#* . ⊹ 𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘜𝘙𝘕 𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘔𝘈𝘊 › writing ( dee )

[pridef0und]

@ratkiing said : stolen kisses while hiding away from a crowd .

it was dee's idea, and quite frankly, it may be one of her best yet. sure, the supply closet in paddy's isn't the most romantic spot to make out with your buddy, but right now, she doesn't exactly need romantic. no, dee is looking for something that, strangely enough, only charlie can properly provide right now. charlie, of all people!

for whatever reason, the bar is absolutely hopping. dennis is manning the bar ( "because you do such a shit job, you bitch" ), mac's probably pretending he isn't ogling guys waiting impatiently for their drinks, frank is . . . doing whatever frank does.

dee, though? she's shoving charlie against the nearest wall in the cramped, musty closet. fingers grip tightly at the collar of his shirt, lips colliding with his in a messy, risky kiss. "oh, shit," she pulls back, albeit only briefly, to squint down at her shoe, "i just stepped in something. god dammit, i stepped in something and i wish i cared."

she loops her arms around his neck, chest melting against his, playful smile tugging at her lips. "but i don't, cuz i think we should kiss some more before dennis starts bitching about the drinks." she hums, eyebrows rising enticingly.

[pridef0und]

📞 / dee bc I just know it’s gonna be good

"shit," she curses when that bitchy automated voice finishes her bitchy automated spiel, "shit. shit, shit. should've hung up. i can still hang up, right? no. that'd be weird. i've already spewed this much shit, right? son of a bitch."

a brief pause, as she sinks into her couch cushion and tosses her head back, fingers toying aimlessly at blonde locks. "that's such a dick move, dude," she complains, the scowl that she's sporting evident in her tone, "who doesn't answer the phone? you too good for little ol' me? too busy . . . taking care of that pretty hair? is that what you do? cuz it smells waaay too good for it to be all natural. bullshit."

another few beats of silence. she busies herself by taking back another shot. all alone. god, that's sad as shit. "i'm doin' shots," she coughs out, "all by my lonesome. if anything, you should at least call me back to tell me it's pathetic. or you could . . . come over and tell me that."

she shrugs, even if he obviously can't see it. "whatever, dickhole. your loss. if you change your mind, ditch the pants at the door."

CLICK.

[pridef0und]

📞 ( Dee, pls this is so funny to me)

"wow," she snorts upon hearing a hollow beep on the other line, "you can show your ass at some batshit summoning ritual but you can't pick up the phone? are you too old to know how to do that, huh?" taunting a demon isn't her smartest idea, but dee's clearly on one; she stumbles over every syllable, words jumbled without care.

a brief pause. but only so she can hiccup, which turns into a belch. whoops. "you really think you're hot shit, huh? you think you just . . . own everything and everyone? you think you can just step on me like i'm some . . . some fuckin' doormat and i'll just take it cuz gee, oh no, she might steal my soul!" her voice rises in pitch, adding an extra layer of dry mockery to her rambling.

"well, guess what, you ancient bitch," her tone takes on a smug sound, "i don't have a soul. nuh uh. not me. which means good ol' sweet dee's not afraid of you and all of your . . . hellish hotness. anyways," another hiccup, "find yourself another lapdog, lady. cuz it ain't me. maybe i should be the demon and you should be the pussy bitch trembling in her stupid boots. oh yeah. you heard me. suck it!"

CLICK.

[pridef0und]

[  FACE  ] :  receiver won’t stop talking. in an attempt to get them to stop, sender grabs their face, underestimating the intensity of the act.  RED N DEE SO RED HAS TO REACH FJDHDJ

okay, so she's pissed. she's really pissed. so pissed that she can't even really remember what got her pissed in the first place, but red has to bear the brunt of her wrath anyways. she's ranting and raving about dennis and his stupid ass bird jokes, about frank and his senile shit, about mac being mac, about charlie . . . okay, not really about charlie. she likes charlie. but the rest are clearly on thin fucking ice.

"i'm gonna destroy everything those pieces of shit own," dee declares, as per usual, "and then i'm gonna destroy them! oh, yeah. i'm gonna destroy them so hard that they won't know which way is up or down, god dammit. you don't screw with sweet dee! nuh uh, you stupid--"

somehow, a hand grabs her face. and she only says somehow because red is so goddamn tiny. she's stunned into silence, eyes widening, clenched fists gradually easing. the heat that once danced along her skin in a display of rage shifts to something new, something a little bit unfamiliar. she's absolutely frozen in place, and weirdly enough, her heart flutters in her chest. what the shit is that about?

