#Fibonacci series

[iridescentalchemyst]

Divine Proportions and The Fibonacci Sequence

Merriam Webster (2023) defines geometry as “a branch of mathematics that deals with the measurement, properties, and relationships of points, lines, angles, surfaces, and solids.” To that I would add mention the notion of shapes and equations that rise above our three-dimensional world. Sacred comes from Latin sacrare “to make sacred, consecrate; hold sacred; immortalize; set apart, dedicate,”…

[cavalier-consciousness]

+ in the woods as per usual photograph by me (@baileycobain on ig)

[peeterjoot]

Hyperbolic sine representation of mth Fibonacci number

[Click here for a PDF version of this post] I saw a funky looking formula for the mth Fibonacci number on twitter \begin{equation}\label{eqn:fibonacci_sinh:20} F_m = \frac{2}{\sqrt{5} i^m} \sinh\lr{ m \ln\lr{i\phi} }, \end{equation} where \begin{equation}\label{eqn:fibonacci_sinh:60} \phi = \frac{ 1 + \sqrt{5} }{2}, \end{equation} is the golden ratio. This certainly doesn’t look like it’s a…

[outerwildsventure]

The Fibonacci sequence is the series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers.

"The Fibonacci Sequence." Imagination Station, 23 Sept. 2021, https://www.imaginationstationtoledo.org/about/blog/the-fibonacci-sequence.

[happygirl2oo2]

This showed up in a presentation in one of my uni classes a few days ago and it made me think of book 3!Sloane and now I need to hug her immediately again, my poor girl 😪

[brinaarcadia]

FIBONACCI SPIRAL

[jacksabbotts]

spencer reid x fem!bsf!reader tw .' suggestive themes , nsfw ( mdi 18+ )

masterlist | series masterlist | dividers by @cafekitsune | join the taglist

imagine spencer reid getting a boner after looking down your shirt at work

it would start with you sitting next to him on the jet during a normal briefing, tablet in hand. his brain would short circuit for a whole minute ( longer if he'd gotten a glimpse at the lacy blue bra you'd had on ) scratch that, of course he noticed and due to his eidetic memory, he would never forget it

you, however, you had gone and done it on purpose. you would lie and say that you just wanted to show him something in a crime scene photo but you had specifically been wearing his favorite color lingerie and a strategically chosen a white button up with the first two buttons undone in the hopes that he would notice

his whole face would probably turn redder than a tomato and he would have to physically tear his eyes away from your cleavage. it wouldn't even cross his mind that you had wanted him to see it, so he would spiral in to guilt for looking. he would label himself a creep and flush red for a whole other reason

the other reason being that he could feel the his slacks tightening in the area of his groin. his body had betrayed him in a monumental way. and what was even worse is that you were still sitting next to him. your thigh touching his ( dare you say innocently )

he'd apologize to you in his head seventeen different ways. each starting with 'im so sorry, its biological' and ending with 'please, don't stop being my friend'. not that he'd ever have the courage to even begin to broach this subject with you and even if he could, he'd couldn't lie to you

yes, his body was having an uncontrollable reaction to you but he couldn't lie to your face and that that was the only reason

he'd start trying to think of anything else, anything but the color of your bra and what it might look like on the floor of his bedroom. or what you might look like sans the white shirt and deep blue bralette—

no! reid, get yourself together. this is your best friend you are thinking about and she definitely doesn't deserve your perverse thoughts. think about schrödinger’s cat, the fibonacci sequence—

he couldn't even look at you right now. would he ever be able to look at you again? he couldn't last more than two minute without thinking about your face, how would he survive never seeing it again once you decided he was a pervert for looking down your shirt?

his slack were beginning to feel uncomfortable and it was still growing. he reached for his water bottle, bringing it to his lip. when did he get to thirsty? oh my god—

string theory, think of the periodic table, anything other than the curve of her—

'spence, are you ok?' you had interrupted his spiral when you placed your hand on his upper thigh, suspiciously close to his raging boner. the mere touch alone made him grow even more in size. it had also made him choke on his water

he coughed violently and you moved your hand to his back as he leaned forward. but the action, while in attempt to help him, only made him cough harder

'i’m—fine—i just… water went down the wrong pipe.'

you smirked and then returned your hand to his thigh. only this time you placed your hand higher, your thumb rubbed the inseam of his pants. and spencer reid never wanted to die and live at the same time

he stood abruptly. your hand fell from his leg and he fumbled his way around you, desperately trying not to touch you as he tried to get to the aisle. in hindsight he probably should have faced away from you while shimming past as you got a full view of his bulge he tried to so hard to hide

'restroom!' he squeaked and gave you no time to protest

he'd stare at himself in the mirror, bead of sweat beginning to form in his hair line, his glasses slightly fogging

this is fine, just gotta wait it out, spence. five to seven minutes. blood redistribution. standard physiological response. this is science, not—

buzzzzz

he froze and slowly but robotically ( praying it wasn't morgan texting him to say he'd seen spence's little huge problem ) after seeing who it was from, he took back his praying

he'd wished it was morgan, or hotch telling him he was fired for borderline sexual harassment. but he would never be so lucky. no, the text was from you. with bated breath he opened the message

lmk if you need any help with your little problem, spencey

wait, what?!

he swore his heart stopped right then and there. not only had you known about . . . but you were offering to help. his first instinct was to hurl the phone, as if it burned him. the second was to drop dead and hope that if there was some kind of afterlife that it would be kind to him. neither sounded very productive to him.

he leaned against the door and mumbled, 'i'm gonna die in this bathroom.'

THE END

[mediamime]

Supernatural and the Concept of Grace

Hi! It's your friendly neighborhood Media Mime and I'm here with a wall of text about my insane thoughts on how Angels work.

From the TV show Supernatural.

I don't know what I'm doing with my life.

---

These are headcanons, mind you, so they aren’t supported by the show. I just think way too much about stuff like this.

This all stems from how beings from a different plane of existence would be borderline incomprehensible to humans. The whole, true form and voice not being viewable/hearable led to me thinking about them in more abstract forms.

I’m going to give you some weird background stuff below, but feel free to skip to the end if you’re just here for the Grace mechanics and things.

*Edit: Making the lil click more bar because I realized I never did this and the Post Is Too Long.

---

My day job is as a Math Adjunct, so you can imagine I have a bit of a fixation on recurring principles, formulas, geometry, and so on.

It’s my jam. 

Specifically, I have a focus on Mathematics in Nature. It's fascinating to me that we see the same shapes and patterns recurring over and over again in all natural formations.

I want to stress that to get into this kind of thing, you don’t actually need a background in Math. There are several resources online that provide examples and visual guides to this field of study. I’ve provided a visual guide below of some of my favorite phenomena as well as a basic (very basic) explanation of the principle. 

I ain’t getting paid for this right now, so you get what you get!

---

Now is also a time to mention that I took some psychedelics in my 20s that made me See Some Shit. This is not meant to be inspirational. I just think I should mention it because you see a lot of Stuff on them, not always Stuff you want to see. You can look up information about psychedelic geometry and skip the hassle of ingesting things you probably shouldn’t.

Don’t do drugs kids, or whatever.

---

The Fibonacci Sequence is where numbers ascend by adding the two previous numbers to itself. This plays a key role in something known as the Golden Spiral. For a very basic explanation, you take a square and draw an arc from one corner to the next and repeat with bigger and bigger squares.

1,

1 + 1 = 2,

1 + 2 = 3,

2 + 3 = 5,

3 + 5 = 8,

5 + 8 = 13,

and so on.

The curve itself is seen in the way plants grow, shells form, and weather formations to name a few. 

(The following are not my images, but they are readily available online. )

---

Tessellations are repetitive polygons (shapes with 3 or more connecting lines, think triangles, squares, hexagons) that form together, without gaps.

In nature, the real world, there are examples of malformations, but Math is an explanation of the ideal principle.

We can see these structures in scales, honeycombs, and so on.

---

Fractals are where we see the same pattern repeat at smaller and smaller forms of itself.

