#boston view motel

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Breaking Up Slowly: Chapter Two

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

chapter rating: E (18+ only, TLOU spoilers sorta?, breakups, angst, cold!joel, arguments, accusations of infidelity, dom!joel, brief dirty talk, talk of unprotected piv, nightmares, anxiety, thigh riding, soft ending)

word count: 5.2k

series masterlist

It had been three weeks since the motel, or somewhere near it, at least—it was hard to tell when you were this exhausted. After a very hard fought win, Joel had scored the three of you a truck with the help of Bill, his…interesting acquaintance that lived in his own town outside of Boston. Three weeks of silence. Three weeks of nothing.

Until tonight.

Joel had been up driving for the better part of the day, his eyelids growing heavier with each blink. You watched him from the passenger seat, Ellie fast asleep in the backseat thanks to the old country playing on a cassette she’d found.

“Joel,” you started, secretly hoping that you wouldn’t have to say anything more to him than that.

God only knows what would come out if he got you on a roll.

“Yep?” he rasped, voice scratchy with exhaustion.

“Let me drive,” you pleaded. Joel glanced over at you with a scowl, and although you could tell he wanted to say no, he was beat. “C’mon.”

“Alright, just for a couple hours,” he sighed, pulling over onto the side of the road. The two of you took a quick scan around before exiting the truck, the dark night making it difficult to assess the danger. “Here, just—“ He waved you over, silently demanding you crawl over his lap and trade seats without having to get out. You bit your lip as you assessed the risk—climbing over his lap meant you’d have to touch him, perhaps even feel his hand on your hip guiding you. Could you really risk opening that can of worms after weeks of relative peace? “What are you—“

You opened your door and quickly made your way around in the light downpour to his, opening it up and patiently waiting for him to get over himself and climb out.

“You’re ridiculous,” he hissed as he stepped out of the car, his shoulder bumping into yours as he passed you. Insults you could take, but the look in his eyes? That look of sheer disdain could’ve killed you if you were a slightly weaker woman.

Climbing into the drivers seat, you tried to blink away the tears that had begun to blur your vision while Joel seemingly took a bathroom break by a bush. You didn’t mind the delay, it just made it easier for you to rid yourself of your tears in peace.

“You okay?” Ellie’s voice from the backseat startled you, making you jump as you wiped your eyes dry. Clearing your throat you nodded, looking in the rear view mirror at her with a weak smile.

“Yeah. I’m good.” She gave you a skeptical eyebrow raise as Joel finally climbed into the passenger seat, still wearing his scowl.

“Hurry up and get on the road,” he demanded.

“She was waiting on you,” Ellie chimed in with an irritated tone, surprising Joel. He turned to look back at her, and although you were oblivious to it, Ellie gestured to you and mimed crying, tipping Joel off to your sensitive state.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat and softened his tone, reaching over to touch your arm but it only caused you to jerk the steering wheel. “Jesus! Are you sure you can drive?”

“Would you—“ you snapped but stopped yourself from saying anything else, the clench in your jaw a sign of the inner strength it took to stop yourself from laying into him. “Just get some rest.”

“I’ll be able to rest when you get us there in one piece,” he huffed, crossing his arms and shifting in the seat so that he was more comfortable.

“Maybe if you sleep you’ll wake up less of an ass,” Ellie mumbled to herself and pulled a soft chuckle from you.

Although the two of you tried to keep all this drama between yourselves, you knew Ellie wasn’t dumb. She could see the way you looked at him, the way he looked at you, the way you quieted in his presence, the way he grew mean in yours. You didn’t want her to pick sides, but in all honestly, Joel wasn’t making it easy for her to root for him with his quick temper and no-nonsense attitude.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of the road lulled Joel to sleep, his familiar soft snores shattering you in ways you’d never confess to out loud.

“So…how did you two meet?” Ellie asked after a couple hours of silence, leaning in between the gap between the two front seats to talk to you, her voice kept low as to not wake the grump beside you.

“El, I don’t really wanna—“

“Please? I’m going crazy thinking about everything…give me something less scary to think about,” she pled and you were sighing, caving to her.

“We met in Boston. I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones, I guess. Born there, raised there, was fifteen when the outbreak happened,” you started, eyes constantly flickering over to Joel to make sure he was still asleep. “For a while, the zone was…chaos. You were just a little kid, you probably don’t remember, but it was a war zone between the military, infected, and the hunters. That’s how I met Joel.”

“Yeah, he mentioned something about that.”

“Five years or so ago we were properly introduced—our groups sort of ran with the same crowd, I guess. Me being a smuggler and trader and him being…him.” You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face as you thought back to simpler times, when his existence didn’t mean so much to you. “After a particularly bad incident that split him and his brother up, I managed to convince him to leave the hunting behind and do what I do.”

“And what was that?”

“Trading ration cards, supplies, meds…smuggling stuff in and out of the zone. Not exactly doing the Lord’s work, but…”

“Not hunting people.” You chuckled.

“Exactly.”

“So when did it…change?” Ellie asked with an awareness that shocked you, leaving you speechless for a moment.

“Eventually, you know, we grew from acquaintances to friends, then from friends into…something more. But there was a lot going on. I was head over heels for him since day one.” You kept your eyes forward, feeling your throat swell with hurt. “Tess was my friend, originally. But then she started to spend more time with Joel, and they eventually became closer than I was to either of them anymore. So, I gave him the choice to pursue her, and he did. That’s…that’s really all there is to it.”

“So…if he hurt you like that, why do you still want him?” Ellie’s questioning had finally become too much, your posture straightening as you breathed in a slow inhale. Your hand reached for the dial to turn up the cassette, desperate for a bit of silence.

“I think that’s enough talking for tonight.”

Ellie seemed to be emotionally intelligent enough to back off, sitting back in her seat and staring out of the window rather than pushing you for more answers to her endless list of questions. Answers you weren’t even sure you had.

You had all but five minutes of silence before Joel was breathing in deep through his nose, his eyes batting open and his posture adjusting.

“Shit, how long have I been out?” He turned to you but you couldn’t chance a glance at him, not after you and Ellie’s stroll down bittersweet-memory lane.

“Uh, a couple hours,” you replied in a weak voice, turning the music down. “We should find somewhere to pull over. I’m getting tired.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine. I’ll take over,” he offered, rubbing his palms over his face until all the leftover drowsiness had faded. “Just pull over and we can switch seats.”

“We need to sleep and eat and fucking pee, Joel. We can stop for a while.” You finally turned to look at him, expecting that narrowed look you’d become familiar with over the last few weeks, but he didn’t look angry. He looked…concerned?

“It’s too dark out…ain’t safe right now,” he whispered, his voice as gentle as his the look in his eyes. “Just let me take over.”

You hardly had time to manage a response before his hand was reaching over, his palm warm as it hesitantly rested on your knee. You let out a shaky breath and cursed yourself for being so weak for him, shaking your head at yourself.

“Ellie, tell the woman to pull over so she can get some damn sleep,” Joel spoke up, looking into the backseat.

“Pull over so you can get some damn sleep,” she repeated, earning a chuckle from you.

“C’mon, darlin’…pull over.” You sighed at his use of a pet name, wanting to scold him for using it so flippantly, but you found yourself pulling over anyways. This time, you and Ellie switched seats so that you could lay down in the back and actually try to get some decent rest.

You felt a pair of hands run up and down your bare sides, warm and strong and so large. Just one of them was the size of two of yours, and even through the haze of sleep you could tell who they belong to. With a sleepy grin and eyes still closed, you reached up to his neck as he hovered over you, pulling him down until his face was buried in your neck. Arching your back into him, he slipped his arms underneath you and hoisted you back onto his lap, his lips pliant and wet against your pulse.

“Missed you,” Joel husked as he started to guide your hips against his clothed cock, hands gripping the globes of your ass over the cotton of your underwear. “Mm, wake up, darlin’. I wanna see those eyes.”

Leaning back, you still carried a smile as you blinked your eyes open, Joel’s concentrated look earning a soft gasp from your lips as the bulk of his zipper rubbed against your throbbing clit. A smile grew on his own face as he reached up and ran the pad of his thumb over your lip.

“So damn beautiful,” he praised with a look of awe. “I hate havin’ to leave this bed. Especially to go out there.”

“Hard day?” You purred as you leaned in to pepper his neck with kisses, your fingers making quick work of the buttons of his flannel.

“Robert’s up to somethin’…Tess and I tried to snoop around but—“

“Tess?” You immediately felt your stomach flip with jealousy.

“Yeah,” he replied, lifting your head from his neck to inspect the sour look on your face. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You snapped defensively, already having shut yourself away internally. Joel gestured at your face, now irritated.

“That! You get all…worked up over nothin’,” he scolded. You mumbled a sarcastic apology and climbed off his lap and off the bed, feeling his hot gaze on you as you searched for your t-shirt. “How many times do I gotta tell you, Tess and I are friends. That’s it.”

“Yeah, Joel. So are we,” you reminded, the ill-defined nature of your relationship leaving plenty of room for interpretation even after two years of being together.

“I’d just like to have one god damn day where you act like the woman I met,” he snapped, standing up and following you out into your apartment’s living room.

“I’m not the one who’s changed!” Joel watched you as you turned the sink on and poured yourself a glass of shitty tap water, one hand on his hip and a look of disbelief written on his face. “If you would just admit that there’s something going on between you two, we could figure something out! We could…share you or something.”

“Like it’s a damn custody battle?” He guffawed, shaking his head and turning to look out of the window. “You’re delusional.”

“And you’re fucking her!” You shouted, causing him to whip his head around. His eyes were pointed, the kind that you’d seen hundreds of times before but had luckily never been on the receiving end of. In just a few steps he was in front of you, backing you against the counter behind you. Your breath hitched as you stared up into his eyes, all the anger and insecurity leaving your body under the heat of his stare. With a weaker, broken voice, you asked, “Are you fucking her?”