"how . . ." she trails off, clearing her throat, "how the hell did you just do that? did you get taller or did i get shorter? god dammit, am i shrinking?"

[pridef0und]

what are you talking about? i'm not leaving you here! // for dee <3

"why the hell not?" she spits the words out a bit harsher than she intends to, but in her defense, she's currently hunched over on the ground, nursing a bleeding arm close. it's difficult to feel the warm, sticky blood oozing out of the wound like a goddamn faucet without losing her lunch, and she has to fight to swallow back the bile threatening to claw its way up her throat.

dee isn't used to being cared about; not to the point of self - sacrifice. after all, if lennon doesn't haul ass, they'll both be going down for this poorly - planned scheme of theirs. she doesn't know what to make of it, whether it's genuine or manipulative in nature. she doesn't know what to make of anything; her heads spins atop her shoulders with enough dizzying force to make her stumble forward, crimson - stained palm pressing against the ground to keep her from falling flat on her face.

clenching her teeth, the blonde struggles to keep her arm still, breaths heavy. "everyone else would," she insists, voice strained by agony, "everyone else does. just . . . go! go, dammit!"

[pridef0und]

Dee, are you gonna fuck that demon?

"jesus christ," she scoffs, tossing her hands up in a display of exasperation, "you have some homoerotic tension with a demon one time and everybody thinks you're gonna just . . . drop all of your morals and fuck 'em!" to suggest that dee had any morals to begin with is rich, but she's nothing if not delusional.

after a few beats, however, brows crease in thought and she teases at the flesh on the inside of her cheek with her teeth. "she's hot, though. right? it's not just me. i mean, anybody with a functioning set of eyes could see that. right? it's not weird." she insists, folding her arms decisively over her chest and slumping back.

"besides," she begins with a self - deprecating snort of laughter, "i don't think the big guy in the sky is very fond of me anyways. live fast, die young, baby. that's sweet dee's philosophy."

[pridef0und]

something something dennis and dee both having their own version of “the implication” reflects on their warped idea of sexuality and love that they gained after growing up with frank and barbara and witnessing their toxic ass relationship

[pridef0und]

@habiteat said : [ pressure ] sender puts pressure on receiver's wound

dee wishes she could say that this was her first goddamn rodeo. and by rodeo, she means the first injury that makes her want to raise hell and bring her fiery wrath down upon frank's stupid ass. but nope, this is far from the first time she's found herself slumped against a wall, hands clasped over a wound that just won't seem to stop bleeding.

"god dammit," she curses behind clenched teeth, drawing in desperate gasps for air, "god dammit, god dammit, that hurts like a motherfucker! shit on a stick!" she yelps when the other moves her hands in favor of placing their own over the gaping bullet hole in her abdomen.

her head falls back, crimson - stained hands trembling by her sides. "i need . . ." she trails off, struggling to swallow back the sharp sting long enough to churn out a coherent thought, "i need to find frank. i need to find that asshole, and . . ." she fights to remain upright, knees wobbling unsteadily beneath her, "and when i do, i'm gonna stick his balls in a . . . in a goddamn blender!" her voice raises once more, rage seeping out of her words.

"where is he?" it's all dee can seem to think about, lifting her head and reaching out to grab the other's arm with a bruising hold. "where is that sorry prick?"

[pridef0und]

@dumbthink said : i bet your neighbors hate us.

“eh,” dee waves a dismissive hand at the air, rolling onto her side, “screw ‘em.” if she gave two shits about her neighbors, she would’ve stopped screwing people a long time ago. but here she is, laying next to another somebody — a gorgeous somebody, at that. somebody she doesn’t feel immediately inclined to kick to the curb as she does with most flings.

fingers comb through unruly blonde locks, tired eyes studying a pretty face. “are you embarrassed?” she questions, eyebrows raising while a sleepy smile stretches across her face. “shit, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed. you were way too pretty underneath me to be embarrassed.”

she’s teasing. her tone makes that clear, and as she rests her head against her arm, dee reaches her free hand out to trace fingertips absentmindedly along nadine’s arm. “seriously. i mean, i don’t give just anybody five stars, but you? you might be the exception, hot stuff.” she hums, voice hoarse.

