Author's Note: Lovely readers- Welcome to a new story, just a fleeting idea that I couldn't leave well enough alone with. I'm posting this and maybe one or two more chapters, just to see how it catches on. Being the first in its category is a little overwhelming, and I'm not sure how large the fandom will grow. For those of you who haven't watched TNT Drama's new series, Animal Kingdom, you're totally missing out! It's gritty and dark and enthralling, plus there's gorgeous men without shirts! What's not to love?! Check it out if you haven't, it's worth it!

Pairing: OC/Cody Boys (See below!)
-Face Claim: Blake Lively

Rating: Fiction M (So very much so!)- For language, adult themes/situations, fighting/violence/gore, alcohol/drugs/taboo/dark themes, etc. This show has it all...and then some!

Updates: As I said, this is all new. I'm just looking to see if this fandom can find some love out there, period. If it can, I'll continue on!

*Warning!: All those things are listed in the rating above for a reason, trust! Please check out the longer explanation below for an insight to this story and the fandom!

Feel free to follow, favorite, review and promote the story/fandom! I love story feedback and suggestions, but please keep any flames or story hating/negativity to yourself! I covet constructive criticism and story loving, but I do not accept bullying!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Animal Kingdom (TV Series, Movies, etc). It belongs to the wonderful authors, creators, producers, directors, etc. I also do not own any copyrighted/trademarked/recognizable material possibly mentioned here. I only own my OC(s), her(their) thoughts, and my personal plot bunnies!

"You keep me safe, I'll keep you wild."

Knees bent so that her legs folded into her chest, ankles crossed just above her heels that pushed down into the cushion, she couldn't pry her eyes from the scene unfolding before her- despite the blankness reflecting outward from them, or the slight sneer her expression had adopted, a faint curl to her lip and a wrinkling of her nose. Her freshly pedicured toes curled into the ratty, stained material of the chair she had let herself fall into half an hour previously, and her fingers tightened where they wrapped around her wrists, the cross of her arms holding her legs together. It was the only outward sign of the deep-seeded inferno of rage that pulsed within, somewhere hidden and undiscovered by others. As the minutes ticked by, the only sound in the shithole apartment she had spent most of her life growing up in were the breaths that filled and left her lungs almost silently, and the labored breaths of the woman sprawled out upon the threadbare couch in front of her as she twitched and jerked in place.

It matched the chair she had taken, just as disgustingly tainted, marred with splotches of color she did not care to investigate.

Her gaze turned appraising then, sweeping up and down the woman's sickeningly thin form, looking for similarities that she wouldn't find. It left a bittersweet taste on her tongue; one of both relief and disappointment, just as it always did. They differed greatly, so much that it was almost laughable. Sure, there were the obvious factors- an unhealthy, clammy paleness and the stringy, washed-maybe-three-times-a-month hair. But where the woman was once a rich brunette, she was a glowing honey blonde that grew lighter with sun exposure. Where her eyes were a piercing blue the color of a clear sky, the woman's were dull brown, the color of mud the second day after a storm. She stood taller in her frame at five and a half feet and her hips had a bit of a flare to them, while the woman was almost childlike in appearance, barely reaching three inches over five feet with hips that required child size pants just to keep them from slipping down. It made her sick, and her nose wrinkled further as her lip curled up in what could only be described as a loathing revulsion once more.

She had run all out of fucks to give.

Hearing her coming had become such an ordinary routine, there was hardly a day when the sorry excuse for a woman didn't stumble, fumble, and bumble her way down the short hallway from her bedroom to the sparse living room, where she would no doubt collapse in a heaping pile of mess upon the sofa cushions. Catching herself on the shaggy carpet was also quite common, leading to the sound of her frail body crashing to the floor in stunned silence before shrill, shrieking laughter would ring out.

She didn't bother rushing to help her from the fallen position any longer, not that the woman paid much mind. In fact, she rarely even turned to acknowledge her, choosing instead to pour the flakes of cereal into the pink plastic bowl from the top shelf, kept out of reach from grubby, filthy hands.

"Kattt-" Her voice rasped, the sound of a seventy year-old smoker when she was barely pushing forty. "Kitty, kitty kat!"

She snatched the milk from the refrigerator, her back still turned toward the open bar that would allow her to peer into the living room, if she so wished. She didn't.

"Katheryn!" A blade on a cheese grater this time, shrill and mind-numbing.