“No.” He shook his head, his voice strong with sincerity. “And don’t you ever accuse me of it again unless you see it with your own damn eyes.” His hands gripped your hips again, his touch less revering but still just as needy and desperate. “You are the only person in this god damned world capable of making me this fuckin’ angry…and this fuckin’ hard.”

He ripped your panties at the side-seams, the cotton falling to the floor as he spun you around to face the counter and kicked your legs apart. Next came your shirt, quickly peeled off you and thrown across the room before his calloused hands ran up and down the expanse of your bare spine and around to your stomach until he was gripping your breasts with both hands.

“Maybe I just gotta fuck this jealousy outta ya,” he proposed as his lips traveled up your shoulder blade to the back of your neck, biting a soft mark into the skin there. You whimpered and nodded, sticking your ass out for him even more than he’d already arranged it, earning a smack to the plump flesh. “All you need is a little reassurin’, don’t ya? My jealous fuckin’ girl.”

The sound of his belt coming undone had you dripping with need, but right as he started to slip into you, you were bolting upright with a plea for air, a cracked gasp leaving your lips as you focused on reality. Joel and Ellie were startled by the sound as they sat in the front seats of the truck, both of their necks craning to glance at you.

It had just been a dream. A bad dream. A fucking good dream.

“Jesus, you okay?” Ellie asked, turning in her chair completely to face you as you sat in the backseat covered in sweat, your chest heaving as you tried to calm the aching arousal between your thighs. You felt completely embarrassed, especially given the racy nature of your dream. Had you said anything out loud in your sleep that gave your subconscious’s deepest desires away? Could Joel tell that you were dreaming about him? The way he avoided your eyes in the rear-view mirror did little to reassure you otherwise.

“Yeah,” you panted back to the teenager. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” she chided, tone laced with disappointment? Frustration? You weren’t sure.

“Ellie, knock it off and turn around. Put your damn seatbelt on,” Joel scolded, much to both of your surprise. Feeling the need to clarify his defense, he spoke again, “We’re almost to Pittsburgh.”

“Pittsburgh?” You gathered yourself enough to object to the plan. “You didn’t say anything about us going through Pittsburgh.”

“Well I didn’t know until about a hundred miles ago,” he responded with a curious tone. “There a reason we shouldn’t?”

“I’ve heard it’s littered with hunters. We should find another way around,” you advised, meeting Joel’s eyes in the mirror.

“I don’t know that we got the gas for that.”

“Joel…you know what hunters do to people. I’d rather us run out of gas in the woods and have to walk than to run into them.”

He took a moment to think about his options, his jaw ticking and thumbs drumming on the steering wheel before he was turning the truck around.

“Alright. There was a small town a few miles back,” he rasped. “We can try to get a night’s rest there and hopefully even some gas.”

You offered him a small smile, silently thanking him for listening to you when he easily could have ignored your advice. Joel didn’t smile back, simply nodding at you once through the rearview mirror, but it was enough to have a frenzy of butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“Place is clear from what I can tell,” Joel pointed at an abandoned house he just cleared in a small, quiet town about an hour outside of Pittsburgh called Somerset. “Long as we stay quiet and keep our eyes open, I think we’ll be alright out here for the night.”

You stared up at the two-story colonial home, it’s red brick half-covered with kelly-green vines, the white of the doorframe and gazebo now a murky grey. Still, even in it’s withered state, it looked like a nice place to call home. Maybe in another life you’d be living in a home like this with a family you helped create, a cat or a dog to curl up in your lap, a husband that loved you and let you love him.

But that world is simply a fantasy.

The world you found yourself in was grimy, murky, overgrown with weeds and left uncared for. There was no place for a family, no time to sit curled up with a pet, no men left who could give or receive that type of love—that type of luxury.

You needed to learn to let go of these delusions and fantasies if you wanted to stay alive out here. Joel seemed to do it easy enough, after all.

“C’mon,” Joel urged you forward with a small voice, nudging his head towards the house while Ellie was already heading in. You cleared your throat, embarrassed that he’d caught you deep in your thoughts, but as you went to walk past him, his hand gently grabbed hold of your wrist. “Hey, you alright?”

No. No, I’m fucking not. Not with you holding my hand like this. Not with you looking at me like that. Not with you.

Your lips parted to speak but nothing came out. Instead, you gave him a quick nod, your response seemingly not adequate enough for him because he refused to let go of you.

“I’m fine,” you tried to reassure him again, this time mustering more sincerity.

“You can fool her all you want, but you can’t fool me,” he whispered earnestly, shaking his head at you, eyes looking into yours tenderly, almost longing. “What can I do?”

“Joel, you can’t fix this mess,” you gestured to your head. “I’ll be alright.”

“Will you? Because from what I can see, you can’t stay out of your damn head for five minutes,” he continued his whisper yelling, not wanting Ellie or any possible infected to hear. “Tell me what I need to do to help you.”

You stood there looking stunned or stupid, you couldn’t tell by the look of irritation on his face. What were you supposed to do? Beg him to love you again? Beg him to leave you again? No. You’d find a way to be okay on your own. You needed to find a way to be okay on your own.

“I’m not your problem anymore,” you finally decided on.

“The hell you aren’t,” he snapped at a normal volume as you started towards the house. He called your name, clearly not finished with the conversation, but you didn’t stop or turn around. “Baby, please—“

“Do. Not.” You turned your head around, eyes welling with tears instantly as you pointed your finger at him. “Do not call me that. You have no right to call me that.”

“I’m worried about you,” he almost whimpered, his voice cracking with raw emotion as he walked to meet you on the front step. “And you’re right. I have no right to care this much ‘bout someone I’m not with, but…I. Can’t. Help. It.”

“If I have to find a way to be okay without you, you can find a way to stop caring about me,” you argued, fighting the urge to lift your hand to his perfectly rugged face. “I’m tired. Can we go inside now?”

“One last thing,” he begged. “What were you dreaming about in the truck?”

“That’s private,” you snapped.

“You said my name.”

“Yeah, well…you’ve given me plenty to dream about in our time together,” you shrugged. “Good and bad.”

“You’re killin’ me,” he shuddered, shaking his head at you. You watched as his hand raised up, his palm ghosting over your cheek, wanting to cradle it but refraining from making contact. Holding your breath, you tried to will him closer, pleading to some unseen force for him to make a move, to make him try, but no one seemed to be listening. He dropped his hand to his side and sucked in a slow breath, his eyes bouncing between yours. “Just…be okay. Alright?”

“Yeah…I’m working on it.”

You grabbed the doorknob and walked inside, hearing Ellie’s gasps and stunned laughter as she checked out the home.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed as she came walking down the stairs towards the two of you. “This place insane!”

“Keep your voice down,” Joel scolded dryly, dejected from your conversation. “It’s clear, but that don’t mean it’ll stay that way.”

“Sorry,” she sassed under her breath as she reached you, following the two of you into the living room. “How much was a place like this back then? Like a million dollars?”

“Nah,” Joel started as he inspected the cabinets for any sign of spores. “Round here it was probably only ‘bout two, maybe three hundred.”

“Dollars?”

“Thousand dollars.” He corrected.

“How much was your house?” She inquired as she hoisted herself up onto the kitchen island beside you, your eyes and hands busy unloading a can of beans to settle your rumbling stomach.

“Ya know, that woulda been a rude question to ask somebody back in the day?” Joel grumbled as he turned around, your eyes missing the way his scanned over your concentrated face.

“Well, we’re not back in the day anymore,” Ellie retorted. “How much?”

“Three fifty,” he caved and answered her, too busy watching you to continue this back and forth. When you finished peeling the lid open, your eyes met his on accident, and you watched as he quickly turned to look at Ellie. “Three-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars down the drain, that is.”

Joel left the room abruptly, mumbling something about going upstairs to look around, leaving you and Ellie standing there with creased eyebrows.

“What’s his deal?” She whispered to you as you handed her a spoon, offering to share the can of room-temp black beans with her to which she accepted.

“I think that’s my fault,” you sighed, spooning some beans into your mouth.

“How’d you put up with him for so long? You two seem so different.”

You chuckled, shaking your head and shrugging. “It wasn’t like this back then. This is…new territory.”

“I can’t imagine him being any different,” she chuckled. “What’s he like when he’s not so…grumpy?”

“Well, he’s always a little grumpy, but that’s a part of his charm,” you smiled. “I don’t know, he was funny and sensitive and sweet…warm, gentle…soft.”

“Joel is soft?”

“Was,” you corrected with an exhale. “Joel was soft. Not…anymore, apparently.”

Joel laid awake downstairs on the sofa, trying and failing to will his eyes closed for the last hour. Through the window shined a midnight blue glow, casting dark shadows across the hardwood floor. It was silent, no outside force to be blamed for his restlessness, just his aching heart.

He couldn’t sleep knowing that you were right upstairs, clearly aching for him the same way he was for you. He could see how being around him was beginning to eat you alive and how you tried your best to fool him. But he knew you better than he knew himself, your eyes having been his safe place for two damn years. He could see that you were always lost inside your own head and he craved to be able to let you out, to help you come back.

Rolling onto his side, he stared ahead at the long-forgotten fireplace, it’s red brick now blackened with coal black soot. He had half a mind to believe that’s how his heart looked these days—it’s how it felt, at least.

His introspection was cut short by a blood-curdling scream from upstairs, the voice to adult to be Ellie. Joel grabbed his shotgun and raced up the stairs, bursting into your room ready to kill something, but instead being met with the sight of you, freshly awake and panting. You were sat upright on your blanket on the floor, your hand over your heart, eyes squeezed shut, shaking breaths filling the room.

“Just a nightmare,” you offered a bit of explanation in hopes of ridding him of his worry, his face still screwed in terror. “I’m okay.”