There is a lot of overlap of this with the Fibonacci Sequence (these patterns often appear INSIDE of the spiral), but it is its own concept.

Fun fact, fractals play a significant role in Chaos Theory, which I will not get into here because we would be here all day.

---

Anyway!

Sorry!

Carried away there.

Back to Supernatural (what an insane transition) and how this wraps into my concept of Grace.

---

Angels are filled with this kind of naturally occurring phenomena, a sort of endless collection of patterns. They are essentially manifestations of this idea or at least they process the physical world in this way.

Castiel mentioned eating molecules ONE TIME and well, I ran with it.

---

A couple of examples I feel strongly about, using Castiel as an easier point of entry than say, Lucifer or Gabriel:

Angels think in a series of sensations, like a form of Synesthesia.  Synesthesia is a concept explored in both psychology and cognitive neuroscience where people express the feeling of multiple senses activating at once. So for instance, the words might leave you with an impression of color or sounds may give you a physical sensation. I think Angels can, and do, adopt a more human perspective the longer they interact in the physical world. This is especially relevant during the time they are essentially made human, but I think the way they interpret information remains abstract. Just a fun fact, if you have Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (which is usually shortened to ASMR), you have a higher chance, according to some studies, of having a form of Synesthesia. 

---

Angels also think in patterns. For Castiel, in the beginning: His thoughts are very vibrant. Primary colors denote curiosity. The structure of those thoughts are very rigid. He thinks more in straight lines rather than curves. The movement of the thoughts is calculated and repetitive. Learning something for the first time is difficult, so splitting it into individual pieces is easier to comprehend. This is where we get The Face from, you know the one. He perceives things in his own way which makes him socially awkward in human form. As he gets more familiar with the physical world, and the boys in general, his perspective shifts. He has more robust colors dedicated to the people or objects he interacts with and they shift around easier. His thoughts are less linear and more curved and organic. He has less set structure because he isn’t learning as much anymore, he has an understanding he can build off of and make more defined to himself.  Learning to love humanity requires flexibility that doesn’t come naturally to Angels, so he actively works at it.

Seeing souls is easier than interpreting the actual look of people. This is a doozy, but we will take Dean as an example because I’m Destiel/Deancas pilled. To Castiel, Dean looks the way he looks, smells the way he smells, sounds the way he sounds, and so on in physical form. Castiel learns to interpret him in that way as the series goes on, but his soul, the essence of him, has its own set of sensations. The following are not literal, although I’m sure some would translate that way. He sounds like a crackle of fire and a low drum. His colors are darker oranges and blues and greens. He feels like a soft rain and sun on a warm day. He tastes of barrel aged liquor and smoke. He smells like a hearth and earth after it rains. He feels like every aspect of the impala, from the cold metal to the supple warm leather.  Obviously some of these senses shift and change from time to time, but that forms the basis of what Castiel recognizes as Dean.

---

Grace is at least partially visible to other angels and partially felt by humans. Other angels can see each other in their vessels. So they have a concept of what they look like in their true forms, despite being hidden inside of something.  This implies they can experience similar sensations as the other angels they look at, although I don’t like the idea that they can see their “thoughts” necessarily. I would imagine they can “feel” a sudden intense set of emotions/sensations from another angel however, in the way that humans can tell someone’s emotions through facial expression or tone of voice.

---

Humans can learn to experience angels, albeit in a form that is easier for them to comprehend.  Dean doesn’t experience anything special about Castiel when they first meet, outside of the generic information we get about Angels and the obvious senses he can use: seeing, hearing, smelling, (gods I wish tasting was on this list but! Alas!) As Dean gets closer with him, he can start to “hear” him. I like to think he sounds like a pleasant hum or a slight ringing, similar to a wind chime, depending on his mood. Dean, specifically, makes him hum lower than usual. If he were to hum out-loud, it would harmonize with the way his grace sounds. It takes longer to perceive colors, but I think Dean would see the little flashes of blue, similar to the way Castiel’s eyes get when he’s using his powers. This is why I typically put a little blue squiggle between them when I draw them together. Plus other senses, sorry but this is long enough as it is. You likely get the point by now!

---

Anyway, I’m very happy that literally anyone has even a passing interest in my interpretation of these things.

Formatting this was a nightmare and I feel particularly insane today.

[talonabraxas]

Metatron's Cube: A Symbol of Cosmic Geometry and Modern Art Historical Origins The origins of Metatron's Cube can be traced back to ancient texts and beliefs. The name "Metatron" is derived from the Hebrew Bible, where Metatron is described as an angelic scribe and intermediary between God and humans. The cube itself is a two-dimensional representation of a three-dimensional shape known as a "Metatron's Cube" or "Metatron's Cube Octahedron." It is composed of 13 circles (nodes) interconnected by straight lines, forming a symmetrical and harmonious pattern. One of the earliest known references to Metatron's Cube is found in the Kabbalah, a Jewish mystical tradition. In the Kabbalah, it is believed that Metatron's Cube represents the structure of the universe and the divine blueprint of creation. Each of the 13 circles within the cube is associated with an archangel, and the lines connecting them symbolize the paths that these angels use to communicate with one another and with the divine. Mathematics and Sacred Geometry Metatron's Cube is not only a symbol of spirituality but also a masterpiece of sacred geometry. It embodies several mathematical principles, including the Fibonacci sequence and the Golden Ratio. The Fibonacci sequence is a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding ones (e.g., 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21...), and the Golden Ratio (approximately 1.61803398875) is a mathematical constant that appears in various aspects of nature and art. This geometric masterpiece is not limited to any single religion or culture. It transcends boundaries and is embraced by individuals from different spiritual backgrounds and worldviews. Metatron's Cube is a testament to the universal appeal of geometry and its ability to inspire awe and wonder.

[adddddiiii]

okay hear me out…

xander hawthorne x reader where they’re working on some crazy project together (like a puzzle or a mystery or something) and reader is super focused but xander just keeps flirting??

like he’s making all these ridiculous jokes and being his chaotic self, but he’s also lowkey super smart and figures something out before reader does?

i just feel like their dynamic would be so fun and cute! pls write this if u can, your stuff is amazing!! <3

and can i be 🐞 anon?

Chaos and Clues

Author's Note: Yes you can be 🐞 anon and that's such a fun idea! Very Xander

Contents: Xander Hawthorne x gn!reader

“You’re not even trying,” you groaned, shoving a stack of papers aside and glaring at Xander, who was sprawled across the couch in the study.

“I am absolutely trying,” he countered. His tone dripped with mock offense. “Trying to keep you from combusting.”

You rolled your eyes and returned to the documents spread across the coffee table. The two of you had been working on this puzzle for hours — or rather, you had been working, while Xander alternated between snacking, cracking jokes, and occasionally throwing a stress ball at the wall.

“It’s not that hard to focus, Xander,” you muttered, highlighting another line in the file.

“Easy for you to say,” he shot back. “You’re all business. No fun. It’s a little scary, actually.”

You looked up and narrowed your eyes at him. “I wouldn’t have to be ‘all business’ if someone would stop distracting me.”

Xander grinned, the picture of unbothered charm. “What can I say? I bring balance to your overachiever energy. Besides, you love it.”

“I tolerate it,” you corrected and turned back to the notes.

But your resolve faltered when Xander slid off the couch and flopped down beside you on the floor, his chin resting on his hand as he studied you with an exaggeratedly serious expression.

“What?” you asked, annoyed but unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“Nothing,” he said innocently. “Just appreciating the way your forehead wrinkles when you’re stressed. It’s cute.”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “Focus, Xander!”

He laughed, leaning back on his hands. “Fine, fine. But for the record, I’ve already solved it.”

You froze. “What are you talking about?”

“The puzzle,” he said nonchalantly, gesturing toward the mess of papers and diagrams. “I figured it out like, forty minutes ago.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re lying.”

“Nope.” He popped the “p” with infuriating confidence. “The dates? They’re part of a Fibonacci sequence. Look—” He reached over, grabbing a notebook and scribbling down a series of numbers. “See? Each number is the sum of the two before it.”

