#classicratpack

[bitmoreratsorizzo-blog]

dear neal

Dear Neal,

I got a lot to say, but on the other hand, maybe i shouldn't bother. Me and you always had a connection; you can tell what I'm gonna say before I say it, and you try to figure out my next move before I make it. so here goes:

I ain't sorry. you knew that was coming, didn't you? I ain't sorry. My recent stay in prison gave me a lot of time to think, and that's what I figured out. I ain't sorry, for any of it. That makes me the bad guy, but do you really think I'm sorry for kidnapping Peter Burke and his wife? For coming after you? Because if you look in the dark corners of your heart, Neal, you ain't really sorry either. Oh, you're sorry your fed and his wife got involved; you're sorry I managed to stay one step a head of you, even when you thought you won. But you're not sorry for playing the game; admit that playing against me makes you feel alive, and you're not sorry. I ain't, either. The game was never as good with any else.

 But maybe you're playing a different game now, sweetheart? All white picket fences and happy families? If that's your angle, I wish you the bitterest fuck you that was ever uttered by a blackened heart. What a waste, Neal.

I never thought you, of all people, would disappoint me. Imagine my surprise when I get back to New York and you're Burkey's pet con. Worse, almost the worse that could happen, is that you love it. You love him, the law abiding citizen. your shining white knight. And his wife, that goddamn- I gotta ask if you love the fed's wife because she looks like our girl. Don't tell me you never noticed, goddamn your faithless heart. i'm not mad you found someone else; no, even though you'll tell yourself it is (I know you too, sweetheart, as well as I know myself). It's cause you're trying to rewrite history, write me out and rewrite Katie's ending. It's cause you're the weakest, most diluted version of yourself with them and I'll never forgive you for that. When it was you and me and Katie in Spain, we were gods. And now you're nothing but ordinary.

So I'm not sorry and you disappoint me and I'll never forgive you. And I love you. didn't expect that, did you?

el sol se pone, sweetheart. Finally.

Keller

[bitmoreratsorizzo-blog]

I'll be seeing you

In every lovely summer's day

In everything that's light and gay

I'll always think of you that way

[bitmoreratsorizzo-blog]

black bird

Send me “black bird” for a darker memory of my muse’s past

((Note: this went to a place I didn’t expect. Trigger warnings for blood, internalized homophobia, and violence))

The first time he kissed a boy, he got punched in the mouth.

The dumb jock had been into it. The dumb jock had been pretty, and horny, and fooled by Matt’s rough charm. They’d gotten alone together at a party, outside by  a toolshed. Matt had pushed the jock up against the wall, shoving him like he meant to fight (when he didn’t, not at all; that’s just how you had to be with guys), and the jock caught him and pulled him flush against him. Matt’s knee was between the jock’s thighs, his hands at the lapels of the stupid faux leather coat the kid wore because he thought it made him look like a greaser (it made him look like a goddamn teenage wet dream, all badass and cocky with a hint of deep feeling, like James Dean). The worst thing was that Matt was bluffing, heart pounding in his chest and hands shaky. He didn’t kiss the fucking jock, the fucker kissed him, pulled him in and met pressed their lips together. For the first moment it was hesitant, each of them waiting for the other to shove him away, to scream “What the fuck, faggot?!”, to recoil, to say no. Neither of them did, and then suddenly it was fericious, lips and tongue and teeth, and a small whimper from the jock that made Matt’s head swim. Kissing a boy is different from kissing a girl, somehow; it was more of a challenge. Hands started roaming, the jock’s on Matt, and Matt is eager, adrenaline at 110, reduced to nothing but lips and small breaths.

and then someone finds them, and the jock freezes. Matt knows the moment he hears footsteps that it’s over, and getting out of this in one piece will be impossible. He breaks the kiss, and there’s a moment when he meets the other’s eyes, both of them asking what do we do now, both of them terrified. A moment later there is no we, there is only he and me.

"What the fuck, faggot?!" The jock says, disgust dripping from the words. He shoves Matt now, like he means to fight, and Matt stumbles back, breathless with injustice and building rage. His hands ball into fists but before he can hit the kid, one of the jock’s friends, team mates (these fucks throwing around the words faggot and gay and homo like maybe if they throw it at other people enough it won’t be true for them; but Matt doesn’t go around slapping other people’s asses in locker rooms or comparing dick sizes or grappling with strange boys, the stink of sweat in their nostrils and moving against each other in a hot press of body on body, so who’s really the faggot here), whoever he is, lays one on Matt. Matt sees stars, rolling with the hit as the metalic tang of blood fills his mouth.

