink it so much. He’s probably just going to be happy that you’re there.”
Brock exhaled deeply as he looked around the store, then coughed a bit on the inhale as he was hit with an influx of various perfumes and colognes that filled the store. “Let’s just start looking for shiny things. I know he still likes shiny things.” He’d been able to ascertain that much from the time they’d spent together recently.
As it turned out, something adequately shiny and something within budget seemed to be incapable of existing within one object. It’d been at least fifteen minutes of wandering through the jewelry department, and the trio had started to become frustrated.
“What about a watch?” Courtney suggested. “My dad says that’s usually a go-to.”
“The only watches anyone under forty wears are Apple Watches,” Brock retorted, and it took another few minutes of circling around before something finally caught his eye. “What do you guys think of this?”
When the other two came up to see what he was looking at, they exchanged looks before both giving a thumbs-up in approval, and not a moment too soon.
------
Brock had been staring at himself in the mirror for a good couple of minutes. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was hoping to see - maybe a sudden burst of confidence that would assure him that he looked and felt ready to go.
Instead, he had to rely on his mother, who was losing her patience. “You’re going to be late, and not even fashionably late. Get a move on, I’ll be in the car.”
After another look in the mirror, he decided it was as good as it was going to get. He grabbed his jacket and the present and made his way out to the car, spending the entire ride completely silent. If he spoke, he’d just end up psyching himself out and making her turn back home.
“You’re going to have a great time, I’m sure of it. Call me when you’re done, but if you’re still out by midnight, take an Uber.”
Brock nodded in confirmation and gave his mom a quick hug before getting out and going into the restaurant. It was a nice place, the kind you would go to if you were treating yourself, but not somewhere that needed to be booked months in advance. The hostess was cheery as she guided him to the back room that was closed exclusively for the party, and there was no turning back from there.
There had to have been at least thirty or forty people in the room, talking and dancing amongst themselves, or eating and drinking off to the side. No one really acknowledged Brock’s presence, so he weaved his way through to set his gift down on the table along with the others, looking around in hopes of crossing paths with José one way or another.
And he did, eventually. José had managed to untangle himself from the group around him to make his way over to Brock. “You really showed up.”
“I promised I would.”
Despite the loud music and shouting teens, there was a sudden calmness between the two of them. The onslaught of indescribable noises faded into the background and for a moment it was like they were back at the roller skating rink, or any of the birthdays they’d shared together.
“I’m really happy you’re here.”
There seemed to be more that José wanted to say, but he was suddenly whisked away by a group of three girls that Brock recognized from the cheerleading team.
So, with a content smile, Brock turned to make his way towards the food when he bumped into someone blocking his path.
Kyle. Great.
“Can I help you?” He did his best to seem nonplussed, but he just couldn’t hide the irritation that seeped into his words. Even without an answer, he was trying to figure out how to maneuver around the jock.
“Oh, cut the shit.” Kyle shoved him back, effectively keeping him from slipping away. “He might be too stupid to catch onto your game, but I’m not. And I’m putting an end to it right now.”
Brock stood upright, puffing out his chest and narrowing his glare. If looks could kill, he’d be an effective assassin. “Don’t call him stupid,” he hissed. “Maybe if you treated him better, you wouldn’t be so paranoid.”
At this point, a few onlookers had gathered out of casual curiosity. Kyle had an aggressive reputation, after all. And although Brock didn’t have much of a reputation period, the fact that he held his own on a physical level was enough to pique some interest.
“You’re fucking delusional if you think he’s gonna run back to you just ‘cause you two used to play house,” he stepped closer, trying to intimidate him — which proved to be a bit difficult considering they were about the same height. He then tried to further the attempt by making a sharp, threatening motion towards him.
But Brock’s reflexes were fast — he pushed back with both hands to his chest, enough to send him stumbling back a couple of steps. Which, in retrospect, might have been the wrong move, as the next thing he knew, he had 185 pounds of football player lunging at him.
Now, Brock wasn’t a fighter, especially not a physical one. But his only other option was to lay down and let José’s boyfriend wail on him, and that simply wasn’t going to happen. So, he pushed back with all of his might, doing his best to hold his own while a crowd formed around them.
It was all a bit blurry — there was a loud ringing in his ear and his head was throbbing, and he was on the ground, down for the count. In the distance, though, he swore he heard a distinctly familiar voice shouting ‘what the fuck just happened?!’
José was out of breath when he caught up with the melee. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
Kyle grunted, also splayed out on the floor and not in much better condition. “Ugh, yeah, think I just–“
“Shut the fuck up, I ain’t talking to you!” The absolute fury in his tone was enough to make everyone in earshot take a step back. But he wasn’t paying the crowd any mind as he dropped to his knees and crawled over to Brock’s side.
“How bad you hurtin’?” His voice had completely switched to a soft, gentle one — it was jarring to everyone around them. “You need me to call an amberlance or something?”
Brock groaned as he managed to sit himself up. His face hurt like a bitch, but he wasn’t bleeding or more than a little swollen. He was dizzy, enough to not even realize how much he was relying on José to hold him up, but was slowly managing to come back to reality. “No, just ice. Advil, maybe.”
“You heard the man! Ice and Advil! What’s the fucking hold up?” José wasn’t shouting to anyone in particular — just whoever got the job done the fastest.
And, sure enough, Brock did find himself on a couch with ice on his head and Advil in his system not long after. How long, exactly, was unclear. His mind was still a little fuzzy on the details.
The one detail that was clear, however, was that José had never left his side, and that fact made Kyle livid. Even with depleted energy, he was huffing and shouting as his friends escorted him out. “Does he blow up like that often?” he asked once he was feeling a bit more himself.
José gestured vaguely. “He got a temper.”
“He’s never hit you, has he?”
“Never, though sometimes I’d take that over his shouting rants. Motherfucker makes me look like one of them silent French clowns.”
“A mime?”
Despite everything, they both laughed at that. “Yeah, a mime.”