[pridef0und]

@hangtenn said : ❛ these pumpkins may be tiny, but they give so much serotonin. ❜

“yeah, i dunno,” she murmurs in contemplation, squinting at the little baby pumpkin that she holds up at eye - level, “they kinda give me the creeps.” brows crease, fingers running along the pumpkin’s bumps and ridges.

“i mean, why ya gotta be so goddamn small, am i right?” dee snorts in bewilderment, lifting her gaze to the other and lowering the pumpkin to chest - level. “am i supposed to wanna cradle you to my chest like a baby? is that your thing? are you trying to manipulate me into nurturing you instead of eating the shit outta you? nuh uh, buddy. can’t fool sweet dee.”

at this point? yeah, she’s talking to a baby pumpkin. that’s probably mildly concerning to anyone who doesn’t know her well. “you know what we should do?” the blonde asks then, lips twitching into a menacing little smirk. “we should camp our asses at a busy intersection and chuck these little shits at the rich shit looking cars. trust me, it’ll be cathartic.”

[pridef0und]

“So, how does running the bar like, actually work?” Because as far as they know, Dee is in charge of the whole operation. “Do you just like, hang around and drink and make money? Pretty sweet deal.”

❝ shit, how would i know? ❞ is her initial response, dismissive snort slipping past her lips. dee is, after all, far from the bar's most responsible employee; if anything, she'd probably hand that title to charlie, who strangely does a damn good job cleaning up sludges and bashing rats. but she's nothing if not an opportunist by trade and a liar by nature, courtesy of frank and barbara's numerous life lessons.

pausing in her tracks, dee really thinks about it. she considers the power rush that would come with being regarded as more than some stupid bird, some ill - equipped waitress who clearly wants more out of life than the hand she's been dealt. brows crease. gradually, lips curl into a sly little smirk, free hand falling on her hip. raising her chin confidently, the blonde turns back to nadine, lifting her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug.

❝ tough job, kid, ❞ she muses, slumping back and draping one leg over the other, ❝ not for the faint of heart. but i'm tough as nails, y'feel me? i was built for this shit. and mark my words: one day, i'm gonna flip this shithole upside down. and when i do? oh, boy. paddy's ain't gonna be the piece of steaming hot dog shit that it is now. ❞ she proclaims, admittedly getting a bit too lost in the fantasy.

leaning forward then, she presses her torso against the bar. ❝ actually, ❞ her voice lowers, like she's sharing a deep secret with nadine, ❝ all i need to do is get dennis and mac outta the equation. once those useless dickholes are gone, this place is gonna be poppin'. picking up what i'm putting down? ❞

[pridef0und]

“   are  you  bleeding ??   ” for dee

yeah, she's bleeding. but that's not entirely a new occurrence for dee. honestly, she spends more days bleeding and bruised and battered than she does in perfect health. she could blame herself and her lack of grace, but she blames the gang; always sending her to do the risky shit, always pushing her to pull stupid stunts. hell, the doctors and nurses at the nearest hospital know her by name these days.

❝ am i? ❞ she questions in initial disbelief, raising a hand to press fingers against the gash on her cheek. it stings, and for a moment, she struggles to swallow back a curse. when she eyes said fingers, she groans audibly at the sight of crimson. ❝ oh, god dammit. god dammit! this sucks. those assholes fucked me over again! ❞

tossing her arms up in the air ( and only mildly wincing when she's reintroduced to fresh jolts of pain along her ribs ), she huffs in exasperation. ❝ they knew i have a really important job tomorrow and they still tossed me in with those goddamn feral cats! ❞ her exclamation is strangely nonchalant, like she's been faced with this scenario dozens of times before.

stepping forward, the blonde abruptly reaches out in an attempt to take a hold of lucy gray's hands. ❝ okay, ❞ she breathes out, plastering a sweet smile across her bruised face, ❝ okay, this isn't a big deal, right? we can patch this up just fine, huh? you and me. help a girl out? ❞ her eyes are hopeful, if not a bit deranged. sue her. she's had a shit day.

