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littleeyesofpallas · 7 months

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So there is a certain character type that I cannot for the life of me pin down a word for... It's yakuza adjacent, but often not explicitly part of the actual gangs. a kind of shady businessman, but not the overly clean and corporate type. sort of a scammer or a conartist or grifter, but not as small time as that sort of makes it sound? I want to say it's a look associated with loan sharks, but I can't quite substantiate that.... I swear it's a thing you see in the context of Japanese crime fiction all the time, especially set in the 80s or 90s, yet I can't really point to any characters that really fit the bill off the top of my head, as they're almost always background characters. Somehow the only one I can think to pinpoint is that one random villain-of-the-week in Kill la Kill?

The persona itself actually has a shocking amount in common with, like, the classic American used car dealer, especially on the east coast either around the New York/New Jersey tristate or down in like Miami, usually with a hefty bit of Italian or Jewish racism mixed in... The style though, the gold chains, the tacky superficial try-hard glitz and the pushy rough around the edges attitude, very self-made and informally educated businessman, surprisingly successful but still not really a "big" success, and just like this Japanese counterpart I'm thinking of, almost always technically in business with local organized crime without ever being "part of the family."

Like it's such a cliche that it's literally cartoonish, and it's funny how almost perfectly beat for beat the US and Japanese counterparts mirror eachother, except that the Japanese character type, as far as I can recall, isn't associated with used car dealerships,

anyway point is... That's what Marechiyo and his dad are supposed to look like. That and a bit of yakuza/delinquent in the case of his dad when he was younger. Notably his dad straight up has a punch perm in the present day, which was The quintessential yakuza look in the 80s. And his younger version seems to also have a perm but also a regent style pompadour that's a little more youthful delinquent aligned than outright criminal, and again a look that has become so cliche as to become cartoonish to the point of being a costume you can buy in a store.

Although whatever the hell Marechiyo has going on in the new hell arc, i cannot identify.

But it's interesting that it's a different kind of yakuza look than what Iba has going on. His dark shades, the tight perm, the laborer's bellywarmer, his zanpakutou being a tanto sticking out of it, the overall posture with the one shoulder out of his kimono, even that his sword is alternatively either a Yakuza style tanto tucked into a chest wrap, or a seemingly normal katana but without a crossguard is to evoke the classic yakuza image of using a shirasaya --a plain white wood sheathe with matching handle and no crossguard or wrap-- rather than a more traditional katana. And of course his dog-like loyalty to Komamura are all iconic stoic Yakuza romanticism. The hardboiled, honor bound, manly man ideal of the folklore-like reputation of the yakuza. The thing you'd see in countless old movies or pulp thriller style seinen manga, sometimes even published by yakuza family magazines themselves.

His mother also plays into this, even in her barely existent appearance in the MASKED databook, as she's a pretty distinct play into a very particular matronly character type generally typifying either a proprietress of a traditional inn or a yakuza boss's wife --both drawing from traditional roles of a head of manor or estate.

I dunno where i was going with any of this. But between these character types and Kensei's biker gang thing, I think it's funny how much of Soul Society's classically japanese vibe is just organized crime. Also i don't know what to make of the idea that the Shihouin have endorsed the Omaeda family like this over the years, especially when they're role among the royale houses seems to be to safeguard various treasures and relics. Between that and apparently being at least two generations of heads of a division of the secret police, it's hard to imagine the Omaeda were just independently wealthy unrelated to all that.

#bleach #bleach meta #marechiyo omaeda #tetsuzaemon iba

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awaterfalls · 6 days

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Tim Gutterson

"Miami to The Holler"

Summary: Lia Martines transferred shortly after Raylan Givens from Miami to the Lexington U.S. Marshall courthouse only to be met with disdain from Tim Gutterson. After an undercover stakeout to catch a drug transport went south, feelings come to a head.

A/N: OC Intro: Lia Martines, Tim GuttersonX!FemaleUSMarshall, She/Her Pronouns, Angst, Enemies to Lovers.

• Hey guys! This is my first time ever posting something I write here. I hope you guys like it!! I want to thank my amazing, incredible, espetacular friend, Nat @she-wolf09231982.. thank you for helping me with these! ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How can I begin to explain the situation I find myself in? Well, I'll from the beginning. Before becoming a U.S. Marshall, I always thought it would be easy. Just like in the movies. You shoot people and make arrests. But it's totally different. I was a U.S. Marshall for the Miami department when I met Raylan Givens. He already had a reputation, but even a bigger one after he had his showdown with the big drug king, Tommy Bucks, shooting him down for not leaving the city like he had asked him.

Our superiors arranged for Raylan to be transferred away from high profile Miami to Eastern Lexington, Kentucky. I soon followed in his footsteps looking for a quieter life in the country. I transferred to Harlan, Kentucky and it was terrifying. Being a newbie in a place you know is bad enough, imagine being in a place you don't know... It was a nightmare. It was bad in some parts, in fact, but one person made the environment worse. Tim Gutterson is my partner at work. Basically, we're assigned to do everything together. All the missions... everything. In addition to Tim, I also have Rachel and Raylan, but Tim was the most annoying.

Since I arrived here, he has always picked flights with me and done everything to show that he didn't like me. And because of this, every time we had a mission together, Art would lecture us saying he would destroy us if we messed up and how much it would ruin our careers. I never thought this day would come, but it did. Art had gone over the details of our next undercover stakeout.

" Martines and Gutterson, you are going to stay at the hotel where the supposed drug dealers are lying in wait. Lucky for you, they're not very smart and probably don't know that we're after them. But it's still important that you be cautious and avoid any kind of confusion, ok? You guys know how important this is to us, so don't screw it up."

That's what Art told us before we were sent to this hotel. Basically, Tim and I were to pretend to be a couple and staying at the hotel where the suspected drug dealers were, so that we can collect as much evidence as possible and arrest them. It's something quite easy. After all, it's just a few days away from Harlan, watching two people. Easy... That's what I thought.

Tim and I arrived at the hotel on a Monday and settled in as best we could. We arrived the day of the mission, so we had to be quick.

"Are you ready? We don't all day." Tim said looking at me irritated while letting out a bored sigh.

" Are you that excited to be my husband?" I said smiling and he rolled his eyes.

"The day I get excited about doing anything with you, you can be sure that I was abducted... I'll wait for you in the car." He said, leaving without giving me the chance to respond.

He's an idiot. I wonder what I did to make him hate me so much. I met him in the car and we were soon on our way to where we believed a drug deal was going down. The journey was long and tedious. He didn't say anything and neither did I... It was irritating me.

"So what were you doing before all this?" I asked breaking the silence.

I've always been curious about him. I always asked about the lives of everyone around me. And I've also always been an open book to everyone. When I met Tim that all changed. Because of our relationship we never spoke, but something about him always intrigued me. People talked about him and what he did before, but I wanted to hear it from him. He looked at me sideways but didn't respond. It seems like he was thinking about whether or not to respond. His face had an expression of doubt mixed with anger. I don't know how to explain what I felt when I saw him like that.

" What does this have to do with what we're doing now?" He snapped before continuing. " Why are you so interested in knowing? All this time you've been here, the only thing you've done is insult me and now you're interested in my past? And let's be honest, right? As if you didn't know, I'm sure Rachel or Raylan told you about me. Please, let's stop pretending we care about each other. I want to do the work and go home, be at peace and not hear your annoying voice." Ok, that one hurt.

It was always like this with him. Every time I tried to talk to him or try to clear the air, he always verbally attacked me. He didn't give me a chance to get close to him.

"Why did I always react like this, Tim?" You thought to yourself before spoke up. " Every time I try to get closer to you, you always push me away. There's always something bad to say. I never did anything to make you treat me this way. I don't know anything about your life. I have nothing against you. But for some reason you seem to hate me. I don't understand. Why do you treat me like this? What did I do wrong? People around us speak very highly of you, they say you're a great guy. But you prove me wrong every day. The question I asked wasn't intended to provoke you, but you're right, I did already know what you did or what you were before here, but I wanted to hear from you. Because I like you. I know that despite everything, you are a good man. But I'm tired of proving myself every day to someone who doesn't care about me. I'm sorry for bothering you so much and I promise I will never talk to you about non-work topics again." You finalized. It really was very tiring. I always tried really hard to get closer to him, but he never let me. It's tiring to fight over something you don't know for what or why.

We continued the journey in silence. Everyone in their own thoughts. At least the landscape was beautiful. This is a beautiful place, the nature around everything leaves me at peace. I was taken out of my thoughts by an abrupt bang. A car just hit us from behind, causing us to be projected forward sharply. We didn't have time to think, as the passengers in the other car started shooting at us. Tim and I did what we could to defend ourselves taking ducking inside our vehicle. There were so many of them firing that I didn't even know where they were coming from anymore. As we returned the fire, we managed to hit one of them, because we had heard a scream as their car came to a screeching halt. As we cautiously approached their car, they opened fire again. Tim pulled me back behind our car to take cover. The fire fight didn't last very long, as they left when they saw that we were outnumbered. We definitely got one of them right.

Tim looked at me with concern.