He turns back, spitting his blood at the others, raging. They jump back, utterly disgusted, and then another hit lands on Matt. In the end, he’s got a fractured rib, a fat lip, a bruised spine, scraped knuckles (he left a few bruises of his own) and the ugly, dirty words ground into him with every hit.

When he’s recovered enough, he catches the stupid, pretty faggot jock alone and metes out an ounce of Keller justice. It’s not much, it’s not kissing, but it’s what he’s allowed, so he takes it.

[peterburke-fbi-blog1]

☎

drunk phone call 

(only two and four are drunk. the rest are just. peter.) 

five phone calls, or 'a conman never dies, their smile just fades away' 

i. 

"Neal, buddy, here's the thing. I know you're  not dead. You can't be. You're Neal Caffrey.  You and me, Neal, we've been through too  much. And I know you're not dead, because  you didn't say goodbye. You always said  goodbye to everyone but me. One last con,  right?" 

ii. 

"I hate you. You're making me do this alone,  and I hate you. God damn it, Neal! You don't  ever consider anyone but yourself, do you? No,  you just go around, hurting people, taking things,  you don't even consider the consequences. You  never have." 

iii. 

"Hey. It's a Thursday. It's August. I swear I'd forget  everything else if you showed up on El's due date.  That offer I made you, it's still on the table. Just  come back home. Everything else, we can work  it out." 

iv. 

"I don't know why I called." 

v. 

"We named him. I never thought - he's so perfect.  You should meet him. You have a nephew, Neal.  And guess what? He shares your name. Neal. Neal  Burke. Sometimes I think, if I could do it all over, go  right back to the beginning, would I change it? And   I would. I'd change your ending. I'd have you here,  with this family, where you belong. But everything  else? No. This has been some of the best years  of my life. And I wouldn't change that for the world.                                                           Goodbye, Neal."  

[peterburke-fbi-blog1]

✵

mistletoe meme 

"It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Coming down the stairs, one hand still set on the banister, he can’t help but stare openly. Christmas sweaters were one thing, but these were just awful, and itchy, and matching. 

First of all, he’s going to kill Diana Berrigan. Who does she think she is, Mrs. Weasley? Ten points are coming directly from Gryffindor for her idea of a Christmas gift. 

Second, letting him spend the first day of his winter vacation rereading the first book of the Harry Potter series was an equally bad idea. 

But kill him, alright, he’s got to be prepared, he needs to read favorite children’s literature, and just because he’s finished baby proofing the house does not mean he’s anywhere near done preparing to become a father. He’s not. His son’s going to be seventeen and Peter still won’t be prepared. 

"It … actually looks pretty good," he admits, still paused on the stairs, taking in the house they’ve been decorating all day. If he closes his eyes, takes half a breath, he can imagine the brownstone as it will be, in years to come. 

A toddler making his way through the house; tiny fingers grabbing at everything. Rifling through his drawers and stealing his precious belongings. Unwrapping Christmas presents under the tree; school science fair projects and bake sale cookies. Birthdays with Theo, homework at the kitchen table, early mornings, late nights; first dates and broken hearts. Prom nights. Graduation. 

He can let himself get carried away, sometimes. 

He imagines Neal and Elizabeth through it all and tries not to feel the way his throat tightens, or how he panics at the thought of the former vanishing. 

Not yet. No one’s gone. They’re all here. 

And Peter thinks that if he tries hard enough, holds his breath long enough, it will stay that way. 

"I’m glad you could make it," he hears himself saying, stepping off the final step and making his way across the living room. "Christmas wouldn’t have been the same without you. Especially this year. I didn’t know how we were going to find the time to decorate the place. Did you - oh." 

There are only a few people in the world who can startle him, and mistletoe seems to be a good way to do it. 

"Are we going to, um - "

Very smooth. Excellent form. 

[peterburke-fbi-blog1]

classicratpack replied to your post:classicratpack replied to your post:the sun is...

why you gotta be so ruuuude.

you're in my house 

on my wife

with my couch 

i mean, dear boy, i mEAN, 

ahEM, i mEAn

[peterburke-fbi-blog1]

so if it happens and they really name their kid after neal 

alyssa our streak continues because 

neal burke 

[peterburke-fbi-blog1]

classicratpack replied to your post:classicratpack but if it doesn’t go the way we’re...

f r e e man are you fucking serious. get out of my life.

beloved

free man 

here we are in the weeds again. your world, surprisingly, makes sense.