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Sleeping pattern: ??¿?¿??¿¿¿?¿

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true love: having to hold back your adorable, violent girlfriend to keep her from straight up murdering a dude

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You could ask him to kill for you & he would, though you never do because you like how he instinctively moves to protect you without you saying anything.

This man has done bad things; they’ve nested in his bones, they make him move like his love for you does. (via crowbound)

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I never wanted to kiss someone who was glaring at me until I met you.

“Crooked Heart”

by lovelyyouth

(via nancydrevs)

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human beings are most inclined to love the things that hurt them the most not because we are masochists by birth, but because we are taught from a young age that true love is going to, is supposed to, hurt you in ways you cannot fathom

Lorinda Ament, Masochism is a Learned Trait (via wnq-writers)

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I can’t hear you over the sound of one half of my otp deciding to risk everything for the other even though they haven’t even kissed yet

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the secrets you tell me, I’ll take to my grave

there’s bones in my closet, but you hang stuff anyway

and if you have nightmares, we’ll dance on the bed

I know that you love me, even when I lose my head

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svlanges·:

          with every execution or public punishment solange has witnessed in her lifetime, there’s always a small window of awareness at her own increased desensitization that occurs midway through. in those fleeting seconds, it’s almost as if she’s watching herself from above and noting how eerily calm and composed she is, as a man begs for his life. this time is no different, and she can feel herself tense up at her own comfort with the scene, spooked at the idea that while some little girls grew up watching animated princesses dream of true love’s kiss, she watched her father clean his gun and order the deaths of dozens of pleading men. sparkling gowns and handsome romantic counterparts ? try body bags and cold, calculating hitmen. the cold air and the violent gushing of the nearby river pull solange out of her daze, and she shivers for an instant ( is it the temperature, or her own fear ? even she’s not quite sure ). the click of her partner’s lighter adds itself to the area’s cacophony of sounds, and soon, the smoke of everett’s cigarette joins the fog of their breath in the night air. though they’ve stayed quiet since respectively exiting their side of the vehicle their hostage was trapped in, it’s not long before the spaniard starts speaking again, sharing the disapproval solange was expecting in the casino basement earlier that evening. at first, she’s shocked at the sheer anger in his words, given that she usually receives the respect others have for her father by proxy. she’s used to averted eyes and hushed voices, as opposed to the directness of everett’s blame, his harsh tone and the way he’s mocking her status among her own family ( which makes her instantly regret showing him the smallest amount of weakness outside the gentlemen’s club ). but, if her upbringing has taught her anything, it’s to harden when faced with any sort of obstacle. as he continues his tirade about her ephemeral commitment to her plans, she purposefully keeps her face as devoid of emotion as she can, eyes fixed on a single point in the distance. ‘ are you done ? ’ she sighs out, what seems like an eternity later ( though given how little of his cigarette he’s smoked, it’s clearly only been a few minutes ). she ponders whether to offer counterarguments of her own for an instant, her mother’s distant voice telling her to take the high road, but her own inner voice ( which is far more present and clear ) overtakes it rapidly and steers solange down a more inflammatory route.           ‘ first of all, caro, ’ she begins, readying her retort as she puts each of her leather gloves back onto her hands, as if each were a boxing glove to be used in their match of words, ‘ i didn’t receive any orders. i was asked to work with you, and i agreed to it, on my terms. if that part wasn’t explained to you, take it up with the people on your side. ’ her own monologue is interrupted by lorenzo’s loud pleading, which solange notes is all being done in spanish ( though the two-timing bastard worked both sides, it was now crystal clear he maintained a semblance of allegiance despite his double agent status ). she shakes her head discreetly, and refocuses on her response to everett. ‘ regarding my values, i don’t believe i’ve done anything to make you question them. you and i don’t know each other, and yet i forwent backup and let you be the one behind the wheel. that’s trust. i also let you come out of that casino alive, instead of killing lorenzo, putting a bullet in your brain, and making the whole thing look like a messy shootout. that’s loyalty, ’ she enumerates, purposefully omitting to mention that despite her detached approach to death ( grazie papà ! ), no part of her would’ve been able to lodge a bullet in his skull. not necessarily out of newfound sympathy or sense of kinship, but rather out of the knowledge that he in no way deserved it. quite the opposite, actually. if she put the rivalry her family had engrained so vividly in her brain aside, even she could admit that he was a better partner than most she’s been saddled with in the past. but, even that thought can’t stop her from continuing to rebut his incendiary declaration. ‘ to top it all off, no one in the casino knows that my voice was the one you heard in your earpiece, nor that i was the one to bring that bastard, ’ she pauses and points to the pleading man, kneeling execution-style outside of their vehicle, ‘ down to the basement. no one except the coat boy saw you grab my coat. as far as you and your paella-fed oafs are concerned, you’re the one who dealt with the situation. ’ because no one is ever going to believe that a five foot four girl in heels and a slinky dress got the job done, her brain screams. a fact she’ll never admit she thinks just as often as her father, his men and –– now –– her new partner in crime ( or, more accurately, partner in vigilante street justice ).            the knife placed in her side by her own insecurities is further twisted as she recalls him calling out her lack of power within the hierarchy of her family. but, she’s choosing to keep putting on her unaffected front, and thus she barely reacts to any of it, only allowing everett to see her cock her brow. ‘ you know, if your ego can’t accept that ‘ daddy’s girl ’ brought a gun to a knife fight and got the job done, then maybe you should be the one to wonder if you can handle the ‘ big kid stuff. ’ i don’t know about you spaniards, but in our family, we get things done and basta ! sticking around to hear our partners dish out their frustrations and feelings isn’t really our style. we have enough arti drammatiche to keep us sustained, ’ she scoffs, as her mind pushes away the millions of tiny voices screaming that even he manages to see right through her, despite having only just met her. her brows almost knit together tightly in surprise as he ends his monologue on a positive note, ironically expressing more warmth towards her in a few shorts words than her father had in the thousands of words he’d spoken to her in her lifetime. but, despite her disbelief in the legitimacy of their families’ rivalry and her own personal feelings, every atom in her body tugs her towards a cold response. ‘ and you really shouldn’t let your emotions get the better of you, amore. this isn’t the disney rendition of a turf war movie. you and i aren’t going to fall in love, ’ she mocks, the word ‘ love ’ exiting her mouth in a manner that’s all too similar to a curse word, right as a gunshot resounds loudly beside them, sign that lorenzo’s bartering and pleading has officially come to an end. her jaw clenches as she adds another tally mark in her mind: one more death she’s helped orchestrate for a father who never even deigns to show a trace of affection. ‘ especially given the fact that i don’t even know your name, ’ she tags on, externalizing her own pain onto the closest possible victim, heels firmly planted into the ground as pain and anger blur into a single emotion.