“Stop that.” The sternness in his voice woke you all the way up, your eyes widening as he stomped over to you. For just a split second, you feared him, the look in his eyes dark with rage and emotion.

But then he was kneeling down, dropping his gun to the floor beside your makeshift cot, his hands lifting to your cheeks to cradle your head in his hands. You hadn’t even realized you’d been crying until his thumbs were wiping away the stream of tears running down your cheeks. Your throat began to swell at the warmth in his touch, a sob threatening to break free as he stared at you like you were the only thing in this world he cared about.

“Let me be here for you,” he begged in a barely audible whisper. “Let me help.”

“It’ll just hurt more,” you cried, tears flowing again. Joel threw caution to the wind and pulled you into his arms, laying down with you on the floor, your face buried in his neck while he pet the back of your head.

“Is this helpin’ or hurtin’?” he asked in a whisper, his hand on your back rubbing soothing circles to calm you. When you didn’t respond, he tried to let go of you, not wanting to force his comfort upon you that if you weren’t comfortable with it.

As soon as his hands left you, though, you hugged him tighter, a silent demand for him to stay put. You’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be held by him, the way his strong arms wrapped around you like you were something precious, his warmth, the feeling of his body beneath his clothes, even the musk of his natural scent—it all soothed the ache that had been plaguing you since he left. Since the last time he held you like this.

“Talk to me,” he demanded softly, his fingers now lightly scratching your scalp. “What were you dreamin’ about?”

“It’s…embarrassing,” you confessed, your words muffled as you kept your face buried in his neck.

“Darlin’,” he cooed, his fingers lowering from your head to run up and down your bicep in featherlight strokes. Sitting up a bit so that you were looking into his eyes, you hesitated before speaking, not wanting to ruin this moment with the truth.

“Dreamt I was…” you sighed, exhaling all your anxiety and melting back into him, your cheek resting on his chest. “Dreamt I was dying…clickers feasting on me, and you were just…watching. You were just standing there, no emotion, no fear, no…grief in your eyes. Like it meant nothing—like I meant nothing.”

“Look at me,” he tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to his gravely serious ones. “If anything were to ever happen to you…I promise you, it would shatter me. Would be the end for me, too.”

“Why can’t you just let me love you?” You asked, your voice breaking with emotion as you reached to hold his face, tracing your thumb over lines and freckles that you’d memorized by heart. “It’s all I want…just to love you.”

“Love me,” he rasped back, his eyes dropping to your lips. “Love me.”

You moaned softly, so hushed that Joel had to question whether or not he actually heard it, but your hands tugging him by the collar of his jacket to roll on top of you shooed all doubt in his mind. He let out a soft moan of his own as he slotted his thigh between yours, his hand stroking your hair out of your face as he laid half on top of you, eyes worshipping you in the pale blue of the midnight moon shining through the window.

“We can’t…not with Ellie in the next room,” he warned as he hovered his lips over yours, your lips chasing his. “Don’t let me get carried away with you.”

“Just kiss me,” you breathed out as you pulled him to your lips, a gasped moan spilling from his lips into yours as he gripped your hip so tight it might leave a few bruise marks. You swiped your tongue over his lips and he growled, rolling his hips into yours. You whimpered into his mouth, your fingers tangled in his slowly greying locks, your teeth biting down on his bottom lip.

“God,” he groaned, his hand slipping lower to squeeze your ass. “I missed you so much, my pretty girl…missed you so much.”

“I want you,” you begged breathlessly, grinding yourself against his thigh in hopes of finding some relief. Joel shook his head as his lips found your neck. “Please,” you begged again even more desperately. “I can be quiet.”

“We both know that ain’t true,” he smirked against your skin, seemingly lost in memories of the past when the two of you were free to go at it like wild animals. “But…you can get yourself off on my thigh. Long as you save all those pretty sounds just for me.”

“Fuck,” you moaned into his ear, continuing to roll your hips against his tree-trunk of a thigh. The seam of your jeans caught deliciously against your hyper-sensitive clit, your body buzzing from having the man you lived back in your arms after so long. “Gonna cum,” you warned, earning a squeeze of his hands on your ass and his teeth biting at your neck. “Joel…fuck…I’m…oh,” you spoke through pants until you broke, your hips stuttering against his thigh as your orgasm hit you hard enough to hurt, the violent aftershocks of your euphoria almost too blissful to take.

“There you go,” he praised, kissing your pulse and running his hand up and down the curve of your body. Completely spent, you felt yourself falling back to sleep underneath him, Joel’s warmth and weight your new favorite blanket.

Joel kissed your temple before moving to get up, needing to go back downstairs in order to watch the front door for any intruders. Feeling his warmth leaving you, you tried to reach out and grab him but quickly gave up, your exhaustion triumphing over your desire. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at you, sleeping peacefully with a glow still on your cheeks from your orgasm. You looked so beautiful and delicate, this world failing to get to you, failing to turn you cold and worn down like everybody else. Though he knew this was dangerous—you and him tiptoeing over the line he drew between you—he couldn’t bear to keep himself from you anymore, not now that he got the chance to hold you again.

Leaning down to press one last kiss to your cheek, he pulled your blanket over your body.

“Sleep well, honey,” he whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear as he debated speaking the words he’d long been withholding from you. But here, with you fast asleep, he couldn’t stop himself from confessing the truth. “I love you more than anything in the world. I’m sorry I never showed it.”

As Joel grabbed his gun and turned to leave, he heard your voice, soft and husky with sleep.

“I love you, too.”

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22 and 24 for dean :)

22. How many different men have you had sex with?

DEAN: Uh. I don't really -- I feel like if you can count you're probably not doing it right. [pause] DEAN: Sam told me that's a weird thing to say. Doesn't mean I know, though. Like, ballparking it, it'd be... more than fifty, less than two hundred...? But that's not -- [pause] DEAN: It's not about -- like, notches on the headboard. I've slept with a bunch of people, ladies and dudes and some pretty interesting stuff in between, and it's -- not because I was trying to fill out a tally and it wasn't, you know, bragging rights or something. Sometimes it was because we were having a good time and just wanted to keep the party going, and sometimes it was because I was messed up and needed to not feel messed up for a while, and sometimes it was because it just -- seemed like the best idea at the time. A lot of times it was for a job. And you know, those weren't bad. Or, not always bad. There was this dude in Billings who -- let's put it this way, literally everyone in your life will thank you if you shower more than once a week, okay? So -- yeah. I guess the question just doesn't... work for me. ...But screw it, there aren't rules. Different question: how many guys did I really want to have sex with, and would've done it even if there weren't -- extra cirumstances -- and where I'm still pretty happy I did it? Call it... thirty, more or less. Lot of road between there and here but -- hell, could be a lot worse.

24. Can you tell us more about the last time you had a threesome?

DEAN: We were in Boston, fresh off a pretty good job -- no one got hurt besides Sam skinning his knee like a dork, saved the girls, all that good stuff -- and we were celebrating, at this bar. Red Sox game was that night -- think they were playing the Yankees -- and Sam didn't want to deal with all the screaming and so we were at a kinda more mellow place, and this kid started looking at Sam. I mean, a lot of people look at Sam. It's a nice view when you don't know how much of a nerd he is. So -- we've had some drinks, they've got a decent soundtrack playing, and we don't usually -- in public, we don't. Most of the time. Sam's not much for PDA anyway, and I got a broken rib once when we got caught by some hicks and it kinda put me off the whole notion -- but this was a college bar, not a townie dive, and this kid was looking and he wasn't being shy, and he was -- cute, you know, in that skinny college kid kind of way, shaggy brownish hair and a too-big jacket. And I thought -- yeah. Yeah, I could go for that.

Wasn't that hard to get him to come back to the motel. Twenty-two and not smart enough about the world. Plus I think he got hypnotized by Sam, or something. He's got some freaky power. Ninety percent of the time he's like an extra-boring monk and then he decides to flip a switch and he pulls these people in like a tractor beam. He wasn't into it at first -- kind of annoyed that I was flirting with this random kid -- but then he started paying attention, and the thing is I know my brother, and he's got all this high-minded stuff he says about everyone being special in their own way, blah blah -- like I don't know that -- but I also know that he likes tiny chicks and skinny dudes that he can fold up and make scream. Tractor beams on. Shane was practically panting by the time we got him stripped and laid out on the other queen.

So we had a good time. Shane was up for it. Wasn't drunk, not like that, but he was so goddamn excited I think he came before Sam even got it in, but that just made him all boneless and floppy and probably made it a lot easier, especially since I'm about five hundred percent sure he was lying about how much experience he had when we were talking back at the bar. Luckily Sammy's good for it, and got him to go again before he was done. I'd nearly gotten there just from watching Sam work -- it's pretty incredible, and most of the time I'm too distracted to really appreciate it -- and I would've been fine with anything, especially since it looked like Sam was still horny and probably would've blown my brains out if I wanted -- but I got Shane to ride me, instead, and he was just -- cute, sloppy. Happy. Sam helped him, since he was so shaky from getting nailed, and I just got to lay back and watch Sam smile at me over this kid's shoulder. Sam, relaxed and smug and happy. Just about the best thing in the world, whether orgasms are involved or not.

By the time we were all cleaned up and done it was like three in the morning. We drove Shane back to his dorm and Sam walked him up to the door and kissed him, all boyfriend nice about it, and I think Shane might've actually floated up the stairs to bed. If he slept at all. When Sam got back in the car I reminded him that I'm a genius, and Sam rolled his eyes but stretched out all relaxed and loose and lazy-confident in that just spectacularly hot way he does sometimes and he went, okay. You've got your moments. Damn right I do.

