#( DELORES. / THE YOUTHFUL YEARS. )

[lahotelbellamuerte]

𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗟 & 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗖𝗘 - episode 05. number five & eight

series masterlist! current: number five & eight ! next: vanilla milkshake

paring: five x eight (oc)  warnings; suggestive language, suggestive sexy time, the handler being weird asf not proofread ! word count: 8.3k  notes; not gonna lie i shipped the handler and five IF he had been older. anywayz this book was pretty vanilla with the sexy time, second book i think had like one scene not detailed either tho, idk, iM BAD AT WRITING SMUT

ASH still floated through the sky. Raining the painful reality that earth is no longer the same, but rather engulfed in flames. Five walked alone with a cart in hand, a bundled-up mannequin to join him as he walked up a long trail of cement. The cracked surfaces made his cart creak and tumble. Eight had left for the early years of the apocalypse, the two had gotten into a fight, and she took her belongings and left for good. Living her life in hell alone, just as Five did. 

There was no denying that Eight didn't miss her ex-boyfriend during those years, but with the isolation, she was able to find herself adjusting to these new times. She was able to fend for herself, from many things that the world threw at her. Along with the time, she saw earth begin to take back what was hers. Plants, roots, bushes, and seasons began to return. It was like the human race had never graced the earth. Something so beautiful about seeing new life start once more. 

As the blonde roamed the empty streets and plains, no longer a child but teenagers with a responsibility to stay alive. It was a lucky day for nineteen-year-old Eight when she found a working motorcycle. She was able to fix it up enough to where she gathered her stuff and rode off to find her old partner. It wasn't longer than a week that it took her to find him. Being as he was the only other human that lived on what was once earth. She hoped to rekindle their relationship. 

Five had been lying on the ground, their hands holding the sniper close to him, in case of any danger. That was until he heard a distant growling noise. It didn't sound like any animal to him, but rather a machine. But what machine could be running during these times. Quickly he jumped to his feet and had his hands on the trigger.

"Shh," Five signed to the mannequin who was against the wall, who obviously wasn't going to say anything—I mean—

The growling halted, and footsteps coming closer could be heard. Crunching underneath booths was an easy sound to call. He wanted to see what walked, but who else would be on this earth, who survived? Five moved closer to the shadows of the broken building. Gun steady in his hands, as a finger was floating before the trigger. 

A figure walked past the doorway, it was obvious that it was a woman, by the way, her clothes fit her body. The long coat hugged tightly against her waist as a similar gun was strapped onto her back. Five was quick to get up and swing his gun at her, but she disappeared through a portal quick enough and tripped him from behind with a lasso.

Five groaned and turned to his back and looked at the woman who had removed her face covering, "Eight?" Five gasped in disbelief, her face as youthful as he remembered it. 

"Five?" she gasped, her hands making the glowing lasso disappear at the sight of her old lover. 

The young man quickly dropped his gun and stood up, pulling the familiar blue-eyed girl into a tight hug. One so tight that he was afraid that if he pulled away she wouldn't be there. 

His hands gripped at the blonde tresses in the hug, and tears brimmed in his eyes as he could smell her scent once more, "I missed you," Five whispered into her neck, as he tightly held onto her as if she'd leave again.

Eight let out a sad laugh "I missed you too," Eight replied, equally hugging the boy tightly around his torso. 

"Don't leave me again please, Delores gave me so much shit when I let you go," He chuckled as he kissed the side of her head 

"I won't, I promise," She replied, pulling away to look at his face. 

The two just stared at each other for the longest ot saying anything, but at the same time saying everything. The boy couldn't take it anymore, so he leaned in and smashed his lips onto hers. Grabbing her face as they moved in sync after years of being apart. Words didn't have to be spoken as actions were used rather. He had missed everything about her; long blonde hair, soft skin, plump lips, and her perfect shiny eyes. 

Five pushed her into the wall, not really caring much about their location, or that Delores could see everything. Biting her lip caused Eight to gasp in surprise, using it to his advantage he slipped his tongue into her mouth. The kiss was warm, needy, and urgent. The couple wanted to show how much they missed the time apart. Five was holding her tight, his move rushed and quick. As if one of them would disappear at any moment. Slowly Five's mouth moved down to her neck, as she let out ragged breaths. 

His lips left wet kisses on her neck, all encouraged by the pretty noises the woman let out. Whining and desperate squeezing on his upper arms. Softly he taps the back of her thighs signaling her to jump, and without hesitation, she wrapped her legs around his hips. Quickly moving back to their heated kiss, walking they over to a dusty couch at the corner of the room. He lays her carefully on it, his eyes moving to meet his. Both dark and desperate. 

The boy tried to steady his breath as he looked down at the girl below him, he wanted nothing more than to rip her clothes off her body. But he wanted to make sure this is what she wanted, not feeling forced into something. He sat on his calves looking down at Eight, his hand resting on her hip, thumb rubbing circles on it. "Are you sure you want this?" Five asked placing a hand next to her head, as he leaned over her face, placing a chaste his on it. 

Eight nodded, reaching up to grab his face with a soft smile, "I didn't travel miles to come to you just to leave again," She replied leaning up to plant a kiss on the corner of his lips. Then letting her lips brush his softy, "I want this," she confirmed leaning up to kiss him fully this time. 

While the two were in agreement about what would happen, Dolores, the Mannequin was not. The poor intimate object was forced to watch the events that accrued in the ruins. Watched as Five's hands carefully removed Eight's clothes, treating her as fine china. His cold fingers brushed against her soft skin, leaving kisses behind. Eight's nimble fingers removed his clothes as her hands trailed patterns all over his skin. Under the flickering light of a warm fire near them, both were equally entranced in each other's embrace. The poor mannequin had to listen to the moans, ragged breaths, whines, and skin slapping skin. All echoing in the lonely building. Two souls rejoined once more. 

After that night the couple promised to stay together no matter the situation. All the starvation and hardships they faced together, surviving each and every one. For the following years, the duo spent them together. The highs and lows of living in the world of nothing. The tears and laughter that were shed over the years. The moments of bliss and many more.

One of the best memories that Five would always remember was when he proposed to his darling lady. It's not like there would be another person he could be with until the end of time. He liked to believe that if anyone else was stuck with him, they wouldn't mean as much as Eight did to him. The now older man grown and aged, had been out looking for any life. He never looked forward to it, since he always returned home in disappointment. Yet this trip turned out differently for him. 

Dirt and rubble crunched beneath his boots are he walked. Bag and gun strapped onto his back, just in case. Eyebrows furrowed his eyes trailed the growing greens on the floor. Eight had been right about the beauty in the destruction. Somehow out of all the fire and heat, the world slowly started coming back in a way. The animals that did survive now have all the land to live in. 

Poking around different rubble, he was walking when a glint hit his eye. He stopped walking and tried to find the glint once more. Moving his head around until his eyes spotted the shining small object. Walking closer, he reached down and grabbed the small object. Blowing the dirt on his palm he chuckled at the sight. Out of anything he could have found in the wasteland it was this. 

The man whistled at the sigh, "Well look what we got here," he spoke softly, his eyes trained on the gold band with a diamond perched on top. While it wasn't anything that would help in the long run, it was sure to be significant. Smiling he pocketed the item and continued on his journey to find anything else. The skies were clear blue, with a light breeze that made it perfect for walking. 

A few hours later, the man headed back with a few things in his bag. A smile was still on his face after the small find. As he neared the house he heard his name be called, turning around he saw his girlfriend running towards him

"Five! Guess what!" Eight's voice ran behind him as he reached their home before she had. Her gun was also strapped to her back as she got closer. 

"What?" he asked with a smile seeing how happy his lady looked. Never denying that emotion in their situation. 

Eight blushed as she had her hands behind her back, "Well, I know this isn't traditional, but I mean we're living at the end of times," she rambled but shook her head before she could get any further, "Will you marry me?" She asked him as she had found a plain gold band while searching for food. Oh, how coincidental. The lovers found a piece for one another. 

Five couldn't help but laugh, reaching into his pocket and taking out his finding, "Not if you don't marry me," he said now going onto one knee, resulting in the blonde gasping and covering her mouth in glee. 

Eight Hargreeves was never materialistic. Didn't like large flashy things, but small stupid stuff her siblings gave her, meant more than gold. Now having Five on his knee with a literal priceless piece of jewelry she couldn't help but tear up. The woman nodded in glee, "There's no one else I'd rather marry at the End of the World," she said handing him her left hand. 

Five smiled and slipped on the ring, getting up from the ground, Getting up he looked down as she slipped the other ring, onto his finger, "Till death do us apart," said Eight, gripping his hand.

"Till death do us apart," Five confirmed gripping her face and kissing his now-wife. Their wedding was only the two of them just as they would be now forever. 

As time moved on for the married couple, they argued as couples do. They hunted, drank, and spiraled into a belief that they could return home. In a crumbling library where some books were able to make it alive, the duo scribbled all along the walls. Possible equations to get them home. 

One fateful day the two were sitting around as they drank wine from surprisedly well-kept metal cups, the two now elderly, with grays mostly displaying on their heads. Skin is no longer supple and soft, but worn and used. 

The silver-covered man chuckled as he drank from his cup, his gloved hand holding it tight, "Love, do you remember that one mansion we went to a couple of years back? You know where we—"

"—Yeah I wouldn't mention those few hours around Dolores. We left her alone," Eight interrupted before he started explaining what happened down in the wine cellars of the mansion. Not caring one bit about the mannequin near hearing all the lewd things the two happened to experience in their younger years. 

Five scoffed, "Well I could talk about it. Delores, you talked shit about me those years while she was gone," He said pointing at the mannequin, "I will freely talk about how I fucked my wife for hours and left you alone!" He exclaimed happily.

Eight facepalmed, and looked over at Dolores, "I'm sorry D," She said blushing, embarrassed that her husband was now a grouchy old man—no different from his young years. 

"Well, I'm—"

Before he could finish the crumbling of rubble could be heard, as if someone was approaching. Five and Eight stood from their seats and pointed their guns at the incoming target. While they were older the two had enough experience in their older age to kill someone. 

The two glanced at each other wearily when they saw the sight. A woman with bright white hair, clad in a long leather coat. Holding a briefcase of sorts, looking not even mildly intimidated by the two holding the guns. Something out of the ordinary, which to them wasn't surprising. For crying out loud, they had extraordinary skills that no one else on earth had. 

Who she was? The Handler, the woman who would become Eight's worst nightmare, but also the key to their very survival. 

The morning had arrived at Diego's place and Five woke up to be pressed against Eight's back. The blonde just lay there silently, waiting for him to wake up. It's not like she had a choice that is, Five happen to have a tight grip around her waist while he slept. As soon as he let go, Eight sighed happily and sat up. Five moved around her and sat down next to her.

"Morning' love," Five mumbled softly rubbing his eyes, trying to wake himself up.

The girl just rolled her eyes, "Yeah, mornin'," Eight replied as she watched Luther snore on the chair near them. Using her powers, Eight lifted a pen on one of Diego's desks and flung it at the sleeping giant. Causing him to wake up with a startle, his eyes, and hands alert to fight the intruder.

"Oh good you're awake," Luther said blinking slowly his eyes focusing on the blonde in front of him, "When is it happening?" He then asked seriously remembering why he stayed with the couple. 

"We can't give you the exact hour but..." Five trailed off.

"We've got about four days left," Eight finished off running her hand through her hair, realizing she must have lost her headband last night, during her whole drunken debacle. 

The man leaned forward, "Why didn't you say something sooner?" Luther said worriedly.

"It wouldn't have mattered," Five replied sadly. Eight noticed his sadness and gripped his hand softly.

"Of course, it would've banded together and helped you try to stop this thing," Luther countered.

Five sighed, "You already tried," he said flatly, this memory wasn't a kind one for him. After all, it had been the first sight the two had encountered when they had made it into the future. 

"What do you mean?" Luther asked suddenly.

"The first time around, we found you, your bodies," Eight explained her throat feeling tight.

"We die?" Luther swallowed thickly.

"Horribly," Five answered.

A flat silence filled the air, as they all looked at each other. Nothing could be said that would make it right. Not even Luther's optimistic view on life could make the older couple feel any better. The sight of the Hargreeves all sprawled out on the ground was bad enough. All looking above with dead eyes and nothing more. The familiar feeling of anguish washed over the air.

"You were together trying to stop whoever it was that ends the world," Five said looking down at his intertwined hands with Eight, squeezing it back in comfort, the only thing that kept him sane all these years. 

Luther looked over at the two, "How did you know that?"

Five searched into his pocket, and pulled out the familiar prosthetic eyeball, "This was clutched in your dead hand when I found you."

"Must have ripped out of their head right before you went down," Eight said as he looked over the eye that Five tossed at him.

"Who's head?" Luther asked looking at the blonde, in hopes of getting an answer, then back to the eye in hand. 

She shrugged, "We don't know," a frown forming lightly on her face. 

"Well there's a serial number on the back," Luther offered, ideas popping in his head, in hopes of helping the two stop the end of the world. 

"No, that's a dead-end," Five said, towards Luther, "Just another hunk of glass."

Eight stood up letting Five's hand go and took the piece of the eyeball and held it. Before any more could be said the door slammed open and a very angry Diego strolled in. His eyes looked straight at the blonde in fury, why didn't she do anything? 

"Piece of shit," He mumbled going down the stairs, "Do you have any idea what you just did?"

He said walking straight towards them, but Luther stepped forward grabbing him. "Get your ape hands off me!" He hissed towards Luther. 

Eight stuffed her hands in her skirt pockets, "Let him go, Luther," she said calmly trying to diffuse whatever was starting. She loved herself a fight, especially since she could see it was directed towards her. 

"Yeah let me go!" Diego replied as he struggled to get out of the large man's hold, eyes still trained on the blonde, he wanted nothing more than to dig his knife into her body. That's new...

Luther looked at the blonde in question, and she nodded. And quickly he continued to stroll towards Eight, but before he could, he ran into some invisible force. The man looked around it, slapped his hands on it, and punched it. It was no use, of course, Eight wouldn't let herself be touched by the man. 

Diego let out a strangled yell, as he punched the invisible force that stood between them, "Let the through you freak bitch!" He yelled hysterically. This time caught the attention of Five. 

The man stepped forward but stopped when Eight's hand went up to stop him. Cocking her head, she smirked, "My prediction was right," she said her eyes on his teary ones. 

"Oh you've been busy, haven't you? Griddy's, Gimbel Brothers, and the academy. All looking for you," He hissed punching the invisible wall one more time, yet it still did nothing to reach her. 

The blonde shrugged, "Not my fault Diego, Patch was in the way," she said dropping her shield without him noticing. 

Luther had a brow raised on who Patch was, but he didn't really care, "Who are they?" He asked instead, wanting to know who was sent after the couple. 

Eight sighed, putting her hands in her pockets, "They work for our former employer, A woman we called the Handler. She sent them looking for us, and Patch was in their way, fair game," she said once again looking to Diego. Sure she felt bad for the woman who had died, but nothing would stop the two assassins after her or Five.

His eyes darkened at the sound of her words, "Well now they're my fair game," Diego said looking straight at Eight, "And I'm gonna see that they pay."

"Diego I wouldn't if I were you, they've killed people much more dangerous than you," Eight called out as the man turned to leave the room they were staying in. 

Continuing to walk away he never turned around, "Yeah, well we'll see about that."

The blonde then looked at Five, "You know I can't let him die," she told him, with a frown. 

Five sighed and nodded. He knew the whole Hazel and Cha-Cha stories, was never a fan, but they were good at what they do. And if anyone could survive them, it was his wife, "Give 'em hell, kid," he mumbled pulling to kiss her temple. And in a second she was gone. 

She jumped into a portal and landed in the passenger seat of Diego's car. She turned to see tears running down his face, "Oh, darling, come here," she whispered, pulling him into a hug as he hugged her back tightly. While he had said some things to her, he was glad it was her that was there. Eight Hargreeves had that effect on people, being there when they most needed it. 

She softly ran her hand through his hair as his body raked sobs, "I'm sorry Diego," She whispered, pulling away from the hug and gripping his face.

"I really liked her," Diego whispered not meeting the blue eyes in front of her. Patch had got him out of countless of shit, after they had separated he still yearned after the law enforcement woman. He never got to tell her that he loved her. Now she was gone, no longer breathing. 

"I know," She said knowing he wouldn't be able to drive. Carefully she let out a deep breath, "Hold on," she said, her hands beginning to glow slightly. 

Diego's eyes widened, "What—"

Before anything more could be said Eight had created a portal beneath the car that landed in their parking spot. The car bounces as she sees the mansion. The teen grinned at the sight. 

"Nice I still got it," She quipped and got out of the car, "You comin'?" Eight added as she looked down to see a frightened Diego. 

Diego stumbled out, wiping his tears, not wanting any sign of his moment of weakness, "God I hated that," he said shivering at the feeling of falling, memories triggering back to their training days. 

"Alright you baby, just get what you need and I'll help you," Eight said walking into the home.

"Wait you're coming? What about Five?" Diego asked as he followed her into the home, shocked that she would follow him rather than her boy thing. 

"He's capable of protecting himself, he did it for six years," She said scoffing while walking to Diego's room where she knew he had many more knives hidden. They hadn't been friends for most of their childhood so of course, she knew everything about the boy.

Of course, she knew about the crush he had when she was younger. As a mind reader, nothing got past her. Diego was everything she'd want in a partner, but in this universe, they weren't meant to be. And that was a given—she was a married woman now. Even if Diego would forever have a soft spot for Eight, he knew his boundaries—sometimes. He wouldn't deny that since she got back, he hasn't flirted with the blonde. So part of his fantasy was coming to reality as the tall blonde stood in his room.