She curled her fingers into balled up fists, squeezing until her nails bit into the fleshy softness of her palm, cutting small crescent moon shapes into the smooth skin. The taste of copper sparked over her tongue, making her shudder as she swallowed and ran her tongue out along her lower lip, soothing the small cut that came from biting down unknowingly.

"Do not ignore your own mother!"

It took far less time than she had thought it would, and it was surprisingly less chaotic than she had assumed.

She had expected frothing and seizing, but there were only these twitchy vibrations, much like an anxious fidgeting. The spasms rippled down her near bluish, she was so pale, toned arms until her fingers snapped back and forth, as if playing on an invisible baby grand. Her spindly legs twitched a bit more vigorously, leading to her slumped position as her back slid down in the corner of the couch, the sharp one that damn near drew blood if you banged against it just right. The choking noise that echoed off the walls, faded paint cracked and peeling, made her jaw clench; she shut it tight in determination, blue eyes unwavering as they stared on.

Waiting.

She itched to slam her hands down upon the worn formica countertop, to screech back in damnable indignation that the pathetic lump of flesh some ten feet away was no mother. But she knew it would only feed the woman's craving; the attention, the need to belligerently argue as she fell from her high with very little grace.

The site that awaited as she slowly spun was an everyday one.

Old elastics with little spring left in them, spoons that had been used and reused, something around eight lighters with varying amounts of accelerant left in them to burn. The little pouches and baggies of white that reminded her of powdered sugar, though she knew it was anything but. It was all clustered and cluttered upon the scuffed up coffee table, mixed in with a television remote that you could barely even see the markings on anymore, magazines that she had gotten tired of, and yesterday's leftovers that the ratty-haired brunette had simply picked at.

Drugs always kept her full.

With an arch of her eyebrow and a careless wave of her hand, she gestured for the woman to continue, rolling her eyes as she watched on, a lack of fine motor skills making the scene of her mother attempting to strike life into the lighter she held that much more laughable.

"Tommy s'gonna come knockin' tonight-" She slurred, a croaky sound of excitement leaving her throat when a meek flame finally flickered into existence.

A derisive scoff escaped her throat, the worry and concern she used to feel had been traded for an apathetic disgust, and she didn't even flinch as the bedraggled woman patted her arm lazily before attempting to push the needle down into the crook of her arm.

"Your point?" She snipped, arching her eyebrow again, this time in a waspish manner.

"He's gonna be wantin' payment," Her mutter was distracted as she yanked the needle from her arm, then jammed it back in with irrational irritation. "Need ya to take care of it for me."

Gritting her teeth so harshly, she could practically hear the enamel grinding away, she once again bit back the urge to scream and shriek in her anger. Even if she had all the cash in the world, she wouldn't throw it away on the powdered snow her so called mother snorted up her nose and pumped through her veins on a daily basis. Fire blazed through her, and her eyes turned an icy shade of blue, one that could chill the looker straight down to the bone, freezing their core in an artic wave that might never melt again. Her lip curled back over her teeth in a silent snarl, giving her a wildly feral look, though the drugged out woman on the couch wouldn't have noticed even if she had been more aware- she never noticed anything that didn't have something to do with her anymore.

"Sorry, I'm not your fucking hostess!" She snapped, her tone surprisingly calm given the furious shake of her hands. "I don't have shit to give you this week. Pay him the money your damn self."

The stringy brunette cackled manically, abandoning the attempt to tap a vein as she hunched over in on herself, her insane laughter prompting a loss of breath as she coughed and hacked, shaking her head back and forth. She completely ignored the syringe, still sunk three quarters of an inch into her arm as she glanced up through greasy strands, fixing the younger girl with dead brown eyes, ones that were haunted with memories she wouldn't tell and the drugs she couldn't quit. A burning feeling she wished not to examine, that she had learned to ignore in her high, filled her gut as she peered up at the sun-kissed beauty towering over her, and some dark, devilish place inside of her sang with glee.

"Nah, I don't need no cash-" She snorted, still giggling madly. "That's why I got you kitty kat."

Blinking once, she let her eyes wander up and down the twitching form in front of her once more, that same disgusted sneer reappearing. The old camisole on her thin frame was dull in color, the cheetah print barely noticeable, and it swallowed the older woman's boney shoulders and torso. Her black capris were riddled with holes, stains of undeterminable origin darkened the already dark material, making the girl cringe back into her seat. The bare skin of her lower legs were spotty, bruised, the drugs killing off her ability to fight rashes and illness, leaving her physically marred. She'd managed to shove her feet into a pair of slippers that had shown up randomly one day, no doubt left behind by one of her many John's.