There were a few beats of silence before Brock turned to face him. “Why’s a guy like you with such a creep like that?”
José tilted his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “A guy like me?”
“Well, yeah,” Brock shrugged. “Someone kind, funny, thoughtful…” He could have gone on for so much longer, but he didn’t want to come on too strong. That, and he was still a bit out of it and knew that if he started to ramble he wouldn’t stop. “What’s he got going for him other than an athletic scholarship?”
It wasn’t that José never questioned his relationship; it was just easier to not think about it. This was how it was supposed to go – the head cheerleader and the quarterback, it was the classic high school romance, wasn’t it?
“It wasn’t always like this. He was good to me, treated me like a queen, his ride or die. I don’t know what happened,” he sighed and looked down. “I know I look the fool for even thinkin’ bout defending him, but I can’t just feel nothing for him just like that.”
Brock pressed his lips into a fine line and stared straight ahead of him. “I don’t think anyone expects you to stay with him after this, so the choice is really yours.” He was sure people filmed the fight, that it was already making the rounds on social media. His phone was bound to blow up any minute now, and he had no idea how he would tackle that. He couldn’t even think about that – he was still hung up on José‘s take on his relationship with that bully.
“Anyway,” he continued after what felt like an hour of awkward silence. “I’m gonna text my mom, should still probably go get checked out by a doctor.”
José stood right up. “Let me go with you,” he insisted.
Brock shook his head. “You’re not wasting my birthday sitting in the ER to see if I have a contusion.”
“Well, I’m not doing that because I don’t know what a contusion is. But I am going to make sure you didn’t get all fucked up.” He chewed on his lip and bounced uncomfortably on his feet. “‘Sides, this is kinda my fault anyway. He prob’ly wouldn’t have gone after you if he didn’t think you was gonna try something with me. I-I told him the truth, but he ain’t hearing it.”
Brock sighed softly and gently placed his hand on the shorter male’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault. The guy’s a psychopath and you got caught in the cross-hairs.” He gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “And I know you, and how stubborn you are. So I’ll let my mom know you’re coming with us.”
Despite his insistence on joining, the drive to the hospital was still filled with tension. It was dead silent, to the point where even Joan had given up any attempt at small talk within the first five minutes. And their stay in the waiting room proved to only be more silent torture. The worst part, perhaps, was that all of that was only to find out that Brock had sustained nothing more than a minor concussion, along with some scrapes and bruises.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” José remarked as they made their way back the way they came.
Brock looked at him with a weak smile. “Could’ve been a lot worse, I know.” His gaze shifted straightforward. “Are you going to check on him?”
“I mean, I should, right?”
“No!” He stopped in his tracks, causing José to come to a screeching halt. That was it. That was what made the dam burst. “Jesus Christ, don’t you get it? This is essentially the same boy that pushed us around while shouting ‘faggots,’ the only difference is now you’re letting him fuck you!” He took a breath, the last thing he needed to do was cause a scene in the middle of the hospital.
José found himself in a bind. He knew Brock was right, he didn’t need to think twice about that. But he wasn’t about to stand and get lectured and leave with his head hung low. His pride simply wouldn’t allow for that. “I took care of myself then, you don’t need to keep talkin’ at me like I’m still a child.”
“Then maybe you should stop acting like one.”
------
“Dude,” Courtney stared at him blankly. “What the fuck?”
Brock groaned, sprawling out on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I was just… I was so angry. It wasn’t even about wanting to be with him, it was… How could that not be enough to break up with someone on the spot?”
“It sounds like it was a lot happening at once,” Steven chimed in. “Maybe he just needs to, I don’t know, process all of it.”
He sat up and furrowed his brows. “So, what are you saying? That I overreacted?”
Both of his friends shook their heads. “Honestly, I’m with you. I can’t fucking stand Kyle,” Courtney admitted. “But you said it yourself, José’s the most stubborn son of a bitch any of us have ever met. Maybe he’s in denial about it.”
“Give it a little time. He’ll come to his senses and be all yours before you know it.”
Brock ran his fingers over the bruise on his arm, still tender to the touch. “If that’s even what I still want by then.”
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Take Me Back to the Start (Chapter 3) - Joley
(read on ao3)
After a couple of weeks, Brock and José found that working together was a second nature for them. They worked in sync, they listened and learned from each other, and while Brock was still unsteady about choreographing for a group, he felt that as a duo, they could actually come up with something that would win that qualifying position.
It was their fourth or fifth meeting - this one on their own time - and they were pretty sure they’d laid the groundwork for their routine. And they were pretty damn proud, if they did say so themselves. “Hey, what time is it?”
Brock reached around and grabbed his phone. “About a quarter to six. Why, you got somewhere to be?”
“Yeah, kinda.” He’d promised Kyle they would go see a movie that night, and he tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach that begged him to flake out. As José got up to leave, he turned back towards Brock with a soft, apologetic smile. He hesitated just a bit before speaking, almost as if he were willing away his nerves. “Listen, uh, my birthday’s coming up soon. I’m not goin’ wild or nothin’, but I’m having a party. And you know I can turn up at any party. Anyway, I want yo’ ass there.”
Of course, Brock knew exactly when his birthday was - he always felt especially lonely on that day. Early on, he used to reminisce on the birthdays they shared together, but lately it had become much easier to simply ignore it entirely. Either way, he brightened right up at the invitation. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Promise.”
José’s smile brightened. His heart was beating a little faster whether he liked it or not. “Yeah, you will,” he confirmed with a light laugh before they said their goodbyes. And he must have still had that smile plastered on his face when he reconvened with his boyfriend because he was getting an odd, borderline angry look.
“You enjoy your ‘practice,’ babe?” he asked with a suspicious raise in his brow.
“Why you gotta say it like that, huh?” His cheeks flushed red, which he could only hope didn’t come off as guilt. “It is practice. This shit’s important. You know that.”