Not paying much attention to the girl in the room, he slowly slid out a grey case with the umbrella insignia. Carefully he placed his knives in the case and clasped it shut. Getting up he grabbed the handle, and looked at Eight, "Let's go."

She nodded and moved out of the way and follow after him, but he shook his head. What he was about to do was cross boundaries, but he didn't care. He grabbed onto her hand and pulled her with him. All she could do was look at their hands and frown. The two began walking further down the stairs. Eight didn't really know what to say about the whole situation. She liked Diego, but not the way his thoughts bubbled.

Worse part his lover had literally died, and he was still chasing after someone who was both older and younger than him. But with respect to his recent loss, she kept her mouth shut. As the two arrived on the main floor, they saw Klaus standing staring at the chandelier that had fallen on the ground.

"You look like shit," Diego pointed out as he stared at his brother. 

Eight furrowed her eyebrows and let go of Diego's hand. Carefully she walked over to Klaus smiling softly, she pulled him in a hug. The Séance didn't hesitate to pull the blonde closer. He knew that maybe she understood his pain better than her husband could. After all the blonde was his comfort person. 

"Where are you going?" he said to her, still embraced in the hug, not wanting to let go. Something about it felt almost like a mother clinging onto their hurt child. 

"Nope—" Diego began but was silenced with the raise of Eight's hand. 

"I know you wouldn't take no for an answer, just get yourself together," She mumbled into his shoulder. 

The man nodded, "Two minutes," he said softly, and then walked off to get his things. 

The blonde sighed, she definitely knew something was up. Klaus was never to be the quiet one, even when the memories of their father plagued his mind, they would never get him like he is now. She watched him as he left and scratched himself and sauntered off.

She furrowed her brows at this. Familiar. Those were some of the symptoms of time travel. That's when it hit her, Klaus was the one that was kidnapped by Hazel and Cha-Cha. In return, he took the case and got stuck somewhere else in time. 

Diego grabbed her hand, snapping her out of her trance. She looked over at him and motioned for the car. She nodded and followed him outside and waited for Klaus.

The three were now in the car as Diego drove, but Eight couldn't help but know something was wrong. Something about instincts if you want to name it. 

"Klaus, darling, are you alright?" she asked, turning to the back seat where he leaned on the window as he drank from a bottle rather than answer her. 

Diego raised an eyebrow, and glanced at him through the rearview mirror, "Wow. This is a first. My brother Klaus is silent. The last time you were this quiet, we were twelve. Ran down the stairs wearing Grace's heels, tripped over, and broke your jaw." He said looking at Eight's amused face. "How long was it again?" 

Klaus didn't move from his spot, but with a small voice he responded, "Eight weeks."

"Eight glorious weeks of bliss," he mentioned, but quickly Eight smacked his arm, "Ow!" 

Diego gave her a look but the blonde only glared at him. Not knowing the seriousness of the situation, most of the time he never did. 

Klaus finally sat up blinking harshly, "Hey, just drop me off here," he said as they parked harshly into some place called Lake Shore. Quickly Klaus stepped out of the car and stumbled over to the building. All in rushed movements to make it through the glass doors. 

Eight removed her seatbelt and placed her hand on the door handle, "Hey where are you going? I thought you were going to help me?" Diego said gripping her arm.

The blonde turned over to him and removed his hand, "And I'm going to make sure my brother who is definitely not okay, make sure he doesn't get harmed. 

And I am after I make sure my brother who is not okay, doesn't get harmed," she said and stepped out of the car. 

As she neared the door in large white letters it read, "Welcome to Veterans of Foreign Wars." The blonde sighed, "Oh Klaus where did you go," She whispered and opened the door which opened with a ring. 

Walking into the building, Eight then realized it was a bar for veterans. She frowned sadly. Eight had her horrors of the past that she always falls into, and she would never want to share those types of pains with anyone. But here she was entering the bar watching her brother look at a picture, as he relived the horrors of war. 

Her eyes flickered to movement caused in a room, and it was to a large man with grey hair. He was making his way towards Klaus who was looking sadly at the picture hung up on the wall. He lost someone she concluded. If she wanted she would have looked into his mind to see what had happened, but for the privacy of his loss, she refused to. Eight would let him explain it himself if it ever came to that.

Eight decided it was time to confront him and moved towards him before the large man could. Carefully she placed her hand on his shoulder and he turned to look at her and sighed.

"Please go away," He whispered then looked back at the photo, his eyes trained not on himself but on a young man beside him. 

Her eyes traveled to the photo of the many men there, "No, you're my brother, and I'm here for you," she said squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. 

"Hey you two," a deep voice came from behind her. 

The two siblings turned around to look at the large man. Eight raised a brow at the older man sporting a vest with probably the war he served at, she just looked him over with a scoff. 

"This bar? It's for vets only," He informed the two softly, hoping not to start anything. 

"I am a vet," Klaus replied sadly his eyes turning back to the picture behind him. 

The large man chuckled, "Really? Where'd you serve?" he asked, obviously not believing the Seance next to her. 

Klaus wasn't in the mood to answer anyone's questions, he had just gone through hell and back, "None of your business," Klaus replied not wanting to talk about it.

"You got balls comin' in here, pretendin' you're one of us," He said not knowing the situation at hand. And if we're being honest, Eight didn't like when others picked on her brother. 

"Oh, I have every right to be here, just like you, asshole," Klaus said, his voice raising his last word. Finally turning around to meet the eyes of the old man. 

The large man went to step closer, but that's when Eight stepped in, "Hey, there now, we don't want problems," she said calmly, "You don't know the situation here, so I would appreciate it if you let me take care of him." 

"Sure thing," The man said pausing and looking at Klaus, "As long he apologies," he finished causing Eight's eye to twitch and Klaus to giggle. 

"Look I'm sorry, he's sorry, we'll just be on our way now," she said looking at her brother, forcing the words out of her own mouth, hating this man trying to embarrass them. 

The man shook and said, "No, I want to hear him say it," he smirked. 

This crossed the line for her, she didn't fucking care anymore that he was some veteran. He was an ass of a veteran. Her brother was a veteran and if he didn't believe him, that was on him. Also, she was already pissed as it is with the whole end-of-the-world thing. 

Eight lunged forward and grabbed his collar, "Listen here you, idiot. You do not get to ask for any more apologies. You don't know what shit my brother has gone through and I won't let anyone walk all over me or him," she hissed as his face was close to hers and shoved him away. 

In anger, the man swung forward but his fist met a gloved hand, "You don't go hitting ladies," Diego's voice said as he punched the old man. 

Klaus had jumped into the fight and jumped onto the veteran's back. Just as Eight had grabbed a flying fist at her face and grabbed his wrist and twisted it around to turn his body. Still, in the lock, she kicked the man and let him fall to the ground with a painful thud. 

Another man came towards her, "I would leave little school girl, this is no place for you gi—" before he got a chance to finish his sentence, Eight had punched the man square in the nose, receiving a loud satisfying crack. 

"Suck my dick, asshole," She yelled, grabbing his arm and pulling herself near him to shove him over her shoulder and slam him onto the ground. Sure she loved fighting, but it wasn't satisfying fighting older men. 

Eight was then quick to grab her brothers from their ears and push them out, Klaus stumbling to grab his coat and walking out. 

"God Klaus couldn't tell me beforehand that you were a vet?" She hissed pushing him into the backseat. Getting in the car she sat up in the seat and leaned back to smack him in the head. 

"I would've controlled their minds not to see you!" she was fuming, "1968! That's a very fucking time change!" She groaned leaning to hit him again, but Diego grabbed her and sat her back down.

"Stay," He said to her as she huffed and crossed her arms, "You got a big mouth," he told Klaus pointing at him. 

Klaus scoffed, "Oh, wow. What a truly shocking revelation, Diego," He replied sarcastically. 

"Everything's a big joke to you right?" He asked him his eyes rolling. 

Eight turned to him and saw him trying to take drugs, and lunged to grab them, "Would you stop, idiot!" she said flinging it out the window, then smacking him in the head while he threw a tantrum. 

Diego scoffed, "Why are you putting this shit in your body?" He asked and looked back at him, "Check this out," He added, lifting his sweater and slapping his toned stomach. 

"My body is a temple," he said looking at him and then back at Eight and winked, she just rolled her eyes. Men. 

"All that shit you do, it's just weakness," Diego said. 

"Oh, wow, beautiful. Well, weakness feels so good," Klaus replied, digging into his pocket to grab more drugs. Again Eight leaned back and smacked it out of his hand, "Hey! The fuck did I just tell you?"

Klaus whines, knowing it was best not to fight her. 

Eight sighed, "Klaus you have to tell us what happened, we know you're not okay," she whispered to him.

"Well then read my mind to see what happened," He yelled at her still not feeling like talking about the most recent events that just happened. 

Eight furrowed her eyebrows and sighed shaking her head, "Klaus I only saw what I needed to see, but anything more serious that happened you need to tell us," she said blue eyes looking into his saddened ones. 

"I lost someone," he sighed sadly looking down at his lap, "I lost someone. The only..." he sighed deeply pausing, "The only person I've ever truly loved more than myself," he finally got out, reaching into his pocket and popping a pill into his mouth. 

This time, the blonde didn't reach to smack it into his hand. She could feel to an extent that he was hurting. 

"Well, you're luckier than most," Diego started, "When you lose someone, at least you can see them whenever you want."

Klaus looked away knowing that wasn't entirely true. There was a reason he turned to drugs most of the time. Memories of being stuck in a graveyard with the dead haunted him. The suffering of hearing all those voices yell at him was too much. Being high, kept him from hearing them all the time. 

Number Eight and Four knew all about the voices constantly being there. The hushed whispers that only caused headaches. While the blonde just kept herself busy, Klaus turned to drugs to keep it tame. 

Eight sighed and leaned back onto the chair, her eyes blank as she stared off into the distance. Mumbling random names under her breath. 

The man beside her rose a brow, not hearing anything coherently. Only heard hotel and bird which didn't make sense, but never made sense anyway. Shaking his head he moved his eyes from her to his mirror and spotted a few familiar faces. So he elbowed the blonde beside him and motion behind. 

Snapping out of her trance she looked at the mirror and her eyes narrowed, "Hazel," she whispered to him. 

"Hey I know that man," Klaus said suddenly also looking back to see the large man. 

Diego looked at his confused, "How could you possibly—"

"They were the ones who tortured me, I barely got away with my life," He explained to his sibling looking back as Hazel got into some older looking blue car. 

Diego started the car, as he noticed his car backing out of the space, "Eight I need you to be careful, okay? They probably still want you," He said to her, worried as she would get hurt. 

The blonde scoffed as his worries, "Diego, I am the greatest at what I do," she paused to glare at him, "if I truly wanted, Hazel and Cha-Cha would be dead," she chuckled when she noticed Diego's glance as he drove, "I was an assassin, it's my profession," she shrugged. 

Number Three just shivered slightly, "You're nothing like when we were kids," Diego said looking back onto the road. 

Klaus leaned forward from his seat, "Oh, little Eight is exactly the same, you just don't know her like I do," he paused and lifted a finger, "She's still arrogant, fun, and killer instinct—" 

"Klaus, I love you but I will shove a sock in your mouth," She said, turning her head to look at him with a sweet smile. 

The rest of the ride the three were silent as they followed Hazel's car. It was for the best to keep silence, while Eight was the fun sibling, she was also a lunatic that would possibly snap. 

Hazel's car parking into a small Hotel that made Klaus shiver as he had just been there not too long ago. The man getting out and retreating into the small room up stairs. 

Eight didn't say anything when Diego stepping out of the car to go mess with his car. Most likely to put a tracking device on it. 

"He likes you know that right? He always has," Klaus said giggling. 

Eight sighed, "I'm aware, but he and I won't ever happen, I'm a married woman," she said lifting her hand to reveal her ring. 

"To your teenage boy-friend," He laughed, "It's funny that you two are this age again, I didn't get to see you this age," he added leaning his head beside her. 

"It's better you didn't get to see me this age, Klaus, Five was a lot more horny and didn't have the end of the world to worry about," she sighed remembering since they got to this time, he hasn't stopped trying to get into her pants. 

"Ha, so much for you two being the smart ones," he snortend, "Little Five is probably frustrated from multiple things." 

"This is Five's fault, not mine," Eight groaned running a hand through her hair, not wanting to think about dick at the moment. 

Diego got back into the car and kept his eye on the building where the murderers of his friend were staying. 

"You know killing these people is not going to make you feel any better?" Klaus said from the back drinking from his bottle.

"What he said," Eight added with a snap of her finger.

Diego scoffed and looked at her, "Aren't you an assassin?" 

Eight nodded, "A professional one, I don't kill for personal reasons."

"Yeah, but when it's done...I'll sleep like a baby," Diego said to her with an exaggerated smile. 

Eight only hummed in response. Back in the Commission that was the first thing she learned. To not make any killings personal, whether they were bad or good, it didn't matter, they were the mission. While her brother was angry and wanted to get revenge, he wasn't cut out for this type of work. 

"Stay in the car, both of you," Diego said after a while of silence his eyes lingering on Eight. 

"Um, what the fuck? I'm the assassin here!" Eight said angrily as he stepped out of the car, "I killed a man with a pencil before, a fucking pencil!" 

"Well aren't you cute," Klaus said sarcastically tapping her nose with his finger. 

She smacked his hand and pushed open her door"Come on," Eight said, suddenly getting out of the car. 

"But he said to stay in the car," Klaus said, but still following the girl from the car. 

This time she snorted as she walked in a hurry up the steps "Yeah and he also said he didn't steal my bra when we were younger," she scoffed. 

"Oh, I remember that. Who knew little old Five could hold that much rage," Klaus giggled. 

Eight turned to smile at him, "That's my husband." 

The two then silently went up the stairs that Deigo was currently on. Spotting him peaking around the corner. 

"So, what's the plan here?" Klaus asked suddenly.

Diego sighed deeply, "I thought I told you two to stay in the car," He emphasized turning to the two. 

"Yeah, but you also told me licking a nine-volt battery would give me pubes," Klaus rebutted, bringing up his memory rather than hers, knowing it would cause a fight between the two. 

Eight laughed remembering that conversation when they were little. 

"We were eight," Diego said to his brother. 

Klaus was about to step forward, but Diego stopped him. 

"No, you two are going back in the car," He told the two being serious. 

"Klaus get in the car, we'll be back," The blonde told Klaus, she worried more about the fragile man then the man next to her. 

"Hey you don—" Diego started but he was teleported inside the empty room before he could say anything. 

"I know the way those people think, they're gone," She said and right there the rev of an engine was heard, and the car drove off. 

Diego opened the door and apparently too soon as the bullets started to rain on the group.

Eight stuffed her hands in her pockets and blocked the bullets from hitting her with an invisible force field. But it seemed life wasn't on Diego's side as she heard him groan when he was shot from one of the bullets. 

"Idiot," Eight said as she saw his injured hand, and began walking away from the two followings, "We're taking the ice cream truck," Eight said as she stepped further out, not really looking around her surroundings. 

"We have a c—" Diego said, but then he saw the condition it was in. How is it possible that she knows everything? 

Eight teleported into the van, and jumped started the car, as it began to start she smiled. So, far everything was moving smoothly, well it won't but that's not the point. 

"Get in the van losers, we're going after maniacs," She yelled to them, as she lowered the window. 

And quickly they slid the door open as she began driving quickly in the direction she watched the two phychos go in. 

As she pressed on the petal she felt Five's presence near. It was something that she was able to do since she was left alone. Some told her that is the feeling of souls being connected. Others said that it was just a second instinct. Well, whatever it was, she was fucked. She didn't tell Five they were coming and well here they were in an ice cream truck chiming the Ride of the Valkyries. It wasn't sudtle at all. 

Eight looked out from the small window and mouthed sorry to the two. While Klaus waved at the two. Luther and Five were at the most confused as to what just happened. Eight knew what she had to do, she felt the early rift of what was coming. 

She teleported and stood next to Five who quickly moved her behind Luther, but time seemed to slow down and come to a stop. That's when Eight realized what Five had done. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at her partner. 

"You called her?" She seethed at her husband, her eye twitching at feeling. 

"Love, I'm—"

She didn't wait for his apology; rather she stepped out from behind Luther and walked to the clearing of nothing, waiting for the woman. Better to get this shit out of the way now. 

"Neat trick, isn't it?" The Handler's voice rang out, more nails on chalk thought Eight at the sight of the silver-headed woman clad in her black trench coat and signature red lips and heels. 

"Hello, Five, Eight," she greeted, removing her glasses, "You look good, I mean look at you Eight, youthful and beautiful. Must be enjoying the new found strength?"

"It's good to see you again," Five said calmly, Eight rolls her eyes at the sentiment, she hated the woman more than she hated many other things in life. 

"Feels like we met just yesterday, of course, you both were a little older then," she said smiling, "Congratulations you two. On the age regression, by the way. Very clever," She complimented. 

"No need, my husband is just an idiot," The blonde emphasized knowing the woman always had more than a mutual liking for him. She found it disgusting, but who truly was the winner? 

"Your attempts are futile, so why are you really here?" She asked the couple. 

"I want you to put a stop to it," Five asked more than anything, his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

The Handler raised her brows, "You realize what you're asking for is next to impossible even for me. What's meant to be is meant to be. That's our raison d'être."

Without hesitation, he whipped out a gun from his side and pointed it at her, "Yeah? Well, how about survival as a raison?" Five threatened. 

Now, as a person who is sworn to tell all. Eight Hargreeves who's said to feel no different after returning to a younger age—well she coudln't help but fidget and bite her lip. That was hot. 

"God if only we were alone," Eight commented biting her lip again at the situation. 

Five's eyes flickered to the blonde for a second, "Really now?" he groaned. 