You stared at the sequence, then at him, then back at the paper.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” you demanded, half in awe, half furious.

“Because,” he flashed a grin, “you were so cute being all serious and bossy. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

You swatted his arm, but you couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto your face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re brilliant,” he shot back, his voice softer now. “Team effort, right?”

Despite yourself, you felt the tension melt away. He might have been insufferable, but he was your favorite kind of insufferable.

“Fine,” you shook your head. “Team effort. But next time, say something before I lose my mind, okay?”

Xander's grin turned soft, fond. "Can't promise that," he leaned back with a smirk, "but I can promise I'll never bore you."

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 14 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 6.8k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Intimacy, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

Arguments broke out about how the plan had failed. Michael had gone to get food as the group began to bicker. Y/N walked away, leaning against the wall. Once Michael broke up the fight, they all sat down and began to eat. Y/N grabbed a few things but was not completely in the mood to eaten stolen food.

            “Eat, you need energy,” Michael said, nudging her before walking away. She nodded, grabbing an apple and smiling at him.

            “Our photos are in the paper. They’re probably all over the news,” Sucre said holding a newspaper out.

            “Yeah, and you didn’t see that coming?” C-Note remarked.

            Michael eventually came over with a backpack in hand. “Last supper, boys,” Michael announced. “This is the part where we say goodbye.”

            “It’s not much, but it’s enough to get you started.” Michael handed everyone cash and denying the whereabouts of Fibonacci before walking off. Y/N followed.

            Conversations about getting LJ was talked about. Michael was clear there was no plan, but Lincoln kept pushing. Y/N leaned against the wall of the warehouse, eyes watching in front of her.

            She was free, but at what cost? All it has ever been since then was running. Would they run forever? She trusted Michael, but slowly that faith was fading.

They bid their farewells with everyone and as Sucre came up to Y/N, he smiled. “Mami, marry that boy,” he said, hugging her. “I already told him the same thing. I wish you nothing but happiness in the future,” he told her the same words she once told him.

            “Likewise. Go to your girl. Get married. Have lots of babies. Be happy,” Y/N responded back.

            Once they were gone, it was just the three of them. Michael took a deep breath and sighed. “Tell me everything you know about the courthouse,” he stated, ready to create a plan.

-

They were on the elevator, waiting for LJ to get into the right elevator. Just then the vent opened and Lincoln appeared through the top of the elevator. LJ and that detective were below. Lincoln had a pretend gun, pointing it to the detective.

            “Keep it in the holster, no one gets hurt,” Lincoln said, pointing the gun. “Keep it in the holster.” Michael and Y/N then appeared to Mahone and LJ. “All right, LJ, hit stop.” LJ did that. “He’s coming with us, so just stay cool, stay cool.”

            Y/N glanced over to Michael who recognised the detective. Her eyes then went back on Mahone. Michael put his hand out. “Hey buddy, give me his gun.” Michael got the gun and pointed it.

            “LJ, give me your hand.” LJ lifted his hand up. “Thattaboy, come on.” However, it failed as Mahone grabbed onto LJ.

            The plan didn’t work. Mahone got a hold of LJ and instantly, they had to fled. It was back to running. They got into a truck, but gun shots were fired as they drove away.

            Once parked, they made a run for it again, but Lincoln was hit.

            “We gotta move,” Michael said.

            “I can’t,” Lincoln exclaimed, sitting down and clutching his leg.

            “Oh my God,” Michael mumbled, coming up. Y/N sat next to Lincoln, examining his leg as he expressed his disappointment and belief he had failed LJ. Michael got a handkerchief and gave it to Y/N to wrap around the wound.

            “I failed him,” Lincoln explained.

-

Nikka’s house was nearby and Michael explained it was his green card wife’s. Y/N as much disappointment it was to hear that agreed as she knew there was no other option. They got to the apartment building, Lincoln leaning on Michael with his hand wrapped around his neck while Y/N followed behind.

            “Michael, what are you doing?” Nikka asked as soon as she opened the door, but there was no time for pleasantries, Michael was straight to business.

            “Cayenne pepper,” Michael exclaimed.

            “What?” Nikka said, closing the door as Michael brought Lincoln to the couch.

            “Cayenne pepper,” Y/N said turning to Nikka. “Do you have it?”

            “Uh, maybe,” she muttered.

            “We need rubbing alcohol, some towels and painkillers,” Y/N said. “Gauze would be great too.”

            “Whatever you got,” Michael stated.

            “And some booze,” Lincoln added, rubbing his head.

            “Please,” Michael rushed, begging.

            Y/N leaned down with Michael, rolling up the pants to take a look at the leg. Michael calmed him down. However, Lincoln continued to groan.

            “It’s fine. Now, let’s keep moving,” Lincoln stated, wincing.

            “We keep moving, that leg keeps bleeding. The leg keeps bleeding and we’re not getting out of Illinois,” Michael stated, jumping in. Nikka handed the supplies to Y/N, who took them willingly before passing them to Michael.

            Winces and groans happened as Lincoln took a drink.

            “This will seal the capillaries,” Michael stated, shaking the cayenne pepper on the wound.

            “Michael, you should not have come here. The police have been here asking questions,” Nikka said to him.

            “We didn’t have a choice,” Michael replied, focused on his work.

            “I’m thankful for the help with the green card, but I don’t wanna get involved,” Nikka exclaimed, worried and stressed.

            “I know. I know. It wasn’t part of our deal,” Michael snapped. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. But there’s nowhere else to go,” Michael stressed.

            “When I saw you on the news, I was worried,” Nikka continued. “I just hoped you’d crossed the border by now.”

            “So did I.”

            Nikka looked over to Y/N who was rubbing Lincoln’s arm. Her eyes darted her over before looking over to Michael. “Who is she?”

            “Y/N,” he said as he continued to work on the leg, “my partner. Girlfriend. We’re together,” he said trying labels. “See if you can find him some clean clothes,” Michael diverted back to the problem. “I got to go back and get our car,” Michael said, standing up.

            “Forget the car. We can get another,” Lincoln said, in pain.

            “I don’t need a car. I need that car.”

            “Why?”

            “Because in that car is everything we need to disappear,” he said before leaving.

            Y/N was left with Lincoln. “Mind if I?” she said, looking at the vodka.

            “No, go ahead.”

            Nikka was making Y/N a cup of tea when Y/N sat at the small, worn kitchen table, her eyes constantly flicking toward the front door as if willing Michael to return quicker than he’d left. Lincoln was stretched out on the couch, nursing his wounds from the chaos of their escape while taking sips of the vodka. The quiet of Nikka’s modest home pressed down on her like a blanket of unease.

            She could feel Nikka watching her.

            The woman moved around the kitchen, busying herself with the kettle and cups, but her glanced were pointed, lingering. It didn’t take a genius to know there were questions bubbling just beneath the surface, and Y/N had a sinking feeling she was about to be pulled into a conversation she didn’t want.

            “So,” Nikka stated, her voice light but probing as she leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “You’re Michael’s…girlfriend?”

            Y/N tensed, her gaze snapping away from the door to meet Nikka’s gaze. She forced a small, neutral smile. “Something like that,” she mumbled.

            “Something like that?” she repeated. “So, you just follow him around then?”

            Y/N felt the irritation rise in her chest but did her best to keep her tone calm. “We’ve been through a lot together. It’s complicated. We are just together. Romantically, platonically, familiarly. We’re together. Partners.”

            Nikka’s lips pressed into a thin line as she set down her cup she’d been holding and walked closer, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Complicated how? I know Michael…well…and this–“ she gestured between them, “–doesn’t seem like nothing. How’d you meet?”

            “Prison. I was the cell next to him,” she stated. “I’m not going to explain my relationship with Michael to you,” Y/N stated, voice a bit sharper than intended. “The less you know the better.”

            “You’re the mobster wife, murderer,” she said it so casually.

            Y/N took a deep breath and clutched the mug in front of her of hot water and looked down. “I’m divorced.”             “Michael’s been through enough, he doesn’t need someone else dragging him into more trouble,” Nikka said.