"Are you okay? Your forehead is bleeding." I hadn't noticed. The adrenaline was so much that I went blind. It was probably when we were thrown sharply at the time of the crash. I remember hitting my head somewhere, but I couldn't quite see where.

"Oh, I'm fine." You said touching your forehead where it hurt. " It's no big deal. We need to let Art know they found us. We can leave it like this. " I said taking my cell phone when Tim snatched it out of my hand.

" Are you crazy? You're hurt and the only thing you care about is this shitty mission? We're going to the hospital. The work can wait and I'm sure Art can too." He said pulling me into the car.

The ride to the hospital was quiet. Tim didn't say a word to me, but I could tell he was worried. Obviously, it wasn't about me, it was about the mission and probably what Art was going to tell us. I was too, because ruining everything wasn't in the plans, but life isn't always the way we want it to be. We arrived at the hospital and while I was waiting to be seen, Tim went to call the office and explain what happened. The nurse called me and immediately started cleaning my wound. I had forgotten how much it hurt. It wasn't anything serious, but I had to get two stitches on my forehead. Another scar for the collection. Yay!

When we left the hospital, Tim informed me that Art was already aware of what had happened and that he was going to send us back up the next morning and that we were to stay at the hotel and wait for them. We got back to the room and I went straight to take a shower. Tim seemed weird, more than usual. It was as if he was bothered by something beyond himself. I don't know how to explain. But I won't dare to ask, the last time I asked him something, I almost got shot. I got out of the shower and left the bathroom, Tim wasn't in the room. I could've waited for him or even called, but I couldn't stay awake for long so I went straight to bed. I needed to lie down and rest. My head was hurting so much and these thoughts never left me alone. What do you need to do to have a little peace? To die? Perhaps yes. But it wasn't my time yet. I fell asleep like a rock.

Around down, I woke up scared. I had a nightmare.

"Damn it! I hate these kinds of dreams. I don't have any peace even when I sleep. " I thought to myself. I turned to the side and found Tim sleeping.

"Okay... He's sleeping with me... In the same bed as me... Wtf? It's the end of the world." I thought. I couldn't help but notice how serene he was. His mouth forming a pout, it looked like a baby. The messy hair... He's beautiful. Asleep and awake. "Stop staring at me and go back to sleep." Tim mumbled at me. It scared the shit out of me. How does he know I was looking at him if he had his eyes closed?

" How do you know I'm staring at you?" he smiled. A beautiful smile, I must say. " I know everything you do, Lia. " It was the first time he called me by my name. And it sounded so beautiful in his voice.

" Okay... You're weird! And I wasn't looking at you, I was just checking to see if you were breathing, that's all. " I said, trying not to seem so obvious, even though I had the impression that he already realized how stupid I was looking at him. And once again he smiled. What possessed him to keep smiling like that?

"Lia, you don't fool me. I know everything you do. I know what you like and don't like. I know how much you love chewing gum because it helps you stay calm throughout the day. I know you like to tease Raylan that the coffee he buys is horrible, even though it's from the same place that Rachel and I buy it. I know you twitch your lip when something bothers you. I know you wear the same leather boots to work because they bring you luck. I know the place you love most in the world is your home and yes, that's cliché. " He paused to take a breath before continuing. "But that's okay, I'm not judging. I know you. I've noticed you since the day you set foot in that office. It felt like an angel entering hell. I couldn't take my eyes off you, but I had to contain myself because I didn't want you to notice. Damn Lia, I always paid attention to you. The moment I understood that I like you, that I was in love with you, I panicked. What would a woman like you want with a guy like me? I thought you weren't a woman for me, because I always thought you deserved better than this... But today... Lia, today I almost had a heart attack. I thought I was going to lose you... I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. This makes me see how much time I wasted leaving you out of my life. Lia, I want to apologize for treating you so badly all this time. I was in a state of denial and the only way I found to keep you away from me was to treat you the way I did. I thought you would realize how stupid I am and leave me alone, but you always came back and I somehow, always came back to you. My thoughts most of the time, are you. Damn, I really hope you can forgive me. I really do." He explained.

Okay... He threw all this at me and I don't know what to say. I'm confused. This entire time I thought he hated me... But he actually likes me? My gosh! This is a lot for me.

"Tim, I don't know what to say... I'm confused. I mean, you like me? I really don't know what to say. And of course I forgive you. And I care about you too. I like you. I'm just puzzled because I always thought you hated me. Never in my life would I think of you telling me those things." I said as he looked at me relieved.

We stared at each other for a few seconds until he pulled me towards him and hugged me. It was a sincere and totally affectionate hug. It felt like home. I felt comfortable in his touch. He smells so good... Like heaven. A smell I could easily get used to. We held each other all night and I never felt so good. Tim wouldn't let me go, not even to go to the bathroom. He said he didn't want to waste any time with me ever again. And to be honest, neither do I. I can't wait to tell Rachel this.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Guys!!!! It's a very long one shot... I really hope you guys like it! Also, English is not my first language so please be nice, ok? Thank you!! ❤️

#tim gutterson x reader #tim gutterson #justified #jacob pitts #raylan givens

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tropes-and-tales · 1 year

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Take You Home

December 3: Shopping/Snow - Undercover (Horacio Carrillo x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts by the lovely @youvebeenlivingfictional, found here)

CW: Convoluted plot; barely any snow (sorry); slightly angsty; talk of past sexy-times; nothing explicit but 18+ anyway to be safe, I dunno, I’m not the MPAA.

Word Count: 1670

AN: There is a sequel, found here!

AN2: Requested by anon!

It was his idea, so he can’t complain about it now: send two DEA agents undercover to help route out a key distributor linking Escobar to the United States. Cut off the demand, Carrillo thinks, and disrupt the system a bit.

It was his idea, so he has to bite his tongue. One of the DEA agents, a man named Perez, is based out of Miami, unknown to him but vouched for by Murphy. Solid, used to UC work. The second agent, though?

Well, the world of the narcos turns the same as any other rich and powerful sphere, so Perez is paired up with you. You’re young and you can pass for the trophy girlfriend of an ambitious and ruthless dealer who wants to set up a route into the eastern seaboard of the United States. Besides, you’ve been stationed in Colombia for a year now, and you can help while you play out the fantasy of being vapid eye-candy.

It was Colonel Carrillo’s idea, this UC ploy, so he has to swallow down the sick fear that bubbles in his guy when you leave to meet up with Perez.

Carrillo can’t even talk to Javi or Steve about it. His thing with you—undefined, casual—is also unacknowledged, a secret thing. When you wave goodbye to them and leave without a backwards glance, Carrillo has to keep his expression stony to keep up the ploy.

Waiting for you and Perez to make contact and ingratiate yourselves with one of Escobar’s lieutenant…it’s the longest three months of Carrillo’s life.

-----

The next time he sees you, he almost doesn’t recognize you.

Three months with no contact beyond the handful of words from your handler, and Carrillo is practically climbing the walls with worry. But when he finally catches sight of you through the window of the surveillance outpost, he can finally breathe a sigh of relief.

It’s you polished to a high shine: designer dress hugging your curves, designer shoes adding height to you and pushing your ass into a perfect heart shape. Hair and makeup perfectly done as you climb out of the hired car and gather up an armful of glossy shopping bags from the designer boutiques of Buenos Aires.

Carrillo knows he should like you like this. Isn’t this the fantasy, a beautiful woman whose only job is to look perfect, an ornament to adorn the arm of her rich and powerful man?

But he doesn’t like it. There’s something brittle about your beauty like this, something inelastic and ugly under the slick veneer.

Maybe it’s because he’s seen you as the opposite: grimy and sweaty from running across Medellín with your gun drawn.

Maybe it’s because he’s had you as the opposite: not salon-perfect hair but your ponytail gripped in his fist, damp with sweat. No manicured nails but your ragged, gnawed down nails biting into the meat of his shoulders. No expensive perfume but just the scent of you, smoky and bitter gunpowder, the fruity gum you chew, the clean smell of your soap.

It’s only a glimpse of you now. You carry your shopping bags into the rented penthouse where you and Perez are staying, and then you are out of sight.

-----

The bust is planned: a week later in the Chilean Andes at a ski resort that is playing at being a sort of South American Aspen. It’s full of expats and LATAM people alike, the same because they have too much money to know what to do with. For some, like who you and Perez are playing at being, it’s ill-gotten money. Blood money.

Carrillo greases the skids with the Chilean government, works with their local force to help secure the villa where you and Perez are staying. Where Escobar’s lieutenant, the one they call El Toro, is meeting you to finalize plans for a new distribution network.

-----

He knows the DEA gives out awards for bravery, for excellence in the field, but Carrillo thinks they should hand one out for acting—because you fucking nail your role in the third act.

When they bust into the villa, you shriek. You clasp your hands over your ears at the yelling, at the sudden noise. You reach for Perez (a gesture that makes Carrillo’s jealousy flare up, questioning if you’ve grown too close to your UC partner in these months), and when Murphy points his gun at you, you start to cry.

