The Ides of Oz Drabble Tree
The First Ever Oz Drabble Tree, The Return of Oz Drabble Tree, The Little Oz Drabble Tree That Could, Are You There God? It's Oz Drabble Tree, Oz Drabble Tree Knows Best, In Oz Drabble Tree, No One Can Hear You Scream, This Is An Emergency Oz Drabble Tree, Please, Sir, May I Have Another Oz Drabble Tree?, Leggo My Oz Drabble Tree, Come With Oz
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Ross fucking smells, has horribly bad breath, gets way too much into Ryan’s personal space. Ryan knows letting him will be worth it in the long run - but it makes his skin fucking crawl. It’s like Schillinger’s barely-disguised long leer on his first day and Adebisi’s slap on his ass all over again: only worth it not to react because don’t show fear is the first rule of survival, and don’t show disgust and pretend to be their friend are the second and third. Ryan can’t help his gut reaction, but he can hide it no problems: deception is in his very blood; use everything to your own advantage is basically his motto. It’s precisely those things people say make him fucked up that save him from being actually fucked: he knows what he looks like, especially in here.
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It’s totally fucked up. On the outside he knew who he was. Husband. Father. Lawyer. In here he’s become a snarling beast of a madman, a murderer of children. A lover of a serial killer, blood staining his hands crimson as they screw, hard and slow night by night. But on the outside he just hid his true nature. Drunk. Hypocrite. Coward. In here, he’s more honest, the man he always was meant to be somehow. At least with Chris by his side he’s never alone in this madness. Hell is never half full.
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Because that’s what it is, pure madness. Trying to stay alive until next day. Trying to keep one step ahead of deception around him, only waiting for his first moment of weakness to take him down - or to turn him into someone’s bitch. Never again. He knows the game now. He can play too, and this time he’s the one in control. It doesn’t matter if they think he’s crazy. It doesn’t matter if they laugh at him; he’s directing the show now. When the lights are switched off for the night, the only thing that matters is him. Chris.
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Sometimes when he looks at Ryan, it’s like he can see another Ryan, like a shadow, just behind him. He knows his brother loves him, but he also knows his brother does bad things. When he sees that Shadow Ryan, he almost knows how bad. It’s like when you wake up and you had a dream but you can’t remember it. You almost can, but you can’t. He can almost understand, or remember, why people are scared of Ryan. He’s glad he can’t catch that shadow, he’s glad he’s slow, or crazy, like people say. He doesn’t want to know.
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The kid had stopped believing in Santa some years ago, but whatever was under his bed, he’s quite sure was still real. “Cynical bastard,” Nino Schibetta smirked, as Petey climbed over him and into Angie’s arms. “It's a terrible world we live in, but things will be different for you,” he had thought then, giving the shaking figure a little pat ( ... )
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Adebisi gets closer to the body strapped to the bed. The leather roughed the white wrists and ankles up, made them all red and bruised. He must have given up the struggle against the bonds, but he's still trembling. There is little left of the mobster the boy had tried so hard to be.
I made that, Adebisi thinks as he traces the lines of the Italian's red lips with his thumb. I do and I undo.
He is not that poor man from Nigeria anymore. Here, Adebisi is a king.
A king does not live in huts. Fuck that.
Adebisi grabs a fist full of hair with one hand, the smooth jaw with his other and holds the head in place for a harsh kiss. Eyes stare up at him, wide with terror.
Yes, Adebisi grins. And fuck you, Lil' Nino. Soon enough.
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Sean hopped off his bike and sat down next to Timmy. Timmy hadn't looked this sad since last Christmas when he had stopped believing in Santa.
Sean draped his arm around Timmy's shoulders. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"I tried to convince the other kids that we should combine the boys' club with the girls' club. I tried to explain that there would be less fighting and more fun if we all played together. No one was interested."
"Aw, Timbo, it was a nice idea," Sean reassured him.
"Linda even called me a poophead."
Sean bristled. He mentally made a note to have a word with Linda later. "Don't listen to her. Don't listen to any of 'em. You and me are what matters."
"I just want to make the world a better place."
"Someday, Timmy, you will. And I'll be there by your side to help."
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Miguel held tightly to the shelves, his fingers white from the pressure. A hard thrust had him gasping for breath, and he bit his lip to keep from shouting. Keller pounded into him, vicious and perfect, spinning him off into a pleasure he’d never even dreamed existed. He widened his stance, offering himself, and Keller took everything Miguel had to offer. He shattered into a thousand pieces as he came, and Keller held him as he trembled, pulling him back together again. Keller sucked on his neck, marking him - proof of his ownership. But there was never any doubt.
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It was a terrible world, but McManus had hoped with Em City to make it a bit better. However, as he stared at Beecher and behind him the images of Ortolani, Keane, Sanchez, Post, Markstrom, and Groves appeared, McManus realized he had failed miserably.
He needed to see Said and make him understand, but he failed at that as well. Said believed the problem was society and could not be resolved from within, and he was willing to be a martyr for his belief.
As he was pushed to his knees, McManus thought he had only been trying to make things better. Instead just like Attica, there would be families who would need to be informed that their loved ones were never coming home.
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The fucked up thing about Oz is who gets to be in your tribe. Usually they are preordained by skin color, neighborhood, disease, sexual orientation or heinous crime. They are shambled together families giving roots to the rootless. Ryan is careful to skirt these allegiances. He stays friendly enough with everyone. Never know when you'll need someone to help you off an enemy.
Then come Cyril, then his mom, Father Meehan and his good old deadbeat father, Seamus, and Ryan finds himself anchored to people. He thinks they will sink him, but instead they make everyday he stays afloat better.
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Chris abruptly broke their kiss, and Toby groaned as he was pushed to his knees. He eagerly undid the fly on Chris’s pants and pulled them down. He began to guide Chris's erect cock toward his mouth, but Chris pulled back.
“No, not yet,” Chris moaned. “First, talk dirty to me.”
Oh, shit, thought Toby in panic. He'd never been good at that kind of thing. Frantically, he reacted to something in his immediate line of vision ( ... )
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Adam cowered in fear at the sight of the prison in front of him. They’d tear him to shreds in there, he just knew it. All for a girl who didn’t deserve anything. She wanted him, he knew that. Her panicked screams meant nothing. They’d raised her to be a good girl so she denied her desire. Franklin gave him a pointed look so he straightened himself up. He must not let his fear show. The people in there were just a bunch of sissies anyway. He’d be all right. Nothing bad would happen to him.
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"I've heard that insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting different results," Hill said, following Beecher's gaze as Keller strutted through the common area.
"Well, I'm not insane."
"Said the guy who crapped on another guy's face and bit some other dude's dick off."
"I didn't bite his dick off."
"Look, man, I wasn't gonna check. I'm just sayin' that shit's batshit crazy. And going back to some asshole who broke your arms and legs is not particularly sane."
"Tell you what, it goes south, you can say I told you so. But you're wrong. This time things will be different. I just know it."
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