            Y/N shot her a look, standing from the table and walking to the window, needing space. “I’m not dragging him into anything. I’ve been there for him when no one else was. That’s all you need to know.”

            There was a beat of silence before Nikka’s voice softened, though her jealousy was there and laced in her words. “I just…didn’t know. I thought maybe when this was over, Michael and I–“

            Y/N turned to her, finally facing her head-on. “You’re his green card wife. That’s all it ever was, Nikka. You know that. You had a deal, and he kept his word.”

            Nikka winced, clearly not expecting the bluntness, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she took a slow breath, brushing off her hurt. “He didn’t tell me about you.”

            “That’s good. We kept it a secret,” Y/N said. “As I was the only female in that prison.”

            Nikka looked like she wanted to push more, but at that moment, Lincoln groaned from the other room, shifting in pain. The distraction gave Y/N the perfect out, and she quickly moved toward him, muttering, “I need to check on Lincoln.”

            As she knelt beside Lincoln, she could still feel Nikka’s eyes on her, but she blocked it out, focusing on the man in front of her instead. The conversation with Nikka had rattled her more than she cared to admit, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. There were bigger things at stake.

But she couldn’t shake the unease that settled in her chest.

Michael came back eventually, and Y/N climbed into the car with Lincoln. Michael walked up to Nikka. “I’m sorry I had to involve you in this. I mean, any more than I already have,” Michael as he began to walk away.

“Good luck,” Nikka said. “Why her?” she then asked. “A real criminal.”

Michael stopped, turning to face her. “I’m not going to explain her story, but she isn’t a criminal to me. She’s a survivor.”

Michael got in the car.

“Are you two alright?” Michael asked.

“Yeah,” Lincoln said.

“Fine,” Y/N muttered from the back.

“We’re heading west. Toward the money, toward LJ,” Michael explained. “Just got one more stop to make.”

“What for?” Y/N asked.

“You trust me?” Michael asked.

“Of course,” they both said.

“How do you throw the hunter off the scent?” Michael asked.

“Get rid of the prey,” Lincoln stated.

-

After driving for a while, Michael parked on a bridge. They got out, walking to the railing. Michael and Lincoln began to undo the bolts while Y/N kept watch. Once the bolts were undone, they walked the car back. Michael got out two bags of blood, placing them in front seat. Then he turned the radio on.

            “Remember, once I hit ‘scan’, we’ll have about thirty seconds before it reaches 103.7,” Michael told them.

            “Then she blows,” Y/N says.

            “That’s right. Ready?”

            They nodded. “Yeah.”

            Michael pressed scan and put the car in drive for it to fall off the bridge. They went running; however the music was not changing.

            “What happened?”

            “I don’t know. We’re gonna need that explosion,” Michael stated, hands on his hips.

            Sirens were heard and Y/N looked at Michael.

            “The radio must’ve jammed,” Michael announced. “We’re gonna have to set it off manually.”

            The group of them began to walk down the hill slightly.

            “The car could blow any second, man,” Lincoln stated.

            “The Fed are gonna be here in about two minutes. If it doesn’t look like we’re dead, we will be.” Then Michael looked up to Lincoln but not Y/N. “Rock, paper, scissors.”

            However, Y/N pushed past them and began to walk.

            “No, Y/N, come back,” Michael snapped. “Y/N!” he hissed.

            “I owe you,” she stated.

            Y/N walked down the hill to the car, leaning down into and then seeing the scan button. “How many stations are between 102.1 and 103.7?” Y/N asked.

            Michael pressed his lips together, worry filling his body. “Way out here? Just one, probably.”

            Y/N took a deep breath, closing her eyes and then pressed the button before getting the hell out of there. The moment she got to Michael he looked at her. “Never do that again,” he barked before running.

            “I owed you,” she whispered with a smirk.

            After a short walk, Nikka pulled up in a car. Y/N rolled her eyes but kept her demeanour calm and steady.

            “Looks like I owe you another one,” Michael said.

            “It’s ok,” she said, handing him the keys.

            “Ok. Well, once we get to Mexico, I’ll send you $10,000, like I promised,” Michael told her. Y/N’s eyes widened. Ten thousand dollars…to her? For a car? “Plus, another three for the car.”

            Y/N walked over to the car and got in. Nikka looked up at Michael and asked, “You love her? The criminal?”

            Michael looked at Y/N in car, who looked absolutely exhausted. “Y/N?” he asked. She nodded. “With everything in me.”

            Then Nika got in the car, right next to Y/N and all she could do was roll her eyes. Lincoln then pulled the car out and headed to the next town.

            A little into the drive, Nikka spoke. “What happens when you get to Mexico? Where will you go?”

            “It’s best if you don’t know,” Michael told her. “It’s best for everyone. We’ll drop you off in the next town. And I’ll wire you that $10,000 like I said. It shouldn’t take more than a week or two.”

            “Michael, we got company,” Lincoln interrupted.

            Y/N glanced back, seeing another car speeding up to them, tailing them. Michael glanced back, seeing Y/N looking behind her.

            “What the hell is going on?” Lincoln said with frustration. Since they got out, they never had a moment to themselves, it was always on the go. Michael looked as the car approached them closer, yelling for everyone to hold on. Just then the car rear ended them.

            “Who is it?” Michael shouted they pulled up beside them. Nika gasped as Y/N groaned since Bellick and Geary.

            “Just what we need,” she muttered. “It’s Bellick.”

            The car kept slamming into them, pushing them off the road slightly. The car kept pushing them on and on to get them off the road.

            “Can this thing go any faster?” Michael asked.

            They continued to chase them, speeding across the road, pushing, chasing and crashing into them. Y/N held onto the seat for dear life, getting flashbacks from a few police chases from back in her day.

            “Keep the momentum,” Y/N yelled.

            However, they eventually crashed into a tree. Her head hit the back of the chair as she tried to get out. Michael came running back to check on her, but Y/N was out of the car. Gunshots were heard as Bellick ran over to them.

            “Nobody move!” he yelled, running down the hill, shooting the gun in the air a few times. “Oh, good to see you again boy.”

            “No need for anyone to get hurt, boss,” Lincoln mumbled, turning around to face them.

            “Boss? Oh, there’s no need for formalities anymore there, Sink. I’m no longer an employee of the State, thanks for you,” Bellick stated, getting closer to Lincoln.

            “I think somebody wants that reward,” Michael spoke up, hands on his hips. Y/N stood next to him, arms crossed over her chest as she looked at the gun Geary had and Bellick.

            “It’s not about reward money, friend. Your pal Manche told me all about your little treasure hunt for Westmoreland’s stash,” Bellick said with a smirk. Y/N let out a loud sigh and Bellick turned to her. “The pretty lady is here too. Maybe I’ll inform your husband your whereabouts as there has been phone calls looking for you. Do you two,” he gestured with the gun between Y/N and Michael, “plan on getting that money and riding into the sunset? I thought you got paid millions to murder men.”

            “That’s dirty money,” she stated, kicking the floor. “Plus, my husband has it,” she lied. “Marriage. You share everything.”

            Bellick shook his head and yelled, “Get in the car. We’re going to Utah!” His gun was cocked and pointed at them.

            Everyone began to walk to the car.

            “Move that moneymaker, ladies,” Bellick said, pointing the gun to Y/N’s back. Michael had a scowl across his face. “Especially you, pretty convict.”

            “Move it, convict!” Geary said, pushing Lincoln, who fell onto his hands and knees beside Geary’s car.

            Y/N watched as Lincoln grabbed a piece of glass and placed it by the wheel. Smart thinking…th e tire will pop so they would have to stop for a spare.

            “IF you know about the money in Utah, why do you need us?” Michael asking, facing Bellick.

            “In the excitement of the escape, Manche didn’t hear everything Westmoreland said before the old bird kicked the bucket, but he heard enough. Utah and five million. You fill in the blanks.”