Carrillo’s never seen you cry before. He’s seen you teared up and close to it—bleary-eyed from exhaustion, tears threatening after a civilian gets caught up in the war with the narcos. But never full-on crying, and it makes his protective hackles go up. He fights the urge to go to you. He has to keep up the façade.

“I don’t understand!” you cry at the Spanish flying around you. “What’s happening?”

“You’re under arrest, that’s what’s happening,” Javi helpfully tells you in English, and the fresh torrent of wails is so pitch perfect, so natural that you could win the Oscar if you took your talents to Hollywood.

-----

It’s a long night: they lead the men away first, including Perez. You make a final swan song by calling out to your pretend-boyfriend, telling him you love him. The Chileans take the low level thugs to for their own processing—it was the deal Carrillo cut with them, a boost to their own fight against the narcos, a bit of good publicity to their ongoing success.

El Toro is put on a plane back to Colombia. Perez is put on a plane back to Colombia too, in theory, though he’s really on his way to States for his debriefing and his return to his normal life.

Javi cuffs you to keep of the charade as the men are filed out of the room, and you slump against the couch as you watch them. Your makeup is ruined from your histrionics—sooty black mascara runs down your cheeks, and your coral-colored lipstick is smeared at one corner of your lips. Still, Carrillo can barely get enough of the sight of you. He catches you out of his peripherals, tries not to openly stare and only half-succeeds.

It’s Javi that helps you up off the couch. Still cuffed, still playing along in case anyone is lingering outside and catches a glimpse of the would-be narcos’s girlfriend, he hoists you up by gripping your upper arm. He starts to frog-march you out of the villa, but Carrillo steps in finally. Unable to let another moment pass without touching you, he gives Javi a terse nod and takes your other arm in his. He leads you out of the room and to the waiting Jeep.

There’s a handful of voyeurs, workers and guests alike standing in the parameter. Watching. Some may be taking notes. So Carrillo shoves you forward lightly, mutters sorry from behind his clenched teeth as you stumble in your heels in the crust of snow and cry out—which pulls some jeers and taunts from the assembled crowd, so at least it’s a good show.

-----

He gets you into the backseat and gets down the side of the mountain. Neither of you talk beyond his own low-voiced murmur, asking if you’re okay, and you whispering back that yeah, you are fine.

There’s chatter on the radio, and he keeps his ears tuned into the talk as everyone is sorted out to where they belong: Javi and Steve on the plane with El Toro, Perez on his way back home. And you with Carrillo.

He keeps his eyes on the road only half of the time. When he’s on a straightaway, he glances at you in the rearview mirror. You have your head back against the seat, eyes shut. You look exhausted, but he knows you aren’t sleeping. Your face still holds its usual tension that only disappears when you’re asleep.

Once off the mountain, he pulls off onto the side of the road. He scans the area—there’s no one around. The handful of buildings at the base of the mountain are dark, quiet. He climbs out of the driver’s seat and opens your door.

Your eyes are open now, and you fix him with an unreadable expression. He shrugs out of his jacket and lays it over your shoulders, and when you lean forward to let him, you press your forehead against his chest for the briefest of seconds.

He reaches out and cups your face between his hands. It’s more tender than any touch he’s ever given you before; your coupling always had a rough, fervent edge to it. Pulled hair, scratches, bruises the size of his fingertips mottling your hips and waist.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, and he peers into your eyes to see if you lie to him. See if you pull on your tough-girl act and joke away any pain or fear or discomfort.

Three months away from everything familiar. Three months on edge, waiting to be discovered. Waiting for a bullet to end your life, but you know the narcos all too well—it’s never just a bullet.

“I’m tired,” you whisper back to him and he can see the truth in your words. And he can see the larger truth too: the tears that fill your eyes, how you try to blink them away before they fall in earnest.

“I’ve got you,” he replies, and he does. He pulls you into an awkward hug, gently presses your face back against him. He can feel your hitching breaths, how you’re trying to hide your crying, but he rubs your back. Tells you it’s fine, to let it out. Tells you that you’re safe again.

“Let me take you home,” he says, and that’s what makes you finally break. You shudder against him and start to sob, and he only holds you on the side of a dark road in the Andes and promises that you’re finally safe with him.

#colonel Carrillo #colonel horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo imagine #colonel horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo imagine #horacio carrillo x reader #narcos #tropes-and-tales #winter prompts 2022

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thereismoretomylifethenice · 9 months

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I’ve had Miami Vice on the brain again, and I’ve finally decided to articulate how the pilot of this 1980s cop show perfectly illustrates WHY Hans betrayal in Frozen just does not work as a story-telling component. Bear with me. There will be spoilers (obviously) for Brother’s Keeper and Frozen. I’m going to make a guess that the Venn diagram between Vice fans and Frozen fans does not have a huge overlap, so a brief summary of the former. The pilot of Miami Vice focuses on two cops, Detective Sonny Crockett, a Vice detective in Miami, and Detective Ricardo Tubbs from Brooklyn, who are separately tracking the same mysterious cartel lord. Crockett wants to bust him because he’s in Miami fueling the drug wars, and Tubbs wants to get him because he orchestrated the murder of Tubbs’s older brother in New York. Hence a partnership is born. (as of August 2023, the whole show is free on Tubi if you want to track it down). A DEA agent named Scotty Wheeler wanders in and out of the pilot. Wheeler is Crockett’s former partner, before he went to work for the Federal government, and his wife and kids are still very good friends with Crockett’s estranged wife and son. Wheeler is also selling information to the drug lord, in return for cash. By the time Crockett learns that Wheeler is the department leak, he has already spent six months on the case, his latest partner was murdered in a car bombing meant for a drug dealer who went rogue from the cartel, the informant he has been working on for a long time gets murdered before he can talk, and Crockett’s professional world and case is on thin, thin ice. (The chaos in his personal life is Crockett’s own doing). When Crockett learns the truth, he goes to confront his friend. I’ve linked the scene for anyone who wants to see it, but let’s just say that it is one of the best ‘betrayal’ scenes I’ve ever watched. No real spoilers for this part because it’s bloody brilliant. Mind you, this all develops over the course of a roughly 100-minute pilot episode which is about the same as Frozen’s running time. It also highlights the main reason why Hans’s betrayal, thematically, flops beyond the *gasp* moment it provides for first time viewers. In fact, Wheeler’s betrayal gets more and more brutal every time a person watches the pilot, while the Hans one just kind of goes flat after a viewing or two. The key word here is investment. Wheeler is not an active player in much of the pilot. He’s there, doing his job, and he’s clearly friends with Sonny, and the other guys in the Vice department. These relationships are the key. We’re told that Wheeler and Crockett have known each other about ten years, that they were partners, and that Wheeler took a bullet for Crockett at some point. The casual camaraderie between them is what sells it though, and digs the knife in deeper. The first time we meet Wheeler, he’s at Crockett’s house with his family, helping Crockett’s estranged wife throw a birthday party for Billy Crockett… a party that Crockett misses because he is dealing with the car bombing that killed his partner.

Throughout the episode, the two guys joke about old times, make bets on the Miami Dolphins games, and share an easy-going friendship that has already stood a lot of trials. Then, when Crockett confronts Wheeler, he cannot help bringing up all the Christmases and Thanksgivings they have shared, and the family dinners where they brought their wives and kids to each other’s houses. They were friends, and Crockett trusted Wheeler implicitly. When Crockett learns the truth, he hates his friend for what he did. In contrast, there is no history between the Arendelle sisters, and Hans. That is perfectly fine for the kind of story Disney is telling… until you realize that they intend to use this theme of the sisters being angry at Hans as a reoccurring note throughout the shorts and the sequel that occurs three years after the event of the original. When you look at it bluntly, the relationship supporting this reaction involved a cumulative… twelve hours of interaction between Hans and either sister? If that? Anna ran into him before the coronation, and they spent part of the evening together. Then she runs off to find Elsa. Elsa meets him at the party, freaks out, freezes everything, and runs off… then meets him briefly in her ice palace and again in the dungeon. She’s probably only spent an hour with the dude while Anna spent a few hours tops. Elsa being mad at him for almost killing her sister and her is understandable, as is booting his butt back to his own country. Still vehemently loathing this guy three years later, to the point she won’t even look at a random snow sculpture of him, but destroys it instantly is… a bit excessive. What he did was horrible… but to be that angry three years later at a guy she has barely even spoken too indicates that Elsa has some extreme grudge holding powers that really seems to be a lot in the grand scheme of things. She spent a handful of minutes with this guy… and has then spent multiple years loathing him. That kind of seems like Hans is winning the mind games here when he really shouldn’t be. If they had given Hans some kind of backstory with the sisters, this reaction would make more sense. If he had been their friend before everything went sour, then sure. If he had been Anna’s pen pal while she was locked up in the castle, and then he betrayed her, a bit of loathing would be justified. If he had had any kind of actual, real relationship with the sisters that would give some weight to his betrayal, besides just the shock value, maintaining this story thread would make sense. With what they give us though, it just looks bizarrely obsessive on Elsa’s part, and grudges are a good look for no one. (It’s also what happens when a lot of writers are using a fictional character as a stand-in for high school dating drama that they’re still upset about, instead of crafting a character who has a place and purpose in the overall story-telling arc… but that’s beside the point.) (For kicks and grins, here's the scene that follows the betrayal scene. Probably the most iconic use of Phil Collin's In the Air Tonight EVER.

