sacrifices make martyrs

only victories make heroes

[notthesecheeks]

scngbcrds​:

Fletcher’s grin dropped at Bailey’s insistence upon being alone, his suspicion, standing there quietly for a moment before shrugging. “Alright.” He said, holding both hands up for a moment before dropping them to his sides, “I haven’t been sent after you or some shit- that’s not my job. I’m not here for trouble.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, scrunching his nose at the bottle of moonshine. “I understand. I’m genuinely glad you’re out, man.” He met the other man’s eyes once more, “Find me if you need anything.” With that, Fletcher shifted on his feet, moving to head back out of the bakery, “And drink some fucking water before you pass out. Not sure you’ve had a hangover in a while, and that one looks like it’s gonna be rough.”

.@scngbcrds

Bailey’s face pinched at the slope of Fletcher’s shoulders, but it was the cliff dive the other’s tone had taken that made him feel some type of way. Probably whatever the Grinch felt when his heart grew three sizes. 

“You don’t have to pout,” Bailey huffed guiltily, reminded once again that prison had only exacerbated whatever little capability he had for social interaction. He lunged forward and gruffly steered Fletcher past the display case. “Come on. You can cry about it here. I’m not in the mood to be a social butterfly tonight.” Translation: he was too drunk to make it past a couple blocks, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t trip and fall into a brawl like a cartoon banana peel. He was stupid and unlucky like that.

[notthesecheeks]

marsroxx​:

-

Mars wasn’t expecting the childlike guerilla tactics, but if he’d had time to consider it shouldn’t have been that surprising. The taser clattered to the floor as Mars slammed his head into the cabinet behind him, his face scrunching as the realization of pain hit. “Piece of shit-” He groaned bitterly, reaching to touch the back of his head and opening one eye enough to squint at Bailey. The guy looked scary, but he was also falling through windows and fighting with hand towels which was something of a relief. 

“I thought you were gonna like, kill me.” Mars laughed weakly, sitting up straighter and dropping his arm to retrieve the taser. Maybe he was still dazed, or maybe he’d just never actually bothered to read the user manual, but he picked up the taser from the wrong end, and if the two of them hadn’t managed to wake the rest of the building by now they were sure to as Mars triggered the thing directly into himself. 

The worst pain of his adult life, like a full body charlie horse- Mars had no idea if he was screaming or crying or laughing but it felt like an eternity before he finally regained some semblance of control again. Curled into the fetal position on the floor of the closed bakery, Mars had no idea how much time had actually passed since he’d been happy and pain-free. “I fucking hate you.” He seethed miserably, the taser in his hand still clutched in a death grip. He was afraid to move for fear of setting it off again, willing to die right there if it meant avoiding a repeat experience.

.@marsroxx

Bailey jumped at the crackling sound that split through the room as every muscle tensed in memory of his own experience getting tased. He relaxed when the other hit the floor like a bag of rocks, unexpectedly sent into a fit of giggles at the sight of some poor kid convulsing in his bakery. Not that it wasn’t objectively hilarious, but the levity of the situation compared to his circumstances a month ago (showering with 30 men, four of whom were trying to kill him) felt absurdly surreal and all the more Looney Tunes. 

Bailey wiped the tears from his eyes and moved to help, hampered every few seconds by the giggles that continued to bubble up. He slid right back down to the floor where the other had finally stopped twitching and lifted the hand the prongs had embedded into. “Deep breath,” he warned, still chortling as he pressed his thumb into the other’s palm and plucked out the barb without waiting for a response. He pulled out the second one in quick succession, knowing it would only feel worse if he waited. 

“Thanks, I needed that,” Bailey said, clapping the other’s shoulder a little more aggressively than he’d intended. “You should clean those out or you’ll lose your hand.”

[notthesecheeks]

scngbcrds​:

“Bailey it is.” Fletcher grinned, ignoring the overall flatness of Bailey’s response to his appearance. “I’m not here for cookies, Bailey, you’re closed.” He said it like it was obvious, “I’m here because I heard an old friend got out of prison, and I thought maybe he’d want to drink with a friend to celebrate, instead of alone. Not much of a celebration alone, is it?” He rolled his eyes a little, “You’re free! The prison industrial complex holds no bonds on you! Woohoo!”