"K…K-ka,"

Deep inside, she knew that she should move. She knew that she should be trying to help; clearing her airways, turning her on her side so that she didn't choke on her own spit and vomit, dialing emergency services and waiting for an ambulance. Soon, there would be a need for CPR, and there was always that injector she had stored away in her kit, the medicine within tailored to overcome overdose side effects. There should be guilt, it should be eating her up from the inside, forcing her into action to save the human life, small and pathetic as it was, that seemed to slowly fizzle out before her.

But she didn't move.

The cottony feel to her ears dwindled with the decision, giving way to the faint sound of the game show that flickered on the old television set. Gasping breaths could be heard over the cheering, and she wasn't quite sure if they were her own or not anymore. She wasn't sure how long it had been as she sat, as she watched, but when the warmth of a masculine palm curled over her shoulder, finger pads stroking along her collarbone, she startled almost violently.

"Are you going to help her?"

He was nearly seventeen and had already seen things she had hoped he never would. He stood taller than her by an inch or so, leading him to loom over her from the low set of the rundown, sad little excuse for an armchair. His hair was curly and rumpled looking, she resisted the urge to snap and ask where the hell he had been the night before. Wrinkles through his shirt and pants, half-awake look in his eyes, it didn't take a genius to figure it out.

Squeezing her shoulder again, he never took his eyes from the sight before him, and she turned to look as well.

Drool and spittle dripped from her chin to chest, trekking down her shirt until the dry fabric soaked it up enough that it could no longer go on. Her skin had turned almost grey, her hands jiggled spasmodically, and her eyes were covered in an unseeing film. Her chest shook as it hefted up and down, little puffs of gasping breath sending slippery strands of hair across the woman's face.

"No," She finally whispered, her tone brittle but laced with determination. "Not this time."

Cold.

She felt cold, like ice water pumped through her body instead of the warmth of blood. It was like she had been buried within the frozen cubes, or thrown into a snow bank without the protection of even the thinnest jacket.

The brunette continued to cackled away, the sound choked off in hacks, coughs, and hiccups, though she paid little attention to the sudden stillness of the nineteen year old girl she had called her daughter. Instead, she focused on the sharps in her hands, frustration twisting her features into a pinched expression as the taps on her arms turned to smacks with the effort of calling forth a vein. Unluckily, the years of abuse on said veins had made them practically useless, weak, and a good one was near impossible to find. Her dull eyes flicked sluggishly toward her slipper-covered feet, considering the idea.

"Here…mom," The girl stuttered out, her shadow dimming the light. "Let me."

Strung out, the woman sighed in relief, patting at the blonde's cheek when she folded herself gingerly onto the sofa with a patronizing tone. "Such a good girl."

Somewhere amidst the guffaws and cackling, the girl had overcome the icy feeling of dread that washed through her soul, pushed through the hurt and disappointment she had thought herself immune to when it came to the woman who had claimed motherhood over her, and disappeared down the short, dingy hallway to her bedroom. The sickening thought that the woman sitting in her living room, a rumpled heap of body odor and mess, would dole her out as payment for the mind-altering substances she never could get away from wasn't a new one.

That was why there were locks on the bedroom door, inside and outside.

Seven in total.

She didn't know what made this time different; was it the cold look of calculation, almost excitement in those muddy brown eyes? Perhaps the gleeful hilarity the woman had been consumed with at just the thought?

It was a small bottle, tiny really, in comparison to many things. The liquid inside was clear, leaving behind a shiny film as she tipped it from side to side. The gloves on her hands were blue, the latex giving off a sharp snap as she pulled them into place. A new syringe was snatched out of the extensive confines of her kit, just the thought of pushing a dirty, used needle into the bottle made her lip curl.

Somewhere between the gathering of supplies and her ass making contact with the ratty cushion beneath her, conscious thought had silenced. Her mind, her emotions, the expression upon her face; it had all abandoned and fled. She didn't think as she wrapped the old elastic around the thin, breakable arm, and tied it into place. Nothing stopped her as she patted down the crook of her elbow firmly, a professional touch, calling forth a useable vein in under half a minute. The woman beside her chattered on inarticulately, her words slurred and random, picked out of the spaghetti bowl that had become her mind. Her rambling left her distracted, vulnerable to the fact that the lighter never sparked, the powder never melted, but there was still a full needle of heavenly liquid slipping painlessly into her tattered skin.