#Miami Vice #Frozen #Hans Westergaard #Queen Elsa #Sonny Crockett #Miami Vice clips do have triggers for violence and discussing violent actions #My brain combines things in weird directions but I really do think it makes writing stronger #to compare things that don't obviously go together

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alverrann · 7 months

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My last post for Miami Vice Day will be a self-indulgent AU from a monster (me) who wanted more h/c and angst from the Burnett arc.

What if instead of recognizing (somewhat) and chasing Tubbs from the lighthouse at the beginning of Redemption in Blood Part 2, Burnett says Tubbs' name and then handcuffs him to the stair railing? What if Burnett plans on coming back later after getting rid of his men, to find out just who Tubbs is and why he remembers him?

Here's a bit of that angst:

---

Okay, Cooper." Sonny tossed the key to the handcuffs. "Get up, we're goin' for a walk."

Cooper caught it in his free hand, expression unreadable. He looked from Sonny to the gun pointed at him, seeming to understand that he wasn't going to escape. To some extent, Burnett admired the cool calm with which the man unchained himself from the stair railing, rubbing his wrist as he stood.

"All right. Walk." Burnett kept his distance, taking no chances.

Handcuffs in one hand and key in the other, the cop walked. Sonny stayed behind him, following till they were out of the lighthouse. Cooper paused after exiting, turning to look back with a slightly furrowed brow. "You came alone."

"I didn't need to bring anyone else." Burnett said. "Get on the ground - face down. Drop the key."

Cooper knelt slowly, setting the key down beside him, "Did you come to kill me?"

"On the ground." Sonny repeated. "Hands behind your back."

"This isn't typical dealer behavior, ya'know?" Cooper said as he complied. "You gonna execute me? Throw me into the ocean? Or do you remember?"

Sonny didn't respond verbally, but dug his knee into the other man's back when he used the handcuffs to restrain him, pocketing the key again.

Now he stood up and back, gun pointing again. "You and I are gonna have a chat, cop. Get up." Cooper - with some difficulty - pushed himself to his knees, then stood up. Burnett strapped his gun away, putting a hand on Cooper's back to shove him towards the car.

"What are we gonna chat about?" Cooper asked, sounding almost confrontational, or even accusing. "The explosion? The killings? The fact that you've been missing for six months?"

Burnett opened the passenger door, shoving the cop in before leaning down - inches from his face. "I'm gonna be askin' the questions, pal." He closed the door, cutting off whatever response the man might have given.

When he opened the driver's side to get in, Cooper's expression had changed, looking melancholic rather than belligerent. "You really don't remember me."

"Just your real name, Ricardo Tubbs." Sonny started the car. "But you're gonna tell me what I'm missin'. You're gonna tell me who you are."

There was a long silence as he pulled out, driving away from the lighthouse, but not towards home. Finally, Cooper said, "Rico."

"What?" Sonny glanced over, but the man was looking forward, face expressionless again.

"You always called me Rico."

Burnett wasn't sure he wanted to respond to that, but he had questions that he needed answered. Questions whose answers might change his whole life. "Were we close?"

"Yeah." Cooper breathed. "You could say that."

"I was a cop." He hadn't said it out loud since the memories had started stirring, and the words tasted like acid on his tongue.

"And what are you now?" Cooper asked.

The question cut straight to the heart of Sonny's problem, and he pulled the car to an abrupt stop, looking straight at the other man. This man who haunted his dreams along with a dozen other phantoms from his past - nameless and forgotten.

But this man was no phantom. Not anymore.

"I'm not here to play games, Cooper." The words came out in a rushed growl, but Cooper didn't flinch. Cliff might have flinched. Celeste would have flinched. Burnett almost never lost his temper - not like this - so what was it about this man that made him so angry?

---

And there's you go! I hope you all had a fantastic Miami Vice Day, and now I'll be done spamming posts, lol.

It's 11:54pm here, and I'm cuttin' it close. So that's all, folks!

#miami vice #sonny crockett #ricardo tubbs #fanfiction #my fanfic #Burnett Arc AU #angst #i love this show #Sonny Burnett #Ricardo Cooper #poor Sonny has been through enough #and here I am making it worse than it was #no regrets

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thisstormbringsstrangeloyalties · 26 days

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The Dark Defender - A Dexter Fanfiction (Part 1/6)

Read this story on Ao3

Next part

Story Summary: Meg Winters has a perfectly normal life and a wonderfully perfect boyfriend. Until she stumbles across a perfectly dark secret… and now her very life is in danger. No, not from the Bay Harbor Butcher whose waterlogged body of work has just been uncovered. But from something much closer… Desperate for help, Meg reaches out to a new hero in town, The Dark Defender, dealer of deadly vigilante dirty work. However, once Meg puts out a plea to The Defender, she must deal with the consequences, both bad AND good.

Author’s note: I wrote this story out of frustration with how I thought the Dark Defender from season 2 was SUCH a cool idea. I felt the fact that the Bay Harbor Butcher only killed other killers was something everyone just kind of slept on? It was only mentioned in passing a few times by civilians and only spurred one really shitty copycat. Personally, I think someone with such a strong moral code and harsh form of punishment would have developed SOME sort of cult following. And the Dark Defender would have been a good jumping off point for that. It would have been so cool for Dexter to have his darkest secrets revealed, only to turn around and discover that a huge group of people are ROOTING for him and that they think he’s actually doing the right thing. Definitely something I think he’s always craved, but never expected to find. Ugh. Okay. Enough rambling. Onto the story.

Wordcount: 2,189

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Meg Winters had a perfectly normal life and a wonderfully perfect boyfriend. She had been dating Zach O’Connell for nearly a year now, and they lived together in a small cottage in Miami.

The past year had felt like a dream to Meg. She worked in a bookstore. Zach worked in a retirement home, caring for others just as he cared for her. But it had been at the bookstore where they’d met. He’d come in looking for something to read, and she’d helped him find what he was looking for. And then he’d come back. He’d come back again and again. He had insisted it was for the books. “Your recommendations never miss,” he had insisted. “I can never put them down.” But it was never books they’d talked about.

Zach seemed to Get Meg in a way no one else ever had. He shared nearly all her interests, turned up whenever she needed him most, and somehow always knew what to say. When he’d asked for her number, she’d given it readily. When he’d asked her out, she couldn’t say “yes” fast enough. Things moved quickly then. Within weeks, they had A Song, they had A Spot, and then they were looking at A Place. Before they had even reached their half-year anniversary, they had moved in together.

There was tragedy, of course. Not long after they had settled into their new home, Meg’s best friend, Stephanie, had gotten into a terrible accident. Struck by a car while she was out running in the early hours of the morning. The driver had never been found, and the paramedics had said Stephanie was lucky to still be alive. Well, almost alive. Stephanie was in a coma, and no one knew when, or if, she would ever wake up.

The accident had very nearly destroyed Meg. Stephanie had been her closest friend since childhood. They’d done everything together. Meg couldn’t imagine a world without her.

The only thing that had kept Meg from falling apart completely was Zach. For some reason, he and Stephanie had never really gotten along, but after the accident, he’d pushed all that aside for Meg. He’d held her through every sob that wracked Meg’s body. He’d stayed up with her during every sleepless night. And he’d gone with her to every bedside visit in Stephanie’s hospital room. He’d even taken turns with Meg, reading all of Stephanie’s favorite books aloud. The doctors had said it was possible she could still hear them and that speaking to Stephanie might help guide her back to consciousness.

The ordeal was more painful than anything Meg had ever been through, and consequently, it had brought her and Zach together in a way she had never experienced with anyone before. They hadn’t even known each other for a year, and yet it felt like they had been together for a lifetime.

Meg really thought she had found The One. She was prepared to spend the rest of her life with him. They were perfect for each other. They could weather any storm together. Nothing could possibly tear them apart.

Or at least that’s what Meg had thought.

Until she found the box.

Living in Miami meant living with constant heat. And living in constant heat meant that any fault in the house’s air conditioning was a problem to be addressed immediately.

She had work off that day while Zach, on the other hand, had a full day at the retirement home, and though she wasn’t needed at the bookstore, she couldn’t stop herself from curling up in bed with her nose in a book. She was so absorbed in her reading that she didn’t notice how unusually warm the room was until a drop of sweat rolled down her nose and landed in the middle of the page.

She blinked, staring at the small soaked spot in confusion. Then she looked up. For the first time in at least an hour, she took stock of her surroundings. Everything seemed normal except for the uncomfortably stuffy temperature. Meg strained her ears and picked up the telltale hum of the air conditioning unit. Well, that was odd.

She marked her place in her book before closing it and getting out of bed. She wandered over to the bedroom vent, tucked almost under the bed itself, and put her hand over the grate. A measly stream of cool air poured out. She frowned. Was something blocking it?

She bent closer and peered through the grate. In what little light penetrated the vent, she thought she could see the silhouette of something in there.