The Handler watched the exchange and cringed, but looked back at Five, "I'll just be replaced. I'm but a small cog in a machine. This fantasy you've been nurturing about summoning up your family to stop the apocalypse...is just that a fantasy." 

"Get to the point lady, before I blow your brains out," Eight deadpanned. 

"Well, Mrs. Hargreeves, we are impressed with you two, you are quite something. We want to offer you a new position back at the Commission, in management," she said waving her fingers at the two. 

Eight was actually surprised with the response of the wicked woman, "Pardon?"

"Come back to work for us again. You both know where you belong. Eight you have a huge reputation back there, people would love to have you back," she said with a smile trying to convince the teen girl. 

"As you can see, that didn't work too well with my husband and myself," Eight said motioning around them, but she wasn't going to admit, she needed to check on a few things with the resources the Commission had to offer. 

"Oh but you wouldn't be in the correction division but the work office, the best health and pension, and an end to this ceaseless travel," the woman said stepping closer to the two with each word, "We could reverse this, bring you back to your older age, I mean you can't be happy like this." She said, stepping closer towards the two—more to Five than Eight. 

Eight was quick to step closer to her husbandand make the woman back up some steps as she knew she was capable of killing her here with no hesitation. At least she remembers her reputation. 

"We're not looking for happiness," Five said, looking directly into the woman's eyes. 

The Handler stepped forward and lifted her hand to touch Five's cheek, but her wrist was grabbed before she could. 

"As much as I get that my husband is a beaut, get your old hands of him," she seethed, pushing her hand off, "Plus what would happen to my family?" she asked as well, now she was stepping forward to the woman.

"What about them?" She asked, feeling slightly intimidated by the blonde woman. 

"I want them to survive," Five said pulling his wife closer to his side, but on the inside he was grinning at how territorial she was with him. 

The women sighed looking back at Luther and the truck that held the other two, "All of them?"

"Yes all of them," Five scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, I'll see what I can do," The Handler said as she put her glasses back on, "Do we have a deal?" She said offering her hand to Eight who was closest.

The blonde looked over to Five for reassurance, that they were both agreeing to this. He nodded but lifted his finger motioning he had something to say to her.

Eight walked over to the boy, "The guns," he said motioning over to Hazel and Cha-Cha. 

The girl nodded and walked over to them. Taking them apart as she scattered the pieces around.   She walked back to duo, but Eight paused noticing the bullet by her head. So she turned to it and moved it so it would avoid hitting Luther.

Five grabbed Eight's hand and turned to shake The Handler's hand. And just like that time continued on as they disappeared.

[adayephoto]

Lastinger Center for Learning: Celebrating 20 Years of Excellence

In February of 1999, University of Florida alumni Allen and Delores Lastinger announced a $2 million donation to the College of Education for the establishment of the Lastinger Center for Learning. The mission of the center was to develop projects that promote the achievement and success of at-risk youth in local public schools. It includes a special focus on math, science, economics, and conflict resolution. To fulfill this mission, the center focused on supporting K-12 classroom teachers across the state of Florida by relying on their expertise, experience, and input in program development.  

Celebrating 20 Years of Excellence, the Lastinger Center established itself as an intentional and creative hub for educational innovation across the state of Florida. Despite this commitment to innovation, the shared values of listening to teachers and caring for the underserved children in Florida’s classrooms remain a consistent theme.  

[robotpoetry]

THE

"The"

Youthful Spring Sweet Smiles Flatulent

Joy Prisoned On Watery Resistant

When My House Do Or

Sobbing And Girls And He Delore

---

By Thy Brows An Angel Is Stillborn

But Oh My Bones Around My Borne

Appall I Never Hunger Reemployment

The Year Then Thel Is Luminescent

[streetsofsecrets-a]

   As a young girl, Delores knew about LOVE the way one knows a definition of any word. It was talked about, by Ms. Bedel who would keep her in her lap while reminiscing over her Greek suitor a bit too much, it was mentioned by her Grandfather who naturally assumed that she was going to grow up and get married in the vaguest of ways.

      But that wasn’t knowing about what love was.

      When she was eight years old, her Granddaddy rented out a room to a twenty year old girl. Girl, he referred to her as, not a woman. Because she ‘had no brain.’ She was a newcomer to New York, coming all the way from Mississippi looking for better opportunities - in singing, nonetheless. As usual - like with all tenants: Delores was advised to stay out of her way, give her privacy, etc.

     But the newcomer was fascinated with the mellow little girl. She had never been around a child that was so quiet and obedient - in fact, she wondered if Delores could even talk. Time and time again, she tried to coax words out of her by giving candy. Delores thought it was scary, though. And because of that felt provoked to stay quiet for ‘her own safety.’ At least until her Granddad would come home.

    Gradually, the tenant began breaking rules. Allowing her boyfriend to make himself comfortable in Amos Littlejohn’s home. Delores was now horrified by tenfold. But eventually, the boyfriend would move in as well, and it would become commonplace for young Delores to witness them behaving like regular kids, she would see them fuss, fight, saw them display affection too.

   Delores remembers her fear defrosting, and gradually becoming drawn into watching the relationship that took place between the adults. She remembers being nine years old – making herself unseen by them as she sat at the stairwell, watching the two slow dance. At that time she thought, this must be what love’s all about. She knew she wanted it, too.

[tcm]

The Spirit of SPARKLE By Constance Cherise

A precursor to the Broadway musical Dreamgirls, SPARKLE (‘76), a film about three young Black sisters in late-1950s Harlem with dreams of stardom, is commonly believed to be loosely based on the story of The Supremes (rest easy Mary Wilson). Like THE WIZ (‘78), initially, SPARKLE did not do well in the box office, and like THE WIZ, it also became a classic Black film garnering fan loyalty. If the sizzling 1992 rendition of “Giving Him Something He Can Feel” by En Vogue wasn’t proof enough of its endurance, the 2012 remake of SPARKLE (tragically Whitney Houston's final film) should be sufficient evidence.

Directed by Sam O’Steen, with music by ‘70s producer extraordinaire Curtis Mayfield, SPARKLE shares notable ties to classic film. One of its screenwriters, Joel Schumacher, whose extensive portfolio includes the film adaptation of THE WIZ, noted Billy Wilder as his favorite director. In a 2010 interview, Schumacher recalled a mischievous youth, watching black-and-white films in a theater near his home. “I was watching the Golden Era of Hollywood...watching Elia Kazan and John Ford and Alfred Hitchcock, I could go on…” Schumacher stated. Although Robert Stigwood is not credited on screen as the producer, the film was made under the banner of his production company. The all-around entertainment impresario, called by Newsweek “the Ziegfeld of the disco age,” also released the everlasting SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER (‘77), GREASE (‘78) and SGT. PEPPER’S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND (‘78).

Another Classic Hollywood tie is Lonette McKee, who portrays Sister. McKee had her breakout role in 1983 as the first mixed-race woman to portray Julie, starring alongside Donald O’Connor, in her Tony-nominated performance of the Broadway musical Showboat. The character was previously depicted by white actresses, most famously Ava Gardner, who won the role over her best friend Lena Horne in MGM’s 1951 film. The decision was made by the studio due to Horne’s race, which she maintained cut her deeply. If you haven’t seen Horne’s rendition of “Can't Help Lovin’ Dat Man,” in TILL THE CLOUDS ROLL BY (1946), watch it and you will understand Horne’s justified frustration.

Although SPARKLE is a story about three sisters—Sparkle, Sister and Delores—and their short-lived rise to fame, the catalyst of the tension in the story truly begins with Sister (McKee). Well aware of her unique beauty, she becomes involved with Satin (Tony King), whose focused attention towards her further inflates her ego cause her to not see him for who he truly is: an abuser and gangster. He openly engages Sister with another woman at his side, and Sister witnesses him punch this woman in the stomach and pull the fur coat from her back. Yet Sister’s reaction seems to be more of excited intrigue. In that moment of silent acceptance, she seals her fate. Not only is it apparent this cannot possibly end well, the resulting repercussions on her and those who truly love her soon come into grave focus.

In the scene where Satin is introduced to Effie (Tony Award-winning Mary Alice), the mother of the three hopeful sisters, and sits beside her, Effie’s expressionless glare takes over, all her years of wisdom instantaneously coming to the surface. Everything Satin is flashes in Effie’s eyes. Instinctively, Effie knows – and Satin knows she knows – that Sister is headed in the wrong direction. When Effie arrives backstage to congratulate her daughters after a successful show, she straight-talks Sister, cradling her face, looking into her eyes almost as a lover. With precise articulation, she tries to ensure her daughter comprehends her words of wisdom.

“I’ve lived in Harlem all my life. I do know a rat when I see one.”

Considering Effie’s domestic employment, when her white employer notices her sullen mood and states that she hopes Effie considers her “enough of a friend to confide in,” there are multiple takeaways. We can conclude that Effie’s employer is wholly oblivious to her authentic identity and her role as a maid, and we get a snapshot of Effie’s sacrifice for her daughters. Powerfully poignant, Alice's performance embodies a silent strength present in many of her performances. As she quietly endures the deconstruction of her family, you have to wonder about the substantial weight she holds within.

A youthful Phillip Michael Thomas is as gorgeous and equally as captivating in SPARKLE as he was during his days of palm trees, Miami pastels and pink flamingos, portraying the character Ricardo Tubbs in the TV series Miami Vice. Although the film’s main characters are all beautiful women, you simply cannot take your eyes away from him; when Thomas is in the scene, he steals it every time.

Most famous for her role as Coco in the film FAME (’80), which caused a measurable rise in attendance at performing arts schools internationally, Irene Cara’s career began at the tender age of 3. She was only 13 years old when she played Sparkle, but her performance is so spectacular, she competently rivals her elder co-stars. In a role that could easily escalate to excessiveness, Cara underplays. Her scene with Thomas, after a funeral, is a perfect example. Years in the entertainment industry expertly result in a stellar performance.

With a time-capsule quality much like other Stigwood films, SPARKLE seems like two separate yet cohesive stories – a tragedy that is unexpectedly a comforting diversion. In the end, the abiding spirit of SPARKLE satisfies.

[theboywantscoffee]

I always see theories about how Five developed his coffee addiction. If it was as a child (I find this one the least believable as Reginald didn't have coffee in the house and also I don't think most kids have the palate for black coffee) or if he discovered it during the apocalypse (more believable, if we are talking instant coffee, but with how limited potable water would be in this circumstance I would wonder how willing he'd be to use any of it for making coffee, not to mention the odds of him regularly finding instant coffee seems slim).

My theory is that he develops the coffee addiction once the Handler enlists him into the Commission. Even when Five is safe and sound in whatever lodgings they have set up for him, with unlimited access to food and water, where the air is easily breathable and no longer filled with smoke and carcinogens, where he has shelter from the elements and can rest comfortably in a bed once more... he can't sleep.

He's ridden with guilt. The guilt of having left Delores behind in the apocalypse by herself after she was the only thing that helped him hold on to any semblance of sanity for 45 years. The guilt of leaving his deceased siblings there, even though by this point they are nothing more than bones beneath the dirt. The guilt of getting stuck for 45 years, suddenly getting an easy way out after all that time, and he still hasn't figured out the math to jump back and stop it all from happening to save his family.

And then there is the difficulty of reassimilating back into society, back into humanity. He struggles with social situations, coming off brash and arrogant and has absolutely no filter around his superiors or coworkers. He can't rid himself of the notion that the commission has been watching him for "quite some time" in the apocalypse yet waited how long to enlist him? He doesn't trust any of them. He knows he is nothing more than an easily replaced soldier to them. He feels suffocated in rooms that are crowded and can't rid himself of the notion that they are out to get him in some way. He is frequently butting heads with others due to this distrust and the paranoia nestles itself deeply into the back of his mind and keeps him up at night. They installed a tracker into his arm. He can't get away from them, no matter where or when he goes to. He is theirs and he knows this.

And then there are the flashbacks, the PTSD. Simple things setting him off. A coworker smoking a cigarette, the scent of it and smoke from it bringing him back to the apocalypse. Seeing clusters of children playing while on missions, reminding him of the youth he lost and the family he abandoned. Dead bodies, for a while, are one, until he's able to somehow not think of his siblings remains when he sees one. The soft sounds of paper rustling from the breeze of an open window remind him of the scuttling of roaches against broken concrete and he has to leave the room when he sees them even when they're not actually there.

Then, finally, the biggest reason he can't sleep... the nightmares. They're a common occurrence. Almost nightly. He can't seem to get any rest without his mind immediately bringing him back to the apocalypse, to the moments leading up to it. In some of them he is a distant observer, watching his rebellious 13 year old self mouthing off to Reginald. Watching him run out of the academy. Dreaming Five can't stop him. He tries but he can't move, can't speak, can't scream at himself to stop and go back! the way he wants to, and so he's stuck watching himself fuck it all up again over and over and over. In others he is haunted by the figures of the siblings he found deceased. Sometimes their corpses are mangled, burnt, and rotting, in far worse condition than the way he found them. Other times they talk to him. They accuse him and blame him for their deaths, for their final moments having been filled with insurmountable pain and agony. Sometimes Ben is there with them, telling him that he could have saved him, could have stopped his death, but Five abandoned them out of his own selfish desire to prove a point and now he's dead. When he wakes up from these dreams he is drenched in sweat and struggles to breathe. And sometimes in his dreams he's simply just living the daily nightmare that was surviving in the apocalypse. He can still feel the emptiness of hunger tearing at his stomach, so famished its nauseating. He can still imagine the way his skin felt on fire from exposure to the elements, the way it would crack and bleed and burn. He can taste spoiled foods and cockroaches on his tongue and there are times he awakens and has to stumble to the bathroom and vomit. He dreams of Delores, alone and afraid without him, still in that same spot that he left her. Sleep brings him no rest and becomes a worse off prospect than being awake.

And so... he drinks coffee. It's easier to be awake. Easier to control his thoughts and minimize his contact with triggers when he is alone to his own devices and can focus on math instead. He drinks it like it's water. He considers a night of 3 hours of sleep to be a good one. On the days leading up to difficult missions or simply the days his body really can't go on any more without rest, he drinks alcohol instead. He drinks enough that he passes out, many times with pens and books still in his hands. He gets by like this, developing his coffee addiction while fleshing out his alcoholism. He sees the benefits of this in the progress of his work and continues with these habits because even if they are self destructive and harming him, it doesn't matter. He doesn't matter. What matters is getting back to 2019 and saving his family. He is disposable once they're saved. Crippling trauma, addiction, and PTSD be damned. All that matters is stopping the end of the world for his family.

... and this is how I think Five develops his coffee addiction. Thoughts?

[milky-maid-library]

Chapter 2: Dis aliter visum

Chapter Summary: Elizabeth wakes up in the Institute and learns quickly how they treat the patients with the help of new friends.

Please read these Warning tags: 18+, child abandonment, mentions of abuse, references to racism. Forced rehabilitation.

Notes: Dis aliter visum means “Fate had different plans” and this is a gift for @cursedcursingviking​

It was just darkness, a never ending black that Elizabeth was vaguely conscious to, wondering if she’d ever awaken. The sensation of floating was ruined as her body fell and kept falling, hitting her hard away on a uncomfortable mattress. A ripping breath of air tore her to sit up, sweat had soaked her skin, hair and the softness around her. Her palm pressed into her chest trying to control the painful stabs of her pounding heart. Eyes darted around the room, discovering she was no longer in the hospital. She was in a cubicle space. The bed she was sweating on was surrounded by three walls and a curtain, no roof… she swallowed down her hard before hesitantly climbing ontop the mattress and peering over the walls. She discovered a larger room, a grand hall almost. Rows of cubicles filled with single and bunk beds surrounded the area. She counted at least thirty cubicles that she could see.

All the beds were eerily empty, she was so alone, it felt cold. As she climbed down her mattress, she noticed the shapeless dress she was wearing and tennis shoes. The ugliest green puke colour, patterned with long sleeves and high neck buttons. And on her wrist was a shiny permanent metal wrist band with her name, date of birth and blood status carved into it. She felt unable to breathe, it was the middle of spring, it was starting to get hotter! Her fingers ripped open her neck collar, letting her breath.

And as she rolled up her sleeves the curtain ripped back to the image of a wrinkly faced nun….

“Good Morning,” she smiled cynically, her blue eyes icy cold, “Would you like some breakfast?”

She was something crossed between a Delores Umbridge and a testy crow.

Elizabeth was skeptical, scared and definitely fleetly looking for an escape. She couldn’t remember where they’d taken her except that it was a correctional facility. If she managed to look around for a exit it would be in her favour especially since she was sure she hadn’t eaten anything in the last twenty four hours almost.

“Come on now then girl,” the shrewd woman snapped and flicked her hand, “don’t dawdle.”

Elizabeth was quickly on her tail. Her thighs rubbed together and as she walked she knew right away that her underwear was not her own. It made her want to vomit. As the nun lead her out of the hall of beds, they trailed down a hall of doctor’s and nurses offices and rooms filled with kitchens, laundry rooms, art supplies and fake nurseries.

They passed a great symbol painted into the wall. A depiction of a pregnant woman cradling the Omega symbol in her arms while she wore a large smile and a blindfold to cover her eyes.

You and me too lady, Elizabeth inwardly smirked. It wasn’t hard to figure out she was in ‘Saint Selene’s School For Adolescent Omega’.

And then her heart fell when they passed a window. She could see outdoors. She did not see a single building other than the facilities; she saw a grand distance of trees and mountains…but that was not what took away her breath. A fence, a tall and long fence barred her in this place, the tops wrapped with barbed wire.

This place was just a pretty prison.

When she stopped and stared at the fence, she almost broke into sobs. The nun scolded her and tugged her away by her shoulder. She was currently dragged to twin doors and welcomed the vision of three massive tables where over a dozen girls sat and ate their food. They all suddenly stopped, all their loud chatter dying down to whispers and finger pointing.