.@scngbcrds​

Bailey thought that drinking alone sounded pretty great, actually. He’d never been what anyone would call a people person, and especially not after being crammed with them 24/7 in a pressure cooker of testosterone and unresolved daddy issues. As much as there was to celebrate, blacking out drunk seemed like a perfectly good reason not to. 

“Pass,” Bailey said, squinting at Fletcher’s million-watt grin with a look that could only be read as highly suspicious. “I’d rather not risk it.” It being his freedom, which was most definitely at risk within the other’s blast radius. He raised his bottle of moonshine, full when he’d started this morning and was now nearing empty. “I’m fine at this party.”

[notthesecheeks]

marsroxx​:

-

Mars’ parents had been strongly against physical violence, and they didn’t believe in any form of discipline, really. They’d been afraid of stifling their only child’s genius and curiosity, and they had succeeded in that while also raising someone who had no clue how to handle himself in a fight.

“Well, you’re beefy.” Mars wheezed, leant against the island like a discarded ragdoll. He half-heartedly dusted his hands on his thighs, attempting to appear more disoriented than he actually was. “And bossy.” He added, slipping a hand inside his hoodie to reach for the something stashed in an inner pocket (which Mars had proudly sewn into the hoodie himself). He had prepared for this day- the day that he broke into the wrong place, turned the wrong corner… This wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined it, but it’d been a relatively boring summer and Mars needed this.

Lifting his head with a faint smirk, Mars raised his arm to level a taser in Bailey’s direction. He was trying to think of something cool to say in a moment like this when a nagging thought rose to the surface instead. “How do you know where the coffee is?” He asked curiously, squinting at Bailey in the dim light.

.@marsroxx

Bailey heaved a put-upon sigh when the kid brandished a taser, annoyed by the prospect of having to exert even more energy when he’d already had to break into his own shop. And he distinctly remembered being promised coffee. 

Reaching above his head for the dish rag hanging over the counter, Bailey wound it tightly into a rope all the while grumbling under his breath. He pulled it taut once, testing its reach before whipping it at the other’s hand. “Oof. Fuck.” He missed, sort of, almost feeling bad when he realized that, of the several blurry tasers that swam in front of him, he’d missed all four and aimed straight for the other’s forehead instead. ​

[allaboutthe2000s]

[notthesecheeks]

@marsroxx

[scngbcrds-deactivated20250302]

where: sweet cheeks bakery

who: @notthesecheeks​

“Sweet Cheeks?” Fletcher called out as he stepped through the bakery’s door, announcing his arrival just as loudly as the bell above it. He couldn’t believe it- two weeks Bailey had been out and Fletcher had been pulled away every time he tried to come by. His eyes flicked around the bakery, taking it in- he hadn’t ever been in here before, despite walking past it on a regular basis. “Mr. Cheeks!” He sing-songed, grinning. 

[notthesecheeks]

Bailey scowled when he heard the bell ring long after he’d flipped the CLOSED sign in the door, begrudgingly bringing the soup container he’d been using as a vessel for his scotch. “Just Bailey. Mr. Cheeks was my father,” he said flatly when he caught sight of a familiar mop of hair and an even more familiar shit-eating grin. He almost rolled his eyes upon recognizing Fletcher, because why should he be surprised by the downward trajectory of his life? Past experiences had taught him to keep a wide berth from charming or pretty people, and Fletcher was both. Bailey could feel trouble already breathing down his neck.

“You’d better be here for cookies,” he warned, not quite his usual intimidating behind a display case of powdered sugar and bonbons. 

[notthesecheeks]

marsroxx​:

-

Mars was not prepared for Bailey to recover so quickly or come barreling through the window, unable to adjust his expectations in time before they were both reduced to an undignified tangle of limbs on the floor of the bakery. “Why?” He choked incredulously, trying to scramble free against the dead weight that had landed on top of him. Bailey smelled like sweat and booze, which was hardly surprising at this point. 

“I’m revoking my offer, you’re on coffee duty.” He complained as he pulled himself free, drawing his legs up and scooting backwards. He glared at Bailey for a moment, his curiosity already overpowering the annoyance he had felt over being unnecessarily crushed. "Urgent need for bearclaws, huh?” 

.@marsroxx​

Once Bailey confirmed that he wasn’t hallucinating (it wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities, his last and most unpleasant one triggered by withdrawal) and that the poltergeist in front of him did, in fact, have a physical form, he could address the why. Still half-propped up beneath the window he’d somersaulted through, his arm shot out like a punch, only to bury his fist in the other’s hood and yank him forward. He glared at the swimming pastel colors and wondered, not for the first time, exactly what sort of lollipop guild the teens these days had escaped from. 