Kyle rolled his eyes, “I also know you guys were a thing for years. And no, I don’t care that you were kids. Years are years and you can’t deny that.” Having known both boys for almost as long as they knew each other, he had witnessed tiny snippets of their relationship firsthand, leaving no room for denial.
José glared and grit his teeth. “The fuck are you accusing me of, huh? Tryna make me look bad to take the heat off yourself?”
The accusation earned him an annoyed scoff and a lack of eye contact. “Oh, cut the fucking temper tantrum, José. I’m just not gonna sit around while you have some Step Up fantasy with someone you’ve already had feelings for.”
“Don’t you think if I was tryna make that happen I woulda left yo two-timin’ ass already? You didn’t do shit to earn a second chance but beg and cry for it. And now you wanna point the fucking finger at me? Don’t even go there, boo.”
His rant must’ve made the impression he’d hoped for, as Kyle went silent and hung his head like a scolded child. “Okay, I get it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you like that, I do wanna have a good night with you.” He offered his hand out to the smaller male, waiting in anticipation to see if he’d still take it.
And he did, despite the fact that the nagging sense of doubt inside him was still there. But that was the first sincere sounding apology he’d ever gotten out of his boyfriend. That had to count for something, right? He would certainly keep telling himself as much if it meant he would be able to enjoy their date night.
——
“What do you mean you don’t know what to get him?” Courtney furrowed her brows, shaking her head incredulously. “I thought he used to be like, your entire world.”
Brock grimaced. “And we haven’t spoken in five years. I don’t know about you, but my tastes have changed since middle school. He could be a whole new person in that way, and I don’t wanna look like an idiot in front of him.”
Steve had his hands shoved into his pockets as they walked past store after store in the mall. “Why don’t you just get something like chocolates? Everyone loves chocolate, you can’t strike out on that,” he suggested.
But he waved that off, shaking his head. “No, no, that’s a cop-out. I’m not some distant relative that only comes around for the holidays. I want something that tells him that I care about him… but not like, overly so, you know?”
“Not really.”
“I just don’t want it to seem like I don’t give a fuck. Because I give several fucks. Constantly.”
Courtney placed her hand on his shoulder as they walked into a Macy’s. “I think it’s sweet that you want to show you care. But you shouldn’t overthink it so much. He’s probably just going to be happy that you’re there.”
Brock exhaled deeply as he looked around the store, then coughed a bit on the inhale as he was hit with an influx of various perfumes and colognes that filled the store. “Let’s just start looking for shiny things. I know he still likes shiny things.” He’d been able to ascertain that much from the time they’d spent together recently.
As it turned out, something adequately shiny and something within budget seemed to be incapable of existing within one object. It’d been at least fifteen minutes of wandering through the jewelry department, and the trio had started to become frustrated.
“What about a watch?” Courtney suggested. “My dad says that’s usually a go-to.”
“The only watches anyone under forty wears are Apple Watches,” Brock retorted, and it took another few minutes of circling around before something finally caught his eye. “What do you guys think of this?”
When the other two came up to see what he was looking at, they exchanged looks before both giving a thumbs-up in approval, and not a moment too soon.
——
Brock had been staring at himself in the mirror for a good couple of minutes. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was hoping to see - maybe a sudden burst of confidence that would assure him that he looked and felt ready to go.
Instead, he had to rely on his mother, who was losing her patience. “You’re going to be late, and not even fashionably late. Get a move on, I’ll be in the car.”
After another look in the mirror, he decided it was as good as it was going to get. He grabbed his jacket and the present and made his way out to the car, spending the entire ride completely silent. If he spoke, he’d just end up psyching himself out and making her turn back home.
“You’re going to have a great time, I’m sure of it. Call me when you’re done, but if you’re still out by midnight, take an Uber.”
Brock nodded in confirmation and gave his mom a quick hug before getting out and going into the restaurant. It was a nice place, the kind you would go to if you were treating yourself, but not somewhere that needed to be booked months in advance. The hostess was cheery as she guided him to the back room that was closed exclusively for the party, and there was no turning back from there.
There had to have been at least thirty or forty people in the room, talking and dancing amongst themselves, or eating and drinking off to the side. No one really acknowledged Brock’s presence, so he weaved his way through to set his gift down on the table along with the others, looking around in hopes of crossing paths with José one way or another.
And he did, eventually. José had managed to untangle himself from the group around him to make his way over to Brock. “You really showed up.”
“I promised I would.”
Despite the loud music and shouting teens, there was a sudden calmness between the two of them. The onslaught of indescribable noises faded into the background and for a moment it was like they were back at the roller skating rink, or any of the birthdays they’d shared together.
“I’m really happy you’re here.”
There seemed to be more that José wanted to say, but he was suddenly whisked away by a group of three girls that Brock recognized from the cheerleading team.
So, with a content smile, Brock turned to make his way towards the food when he bumped into someone blocking his path.
Kyle. Great.
“Can I help you?” He did his best to seem nonplussed, but he just couldn’t hide the irritation that seeped into his words. Even without an answer, he was trying to figure out how to maneuver around the jock.
“Oh, cut the shit.” Kyle shoved him back, effectively keeping him from slipping away. “He might be too stupid to catch onto your game, but I’m not. And I’m putting an end to it right now.”
Brock stood upright, puffing out his chest and narrowing his glare. If looks could kill, he’d be an effective assassin. “Don’t call him stupid,” he hissed. “Maybe if you treated him better, you wouldn’t be so paranoid.”
At this point, a few onlookers had gathered out of casual curiosity. Kyle had an aggressive reputation, after all. And although Brock didn’t have much of a reputation period, the fact that he held his own on a physical level was enough to pique some interest.
“You’re fucking delusional if you think he’s gonna run back to you just ‘cause you two used to play house,” he stepped closer, trying to intimidate him — which proved to be a bit difficult considering they were about the same height. He then tried to further the attempt by making a sharp, threatening motion towards him.
But Brock’s reflexes were fast — he pushed back with both hands to his chest, enough to send him stumbling back a couple of steps. Which, in retrospect, might have been the wrong move, as the next thing he knew, he had 185 pounds of football player lunging at him.