(send me some hornt asks)

#ask meme #my writing #wincest #hornt asks

[lasthq]

welcome to novac, leo, summer + dunya ⸻ it's got it's ups and downs, but you can't deny the view. please make sure to look over our checklist, see our room allocations, and send in your character blog within 24 hours to prevent an early checkout. (matthew gray gubler, gong yoo, patrick gibson and archie renaux are now taken)

matthew gray gubler & he+they/cis man ⸻ i saw miles “milo” shepherd coming through the trees. the thirty three year old was fleeing from taos, new mexico when they came across novac, and have sought salvation within the motel of purgatory. milo has been in town for three years and has been assigned as a nurse to keep society running smoothly. no matter what, they will find something to fight for. ⸻ leo, they+them, twenty2, pst.

gong yoo & he+they/non binary ⸻ i saw ren choi coming through the trees. the forty year old was fleeing from houston, texas when they came across novac, and have sought salvation within the motel of purgatory. ren has been in town for five years and has been assigned as a cook + part time teacher to keep society running smoothly. no matter what, they will find something to fight for. ⸻ leo, they+them, twenty2, pst.

patrick gibson & he/him /cis man ⸻ i saw theodore dunne coming through the trees. the 28 year old was fleeing from las vegas, nevada when they came across novac, and have sought salvation within the motel of purgatory. theo has been in town for three years and has been assigned as maintenance to keep society running smoothly. no matter what, they will find something to fight for. ⸻ summer.

archie renaux & cis man/he/him ⸻ i saw william deschamps coming through the trees. the 25 year old was fleeing from boston, massachussetts when they came across novac, and have sought salvation within the motel of purgatory. will has been in town for five years and has been assigned as a scavenger to keep society running smoothly. no matter what, they will find something to fight for. ⸻ dunya, she/her, 26, pst.

#appless rp #tumblr rp #oc rp #apocalypse rp #mature rp

[regenaxe]

Heading West

Tappan Zee Bridge We left Boston this morning. Saying goodbye to all who we love there. Heading west, we almost made it to Pittsburgh, which is about halfway home. Between the setting sun and too many trucks, Pennsylvania was a slough. Anne found us a nice motel that is off the beaten path. We might take it easy tomorrow and visit the Dayton Air Force Museum, instead of trying to make it home.…

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[zooma07]

11.12.23

02:47 am Me encuentro en un espacio rectangular, a mis alrededores hay distribuidos electrodomésticos, muebles y ropa, en el centro una cama amplia. Sé de inmediato que se trata de la habitación de un motel en New York o Boston; es de noche. Tengo varias lámparas encendidas dentro de la habitación. Frente a la cama hay un gran ventanal que da hacia la calle y a los edificios de enfrente, pero…

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#pesadilla #sueño

[loiswolf]

Day 48 July 18 Thunder Bay - Red Rock 105kms

A few days ago when I was in Ignace I called five motels in Nipigon (the next town) and not one of them had a room for tonight. That’s why I’m in Red Rock, an 8km detour off the highway. It’s a pretty cute place though

With a view of the lake

And in a sweet little town with pretty houses.

So this morning I decided to take the cycle route out of Thunder Bay as the short stretch of highway I rode yesterday was banned to bicycles.

It was a nice quiet road but I didn’t get the view I was hoping for. It was all industrial areas, really bad motels and railway lines. I had covered 20kms before I had even a glimpse of the lake.

As you can see on the map

there was an extra detour before joining back onto the highway. I decided to take it because there was a cake place along the road. Big mistake! The cake place was there but it was just a house with a sign on the garage. There was nobody there and definitely no cake. I sat in one of their chairs and ate a Boston Cream donut I’d bought in a six pack yesterday. Eventually I got sick of listening to the dogs barking and moved on.

There had been a long downhill run down to the cake place so I knew I was going to be in for an extra hill. There still wasn’t even a good view of the lake because there were houses down driveways blocking the view from the road.

I wasn’t wrong about the hill going back up the highway but I didn’t count on it being dirt as well. That’s the last time I take a google maps cycle detour!

Just a few km up the highway was a service station where I could finally get a coffee. This place was called Flying J’s Travel Centre. How was I supposed to know it was just your average service station?

I had my coffee sitting out on the edge of the flower bed. As usual someone lit up a cigarette nearby. I’m so sick of this! I made no secret of moving down the ledge and facing the other way. There seems to be a lot of cigarette smokers here.

For the next 30kms it was non stop roadwork

It wasn’t terribly hard cycling but not very scenic.

At 75kms there was a roadside convenience store. A nice young lady serving suggested a breakfast muffin when I realised the ice-cream I’d chosen cost about the same.

The muffin was pretty good for a change and I enjoyed sitting out in the sun for longer than I meant to.

30kms to go including a long hold up for road work. I hadn’t expected a tail wind today because I was heading north so it was a pleasant change when I turned off for Red Rock. Unfortunately it started raining for the final 5kms which kind of ruined the fun.

It took a long time to check in as Don is very old and technically challenged.

I actually wasn’t able to pay because he doesn’t know how the use the little machine you put your card in. I have to wait until later this evening when someone else will be here.

I thought Don must be really old but he’s only 76. I think he bears more than a passing resemblance to Monty Burns from the Simpsons.

He must have lost his sense of smell because instead of smelling like a lovely old, slightly musty motel ( which it is) it smells like curry, just like all the other places. I’m pretty sure its because the cook is Indian.😔

This is downstairs along with a huge games room.

[custardcroissant]

Kaddy’s Bach Weekend in Stowe, Vermont. October, 2022.

Buttoning the wrists on my denim shirt, I searched the pick-up line for a rental van filled with my sisters meandering in to the Boston airport. A hand waves out the window of a minivan into the cool autumn air, it’s a welcome change from the never-ending summer of West Palm. The side door slides automatically....

Renting a house in Stowe, we all trickled into the fifty-degree weather and cooked a pot of spaghetti to begin celebrating Kaddy’s bachelorette weekend. We talked and played board games until midnight before finding our way to our tiny bedrooms in the old house. Waking up in the morning, a dense fog slowly dried off as we packed lunch and drove to a nearby mountain to hike. On either side of the trailhead grew miniature apples, a serendipitous find I crunched into (we don’t have these in Florida!). 

Later on, we perused the main town, finding a few books and chocolates (while asking to pet any cute dogs we saw). I took this chance to capture the picturesque town along with other photographers (but I also used my tinted sunglasses as a fun filter to add an autumnal sepia tone to some shots). The later afternoon, we drove 45 minutes to a hidden cidery with an incredible valley view for more fresh air and good company. Sunday was spent visiting the farmers market for fresh cheese, pressed cider (done by a father and his two kids using an old press!), and other goods.  Saturday concluded with dinner at a 50s resort motel-turned-pizzaria before we bid adieu and hugged as we drove out Monday morning.

#vermont #stowe #hiking #outdoors #photography #autumn #all rights reserved

[truetravelplanner]

Cheap Motels In New Jersey

#top 10 cheap motels in new jersey

[unusedrooms]

Charles River Motel

Charles River Motel When you stay at Charles River Motel in Boston, you’ll be near the airport, a 2-minute drive from Harvard University and 9 minutes from Boston College. Free self parking is available onsite.. We would recommend booking early especially for tours and events. Since COVID restrictions being eased there has been a boom in vacation travel. https://fave.co/3OKwY3W

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[deadmotelsusa]

The Boston View Motel of Walpole, Massachusetts sold in 2016 for 1.7 million and was demolished soon after. It was replaced by a massive Fairfield Inn & Suites.

#boston view motel #walpole #massachusetts #then and now #deadmotelsusa #photo from ebay

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Love Me Like You Drew

Fandom: Nancy Drew Pairing: Nancy x Ace Rating: E Chapter: 1 / 6 Word Count: 3870

Summary: Romance author Nancy Drew is great at writing about love—like, bestseller great—but she hasn't been so great at feeling it since her mom died. Struggling to find inspiration for the much-anticipated follow-up to her beloved early works, she drives from New York to Horseshoe Bay, Maine. The picturesque town effortlessly provides, though the handsome diner dishwasher is a bit much. She's going to ignore him.

She's going to try to ignore him.

Or, the five times Nancy sees Ace as a Harlequin romance cover come to life and the one time he's just a guy.

Nancy drove up the coast. She didn’t use a map on her phone or one of those classic road-trippin’ numbers you picked up at a gas station and could never refold to look the way it had when you’d bought it. She remembered those from her childhood, the accordioned paper flapping with the speed of the car, warm air sailing over the windshield into the convertible. Her dad laughing desperately while he tried to hold the map still enough to navigate, her mom so glamorous and sure of herself behind the wheel.

Nancy sniffed and adjusted her own hands on the wheel—the same wheel. Same wheel, same car, much different atmosphere on this trip than the ones her family had taken two decades ago. Wherever she went, she carried them with her, especially her mom, even if it would’ve been easier not to.

After making another stop for gas and accepting that she no longer knew where she was (beyond Maine, obviously having noticed when she’d crossed state lines), she still refused to retrieve the phone that could pinpoint her precise location. Being too aware was the enemy right now, that was what she’d been told. So her phone stayed in her bag, and her bag stayed in the back seat, mocking her while she drove past more rock beaches, more sailboats slicing across idyllic inlets, more forests so close to the highway that they filled her car with the scent of pine (she snatched the tree-shaped air freshener from her rear-view mirror and hid it in the glove compartment with a deep sense of shame).

The bag was a sorry excuse for what it should have been. What she’d intended to pack up was everything, all of her possessions, and the reason that hadn’t happened was entirely her own fault, so actually, it served her right to have only her single, haphazardly-loaded piece of luggage for company. A mess, like her future was looking. It was almost poetic, except she was no poet. Lately, she wasn’t even a writer.