          everett didn’t smoke before he got tangled up in the web of organized crime. he’d had experiences with those who smoked — namely foster parents, who grinned with yellow teeth & empty promises as they spoke in the low rolls of spanish as an indescript telenovela would play in the background. fortuna, they would all say, puffing out a hazy smoke with half-opened eyes. no es solo una marca, sino un signo de esperanza. shitty excuses come in different forms, everett thinks as he feels the heat of his own fortuna in his hand, listening to words spilling out of solange’s sangria tinted lips like an overfilled wine glass. he studies solange’s face as she returns his grievances with her own lethal ammunition, drinking in the sight of her lips curling and flattening as she practically spat each word at him. when she blinks & her eyes flutter shut for a fraction of a second, she looks placid, but her eyes reopen & warm mocha hues are stoked by a fire within, he thinks that placid is the very last thing she is. he seems to find reminders & small memories in just about everything now: as of current, he is reminded the rotten card that fate has dealt him as his eyes scour above the small woman in front of him & to the scene with lorenzo. his knees are digging craters into the sandy bank of the river, hands clasped in a prayer ( as if some form of mercy, divine or not, would save him now ). the sheer terror on his face unexpectedly rips a chord in everett’s heart, & when the two men lock eyes, lorenzo’s expression of desperation looks too familiar to him, it almost looks like — his eyes tear away from the begging man, looking up to the sliver of the moon in the sky. reminders from his recent past would serve him no good, especially not in this situation, where the only thing he can listen to is the venomous words launched into the air by the italian femme.           in retrospect, the most ironic part about her whole speech is the second she mentions the word love, hissed from her mouth with obvious amnosity, he hears it — the pop of a bullet released from its chamber. with the contrasting sounds a memory of cherried lips & green eyes surfaces, the same thoughts he’s been trying to suppress for days, for weeks: the order of a gunshot is this, his former lover echoes in his brain, trailing the tip of a gun against his temple. the bullet hits, & the sound of the gun catches up. in his memory, he laughs, retorting with a witty remark; in the present, his throat constrains so tightly at the memory & his stomach coils ever so slightly in digust as lorenzo’s upper half of his body collapses backwards. his bloodied head, pushed back by the force of the bullet, hits the shallow waters first. the rest of him follows, slumped awkwardly between the shallow waters & the bank of the river. there’s a half-hearted kick into the corpse’s side, everett’s not sure who did it, & lorenzo ( or what had been ) rolls on his side. another kick ensues, a bit harder this time, & lorenzo’s full body flops into the water, arms splayed awkwardly with his head half-submurged. if they were disposing the body this way, that meant that at least two officers at the station were paid to look the other way for the full effect of the warning to reach the gangs. he muses that with the collaborative forces of money, it could’ve easily been the chief of police, & wonders what the civilians think when they hear of yet another open murder case by the police department. it takes a few moments, but the body shifts slowly with the chaos of the river, then is suddenly snatched by the swiftness of water. that was it, everett realizes as the body is carried down the river. he looks at solange with unmasked surprise. it was over. & so was her tirade, it seemed, & he didn’t have much time until the men came back.      ‘ trusting who ? ’ he launches, his top lip curling into a sneer. ‘ don’t — don’t act like you suddenly are doing this for me, that you’ve been on my side this whole time. trust ? loyalty ? you’re turning this into that you trust me ? ’ with an incredelous shake of the head, revulsion carves itself deep into his features. perhaps the sayings he’s heard about the italians were always right: they always managed to make themselves the good guys. ‘ no, niñita . i’m convenient for you. it was convenient that i came to you & provided transport. & killing me ? that’s inconvenient for you. it’d be a sorry mistake to make because along with me, you’d kill any future endeavors of mutual collaboration. that’s one less bullet out of your pretty pistol. ’ he replays her words in his mind, & he furrows his brow. heavy footfalls near as he speaks, ‘ this shows how much we don’t know each other — i don’t care who knows & who doesn’t. what matters is that i know. it’s not… ’      ‘ oye, ese, ’ alejandro says, cutting off anything everett would’ve finished saying as five men trudge aways behind him. alejandro is one of the younger members that everett is close to — he’s the nephew of the patrón. everett, in an act to appear casual, brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a puff, nodding at his friend. ‘ ¿ estás listo para salir ? ’ alejandro asks, stopping a good distance in front of the pair — a comfortable talking range, but almost like if he got any closer to solange he’d catch schoolyard cooties. he raises an eyebrow at everett, obviously noting how close the two were standing. a sly grin forms on his face as his voice took on a similar vocal tone as an abuela. ‘ ¿ dónde están tu los modales? dile adios a tu novia, everett ! ’ by this point, the other five men have caught up to alejandro, three of the man eyeing everett’s close proximity solange, the other two admiring solange’s beauty ( & alejandro, in the middle of it all, smirking at his friend ). everett curls his lip in a snarl at alejandro’s cheeky statements, an empty threat to his friend. he resigns, putting the cigarette in his mouth, teeth latching on to his fortuna, not willing to let this go ( the cigarette, or her ? a part of him asks. he ignores it ). ‘ you weren’t bad back there, ’ he states, echoing her sentiment from earlier, a hand awkwardly extending towards her figure. it’s a risk to say, especially as half the men would have his head for being so disrespectful to her, but it’s not like he’s supposed to know who she is, right ? there’s a pause, because everett never says goodbye — people just leave or die in his world, & he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to end it all. ‘ until then. ’ the lie comes with surprising ease — he knows there won’t be another time ( & if there is, it’ll probably be the two of them staring down the barrel of the other’s gun ).