She slipped her fingernails under the edge of the grate and worked to pry it free. Soon enough, she had loosened it enough to jam her fingertips underneath and pull it completely off. She set the grate aside and plunged one hand into the vent. She was half a forearm deep when her fingers brushed against something smooth and angular. She froze, grabbed ahold of it, and pulled.

She sat back at she looked at the small box in her hands. It was plain and made of finished wood. Her heart pounded as she hesitated at the latch. She felt like she had just stumbled across something she wasn’t meant to view.

Finally, steeling herself, she flipped up the latch and opened the box.

Her stomach sank at the sight that greeted her. Sitting on top was a bra. One of her bras. Her nose crinkling in distaste, she pulled it out and set it aside only to uncover more of her things beneath. Socks, underwear, a diary she had kept in high school, a diary she had kept in middle school. There were CD’s Stephanie had burned for her, old postcards addressed to her, even a USB drive she recognized as her own from her college days. She felt like she was going to be sick.

This was Zach’s box. It had to be Zach’s box. In fact, some sixth sense told her it was undoubtedly his. But why? They lived together, there was no need to keep a stash of her things, especially things this… personal. Why this invasion of privacy?

But still, something deep inside told her Zach had started this collection long before they’d started living together. It felt like some strange profile he’d put together, something to understand her.

She thought about how Zach had sometimes seemed to know her better than she knew herself, and pieces of a puzzle she didn’t even know existed started clicking into place.

She kept digging.

At the very bottom corner of the box, tucked away like they were the most secret thing of all, were what appeared to be… clumps of hair. Meg’s stomach turned as she pulled one out and examined it. It was short, brown, and bound by a thin rubber band. She set it aside and began pulling out more clumps, each tied together with another rubber band. As she pulled them out, a sense of unease began to weigh more and more heavily in her gut. There was something about the samples of hair that felt almost sacred, like there was a sense of pride behind each one. They almost felt like— like… Meg stuttered mentally over the word that rose so damningly in her mind.

They almost felt like trophies.

She pulled out another clump of hair and came to a halt. For the first time, the hair she held looked familiar to her. She sat unmoving, staring at it, willing herself to remember where she had seen it before. Then it came to her.

David.

David was one of the bookstore’s regular customers. Or at least he had been. He was a tall, handsome fellow with bright green eyes and ridiculously curly, pale blond locks. She’d recognize them anywhere. She’d spent plenty of time staring at them whenever David came into the store and leaned uncomfortably far over her counter, chatting about increasingly personal subjects with her. Every once in awhile, he’d gain enough nerve to ask her out. She’d politely turned him down each time, but David seemed to be under the impression that she’d change her mind if he just wore her down a bit more.

Once Zach had started coming into the store, he and David had encountered each other only a few times. Zach would walk in to find David bent over Meg’s counter like a vulture. Then he’d look at Meg and Meg would give him a “please help me” look, to which Zach had always obliged with gusto. Without a moment’s hesitation, Zach would barge into the conversation, leaving no room for David’s unwanted advances. After a few minutes of quiet frustration, David would give up on his pursuit for the day and leave in a huff.

After this had happened a couple times, David had stopped coming to the bookstore entirely. Meg assumed that, with Zach in the picture, David had finally accepted defeat. She couldn’t say she missed him or his patronage. But now, as she turned the curly bundle of pale blond hair in her grasp, she began to doubt it was as simple as that. A cold dread began to creep up her spine as his disappearance suddenly felt a lot more nefarious.

Her skin prickling with revulsion, she dropped the bundle of hair into the discard pile and picked up the next one in the box. She froze as it came into sight. The cold dread rose into a white hot rage.

She did not need to think about where she had seen this hair before. She recognized it immediately, knew it as if it were her own. The chestnut brown with the red highlights. It was Stephanie’s.

Meg’s hands shook. Her vision turned scarlet. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear something apart.

Zach. This was all Zach. Zach had done this. He had never really liked Stephanie. Of course, he had done this. He had been the one to hit Stephanie with his car. He had been the one to put her in this awful coma. This was a fact that Meg now knew in her very soul.

She wanted to fling the box away. Destroy it and everything inside. She wanted to run all the way to Zach’s place of work and beat him with her fists until there was nothing left.

But Meg did neither of these things. Instead, she reverently set Stephanie’s hair down next to David’s and reached for the box of horrors once more. There was still more inside and she knew she had to see this through until the end.

There were only two clumps of hair left, both blond and both similar enough to Meg’s own hair color and texture that, for a brief moment of terror, she thought they belonged to her. But then, no, they were most definitely not hers. That one was too dark and the other one was too curly. Unlike the other samples of hair, these two were not held together with a rubber band. Instead, they had each been tied up with a beautiful bow of ribbon, one a deep, midnight blue and the other a sleek, crimson red.

Meg stared at them, trying to figure them out. There was something special about these two samples, that much was clear. But what?

Once more, she felt the pieces of this new puzzle clicking together, and that’s when she knew.

Zach had mentioned before that he’d been in previous relationships. In fact, he’d been in two rather serious ones, but whenever Meg had asked about his exes, he’d clammed up. All she knew about them was that things had been perfect… until they weren’t.

“They just changed,” he’d told her simply. “And I knew that we’d never be able to work things out.”

And that was that.

Meg had tried not to pry. Zach had always been so quiet about his past, and she had never pushed him to say more than he was comfortable with. From what little she’d heard, it didn’t seem like the kind of stuff someone would want to relive. But now she wished she hadn’t been so understanding. She wished she had squeezed every last detail out of him.

She looked down at the hair in her hands again. This was all that remained of those two mysterious exes now, she was certain of it. And as she had this thought, another certainty settled over her, one that made her head spin and her stomach twist into knots.

She was next.

Meg sat unmoving for a long while, clutching the remains of her predecessors. Then, like a switch, she came back to life. Mechanically, she began putting everything back in the box, taking extra care to arrange it just as she had found it. She closed it, latched it tight, and slid it back into the open vent. She took time to make sure the box was positioned so the air flow was unblocked, then she replaced the grate, climbed back into bed, and pretended the whole thing had never happened.

Next part

#posted this on ao3 awhile back #buuuuut thought it might be fun to post it here too heehee #Dexter #Dexter fanfiction #Dexter fanfic #dexter morgan #Deb Morgan #Debra Morgan #Angel Batista #Bay Harbor butcher #the dark defender #and my silly little OC Meg Winters #plus my subtle wish fulfillment of getting Joe Goldberg on Dex’s table #may he rest in pieces </3

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goldcoastcarseo · 2 years

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How to Buy a Used Luxury Car in 2022

The pre-purchase inspection is the most important step for buying a Used Luxury Cars Miami. You need to check for mentioned points before buying used luxury car from a dealer.

Consider the cost of ownership

The cost of ownership is a big factor. If you want to buy a luxury car, you must also consider the cost of ownership. This can be a tricky aspect because it depends on many factors, including the type of model and its condition. However, there are some general guidelines that can help you decide whether buying a new or used luxury car is more expensive for your budget. You should consider the cost of maintenance. When buying a used car, remember to check if the engine has been tuned up before selling. You should also check if the car has been serviced regularly and if there is any damage on the bodywork that needs repairing or replacing.

Know your luxury car choice well

It is important to know how much it will cost to maintain your new luxury vehicle in order to make an informed decision about whether it is worth buying one or not. It may seem like it would be cheaper simply by purchasing a newer model but this could mean having to pay more in future years because they need servicing more often.

Pre-purchase inspection

The first inspection you can do before buying a used Luxury Car Dealers Miami is to make sure that the car has not been modified. If it has, then there may be some problems in the future. You should also check if there are any previous repairs done on the engine, transmission or other parts.

Check for modifications

If you feel suspicious about a particular vehicle, then you can always ask for a pre-purchase inspection. This will help you find out whether the car is modified or not. Also, if it has been modified and you want to return it later, then this will help save time and money.

Ensure the used Luxury car is certified

There are many certifications that can be found on new vehicles and they ensure that these vehicles have undergone various tests before being put into use. When buy used cars in miami, it is important to ensure that such certifications are present as well. You should check carefully before purchasing any vehicle as there could be hidden costs involved with these cars which could affect their value greatly over time!

#Luxury Car Dealers Miami

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easycarus · 1 year

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Find Your Next Dream Car With Easy Car

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#used car deals in miami #best used car dealer in miami #used car for sale

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fatalezr · 1 year

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Sniper Support

Wearing a skirt suit was a new experience for Lilly. As a cleaner, she was more used to looking at skyscrapers and serving the people in the suits rather than being in one herself and she had to remind herself how much life had changed recently. She unbuttoned and then rebuttoned the black jacket.

"You OK?" Lucia asked her from the driver's seat of their car.

"Yeah" Lilly said, "just not used to this kind of outfit".

"I hear you" Lucia said, "but it might just give you the odd second or two extra you might need, plus, you know, it is kind of sexy".

Lilly nodded and smiled. Lucia was right she supposed. The pencil skirt hugged her waist and there felt like there was something risque in not wearing a blouse under her jacket, instead giving anyone who looked at her a peak at the navy blue Victorias Secret bra she was wearing. She'd also put on the matching knickers and brown hold-up stockings to complete that pleasurable feeling she no longer felt guilty about.