Eventually, she would have to stop the car. This little jaunt didn’t have a definite end date, so it would be better not to cross into New Brunswick and accidentally stay long enough to acquire Canadian citizenship. Nancy just hadn’t felt it yet. She hadn’t consciously realized that she was waiting to feel something until that moment, and now this fake rule was pissing her off. She didn’t believe in feeling things. Resolution, signs, fate. The closest she got to any of that was her gut, and Nancy hadn’t been able to trust that since a bad bowl of chowder in Boston a couple nights ago. That was the very last time she ate someplace that sketchy just because it was next door to her equally sketchy motel (she was at least going to stick to a budget during this New England Eat Pray Love knockoff).

She pulled off the highway when both her gas gauge and her stomach were signalling Empty—it felt a little mundane to be fate.

This place had a cute painted sign and a clear, blue cup of a bay to justify its name. The bluffs that shot down to it were steep, but the road wound to the lower-lying area where the town spilled out. Nancy took her foot off the gas and crawled down the main strip with wide eyes. There was a flower shop, a café, and a cute little hardware store, and she hadn’t even hit the first intersection yet. Which was stop signs only, of course; no streetlights to obscure her view of what had to be historic buildings in the next block, practically aflutter with their gingerbread flourishes and round windows that reminded her of a ship’s portholes.

“It’s perfect,” she muttered, dumbstruck. She passed some kind of community centre and kids were playing hopscotch on the sidewalk out front. “Or else this is a chowder-induced hallucination and I’m about to wake up in Massachusetts General to be told they pumped my stomach.”

But it looked real and, when she cranked down her window, it smelled real—the scent of the sea stronger than anything else. This could work. Like, this could really work. There was inspiration everywhere. She’d driven into a damn Hallmark movie. Suddenly, the time she’d figured on spending on this project shortened dramatically. How long did it take to write a chapter, really? That would be all she needed (maybe two chapters) to sell them on a new story. In a week, she could be back in New York and this time Columbia wouldn’t dismiss her as some wunderkind has-been (ok, they hadn’t said that in the email, but the sign off? “All best” which essentially translated to “fuck off forever,” right?). She was still Nancy Drew.

While getting gas, she asked the attendant for a lunch recommendation. She’d rejected his attempt to pump her gas for her (it was a full-service station, which Nancy hadn’t realized even existed anymore) and he seemed keen to be useful. Taking the road he’d mentioned, she drove until it dead-ended at a parking lot. Then she got out of her mom’s car and planted her feet in Horseshoe Bay.

It troubled Nancy that the restaurant’s swinging sign featured a claw, but maybe that was just the bad seafood flashback talking. None of the other half-dozen cars in the lot were apparently bothered. They could all be out-of-towners like her, but it was unlikely. Although it was a gorgeous summer day, the diner was off the beaten path, a little rougher-looking than the main street façades. She put a hand to her stomach. It gurgled, either in warning or just in hunger. Well, she’d go inside and check the place out. If it didn’t look promising, she’d decamp to the café.

There was a bell hooked over the top of the door that jingled as Nancy pushed into the Bayside Claw. That was kind of charming, but it was immediately drowned out by the sound of glass shattering. Ten feet in front of her, a waitress in a yellow uniform stood frozen, clutching an empty plastic tray at an angle that explained the source of the crash.

“Bess!”

Another waitress—this one in a green uniform and hair in two smooth French braids that made Nancy give her windblown hair a self-conscious pat—stomped up to the first one’s mess and gestured at the floor.

“Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?” Green Uniform demanded.

The woman named Bess seemed to be trying to answer her co-worker’s question, but her eyes were fixed on Nancy, who gave an uncertain wave.

“It’s ok, Bess,” Green Uniform said, voice softer. “I’ll go get the broom. You stay here and don’t let anybody walk in the gla— Bess!”

Bess had bolted towards the back of the restaurant.

Green Uniform groaned before striding quickly to—no, past—Nancy, who turned, puzzled, in time to have a laminated menu forced into her hands.

“Why do I have to do everything around here?” This appeared to be rhetorical, unlike the abrupt follow-up: “Welcome to the Claw. Watch out for the glass.”

“Thank you?”

But Nancy was standing by herself again while the waitress presumably went to grab the broom. She glanced around.

The Claw’s patrons didn’t look fazed by the broken glass or the brusque waitstaff. Nancy couldn’t decide whether that was comforting or unsettling, but in the meantime, she spied tables with beautifully toasted sandwiches, glistening pickle spears, and huge, golden onion rings. She showed herself to an open booth.

Lifting the strap over her head, she set her purse down beside her. She had a pen and notebook inside—old-fashioned worked for her, or it once had—and she got them out and lined them up next to the paper placemat. She uncapped the pen and set it back down. Outside the window, there was a cartoonish red and white lighthouse. Alright, she’d start there.

The lighthouse, the dreamily-blended blues of sky and sea, the waitress with a man’s name… (Was it really her name or had she done a playful switcheroo with another member of the Claw’s staff? This “George” didn’t really seem the type.)

Nancy had jotted a few details when she heard clicking footsteps and the clearing of a high voice. Glancing up, she instinctively pressed her pen between the pages and shut her notebook.

She was surprised to see the waitress who’d dropped the glasses standing at her booth, her own pen and smaller notebook at the ready.

Bess beamed.

When she didn’t ask Nancy what she’d like, Nancy opened her mouth to ask what kind of sandwich the woman at the table across the way had ordered, but then Bess found her voice. Her British voice. Huh. Unexpected.

“Can I have your autograph, Ms. Drew?”

Instead of short-handing her order across the lines of the notebook, she thrust it and the pen towards Nancy, who was thrown. She blinked rapidly, staring up at the face of a woman who had evidently made a full recovery from the shock of a few minutes ago and was now experiencing the best day of her life. The force of Bess’s smile made Nancy’s cheeks hurt.

“Yeah,” she said uneasily, “sure…”

She reached for the pen and paper. Bess squealed in delight as Nancy scrawled out her signature. Boy, she hadn’t done this in a while. All those stacks of paperbacks at her first signings… The events were a blur now, but the memory of a hand cramp that had lasted three weeks was sharp.

“Here you go.” She handed it back to the waitress.

“I can’t believe this,” Bess gushed. “It’s a dream come true.”

“It’s nothing,” Nancy assured her, slightly embarrassed.

A few diners were looking up from their lunches, glancing towards her booth, and failing to recognize her. That was normal. She was only a celebrity to a certain group of people. She hadn’t expected to find one of them in a small coastal town in Maine.

“It’s absolutely not nothing!” Bess countered. She slid into the bench seat across from Nancy. Well, ok then. “I’ve read your books a hundred times! My copies are in tatters, and I’ve replaced the first one twice! It’s my favourite. I know everyone loves a happy ending, but I think beginnings are underrated.”

She surprised a smile out of Nancy.

“Yeah,” Nancy said. “Actually, I agree with that.”

“All the buildup about Ryan’s intimidating family, and then, ah! When Ryan and Lucy meet!” Bess’s hand shot across the table to squeeze Nancy’s. “And you know they can’t be together but somehow they will?” She sighed happily.

Swept up in Bess’s fawning, Nancy’s memory of writing the first book was coloured by Bess’s glowing summary. The story hadn’t exactly been as straightforwardly frothy as Bess was making it out to be. In fact, it had teetered on the edge of tragedy as Nancy produced page after page of a gentle courtship repeatedly undercut by the looming threats of the Ryan character’s parents, Lucy’s authoritarian mother. More astute reviewers had said the book had shades of the ill-fated Romeo and Juliet. When asked, Nancy had gone with it; she’d been so young when she’d written it, naturally some of her inspirations were the basics in the history of love stories.

But of course the looming darkness hadn’t come from Shakespeare—it was her mom’s illness. When her mom had died, she’d wanted to scrap the ending, give Ryan and Lucy some of her pain, but she’d already finished it, and three different publishing houses were in love.

“What do you think they’re doing now? Lucy and Ryan?” Bess asked, still smiling.

Nancy tensed. It wasn’t the question she always dreaded being asked, but it was close. When’s the next book? everyone wanted to know. What are your plans? What are you working on? When can we expect your call, your email, your first draft, a sneak-peek to promo on our blog?

She cleared her throat.

“Probably something boring.” She laughed unconvincingly and felt bad as Bess’s excited expression slipped from her face. “That’s the goal, isn’t it? To fall in love and just live out your life without anything too awful happening to wreck everything?”

Wallowing in the guilt she felt for venting her bitterness, Nancy was shocked when Bess patted her hand kindly.

“Long drive, right? Your blood sugar’s probably low. Let me get you something to eat.”

She still didn’t take her order, just got up and left Nancy sitting there with her mouth open, ready to finally inquire about that sandwich.

Nancy knew she had to do better. She couldn’t drag this attitude around with her, not if she wanted her trip to be a success—and it had to be a success. Nobody else in Horseshoe Bay would recognize her, and she didn’t have to eat at this restaurant again. She’d avoid Bess if she had to, thereby avoiding thinking too hard about her past works. She needed to keep her gaze firmly on the future. Inspiration was what she needed, Nancy reminded herself. A new place for completely new ideas.

It was George, not Bess, who returned with her lunch. A steaming bowl of… oh god, no.

“Chowder!” Nancy said, voice lifting with forced enthusiasm.

“Our specialty,” George declared. She set the bowl on the placemat, added a spoon and a plastic packet of saltines. “Bess said you needed something hearty.”

“Bess wasn’t bothering me, by the way,” Nancy promised, hoping the other waitress hadn’t been reprimanded for sitting down to talk about her books.

“Yeah, well, she was bothering me. She gets paid to work here, not talk, even if the second comes a little more naturally for her.”

She hovered, unsmiling, and Nancy realized she was waiting for her to try the chowder. Bess—sweet, attentive Bess—had likely asked George to stay long enough to make sure Nancy ate something. God, this was awkward.

“Sometimes chowder doesn’t agree with me,” Nancy said carefully.

“This one will.”

“It’s not personal—”

“Oh, it’s personal. That’s my recipe.” George crossed her arms, waiting.