The woman in the habit grinned at them all who stared at them, “Girls,” she announced shrilly, “I’d like to introduce a new member to our blessed home, Miss Elizabeth Hillard.”

Her claws unleashed her shoulder and gestured to the tables, a bowl of porridge seemed to miraculously sit in her hands, passing it to her, fuck I must be really drugged up, she didn’t always have that with her did she?

“Well then…” the nun said, “Why don’t you find a seat?” and walked off the moment Elizabeth looked for an empty space. As she paced down the aisles, not a single girl looked at her welcomingly. They gave her glares and whispers of “Her hair is so untamed, so un-omega.” And “She looks dirty and smells wild, bad omega, don’t talk to her.”

Elizabeth almost cried then and there when she noticed there was no one that was like her there. Only pale racist bitches….until she noticed a blonde girl, around her age, skinny as a rake curling her fingers for her to come closer.

“Hey new girl,” she laughed, “sit with us.”

By that point she didn’t care if she was alone, but the chance of an invite wouldn’t be ignored when she came to such an ominous place. When she sat beside the girl she understood that the other four with her were her friends.  

Chewing her lip, Elizabeth whispered to them, “Are...you all Omegas?”

Chatter of the other tables increased. The skinny girl cackled meanly and regarded to her and her friends, “Nah, Kylie’s an Alpha elf and Gen is a beta pixie and I’m an eleven fingered witch.” She smartly said wiggling her only ten digits. The other girls giggled and snickered crudely.

“Okay,” Elizabeth rolled her eyes and leant back to leave, “‘yes’ would’ve been suffice.” Before another girl piped up over the gossiping crowds.

“What’s got you so hot new girl?” she winked her green eyes and flickered her ginger hair, “Didn’t like the results?” w

Sitting back Elizabeth stirred her cold porridge, mumbling, “I was meant to be an Alpha. But I’m now just a stupid Omega.”

“Easy with the mean words there, new girl,” snapped the girl with a toothpick between her teeth, “Did you think we chose to be Omega?”

Ouch, she never really took in account of Omega’s opinions growing up, knowing they would be the lowest of the low; she just assumed they enjoyed the thought of making babies.

Elizabeth flinched, a new side-effect of being an omega she suspected, “Sorry…”

“Hey, we get it,” The skinny girl scratched her blonde head, “Besides from what we heard, your parents abandoned you here? Talk of the town in here with the gossiping sisters. So you’ll be spending time with us during the summer break while all the other girls go home.”

Elizabeth blinked. Her parents really had abandoned her? After all these years of supposed unconditional love, they sent her away because of a gene she couldn’t control. She rubbed her eyes before any tears could fall. she didn’t feel like looking like a weakling in front of these girls.

“How many stay behind?”

“Including you?” she replied automatically, “Six.”

“Kylie,” she said pointing at a girl who was cleaning her nails and, her lips looked unnaturally dark pink against her olive skin. Her smock was the only one that looked nice on her. It fitted. Everyone’s looked too loose of too tight…

“Gen,” she then gestured to the smallest girl in the group, she had a soft face and full cheeks, bright eyes surrounded by round glasses and appeared the most excited to meet her despite not speaking a single word. She was closest appearance to a black girl compared to Elizabeth, but her loose hair and lighter skin with European features had her sceptical.

“Chip,” the finger directed to the green-eyed winking redhead with a hooked nose.

“Pepper,” was the most intimidating presence. Her eyes were deeply set in, her face was hard and sculpted with a sharp jaw, her teeth might’ve been yellow but that didn’t take away the message her toothpick gave. Her biceps were visible enough beneath the dress, Elizabeth wonder where her other muscles would be and how the hell did she get them? Down from her cheek to her chin, crossing over her lips was a nasty scar. Her short black hair was a poor haircut but that didn’t take away the threatening look she had.

“and me, I’m Legs.”

Out of almost a hundred girls, six remained? The rest had homes and families who cared and loved them. And even though she had a home…they didn’t love her enough to allow her back…her home was now these cold walls and sanitised floors.

She took a bite of her porridge and had little strength to swallow it. They all laughed at her screwed-up face and Chip slapped the table. Chip, Pepper….Legs?

“Are those your real names?” she heaved before pushing the bowl away.

“Fuck no,” Pepper huffed, “but it’s what we call eachother.”

The smallest, Gen proclaimed happily, “After living here for so long we tend to get a nickname.”

The longer she listened, the more she truly felt the ideals of a prison being inflicted….bad food, nicknames, solitary, uniforms.

“How long have you all been here?” Elizabeth looked around the table seeing their curious glances. She held hope, maybe after the summer her parents would gather their senses, she could manage 3 months.

“I have been here the longest,” said Legs, “Turned twenty, four months ago and I was dropped off when I was around seven, that was when they took in this age group. Now little ones go to ‘Camp Neoma for youngling Omega youth’.”

Gen tugged her sleeve and told Elizabeth, “Chip and I were dropped off within weeks of eachother when we were ten, now we’re eighteen, Pepper who’s nineteen got here two years ago.”

Chip wrapped her thick arm around Kylie who rolled her eyes while she chuckled, “And none of us are leaving this place unless we are twenty-one or if our parents come back to take us in. Kylie will be the first to leave since she got here at fifteen and she’ll be turning twenty-one in three months.”

“Absolute abandonment,” Kylie grinned while the rest of them giggled. It seemed they were excited for her freedom, but it only laid heavy on her mind, how long am I going to be forced to stay here?

Her throat tightened while tears accidently fell from her lashes….absolute abandonment… her parents were already there. Within seconds she wiped them up and looked to the ceiling, attempting to rub her eye and pretend it was just dirt in her eyes.

“So small fry,” Pepper prodded her with her spoon, “How old are you?”

“I um…I turned nineteen a month ago.”

“Damn it,” Gen whined, “I’m still the youngest.”

Kylie pulled in the smallest Omega and laid a kiss on her forehead, a fine lip mark appeared between the girl’s eyes. She then started to braid her hair and fix her collar, like a big sister… or a girlfriend. They kissed again, but on the lips before Chip jabbed Gen in the side and gestured to the nerving nuns stalk around the tables. They glared like starved hawks. When Elizabeth turned to look she could feel the unpleasantness of the dresses they were all wearing.

“D-do we have to wear these?” Elizabeth squirmed, scratching the back of her neck and her arms. Her bracelet was incredibly cold against her skin and whenever she moved it stung. Her senses to the new life had increased and she loathed every second.

“Yep,” Legs said, laying back, “Don’t worry, you grow used to it.  I mean you don’t have to choose, and stress about what you’re going to wear.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to get used to it, she wanted cotton, denim jeans or at least her own fucking underwear.  She shuddered, who even dressed her?

“Kylie suffered the harshest,” Gen giggled into Kylie’s shoulder. Kylie was running her fingers through her hair, attempting a perfect part. The two were soft, and borderline nauseating for her, yet the Omega in her yearned for some part of being looked after in a relationship.

Elizabeth figured she hadn’t stayed long enough to earn a title, but doing the math, surely…why did they all have them but, “Why don’t you have a nickname?”

“Kylie is my nickname,” she smirked and held out her polished hands, “My real name is Hannah, but I used to watch the Kardashians and reality tv like TLC religiously girl,” she whispered while a nun walked passed Elizabeth, “I have the best fashion sense out of everyone here including those guards.”

Elizabeth saw the hate in all their eyes, as their friend Legs explained, “Don’t trust any of the nurses or doctors, those fuckers act nice, but shit depending on your plan you’ll find out what kind of concentration camp this is.”

By all they’d told her, she was sure this was an official prison and with the sight of the fence that sent her into chills she accepted and agreed this was a place of hell.

“So….Legs?” Elizabeth dragged.

“We call Saddie ‘Legs’ since she’s the fastest,” Chips jerked her head to the side, “she’s gotten out, beyond the fence.”

Remembering back to the height and threatening barbed wire atop, Elizabeth’s eyes widened, “You’ve gotten out!?”

“Escaped and caught,” Legs chuckled proudly, fluffing her hair.

“…eleven goddamn times,” Pepper smirked, and sighed with a grimacing smile, “All to see some dumb fucking Alpha at Portia’s Penitentiary for Male Adolescent Alpha’s.”

Elizabeth gawked and kept think about the fence, if they could help her get out...but suddenly her head was spinning around, “I didn’t know Alphas had an institute,” she mumbled. What if she was an Alpha she could’ve still been thrown into an institution if her parents didn’t support her.

“They mostly put the boys who’ve tried to rape from their incontrollable restraints of their hormones and immunity to the basic suppressants you can buy at the counter,” Kylie explained.

“Except Isaac!” Legs defended, “He’s never raped anyone…he just…gets uncontrollably kinky and horny. Like me.”

Elizabeth gawked.

“Nasty slut,” Chips teased poking her tongue at Legs.

Legs scoffed, “Bitch.”

“Girls!” befell a booming tone, a deep solemn voice that had the hairs on the back of Elizabeth’s neck rising, “I hope I’m not hearing foul language being said in front of our new resident.” Prisoner. His thick hand curled onto of her shoulder, heavy and solidly threatening. She bit her lip, don’t interact.

“Hey Doc H!” Legs laughed “Nah,” and threw him a low high-five, she wiped her nose and shrugged while she warranted, “We’re just laying down the rules to the new girl…Like curfew…”

C-curfew?!

“Oh really?” he hummed staring at her.

“Yeah, good ol’ eight o’clock curfew for a four o’clock rise.”

The doctor laughed his head tilting back a slight.

Four o’clock? What the fuck is this place, the military?! This is undoubtedly a prison, Jesus!

“How’s our new resident feeling?” he asked, smiling down at Elizabeth.

She turned and held him in a might glare, her viperous tongue spat “How every girl feels being forced into an asylum without her consent, trapped and imprisoned.”

His smile did not faulter and that was something powerful…it stabbed her in the chest. He was not easily tempted to anger? Maybe she’d have to find another pen…He blinked and nodded slowly, that sickening, stomach dropping grin still on his face.

The silence was cold and the other girls shared side glances, even the other tables fell quieter to listen in.

“Docter H, what have you been up to lately,” Pepper commented brightly, the layer of dimmed joy grew back, “we haven’t seen you for so long!”

“Yeah, well I’m happy to tell you that I’ll be hanging around you more often. Oh and I got you something,” he bent down and whispered, “but I’ll give them to you tonight before lights out.”

He said something into Pepper’s ear and left, a giant smile stretched onto her lips. Like the cat that got the cream.  

Walking away Elizabeth leant back in her chair with a relaxed sigh, “Finally,”

“What’s wrong,” Legs murmured, “You and Doc H got bad chemistry or something?”

“He’s the asshole that put me here…” Elizabeth hissed.

“If he’s just an asshole, god help us from the other nurses and doctors, feral dogs they are. Doc H is doing his job but at least he makes time to make us feel human instead of just ‘Omega breeding stock and future wives’. You can’t trust any of the doctors in here, but he’s the least threatening.”

Threatening?!

Suddenly a whistle blew ear splittingly. Within seconds everyone was picking up their plates and standing up, walking from their tables. Shoving away from the table the five girls of the group rose from their seats.

“C’mon,” Elizabeth felt a tap on her arm, “grubs over,” Legs grinned, “how’s your skills at washing clothes?”

She collected her own plate of food and followed the other girls to rows of bins to shove them into…

“It’s not that hard,” Elizabeth finally smiled, “You just chuck it into the washing machine and then the dryer.”

But when her new found friends started to all laugh together she felt a wind of dread…were they not washing clothes?

The steam of the hot water filled the air and entered every ladies lungs as the worked tiredly. The steam would creep up to the ceiling and slip out the cracks in the walls and the barely opened windows. Big bath tubs filled the room, water hot to touch. Drenched bedsheets, and uniforms were piled and soaked in the tubs. The soap was churned into the clothes and sheets with wooden dolly sticks that were heavy and hard to use. This was it….scrubbing clothes clean. Blisters becgan to form quickly onto Elizabeth’s soft hands. When one popped, she hissed in pain and barked with furious frustration, “Ugh mother fucker!”

The Nuns sitting down ‘supervising’ with canes by their sides were quick in action.

“Is something wrong Elizabeth?” The most patient questioned.

“Yea,” Elizabeth threw down the stirring tool and yelled, “This is fucking slave labour!” folding her arms defiantly she jerked her chin to the herself and the other girls who paused from their obedient actions, watching these events, “What’s next?” she wiped her sweaty face, “Cotton Picking?!”

“Miss Hillard!” gasped an older, intimidating nun who was red in the face and wide in the waist, “I would prefer you wouldn’t use such unladylike language in front of others.” She tapped the edge of the tub with her cane and stomped her foot, “This is standard Omega training, learning the basic training is essential for the life you will lead.” The cane was then poked at Elizabeths chest.

She slapped it away from as quickly as it dared settled, “Just because my chromosomes got meddled with, doesn’t mean I should hand wash. When I leave I plan to pay people to wash my clothes at the laundromat, like a normal person.”

Now Elizabeth could hear the girls around her make the same comments again, “bad omega”, “Disrespectful”, “Dirty”, “Lazy Omega”, “No one wants an Omega like her.”

And instead of feeling the senses to cry, she gritted her teeth and tightened her hands into fists. The nun mimicked her actions as she spat, “I will not tolerate your tone or disobedience. If you don’t wish to participate in today’s activities you can conduct hall duty.”

In the corner of her eye she could see Chips shaking her head while she mouthed the word “no”…But how could hall duty be worse than this? It’s just making sure people are not in the halls without passes and permission!

Hall duty? A blessing! Great heaven you are good! She would said confidently, “Anything but this…”

[bulletballetarchive1]

In Which Didi’s Life is A Tyler Perry Play

          so in this verse, Delores’s grandma is ALIVE while her granddad is DEAD! So this means the Littlejohn empire is going quite strong with Liza’s ambition but -- don’t clap. Don’t smile.

            ALTHOUGH ABUSIVE IN HIS OWN WAY, Amos did genuinely love Delores. Liza loves Delores - because she is her only granddaughter, but even with that said, it isn’t that strong unconditional love. She loves Delores as long as she’s perfect and does what she says. Ideally, Delores would inherit her criminal empire, but unfortunately she’s much too soft for Liza’s liking.             Delores never felt strong love for her grandmother. Liza was a disciplinary older woman to the point of abusing her physically whenever unimpressed with her actions, but also gave her many extravagant things so Delores would never resent her. Still, Delores was primarily afraid of her and always wondered why she didn’t have the soft grandmother that was on television. However, she’s also aware that her grandmother has a whole criminal empire.         She’s [briefly] seen the meetings, but in her youth she has witnessed her grandmother flip a table at her uncle and even cut a man. From the get-go, Didi never wanted to be involved with organized crime. She doesn’t hate people who are apart of it but, her grandmother in particular is so cruel that she decided she never wanted to be that sort of person.          So Didi graduates high school and wants to go to a college with a dance program, out of state. Liza tells Didi no, she wasn’t going to be a ballerina, she was going to focus on accounting and law. At first giving in and agreeing, Didi silently decided that wasn’t what she wanted to do with her life. She applied for the college she truly desired, with hopes that her grandmother would still love her and admire her ambition -- but she didn’t.           In fact, Liza cut Delores off in terms of financial support.            Broke and without any family members to lean on, Didi ( taking advice from a friend ) decided to become a sugar baby. Guy one was in his early 40s. Immature, forceful. They only went on a date for three in a half days before guy two came along, meeting Didi and her date by chance in a casual public setting. He was mature, pretty old, and seemed like an all around good person.         Didi used this opportunity to cut him loose, and a platonic friendship began with the new man. Really, it was all just platonic in the beginning. He had stories to tell, Didi would listen for hours. It was she who made the first few moves, kissing him on the cheek, admitting she really liked being around him despite their age gap. And like that, he was paying for her housing and education.           A bit later, she would discover this man was apart of a crime family. It overwhelmed her, but she stayed since she is accustomed to the lifestyle. Over the years, Didi gradually started feeling like a concept. Not a person. Ballet emphasized perfection. Her social media is very neat and clean because she wants potential employers to see her as good. Her sugar daddy literally put her on an untouchable pedestal too. The two of them never had intercourse - she was more or less an outlet for his voyeuristic, purity kink that didn’t get her off at all.          But even then, over the course of five years he grew neglectful to her emotional needs. Ultimately she meets Sal, who (for better or worse) approaches her like a human being and she grows attached over time. A brief affair between them starts, but Didi’s partner is killed in a gang dispute before anything bad came of it.            She and Sal begin dating, for a bit, but ultimately break up at multiple points. This is because first and foremost, Didi’s trying to navigate life and make her own decisions. Figure out what she wants.    

[deloresisout]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

REPOST, DON’T REBLOG

BASICS !

FULL NAME. Salvatore Frederico Scozzari NICKNAME. Sal. Sally. GENDER. Male HEIGHT. 5′10″ AGE. 69 ZODIAC. Leo SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English. Italian. Grew up knowing some Yiddish from local residents/friends - he’s rusty with it now. Adequate Spanish. He’d like to learn more languages, but he’s lazy.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS !

HAIR COLOR. Grey, used to be black EYE COLOR. Brown SKIN TONE. White. Not pale, not porcelain, just a standard white. He can survive in the sun without burning badly. BODY TYPE. Sal is a stocky, rotund guy in his old age. When he’s in his 30s/40s he’s still stocky, but he’s REALLY built. ACCENT. American / A “Vintage” Brooklyn Accent VOICE. I have finally have come to terms with the fact Sal sounds like Ed Asner. DOMINANT HAND. Left. POSTURE. He tries to walk as erect as possible so he doesn’t seem like an old man ‘leaning over, wobbling.’ Standing UPRIGHT is a matter of pride. SCARS. He has a scar from where he was hit with a bullet at the chest. There is a surgical scar on his left leg as well as a small slash on his stomach from a juvenile fight. Sal claims these are the biggest ones he recognizes. Then there’s little scars - from being scratched by his cat for food or attention. TATTOOS. None in main, but applicable in his millennial verse. On his neck he has a sizable $ (for $al) at his left arm he has a tattoo of Trojan Warriors at war, on this right arm he has a 8 Ball with blazing cards, there’s also a small matching tattoo with Didi on his inner arm. It’s the King symbol with a K, a Spade, and a crown above it. Atop his hand is a snarling wolf. Then, on his back there’s two swords crossed. Over them, it says MOLON LABE.  MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). He has a mole under his left eye, thick eyebrows, a very large nose, and a very full (and thick) head of hair despite his age.

CHILDHOOD !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Brownsville, Brooklyn HOMETOWN. Bensonhurst, Brooklyn FIRST WORDS. ‘Ma!!!’ or, ‘Gimme!!’   SIBLINGS. His biological father has a daughter, but Sal’s never genuinely acknowledged her as a sibling. Or got to know her for that matter. He kind of regrets it as a old man. PARENTS. Patricia Scozzari & Franco Custonaci PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. Sal is the product of a fling. His father was never involved with him. His mother was neglectful and resentful of his existence and, often wanting to seem childless in public, she unknowingly installed an early sense of independence in Sal. That, ‘I DON’T NEED ANYBODY BUT MYSELF! I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF LIKE AN ADULT!’ independence that stuck with him for most of his life. When his mother was murdered, Sal (16 years old at the time) was sent to live with his aunt in Bensonhurst. She was strict and wanted to be an adequate mother-figure. However, having someone ‘telling him what to do’ made Sal uncomfortable and literally run from her affection a few times, but he always came back. Eventually, the two became close.  

ADULT LIFE !

OCCUPATION. Head of The Cannizaro Crime Family. “A Business Man,” he claims. CURRENT RESIDENCE. Jericho, Long Island CLOSE FRIENDS. CIRO / @armsdealing​, who he befriended as a teenager in Bensonhurst. FISCHEL, who he knew as a small child in Brownsville / @dirtiedhands​. ZIVA / @fbiartist​​ not actually a CLOSE friend, he kind of sees her as family, however he’s inclined to call her a ‘lunch buddy.’ ADRIANO. / An old friend from Bensonhurst who never got into organized crime. He runs a Jazz Station. RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Married. FINANCIAL STATUS. Rich af. DRIVER’S LICENSE. Yes. CRIMINAL RECORD. Criminal Tax Fraud in the late 80s. VICES. Pride. Greed. Gluttony.

SEX AND ROMANCE !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. Heteromantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive  |  DOMINANT  |  switch   PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. Submissive  |  DOMINANT  |  switch LIBIDO. High, if we’re talking about young Sal. Low, in terms of current Sal. TURN ONS. Very feminine women that are composed, kind, ‘trustworthy.’ Perfume. Jewelry - or rather, women wearing jewelry HE bought them. HEAVY praise. TURN OFFS. Dominant people. Theatrics (although he can be prone to them). People who talk excessively. (although he talks just to talk.) Basically any traits he has in an attractive person, he ironically hates it. LOVE LANGUAGE. Quality Time RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. In his youth, when Sal was actually head over heels for a woman  (not in lust w/ a woman) he would always unintentionally spend his free time around them. It’s clear he’s into them, he doesn’t have to say it. Gradually, the more attached he becomes, he gains a one-track mind and unknowingly desires them to give words of approval. When young, he is incredibly high strung. He gives, A LOT. He aims to surprise, ALL THE TIME. He’s looking for more vulnerable emotional needs to be fulfilled and when people don’t return it, he’s usually low-key devastated but downplays it. When he’s older - he’s more chilled out, but he’s very protective. A trait that’s always been apart of him when it comes to relationships.

MISCELLANEOUS !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. THE WARNING (PART II) HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. People watching. Attending baseball games. Reading newspapers/doing crossword puzzles. MENTAL ILLNESSES. N/A. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. Diabetic. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. Probably left-brained. FEARS. Elevators, ventriloquy. SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. Sal has a lot of pride and confidence in himself - however, he simultaneously has a few deep-rooted insecurities that peak out at certain times. VULNERABILITIES. For years he felt that the sure way to hurt him would be to hurt Delores. In fact, Delores HERSELF could EASILY shatter him with some sort of betrayal. His children and grandchildren. Talking about his biological family’s flaws.                                             ( Originally from asilverjackal. ) 

[streetsofsecretswegone]

So when Nick was growing up...

There was a particularly bad experience in his childhood in which the young son of one of Sal’s associates got into a argument with him and called him a slur. This was directly after the kid told Nick that he was going to grow up to be a ‘nobody.’ Nick promptly beat him badly and it fueled his youthful disdain for the Cannizaro family.  By the time Sal was in jail, he knew that his dad’s crime family didn’t give a shit about him or his mama so! yeah! He HAD to take his dad’s role and be a provider.

Nick started making BIG PLANS for himself in December, once school was out for the holidays (because Delores would have killed him for being a drop out.) He knew the holidays were going to be different without his dad around, and he also knew that there wouldn’t be any wide-scale gift giving. He even wanted Bianca to have ‘everything’ she ever wanted since she was basically a baby at the time. Nick tried to handle Sal’s business by collecting money from people who owed him. Adults didn’t take him seriously at first, so he ended up breaking one man’s leg with a baseball bat to show he was SERIOUS.  This debt collecting didn’t last too long though. Because Sal wasn’t lending money to anybody while he was in jail. And when Delores found out that he was brutalizing adults, she told him to stop that!

By the summer of that following year, Cassandra wanted to acquire her own money for personal things. She confronted Nick like: ‘🤔 we should become rappers. we could probably market off being sibling rivals.’ He thought it was stupid af. Cass even insisted they could make money by TOURING but Nick wondered who tf would look after their mom and Bianca. Soooo... He decided to deliver pizzas, yet because he was a teenager I’d say his work ethic was on par with Mookie from Do The Right Thing. He actually met some other baby gangsters through these deliveries. 

[wesleyhill]

Hagar the Theologian

A homily on Genesis 21:8-21, preached at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Pittsburgh, on the Third Sunday after Pentecost 2020

I would speak to you in the name of God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Our Old Testament reading for this morning is disturbingly resonant with contemporary headlines, isn’t it? An African woman is divorced by her wealthy and powerful husband and is left to try to keep her child alive by herself.

When we meet her in today’s lesson, Hagar the Egyptian is a slave to the patriarch Abraham and his wife Sarah. Abraham, remember, was called by God when he was a moon-worshiper in Ur of the Chaldeans, and God made Abraham a promise that he would become the ancestor of many nations. “Look towards heaven,” God said to Abraham, “and count the stars, if you are able to count them…. So shall your descendants be” (Gen. 15:5). And Abraham believed this promise, and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.

But then time starts to pass, and Abraham’s wife Sarah becomes impatient. At 76 or 77 years old, Sarah says to her husband, “You see that the Lord has prevented me from bearing children” (16:2). So Sarah concocts a plan. She arranges for Abraham to marry her Egyptian slave-girl Hagar, thinking that if Hagar becomes pregnant, the son that she bears for Abraham will be his heir. Maybe that is the way God intends the promise of offspring to be fulfilled.

Abraham agrees to this plan, and he conceives a child with Hagar, and immediately this creates bad blood between Hagar and Sarah, Abraham’s two wives. Sarah complains to Abraham, “I gave my slave-girl to your embrace, and when she saw that she had conceived, she looked on me with contempt” (16:5). Abraham, in effect, throws up his hands and tries to step away from the situation. “Your slave-girl is in your power,” he tells Sarah; “do to her as you please” (16:6). And Sarah does. She “deals harshly with her” (16:6), and Hagar flees.

By the time of our reading this morning, Hagar has had her son, Ishmael, and has returned to her mistress Sarah. Sarah, too, has finally had a son, a miracle child, Isaac. At the opening of our reading, Sarah sees Ishmael “playing” with her son Isaac (21:9). It’s hard to know what exactly is in view here. Some Bible readers have wondered if there are sexual connotations in this word, so that what Ishmael is doing with Isaac perhaps amounts to some kind of sexual abuse. Other readers have pointed out that, in the original Hebrew, the word for play sounds very similar to Isaac’s name — so Ishmael may be “Isaac-ing,” which is to say, “playing as if he were Isaac,” jostling for the position of the true heir, and trying to displace his half-brother.

Whatever the case, Sarah, Abraham’s first wife, reacts with jealous fury. She turns to Abraham and says, “Cast out this slave woman with her son; for the son of this slave woman shall not inherit along with my son Isaac” (21:10). Sarah can’t even bring herself to say their names. She reacts without pity and without mercy. It was Sarah’s plan in the first place for Hagar to have a son, but now that Isaac is on the scene, Sarah doesn’t want to share what she views as her son’s rightful inheritance. So Hagar and Ishmael have to go.

Perhaps most disturbingly of all is the way God seems to side with Sarah in ejecting Hagar and Ishmael. God says to Abraham: “whatever Sarah says to you, do as she tells you, for it is through Isaac that offspring shall be named after you” (21:12). Not only is Hagar losing her human community; she seems also to be losing her God.

The next morning, Abraham gets up early, and he gives Hagar and Ishmael a bit of bread and a container full of water and sends them off into the desert. With minimal provisions and an unforgiving landscape ahead of them, Hagar and Ishmael are going to their death.

A story like this is so familiar to many of us that we can easily ignore how unbearably tragic it is. Martin Luther, the Protestant Reformer, lingers over the tragedy of it: “Surely this is a piteous account, which I can scarcely read with dry eyes, that the mother and son so patiently bear their ejection and wander into exile. And so Father Abraham either stood there weeping, following the wanderers with his blessings and prayers, or else he hid by himself off in a corner, where he cried over his own fate and that of the exiles." 

With barely enough provisions to survive for a handful of days, the African slave woman and her son are banished into the wilderness to suffer death alone.

The feminist Old Testament scholar Phyllis Trible, in her classic book Texts of Terror, writes this about Hagar: “As one of the first females in scripture to experience use, abuse, and rejection, Hagar the Egyptian slave claims our attention.” Trible wrote those words in 1984. How much more are they true today! Hagar claims our attention in 2020 too because we know Hagar’s face. We who live in the era of #MeToo and Black Lives Matter, we know about victimized women of color. It’s no wonder that Delores Williams says: “The African-American community has taken Hagar’s story unto itself. Hagar has “spoken” to generation after generation of black women because her story has been validated as true by suffering black people. She and Ishmael together, as family, model many black American families in which a lone woman/mother struggles to hold the family together in spite of the poverty to which the ruling class economics consign it. Hagar, like many black women, goes into the wide world to make a living for herself and her child, with only God by her side.”

And yet, for me, the worst part of this whole story is that God doesn’t seem to be by Hagar’s side. God seems to have abandoned Hagar and her son to suffer their fate. Martin Luther says that if you read the story from Hagar’s perspective, it looks for all the world like even God has forsaken Hagar. God is the friend of Abraham, so if Abraham divorces Hagar and sends her out into the desert to die, then why would she not think that God is the one breaking faith with her and sending her out to die?

And isn’t that where so many of us today live our lives too — in the fear or the dread certainty that God has indeed written us off and left us to suffer our fate alone? It’s no wonder so many people in our world today can identify with Hagar’s story. As Phyllis Trible says, “[A]ll sorts of rejected women find their stories in [Hagar]. She is the faithful maid exploited, the black woman used by the male and abused by the female of the ruling class, the surrogate mother, the resident alien without legal recourse, the other woman, the runaway youth, the religious fleeing from affliction, the pregnant young woman alone, the expelled wife, the divorced mother with child, the shopping bag lady carrying bread and water, the homeless woman, the indigent relying upon handouts from the power structures, the welfare mother, and the self-effacing female whose own identity shrinks in service to others.”

And, if all that weren’t enough, Hagar is the Godforsaken. She is the one for whom God is not there, not present, not ready and available to help and to save.

Eventually the water that Abraham had given to Hagar runs out. All her options now exhausted, Hagar leaves her son under a bush. Then she walks away from him so that she won’t have to watch him die of dehydration, and she begins to cry out and weep.

But this is not the first time Hagar has found herself in exile. When she fled from her mistress Sarah’s harsh treatment on a previous occasion, she had also ended up in the wilderness. Hagar had run out to the desert, and God had met her there. God had found her, and just like God did with Abraham, God made a promise to Hagar that her son, Ishmael, would be a great nation too, so numerous “that they cannot be counted for multitude” (16:10). And then, absolutely remarkably, Hagar had spoken to the Lord and even dared to give the Lord a name: “You are El-roi.” Then she said, “Have I really seen God and remained alive after seeing him?” (16:13). The Hebrew name that Hagar gave to God means “God of seeing,” or, we could translate it, “the God who is seen.”

This is an absolutely stunning moment in the plotline of the Bible. Hagar the African, Hagar the slave, Hagar the Egyptian foreigner in the household of Abraham, received her own vision of God, apart from her mistress and her husband. She beheld God, and she dared to give God a name. In biblical religion, no one is able to see God and live (Exod. 33:20). And yet Hagar saw God. God revealed himself to Hagar.

As I was reading the story of Hagar’s exile again this week to prepare for this sermon, I found myself thinking back to a parable of sorts from the Christian philosopher Basil Mitchell. Mitchell asks us to imagine a country under military occupation. There is a group of resistance fighters who are trying to stand up for what’s right in this occupied territory, and one night, one of the members of the resistance meets a stranger. “The Stranger tells the partisan that he himself is on the side of the resistance — indeed, that he is in command of it, and urges the partisan to have faith in him no matter what happens.” That turns out to be easier said than done, because although the resistance fighter trusts the Stranger, the Stranger does a lot of things that seem to call that trust into question. “Sometimes he is seen in the uniform of the police handing over patriots to the occupying power,” and in moments like that, it is nearly impossible to go on trusting the Stranger. But he does. He does trust, and it is precisely the disparity or mismatch between his faith and the way the Stranger behaves “which constitutes the trial of his faith.”[1] What the resistance fighter has to do is appeal to what he knows about the Stranger from their first meeting over against what he sees of the Stranger’s behavior in the present. He has to tell himself, “Even though it doesn’t always look like it, the Stranger is on my side.”

That is exactly what is happening as Hagar cries out on behalf of her dying child Ishmael. She has already seen God. God has already met with her and made a promise to her. Now it looks like that promise was a lie and God has abandoned her to die. But Hagar won’t accept that. Instead she weeps and “lift[s] up her voice” (21:16). Hagar doesn’t acquiesce to her circumstances; she protests. She laments. She asks, in spite of all appearances, for help.

One of the saints of the church, Bishop Isidore of Seville, once said that what Hagar was doing as she cried there in the desert was crying out (unbeknownst to her) to Jesus, who hung forsaken by God on a tree. Bishop Isidore says that it is no accident that as Hagar cries out, her son is lying under a tree. She left him there under a shrub or bush, but if you look closely, says St. Isidore, that bush is a tree — the tree: the tree where slaves have been lynched, the tree where criminals have been hanged, the tree that represents all the misery and evil of our violent world, the tree to which God’s feet and hands were nailed outside Jerusalem over two thousand years ago. Although everything in her present experience seems to say that God has left her to die alone, Hagar appeals to the God of the cross. If you like, Hagar appeals to God against God. (As Luther says, biblical faith is “to press toward God against God and to call out.”) Hagar runs for refuge to the God revealed in the suffering and death of the cross, even as she flees from the God who is hidden, inscrutable, and terrifying.

And then the text says: “God heard the voice of the boy,” as he lies there under the cross. “[A]nd the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven, and said to her, ‘What troubles you, Hagar? Do not be afraid; for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is” (21:17). “Then God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water. She went, and filled the skin with water, and gave the boy a drink” (21:19).

I don’t know what kind of wilderness you may be wandering in this morning. I don’t know what shadow or foretaste of death you may be facing. Whatever it is, hear the word of “Hagar the theologian” (Trible): When you are rejected, when you even feel abandoned by God himself, there is hope. God is in the wilderness, and God is to be found there, on the tree, suffering with you, bringing you salvation, and redeeming your life from the grave. Trust God. Trust the God of the tree. Trust the God revealed in the cross of Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

[1] See Fleming Rutledge, And God Spoke to Abraham, pp. 225-32.

[asilverjackal]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

basics !

FULL NAME. Salvatore Frederico Scozzari NICKNAME. Sal. Sally.  GENDER. Male HEIGHT. 5′10″ AGE. 69 ZODIAC. Leo SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English. Italian. Grew up knowing some Yiddish from local residents/friends - he’s rusty with it now. Adequate Spanish. He’d like to learn more languages, but he’s lazy.

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR. Grey, used to be black EYE COLOR. Brown SKIN TONE. White. Not pale, not porcelain, just a standard white. He can survive in the sun without burning badly. BODY TYPE. Sal is a stocky, rotund guy in his old age. When he’s in his 30s/40s he’s still stocky, but he’s really built.  ACCENT. American / A “Vintage” Brooklyn Accent VOICE. Sometimes I say it’s De Niro. Other times I say, ‘that’s a goddamn lie Sal sounds like Ed Asner.’ DOMINANT HAND. Left. POSTURE. He tries to walk as erect as possible so he doesn’t seem like an old man ‘leaning over, wobbling.’ Standing upright is a matter of pride. SCARS. He has a scar from where he was hit with a bullet at the chest. There is a surgical scar on his left leg as well as a small slash on his stomach from a juvenile fight. Sal claims these are the biggest ones he recognizes. Then there’s little scars - from being scratched by his cat for food or attention.  TATTOOS. None in main, but applicable in his millennial verse, in which he eventually (way later down the line) has a small matching tattoo with Didi on his inner arm. It’s the King symbol - a K, a Spade, and a crown above it.  MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). He has a mole under his left eye, thick eyebrows, a very large nose, and a very full (and thick) head of hair despite his age. 