            Bellick suddenly, grabbed Y/N by the ponytail and then the head, grasping and pulling as she winced. Michael went straight for him telling, but Bellick pointed the gun at him. “Don’t even think about getting cute, smart ass! Now you three are gonna take me right to where that money is or both these whores get dead real fast.” Bellick still had a hold on Y/N’s hair and she was trying to pry him off. Michael had complete worry across his face. “Ask me if I’m bluffing.”

            Michael put his hands up, surrendering. He got in the car, but as he went to pull Y/N to sit on his lap, Bellick interfere. “Nope. The whore sits with me so she doesn’t pull any shit,” he stated, grabbing onto Y/N’s arm and pulling her to him.

            Everyone got in the car and Y/N watched as Bellick pat his lap. “Can I please sit with Michael?” she asked. “I won’t pull anything. I promise.”

            Bellick shook his head. “Nope. You’re with me, sweetheart.”

            Her body went numb as he grabbed her by her arm and made her sit in his lap. His hands wrapped around her waist, right under her breasts. She could feel Michael’s scowling glare that was burning holes in the back of Bellick.

            She felt completely disgusted with herself and his hands began to go hire. She grasped them, putting down. “Hands to yourself,” she barked.

            “Or else what?” Bellick taunted.

            “Bellick, you better not touch her,” Michael warned.

            They pulled over as Geary complained about needing to use the washroom. He walked into the trees as Bellick lined them up, once Y/N was close to Michael he grabbed her pulling her next to him.

            “I never thought I’d say this, Scofield, but I thank God for the day you walked into Fox River–“ Bellick began.

            “–And out of it,” Geary added, peeing in the bushes. Both chuckled.

            Y/N felt Michael’s hand on her back before going back to his side. He looked at her but Y/N was focused on the floor. “It’s gonna be ok,” he spoke to her. “We’ll be ok.”

            Y/N nodded, but she was losing faith. Slowly but surely.

            “Go into the car, act like you’re mad at me,” he spoke through gritted teeth. Y/N glanced up to him and seeing his pleading eyes.

            Y/N looked at him and then spat lowly. “I can’t believe I fucking trusted you to get me stuck in this mess. You promised me nothing would happen and now look. Obviously, I’m a fucking idiot for falling in love with you and believing all your empty promises,” Y/N barked walking away from him and to the backseat this time.

            “Well, that‘s pissed off girlfriend you got on your hands there, Scofield? Trouble in paradise?” Bellick said as Y/N crossed her arms and focused what was head of her. Lincoln was standing by the door of the car, Nika beside Michael. Bellick smirked. “Didn’t your mama tell you how to treat a lady? Or was she a whore like these two?” Bellick mocked, a disgusting smirk across his face, however he presed where he shouldn’t.

            The backdoor slammed and Lincoln went straight for Bellick.

            “Linc!” Michael yelled, trying to get his brother’s attention.

            However, Bellick held the gun up. “Got a problem there, Burrows?”

            “We only need one of you to take us to the money. Remember that,” Geary said, gun cocked.

            Michael walked over, patting his chest. “Let’s go buddy,” he said to Lincoln. “Let’s go.”

            Everyone got into the car, Michael pulled Y/N onto of his lap as his hands wrapped around her. She rolled her head back onto his shoulder. Michael looked at her through his long lashes. “Ok?” he mumbled.

            “Fine,” she responded. Michael took her hand and held it, his thumb brushing over the back. However, Y/N felt like someone was looking at her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Nika looking at her with an unimpressed look. Y/N tried to ignore it by closing her eyes and letting Michael massage her hand. Then they were on the road again.

            Moments later, they had to pull over.

            “What kind of son of a bitch doesn’t have a spare tire in his car?” Bellick spat.

            Geary was kneeling down on the ground, looking at the wheel. “The kind that already used it.”

            “OH, and you’re just the sad sack that has to go back into town and get a new one,” Bellick said to Geary.

            “What? That’s like three miles.”

            “That’s right.” Geary then walked away. “Everyone out.”

            Y/N got out and Michael followed behind her. Then the rest. Michael stayed close to her, grabbing onto her sweater and pulling her back lightly to be closer to him. He held his suit jacket close to him as he leaned against the car.

            “That way. Go on,” Bellick ordered.

            Michael was behind Y/N as they walked to the shed. She could feel Bellick stare on her. Nika nearly tripped. “Careful,” Michael said.

            “Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

            “Just relax,” Michael responded.

            This was not going the way they planned and Y/N was getting exhausted with it all.

            “You know what? I really believed you. I risked everything for you. I did everything you asked. I risked my life for you. For what? For $10,000 I risked my life? And this entire time, you’ve had $5 million just waiting there?” Nika ranted and Y/N watched this unfold. “You’re a bastard, Michael,” she spat, walking past them.

            “Just shut the fuck up,” Y/N barked. “Trust for God sake.”

            Nika turned around and looked at Y/N. “Don’t get me started on you,” she spat.

            “For all that aggravation, I hope you get to hit that a few times, Scofield,” Bellick taunted with a smirk, chuckling. “Both of them, but I bet the pretty convict was the best.”

            Y/N turned around and was about to say something when Michael stated, “Don’t. Not worth it.”

            “We’re gonna wait it out in that shack,” Bellick announced. “Just keep moving. Come on.”

            Lincoln opened the door to the abandoned shack, and everyone followed. Nika went to talk to Bellick, but soon enough everyone was tied up. Y/N began to wiggle slightly, but Michael glanced over. “Stop stressing, it doesn’t do any good.”

            Lincoln began to follow too, trying to figure out the ties. “Maybe you ought to start stressing if they’re gonna put a bullet in our heads,” Lincoln hissed.

            “They need us. They need us to get that money,” Michael mumbled.

            “I admire your optimism. She’s rolling, man. I can feel it.”

            There’s a plan and Nika was the plan. Y/N stayed quiet, next to Lincoln who was next to Michael. Both of them didn’t like being apart, but what could they do.

            Y/N stayed still, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Nika was the plan.

            Nika eventually came back, looking at Michael and then following her eyes over the group.

            “If you guys need to use the can, hold it. If you need to tinkle, sweet peas, I’ll watch you anytime,” Bellick hummed with a smirk.

            “It’ll cost you,” Y/N stated with a smirk. Michael glanced over and rose a brow.

            Bellick wasn’t impressed. “Sit down. Hands behind your back.” Nika sat next to Y/N.

            Once Bellick was gone, Lincoln spoke up. “You took your time,” he said. The door was closed now.

            “It takes time to gain a man’s confidence,” she responded. “You’re right, he’ll bite on anything I say. You just tell me where we trap him and I’ll tell him that’s wehre the money is.”

-

“Hey!” Nika yelled.

            “What do you want?” Bellick groaned as he opened the door.

            “I need to use the bathroom,” she stated.

            “Again?” Bellick sighed.

            “I have a small bladder,” she stated, raising a brow.

            “That ain’t all you got,” he smirked.

            Y/N rolled her eyes. He would not stop with the misogynistic side comments. Nikka was cut loose and they left into the private room again.

            Michael glanced over to Y/N, seeing her closing her eyes and head rolled back. “Y/N, are you ok?” he asked.

            “I just need this to be all over,” she mumbled. “I need a good night’s sleep as well.”

            “Soon,” Michael told her.

            “Is she going to come through?” Lincoln asked.

            “She’ll get it done. Nika and I have come too far together,” Michael stated. Y/N heard that and her heart hurt slightly. Nika was married to Michael, but Y/N was his partner.

            “When money’s on the line you trust no one,” Lincoln stated.

            “Do you trust me?” Y/N whispered looking over.

            “You’re a mobster, I don’t know. But if Michael trusts you, I guess I will too eventually,” he muttered.

            “Sometimes you have to,” Y/N mumbled.

            “Not if you want to survive, you don’t,” Lincoln responded.

            “You really don’t trust anyone, do you?” Michael said with honesty.

            “Can you blame me? After all that’s happened.”

            “No, I mean before that. Before prison,” Michael mumbled.

            Y/N closed her eyes again, tuning the brothers out. Nika came back, being pushed with hands behind her back into the room. She was thrown on the floor, next to Y/N. she moved to sit.