Her friend was in a similar outfit, a grey pantsuit but wearing a black shirt underneath and holding a large briefcase in gloved hands. Lilly was already intrigued to see her open it and assemble together a sniper rifle. 'And to think, all this from a quick shag on a night out' Lilly mused.

The previous few days had been intense. After Marina, Katya and Petra had arrived back in Miami, they had immediately told them of their trip to the smugglers cove and the blowing up of the boat full of a cocaine shipment. Together, they had examined the phone of Frankie, the nephew of Albert Pintaro, the biggest mob boss in Miami and using the software that their friends had installed at phone companies, they were soon able to build a picture of the network and read some messages exchanged.

They had severely disrupted the flow of cocaine into the city and rival dealers had been complaining to their leaders. The local paper had even reported a couple of murders as supplies started to run low and it was shortly after that they noticed a message on Pintaro's phone from a lawyer, inviting representatives to meet with a couple of clients and discuss the situation. The group had gathered together and seen Pintaro type in his reply. He would not attend himself but was sending a man that was a high-ranking lieutenants, and the other mob bosses in the city were doing the same. They would all meet in a high-rise hotel downtown.

"Their building will be secure" Marina had said as they plotted, "but the one across from it should give an angle for a perfect shot. Lucia, you'll do that. Lilly, you'll help get her in the building. Me, Katya and Petra will deal with the rest". It was a great plan and opportunity to not only take out more high-ranking members of the gangs, but also plant more distrust between the rivals when a room full of dead bodies was discovered.

And so it was that Lilly and Lucia were now sitting opposite the entrance to the tall skyscraper, waiting for the right moment to enter. Lilly adjusted the blazer again. She had spent the last day or so practicing drawing and reloading using the shoulder holster but it would still be a new experience for her. She felt restless, waiting for the call from Petra who was outside the hotel a short distance away.

After her third rebuttoning of the blazer, Petra's voice finally spoke into their earpieces. "OK, all the parties are in, get moving".

"Got it" Lucia said, getting out of the car with her long briefcase that contained the rifle. Lilly joined her and together they quickly crossed the street to the office skyscraper. It was late night and as they pushed the doors open they saw there was only one guard on the reception desk. Their way was blocked by some waist high security barriers.

"Hey" Lilly said, giving him a wave and a smile, "sorry, we forgot our passes and I've left something upstairs". She tried to sound innocent and calm. "Could you let me up?"

"Hold on, hold on," the guard said. He got up from his desk and Lilly could tell from what she heard that he had been watching a baseball game. "Give me a second". He stretched and walked down towards them. "I'll just need to see some ID"

"Of course," Lilly said. She put her hand inside her jacket and gripped the butt of the gun in the holster, "it's right here". Her left hand quickly undid her blazer button as her right brought the gun to bear on the unsuspecting guard. He barely had a chance to register before she fired. Pfft-pfft-pfft. She grouped her shots around his chest and smiled - her shooting was improving every day. He collapsed to the ground and she added another bullet into his head. Pfft.

Lucia vaulted over the security barriers in front of them and got the guard's keys. She tossed them to Lilly who went and locked the doors to the building whilst Lucia pulled the guard out of sight, resting him behind a plant in the lobby area. Lilly pulled herself up and over the barriers and took out her gun again whilst Lucia picked up her long briefcase.

"See, nice and easy," Lucia said quietly. "Just bear in mind he probably had a colleague on this floor, maybe doing the rounds". They walked through the lobby towards the elevators and saw the man pausing by the elevators as they did. He tipped his hat towards Lucia and Lilly.

Lilly gave him a smile back before bringing her pistol up from behind her back, letting her jacket open a bit more as it did so. The smile on the guard's face turned to shock and then pain as Lilly squeezed the trigger. Pfft-pfft-pfft. She gave another three shots to the chest and then walked over to him. He feebly tried to raise his arms on the floor but she rested a heeled shoe on him and fired -pfft- into his head for a coup de grace.

"Fuck" Lilly said softly. She could feel her nipples erect within her bra. There was something delightful about this kind of work. She picked out a keycard from the guard's pocket and used it to call one of the elevators.

"You're enjoying this?" Lucia asked her, giving a glance at Lilly's breasts.

"Maybe" she said, "wouldn't you?"

"Oh fuck yeah" Lucia said, "just good to see you enjoying yourself, you little badass". The elevator pinged and the two women stepped into it. They pressed to go to the top floor they could - floor 41. They planned to go to the very top of the building to set up for the shot but would need to go to the last floor on foot.

Lucia hummed to herself and Lilly just held the gun by her side as the elevator went up quickly to floor 41. It pinged when they arrived and Lilly stepped out of the elevator first, raising her gun and supporting it with both hands to sweep the corridor and see if there were any individuals there. The floor was dark and she could find no-one.

She walked slowly along the corridor towards the office they would need to go through to reach the next floor up. She used a keycard to unlock the office door and stepped in quietly. The room was filled with computers and dark but she noticed a glow from around the corner and walked towards it, keeping her gun low but ready to strike at any sign of movement. She heard panting noises as she approached and chanced a glance around the corner when she could.

A man in a shirt had his trousers around his ankles and was taking a woman from behind. She had her skirt on the floor and was wearing tan-coloured stockings. Her white blouse was open and she was wearing a red lacy bra. She was moaning a little in pleasure as the man thrust. Lilly watched them for a few seconds, finding the sounds of their grunting and moaning stimulating. The man started to move and grunt faster and Lilly realised he was close to finding his release.

"Get him when he finishes" Lucia whispered in her ear, "might as well die happy right?". Lilly grinned and set off towards the couple, walking softly on the carpet. They had their eyes closed and she was able to get right behind the man's back, where she aimed her gun at the back of his stomach.

"Ungh, ungh, UNGH!" the man thrusted and then froze and Lilly could tell that he had just finished. The woman let out a loud moan and Lilly pulled the trigger. Pfft-pfft. She put two bullets in the back of the man's back, seeing him jerk a little more after her shots. He cried out, seemingly in pleasure and pain at the same time and then collapsed down to his knees. Lilly could see his seed was still filling the condom he wore.

The woman he had been fucking turned around and gasped. Lilly's gun was on her chest in a flash and she planted four bullets into her breasts and bra, puncturing them twice on each side, pfft-pfft, pfft-pfft. The woman gave a shout of pain and her hands went to her wounds. Pfft. Lilly lowered her gun and shot into the woman's sex and she collapsed forward.

"Mmm" Lilly allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of the kill. Her nipples were very erect now and she pulled a bra cup down and massaged one for a couple of seconds with her hands before ejecting the now-empty magazine and picking a new one from inside her shoulder holster. Pfft-pfft, pfft-pfft. She added two headshots to both of the lovers and closed her eyes in pleasure. The feeling was something else.

"Damn girl, that was ruthless" Lucia said, breaking her from her reverie and Lilly remembered their mission. She put her breast back into her bra and grinned at her friend. They continued to walk around the corner and eventually found the door that the keycard unlocked to send them to floor 42.

Lilly ascended the stairs first, gun at the ready for any signs of movement. The top floor was used for maintenance purposes only. In a corner, some computer servers hummed while elsewhere there were some loose cables and a couple of boxes. It was dark, except for some blue lights in the room and the lights of the city that streamed in through the long glass windows that hung from ceiling to floor.

Lucia picked her position where she could clearly see the hotel. "I'm in position, setting up" she said into her earpiece. She opened her long briefcase and set about assembling the sniper rifle, twisting and loading each piece into place and adding a long and thick suppressor to the end. Lilly grabbed a glass cutting tool from the case and began to cut a small hole in the thick glass that surrounded the building near the bottom of the window, Lucia directing her where she wanted it to be.

The glass fell out of the circle without the rest of the window opening and there was a short cold blast from the outside. Lilly and Lucia both ducked down and lay on the floor whilst Lucia maneuvered her rifle to the correct position, looking down the scope. "Here, you can watch along" Lucia said when ready, handing a small pair of binoculars to Lilly.

She gladly took them and began to locate the room that the meeting was taking place in. "Lucia, what's your status?" Marina's voice came through their earpieces.

"10 seconds" Lucia said, adjusting her scope and eventually chambering the first of the high-powered, high-calibre rounds. Lilly looked through the binoculars she held, finding the room where the targets were. It was a suite on one of the higher floors and she saw six men inside, three in suits sitting around a table having drinks whilst another three men in black watched. Evidently each of the three key lieutenants had brought one bodyguard and she guessed there may be more outside the room.

She looked to the left of the room where they were meeting and saw Petra and Marina. Petra was looking awkward in an ill-fitting grey trouser suit that was not cut for her large breasts. She held a suppressed FN-P90 in her hands whilst Marina stood in a figure-hugging red dress with a plunging neckline holding her own version of that weapon. Marina also wore a shoulder holster with a pistol and spare ammunition on top of the dress. In her own room on the other side of the room the lieutenants were in was Katja in a black skirt suit, standing with two suppressed pistols.