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Brownsville, Brooklyn HOMETOWN. Bensonhurst, Brooklyn FIRST WORDS. ‘Ma!!!’ or, ‘Gimme!!’   SIBLINGS. His biological father has a daughter, Arianna, but Sal’s never genuinely acknowledged her as a sibling. Or got to know her for that matter. He kind of regrets it as a old man. PARENTS. Patricia Scozzari & Franco Custonaci PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. Sal is the product of a fling. His father was never involved with him. His mother was neglectful and resentful of his existence and, often wanting to seem childless in public, she unknowingly installed an early sense of independence in Sal. That, ‘I don’t need anybody but myself! I can take care of myself like an adult!’ independence that stuck with him for most of his life. When his mother was murdered by a jilted lover, Sal (16 years old at the time) was sent to live with his aunt in Bensonhurst. She was strict and wanted to be an adequate mother-figure. However, having someone ‘telling him what to do’ made Sal uncomfortable and literally run from her affection a few times, but he always came back. And eventually, the two became close.  

adult life !

OCCUPATION. Head of The Cannizaro Crime Family. “A Business Man,” he claims. CURRENT RESIDENCE. Jericho, Long Island CLOSE FRIENDS. Ciro / @armsdealing, who he befriended as a teenager in Bensonhurst. Fischel, who he knew as a small child in Brownsville / @noiseofthunder. Ziva / @fbiartist​ not actually a close friend, he kind of sees her as family, however he’s inclined to call her a ‘lunch buddy.’ Adriano. / An old friend from Bensonhurst who never got into organized crime. He runs a Jazz Station.  RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Married. FINANCIAL STATUS. Rich af. DRIVER’S LICENSE. Yes. CRIMINAL RECORD. Criminal Tax Fraud in the late 80s. VICES. Pride. Greed. Gluttony.

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. Heteromantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive  |  dominant  |  switch   PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. Submissive  |  dominant  |  switch LIBIDO. High, if we’re talking about young Sal. Low, in terms of current Sal. TURN ONS. Very feminine women that are composed, kind, ‘trustworthy.’ Perfume. Jewelry - or rather, women wearing jewelry he bought them. Heavy praise. And things that shant be mentioned here, sorry Grunk. TURN OFFS. Dominant people. Theatrics (although he can be prone to them). People who talk excessively. (although he talks just to talk.)  LOVE LANGUAGE. Quality Time  RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. In his youth, when Sal was actually head over heels for someone (not in lust w/ someone) he would always unintentionally spend his free time around them. Gradually, the more attached he’s becoming, he gains a one-track mind and unknowingly desires them to give words of approval. When young, he is incredibly high strung. He gives, a lot. He aims to surprise, all the time. When he’s older - he’s more chilled out, but he’s very protective and will easily become feisty if someone disrespects Delores in front of him.

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. The Warning (Part II)  HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. People watching. Attending baseball games. Reading newspapers/doing crossword puzzles. Reading books. MENTAL ILLNESSES. N/A. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. Diabetic. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. Probably left-brained. FEARS. Elevators, ventriloquy. SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. Sal has a lot of pride and confidence in himself - however, he simultaneously has a few deep-rooted insecurities that peak out at certain times.  VULNERABILITIES. For years he felt that the sure way to hurt him would be to hurt Delores. In fact, Delores herself could easily shatter him with some sort of betrayal. His children and grandchildren. Talking about his biological family’s flaws.

tagged by: @pcplarstreet​ tagging: the person with 5 drafts reading this

[elizabeth-234]

A Night She won’t Soon Forget

Hi all! Hope you are doing well. Thank you to those who are reading and enjoy :)

Previous Chapter Four: A Day Gone Wrong

Chapter Five: A Day She Receives Some News

Soot dislodged from a clump clinging to the side of the fireplace. Penny dug the shovel underneath and scooped the particles up, coughing as they floated into the air. She dropped the pile into the bucket and after sweeping out the remainder of the soot, pushed herself to her feet and stared at the finished work.

Penny wiped a hand across her forehead hoping none of the soot smeared on her face, but as she picked up the bucket to bring it to the back to empty it, noticed the dark stains on her shirt and pants, not to mention her fingernails were encrusted with the ashes. She could smell the burnt, dark scent on herself and scrunched her nose.

With a shake of her head, Penny felt through the material of her shirt and traced the outline of the letter from Ned. It was safe, tucked away and hidden there. There was no time to place it in her tin upstairs and, if she was being honest, it was comforting to feel the paper against her skin throughout the day.

She couldn’t read most of the words but in the corner, Ned drew a picture of the fireplace in his new home. One similar to the one she’d cleaned moments before, though this one was full of a light and a roaring fire. Stockings hung down from the ledge filled with different names. It was a proud discovery. Ned had taught her how to write and read his name, and his moniker was one of the first things she’d noticed on the picture.

Penny wondered why he was sending her a drawing of their drying socks, but it was Ned and he’d always had a wild imagination. Though, she’d much rather he was there with her, at least the card was a perfect Christmas present.

Her only present this year.

Soot shaped fingerprints stained the edges of the letter and she shoved it back into its nesting place at her side to prevent further damage. Work needed to be done and she couldn’t sit around woolgathering all day. With new determination to finish up Penny grabbed the bucket and her tools.

Penny slid down the wall between hers and Ned’s bed. She liked to image Ned was out running errands. That he would come back dripping with snow and wearing a smile as they giggled across the gap late into the night.

Her hand cupped her shoulder, rubbing the bones and muscles. She placed them with deliberateness to cover the large imprints with her own smaller digits. The purple marks peeked out from under her hand, dark ghostly fingers still clutching at her skin.

Penny shivered as her thoughts turned to her time alone in the basement.

Her fingers trembled. She took the letter out hoping for a distraction. The paper rustled even with her careful finger placement around the edges, hoping not to get anymore soot on it. She looked at the picture again. Four socks hanging from the fireplace. One was significantly smaller than the one with Ned’s name…

Dorothy giggled causing Penny to push to the letter to her chest. She stared at the girls playing a game of dice in the corner of the dormer while her heart calmed its racing rhythm. Dorothy and the other boy had to keep switching teams because the dice set wasn’t complete. Keeping a glare off her face Penny looked back to her letter.

“Shit.” Her face paled at the stain in the center of the paper right where she laid it on her shirt.

“No, no, no” she said waving her hand in the air over it trying to get it off but not willing to touch it further. She stared down at it, seeing only Ned’s disappointed face. One she might never see again.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Ned’s bed stood mockingly next to her. Her face had almost split when he’d told her the news.

His face red with a combination of the news and running up the stairs. She’d laughed at his attempts to get the words out, thinking one of the kids had done something stupid again.

“I’m… Penny, I’m being adopted.” He’d said with such abandoned glee. His face the most open, eyes wide with delight, that she’d ever seen him with.

And she smiled…. And smiled some more, squealing with Ned. They jumped up and down in the dormer hugging one another all while Penny’s heart broke and her flame dimmed.

Betty came running into the room, cheeks red and yelled at them all, bringing Penny out of her reverie.

“Everyone make yourself presentable. She’s back and we’re supposed to be downstairs.”

The group playing stopped and stared at Betty who put her hands on her hips and did her best impression of Mrs. Delores.

“Don’t just stand there. Get moving.” She snapped grabbing her shoes and exited the room.

Everyone in the dormer clambered around the sink. Penny looked at herself and the letter, which she stuffed back into her shirt. A creeping itch entered her limbs and Penny shifted where she was sitting. The lady was here again and she looked like a little child of the woods covered in cinder and dirt. She left a lingering gaze at the line to the mirror before sighing and brushing down her clothes as best she could.

At the base of the stairs, Penny stood behind Dorothy at the back.

“In line everyone. Get in line. John, keep your hands to yourself and stand next to Betty.” Mrs. Delores fussed with Betty’s tie on her blouse and glared at the rest of them. She turned and walked back to the lady standing in the entry hall.

The two women sized up the children in front of them. Penny, who was squished between the wall and Flash looked at her shoes.

“Now. As I’m sure your aware we have a guest.” Mrs. Delores said the word in such a manner Penny was certain was not complementary. “As such you need to shut up and listen.”

The lady’s mouth opened at the harsh language but stopped when a few children giggled under their breaths. She stepped forward and surveyed them with kind eyes. Penny looked at her from under her bangs. Her hand unconsciously played with the end of her hair.

Today she was wearing a masculine styled hat. A fedora, Penny thought, remembering the one Ned looked at in the window of one of the stores they passed on their way to get groceries. This one had a small black feather sticking out the back toward the ceiling. Her outfit coordinated between the buttoned coat and skirt. Her heels clicked against the wood of the entry way and for the first time Penny was happy she’d cleaned the floors.

“Alright, um, thank you for that introduction.” She said with scrunch of her nose. “My name is Pepper Potts and I’m here on behalf of my boss. Is it alright if I talk to you, one on one?”


“What for lady?” Someone, John, spoke up. The others snickered at his words and waited to hear the reaction. Mrs. Delores face blushed deep at John’s gall.

“Well, we’re trying to find someone very special. Someone who would be able to come home with us for the holidays, if possible.” Whispering started and in haste she added. “My boss has been looking to help underprivileged youths in the city and so we’ve come here. Will you cooperate?”

Penny wasn’t sure what underprivileged meant but from the tone the lady used it seemed like something to describe them. It didn’t sound positive.

Most everyone nodded and the lady, Mrs. Potts, turned to Mrs. Delores.

“I’ll be using your office if you have no objections.”

Mrs. Delores’s mouth opened along with a vein throbbing on her forward but voiced no objections and Penny found herself on the stairs waiting her turn. She watched as the other children went into the office, grins on their faces instead of grimaces. A day without chores would do that.

The ones waiting around Penny whispered questions that mirrored her thoughts about Mrs. Potts. Who was she? What did she mean she wanted to take someone home? Why was she wearing a man’s hat?

A steady stream of children entered and exited the room. Some children’s interviews lasted mere minutes while others dragged on until finally it was Penny’s turn.

She brushed down her shirt, took a full breath in, and pushed the door open. Mrs. Potts sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and gestured to the chair next to her when she saw Penny. Penny slid into it, careful to sit up with correct posture on the edge and not spread the soot anywhere.

Under the attention of the woman’s stare Penny fidgeted, clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap. She peered up and the women smiled causing a flush to rise on her neck and cheeks.

She noticed the woman’s eyes remaining on her clothes. Penny crossed her arms in front of her chest to block the soot from view.

“I’m- I’m real sorry about my appearance, Ma’am.”

She waved with a soft smile.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Penny, right?”
Penny nodded. “Well, Penny, you don’t have to worry about calling me ma’am or Mrs. Potts. It would be Ms. Potts anyway and I would prefer Pepper. I’m curious about you? The others have told me all about themselves and I was wondering if you felt comfortable doing the same?”

Penny thought of everything she could say. All the great things she’d told herself all the parents, her parents, were missing, but under Mrs. Potts’s smile she knew she had to tell the truth.

“I’m not special. There’s a reason I’m at Midtown, Ms. Potts, and I don’t want to show myself off as something I’m not. I’m just Penny and I’m sure your boss would want someone much better.”

Penny tugged her fingers until she heard a pop. She squeezed her fingers together knowing a dismissal was on its way.  

“Penny, I’m not sure who told you all of that but the person I see in front of me is very different than the person you described.”

Penny furrowed her brow and glared with skepticism. Mrs. Potts laughed at the face and took a plate off of the desk.

“Have a cookie, Penny.”

Penny grabbed a cookie not hungry but wanting to save it for later.

Mrs. Potts stood up and the interview was over. Penny followed her to the door. She glanced back and her stomach clenched. Had she really said all that? Had she really sabotaged this chance to get away like she did everything else in her life?

The knot in her stomach grew the closer she got to the door. She felt like everything was slipping away from her. That she had just been standing at the edge of a great flame and, too scared it would burn, she ran away.

With heels clicking, Ms. Potts opened the door and with a brief hand on Penny’s shoulder disappeared behind the door

Someone called out to her asking how it went but Penny ignored them and ran up the stairs. She stared at Ned’s empty one from her own spot under the covers realizing he would never be back and she was stuck here. Alone with her runaway mouth.  

-

Snow flurried on the breeze and into the doorway Penny was emerging from. Her bare hands gripped the buttons of her shirt. They shook from the temperature, impeding her from buttoning the ones with buttons still attached.

With a growl she stuffed her hands into her pockets, grasping the grocery list in her left hand and bringing them together to keep the wind out.

Someone laughed and Penny froze before looking up. Ms. Potts stood at their gate bundled up in an outfit perfect for the opera. She giggled again, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, at her lame attempt to button her over shirt. Penny blushed and tried to cross her arms in front of her, though it didn’t quite work with her hands in her pockets.

Ms. Potts walked forward up the path from the gate. The furs lining her coat to caught more snow particles making them look like sparkles emanating from her.

“I really shouldn’t laugh, Penny, but you made the most darling sound just now.” She said and smiled.

Like the last time the woman put her hand on Penny’s shoulder, her eyes closed automatically but she managed not to flinch this time. She didn’t expect the warm feeling coursing through her chest to arise again. Not when she knew the women was not here for her. When she opened her eyes, Ms. Potts was glaring at the over shirt she wore.

“Please tell me this is not what passes for a winter coat these days?” She sniped.

Penny pressed her hands closer together, straining the fabric a bit but covering herself more against the elements.

“No, of course not. I just didn’t bother putting something heavier.” She hoped the blush on her cheeks wouldn’t give away her lie. It seemed the lie, punctuated by a shiver was found out instantly. Ms. Potts clicked her tongue and caught Penny by the shoulder changing her trajectory in one warm, almost hug.

“We’ll see about that.” she said and led them inside.

All different protests came to mind, but in a bout of shyness Penny remained silent as she seemed to be prone to when Ms. Potts was around.

She, along with Penny dragged behind her, burst into Mrs. Delores’s office, interrupting the woman’s afternoon work.

Mrs. Delores woke with a start and at the sight of them her jaw gaped.

“I thought I gave you things to get, girl?” She said before turning her hard expression to Ms. Potts.

Penny opened her mouth but her captor went full steam ahead.

“Be that as it may, I asked Penny here to guide me to the office and now she’s done that most excellently I would ask that she wait in the hallway. Thank you, Penny.”

It was directed at Penny but Ms. Potts gaze never left the woman behind the desk. Penny nodded trying to smile but ended up grimacing.

She sat on the bench across from the closed door and wondered what they were talking about. It was unheard of for someone to talk to Mrs. Delores that way; to put her in her place so politely. The set down would make her in a terrible mood but it couldn’t erase the smile off of Penny’s face.  

The list of supplies remained clenched in her hands and Penny waited.

When the door opened a sigh escaped her even when it was Mrs. Delores and not Ms. Potts.

“Get inside.” She said and pointed into the room. Penny didn’t think she’d been inside the office so much before.

Ms. Potts sat down with an untouched cup of tea in front of her. Her smile was full, real, and so much like the one she gave Penny the first time they’d met. Penny stood in the center of the carpet and waited for instructions from Mrs. Delores. Without looking away from her, something that was making Penny fidget, Ms. Potts asked Mrs. Delores to give them the room.

Mrs. Delores’s face turned an ugly shade of maroon but she left without a peep. The door slammed behind her though Ms. Potts pretended she didn’t hear.

They sat in the same chairs as last time. Penny waited for something to happen, for anything to to be said or for her to be sent on her way. She was almost glad Mrs. Delores sent her out without breakfast because her stomach was doing loops as the silence progressed.

“I think the first thing we’ll have to do is sort you out some new clothes. A real winter jacket, preferably one in a jeweled eggplant tone perhaps. That would go beautifully with your hair. And don’t worry it will be warmer than that excuse for a coat.” Ms. Potts sniffed at the jacket she was wearing.

Penny couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t.

“Ms. Potts with all due respect my hair is not beau- Wait, what do you mean new clothes?”

“Of course, your hair is beautiful. I’ve spent hours getting my hair done to have curls like yours, although it may need to be grown out a little before we can cut it properly. But I’ve gotten ahead of myself, haven’t I? Tony always says I do.” She said with a smile before getting back to business. “Well, you do remember the last time I came to visit? Yes, I thought you might. We, as in my boss and me, have decided that you, that is, if you want to, will come and live with us for the holidays. As a sort of foster program, if you will.”

For the first time Ms. Potts didn’t look at her and her words flowed not with the ease they had before but with a measured character Penny would puzzle over later.

Her mind raced. They were talking about her? The Penny who had met the woman with soot stains everywhere. The same Penny who told Ms. Potts she was under no circumstances special. The one who fell victim to her anger and peer pressure. The one whose hair was not beautiful. The Penny whose parents didn’t want her.

“I…” Her words failed her. Tears collected on her bottom lashes and she clenched the grocery list in her hands no longer trembling from the cold.  

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ms. Potts whispered and enveloped Penny in her arms.

Her tears came slow and thick, not ready to be fully released yet. She was stiff under the arms but Penny was melting on the inside. Ned was the last person to hug her and she missed them so much. She pulled back to look at the lady who had her own watery eyes.

“Why?” She whispered.

“For all the reasons you told me last time, my sweet girl.  Because you’re Penny and that is more than I could have hoped for.” She winked at Penny who was blushing from being called sweet. With a tentative, tight smile Penny rubbed her cheeks with the back of her sleeve.