[pridef0und]

❛ the only one who gets to kill you, is me. ❜ (Dee!)

her first instinct is to smile; it stretches across her face slowly, apprehensively, like a part of her knows deep down that such a warm reaction to the imminent threat of a bloody death isn't normal. hand falls on her chest, eyes widening with girlish animation. in that moment, she looks more like a schoolgirl who's just been told that the jock she's drooling over likes her back than . . . well, dee. weathered, angry, hurricane dee.

love looks different for her than it does for most. from her mother, there was none. an icy chill encased her whenever she was faced with her daughter. with frank, it was unhinged and transactional. with dennis, it's intense, laced with venom and rage. she's found that, over the years, she gravitates towards that heat over everything; even if it means she inevitably gets burned.

❝ aw, ❞ she gushes, raising her other hand to join the one laying on her chest, fingers interlacing, ❝ really? nobody else? oh! okay, hear me out, here's a hypothetical for you, ❞ classic dee, always pushing the envelope. she drapes herself across the bar all too comfortably, hand straying to gesture to the door, ❝ if some psycho dick stormed in here right now and tried to chop my goddamn head off, you'd protect me? ❞

it's a strange conclusion to draw. perhaps she's leapt zealously over too many hurdles to come to it. ❝ that's what you're saying, ❞ she repeats, this time in a firmer tone that leaves little room for wiggling away from her delusion, ❝ right? ❞

[pridef0und]

oh my god what am i looking at here ?? (from verse four dennis teehee)

whoops. eyes fall from her twin to the lifeless body lying in the middle of their bar, digits uncurling and allowing the broken bottle neck she once held in a vice - like grip to slip out of her hand and shatter at her feet. her heart is still hammering relentlessly against her rib cage, breaths steep and uneven.

giving the body a nudge with the heel of her boot in a last ditch effort to gauge if there's any life left within those bones, dee allows tense shoulders to slump with a heavy, unashamed huff. "he was bein' an asshole." she states bluntly, arms folding across her chest.

and sure, being faced with an asshole isn't really a valid excuse to whack someone over the head with a beer bottle. but dee's not exactly known for being reasonable. the adrenaline rush keeps her from panicking, from collapsing into a mess of frantic tears and clammy hands.

"and now he's getting our floor all dirty with his nasty blood," she comments, nose scrunching in disgust, "son of a bitch." dennis cleans the messes. dennis is good at that. they think before they strike. she can't say the same.

[pridef0und]

" why are you talking like we'll never see eachother again? " ( 4 dee )

with a heavy scoff, dee gives her eyes a theatrical roll and lifts the dwindling cigarette in her hand to her lips. she doesn't entertain shiv's question at first, taking her sweet time drawing in a drag of smoke and savoring the burn it ignites within her lungs. the warmth is nearly akin to the warmth that the other woman provides when they're melting into one another, faces mere inches apart. nearly.

"you shitting me?" she finally questions through a cloud of smoke that tumbles past her lips, eyebrows raising in the youngest roy's direction. "i mean, look at us: you're on top of the fuckin' world, snatching the golden eggs your dad's shitting out," she gestures vaguely with her free hand as she speaks, "and i'm hanging out with a bunch of boners in a shithole bar while my dad shits in rusty buckets."

a dry, humorless snort slips past the blonde's lips. her shoulders raise in a shrug, as if nothing about this bugs her ( even if, in reality, it wedges its way deep beneath her skin ). "different worlds, babe. are you really gonna slum it out here with me and my white trash crew? cuz you'd probably last five minutes tops before yearning for your swan - shaped towels and fuckin' . . . ass tickling toilets." bidets, dee. they're called bidets.

[pridef0und]

 “ i'm fucked up, i'm starving and i'm fully prepared to walk these forty minutes for that kebab. you can come, or not. i don't care. ” / for dee!

now, dee's certainly had her fair share of poor ideas while absolutely wasted. more than her fair share, actually. but for some reason, there's something so entirely goddamn unappealing about walking until her feet blister ( or she takes a nose dive into the nearest bush ) just for a kebab. she groans theatrically from where she's slumped against concrete, arms draped across her legs.

"god dammit," she whines, "you're serious right now?" her words are slurred, tumbling haphazardly off of her tongue courtesy of way too much booze circulating freely through her system. "can y'carry me? i'll pay you! i've got . . ." she trails off, fishing gracelessly through pant pockets with creased brows, "like, five bucks and a stick of gum. which you're gonna need after a kebab, so all in all, it's a hell of a deal."

she waves the crumpled bills enticingly towards the other, fumbling to push herself to her feet. "shit," she curses when her body weight pulls her right back down, "what's up with the ground bein' all . . . wiggly?"