"OK" Lucia said, "you've got three muscle standing and then three guys at the table". She gave detailed positions for each of them and Lucia saw the women nodding. It was great to have this vantage point, to be able to see a plan executed whilst the men in the middle remained oblivious to everything. "There's probably more outside the door" Lucia added, "but I'll take care of any who enter".

Lilly looked harder. Marina's room had a door that could open into the room the mafia lieutenants were sitting in and Petra's hand was on its handle. They would come bursting in at the right time. Katja would have to go in from the outside.

"On my mark" Lucia said to the women. Lilly noticed how she took a deep breath and relaxed. "3....2....1".

Pfft. Her finger had tightened on the trigger and Lilly watched as a neat hole appeared in both the hotel window opposite them and the head of a man who was standing close to the table. Pfft. Another shot and this time another man collapsed backwards. The attack was on.

Marina and Petra burst through the door to the side of the room and began firing bursts into the men in the room with their FN-P90 submachine guns. Lilly saw the men jerk and shake as each woman quickly and clinically found their targets, knowing exactly where they were going before the men had any clue what was happening. The front door to the room opened and two men appeared in it. Pfft. Pfft. Lucia fired off two quick shots and they went down and when a third man tried to enter, he immediately fell forward and Lilly realised that Katja had shot him in the back.

Within a few seconds it was all over. All the men were down and Lucia was scanning for signs of life in the room. Lilly continued to watch, transfixed as Katja, Petra and Marina went around the room, delivering short bursts with their weapons into the heads of the nine bodies that now littered it. They were clinical with their executions and picked up phones from all of the men they had killed.

"Good, rendezvous later" Marina said and Lilly heard her voice in her earpiece. She saw Katja holster her two pistols inside her jacket whilst Marina donned a black jacket over her shoulder holster and Petra put both of their FN-P90s into a briefcase. They exited their rooms quickly. It was so speedy, so ruthless that Lilly found herself feeling excited again.

"That's us too," Lucia said. She quickly began disassembling her sniper rifle and packing it away whilst Lilly put back the binoculars and made sure their exit was clear. Together, they hurried down the stairs back to floor 41 and took the elevator to the ground floor.

They used the dead guard's keys to unlock the doors to the building again and within a couple of minutes they were back in Lucia's car, driving away. Lilly allowed herself to celebrate. "Fucking yes mate, yes!" she shouted as they drove away, the elation in her voice plain for Lucia to hear.

Her friend grinned at her. "That's the way we've got to do it. In, out, pile some bodies along the way".

Lilly was still in raptures. "Let's do that again!" she joked.

"Girl, we are only just getting started" Lucia said, giving her a knowing wink before driving away to where the group would meet for a brief celebration.

#lilly #hitwoman #killer woman #female assassin #femme fatale #story #silencerhitwoman #silencer hitwoman

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Stone Raids Wall Street

Once upon a time Oliver Stone was best known for his scabrous screenplays for films such as Scarface and Year of the Dragon. Then his 1986 films, Platoon and Salvador, racked up a slew of Academy Award nominations, and Platoon collected Oscars for direction, editing, sound, and Best Picture. Stone was honored not for safe, Masterpiece Theatre-type films that make Academy members feel good about themselves, but for violent, unpleasant films on subjects considered until recently to be box-office poison—Central America and Vietnam. In one short year, he has emerged as the most interesting and important director in Hollywood. Nevertheless, as no one knows better than Stone, the winds of celebrity are fickle, and when we spoke with him in August, he was anticipating a more qualified reaction to his forthcoming film, Wall Street.

Q: How did you get the idea for Wall Street? A: The story first came to me while I was writing Scarface. Its get-rich-quick Miami mentality had certain parallels in New York, where an acquaintance of mine was making a fortune in the market. He was like some crazed coke dealer, nervously on the phone nights trading with Hong Kong and Lon- don, checking the telex, talking about enor- mous sums of money to be won or lost on a daily basis. His lifestyle was Scarface North. He had two huge Gatsby-like houses on the beach in Long Island (he couldn’t decide which one to live in), several dune buggies, cars, Jeeps, a private seaplane company, an art collection, and a townhouse in Manhattan. Then he took a giant fall; his empire came crashing down around him. He was suspended from trading; he lost millions and spent millions more in legal fees clearing his name, which he finally did. It made him a different, stronger person as a result, and it was partly this tale of seduction, corruption, loss, and redemption (as well as other stories we heard on the street, among them that of David Brown, a broker convicted for insider trading who served as an adviser on the film) that was the basis of Charlie Sheen’s character in our script.

Q: Wasn’t your father a broker? A: Yes, he was on Wall Street for 50 years or so. My father’s world was very intimidating to me; I viewed it from an Orson Welles perspective out of The Magnificent Ambersons. | remember the staircases and mirrors. I remember looking down through banisters at Mom’s parties, at the rich people, the sophisticated people, women from Europe with accents, Belafonte or Sinatra on the phonograph singing ‘50s songs. Then they’d go out in packs like in La Dolce Vita to faraway places like El Morocco.

Dad would take me to the movies (how rare to be alone with him)—Dr. Strangelove, Paths of Glory, Seven Days in May—the ones with the ideas, and inevitably he’d come out of the movie and say, "Well, we could've done it better, Huckleberry,” and he’d tell me all the reasons why this plot was silly or illogical. It would make me think, which is one of the things a father is supposed to do. And he’d always say they never did intelligent pictures about businessmen; businessmen were always satirized or were stereotypical bad guys.

Dad believed very strongly in capitalism. Yet the irony of it all was that he never really benefited from it. All his life money was an overriding con- cern. But he never owned a single thing; every- thing was rented, right down to the cars, the apart- ments, and if it had been possible, the furniture. There was an insecurity at the heart of our family existence. I began to resent money as the criterion by which to judge all things, and there grew to be a raging battle between my father and me about it. I found ways to throw away everything I had, which pissed my father off. | went to Yale but dropped out, and he lost the tuition. We reconciled before he died [in 1985], but by then I had moved away from it all. I didn’t want to go to an office every day from nine to five. I didn’t understand Wall Street. “Going into movies is crazy,” he would say. “You aren’t going to make a dime.”

When I was working on Wall Street, I felt my dad was sort of around in a ghostlike form, watching over me and laughing, because here is the idiot son who doesn’t know anything about the stock market, who can barely add and subtract, doing a film with the grandiose title Wall Street.

I always hated New York, which is what made it so special returning some 25 years later with a crew of professionals, a self-contained artillery unit. (I even got to cast Hal Holbrook, who is everybody’s dream of a father, as my father.) And suddenly | got a glimpse of a mysterious world I'd only scratched the surface of as a child—the adult world, New York in its power, glory, and greed.

Q: You're not dealing with war and revolution in Wall Street, as you were in Platoon and Salvador. It’s a less weighty film.

A: It appealed to me precisely because it is a lesser statement. There is only so much you can say about yuppies. I knew if I sat around for two or three years doing a Hamlet number - should I give the world another film? - I would really drive myself crazy. I would rather turn something out fast, get it over with, give the gold crown to somebody else so I can get on with doing things that I really care about, which are ideas. I’m ready to take a fall. I'm not expecting the same critical praise or the same box office that I got for Platoon.

I think I have always been identified with “‘lowercase”’ films that take people by surprise. It is strange suddenly to be in a front-runner position with Wall Street. I like being a dark horse. Celebrity can hurt the creative process if you let it go to your head. You start weighing your image of yourself instead of somehow keeping your head low down to the ground like a bulldog, telling a good story, and not letting your ego stand in your way.

Q: How did you get a producer for Wall Street? A: Initially, I brought the script to John Daly at Hemdale. But he didn’t think the audience would go for a movie about people who were making millions of dollars. On the other hand, Ed Pressman and Twentieth Century Fox loved the idea, which was fine with me, because Wall Street was going to have to be shot in New York, and consequently it was going to be expensive. Hemdale is not really into $15 million movies; it would have been a big risk for them and more pressure for me, whereas for Fox it is a medium-budget movie.

Q: Did you get any cooperation from Wall Street? A: Initially, no. They felt Stanley Weiser (the co- writer) and I were going to trash the Street. Then after the success of Platoon, people started coming out of the woodwork. We hired Ken Lipper, who was formerly the deputy mayor of New York City and was managing director of Salomon Brothers, and we consulted with people such as John Gutfreund of Salomon, and Carl Icahn.

Q: How did the consultants help you? A: Ken Lipper put Charlie Sheen and Michael Douglas inside Salomon Brothers. He also got us into places like The 21 Club, Le Cirque, and, most important, the New York Stock Exchange, which was a first. No film had ever been done there. We actually shot on the floor while they were trading. A lot of the older traders were upset because they were trying to make money and we were creating a disturbance, but there were many more Vietnam veterans on the floor than I had imagined, and they had seen Platoon.

Ken was also on the set. He helped us with details: how brokers deal with sales, how they write up orders, their body language—how they hold a telephone, what is the pace of the conversation. I had no clue how these things are really done.