Now, Brock wasn’t a fighter, especially not a physical one. But his only other option was to lay down and let José’s boyfriend wail on him, and that simply wasn’t going to happen. So, he pushed back with all of his might, doing his best to hold his own while a crowd formed around them.
It was all a bit blurry — there was a loud ringing in his ear and his head was throbbing, and he was on the ground, down for the count. In the distance, though, he swore he heard a distinctly familiar voice shouting ‘what the fuck just happened?!’
José was out of breath when he caught up with the melee. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
Kyle grunted, also splayed out on the floor and not in much better condition. “Ugh, yeah, think I just–“
“Shut the fuck up, I ain’t talking to you!” The absolute fury in his tone was enough to make everyone in earshot take a step back. But he wasn’t paying the crowd any mind as he dropped to his knees and crawled over to Brock’s side.
“How bad you hurtin’?” His voice had completely switched to a soft, gentle one — it was jarring to everyone around them. “You need me to call an amberlance or something?”
Brock groaned as he managed to sit himself up. His face hurt like a bitch, but he wasn’t bleeding or more than a little swollen. He was dizzy, enough to not even realize how much he was relying on José to hold him up, but was slowly managing to come back to reality. “No, just ice. Advil, maybe.”
“You heard the man! Ice and Advil! What’s the fucking hold up?” José wasn’t shouting to anyone in particular — just whoever got the job done the fastest.
And, sure enough, Brock did find himself on a couch with ice on his head and Advil in his system not long after. How long, exactly, was unclear. His mind was still a little fuzzy on the details.
The one detail that was clear, however, was that José had never left his side, and that fact made Kyle livid. Even with depleted energy, he was huffing and shouting as his friends escorted him out. “Does he blow up like that often?” he asked once he was feeling a bit more himself.
José gestured vaguely. “He got a temper.”
“He’s never hit you, has he?”
“Never, though sometimes I’d take that over his shouting rants. Motherfucker makes me look like one of them silent French clowns.”
“A mime?”
Despite everything, they both laughed at that. “Yeah, a mime.”
There were a few beats of silence before Brock turned to face him. “Why’s a guy like you with such a creep like that?”
José tilted his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “A guy like me?”
“Well, yeah,” Brock shrugged. “Someone kind, funny, thoughtful…” He could have gone on for so much longer, but he didn’t want to come on too strong. That, and he was still a bit out of it and knew that if he started to ramble he wouldn’t stop. “What’s he got going for him other than an athletic scholarship?”
It wasn’t that José never questioned his relationship; it was just easier to not think about it. This was how it was supposed to go – the head cheerleader and the quarterback, it was the classic high school romance, wasn’t it?
“It wasn’t always like this. He was good to me, treated me like a queen, his ride or die. I don’t know what happened,” he sighed and looked down. “I know I look the fool for even thinkin’ bout defending him, but I can’t just feel nothing for him just like that.”
Brock pressed his lips into a fine line and stared straight ahead of him. “I don’t think anyone expects you to stay with him after this, so the choice is really yours.” He was sure people filmed the fight, that it was already making the rounds on social media. His phone was bound to blow up any minute now, and he had no idea how he would tackle that. He couldn’t even think about that – he was still hung up on José‘s take on his relationship with that bully.
“Anyway,” he continued after what felt like an hour of awkward silence. “I’m gonna text my mom, should still probably go get checked out by a doctor.”
José stood right up. “Let me go with you,” he insisted.
Brock shook his head. “You’re not wasting my birthday sitting in the ER to see if I have a contusion.”
“Well, I’m not doing that because I don’t know what a contusion is. But I am going to make sure you didn’t get all fucked up.” He chewed on his lip and bounced uncomfortably on his feet. “‘Sides, this is kinda my fault anyway. He prob’ly wouldn’t have gone after you if he didn’t think you was gonna try something with me. I-I told him the truth, but he ain’t hearing it.”
Brock sighed softly and gently placed his hand on the shorter male’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault. The guy’s a psychopath and you got caught in the cross-hairs.” He gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “And I know you, and how stubborn you are. So I’ll let my mom know you’re coming with us.”
Despite his insistence on joining, the drive to the hospital was still filled with tension. It was dead silent, to the point where even Joan had given up any attempt at small talk within the first five minutes. And their stay in the waiting room proved to only be more silent torture. The worst part, perhaps, was that all of that was only to find out that Brock had sustained nothing more than a minor concussion, along with some scrapes and bruises.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” José remarked as they made their way back the way they came.
Brock looked at him with a weak smile. “Could’ve been a lot worse, I know.” His gaze shifted straightforward. “Are you going to check on him?”
“I mean, I should, right?”
“No!” He stopped in his tracks, causing José to come to a screeching halt. That was it. That was what made the dam burst. “Jesus Christ, don’t you get it? This is essentially the same boy that pushed us around while shouting ‘faggots,’ the only difference is now you’re letting him fuck you!” He took a breath, the last thing he needed to do was cause a scene in the middle of the hospital.
José found himself in a bind. He knew Brock was right, he didn’t need to think twice about that. But he wasn’t about to stand and get lectured and leave with his head hung low. His pride simply wouldn’t allow for that. “I took care of myself then, you don’t need to keep talkin’ at me like I’m still a child.”
“Then maybe you should stop acting like one.”
——
“Dude,” Courtney stared at him blankly. “What the fuck?”
Brock groaned, sprawling out on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I was just… I was so angry. It wasn’t even about wanting to be with him, it was… How could that not be enough to break up with someone on the spot?”
“It sounds like it was a lot happening at once,” Steven chimed in. “Maybe he just needs to, I don’t know, process all of it.”
He sat up and furrowed his brows. “So, what are you saying? That I overreacted?”
Both of his friends shook their heads. “Honestly, I’m with you. I can’t fucking stand Kyle,” Courtney admitted. “But you said it yourself, José’s the most stubborn son of a bitch any of us have ever met. Maybe he’s in denial about it.”