There was really no way out of this. All she could do was hope a single mouthful would placate her.

Nancy dipped her spoon into the bowl and took a sip.

Oh.

Oh.

“This is fantastic,” she said when she’d swallowed.

Her stern waitress beamed.

“Hell yeah, it is. Enjoy. I’ll keep the groupie out of your hair.”

Nancy smiled gratefully and dug into her chowder. At last, she could relax after her drive. She stretched her legs beneath the table and flipped her notebook open again, darting down thoughts, adjectives, and first impressions as she ate. She’d arrived towards the end of the Claw’s lunch rush and put her preliminary trust in this town by leaving her things at the table as she went to use the bathroom.

Everything was as it had been when she returned to the booth, with the addition of a glass of ice water. George must have been back. The table with her notebook on it and the warm sunshine pouring across the pages made for a quaint vignette. It felt weirdly right to slide back into place at the booth.

While she sat there, patrons trickled out, the bell chiming every so often until it had been silent so long that Nancy looked up. The dining room was empty, like her bowl of chowder. It wasn’t difficult to spot Bess making herself busy at the bar across the room, swiping a cloth along the same glass over and over and glancing at Nancy.

She’d thought about avoiding Bess, but those had been Hungry Nancy’s thoughts. Maybe it’d be good to have an ally here, and she’d have an easier time making friends with Bess than she did with most people since her mom’s death. Bess seemed happy to do all the work, and, as an established fan, should be willing enough to help Nancy with her mission to write new material rather than dwelling on the old. It was a chance, and Nancy was taking it.

She gathered her things and approached Bess. She stayed in her line of sight and walked slowly, just a tiny bit afraid of startling Bess into dropping another glass.

“Hey, Bess,” she said.

Bess abandoned the pretense of work, nose scrunching as she smiled.

“You know my name!”

“You’re wearing a nametag,” Nancy pointed out.

Bess scoffed at her own silliness and fiddled with the pin on the front of her uniform.

“So, I’m in town on a sort of… self-imposed retreat.”

“Mhmm?”

“Just a change of scenery,” Nancy said, downplaying her desperation. “Hoping to refill my inspiration tanks.”

What the hell was this metaphor? Yikes. Any second now, Bess was going to see through the illusion and stare straight at the reality of a stressed, washed-up stranger throwing herself on the mercy of an unsuspecting waitress. But Bess nodded eagerly.

“I could show you around, if you’d like?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“Not at all! I’m free whenever. Wh-whenever I’m not working,” Bess stumbled to add, gaze zipping off to the side, “at my job, which I love very much.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it,” George said. She swaggered up and planted an elbow on the bar, scanning her eyes over Nancy in a frank assessment. “Wanna tell me why Bess is so obsessed with you? You used to date or something?”

Nancy raised her eyebrows at Bess, who waved her arms in jerky excitement, like a gameshow host on fast-forward.

“George, you aren’t going to believe this.”

“Building anticipation will only ensure that I’m underwhelmed,” she warned, though Nancy saw the tic of amusement at the corner of her mouth, dark with lipstick the colour of black cherries.

“This is Nancy Drew!”

“Hi,” said Nancy Drew.

“Ok…” said George, glancing between them.

“Nancy Drew!” Bess repeated, shriller. “The author! You know!”

Nancy was expecting another bland response, maybe a slow blink, but George’s face turned intense and she took a step closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“The romance writer?”

Nancy nodded.

“Huh,” George said, looking impressed. “Bess made me read your stuff—”

“I didn’t make her,” Bess cut in, clearly worried about Nancy being offended (she wasn’t, this was fucking hilarious), “it was a recommendation.”

“Calm down, I’m trying to pay the woman a compliment.” George looked at Nancy. “You’re a great writer. The first book in the trilogy convinced me to ask out the guy I’m seeing, Nick.”

“And they’re a wonderful couple!” Bess chimed in. “That’s the power of your romance novels, Ms. Drew, can you believe it? I mean, of course you can.”

“Just call me Nancy,” Nancy said, but the conversation went on at a rapid pace around her.

“What was the title again?” George asked. “A Breath of Fresh Hair or something?”

“A Breath of Fresh Heir,” Bess corrected, coming around the bar and linking her arm through Nancy’s, propelling Nancy into step with her. “That’s the first, and then Sable and Velvet, where Lucy and Ryan go to that sexy, exclusive masquerade party, and finally His Sea Queen. Anyway, Nancy—” Ah, so she had been heard. “—I was thinking we might as well start your town tour at the Claw, since you’re already here and I’m not off until three…”

They pushed through the swinging door to what Nancy discovered was the kitchen, the three of them squeezing through side by side as George and Bess talked (bickered) across her.

“Well, she goes on and on about the guy’s hair,” George continued. “Ryan Whatshisface.”

“Hudson,” Bess supplied, then met Nancy’s eye and shook her head as if to apologize for her co-worker’s ignorance.

George looked at Nancy for an explanation and it was the strangest thing anyone had ever asked her to justify about her work. She shrugged and escaped the women’s expectant stares (one impatient, one admiring) by casting her eye around the kitchen instead.

“Who doesn’t appreciate a thick head of blond— of blond— of…”

The words stopped with her roving gaze. She swallowed and still no words. Nancy had never been so pleasantly speechless.

There was a man standing at the sink, though it took her a minute to register the sink part. He was blond, like she’d just spoken him into existence, but that wasn’t the only aspect that felt straight out of her fantasies. The broad shoulders, the jeans clinging to his thighs like vying lovers, the glint of an earring that hinted at both toughness and hurt, possibly a small memento of rebellion during a tumultuous upbringing. That was how Nancy would’ve written it if he were one of her characters. But he wasn’t.

Damn, that was hard to persuade herself of when the man turned to reveal that his shirt was soaked, plastered to his torso while water continued to spray from the faucet. As he pushed damp hair back from his face with one hand, Nancy sighed.

She was abruptly jostled back into reality when George elbowed past her, hurrying to the sink.

“What happened?”

“I didn’t do anything!” The man said, wrapping a hand—big, with long fingers—around the source of the spray. “The tap just cracked while I was finishing the dishes! Right above the head!” He took his hand away and water shot at George’s arm. “Oops! Sorry, George!”

“Where’s your apron?”

“I gave it to Grant! He spilled a— Is that really important right now?”

“Ok! Just, um, shut the water off!” She put her hand where his had been, water spouting from between her clamped fingers.

“On it!”

For the first time, the man turned fully towards where Nancy and Bess (hands over her mouth in concern) were still standing. He didn’t immediately register them, lifting the hem of his sodden shirt to ineffectually wipe his dripping face but extremely effectually flash Nancy an eyeful of taut abdomen above the line of his underwear and low-slung jeans. Her eyes were far below where they should’ve been when she realized he’d paused to look at her.

“Hey, Bess, who’s your friend?”

The tone told Nancy that friends was exactly what this guy’s relationship was with Bess, but the way he was watching her was very friendly indeed. She met his level blue stare. If one of them was going to look away, it wasn’t going to be her.

“Ace!” George barked. “Water! Off!”

The man gave Nancy a regretful half-smile and jogged around the end of the chain-link fence that apparently passed for a wall in this restaurant, headed for the back of the building, where she guessed the main water valve was.

“If I told you it wasn’t normally this chaotic, would you believe me?” George called to her from the sink, squinting when a jet of water broke through between her fingers and got her in the ear.

“I like to have a frame of reference before I make assumptions!” Nancy replied.

“Oh come on, Drew. You’re a writer, right? Use your imagination!”

#my writing #Love Me Like You Drew #Nancy Drew #Nace #Ace [redacted] #Nace fanfiction #Nancy Drew fanfiction #Nancy Drew fic #George Fan #Bess Marvin

[lasthq]

welcome to novac, rie + summer ⸻ it's got it's ups and downs, but you can't deny the view. please make sure to look over our checklist, see our room allocations, and send in your character blog within 24 hours to prevent an early checkout. (adeline rudolph and pedro pascal are now taken)

adeline rudolph & she + her/cis woman ⸻ i saw molly han coming through the trees. the 27 year old was fleeing from boston, massachusetts when they came across novac, and have sought salvation within the motel of purgatory. molly has been in town for 2 years and has been assigned as a scavenger to keep society running smoothy. no matter what, they will find something to fight for. ⸻ rie

pedro pascal & he/him /cis man ⸻ i saw derek castillo coming through the trees. the 40 year old was fleeing from lawrence, kansas when they came across novac, and have sought salvation within the motel of purgatory. derek has been in town for five years and has been assigned as a guard to keep society running smoothly. no matter what, they will find something to fight for. ⸻ summer.

#new rp #tumblr rp #horror rp #appless rp #mumu rp #accepted

[onceuponatown]

Views of Bar Harbor; Mount Desert Island, Maine. Between ca. 1890-1900. 

Originally incorporated as the Town of Eden, the town's name was changed to Bar Harbor in 1918. Bar Harbor's fascinating history as a summer resort began long before Champlain's visit in 1604. Passamaquoddy and Penobscot tribes inhabited the island year-round.  In the 1850's, painters such as Frederic E. Church, Thomas Cole, Fitz Hugh Lane, William Hart and Thomas Birch popularized the area through their exhibits of the island's beautiful mountains and seascapes. The first Hotel on the island was built in Bar Harbor by Tobias Roberts, the Agamont House in 1855. Alpheus Hardy was the first summer resident to build a "cottage" called Birch Point in 1868. More and more hotels and cottages were built as "rusticators" as summer visitors and residents were called, came to the island by train and the Mount Desert Ferry to dock at Bar Harbor.