“Coffee,” Bailey growled, “is in the second cabinet,” and released the other like a pigeon into the sky (i.e. shoving hard enough to send the kid sliding backwards until the kitchen island stopped him).

[notthesecheeks]

mirelacarter​:

Oh, the nights in New York. You never know what can happen, and Mirela didn’t see this coming. It started like any typical weekend night. After performing her duties at the museum, Mirela stopped by her penthouse, spent some time with her daughter and left her in the company of her sister while she attended the exclusive auction that evening. She was wearing her finest clothes, met a few familiar faces, and walked among the richest people while making some people happy by helping them take home unique pieces of art, and also, making her bank account growing bigger in the process. She was about to call off the night and get a lyft when she saw the peculiar scene in front of her, and then the man landed on the pavement and turned to her. “Very interesting”, she said with a raised brow and a small smirk on her lips, her gaze turning up to the window he had just dangled before. “Let me guess, you ran before you could get caught, right? Because that’s exactly what looked like”, she said, her voice in an amused tone.

.@mirelacarter

Bailey was almost offended that anyone would think he’d be this sloppy while perpetrating a crime, but he couldn’t exactly blame her. He looked like he’d been spat out by a Google image search for ex-cons. “Just a law-abiding citizen here, ma’am,” he lied, nearly giving a salute out of sheer muscle memory. Instead, he gestured to the building he’d broken but not yet entered. “I live here.” That part was true. ​

[notthesecheeks]

anaismurad​:

—

Perhaps her own wine escapade was to blame the fact Anaïs isn’t at all shocked — though perhaps a little curious. The man is a walking token of bloody chaos, like a Caravaggio or Goya. Personally, she collects paintings for the story they tell, not for how pretty they look.

“Oh, exquisite!” She laughs, stopping her stroll. “You should do more tricks — I’ll cheer.” An after-thought, then, to catch their surroundings: a row of nondescript businesses, and the assaulted bakery. “Another chapter of the war on gluten?”

.@anaismurad

Bailey snorted with amusement as he pushed himself upright, teetering like a hood ornament before sagging against the building. “Does it look like we’re at war?” Miraculously, he found the cigarette he’d dropped earlier, his knuckle still tingling from the perfect circle he’d burned into his skin. “Y’got a light?” he mumbled as he patted himself down in a fruitless search for the matches he’d palmed last night. 

[ctrlaltnic]

[notthesecheeks]

claralaurent​:

on sleepless nights such as tonight, clara liked to take her camera and practice her long exposure photography of the skyline, finding that perfecting her craft always helped to induce an eventual slumber. while she ran into countless weird, late night scenarios in the city that never sleeps, witnessing a drunk man hanging from a window had to be a first. and curious as ever, she snapped a photo. because even in his drunken state, the nearby streetlight seemed to be hitting him just right and she could never ignore a perfectly composed landscape of light and shadows. “you okay?” and she could smell the alcohol from a mile away. she reached into her camera bag and pulled out a bottle of water, handing it to him, “here. you clearly need it more than i do. so.” pause, hitching a cigarette from her pocket and setting it ablaze, “you some kind of vigilante or something?”

.@claralaurent​

Bailey stared up at a blurry silhouette offering him water, which he accepted by reflex. He remained motionless with his arm half-extended until the click of a lighter had him perking up like a dog trained to find nicotine. He wondered if it was possible he’d fallen so hard that he’d gotten knocked into an afterlife that included angels handing him everything his inebriated heart could want. 

Not likely. Bailey wasn’t getting anywhere past those pearly gates, which could only mean that Nicotine Angel = bad news bears. He’d like the water, though. And maybe even a cigarette, because if there was anything that Bailey couldn’t resist, it was poor decision-making. “Depends. Which answer’s more likely to bum me a cig?”

[notthesecheeks]

marsroxx​:

Mars was sitting alone in the darkness of the closed bakery, his face illuminated by the light of his phone as he stuffed a cupcake into his mouth and scrolled through TikToks that he could only half-focus on. He was bored and lonely, but at least he had snacks.