“Give it a little time. He’ll come to his senses and be all yours before you know it.”
Brock ran his fingers over the bruise on his arm, still tender to the touch. “If that’s even what I still want by then.”
#rpdr fanfiction#brooke lynn hytes#vanessa vanjie mateo#branjie#teen au#high school au#take me back to the start#joley#m/m au
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ain’t no rest for the wicked
my @ccsecretsanta gift for @chipchopped !
so so sorry it’s late!!
—————————
james is just minding his own business, hunched over a light in some back alley with a cig between his lips, when he feels the cold steel of a 9mm against the base of his skull. he rolls his eyes, dropping the lighter in favour of slowly raising his hands.
the voice from behind him speaks in rough, low tones, heavily accented.
“wallet. hand it over, and you live.”
james huffs out a laugh, fingers twitching for the .38 tucked into his waistband, and drops one arm to take the cigarette from his mouth, dropping it to join his light.
“i think i’ll take my chances.”
the muzzle is pressed harder, and he hides his wince under another laugh. he has the foreigner on his knees with his own gun to his head before the hammer can slide into place.
“nice piece, buddy. mind if i borrow it?” james taunts, thumbing a worn in groove on the grip. the blond at his feet just grins up at him, shoving his head up into the 9mm.
“take it if you want. i’ll come back for it.”
james stares at him, considers it for a second before uncocking the gun. he shoves it beside his .38 before offering a hand to the other man, some skinny little runt with half finished tattoos on his exposed forearms.
james looks him over, raising an eyebrow. “you got a name, kid?”
nameless-without-a-gun lets james pull him to his feet, seeming to hesitate for a second before he speaks.
“sasha. you?”
“nova. word of advice - don’t challenge anybody you aren’t certain you can beat.”
the kid - sasha, he corrects himself - rolls his eyes and nods.
“there are not many people who wouldn’t have killed me right there, you know.”
james scoffs, pulls out another cigarette to replace the one he lost.
“yeah, well. you caught me on a good day. get out of here before i change my mind.”
sasha looks thoughtful, eyebrows furrowed before he nods once again, turns away. “see you around, nova.”
staring at his retreating figure, james wonders why he didn’t kill him. it wouldn’t have been hard, and james doubts he would have been missed. maybe ‘cos it’s the same mercy james would’ve wanted to be shown himself, when he first started out. at least his lighter didn’t break, he notes as he stoops to pick it up. and he finally got his cig.
—
it’s two years later, and while james has spotted sasha around the place, he’s stayed out of his way. it hasn’t mattered much anyway, because along with brett, - a guy he met on a heist with biceps larger than james’ head - he’s managed to take over a little slice of LA, and even managed to avoid the notice of the kingpin. everybody knows that everything south of division street is their territory. brett (hundar) and the kid that came trailing behind him, (modest) found an empty warehouse down on san fernando road, and the three of them somehow managed to gather enough furniture to pretend they had any idea what they were doing, like they were professionals.
generally, things were going pretty good for them. no rivals in the general nearby area, a healthy cash flow, and no broken bones. (yet)
things were going pretty good, until sasha decides to show his face again.
it’s a pretty routine job, overtaking some rundown gang hideout downtown, should be easy in, straight out when the job’s done - before the rest show up - and check in a few weeks later, find a new den for the picking. should be, could have been - until sasha shows up, blows the whole thing to shit.
they’re just beginning to come to an end when the bastard bursts through the doors behind the table james was taking cover under, and opens fire on all the guys they had tried so hard not to kill. except, he’s one man against a group of maybe 7, even if they had been almost overpowered a second ago.
“goddamnit, sasha!” james yells, scrambling for better cover now all the bullets were coming in his direction. sasha follows, because he’s hell bent on getting james killed, apparently, and hunches down beside him, half of his gangly body hanging out like a living bullseye.
brett’s going in for the kill now that james is a target, the ever loyal wolf, and trevor is back at base hunched over a computer, keeping the cops’ interest in what’s going on dampened.
brett never misses, and the bodies drop like the beat of those shitty EDM songs trevor likes to play to piss him off, but even with his skill and james’ loose trigger finger, they’re outnumbered. the time spent attempting to recover from sasha’s appearance opened up the opportunity for the gang’s reinforcements to show up.
james glares up at the russian just in time to watch his whole body roll backwords with the force of a bullet, just beside his right shoulder, under his collarbone. it’s a bad place to be hit, and the blood starts pouring. james has him on the ground beside him before sasha drops his gun.
“you goddamn idiot,” he hisses over sasha’s wincing, rolling him onto his side to check for an exit wound. of course there isn’t one, because that would be too easy.
“what kind of idiot bursts in with no protection?” james asks himself, ignoring the blond’s yell as he pushes his hand onto the wound.
i can’t just let him bleed out here, he thinks. brett’s still shooting, but a quick glance in his direction shows him signaling for james to get out of here while he’s keeping the others distracted. he’s so frustrated he could scream, but he hefts sasha over his shoulder and makes a break for it all the same, throwing him onto the backseat of their torn up getaway van - pushing a cloth into his hands and pressing it to his shoulder - before climbing in, revving the engine and tearing off of the dirt path. sasha is spitting curses, slumped onto the seat in front of him. james knows trevor’ll already be on his way to collect brett, watching the whole time, so he switches lanes, heads for a motel they know doesn’t ask questions. it’s barely five minutes before he’s screeching to a stop, yanking their emergency first aid kit from under the driver’s seat.
james motions for sasha to walk in front of him when he gets out, rolling his eyes at the time it takes him to extract himself from the back seat. he slips the receptionist a 50, motions up the stairs, the path familiar to him by now. their room is at the back of the motel, usually reserved for prostitutes and drug deals, but it has heat and running water and that’s all james needs right now.
after he’s got confirmation from brett that he’s out and safe, it doesn’t take james long to go through the motions of cleaning up the wound, lifting off sasha’s shirt. the bullet isn’t deep, easy enough to pull out with his pliers. a few stitches later and sasha’s sighing in relief.