The land boom continued until the 1880's when such notables as Joseph Pulitzer, William Proctor, Mary Cadwalader Jones, Frederick Vanderbilt, George Vanderbilt and Evelyn Walsh McLean came and built magnificent "cottages".  It was at this time that Boston native George B. Dorr worked tirelessly with Charles W. Eliot and later with John D. Rockefeller Jr. to bring about the National Park, which was organized in 1916 as Sieur de Monts monument. The name was changed in 1919 to Lafayette National Park and in 1929 to Acadia National Park. 

Bar Harbor, with its wealthy and powerful summer visitors, had become a rival with Newport, Rhode Island as the place to be seen and to play in the 1880's through the first part of 20th century. President Taft could be seen playing golf at Kebo Golf Club in August 1910. The garden parties at the Pot & Kettle club were attended by ladies and gentlemen in the beautiful long dresses and attire of the time. Robin Hood Park - Morrell Park was the place for a great afternoon of horse racing. 

The Fire of '47

On Friday, October 17, 1947, at 4 p.m., the fire department received a call from Mrs. Gilbert, who lived near Dolliver's dump on Crooked Road west of Hulls Cove. She reported smoke rising from a cranberry bog between her home and the dump. No one knows what started the fire. It could have been cranberry pickers smoking cigarettes in the bog. Or perhaps it was sunlight shining through a piece of broken glass in the dump that acted like an incendiary magnifying glass. Whatever the cause, once ignited, the fire smoldered underground. From this quiet beginning arose an inferno that burned nearly half of the eastern side of Mount Desert Island and made international news. In its first three days, the fire burned a relatively small area, blackening only 169 acres. But on October 21, strong winds fanned the flames. The blaze spread rapidly and raged out of control, engulfing over 2,000 acres. The fire swept down Millionaires' Row, an impressive collection of majestic summer cottages on the shore of Frenchman Bay. 67 of these seasonal estates were destroyed. The fire skirted the business district but razed 170 permanent homes and 5 large historic hotels in the area surrounding downtown Bar Harbor. Bar Harbor residents not actively engaged in firefighting tried to find safety, fleeing first to the athletic field and later to the town pier. At one point all roads from the town were blocked by flames, so fishermen from nearby Winter Harbor, Gouldsboro, and Lamoine prepared to help with a mass exodus by boat.   Still the fire continued to burn. From Bar Harbor, the blaze raced down the coast almost to Otter Point, engulfing and destroying the Jackson Laboratory on its way. The fire blew itself out over the ocean in a massive fireball. But that wasn't the end of the destruction. Almost 2,000 more acres burned before the fire was declared under control on October 27. The fire was not pronounced completely out until 4 p.m. on November 14, nearly one month after it began. 

In all, some 17,188 acres burned. More than 10,000 acres were in Acadia National Park. Property damage exceeded $23 million dollars. Considering the magnitude of the fire, loss of human life had been minimal. Bar Harbor, too, was changed by the fire. Most of the permanent residents rebuilt their homes, but many of the grand summer cottages were not replaced. The estates on Millionaires' Row have been replaced by motels that house the ever-increasing tourist population. But the fire alone cannot be blamed for ending the island's once-grand "cottage era." The opulent lifestyle had already been suffering from the effects of the newly invented income tax and the Depression. The destructive flames merely provided a final blow.

#bar harbor #mount desert island #maine #mt desert island #new england #acadia #gilded age

[nightships]

The Captain’s Cabin Part 1 (again)

It’s been ages, but @everything-person sent a kind ask about a broken link! I have a sneaky feeling tumblr didn’t like my shirtless edit of our fair Killian that I originally uploaded with the fic. There is ALMOST CERTAINLY a better way to do this, and maybe i’ll get the energy to go fix the links in the old posts, but in the meantime here’s a re-upload of chapter one! reminder that it’s also on ao3. check my “jess writes cs” tag for the rest.

“The Captain’s Cabin?”

Emma squinted up at the sign, covering her eyes to keep the morning light from turning her blind. It was a ridiculous name, if she said so herself. (Never mind that this was their first day in town, and she’d been the one to choose the place.)

“I don’t know about this,” she said, sliding her eyes back to the blonde girl at her side. “We could just get back in the car and find a nice, motel-side Arby’s.”

“We just spent five hours in the car, not counting the five minutes it took to find that parking spot, Emma,” Elsa whined, “If I don’t get to eat whatever it is I’m smelling right now, I think I might cry.”

Emma ceded, but only because the smell of fried seafood was calling to her too.

The two of them stepped out of the misty morning and into the little dockside restaurant, Emma shaking her hair out of her hooded anorak jacket and Elsa flinging her braid back over her shoulder. The lunch crowd was still milling about, mostly older citizens and young parents, and the two were only too happy to take their time finding seats. The walls were stained dark, as if the warm drizzle outside had penetrated the wood, and covered in weather-worn treasures that undoubtedly came from the nearby sea. One side of the small building stood on ground level, but the other seemed to stretch out toward the water. It was nice, Emma had to admit, nicer than the dorky sign on the front had led on.

The two of them chose seats at the end of the long bar, despite all earlier protests about sitting for any prolonged periods (ever again, Elsa had promised, one foot up on the dashboard and the other hanging out the passenger window.) Elsa busied herself tracing the faces of old sailors and fisherman pictured on the walls, while Emma watched the tide coming in.

It hardly looked pleasant out, but she was certain those little black blobs in the distance were boats. She ran her hand over the windowpane to get a clearer view and squinted again, trying to figure out exactly what kind of vessels had caught her attention.

“Can I help the both of you?”

Emma swiveled on the little barstool and found herself eye-level with a toothy, if welcoming, grin. The man was standing on the other side of the bar, his black shirt emblazoned with the same logo from the sign outside the restaurant. She had no idea how he snuck up on her like that, but Elsa answered him before she could voice her question back.

“You definitely can. We’ve been in the car for far too long, and we need food.”

“I’ll have to see if we’ve got any laying around, then,” he said with a bit of a laugh, seeming to relax into his smile as he regarded Emma more thoroughly. "Where are you traveling from?”

“Boston,” the both of them answered, tiredness coming through in Emma’s voice and restlessness coming through in Elsa’s.

He clicked his tongue and handed both of them menus, leaning a hip against the bar as he played with one of the bottles on the counter top. “Quite a long ways away, but at least you chose a beautiful day to come up. It’s not always this nice out.”

“You call this nice?” Emma chuckled, wrinkling her nose as she nodded toward the window. “It’s about to rain.” “On the contrary, lass. I’d reckon the sun’ll be out before you’ve finished your meal.” His smile was challenging her now, as if he was about to reach out into the air and ask her to shake on it.

“Speaking of,” Elsa said, swiveling her menu toward him and pointing at a dish. “Can I get this with curly fries?”

“There’s no way,” Emma said, shaking her head at the man. He was leaned over the counter, arms folded out in front of him. She thought she could see the beginnings of a tattoo on the inside of his arm but refused to inspect any further, knowing his eyes had been following her a little too closely already.

“Ah, but there is,” he sang out. “When you’ve lived here as long as I, you tend to get accustomed to the signs.”

"Nobody’s that good,” She pressed, crossing her arms in front of her. He’d been keeping them (well, keeping her,if Elsa’s less-than-subtle looks meant anything) company ever since they’d ordered a meal, and since then she’d come to know quite a bit about him. His name was Killian Jones, and it didn’t sound like an American name because it wasn’t. He and his brother had come over from the United Kingdom a few years ago and started up business here. They had a sailboat, of all things, moored out at the end of the restaurant’s dock, and that apparently gave him the ability to predict the weather. “You have to have checked an app, or something.”

He shook his head again, eyes sparkling as they regarded her. “I could show you, if you’d like,” he said, a bit of extra something in his voice as he made the offer. “Liam’s not quite done with your orders yet, and it won’t take long.”

Emma gave him a challenging look of her own, then, wondering just how many tourists got an invite out onto his sailboat while their meals were made ready. On the other hand, though, her legs weren’t nearly stretched enough after driving for so long, and she did like the idea of standing again.

“Oh, go do it,” Elsa said, tearing her straw wrapper into tiny little squares atop the bar. “I’ll wait here for when the food gets out.”

“See? She’ll wait here, for when the food gets out,” Killian said, sweeping his arm out toward Elsa and raising his brow at Emma. “Come on, Swan, don’t make a man beg.”

Again, Emma relented, but only because she would never hear the end of it from Elsa if she acted like going with him was a big deal.

“What made you pick Maine, of all places?”

They were both leaned against the rail of his sailboat (which was more than a little impressive, Emma grudgingly admitted. With something like this at her disposal, she’d probably spend a few cloudy days on the water, too) and watching the little town ferry pick up passengers from the neighboring dock. It’d made three trips since they came outside,  passengers snapping pictures and laughing at the sea spray when they passed over particularly large curls of wake.

“I could ask you the same,” he countered, twisting his neck to regard her. She didn’t remember him coming to stand so close, exactly, but then the past twenty minutes had gone by without her thinking of a single excuse to run back to Elsa. (It definitely had nothing to do with the way he seemed to talk about the sea like it was his first love, that was certain.)

“It’s different,” she told him with a small laugh. “We’re not moving in.”

“We didn’t think we were either, to be honest. Liam and I had plans to sail up and down the coast, to pack up every time we thought we were getting too rooted down.”

“Guess that worked out for the two of you,” Emma countered, nodding back toward the restaurant. “Big change of plans?”

“You could say that.” His smile turned wistful then, almost dreamlike, and Emma found herself watching him as he turned his eyes back to the sea. She couldn’t tell if it was the way the sun was now warming their faces or simply the way he was born, but the ocean seemed pooled right there in his eyes, too. He turned to her then, catching her off guard once more with his closeness. “I’ll wager your food’s waiting for you now, love.”

Surprisingly reluctant to leave the peaceful, salty air out on the docks, Emma nodded, letting him lead her back inside. Most of the lunch rush had taken off by then, and it was almost too easy to hear her friend’s voice carrying through the restaurant as they stepped back through the doorway.