The high was instant, she could tell by the way her eyes rolled back in her head, the few healthy lashes she still possessed fluttering across cheekbones that stood out sharply against sunken cheeks.

But…

She could also see the exact second panic set it.

It wasn't right, the brunette knew. Too much, too fast, too hard, too potent. It swirled and flowed through the bloodstream, wreaking havoc, making her will to move her limbs and blink her eyelids a pointless endeavor. Unable to lift a finger, all that came from her lips when she wished to speak was a slurred grumble. But her hearing, it was there. Foggy and slow her mind might have been, but the whispers were clear, dripping with a venomous, seething rage that would have made her shiver in fear had it been physically possible.

"This moment, right here…"

Oh, but it was frightening, the calmness of the tone almost more chilling than the words that were spat from the tongue. Icy cold, unfeeling.

"When I finally said enough was enough, when I finally put a stop to it all. The embarrassing calls, the shame of your claim, the scum you have running through here all hours of the day, pinching my ass, looking at an underage boy like he's a fresh piece of manmeat…"

A sob built in the woman's throat, but all that came out was a choking gasp as a swirl of colors clouded her vision.

"I want you to remember this moment, this moment I freed us, be it heaven or hell that takes you…"

There was a name in her mind, one on the tip of her tongue, but it wouldn't come. Her regrets shined with a clarity that could never be expressed, her mouth wouldn't convey them even if she could set aside her pride to do so.

"You are no longer my mother…you never were."

The sponge was lime green and soapy in her hand. Dishes had been gathered, leftover food tossed in extra-large black trash bags that would soon be making their way to the dumpster out in the lot. The water was hot, pinking up her skin, but the food remnants and bubbles flowed down the drain, pushing along anything she might want to remain unfound. His heat at her back kept her steady, kept her from lashing out at the bumbling men, kept her from watching too closely, from making herself seem anything more than a nineteen year-old girl in shock. Bells rang out on the television set, the vibrant cheers of another winner announcing the end of an episode, while the ripping and patting of Velcro served as a blatant sign that the paramedics were packing back up.

There was nothing he or his partner could do; the middle aged woman was too far gone before they had even pounded on the rundown screen door.

The kids were calm.

It had been expected, assumed with the kind of life she had indulged in, the older medic supposed. You could only sneak so many cookies from the jar before you got caught, that's what his mama always said.

Calls put in to a coroner, another dish scrubbed until it glistened, a page of algebra homework scribbled out across college-ruled notebook paper.

It all fell silent finally some hours later, and they had yet to speak to each other. She would have been worried, had it not been for the fact that he was always a little quiet, and that they had long ago learned to communicate with simple looks and touches. The raging water finally died out with a sputter, the dish towel seemed almost too rough on her hands, and for the first time since her mind had closed off, she met a pair of intuitive blues when she glanced up, tossing a cheap cell phone the brunette woman had left behind on the coffee table.

"Call grandma, I'll pack."

Wildlands
-Warning/Information-

Pairing: So, this is kind of a sensitive area. Or confusing rather, since I know there are plenty of poly-relationship stories out there, and I'm even a fan of many of them. (Seriously, all the yummy characters!) Still, Animal Kingdom is another level all of its own. If you've seen the TNT Show or the Australian Film, you realize that the mother figure has a borderline incestuous relationship with her sons. She uses manipulation and "mother's love" to keep the Cody Boys in line. That being said, she'll probably use some of the same techniques on the OC- but more on that later!
-How Does This Influence Pairings?: With encouragement from the matriarch, the OC will more than likely end up involved with one or more of the boys. From this chapter, I'm sure you can infer that she may not, in fact, be blood-related. Still, it's the semblance of family-related relationship, so heads up there! I'm not going to make it distasteful by any means, I just wanted to make note of it before the story gets started, in the case a darker/taboo theme is a Trigger for anyone!

Trigger Warnings: I'll post them at the start of the chapter, but if you watch the show you understand that it's full of questionable things. It's a crime family, after all! Think SOA, without constant motorcycles and other clubs! :p

I think that should be it, if I have any more points I'll tack them on to future chapters! No Beta here, all mistakes are my own and I apologize for any of them! If you find something that drives you crazy, send me a PM and I'll fix it right up!