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svlanges·:

          as everett expertly tricks lorenzo into openly revealing her codename ( belladonna –– both a reference to the deadly nightshade flower and her father’s pet name for her ), solange can’t help but roll her eyes. if it’s this easy to get information out of the man, no wonder he’s become a double agent. ‘ honest men don’t  have anything to fear, but –– here’s the thing –– i don’t think lorenzo here is an honest man. i think he’s a selfish, weak-willed coward. someone who didn’t have enough resolve to stay loyal to one side, and instead chose to betray both. and i’m sure lorenzo knows all about how we italians deal with backstabbers, ’ she muses, a quiet part of her silently in awe at how seamlessly she and her partner have settled into their interrogation roles and routine without having rehearsed it prior. despite his obvious disdain at her taking the first part of their intervention on alone, everything almost seems like they’ve been practicing it for quite some time, rather than settling into it on the fly. ‘ lorenzo, ho solo una domanda per te: who would you say you work for ? ’ she asks, deadpan, knowing full well she’s now full wedged her knife in the man’s open wound, ‘ because surely, even someone like you is loyal to someone. ’ her head cocks as the man’s offers the pair nothing but prolonged silence, accompanied by a look of pure defeat, knowing full well no answer will retrieve him from the grave he’s thrown himself into. his silence is answer enough. the girl lets out a loud sigh, before turning to face everett, arms crossed firmly across her chest. ‘ how does pulling the car around and taking him someplace else sound to you ? not necessarily to question him some more, but just –– ’ she pauses, looking over to lorenzo, ‘ mio dio, just the sight of him’s enough to make my blood boil. we need to do something or i’m going to accidentally end up hurting him. ’ despite her anger towards the two-timer, she’s forced to turn her fully body back to him once she and everett agree on a course of events and plan of what they’re to do next. though, no part of their plan has really allowed either of them to truly claim whose side lorenzo is to be delivered to. ‘ you, up ! ’ solange orders, gesturing with her free hand, keeping the gun in her other pointed to the floor for the time being, ‘ all three of us are going to take a ride. any attempts to run on your part will be met by a bullet somewhere unpleasant. –– don’t say i didn’t warn you. ’ the trio exit the small, concrete room, making a beeline for one of the service entrances guarded by a myriad of security cameras and a security guard who, thankfully, is profoundly asleep. though solange has made sure to keep her firearm down for the duration of their walk from one location to the other whilst inside the casino walls, once they’re back outside, it’s instantly raised back against lorenzo’s spine. ‘ the first unpleasant spot’ll be one or more of your vertebrae, by the way, ’ she whispers, stating the obvious, offering everett a nod as he sets ahead to go retrieve his vehicle from the parking lot.                             the car finally rounds the corner, and the strength of the pressure with which solange is holding her gun into her hostage’s back hardens. now isn’t the time to lose him. duct tape, zip ties and cuffs are applied, and he’s quickly thrown into the trunk of the suv, allowing solange to finally regain her place in the comfort of the passenger seat. ‘ you weren’t too bad back there, ’ she utters, barely audibly, extending her legs forward as the car roars awake again. the lights of the casino soon disappear behind them, as do the rest of the gaudy neon signs of stores, bars and nightclubs, replaced by more traditional street and traffic lights. every now and again, her eyes swiftly dart over to everett, watching the oddly shaped shadows created by the street lights and building facades dance across his face. if he wasn’t so intent on hurting, killing and taking things away from those in her bloodline, perhaps she’d find him pleasant. attractive, even. but even she knows one’s allegiance is indivisible from their identity, no matter how chiseled their jawline. just as she’s getting lost in thought, her eyes make out three dark silhouettes planted in the middle of the road. tall, with long coats flapping in the evening wind. as everett advances ( at a slower pace, most likely because he too has seen what stands before them ), solange’s eyes finally start making out who the three figures might be. ‘ merda, ’ she swears under her breath, recognizing and confirming the identity of three of her father’s men. her mind immediately thinks of everett, who is now the only full spaniard in the vicinity, now surrounded by italians who are –– as a rule –– always armed. diplomacy isn’t always her family’s strong suit, but sending messages continues to be a time-honored tradition, so odds are not stacked in her partner’s favor. ‘ stop the car, ’ she orders ( though it comes out as more of a plea ), attempting to piece together the pieces of the puzzle of instructions about how to operate next. 