“knew it looked worse than it was,” he mutters, and james rolls his eyes at him.
“so did i, dumbass. still couldn’t leave you there, you would’ve been killed immediately.”
a silence falls over the pair, while james searches his pockets in hope of a forgotten cigarette. a second later there’s one in front of his face. he takes it from sasha’s hand, fishing out his lighter and moving to lean against the window.
he takes a few puffs before he speaks again.
“so, sasha. america treating you well?”
the russian laughs, wincing when it pulls on the new stitches in his shoulder.
“you could say that.”
he looks different, blonded his hair, made progress on his tattoos. lost the accent a little. honestly, he’s not too hard on the eyes. he speaks again.
“and it’s immortal. not sasha.”
“immortal, huh.” james rolls the name around in his mouth. “why the change?”
“sasha was my - a variation of my real name. too vulnerable.” his voice quieter, suddenly, and james drops it.
teasing, james opens his mouth again. “well, immortal. you look better than you did back then, at least. skinny little twink tryna’ rob me in a back alley.”
the memory is still strong in his mind - as it must be in immortal’s too, because they both laugh together. immortal’s got a nice laugh, james notes, strong and full-bodied.
“hey, you took my gun! took me a long time to find one as good.”
“and i still have it. maybe one day you can earn it back.”
“maybe i can,” immortal replies, and it’s a challenge, a game.
james can’t wait to play.
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Rap Beef: Joyner Lucas Vs. Tory Lanes
Tory fires first over the Lucky You beat Joyner rapped on with Eminem
youtube
I got a million flows, I can go silly with those
I got a pocket rocket
Down to cock and chop and pop a nigga that really impose
Niggas that’s wit me is villans in hoodies
That lost all they good and they feelings on road
It’s so appealing, the feeling of killing a nigga that pose
Get Milli Vanillied with those
Turn a beef plate to a cheesesteak
Bitch, I be really in Philly with those
Neck rocky as a blizzard, a nigga flex gotten bigger
My wrist is so chilly, it froze
Really I’m colder than ever, my niggas goin' for whatever
Niggas gripped up, fifth tucked in the snow storm or the weather
Sandstorm or the desert, hands drawn on a Dessy
Leave his whole body bloody
Like shorty done put in her tampon on already
Shooting with a Vietnam cannon out the Peter arm on the levy
See, the charm on already
We go to jail, this shit'll be fine, we’ll meet up with friends
'Cause all of our mans gone-gone already
Nigga the-, nigga the-
I'ma do a three in week, I gave the Jeep the receipt
Either the double-R stitching, it’s that or the Bentley B in the seat
I got my D in a freak, I gotta be in repeat
She wanna eat every morning
I treat it like porridge and gave her the cream of the wheat
And I rock it like P and a B
I don’t cop it less it’s Louie, Gucci on the pocket
Or even a D and a G, 'cause the way that the money piling
I'll be wildin' 'til a nigga make about a B in a week
Fuck niggas hating on me
But I’m Gary Payton, always on the team with the green
And the money counter, 'cause when I’m accounting
It be money coming in and coming out it, paper cut the money
Dummy niggas, I been thumbing out it
Trying not to run up out it in a fist fight
With a knife, nigga brought a gun up out it
Don’t you run up out it, lil nigga
Uh, hit him with a mini MAC
Is he really that bad that I gotta hit him with a bigger gat?
Matter fact, riddle me that
I’m literally at the spot that he said he’d be at, but where is he at?
Like, really nigga? Is you really tellin' me that?
Like I ain’t prepared to hit him with a felony act?
Like, what you thought, I would never react?
Have a nigga lookin' like he tryna fight in Smash Bros
When a nigga put a whole shell in his back
Fuck niggas yelling it back
Niggas get high and start hating on a real nigga
It’s like a nigga smokin' on a jealousy pack
Look, lil nigga, uh
I got the remedy, I got the shooters with hidden identities
Fuck who you send at me
I got a stack on me long as a ruler and centipede
I got that Geneve, I got the energy
I got the money, the power, the enemies
I go to business
I’m asking these niggas for 60 percent of the entity
No one defending me
Niggas is talking, but no one offending me
Niggas know what the result of the end'll be
Niggas won’t know how to find where they men'll be
I'm a way different nigga on Hennessy
I got the recipe, none of y’all niggas sit next to me
Guard where your head and ya chest'll be
I suggest you niggas never go testin' me
I suggest you niggas never go testin' me, nigga
I promise y'all niggas I do this shit in my sleep, it's easy
I come to the studio and just say shit and it comes out that way
You know what I mean?
I promise y'all we down to go 36 hundred thousand rounds with anybody
Let these niggas know that all that rapping fast shit
We can do it too, nigga
Niggas be thinking they got that special sauce
Not today, nigga
Ain't that right, man?
Y'all know what the fuck goin' on, man
Who next? Who next? Who next? For real, who next?