Q: What was it like to shoot in New York? A: Sixty-ninth Street and Madison was a fucking mess. Michael Douglas was shaking hands all day. Bill Murray came by, actors, businessmen, kings, diplomats—it was a constant stream of Hi Daryl [Hannah], Hi Michael, Hi Charlie. We'd try to shoot a scene and there would literally be a thousand people coming to look. It was impossible to work under those conditions. So | hired about 200 extras and filled the sidewalk with them so we could control the streets. If anybody walked onto that sidewalk they would see all these people standing stock still waiting for the cue for action. It was so bizarre, they would skirt the sidewalk and walk away.

And here’s an example of how unions can fuck up reality. | wanted real derelicts, but there’s a law in New York that the first 125 extras in major feature films have to be union. We made up the extras, but they never looked real. So if I need a real bum in a scene it has to be the 126th man. I just threw up my hands in disgust. My derelicts will have to go in my next picture

Q: Why did you cast Charlie Sheen in the lead role? A: | thought that he could do a good job of playing a bad boy, showing the negative side of Wall Street. There is a devilish side to Charlie that didn’t come out in Platoon, where he was more of an idealized figure. I think he’s been in trouble, and that shows in his personality, a strong streak of rebelliousness combined with an inner grace passed on from his father, Martin Sheen, who plays his father in the film. Charlie is only 22, which made him much younger than the brokers being busted on Wall Street, but we aged him with good suits, a haircut, and he gained a little weight from the good life in New York; his face is a little jowlier than normal. He invested his own money in the market, hung out with the young brokers at Bear Stearns and Salomon Brothers, drank with them at the South Street Seaport, kids just out of college who have to pull $100,000 in the first or second year just to occupy a space on the floor. Gone are the days of my father, when people were brought along slowly; there seems to be less mercy in the system, and as always the corruption is subtle, almost undetectable in a black and white sense. The corruption of all flesh—needing more and more, until like fat bugs we pop and bleed all over the page.

Q: I understand Charlie’s character was Jewish in the first draft of the script. Why did you change it? A: His name was Freddie Goldsmith, but that would have necessitated a different kind of actor. I would never have believed Charlie as Jewish; he doesn’t have that kind of quickness, the mannerisms, the nerviness. He is more of a laid-back type; at best he could play a Catholic, Protestant out of Queens. I also wanted to drop the Jewish angle because I think that too many people think that Wall Street is run by Jews and that they are all corrupt, a bunch of gangsters. I just didn’t want to give them any more fuel. My father— who was Jewish, I’m half Jewish— always warned me that I would probably see a pogrom in the United States in my lifetime. I didn’t believe him when I was a kid. I believe it now.

Q: Did you have Daryl Hannah in mind from the beginning? A: I've loved Daryl from way back. She’s an admirable person with a real passion for left-wing causes. And she looks beautiful on film. She’s the kind of girl a guy like Charlie would go after. She would be the type of girl who is pretty enough to be around the big money guys. Daryl had problems with her character because it wasn’t a character she particularly liked. She was scared by it. She is a natural, simple girl, and here was a character who was totally artificial. She had a major problem trying to learn that language. She went to a voice coach in New York and tried to change her flat Southern California/Chicago accent into something more nasal, more New York, upper class, and affected. I was tough with her. I beat her up, in a metaphoric sense, and in the early stages I am sure she wanted to quit. I think I made her cry a few times, but I wasn't really pleased with her wanness and passiveness, which were difficult to get through. She needs a very, very strong director. I am not sure I succeeded.

Q: Weren't you taking a chance using someone like Michael Douglas, who’s never played a bad guy? A: I was sort of worried about him because | had been warned by a highly placed studio executive that he would be in his trailer all day reading scripts and on the phone to Los Angeles. But he was always on time, never one minute late in the whole shoot, and very easy to work with as well. He seemed to be aware that it was a big role for him. He told me at one point that his dad had implied that he was finally about to become a real actor; that he had always played wimps, and that this was a role where he could play more toward his father, who could do a heel as well as a hero. Michael loved that idea.

I was amazed, for an actor who has done so many movies, how nervous he was in the beginning. He couldn’t believe it when on the first day I gave him three pages of monologue, like something out of Paddy Chayefsky. He'd never had speeches like that in his life. And then the second day I stuck a hand-held camera in his face about six inches from his eyeballs—he was on a plane, so I wanted to create a sense of movement. He said it was very difficult for him to act, to concentrate and remember his lines, staring at the camera. Then he hit his stride, and by the time we got to the scenes in his office, he was on top of his game.

Q: How do you prepare the actors?

A: In the rehearsal period I try to outline the context of the characters, what their inner life is about, what their backstory is. I try to help the actors suggest things and then let them run with those ideas. Then we have readings; you can see the way an actor is interpreting a role. Once we start filming, we relive what we did in rehearsal seven or eight weeks before. Often it comes out differently; nuances emerge because the material has been marinating in the actor's subconscious. I clear the set except for the actors, so that we keep it quiet. The rehearsal itself can take anywhere from 30 minutes to six hours, in the course of which it should become clear what everybody is looking for in the scene and how to play it. Whether they succeed doesn’t interest me; in fact, I'd rather that they didn’t do it and not spoil themselves emotionally before the cameras go on. Too often you have a good rehearsal and it never comes back.

Q: Do you improvise? A: I always try to encourage spontaneity. I like to be surprised. Astonish me! It is easy to play a scene predictably; a director falls into that because he has to complete the film in a limited period of time. He can clock out all the spontaneity and all the truth. That is the hardest thing a director has to face; he has to stay fresh.

Q: What do you do when a scene isn't working? A: I often deal with it by rewriting extensively on the spot. Part of that process includes listening to the actors. Some actors just can’t say certain words, or they will feel uncomfortable with a speech. They will say, “Gee, Oliver, do I have to say that line? Can’t I just do a look?”

Or I try to use the camera to respond to a mistake. You shoot the scene in such a way that you can cover the blemish. You change the angle, you move the camera. We did enormous amounts of moving camera in this film because we are making a movie about sharks, about feeding frenzies, so we wanted the camera to become a predator. There is no letup until you get to the fixed world of Charlie’s father, where the stationary camera gives you a sense of immutable values.

I generally work fast. | did Salvador in 50 days. I did Platoon in 54 days. | did Wall Street in 53 days. I came in seven days ahead of schedule and close to $2 million under budget. We never wasted an hour. If it rained, we made it a rain scene: Charlie goes to the beach in the rain. I hate waste. When I read about directors shooting a million feet, it makes me sick. They say film is cheap, but how can you sit there in the editing room and have to go through 30 or 60 or 95 takes? Ultimately, take 30 doesn’t look that much different from take 7. Usually after six or seven takes, I let it go. The most I ever did was nineteen takes.

Q: Do you relax in the editing room?

A: Hell, no. I tend to shoot three-hour movies and cut them down to two hours. My scripts are long; I blow a lot of my time shooting scenes that never get into the movie. We had 80 speaking parts in Wall Street. | will probably cut twenty of them. Editing to me is like a tremendous retreat, a march back from Moscow, a rout. When you are writing and directing, you feel like you’re on a perimeter, expanding. When you are editing you are withdrawing your perimeter as quickly as possible and trying to maintain the CP, the command position, because it is about to go under. Philosophically, it always seems to be that movies are about limitation. Every time I make a movie my original concept shrinks. It is a truth about movies that less is more, that sometimes when you try to do too much you get scrambled, you get killed.

Q: How would you describe the theme of Wall Street? A: I wanted to concentrate on the ethics of the characters and see where they lose their way, where they lose their sense of values, where net worth starts to equal self-worth. I think Wall Street is really about the urban culture of the ’80s. The pressure is enormous on these young guys to produce. | think they are perverted right off the bat. Why would someone who is making $100 million have to make another $20 million? Because he has to stay ahead of the next guy. Money is a way of keeping score. A line in the script says it all: “How many boats can you water-ski behind?’ Ultimately, not about money, it’s about power.

There is something patently unhealthy in using money just to make money rather than to create value. How can you justify threatening to take over a company, then selling it back and making $40 million, meanwhile forcing the company to spin off its assets and lay off employees?

Q: Is there a remedy for insider trading?

A: Probably not. There is no question that outsiders don’t do as well as insiders. I have invested in the stock market now off and on for 30 years, and I never made any money at it. It is a privileged club, an oligarchical institution in which the rich talk to the rich. They don’t talk to the poor. A guy goes to La Céte Basque for lunch. He sees a CEO from some other company and tells him some piece of information about a company that’s going into semiconductors or something, and he is going to buy into it. That’s the way the system works. You read about these kids who are making a million bucks, two million bucks a year—it demoralizes the person making $40,000 a year. All of a sudden everybody needs a Porsche or a VCR or a fishing boat. And this is what fuels America, more and more greed. We deal with these issues by staying inside a very small story, one fish in one Wall Street aquarium and what happens to that fish. #

-Peter Biskind, "Stone Raids Wall Street," Premiere, Dec 1987 (Vol 1 Issue 4)

#oliver stone #peter biskind #premiere #wall street #charlie sheen #michael douglas #daryl hannah #judaism #new york #filmmaking #filming #editing

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