            “My daddy always said, ‘fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice and I’ll put you in the ground’,” Bellick warned. “Any more games and I stomp the hooker’s and the girlfriend’s air, understand?” Bellick barked, eyes focused on Y/N.

            Bellick went back to tying Nika up. However, a knife was passed to Y/N and she passed it to Lincoln.

            “Thanks for the dance, sweet pea,” Bellick hummed. He felt for his knife in his pocket once he turned around from the group, but it was not there. “You bitch.”

            Lincoln got up, taking the knife to Bellick’s throat. “Fooled you,” Lincoln smirked, and Y/N smiled wickedly.

            Lincoln tied up Bellick to the same pipe before cutting everyone loose. Michael came over and helped Y/N up, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into a hug. “It’s ok,” he mumbled in her ear and she nodded.

            Lincoln grabbed Bellick’s gun, hiding it in his pants. Then they heard Geary.

“I carried it. The cons can change it,” Geary said, rolling the tire into the shed. He looked to his right, seeing Lincoln with the gun. “Oh, you really suck, Bellick, you know that?”

            Michael went to go tie up Geary, but Bellick looked at Y/N then Michael. “You know, she is a complete manipulator, Scofield. She doesn’t love you. It’s just a game. Should look at her file, the witness states, the words she would use. She’s a little con. A little player,” Bellick told Michael.

            “Ignore him,” Y/N whispered, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing.

            “You manipulated that prison doc and got him thirty years for aiding and abetting,” Bellick stated. Y/N turned and looked at him. “Another victim to your game, Miss. Black Beauty,” he hummed, using the name they would call her. “Will I be your next victim? Got the lipstick.”

            “Shut up,” she muttered. “I don’t do that anymore.”

            “So you did do it?” Bellick hummed. “What do you care? As long as he left the door open for you.”

            Y/N looked at him and instantly went for his throat, hands clasping it as she yelled, “Shut the fuck up!” Her hands held it, clasping it as she slowly choked him on his own are. “Shut up,” she barked.

            Michael grabbed her by the arm, pulling her but she wouldn’t budge.

            “I am not who you think I am. I am not a cold hearted killer. I am a person,” she whispered. “I just want a normal life.”

            Lincoln grabbed her this time, pulling her off as she stumbled back.

            “Let’s go,” Michael said, arm wrapping around her back and pulling her in. “Let’s go.”

            Michael and Y/N walked out with the rest of the group. Guilt was eating her alive as she put together the puzzle pieces. Matt Remington was going to jail for a mistake she asked him to do. She had been to jail, she knows what it would be like and he was a good man.

            “Michael, we can’t let him go to jail,” she whispered as they walked to the car.

            “We can’t go back, Y/N,” he responded.

            They stopped at the car and Y/N took a deep breath, guilt was seriously eating her alive. She simply nodded. “I need to call him.”

            Michael shook his head. “No. You can’t. We’re fugitives now.” His hand came out, tucking behind her neck as he guided her forehead to his lips. “I love you, though.” She nodded, pulling away.

Michael turned to Nikka. “Can we at least take you into town?” he asked.

“No,” she shook her head. “If I’m seen with you, it’s a lot of trouble for me. I can walk. Its only a mile, she said with a smile.

“We never would have made it this far without you,” Michael said, gratitude in his voice.

“Now you’re crossing the border without me,” Nika replied, hoping for a invitation.

“You can’t go where we’re going. It’s not a life for you,” Michael stated.

Nika looked to the floor, scoffing lightly. “Then that’s it then,” she mumbled, sadly. “It’s over for good.”

“Thank you,” Michael said giving her a hug. ‘Be safe. Good luck.”

Y/N watched as Nika walked over to Lincoln, bringing him into a hug. Her arm shot out, rubbing Michael’s back as she stood behind him. However, Nika’s hand lowered in the hug and grasped for the gun before stepping back.

Y/N dropped her hand and groaned. “Nika,” she said, taking a step forward, hands up. “Give me the gun.”

Michael watched her, calm and collective.

“I loved you, Michael,” Nika began. “And I thought I was gonna get that back, but you just used me.” The gun was pointed to Michael.

“That’s not true,” he mumbled.

“I deserve more than this. I deserve more than just being the girl that you call when you need something. I deserve to be picked over some murderer you call your girlfriend.”

“You really think you’re going to find the money in Utah?” Lincoln asked.

“I don’t care about the money in Utah!” she screamed, pointing the gun on the three of them. “I don’t want any more crime. I turn you in, I get $300,000. Legal money.” She walked over to get the phone. “You’re the policeman’s problem now.”

“Nika,” Michael warned.

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot you!” she yelled, voice filled with passion.

“No, you won’t,” Lincoln piped up, taking out the round that was needed.

It was useless without it and Y/N started the chuckle and Nika wasn’t impressed. “Shut up, bitch!” she yelled.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Michael tried to calm down.

Nika looked defeated as Michael took the gun and phone from her and walked away. Michael stared at her, disappointed. “Good luck to you,” he mumbled.

Y/N walked away, going into the car and sitting in the back, watching as Michael came and sat in the front. Then they drove off, leaving Nika behind.

-

The car hummed softly as it cruised down the desolate highway, the stars stretching endlessly above them. The roads were quiet, just the occasional flicker of headlights passing by, and the air inside the vehicle was thick with exhaustion. Y/N was curled up in the backseat, fast asleep, her face turned toward the window, illuminated by the faint glow of the passing streetlights.

            Lincoln sat behind the while, his eyes focused on the road head. While Michael sat in the passenger seat, glancing back at Y/N so often. She had been asleep for hours, exhaustion finally catching up with her after everything they’d been through. Lincoln studied her a moment through the rear view mirror before shifting his gaze to Michael who was looking back at her.

            “She’d been out for a while,” Lincoln commented, keeping his voice low.

            Michael glanced briefly behind him, his eyes softening as they land on Y/N. “She needs it. She hasn’t had much rest lately.”

            Lincoln nodded but did not drop the subject. He had been thinking about Y/N for a while now, especially since Michael had insisted she come with them. His brother was a private man – always had been – but Lincoln could sense there was more to this.

            “So, I need to ask…what’s going on with you two? You said partner…girlfriend. I just want to know how serious this is,” Lincoln mumble his tone casual but probing.

            Michael’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but his face remained impassive. “What do you mean?”

            Lincoln let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, man. You bring her along with us, you’re keeping her out of the mess she was…that’s nothing. Where do you see this going?”

            Michael kept his focus on the road, his jaw tightening slightly. He was not the kind of person who opened up easily, but this was his brother. Despite their challenges over the years, he owed Lincoln a lot. But there was no denying that Y/N meant something to him. She had always meant something.

            “She’s complicated,” he finally muttered, his voice measured. “We’ve been through a lot together and there is definitely feelings.”

            Lincoln was not satisfied with that. He knew Michael too well. “I’ve seen you with her. You don’t do things halftway. Especially not with people you care about. You’re saving her from the mob life, from all the danger she’s in. You wouldn’t do that if she didn’t mean something.”

            Michael grasped the door handle and for a moment he didn’t say anything. He glanced behind him again, watching as Y/N slept. There was something about her that had pulled him in from the beginning, something he hadn’t been able to shake no matter how much he tried to keep his distance. He wanted to reach out and touch her. God, he wished he could hold her as she slept.

            “She deserves more than what she’s been through,” Michael said quietly. His voice was barelt audible over the sound of the engine. “She’s been fighting to survive for so long, and I don’t want her to feel like she’s alone in that.”

            Lincoln turned his head to look at his brother, his brow furrowing as he tried to read between the lines. “You lover her.”

            Michael did not respond right away, but his silence was enough of an answer.

            “With everything in me,” he admitted, his voice low but stead. “But it’s not that simple. She’s got a past that I’m slowly learning. I don’t know what to believe, what’s been manipulated or twisted.”

            Lincoln considered that, nodding slowly. “Yeah, but you’re bringing her with us. You don’t let just anyone in. Not in your life, not into your plans. That’s how I know this isn’t just some fling. It’s more.”