‘ belladonna, come sta ? ’ the man in the middle of the trio calls out, approaching her car window, and leaning against the car door once he’s close enough. ‘ tutto bene, massimo, e tu ? cosa sta facendo qui ? ’ solange replies simply, throwing her chin in the direction of the two other men, still standing in the makeshift spotlight created by each of headlights of everett’s car. ‘ i professionisti stanno prendendo il sopravvento, belladonna, ’ he states, a mocking undertone to his words. he pauses for an instant, before adding, ‘  digli di rilassarti, arrivarono anche gli spagnoli. ’

          the man then moves away from the car ( not without loudly slapping his hand against its metal hood ), waving to what solange imagines are the spaniards he just mentioned. she turns to face everett, before realizing he most likely understood no part of her conversation with massimo. ‘ they’re taking it from here, ’ solange sighs, unbuckling her seatbelt, ‘ each side brought backup. ’

         when he hears a whisper of a compliment come to his ears, he grits his teeth & tightens his grip on the steering wheel, not even giving the femme any sign he heard it. he’s not in the mood to exchange any pleasantries with the sabine woman — nor he doesn’t need assurance that he’s good. he knows he’s good, & that’s why he was assigned on this mission. & he wasn’t able to display the range of his abilities because of her antics she pulled back at the casino — which, he’ll be the first to admit, doesn’t usually phase him. fellow members stepped on his toes all the time, interrupted his thoughts, changed the plan on the fly, but it never was for any vindictiveness, it was never for a prize to be won between them. it was always to get the job to be done faster, quicker, & better. & to think that he didn’t care about the glory either — he just would have preferred to have a job well done by the both of them ! if that’s where he and this italian differed, it didn’t set a good precedent in his mind. his frown deepens as he continues in thought, foot depressing the brake for a slow approach once he sees figures in the road. he doesn’t care as solange rolls down the window & he definitely doesn’t care as hears thumps from the trunk ( lorenzo was probably in full hysteria at this point, not knowing the location nor his fate ). his hands are still deathly gripped to the wheel, & his body is still tense from the vexation bubbling within him. he thought she was different, & he’s partially angry at himself for even thinking that. it’s stupid, thinking that he found someone who didn’t really care about the lines between gangs, someone who didn’t want to be there in the first place. who was he kidding ? he had seen the glint in her eye making plans, and even more so when she held that gun. ( this is when he pulls over to the side of the road & gets out of the car, squashing any hope he ever felt as soon as boots hit the ground ).          the december air is as biting as before, maybe even more so — the rushing river flowing under the bridge is turbulent as ever, almost thrashing with the anger of a thousand bulls. he’s not too familiar with this river, as it is customary for deaths by his hand to be dealt with quickly. but if they’re here it means two things: lorenzo is not only meeting death here, it is a public warning to those in the gangs not to become a rat. the river itself was known for its fast stream & jagged rocks -- before he drowned, lorenzo would probably be mortally wounded. as much as everett didn’t like lorenzo nor the idea of being disloyal, a rotten taste in his mouth forms as he thinks of how slow lorenzo’s death will be and public the whole spectacle is. ( there’s just something about this whole situation that strikes him as a little macabre, maybe even too morbid about the public execution — then again, everett was a private person at heart, and never was open to anything public ). wide hands find the way to his coat pockets, where he pulls out a single cigarette & a lighter. it’s a small release from the anger, but it’s a relief all the same. a hand raises in greeting to the fellow spainish men across the way, now conferring with the italians, and gestures