#frauds

[breezingby]

[burt-bobain]

tired of seeing gifs and videos in the photography tag

[hiraethinhiding]

frivoulous and bitter (diminishing sense of who i am)

prologue - heavy metal shot through your teeth with a red beretta

summary:

Sam cuts off Bert with a sigh, “He was a dick.” There’s no opening for further digging into the statement… the blonde thankfully not digging into that rabbit hole. Instead she opts to purse her lips and lean back in the rickety chair.

“There’s been, no significant other… while I’ve been away?” Yet she still gleams for more information. Sam should’ve known she’d want to talk about such, should’ve prepared.

The brunette looks to side, as if she was pondering — as if everyone here isn’t privy to her bluff.

“No-one of note.”

Bullshit.

⋯

aka what i think miss samuels over here got up to while “on her own” for 10 years

notes: chapter 1 is already up on ao3 and i might post it here but it deoends on the traction this garners

so i had this thought due to sam saying that the house she’s living in isn’t hers and i was like hmmm she got it from ex yeah totally

so this was supposedly a character study on sam and what she was doing over those ten years because we don’t really learn what she was up to but i got carried away by the implications and doomed toxic yuri

italics represent thoughts, flashbacks, scenes from actual show, or time skips

song for title and chapter title is eat your friends by jhariah

fic playlist on spotify and apple music

chapter warnings: violence, alcohol, lesbians, roberta mancini

_____________________________________________________________

"How's your emotions?"

Sam clenches her hands.

"You're very zen."

Sam shifts her jaw.

Bert sits across from her, twirling wine in a glass -- ever so smug. The brunette just stares down at her closed fists.

In for six. Hold for four. Out for six. Do not burst. Do not break.

"It's been ten years," there is a smile on her face, yet a crease in her brow. "People change."

⋯

Three-year anniversary of the day she betrayed Bert. So joyous.

Sam regrets it.

She did not want to think about that, and completely unrelated she happens to be at the first shitty hole on the wall bar she could find.

The glass spins in her hand, clear liquid swaying with the consistency of water yet it is anything but. She sighs before downing it. Sam had started with the day's special of mulberry wine, slowly progressing into the stronger cheap stuff. Tasted like ass but everything had blended together approximately three drinks ago, so what is even the point. She thinks the bartender assigned to this part of the bar is trying to say something to her — polite concern glinting across their features that she just cannot quite make out — she does not really give enough of a shit at this point to care though.

It is not like she is too drunk or anything, maybe one or two drinks over her limit but it is fine!

More like seven, she is ought to get alcohol poisoning at this rate.

Everything is so loud around her, people yelling over each other, some trendy song is blasting over the speakers; she thinks she heard it over the radio the other day, “Mayores,” she believes. 

The bartender, still trying to get Sam’s attention, leans down into her line of sight — she had been staring a hole into the edge of the counter, she meets their eyes. "Ma'am, are you feeling alright?"

She does not have to think, certainly not about Bert; just avoid the shoving, ignore the grabbing, disregard the flirting. It is all a bit annoying, but she does not focus on that in this state. Rather on the bitterness of her drink, the stickiness of the bar top.

Until a patron's elbow lands right in her face.

An obviously plastered (she ignores the fact shes just as gone) man crashes into the counter, some little college hipster.

She takes a deep breath, fingers tightening on her glass. It is all okay, just some shitty kid -- probably high of his ass, who does not even noti- "Damn, watch where you goin’ lady!"

This fucking kid I am literally sitting down. Deep breaths, ignore it, just background noise.

"Hey! Don’ ignore me!" Her eyes slides up toward him; she was right, definitely a junkie if she has ever seen one. The strobe lights flash into her eyes, relentless after staring into the countertop for longer than she should have.

Purple. Pink. Red. Blue. Magenta.

Purple. Pink. Red. Blue. Magenta.

Purple. Pink. Red. She closes her eyes, so much smoke lingering in the air. It stings.

Funnily enough, that kid is holding a cigarette, waving it aggressively in her face more accurately.

That kind of pisses her off.

They stand in the Plaza de Toros de Toredo, in front of dear old Romero's bullfighting outfit. They were laughing at Bert's actions no doubt. It was nice, having this again. She has not gotten to have a moment since... no. Forget her. Sam appreciates it, Bert nods along, turning away. "The killing of the bull..." Well, what a way to ruin the mood, Sam's smile hesitates, stutters in its amusement.

"It's not quick."

The boy has a small group of what is surely friends or fans. She realises they had been talking, snickering. Her eyes had been closed, mind fuzzy, skin starting to prick in irritation. Calm down, those impulsive actions are what got you kicked out of your last place, Martha. That sentiment from her conscious does not do much. Nevertheless, the kid is puffing his chest, probably trying to impress all his little pals.

Instead, she takes a sip of her drink.

Focus on the bitterness, the fuzzy feeling.