“- she’s not really my sister, even though she looks it, but we always take this big sisterly road trip in the spring to celebrate meeting each other. She pretends she hates long trips, but I know that - Emma!”

Emma’s eyes widened considerably as she saw her friend chatting up a dark-haired stranger, one whose head looked exactly like Killian’s from the angle she had on him. He turned then, a lighter shade of blue eyes meeting hers. He was wearing the same shirt as Killian, too, but all brotherly resemblance ended below eye level.

“You must be Emma,” the man said, straightening up off the barstool and reaching out a large, square hand. “Liam Jones, privilege to be at your services today.”

Emma could see Elsa’s bright eyes behind him, switching frantically between delight and panic. She had always been terrible at improvisation, especially when it came to someone she wanted to impress. Emma only smiled and shook his hand warmly, not missing the gigantic plate of curly fries that Elsa had placed between them. (She didn’t miss the look Liam gave to Killian, either, but she found herself wishing she’d seen it from Elsa’s perspective instead. As it was, he was standing too close to her for her to see.)

“Nice to meet you. Are you the one I need to thank for the sandwich waiting over at my seat?”

“I am, especially since my second-in-command was nowhere to be found,” Liam said pointedly, aiming his smirk at her instead of his brother this time. She managed not to blush, but there was no hiding the snort that came from Elsa at her seat.

Seeing the food on her plate reminded Emma of their reason for visiting, and she found herself lingering there long after her plate held nothing but crumbs, swapping travel stories with the two men who held the sea in their eyes. It was comfortable, just as much as her ride together with Elsa had been, and suddenly she found herself wondering what else they might have missed if they hadn’t pulled off the interstate to fuel up in the little seaside town.

(Elsa, for all her part, wasn’t even trying to be subtle as she offered Liam the last long curly fry on her plate, complaining when he told her it’d be ungentlemanly to take anything more from her plate than he already had. Her argument was that he’d made them, after all, and deserved to spend a little time savoring the dishes he made. They didn’t even notice it when Killian snuck the thing off her plate and ate it himself.)

“So,” Killian finally asks, stepping up to tackle the question they’d all been dancing around, “How long are the both of you in town?”

"Oh, we only planned on stopping for a few-” Emma felt the point of Elsa’s shoe dig into her shin then, effectively cutting her off before she could say anything drastic. Emma swiveled back and gave her just as deliberate and obvious a look, wondering what the hell had gotten into her.

“A few days. Maybe a week or two,” Elsa supplied, sipping at her water and refusing to meet Emma’s eyes. “We don’t really have to be back any time soon.”

Emma let it go after a moment, but only because she didn’t want that to be the last smile she saw on Killian Jones’ face.

#jess writes cs #the captain's cabin #captain swan ff #captain swan au #cs modern au #jess writes fic #TAGS FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE #jeez i feel old and dusty #but here you go!

[aion-rsa]

Best Corrupt Cop Movies to Watch After Training Day

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Training Day is one of the archetypal crime dramas of its time. It features a classic standoff between a young, fresh-off-the-street rookie police officer named Jake Hoyt (Ethan Hawke) and his veteran partner Alonzo Harris (Denzel Washington). The older cop is ostensibly evaluating his young partner, but in actuality he’s breaking Jake hm down and trying to corrupt him–just as Alonzo himself, one of the great screen monsters of the past 20 years, is corrupt beyond all redemption. Here is a supposed officer of the law who acts more like a crime boss, ruling over his neighborhood with an iron fist.

The tension that burns at the center of the movie–will Jake be turned and will Alonzo get his comeuppance?–forms the bedrock of a classic dramatic scenario. The power inherent from being in law enforcement can be both a force for good and a weapon of evil. The ability to wield that power over the lives of so many others can lead anyone or any institution to a moral crossroads. And whether a single cop or an entire police force can stand up for what’s right or descend into a cesspool of rot and amorality has been the basis of some of our greatest movies.

This is by no means a comprehensive list, but if you’ve recently had a chance to revisit Training Day on Netflix, then here are five more superb movies in which a lone cop goes head to head with that insidious corruption. All the movies feature drugs, guns, money, and sometimes sex; but in the end, the most powerful and dangerous narcotic of all turns out to be power.

Serpico (1973)

Legendary director Sidney Lumet’s classic 1970s police drama was one of several films that established Al Pacino as among the greatest actors of his generation, and kicked off a loose trilogy of movies from Lumet himself that focused on police corruption in New York City–others being the less iconic but equally brilliant Prince of the City (1981) and Q&A (1990).

Serpico is also the only film on this list based on a real person: Frank Serpico, a plainclothes detective who uncovered widespread corruption and eventually blew the whistle on it during his 11 years of service. In keeping with the true-life inspiration for the story, Lumet shot the film in a documentary-like style and chose some of the grittiest locations in New York City in which to work. Pacino himself met with Serpico several times, immersing himself in the character and his life.

The result was one of the first major American movies to tackle real life police corruption head-on, and what’s frightening is that there is no single villain for Serpico to go up against: it’s the entire NYPD itself, which came under extensive investigation thanks to the real Serpico’s actions.

Internal Affairs (1990)

Richard Gere stars in this Mike Figgis-directed film as Dennis Peck, a corrupt Los Angeles police officer and womanizer who comes under investigation by Raymond Avilla (Andy Garcia), an Internal Affairs officer intent on taking down Peck even as the department around him portrays him as a role model. But the wily Peck has other plans, including turning Avilla and his wife (Nancy Travis) against each other.

Set in pretty much the opposite of Serpico’s rough NYC environs, Internal Affairs, as its punning title indicates, is less about widespread systemic corruption and more about ideas of masculinity. Gere’s charm and sex appeal is put to wicked use as Peck fucks or threatens to fuck the wife of every man he crosses paths with, using that as a weapon to undermine them as men and leverage his power over them. Using his family as cover for his nefarious deeds–he has three ex-wives and eight kids to support–puts a dark twist on the idea of the male as the head of the household.

Garcia’s Avilla is flawed as well, racked with jealousy and anger management issues, which gives what could have been just a sleazy potboiler an extra level of complexity. And no amount of ravishing L.A. locations will wipe away the slime at the heart of this low-key thriller.

L.A. Confidential (1997)

The late Curtis Hanson’s masterful adaptation (with co-writer Brian Helgeland) of James Ellroy’s novel remains one of the best films of the 1990s, mixing fictionalized versions of real-life figures with indelible characters in a complex, suspenseful, and epic tale of police corruption and Hollywood celebrity.

The two cops at the center of the story are LAPD Sgt. Ed Exley (Guy Pearce) and officer Bud White (Russell Crowe); the former is upstanding yet aggressively ambitious while the latter is a blunt weapon used–unknowingly at first–by precinct captain Dudley Smith (James Cromwell) to advance Smith’s own ends. Also in the mix are a high-end prostitute (Kim Basinger), a jaded detective (Kevin Spacey), and a tabloid magazine editor (Danny DeVito), all of whom are caught in the LAPD’s web of corruption.

L.A. Confidential builds its story brilliantly to an explosive third-act confrontation between White and Exley that gives way to an even more thrilling motel shoot-out at the film’s climax. Relatively unknown at the time, Crowe and Pearce are outstanding while Basinger shines in a career-peak performance. L.A. Confidential takes the “cop vs. cop” scenario and drenches it in neo-noir style and Tinseltown sleaze, creating an unforgettable portrait of power gone mad.

Cop Land (1997)

An early drama from writer/director James Mangold–now known for films like Logan and Ford v. Ferrari—Cop Land stars Sylvester Stallone as Freddy Heflin, the sheriff of a small New Jersey town that is a bedroom community for a number of New York City cops. Although Freddy, who is partially deaf and perceived as somewhat slow-witted, reveres the cops and aspired at one time to be an NYPD officer himself, he becomes gradually aware of the rampant corruption among them. Eventually he must act.

Read more

Movies

Taxi Driver: A Look at NYC’s Inglorious Past

By Tony Sokol

Culture

The Real Goodfellas: Gangsters That Inspired the Martin Scorsese Film

By Tony Sokol

Stallone put on 40 pounds for the role of Heflin and his performance cast him in a new light as a serious actor after years of mindless action vehicles or Rocky sequels. Mangold’s screenplay may be too overly complicated for its own good, but the lonely small-town cop making a stand against the men he once looked up to is a poignant, haunting image. The film is also bolstered by great work from an all-star cast that includes Robert De Niro, Harvey Keitel, Ray Liotta, Robert Patrick, and Annabella Sciorra.

The Departed (2006)

Based on the 2002 Hong Kong film Infernal Affairs, The Departed is an operatic, grand crime thriller as only the great Martin Scorsese can do it. Leonardo DiCaprio stars as Billy Costigan Jr., a Massachusetts State Police recruit forced to go undercover and infiltrate the gang of crime boss Frank Costello (an over-the-top Jack Nicholson). Meanwhile another State Police officer, Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon), is actually a mole for Costello inside the force, and the machinations of both Costello and the police eventually pull the two undercover agents–one good but troubled, one corrupt–into each other’s orbit.

Loosely inspired by real-life figures like corrupt FBI agent John Connolly and Boston crime kingpin Whitey Bulger, The Departed has more twists than a winding mountain road and all the double-crosses and betrayals can be tricky to navigate, even for fans of the Hong Kong movie it dramatically remakes, Infernal Affairs.

But Scorsese’s expertise with this kind of material leaps off the screen and his cast is impeccable (including a career-best performance from Mark Wahlberg and a scene-stealing turn by Alec Baldwin). While it can be a little on-the-nose at times–we’re looking at you, Mr. Rat on the apartment terrace–The Departed nevertheless conveys its cynical view of human nature with style, wit and manic energy. As it turns out, we’re all basically fucked up and vulnerable to being fucked with.

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