She looked at the door expecting Mrs. Delores to come running in yelling ‘gotcha!’

The door remained closed.

“Would you like to join us for the holidays, Penny?” She said, leaning forward.

The question was more complicated than it seemed. Penny felt like she was being asked to jump out of the dorm window without knowing there would be something to break her fall. She felt like she was standing before the fire again and with one wrong move she would burn up into nothing.

Penny wondered if Ms. Potts was confused or if it was some weird rich people thing.

Why her?

The question it appeared wouldn’t be answered but the soft look in Ms. Potts’s eyes was enough for now. There was a wide hope springing from them and onto Penny that had her reckless with it.

“I…I think I would like that very much.”

Mrs. Potts smiled and touched her shoulder for the third and softest time. Penny leaned into the warmth.

Mrs. Delores came back into the room with eyes narrowed and metaphorical battle clothes on.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” She said to Ms. Potts.

“Naturally not. Penny has accepted and, though I won’t be able to take her with me tonight, she will be there tomorrow, for Christmas day.”

Penny’s heart leapt.

Mrs. Delores sneered and sat behind the desk, flourishing her pen as she signed the various documents from Ms. Potts. Penny sat further to the edge of her seat, eyes trained on Mrs. Delores.

They talked over various points in the documents but Penny tuned them out. Instead she traced the words on her grocery list repeatedly.

When they were done, Ms. Potts looked over and brushed a curl from Penny’s face. She gathered her gloves and hat.

“Don’t worry, my sweet girl. I’ll be back tomorrow. Say about eleven? Will you have your bags packed and everything? Good. Until then.” She straightened her hat and put on her gloves, then looked at Mrs. Delores. “I expect Penny to be in the same condition as I left her today. Do you understand?”

Mrs. Delores clenched her jaw and merely said, “I’m sure you can see yourself out.”

The stared at each other before Ms. Potts marched out of the room and building. Penny wished she could disappear right then and there as Mrs. Delores’s venomous look landed on her.

“I bet you think you’re so lucky. Don’t you, girl? Well here’s a newsflash, that woman, those people, don’t give a shit about you. They’re going to use you, ain’t they? I can see it in your face. You know they will. And like all of us on the bottom of the barrel, once they’re done, you’ll be right back here with us.”

Penny shook her head.

“That’s - No, it’s not true.”



“Not true! Imagine that, I have it here in the papers. My sweet girl” Penny flinched at the endearment coming from her mouth. “The Anthony Stark, yeah you’ve heard of him, I knew you have, needs a bump in the numbers. He needs the press to be kind to him and taking an orphan in is just the thing to do it, eh? That’s why they picked you out of everyone. You’re the most pathetic, saddest, sorry excuse for an urchin if I ever seen one. And I have cause I look after you all. Now quite you’re sniveling. I don’t want to look at you until they throw you back with the garbage.”

Penny sobbed into her sleeve and ran out of the room. Mrs. Delores’s smile remaining in her thoughts as she collapsed into bed. She didn’t care if she kept everyone up. She didn’t care if everyone could hear her tears that night.

She tried to remember Ms. Potts’s warm hug and the soft tone she used to say sweet girl and cried harder, hiccupping into the pillow.

It didn’t matter it was Christmas Eve. It didn’t matter Santa never came.

She was alone again. Ned was gone. Mrs. Potts was gone. And her parents were never coming.

Penny shivered from the sheer depth of her anguish. Her throat raw and eyes red manifestations of the feelings welling inside of her.

The other children slept in their beds dreaming of presents and cookies. Penny was left awake thinking about Anthony Stark and the iron mask in his crest pressed into the papers that would change her fate.

The question that kept the sleep at bay was would he be a black knight or chivalrous one?

Notes: Pepper's hat I imagined as either the Robin hood or fedora shape: Here Also, I wanted Pepper to make the distinction between Mrs. and Ms. which the latter gained popularity in the 1900s, though most associated with later 20th century I think Pepper is a modern woman here and would want to be titled as such. You can read more here!

Thank you!!

Taglist: @whatisthou @warmwithafewfrostymoments

Next Chapter Six: 

[blackkudos]

Inez Andrews

Sister Inez Andrews born Inez McConico (April 14, 1929 – December 19, 2012) and better known as Inez Andrews was an American gospel singer, songwriter and recording artist. Her soaring, wide-ranging voice — from contralto croon to soul-wrenching wail — made her a pillar of gospel music. The Chicago Tribune stated that "Andrews' throaty contralto made her low notes thunder, while the enormous range of her instrument enabled her to reach stratospheric pitches without falsetto" and that "her dramatic delivery made her a charismatic presence in church and on stage."

Andrews started singing in the church as a child and performed gospel music on the road in various gospel groups from the 1940s before joining The Caravans in 1957. Fellow member from The Caravans in the 1950s, Shirley Caesar, once dubbed Andrews "The High Priestess" for her ability to hit high notes, and, in 2013, stated, "there never was and never will be another voice like Inez Andrews." Another early member of the Caravans, Albertina Walker often said, "nothing ever worked for the Caravans until Inez started whistling" — hitting the high notes. She sang lead on The Caravans first breakthrough hit, "Mary Don't You Weep", and also had hits as a solo artist with crossover recordings such as "Lord Don't Move The Mountain". (#48 in 1973 on Billboard R&B chart on Song Bird label). She was referred to in 2012 by the New York Times as "the last great female vocalist of gospel's golden age," ranking among the likes of other music legends from the "Golden Era" of Black Gospel (1945–60) - Mahalia Jackson, Marion Williams, Dorothy Love Coates, Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Clara Ward.

Biography

Inez McConico was born in Birmingham, Alabama, United States to Theodore and Pauline McConico. Her mother died when she was two years old. Her father, a coal miner, was often out of work during the Great Depression. Andrews traveled a tough road to gospel stardom. She began singing as a child in church and began songwriting as a young mother in Birmingham. Andrews was working six days a week, ten hours a day for 18 dollars a week, while "washing, ironing, cooking, keep up with the kids." With her busy life in her youth, she felt that life had to have more to offer her. As she pondered that prayerfully, she picked up "a pencil and a brown paper bag" and began to write. Thus began her songwriting career. Andrews began her singing career in the 1940s with two groups in Birmingham, Alabama: Carter's Choral Ensemble and the Original Gospel Harmonettes. By the mid-1950s, the Harmonettes were one of the nation's top gospel groups, with Andrews the understudy for the group's lead singer, Dorothy Love Coates. Coates recommended Andrews to the Caravans, and she eventually moved north to Chicago to become widely known as that group's first successful singer, leading them to the high of their popularity in the 1950s and early 1960s.

In 1962, Andrews left the Caravans to start her own group, Inez Andrews and the Andrewettes. They toured the country performing songs such as "It's in My Heart" and her composition "(Lord I Wonder) What Will Tomorrow Bring?". But by 1967 she was touring as a soloist.

In the 1960s, Andrews solo work and songwriting further ensconced her in the gospel pantheon. Her songs were recorded by many artists, including The Mighty Clouds of Joy and Aretha Franklin. Andrews became one of the major stars of gospel's golden age, with The Caravans songs such as "Lord Keep Me Day By Day", "Remember Me", "I Won't Be Back" and several other hits in which Andrews was lead vocalist, including "Mary Don't You Weep", "I'm Not Tired Yet", "Make It In", "He Won't Deny Me" and "I'm Willing".

In 2006, she released a reunion album with The Caravans, Albertina Walker, Dorothy Norwood, and original soprano Delores Washington, entitled Paved the Way.

Solo career

After a stellar career with the Caravans, she left the group in 1962 and had huge success with her 1972 crossover hit, "Lord Don't Move the Mountain". Andrews recorded on many labels since the 1950s and has many albums and hit songs to her credit, some of which she composed herself. Andrews enjoyed further solo success throughout the 1970s and 1980s with songs such as "Just For Me", "A Sinner's Prayer" and a live 1981 recording of James Cleveland’s hit song "I Appreciate". Andrews claimed to have wrote the gospel standard "No Tears In Heaven" early in her singing career. The writing credits for the song was disputed between her and Sallie Martin whom Andrews claimed wrote down the lyrics to the song while she was singing it at a program. Andrews recorded her version of the song in 1983.

Personal life

Andrews was a dedicated Christian and family person. She raised seven children during her career in gospel music. She died on December 19, 2012, at the age of 83. She had been diagnosed with cancer months earlier. Andrews is survived by seven children, 19 grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren.

Honors and awards

In 2002 Andrews was inducted into the Gospel Hall of Fame. It was announced prior to her death that Andrews would be honoured with the Ambassador Dr. Bobby Jones Legend Award at the 2013 Stellar Awards. The award ended up being presented posthumously.

Discography

Studio albums

1963 - The Need of Prayer

1964 - Letter to Jesus

1972 - Lord Don't Move That Mountain

1975 - This is Not the First Time I've Been Last

1979 - Chapter 5

1980 - A Sinner's Prayer

1981 - I Made a Step

1982 - My Testimony

1984 - Lord Lift Us Up

1986 - Jehovah is His Name

1987 - The Two Sides of Inez Andrews

1988 - If Jesus Came to Your Town Today

198? - Close to Thee

1990 - Lord Lift Us Up

1990 - My Testimony

1990 - I Made a Step in the Right Direction

1990 - Inez Andrews

1991 - Raise Up a Nation

1991 - Shine on Me

Live album

1974 - Live At The Munich Gospel Festival

Compilation albums

1999 - Headline News

2005 - Most Requested Songs

Singles

1972 - "I'm Free" / "Lord Don't Move The Mountain"

1975 - "Help Me" / "God's Humble Servant"

1980 - "I'm Free" / "Lord Don't Move The Mountain" (re-release)

19?? - "Close To Thee"

[streetsofsecrets-a]

                                                LOVE TKO

      Leone Impellizzeri was both the shortest man Delores knew as well as the most vulgar. In another world, Delores would have avoided him at all costs, for his hair-trigger temper and quick hands made her catch her breath and caused her shoulders to hitch. But, in this world Mr. Impellizzeri was unfortunately her Boss.

Delores was navigated to him by Giovanni, as she needed to not only take care of her grandfather (gently threading on the line between granddaughter and nurse) but also provide for him - consequently, provide for herself. It was not in Delores’ desire to work at a small den where Italian men congregated. It was also not in Mr. Impellizzeri's desire to have her black face greeting those who entered his establishment. 

His clear hesitance made Delores think just how ridiculous prejudice was. This was not a five star restaurant, not even a Disco, just a “club” that looked no different than any other corner shop in Brooklyn. Why, to strictly judge the exterior even brought the local deli to mind. Potentially being declined by Mr. Impellizzerri would have left Delores with no wounded pride. In fact, she would have selfishly felt gratitude. 

Alas, Giovanni continued promising Leone she was a, “good kid.” In all the years he had known her, Amos never lifted a hand to keep her in her place. Granddaddy’s dearest companion had nothing but the kindest things to say about her, and due to this, she was welcomed. But not with open arms. 

It took time to trust her, Delores knew it. White skepticism was the same wherever she went. From the time her Grandfather shakily walked up and down the concrete steps of their stoop to the time he was developing bedsores from the confinement to his mattress, Mr. Impellizzeri gradually changed.

The bonuses he began giving were not out of fondness, but rather the fact she, “didn’t tell her friends about the hip, hot spot.” There were many ways to interpret this, and although mildly offended, Delores asked no questions. By the time Granddaddy passed on, she was kept at the New Prize Social Club as someone cherished. 

Men took in her petite height and slender legs with zeal and benevolence. Dino Vaccaro was even taken to calling her baby. Sometimes babydoll. Delores supposed it was fine so long as his hands never ‘accidentally’ grazed her back for too long. His gaze never made her feel nauseous - she even believed although he was older than her (and young enough to be Leo's son - eldest son) Dino was quite handsome. 

In the grace of time, Delores reached the point where she also knew more about what went on in the Impellizzeri family home than she cared to. Like how Leone's daughter Angela was ‘in need’ of a friend like her. Eventually, it became clear to Delores that Angela was an aimless young woman. ‘Spoiled’ Grandaddy would surely say..

In spite of Leone’s warmth, the bonuses, and even the familiarity of the locals, there was little Delores enjoyed about New Prize. 

“Sally!” Leone’s hands clapped in rapid succession, “s’time for you’se to hit the road!”

 Winston’s dear friend made the place even more of an area where she, arguably, felt comfortable. The others did not treat him with the same serene indifference as she did, though. Often, Salvatore was treated to sneers and jeers from the scowling mouths elders, but Delores came to the conclusion he was tolerated because Giovanni shaped him into the finest Boxer in Bensonhurst. These days, she was often hearing how he pummeled another man from Queens (Italian, of course). A prized boxer of Astoria, she believes.

There was no doubt in her mind the sport was tied to a mafia related matter. The longer she stayed, the more she could see the subtleties, codes, gestures. However, all the boxers of Brooklyn’s Italian community were honored and celebrated here, and Delores came to the conclusion that across New York, Dons from different families bet on these young men.  

Either way, Salvatore's prowess meant he got a pass wherever he went. No longer did Giovanni have to have him on a leash, playing the role of caretaker. Delores saw some had difficulty with this. Mr. Impellizzeri had difficulty with this.  

“Y’know, you’re missin’ out on good customer service by closin’ this early!” as Salvatore made his reply, Delores scoffed below her breath. 10 PM was not early by any means. “It’s around this time when the real introspective hours kick in! Where’s a guy supposed t’think at?” he went on to ask. 

“I don’t care! You can get lost in your thoughts in a car, in a taxi! Y’just gotta get the hell outta here! Shop’s closed, Sal!” 

Salvatore rose both his body and hands, showing he desired no fight the older man. Even if he was 5’4. Even if he would have easily won. Watching him shove his hands into his pockets, Delores could only think of how she hated this hour. Particularly on nights like this when she was in charge of closing. Each time she would go into the night, praying she would make it back to Bed-Stuy alive. At this point, she prayed so much she should have actively attended Sunday Services.

“Angie’s datin’ a guy like that.”

“Is she?”

From the bar’s warmth to the cold air of the November night, Mr. Impellizzeri’s conversation traveled with them. To a degree, Delores felt resentment. How could he speak with her so attentively and then not even have enough kindness in him to wait with her for the bus?

“Can’t stand him,” he shakes his head, “I warned her about that guy, but she wouldn’t listen, and now what's happened? She has a baby. I don't fault the kid for resenting or nothin' but...oh madonna - this coulda all been avoided. You’d listen to your grandfather if he said the man you brought him was no good, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” She means, she supposes so. 

All the men in her life (or boys, if she counts the childhood infatuation held for Thomas Reed and Derrick Callaghan) were temporary. At the same time, she is aware none of them would have earned Granddaddy’s approval. They would have labels like buffoons or, had all of these attributes reduced to 'trifling.' To just briefly think of all that could have been if she were more open with her feelings, Delores understood her past distance. She was the sort of young girl who would think of how she and her lover’s bed sheets would look in their future home, but never ever would a name be mentioned in Granddaddy’s midst. 

“You’re such a good kid, Dolly.” 

She is twenty-one. 

“Stay safe.” Leone’s hand lingered over her own. There was affection in the gesture. Almost felt paternal. But that was not why Delores smiled, no. Thinking of how he signed her paycheck was the only reason she wore a tight smile, from the time his fingers grazed over her own to the time she walked onward the beam was no more. 

There was nothing to smile about as she walked through the cold. The dark cold. Where any man could be watching her. Where any man could emerge from the shadows and do more than steal her new purse. Instinctively, her grip on the dark leather strap tightened. She would not make the same mistake twice.

 Stay safe, the bitterness that bubbled in her stomach rose to her chest, leaving her lips as a spiteful whisper: “keep me safe….” 

It baffled Salvatore how frequently their paths crossed. Sure, the two of them were acquainted as - practical children, but even at the age of twelve Delores seemed to have the makings of one of those women. One of those women who would one day live far, far from Brooklyn. She would be married to a smart man who made his living through keeping people out of jail, if not pulling bullets out of bodies. They made good money; he could see her marrying into money. It was believed that either her grandfather would have financed her departure from the restless city or, his death was going to get her into motion. In the end she remained in the ‘ancient’ brownstone. Not only getting money from Brooklyn’s wise guys, but also working a double shift as Winston’s maid. If Salvatore did not see Delores at New Prize, cleaning and taking orders, then it was in her cousin’s apartment: fixing dinner and running a bath for little Naomi. 

Winston saw the way he would look at her as she tended to his daughter. Eyelids heavy, a ghost of a smile on his lips. It was as though he could just read Salvatore’s filthy mind. Seeing the multiple ideas of how he considered approaching her, touching her. It took no time for Winston to voice how he did not want him talking to her. 

It was an unusual demand. The two of them shared things since they were boys. Candy, money, even women once they came of age. But his cousin? She was off limits. 

It somewhat brought to mind how their grandfather would always keep her out of sight. Then, Sal guesses, the old man basically trained her on what to do when men were around. Because one sight of him? She would make herself scarce and swiftly, at that. Obviously not running, but obviously not wanting to be in his sights. Salvatore could not deny to himself that this is what steadily drew out his interest.

What made her so different to hide away? He asked himself this question progressively more these days. What made her more pure than other women? Supposedly pure - definitely pure. The concept of a single that woman so off-limits, like a princess, would bring an unbearable friction in his jeans on some days. He was capable of playing with a few fantasizes, stroking himself as if the woman he desired was filling him with divine satisfaction, coming and then moving on with life. But Delores just had to be in his spaces, and that made things different.