            Michael glanced at him, he expression unreadable, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that told Lincoln everything he needed to know.

            After a beat, Lincoln leaned back in the seat, getting a little more comfortable. His tone was more serious now. “What about the rumours? What Bellick said. The ones about her killing those men? Are they true?”

            Michael’s jaw clenched, and Lincoln cold tell he didn’t want to talk about it. But Lincoln was his brother, and if they were all in this together, he needed to know the truth.

            “She did do it,” Michael said after a long pause, his voice heavy. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. The way the file, witnesses, rumours and the mob talk about, she’s a cold hearted killer who mocked these men, humiliated them. However, she told me she had no choice. It was life or death. Survival. Did she have joy doing it? I don’t know.”

            Lincoln raised a eyebrow, waiting for more.

            “Her husband set the whole thing up,” Michael continued, looking to see if she was still asleep. “A mobster that groomed her from a young age. He’s a lot older. However, she told me she witnesses things, heard things, found out about things she wasn’t suppose to know, so he pinned it on her. But she did do it. I’m trying to fill in the blanks.”

            Lincoln whistled low under his breath, shaking his head. “Damn. That’s some heavy stuff.”

            Michael didn’t respond, but the weight of the confession hung between them. Lincoln looked over at him, seeing the tension in his brother’s face, the conflict that came with loving someone so deeply but knowing they were haunted by their past.

            “You trust her, though?” Lincoln asked, his voice softer now.

            Michael’s eyes flickered to her, watching Y/N for a long moment before answering. “With my life. I love her with everything in me.” Then he took a deep breath. “I didn’t expect her. I didn’t plan her and that still terrifies me as I am improvising her, the plan with her…our future. I’m terrified of her husband and what he may do to retaliate. He hurt her in prison, but he did divorce her.” Michael then whispered, “I have her engagement and wedding ring still to pawn. Some Cartier bracelets too.”

            Lincoln rose a brow. “Does she know?”

            “She asked me. I looked at her stuff in receiving. Designer. Everything. She is covered in dirty money.”

            “How much did she get paid to kill those men?” Lincoln asked.

            “I’m still trying to figure that out. She told me she has a lot of money stored away from Sebastian, her husband. I will ask when we’re ready,” Michael whispered.

            “Will the truth change your view on her?” Lincoln asked.   

            “I don’t know,” Michael said honesty. “I think the truth will hurt me though.”

            Silence came between them and Y/N fluttered her eyes. She heard the whole thing and her heart dropped. Michael trusted her but for how long till he learnt the truth of her…

-

“This morning, authorities in Illinois issued an update on the escaped convicts known until now as the Fox River Eight,” the radio rang through. Y/N was looking out of the window when she heard it.

            “Morning,” Michael said.

            She had just woken up and she glanced to him in the front. His hand came back, and she took it, squeezing it. “Morning,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes and running her hand through her very messy pony tail now. She fixed it.

            “Chicago mob boss, John Abruzzi, was gunned down outside of a Washington D.C. motel last night, after investigators received a tip from an informant. The other escapees are still at large and considered dangerous…” The radio was changed by one of the men in the front.

            “How did you sleep?” Michael asked.

            “Fine. Rough. In and out, but slept for a bit. Did you sleep?” she asked.

            “A little,” Michael responded honestly.

            “I didn’t think Abruzzi would be the first to eat it,” Lincoln spoke up, ending the couple’s conversation. He was still driving after several hours.

            “I have a feeling we’re in for lots of suprises,” Michael mumbled, looking out of the window.

            “They said eight are still out there…so much for faking our deaths,” Lincoln stated in disbelief.

            “I bought us some time, that’s what counts,” Michael countered. “How much further?”

            “70…80 miles,” Lincoln responded.

            “Good, we should be hitting the double K ranch by this afternoon,” Michael stated.

            “Or we can keep driving, pick up LJ and hit Panama,” Lincoln interrupted, voice filled with concern and passion.

            “We can’t hit Panama! We can’t hit anything! We can’t do anything without the money. We need to find Charles’ stash,” Michael raised his voice, voice serious.

            “I know some other guys who are thinking the same thing,” Lincoln exclaimed.

            When Charles told Michael about the stash, T-Bag, Tweener and C-Note were in the same room which means they could be going there as well. Y/N sighed, focusing out of the window.

            “Y/N?” Michael hummed. She hummed back. “We’re almost there.” Y/N nodded, not saying a word back.

-

Here you go!

Hope you enjoy :)

I had so much fun writing this.

Much love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars @wonuskie @believeinthefireflies95 @esposadomd @peachmartini @rougegenshin @lindsayjoy444

[jannaphia]

Hello! I hope it's ok to ask you out of the blue for art advice. Your small series on painting composition analysis was really helpful to me to train my eyes. I wanted to ask if you have recommendations or own ideas how to learn more about geometry/image composition.

Have a lovely day!

Hey hey! So sorry for not replying sooner, uni is completely draining my life at the moment 🥲

Anyways, asking for art advice is always ok! And I'm glad the composition analysis helped!

One of my favourite books I can't recommend enough is Harold Speed's The Practice And Science Of Drawing. It's been a while since I last read it (that reminds me to pick it up again some time....), but it made me look at art in a different way. If you want something a bit more practical, Andrew Loomis' Creative Illustration has a pretty good chapter on composition.

Other than that I don't have much to recommend, unfortunately. I did the series partly because I couldn't find good notes on composition, that go beyond the rule of thirds or the fibonacci spiral. Best thing to do to learn is probably to pick out some art that you like and do your own analysis. I promise, the more you look, the more you will find!

[suguru-getos]

Yakuza Gojo Satoru idea that's rotting my brain away:

A/N: Should I write a fic on this? 0_0 The name and fame of the mafia world, someone's whose roots touch the pungent rabid base of Tokyo's drug and criminal cartel and head touches the sky. Famed and named as the biggest potential bachelor and businessman. A front so strong no one dares question, a front so intimidating no one opposes, a front so challenging it's a Fibonacci series of failure for private agents allegedly working with the government.

Some even say that the government is also his little lap-dog he can throw treats as and get what he wishes. Now, to establish something so humongous and bulletproof isn't an amateur's job. His family has been in it for generations. He knows his guts and he knows when to use them.

How fun when the Mafia group across the west has their little princess on a lavish vacation to Tokyo? Of course they would ask the esteemed and trusted Gojo group to host her. Satoru doesn't really bore himself with maintaining relations with other groups. As long as they leave Tokyo untouched; we wouldn't have a problem.

Luckily, he has a few other people by his side to aid him with this, Geto Suguru his right hand man and his best friend. Someone he went to school with, someone who would die and take a bullet for his boss without hesitance. Geto's mother was murdered by his father in a fit of drunken haze, the depressed boy had a noisy, cocky best friend in high-school and when Satoru gave Suguru the revolver to shoot his deranged, rotten, ungrateful and not so guilty father with it? Yeah he hasn't looked back since.

Geto explained to his boss that it would be good to host the spoiled bratty Princess and let her play around Tokyo. "The girls out there in the west are too occupied with the Kawaii-core aesthetic of Japan to bother us."

Oh how wrong, because when they met you? Coming down from your private jet, smoking and wearing looming, unapproachable shades across the bridge of your nose. Expression embodying power and ruthlessness as you smirk. You're not here to be the 'Mafia Princess', you look so different from that. The way that you don't have any bodyguards seems cocky enough, the way your body language only gets more upfront, head held high, arms breezy, shoulders broad.