Lemme know, lemme know, I'm off this, I'm off this
Love me now
Joyner uses Meek Mill’ “Litty” beat to respond
youtube
You just gonna do what you supposed to ('Posed to)
I remember when them hoes called me old news
Now when they cheat, I'm the go-to (Joyner)
Word on the street's I ain't one to get close to
I was hopeless, now I'm hopeful (Yuh)
I done made my own way like I'm supposed to
All you niggas did what you was told to (Yeah)
Tory, why all your songs always sound like a rerun, nigga? (Huh)
I just want my motherfucking refund, nigga (Huh)
Funny looking ass, go and eat some', nigga
I ain't never had to get my fucking teeth done, nigga (Hahaha)
When I kill you, I ain't running to you, bleed some, nigga (Yuh)
Oh, you wan' be some nigga? (Yuh)
Me and 6ix9ine had Trippie Redd bitch on the couch
She was giving us a threesome, nigga
Why you bring my name up in the first place, Tory? (Yeah)
You ain't fucking with me on my worst day, Tory (Uh)
Wasn't better than me when I was in first grade, Tory
We can do this every year on your birthday, Tory (Brrrat)
Every summer, every winter, every Earth day, Tory
Every Tuesday, every Thursday, Tory
It's gon' be a motherfucking anniversary, Tory
You done fucked up, now you need first aid, Tory
Shit
Damn
So now that we got that out the way, hmph
Let's make a record, nigga
Hahahahaha
Joyner
Tory responds with a scorcher over the same Litty beat so that both had the exact same amount of time for their verses
youtube
And it goes on
Kill a pussy nigga with his pantyhose on
The gun is equipped for what ever hand it goes on
To kill a backpack nigga with his Jansport on
Geek ass nigga
Dweeb ass nigga
Never had a G-pass nigga
'Bout to ski mask his ass and eat fast nigga
Pull the heat fast and blast
And leave that nigga
With his seat back nigga
I'm a number one nigga in no time
I been waiting for a nigga to give me the showtime
In the jungle waiting for you to slip on the oak vine
I'ma do this nigga like I was chewing a pork rind nigga
Eminem couldn't get ya to a million on the 'Gram
Chris Brown tried, nigga failed both times
I done took ya page to a million in a day
If you ask me, nigga, I'm ya motherfucking cosign
I'ma hit the pussy ass nigga with a clothesline
I'ma have to catch a nigga slipping in my own time
I just took the flame on a private ass plane
Out to Massachusetts, catch this nigga slipping in his hometown
Ya see what go around come around and go around
So I got his hoe going round like it go around
Let these niggas know I'm not the one to toe-to-toe around
Singing ass nigga not the one to leave your hoe around
I'm about to hit him with the end of the K
Word to my niggas in Heaven I'm 'bout to send em away
I'm exhausted I kill this nigga two times
24 hours man this shit been a repetitive day
Nigga tell me is it Joyner Lucas, Lucas Joyner?
I'm the nigga who destroy ya
Coupe deploy ya, label drop ya, who's the lawyer?
Buy ya contract from them back and be who employ ya
Oops, I'm going, who's condoning? Juice and jonesing
Met ya bitch she too conjointed
Tryna ask this pussy ass nigga who the fuck want smoke
But the lightskin niggas in ya crew too spooked to join in
I'm a nasty nigga, then you could ask these nigga
The shotty dumping popping up outta the backseat, nigga
I'm 'bout to leave his body bloody like a maxi, nigga
I tax these niggas, get at these niggas, attack these niggas
The venom is arachne, nigga
I'm 'bout kill da man and da man that done backed these niggas
And blam any man that'll try to dap you niggas
And clap any stan fan that attract you niggas
See ya daddy was a musician that never made it
'Cause when you was born nigga it was you or him
Shattered knowing he would never make it as an artist
And the odds of his life prolly be 2 to 1
But I give it to him 'cause he didn't run
I guess he figured, "man when you look at it in a nutshell
All I got is a failed music career and
My revenge is giving that shit to my son"
Nigga I'ma flossy nigga
They try to toss me nigga
The 45th I get em off me nigga
I block niggas Chris Bosh these niggas
I got figures pish posh to niggas
I dump niggas, jump, criss cross these niggas
The pump leave 'em slumped, in the car seat nigga
The skunk in the trunk was an awkward nigga
That thought he didn't need to have caution with him
A cornball with a Boston fitted
I said hold up my nigga man this shit crazy
You fucked AYLEK$ man that shit crazy
Nigga said he out here running threesomes with the
Nigga that's in court dealing with the kid cases
I'ma hit a stain then I hit a bad one
Pull up on the nigga hold em up for ransom
I got five plaques this year, you did a whole song with Eminem and still don't even have one nigga
Damn, my lil homie that’s a bad one nigga
Really feel bad for you it's a sad one nigga
Hold your head steady maybe you could have one nigga
Hit me for a hook and maybe get a plaque young nigga
Shout go out to Wayno and Ak my nigga
Tomorrow they'll be talking 'bout you got smacked young nigga
From the pack my nigga
I'm keeping this shit a stack, my nigga
That "Litty" verse was wack, my nigga
They go hard my dawg, but I go harder nigga
Atcha head with the fade like a barber nigga
Try to come for the boat and I'ma harbor niggas
Be smart like a Harvard nigga don't start with niggas
And he got a problem with us
But nigga, I know how to solve it nigga
This is my son
I'ma tell 'em like Star Wars, "Lucas, I am your father" nigga
You a perpetrating, work for hire, twerk for payment
Busta Rhyme impersonating, worthless baby, irks him daily
Hurts to say it, burger flipping, birthed in 80s
Tryna be a 90s baby, thirty something tryna chase it
Tryna make it, rocks designer, kinda fakes it
Hates to face it
That he'll never be a nigga that be placed for A-list, niggas damn
Here's what he's thinking right now
"I'm Joyner Lucas, why did I start it with this guy?
Tory Lanez coming back what am I gonna do this time?
They ain't like none of my diss lines
Everybody knows I can spit it in quick time
Even if the lines is as shitty as 6ix9ine's
But this time they ain’t really letting me get by
Fuck I'm finna do with this shit now?
Damn I know this nigga finna be wild
Knowin' this nigga bout to kill me on it OD now
Don't nobody ever wanna book me for a show
I ain't got no songs when I go I spit freestyles
Try to make songs 'bout depression
But nobody ever get it
So I take it out on popping niggas beats now
I ain't never ever trapped
I ain't never slung a gat
But the world don't know so fuck it, I'm a G now"
Man, what the fuck wrong with him?
I know something wrong with him
I got a hundred bunch o' bullets 'bout to put 'em all in him
Nigga walked in with a hundred rounds in him
And he's seen a nigga chicken I was comin' down in it
Glock nine nigga gotta run around with it
I'ma son a nigga, keep it at least one-a-round with it
Backpack niggas ain't sellin' no records
Better dumb it down with it when you come around with it
This shit is easy man
Yo it's crazy nigga
I'm really-, I'm really-, I'm really being very generous, you know?