So tonight, he was throwing all loyalty to Winston out the window. Those pact-sealing handshakes they did at sixteen were but a thing of the past as Salvatore told himself, with certainty and more than that, determination, he was going to talk to Delores Littlejohn tonight. Ideally, it was going to be as old man Leo bid her goodbye, but he had to stand around outside just talking about whatever. Salvatore would not put it past him to have the desire in taking her on his arm. He would be quoting Frank Sinatra, telling Dolly how she made him feel so young.

That is, if another man didn’t get at her first. Dino most definitely had a sweet spot for her. Nevermind the fact he had a wife at home and a mistress five blocks down down the road: Dino had nothing but sweet words for the most unique looking woman in the bar. Whether Delores knew it or not, she was his sweetie, his honey, his babydoll. All of these names were uttered to Salvatore and other men, his fondness for her clear as day. When she approached, he hid his feelings. Mostly. The way ‘doll’ rolled off his tongue with such simplicity, one would think it was just a quirk of his speech. 

Dino and Leo could fawn over her all they wanted, but Salvatore was determined to speak first. Really speak beyond a ‘hi, how ya doin’ and other questions that did not travel far.

He pressed his foot on the pedal, moving down the dark street slow and smooth. Maybe old man Leo didn’t have a thing for her, Sal considered it. What sort of man would leave a woman out here like this? In November, 6 PM seemed like 10 PM and 10 PM seemed like 1 AM. 

“Hey,” how she jumped at his voice, the lights of his car, him. It did not matter he leaned out the window with friendliness in his smile. “Did I scare you Dolly?” He couldn’t help but laugh at her newfound stiffness.

Her brow arches, she sneers as if he committed a grave offense: “yes!”

“Hey, what’re y’so mad about? I wasn’t tryin’ to!” 

Silence emerged as Delores took the moment to breathe, considering what sort of answer to give. “I’m sorry for yelling at you...but you still snuck up on me.” 

Sal swore she rolled her eyes while turning her head. Rather than being embittered, he cannot recall ever seeing a woman do that so damn near graceful.

“How?” persistent, he asks this. Ready to point out he was not on foot, he did not tap her shoulder, grinning over her shoulder like some nightstalking creep. Delores did not answer. Hand tighter on her purse, she took mighty strides. 

Salvatore had to admit, the years shifted the way Delores’ demeanor was conveyed. No longer did she seem like a sixty-seven year old woman trapped in a youthful body, her ways somehow became not ‘old’ but ‘elegant.’ As though she were a woman of class, pride, all that other good stuff. The maturity of her face also brought fascination. Fascination she and Winston just about shared the same, thin almond-shaped eyes that she somehow made gorgeous. He also felt there was there was something “royal” within her smooth jawline, giving her chin extra leverage to jut and show disdain for her surroundings. Sometimes, like tonight, she let strands of her ebony hair dangle from her updo with red lipstick and small diamonds that dangled from her earlobes. She looked good. Too good for New Prize. She needed to be a hostess in - Sal supposed, Manhattan. A nice place in Manhattan where all the rich people went to eat. Even though there was an ‘old’ element to her - it was not like a decrepit old hag. He would compare her to a glamorous woman from the 50s, with traditional values and all of that.

It hit Sal like lightning - this is why Dino’s old ass was enchanted with her.

“Are you mad at me?” He grins, hand on the wheel. 

“Please leave me alone.”

“Look, I’m not talkin’ to you because I’m tryna be a creep. I wanted to know if y’wanted a ride home!” 

Delores shot him a look, but the price of that was having to unforunately bask in his stupid smile. “You were going to drive to Bed-Stuy?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“It’s a thirty-minute drive.” She snaps without raising her voice.

“Eh, old man Leo was right, car rides are best to think in.”

She shakes her head, “oh, please.” 

“Y’know…” Sal removed his foot from the pedal, “It’s supposed t’snow tonight. How long does the bus take t’come?” “...it varies.” 

“Why do you wanna take a chance freezing out there when it’s warm in here?” Now she was looking at him as if trying to solve a puzzle - one she was on the verge of understanding. It did not bother him. He remained chipper, in high-spirits: “c’mon!”

With a huff, Delores begrudgingly accepted he had a point. Her body may have been warm as she donned her coat, but that article was not enough to prevent the sting of her fingers or how cold her nose and cheeks were becoming. Salvatore was not bothered by this silence, she could tell from the way he continued smiling. Her eyes flickered, observing how his eyebrows were so thick and dark, just perfectly hanging over his equally dark squinted eyes. Some time ago, Delores came to the conclusion that brown eyes possessed a warmth that could not be found in icy blues. 

She felt a flutter in her abdomen. It was not anxiety - just a light, thrilled flutter. It was as if her body was telling her, take this adventure. You know Salvatore.  He was capable of violence and mischief, yes. But weren’t all men capable of heinous acts? 

She opened the door.  “Thank you…” she muttered while asking herself, why did she listen to her body? What could she and Winston’s friend possibly talk about during a thirty minute drive? 

“Why didja act like I was going to kidnap you?”

“Because you can’t trust men.”

“How long have you known me, Dolly? I forgot.”

“I don’t know you.” She could not control her tongue the moment she heard his question, “I could recognize your face in a crowd, but your face is the only way I know you. You’re my cousin’s friend, not mine.”

She watched Salvatore make a series of expressions. Surprised, bewildered - the nothing. Though she huffed, embarrassment washed over her. A nagging thought entered her head of how Salvatore would take his foot off the pedal, halting the car once more and tell her to wait for the bus. Not all men are lecherous, she tells herself. Her personal bad experiences did not have a chance of being repeated time after time. Again, she told herself she knew this man she was now sitting beside. It was why she was in here.

“I wouldn’t do anything to you.” Finally, he speaks. Gentle, not offended. For that Delores feels relief.

“I know.” She wants to possess the same tone, “I was just saying that as a woman I have to be careful.” 

“Wanna know somebody you shouldn’t ever accept a ride home from?”

“Who?”

“Mikey Amuso!”

“What’s so bad about him?”

“Well, not only did he kill his brother - I mean, supposedly firin’ a gun at his head - but he’s been using the same tactics to pick up girls since 8th grade!”

“What are those tactics?” Fingers gently rub against the smooth leather of her purse. 

“I can’t say, Dolly!”

She squints, concerned. “...they’re that bad?”

“I want you to think of a guy who’s only consumed with gaining one thing no matter what. No matter how dumb or crazy it sounds. That’s Mikey.”

“Oh.”

“You think I’m that bad, Dolly?”

“No -” did she make him sound that bad? “I’ve seen the way you treat Naomi. Some men can’t be trusted with children - but you’re sweet to her. She thinks you’re her uncle...”

“I’m her white uncle!” When Sal beams with pride, Delores holds back her smile. “But no, really, I love that kid. I hope things get straightened out with her ma and Winston soon. I don’t think kids need t’grow up without their mothers in the picture.”

Suddenly, it was as if Salvatore had the key and unlocked something in her: she wants to talk about her past. She wants to talk about women who had to be her maternal figures, but in reality were incapable of having the same warmth and love as a mother. What she says? “...I don’t think so, too.” Her stomach growled, she shifted in shame.

“You hungry?” How she hoped Salvatore didn’t hear her body confess its desire for a warm meal. 

“No.” How she could not believe her body betrayed her twice in one night.

“C’mon Dolly, what’re you bein’ shy for?”

“I'm not shy.” There she goes, Sal thinks, with that mighty tilt of her chin. “I can wait until I get home. That’s all.”

“Okay, so I’m supposed to drive a starving woman directly from Bensonhurst to Bed-Stuy?”

The thought of eating was appealing. However, caught in a mentality that belonged to her sixteen year old self: Delores labeled such an outing as forbidden. There was no one to scold her for arriving home perhaps twenty minutes late - additionally, there was no chance her grandfather’s ghost would appear to chastise her, calling her all sorts of vile, wretched names. But, Delores abruptly considered that maybe it was not a fear of doing the unusual that kept her in a rejective state. 

Perhaps it was that crush on Salvatore she had as a mere girl, resurfacing once more. Yes, with more thought she could not deny it felt like the old crush that manifested itself as fear and intimidation was reintroducing itself tonight. As a result, Delores was caught between the frightening idea of being alone with him and caught in the throes of excitement at the very matter he was willing to do something so kind.

“I’m fine,” still ever the lady, she says this. 

“Dolly, it’ll be my treat. If you wanna pay me back you can um...tell Leo to be nicer to me! Remind him that I’m the best Boxer in that place and he should give respect to my local contributions to the community!”

Delores wants to smile. She wants to smile and giggle at how seriously Sal took this idea. Not only that, but the idea of  Mr. Impellizzeri being genuinely mindful and kind was laughable on its own. Trying to have control of whether the corners of her lips upturned or not, Delores presses her thighs close together. What she does allow is for her voice to hold clear charm: “I can do that for you, Sal.”

“You can!?”

A laugh nearly tumbles out of her lips. Sheepish, she gazes out the window. Observing all the bypassing buildings, counting each streetlight that guides them, “I can!” 

Delores wasn’t sure if it was because Salvatore was Italian, or if she (despite her life and its teachings) was a child at heart. But, rolling through her mind was the thought of two dogs sharing a spaghetti kiss. Salvatore was rough, yet good-natured like Tramp. Delores - focused on the cold wind hitting at her neck and the stinging her ears instead of directly associating herself with a prim and proper cocker spaniel. 

It was no restaurant Sal parked at, or a building that looked particularly Italian with neither name nor color scheme. It was what Delores deemed ‘American.’ An all-American diner. 

“Ever been here before?”

“I’ve seen it,” when going to work, she does not add. For some reason this made Sal cackle.

“You’ve seen it?” 

She brings her lips out into a pout. One small and subtle, undermined with her investigative gaze, but it was a pout all the same.  “Yes…” What had been so funny to reduce Salvatore to fits of laughter?

“Hey Sal,” when a unibrowed man greets him with the casual lift of his hand, Delores wondered how often Sal came here. It must have been frequently. 

“Hey, got a free table?”

“What? You’re too good to sit at the bar tonight? What’s goin’ on with you?”

“Nothin’s goin’ on with me! What’s goin’ on with you?”

As the two men bantered on, Delores found herself thoughtlessly holding her hands together. Never had she sat in an all-night diner before. She thinks of a painting - Nighthawks, where three customers sat at the desolate bar in the night. Granted, there was a surprising amount of people here, but the structure of the building was still the same in her eyes.  

Delores snapped out of her thoughts, managing to catch how Sal wagged his finger for her to come and follow him.

“Hold it.” The same man who spoke to Sal outstretched his hand. For Salvatore, it was a greeting, for Delores it was break to stop. “I gotta seat you first.”

“No Adriano, she’s with me.” Sal swiftly says. 

Delores caught how the realization settled on the busboy’s face before his apology came. She only brought herself to nod, following behind Salvatore feeling more glum than she cared to admit. It was not as though they were actually on a date, she thought. Sobered from her fleeting infatuation, Delores even became keenly aware the two of them hardly looked like they came from the same area. Salvatore had the privilege of being unphased, she assumed. Watching as he slid into the booth as if he had done so a million times. Delores, meanwhile moved almost refined. Poised.

“Get whatever you want,” he says, “as much as you want.”

“What are you getting?”

“What am I getting?” He repeats, with soft (mocking) surprise. “I’m getting a hamburger.”

“Oh…”

Was she disappointed? “We can go somewhere else if y’don’t like what you see,” unmoved, he briskly rose and lowered his shoulders.

“Salvatore.” Then, she looked at him. Not in a serious way, instead it was almost as if she was pleading in desperation. Saying with her eyes, ‘please, stop being so kind to me, you’ve done enough tonight.’ And if he continued on, she would what? Burst from his gestures?“We don’t have to do that...”

“Well,” he spins the ketchup bottle, “whaddya want to eat?” 

Did she ever make her own decisions? Salvatore wondered as she grew even more flushed, clearly overwhelmed. Ironically, it made Salvatore want to rattle off with listing some of the best meals this place had to offer. The idea maybe she had never eaten in front of a man - or, that there could have existed invisible rules of what one could and could not eat when among a man, never crossed his mind.

“I would like steak…”

“I think I want steak too!”

With a nod, she let her teeth rest against her bottom lip. As if there were nothing better to do, she looked to the window. Promised snow had yet to come. If one did not look outside - their eyes truly trained on the atmosphere, then they would have missed the how specks of white fell from the dark sky. 

Delores had a ribeye steak, well done. She also took a salad. Salvatore wanted what she was having, minus the salad. Instead, he treated himself to golden fries that had both plenty of crunch and salt. As time passed, Delores would find herself relieved at how Sal knew how to keep the conversation going. Between telling the waiter - Adriano, their desired meals, and awaiting them, he talked and talked and talked. His demeanor remained comfortable enough to bring herself to speak and contribute to the conversation.

“--I think you know more Italian than me, Dolly.”

“No I don’t,” toying with her tomato, she had far too much humility to even playfully accept her grasp on the language may have been superior. “It’s only a handful of phrases.”

“Look, y’just told me you was roommates with some Italian girl at your High School, and that y’even spent a weekend with her family! Then, you grew up around Giovanni - and y’even work Leo now! You know more than you think y’do!” 

Bashful, honest, she shakes her head. “I don’t even get the chance to speak it,” she insists, “I just listen, and I make connections.” 

“Well, y’know more than me-” when she shoots a stern gaze, he takes back his words: “-the same as I do.” He took back his words, somewhat. “Let me list off some words and you can tell me if you know ‘em or not - and don’t lie Dolly, be honest.”

“I will!”

“Okay…” he thinks, “Orrioppo!”

“Move faster?”

Hurry up was correct, but. He would not hold it against her. “Yeah, that’s right. Uh, Goombah!”

“Man.” Leone had used it when approaching other males, Granddaddy also used it - though with sneers. Due to this, Delores could not help but believe it was derogatory as a little girl. For all she knows, it still may be.

“Wazza mara you?”

“Hm?”

“I said, Wazza mara you?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“Dolly! What’s the matter with you?”

“Oh…” she got it, finally. “Oh!” 

He thought that what Delores would do upon realizing was smile, all hesitant and mousy. Or she would shake her head at him, he noticed enjoyed doing that. What happened was unexpected: Delores was laughing. But it was not free, no, within the seconds she realized it would not stop, she brought up her hand to stifle herself. 

“Hey! What’re you doin’ that for?”

She looked unable to understand, “what am I doing?” 

“Coverin’ your face! You have a pretty smile. What do you wanna hide it for?”

“I…” surely, if she had anything in her mouth she would have choked. “...I just don’t want to disrupt anyone…” “Who cares about them?” His apathetic shrug left her breathless. “Huh? Who cares!” She felt the need to avert her eyes as his smile grew.  He lifted his hand, having not one, but two fingers pointed at her, “that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile. Ever. In my life.”

 She could not think of any appropriate way to reply. ‘I’ll smile more?,’ ‘I’m happy you think my smile is nice?’ there was just no way to do it without making some sort of mistake. Thus, as her last resort, Delores looked to the window only to grow surprised. Snow, plenty of snow was falling across Bensonhurst, “Oh look, Salvatore!” 

Sal vah tore! His name sounded different when she was surprised, “it’s snowing!” 

Though he lifted his heavy eyebrows, it did not interest him. He was grateful for the amount of faces he got her to make tonight, even if they were not from toe curling pleasure. The taboo nature of her remained lost on him, however he was willing to create more moments like this. All to get inside her, figure out what she was about when domineering men were not around. 

Winston was going to be pissed. But he could not have thrown their whole friendship away. Salvatore figures it could have been worse for Winston: his cousin could be getting courted by a stranger. A greedy guy like Dino.

“Yeah!” He says for her, “it’s a November miracle!” 

[wardogsong]

Frank is a haunted man anywhere he goes, but coming home to Brooklyn takes it to another level. He stalks the streets of his misspent youth accompanied by the voice of his very first mentor speaking grandly, dropping nuggets of wisdom said with the sort of certainty that just fucks him up. On the other side of him Delores tuts her disbelief and disapproval quietly, the most she’ll usually do to voice her opinion of the sky-castles Sal builds in Frankie’s eyes.

The fact that neither of his ghosts are dead is neither here nor there.

Better them than that Lisa and Jr., anyway. Better Sal and his grandiose predictions-- the rumor having reached Frankie so many years ago that he would someday be the King of all this-- THE KING OF NEW YORK-- Bed-Stuy included. If that day had come, this mess he’s looking out on would have been his to mop up. He makes it his now anyway, without his crown, without his old man, without anything but the impulse to sniff out trouble and wipe it out if he can.

It’s maybe his worst idea yet; posting up across the street from a building rumored to have a Bonafide Avenger living in it. The Punisher has yet to make it on to the hit-list of New York’s big guns, but this stunt might just seal that deal for him. He’s got a plan for that, IF the so-called Avengers do show. In the meantime, he just trains his scope on the dingy white van doing slow loops around the block-- sloppy reconnaissance that he can’t help but judge and find wanting. He’s not surprised when it brings out the promised show-- blonde guy, bow and arrow, and a confrontation he can’t hear from his sniper’s perch. Doesn’t matter-- he’s heard it from other sources anyway, some nameless gang trying to strong-arm a whole building full of tenants out into the street for no other reason than because they can. Red would have a field day explaining the law and rights, but Frank’s not him and he’s never gonna be him, so he just loads the non-lethal ammo he packed and loans his premeditated assist. It’s all back of the knee shots and a few good scares, but it accomplishes what he means it to, paints it clear that the Hawkeye is not alone and sends the goons scrambling.

Sends him scrambling too, rifle broken down and shoved into his duffle bag before he’s briskly heading for the fire-escape. He’s not going to go unquestioned-- Frank knows that, but a quick get-away, if necessary, will be easier if he can get boots on the ground instead of getting trapped on a five-story rooftop.

@musesxinnumerable​