"It's slow."

Her drink gets smacked out of her hand. It spills across the countertop, golden alcohol dripping off the counter, onto her slacks.

"Eres lento, peinabombillas? Te estoy hablando a ti!" Her eyes are dead set on the dripping liquid; it begins to form a puddle on the wooden floors.

She is really not in the mood right now.

"The first banderilla goes in here, in the ribs,"

Bert punctuates the words, sharply jabbing her fist against her own side.

"And then three more spears are fired." Three more hits to her chest and collarbone, in quick succession.

The man turns back to his friends, laughing at Sam. "Puta probablemente esté aquí sola porque..." She vaguely recognises the bartender coming back to settle the situation, their calm voice flowing over the drunkards before it gets violent. Too late.

It is all bubbling up inside her; the irritation at this unwelcome disturbance; the guilt of her actions; the frustration of still being unable to keep a steady job or living situation; the damned alcohol. Her elbow flies out before she can think about it, slamming into his ribs.

"Disables the bull," Bert stares at her intensely; Sam’s almost afraid to break eye contact.

He bends over, grabbing where she assaulted him. His eyes are a bit frightened, yet aggravated, doubt he will just back down.

She is okay with that.

Several exclamations sound out in the crowd around the pair, she cannot hear them, she feels a hand on her arm and shakes it off. He has already steadied himself with the help of his friends, getting ready to either yell or hit back. This kid ought to work on his recalibration skills, she has already thrown a hook — it slams into his right cheek.

Her hands still hold themselves on her chest, voice remaining level, "tears at the muscle."

Sam is not regulating her force, she does not notice the broken skin that follows her swing, neither on her knuckles or his jaw. There is a glimmer of red, a flash of white, did she knock out a tooth? For fuck’s sake she does not even know this guy.

She does not notice attention turning to the scene, the bartender moving to get around the counter and stop this. The hippie does not have a chance to recuperate this time, she lunges forward. With a sharp grasp on the leather of his vest, she throws him back-first upon the bar counter.

Probably with a now bruised spine, there is a sharp intake of breath on his part. His hands move to her own, trying to throw her off him.

She’s stronger.

Purple. Pink. Blue. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red.

There is no longer any jest behind her eyes, a dead-set glare, "breaks him down while he's alive." Sam just stares aimlessly.

Bert lets out a sharp exhale of breath. "Fuck," one hand pulls away while the other shifts into an open palm against her collar.

The brunette's fear of the blonde shifts to fear for her. "You okay?" She questions at once.

"Just give me a minute. I've gotta find the loo." Bert holds up a finger, running off without any further wait for reply.

While he is down on the counter, she slams her knee right into his crotch. She does not delight in the sound alike to a keeled over gerbil he makes, it distracts her. She feels hands pull her away, trying to tear apart the fight. One of the kid’s friends must have not been incredibly happy with her — she feels the sensation of hard impact against her temple, liquid and shards raining from the collision.

Everything somehow gets louder and quieter at the same time, she feels all hands fall away, except for the hold of one. It is all blurry and oversaturated. She sees the flash of a familiar face, the bartender. Their lips are moving again — Sam is not listening again. Black spots appear in the edges of her vision, spreading across without any prompting. She can feel her body being lifted.

She can hear the shouting around her.

“Hostia!”

“Somebody call 112.”

“What the hell man!”

Sam hears the chaos around her reach a crescendo, she can barely process the beginning of just all around fighting, panic induced.

Friend punching foe, dancer choking karaoke enjoyer, stripper stomping call girl, junkie shoving alcoholic.

Before she falls away.

Metaphorically, not literally…

..a little bit literally.

Sam watches, standing at that glass case as Bert runs away. She stands, lost, just for a moment; she hears her mate retching in the distance. With a sharp intake of breath, she goes to follow.

the beretta fires fast and won’t make you feel any better

[rockinjohnnyaitken]

[thebirdscomeback]

anyone in the market for some sam and bert lesbianism post ep 4 gallery stakeout? anyone?

have to explode - Frauds (TV 2025) - LightExistsInSpring (acertainslantoflight) [Archive of Our Own]

[sacredbloominglotus]

[baronstopfan]

Spoiled brat who's a lawyer,lives in a fun house, and everything is a game to him ruins a straight marriage's life but the husband plays his game instead of giving up.

It's a good movie but seems normal at first so I wanted to share Cuz it's on YouTube for free called frauds,thriller, dark comedy. I like his house, very creative, very fun, shame there is no edits but the dude got issues always asking the wife where's Jonathan, I want to speak to Jonathan even asking him to be his slave for an hour if he loses a dice game but he's also pestering or messing with the wife, like the third nobody asked for but the third ruins everything. I can't even be mad at him,he runs a good game, those typa people are fun and challenging to deal with like YES bitch boy I shall play your game and I will make you lose and if I lose we go again