The sound of breaking glass broke him from his sucrose induced trance, his phone clattering onto the table as he grabbed a napkin and stood to investigate. Glass crunched beneath his shoes as he cautiously approached, leaning up on his toes to get a better look. The intoxicated pile of man on the sidewalk below wasn’t particularly intimidating, so Mars moved closer to the window and looked down at him. “It was unlocked when I got here.” He paused to wipe his mouth on the napkin, missing a dollop of icing on the tip of his nose. “Kinda worth your effort though, this place is fire.” Mars tossed the napkin and reached into his pocket, pulling out a multitool and unfolding some apparatus to begin knocking the loose glass from the window frame. Once he was satisfied that it was at least semi-safe, he closed the tool and leaned out the window to offer Bailey a hand. “You want coffee? I was going to make a pot.”

.@marsroxx

For a moment, Bailey was confronted with the possibility that he’d cracked his skull like an egg, and the resulting concussion had led to a Space Jam-esque night terror that took the form of a muppet with bubblegum-pink hair. He was skeptical that his brain would come up with such a weird hallucination, especially one that involved a teenager in Easter colors. 

Regardless of whatever the fuck was going on, coffee did sound pretty good, and he couldn’t be assed to make it himself. “Sure,” Bailey grunted in the affirmative and slapped his palms on the windowsill, ignoring the other’s outstretched hand to heave himself up onto the ledge and barrel shoulder-first into his sleep paralysis demon. The resulting collision revealed but only further confused the fact that this wasn’t wholly induced by alcohol poisoning or head injury. “Jesus, you’re bony,” Bailey garbled and slapped away an elbow. ​

[hennyramen-deactivated20200802]

Are you gay or straight ?

im stressed

[notthesecheeks]

Bailey had reached that point of blissfully drunk when every idea seemed like a great one. He was text-nudes-to-your-ex drunk, and if he were the type to text or have exes, this would be that moment. Incidentally, the Bailey-equivalent was smashing one of the bakery’s windows and hoisting himself into a pull-up, only to burn the back of his hand with the cigarette clamped between his teeth. He cursed and it fell from his lips, starting a series of unfortunate events that left him dangling from a window by one hand at two in the morning. Grip slipping, he landed in a heap on the pavement and realized he had a witness—er, audience.

“Beautiful night we’re having, huh?” Bailey croaked unconvincingly.

[abelrousseau]

It’s an odd thing for most to know the intimate details of a person’s life without ever having met them. Learning of Bailey had been an accident, an old file pulled during an organizational flurry shortly after he’d taken office. It’d been a lack of faith and a modicum of curiosity that lead to a brief review of the case file. For Bailey, pure luck, as Abe eyed one minute red flag that had been glossed over. From there, on, Manhattan’s new District Attorney saw fit to push forward his agenda via unconventional means — what good is it to change the system for the better, if the wrong that came before still stands? Post-release, he’d kept his tabs from afar, checking in through official contacts only. Let him settle, let him breathe. Freedom, even if limited by one means or an other, is an adjustment. The bakery closes in five minutes, and Abel is unapologetic when he walks through the door. This is a first, this meeting — though by all accounts given, Bailey is less than warm in presentation. “Sweet Cheeks, huh?” There’s a well-meaning joke in there, served up with a winning smile. “You really hit the ground running.” Beat. “Your attorney never mentioned you enjoyed baking, or much of anything else.”

@notthesecheeks

[notthesecheeks]

.@abelrousseau

Barely a week out of prison and still learning the ropes, Bailey couldn’t have cared less about professionalism or customer service. He was the last person anyone would’ve chosen to save a failing business, which was why he was convinced he was being Punk’d when he learned the bakery was left in his name. The jokes apparently didn’t stop when he found himself summarily kicked out of Riker’s without so much as a smooch after getting fucked so thoroughly. 

Needless to say, he wasn’t in a generous mood when he heard the front door chime just minutes from closing. He turned but continued to knock back whatever was in his mug, the contents of which became clear when he set it down next to a Johnnie Walker-shaped bottle, label unknown. 

“She shouldn’t be saying shit. Nice to know she’s doing her job,” Bailey said. He didn’t bother offering to take the other’s order, figuring the introduction meant Syndicate business. He couldn’t fathom any other reason why someone who looked like a Disney prince cutout would come looking for him. “Anything I can help you with or is this a strippergram situation?” he asked flatly as he poured himself another drink.

[chinoking]

[tranarchist]