Like I'm really doing you a favor, it's not a lot of niggas in my status that come down just to, you know, to come down and spank you niggas, pause man
It's crazy, but you know
I'ma do for you what niggas didn't do for me - that's older brother status
So if you blow from this point on, I'm your cosign nigga, you know what it is
Ayy Slow, that's facts right?
Big facts, word to Ralph, nigga, word to big Jevante too, nigga
You know what's going on nigga-, you know what the fuck's going on, nigga
One Umbrella gang, nigga
Joyner finishes off the battle with Kodak Black’s ZeZe beat but doesn’t necessarily finish Tory.
youtube
Ahh, shit
Joyner!
Yo, nigga's saying, "What a great battle"
But you about to see a fucking snake rattle
Boy, you just a pony with a pink saddle
I'm truly sorry that you stuck inside of Drake's shadow
When are you gon' overcome? (Huh)
When are you gon' level up?
When are you gon' grow another foot? (Huh)
When are you gon' show us that you number one? (When)
And everything that you accomplished in some years about to take me just a couple months
Don't you think I'm bluffing neither
I thought you were tougher, eager (Damn)
How you almost signed to Justin Bieber?
You look like a fuckin' beaver (Haha)
Ten years in the game but yo' ass still sittin' on the fucking bleachers
Boy, you just another diva (Just another diva)
Heard yo' grandmama kicked you out the house screaming
"Tory, we don't fucking need you"
Why yo' daddy up and leave you? (Why)
I guess this is how they fucking treat you
And you my puppet, you my Cousin Skeeter
This ain't what you wanted, they been waiting for it
I'm Joyner Lucas, what the fuck you niggas take me for
(What the fuck)
I pull up in a Demon but I kill Satan for it
If you want attention Tory you gon' have to pay me for it
All these hoes love me but you sucker niggas hate me for it
You roll up on me, catch a shot at ya Mercedes door
The bullets fly, you recline like a La-Z-Boy
All you do is cry, you a child, you my baby boy
You call yourself Tory after The Notorious Big (Yeah)
Biggie turning in his grave when he hear yo' shit
Don't ever think that you could ever come compare yo' shit
Little girls and kids only ones who feel yo' shit
I skipped the plaques on my way to a Grammy
All your records soft and sweet, niggas think that you candy
Your niggas really convinced you that you think you can scare me
And you got identity issues, niggas think you a tranny, really? (Damn)
Tory tell us why you always gotta lie in your rhymes (Why)
I know keeping up with lies can get tiring sometimes
You not a G and deep down you wanna hide sometimes
Staring at the sunshine and start crying sometimes
Your real name is Daystar, you been dying to shine
And when you sing you kinda sound like you dying sometimes
You make the type of tracks that had me feelin' silent inside
Nobody take you serious, put all the violence aside
Okay, let's talk about your plagiarism that you hate to mention (Yeah)
Or talk about the hate you giving to the greats you dissing
(Let's talk about it)
And that writer who wrote yo' shit still ain't get paid on that "Don't Die" record
You should probably go pay the nigga (Yeah, man)
And how the fuck you talk about Kendrick when he a legend (Huh)
Then go bite the nigga style on your record right at the ending
On 4AM Flex 2 minutes and 50 seconds
Sound exactly like the Art of Peer Pressure, go take a listen
You inspired by the niggas you name dropped
Catch fire in the rain, no umbrella to shelter you and no rain drops
When I seen you on Flex, I gave props
But then we found out you stole Don Q shit from the train stop
You thought you were fly 'til the plane drop
Ugly motherfucker tryna stunt in a tank top
It's no wonder why they used to feed yo' ass with a slingshot
You my son, this the last time I'll give you a Ring Pop
Sit down, you on punishment
And don't get up until you see me
And don't even think about touching that TV
No more video games, no more phone, no more 3D
No more radio or boombox for your weak ass CD
Matter of fact, give me your chains back and everything I bought you
You a disgrace to this family and everything I taught you
I hate to say it son but you make me sick
I should'a knew you weren't shit when you came out with a baby dick
It's no wonder why you pay for pussy
Tory you think you slick
All you do is lounge around the house all day like a lazy prick
Shit, highly disappointed in you son, I need some answers
How come you couldn't follow in my steps and be a dancer?
Or maybe write a book like me or be somebody's grandpa
Instead you wanna be a fucking rapper with some hair plugs
No more rapping, give me your pen and paper
No more lying to the people on how you the biggest gangster
Now hurry up and get your juicy out the refrigerator
You going to bed at eight o'clock and not a minute later
No, I don't wanna hear it
No, let this be a lesson
Close your mouth and go into your room like I suggested
I'm a get real Joe Jackson in a second
Matter of fact, give me your toys, I'm adding that to the collection
I just did a show and got it lit ya little nigga
And my freestyles killing your originals nigga
Couldn't name a bitch I couldn't get ya little nigga
You a rebound, even Scottie Pippen know nigga
You ain't from Toronto, put that on the Bible
I put six hollows in your Ferragamo
Nigga, you from Brampton, go spin the bottle
Bitch I'm from New England, me and Brady in the El Dorado
Now come get on my level, I'm hard as metal
I bomb the ghetto, I brought the shovel
I bury all of you little ninja turtles
You Donatello, you soft as jello
You must be gone off that Amaretto
It's hard to tell 'cause you soft as pillows
You fucking midget, I call you Willow
I throw you out a fucking car window
I step all over your Margielas, you caught feelings
Yo' heart spinning, my bars illing
I'm Bob Dylan, I'm John Lennon, I'm authentic
Your bars running no off limits
Don't talk business, don't talk, listen
I'm off this so you fuck this you fuck! Nigga
What, nigga
Fuck out my face nigga
Ayy nigga look
We gonna get one in, pause
Let's not, let's not do this back and forth shit no more
I, I think we know what's up, you know
Ha ha ha, Joyner
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