to the back of the car by tilting his body towards it, nonverbally asking if he should get lorenzo. another man -- alejandro -- shakes his head to say lo tenemos cubierto. well, okay. fine by him. he places the cigarette between his lips and sparked the lighter, lighting the tip of the cig. the six men come over to the car on cue, & everett clicks the key to unlock the trunk. lorenzo's blubbering begins as soon as he recognizes faces from both sides — surely, he knew what was to come. two men — one spanish, one italian — heaved lorenzo out of the car and dragged him across the pavement like a heavy cow to slaughter. madre de dios, was everett glad not to be apart of this death. they have time to themselves now — now’s better than ever to tell her what he’s been mulling over in his mind.          ‘ so, ’ he starts, taking a long drag of his cigarette, his jaw locked & set. ‘ when were you ever gonna clue me in onto your little plan ? ’ his voice is hushed, but his timbre is still gravelly — he doesn’t need the two sides to perk up & think that he’s making a threat ( or worse — a move on the precious daughter ). ‘ or were you always planning on making me look like a fuckin’ moron, being your fuckin’ coat boy, walkin’ into that set up with you and a fuckin’ gun pointed at a man who was already shittin’ bricks by being caught ? ’ a scoff escapes his throat, beefy arms crossing over the plane of his chest as he turns his head away, chesnut hues observe one of the spanish men gesture towards a pleading, hysteric lorenzo & then towards the gushing river — he turns back to the partner, but something turns in his stomach when he regards her as such. he’s not used to discerning his emotions well, but he knows the feelings of uncertainty & disgust well enough to know that it was a melding of the two. she wasn’t his partner, not in…the romantic sense nor the platonic sense ( he bristles at the thought, more so at the former ) but she was temporary &…he’ll inwardly ponder on that account. if he saw something more extended, maybe he wouldn’t be as willing to ream into her. ( or maybe sticking to your word & loyalty is prized above all for the male, & when this bear is poked — he sinks razor-edged teeth in ). ‘ and don’t start with the fuckin’ mio dio, it’s because you’re spanish and i can’t be loyal to the spanish bit, ’ his voice getting high and feminine as he mimicked the smaller girl, his face getting dangerously close to hers, studying her poker face, only making him more irate with her ( & it’s now when the more carnal part of him realizes that she’s exceptionally beautiful, if haughty, slightly irresponsible mob daughters were your type ).  ‘ because you were given an order. yeah, princess, an order to work with me. and what did you fuckin’ do ? ’ he’s not going to sugarcoat anything because he wants solange to think about the position she put him in. ‘ fucked it up by interjecting your own damn commands because you’re so fucking smart, aren’t you ? you just needed to show everyone that you’re not some little girl who eats out of daddy’s hand, huh ? that you can handle the big kid stuff ? well, kid — if you think that by disregarding your own command is the way to go, ’ he’s closing in on his prey, canines brandishing & gnashing as he continues to speak, ‘ then i can see why your own father isn’t jumpin’ to give you a speck of power. ’ a sharp bark of laughter comes through gritted teeth, a shake of the head accompanying it. the next few words pierce through the air like daggers, and he hopes they twist into her core, wishing they drove pain through her as if he had driven a fist into her stomach. ‘ ’t’s funny. i would have never done the same to you, italiana. ‘n to think i was just starting to like you. ’

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There is something bleeding to death inside me but I don’t know what it is.

Ingeborg Bachmann, from Three Paths to the Lake; “Eyes to Wonder,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

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/ bass drop / ( for @bourbonss )

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lovers who hide corpses together stay together???????