Satoru has a favourite…

[essentiallyleaf]

Welcome! To start, what are some of your favorite smuts that you've read?

hi frostedtuskwalrus, and thank you very much!

such a difficult question! off the top of my head, and in no particular order:

WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY, by @capslocked,

we could call it even, and for all the right reasons, part 1, and part 2, by @majorblinks,

Through A Red Veil, and the entire Finding Love series, prequel included, by @ifeelsounsure0 (sorry, i really couldn't choose),

The Yarn We Spin, and Fibonacci, by @worldsover,

Learning From The Best, and the entire A Family Affair (1, 2) series, including any and every new chapter that is possibly going to exist, by @sinswithpleasure,

NO UPPER HAND, JUST HOW MUCH ARE YOU WILLING TO GIVE FOR A DREAM THAT BIG?, and THIS TOO SHALL PASS, by @iznsfw,

ROMEO, by @yieldtotemptation,

Acmé de la Vie, by @midnightdancingsol,

Just Testing (obviously), and A Collection for a Special Date: Part III, by @fillinforlater (though every single Smite series is top tier),

Eudaimonia, by PlateauWorld on AFF,

and its sequel SHATTERED PSYCHE, by @usedpidemo,

as well as so, so many others.

thank you for reminding me about all these great works.

humbly, leaf.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The Golden Ratio Michal Urbanski

* * * *

“Every unique thing in nature is related to the whole, and partakes of the perfection of the whole. Each particle is a microcosm, and faithfully renders the likeness of the world.

In geometric harmony of the cosmos there are ways that resemble, there are universal patterns, from blood vessels, to winter trees or to a river delta, from nautilus shell to spiral galaxy, from neurons in the brain to the cosmic web.

A whole universe of connections is in your mind – a universe within a universe – and one capable of reaching out to the other that gave rise to it. Billions of neurons touching billions of stars – surely spiritual.” ― Alejandro Mos Riera

+

“Buckminster Fuller explained to me once that because our world is constructed from geometric relations like the Golden Ratio or the Fibonacci Series, by thinking about geometry all the time, you could organize and harmonize your life with the structure of the world.” ― Einar Thorsteinn

[aaknopf]

Martyr!, the poet Kaveh Akbar’s propulsive debut novel, tells the tale of Cyrus Shams, the son of a lost mother (victim of a 1988 U. S. Naval snafu in the Persian Gulf that killed 290 people on a commercial airliner) and the long-suffering father who emigrated to Fort Wayne, IN with his baby boy. We meet Cyrus as a student of poetry at Keady University and a reformed addict. In this excerpt, he’s at the local open mic with his friends; we also share one of the poems from Cyrus’s bookofmartyrs.docx, helpfully supplied by Akbar, the poet behind the fictional poet.

. .

The Naples Tuesday night open mic had become a mainstay of Cyrus and Zee’s friendship. It was a small affair, not much to distinguish it from the myriad other open mics happening elsewhere in the country—except this was their open mic, their organic community of beautiful weirdos—old hippies singing Pete Seeger, trans kids rapping about liberation, passionate spoken-word performances by nurses and teenagers and teachers and cooks. As with any campus open mic, there was the occasional frat dude coming to play sets of smirky acoustic rap covers and overearnest breakup narratives. But even they were welcome, and mostly it felt like a safe little oasis of amongness in the relative desert of their Indiana college town, a healthy way to spend the time they were no longer using to get drunk or high.   Naturally, Naples didn’t have its own sound equipment, so Zee would usually show up fifteen minutes early with his beat-up Yamaha PA to set up for Sad James, who hosted every week. Sad James was called this to distinguish him from DJ James, a guy who cycled nightly through the campus bars. DJ James was not a particularly interesting artist, but he was well-known enough in the campus community to warrant Sad James’s nominative prefix, which began as a joke but somehow stuck, and to which Sad James had grown accustomed with good humor, even occasionally doing small shows under the name. Sad James was a quiet white guy, long blond hair framing his lightly stubbled face, who played intensely solemn electronic songs, punctuated by sparse circuit-bent blips and bloops, and over time at Keady, he had become one of Zee and Cyrus’s most resilient and trusted friends.   On this night, Cyrus had read a poem early, an older experimental piece from a series where he’d been assigning words to each digit 0–9, then using an Excel document to generate a lyric out of those words as the digits appeared in the Fibonacci sequence: “lips sweat teeth lips spread teeth lips drip deep deep sweat skin,” etc. It was bad, but he loved reading them out loud, the rhythms and repeti­tions and weird little riffs that emerged. Sad James did an older piece where the lyrics “burning with the human stain / she dries up, dust in the rain” were repeated and modulated over molten beeps from an old circuit-bent Game Boy. Zee—a drummer in his free time who idolized J Dilla and John Bonham and Max Roach and Zach Hill in equal measure—hadn’t brought anything of his own to perform that evening, but did have a little bongo to help accompany any acoustic acts who wanted it.   On the patio listening to Cyrus talk about his new project, Zee said, “I could see it being a bunch of different poems in the voices of all your different historical martyr obsessions?” Then to Sad James, Zee added, “Cyrus has been plastering our apartment with these big black-and-white printouts of all their terrifying faces. Bobby Sands in our kitchen, Joan of Arc in our hallway.”   Sad James made his eyes get big.   “I just like having them present,” Cyrus said, slumping into his chair. He didn’t add that he’d been reading about them in the library, his mystic martyrs, that he’d taped a great grid of their grayscale printed faces above his bed, half believing it would work like those tapes that promised to teach you Spanish while you slept, that some­how their lived wisdoms would pass into him as he dreamt. Among the Tank Man, Bobby Sands, Falconetti as Joan of Arc, Cyrus had a picture of his parents’ wedding day. His mother, seated in a sleeved white dress, smiling tightly at the camera while his father, in a tacky gray tux, sat grinning next to her holding her hand. Above their heads, a group of attendees held an ornate white sheet. It was the only picture of his mother he had. Next to his mother, his father beamed, bright in a way that made it seem he was radiating the light himself.   Zee went on: “So you could write a poem where Joan of Arc is like, ‘Wow, this fire is so hot’ or whatever. And then a poem where Hussain is like, ‘Wow, sucks that I wouldn’t kneel.’ You know what I mean?”   Cyrus laughed.   “I tried some of that! But see, that’s where it gets corny. What could I possibly say about the martyrdom of Hussain or Joan of Arc or whoever that hasn’t already been said? Or that’s worth saying?”   Sad James asked who Hussain was and Zee quickly explained the trial in the desert, Hussain’s refusing to kneel and being killed for it.   “You know, Hussain’s head is supposedly still buried in Cairo?” Zee said, smiling. “Cairo, which is in which country again?”   Cyrus rolled his eyes at his friend, who was, as Cyrus liked to remind him when he got too greatest-ancient-civilization-on-earth about things, only half Egyptian.   “Damn,” Sad James said. “I would’ve just kneeled and crossed my fingers behind my back. Who am I trying to impress? Later I could call take-backsies. I’d just say I tripped and landed on my knees or something.”   The three friends laughed. Justine, an open mic regular whose Blonde on Blonde–era pea-coat-and-harmonica-rack Bob Dylan act was a mainstay of the open mic, came outside to ask Zee for a cigarette. He obliged her with an American Spirit Yellow, which she lit around the corner as she began speaking into her cell phone.   In moments like these Cyrus still sometimes felt like asking to bum one too—he’d been a pack-and-a-half-a-day smoker before he got sober, and continued his habit even after he’d kicked everything else. “Quit things in the order they’re killing you,” his sponsor, Gabe, told him once. After a year clean he turned his attention to cigarettes, which he finally managed to kick completely by tapering: from one and a half packs a day to a pack to half a pack to five cigarettes and so on until he was just smoking a single cigarette every few days and then, none at all. He could probably get away with bumming the occasional cigarette now and again, but in his mind he was saving that for something momentous: his final moments lying in the grass dying from a gunshot wound, or walking in slow motion away from a burning building.   “So what are you thinking then? A novel? Or like . . . a poetic mar­tyr field guide?” asked Zee.   “I’m really not sure yet. But my whole life I’ve thought about my mom on that flight, how meaningless her death was. Truly literally like, meaningless. Without meaning. The difference between 290 dead and 289. It’s actuarial. Not even tragic, you know? So was she a martyr? There has to be a definition of the word that can accom­modate her. That’s what I’m after.”

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar.

Browse Kaveh Akbar's poetry collections and follow Kaveh on Instagram @kavehakbar.kavehakbar.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

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