#fuckin open casket and everything like what

[hiddenwritingsintheworld]

Man After Midnight Ch. 10

Rich Mans World Series | Chapter 9| Donations | Thoughts & Feelings

Chris stood by the casket and stared at it, the huge mountain of flowers on top, Tommy would have hated it, he would have killed someone for decking his funeral out in flowers. He wasn’t the flowers and chocolates kinda guy. “How could you be so stupid?” Chris whispered to himself. Heels clicking up the isle of the church made Chris turn around. The slender blonde woman he’d only seen once in his life was storming toward him. “How did this happen?!” she cried out, the small boy, whom she’d tugged down the way with her, stared up at Chris with sad eyes. “He was a father, how am I supposed to raise this kid on my own?!” she hissed at him. “What did you do?? Are you going to find whoever was responsible and take care of it?!” she asked. Chris pulled them into a hug and whispered in her ear. “If you dont shut the fuck up and play the grieving widow part a lot better, I’m gonna take you out next, do you fuckin understand me?” he kissed her cheek and patted the other one. 

“Chris, please, I loved Tommy, what happened?” she cried into her hand. “He was found at a woman's house, love letters surrounding them both, autopsy said he killed himself.” Chris said softly as they moved away from the casket. She bit her lip and opened her purse pulling out a piece of paper. As she unfolded it she spoke softer, “Could this person maybe know more?'' She handed him the photo. “Found that on our security camera, That was taken the night Tommy died. I don't know who was with him, but that image is all I have. I’ll get the video to you this week.” she whispered. 

Chris stared at the image, it was Tommy, walking with someone shorter than him, headed toward his shed. “Do you think…that was the woman he had went to see? Maybe they slept together in the shed? Tommy never let me go in there, I don't know what was in there.” she said softly. “The camera was too far away to pick up the other person's features, but I'm assuming it was a woman with him.” she said quietly. 

The church doors opened, and in walked you with a short, black dress on, black pumps and bright red lipstick. On your right was Brooke and on your left was Maddie. You had a couple of women standing back by the doors, but that’s as far as they entered the church. As you walked down the same aisle you had on your wedding day, you watched as peoples soft voices turned into murmurs as you passed them. Their attention turned toward you three, as Chris watched you. Your relationship had been rocky since he’d confessed his affair with Sharon. He’d written a letter to you that it happened during the two weeks he spent away from you. 

You hated yourself more than anything, you’d trusted him, and he still…..after everything, deep down…just didn’t love you. Not how you loved him at least. You stood at the casket and prayed silently. Brooke and Maddie, doing the same behind you. Once you were finished, you walked over to the women you assumed to belong to Tommy and offered your hands, “I am so deeply sorry for your loss, If there is anything you need, we would be honored to help you.” you spoke quietly as she sniffled and looked over at Chris. 

“That’s what your husband said too, I really appreciate you guys finding out who did this. Tommy loved us…he never would have left his son.” she whispered as you glanced down at the boy. He stared up at you, he looked like a miniature version of Tommy with those bright blue eyes staring up at you. His dark wavy hair combed back neatly. You swallowed and looked back at her. “Let us know if you need anything,” you leaned down and hugged her before ruffling the boy's hair softly and walked away. 

Chris moved in front of Sebastian and Anthony only for you to brush past him toward the back of the church. “Y/N?” you turned and looked at him. “See you at home.” you turned back around and left, people would whisper about the encounter between you and your husband for the next several months. 

Days turned into weeks and you avoided Chris as much as possible. You just couldn’t bring yourself to face him, especially after he wept over Sharon's death. You slept in your office, you tried to keep yourself out of the house as much as possible. Henry, Brooke's older brother, had been nice enough to treat you to dinner one night, simply checking on your well-being since you weren’t on the best terms with Chris at the moment. 

You laughed, told stories, joked around, it had been one of the greatest night’s you’d had in a long long time. You tried to not think about him, but with every joke you’d think to yourself ‘Chris would have loved that,’ or when you’d hear a funny story, you knew Chris would have had an even better one. You were both walking back toward your car when Henry stopped and turned toward you. He went to speak but he sighed, and looked down. You tilted your head while watching him. “What’s up Henry?” you smiled a little. He looked at you before he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. 

You pulled back and stared in bewilderment at him. “I have to go.” you turned and walked the rest of the way to your car the feeling of vomiting in your stomach. Once you got home, you opened the door, stepped out and puked all over the driveway. “Jesus.” you coughed wiping your mouth with your hand before you went inside. 

“About time. We need to talk.” Peggy said, walking up to you as you rolled your eyes. “Listen, I don't feel good, so we can do this another time.” you said heading up the stairs. “The anniversary party is set for one week from today. I’ve got a gown selected for you and you’ll be on your best behavior. No…surprises.” Peggy said with a tight smile at you. You stared at her before holding up your middle finger. “Do go royally fuck yourself.” you said in a fake accent before you walked upstairs. 

As you passed your bedroom door, you saw Chris walking out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. He looked up, catching your eye. You both stared silently at each other for what felt like forever. “Hi,” he said as he walked over to the bedroom door. You opened your lips, ready to say hi, but instead, vomit came out, covering his chest down to his towel. You instantly covered your mouth as you felt more bile rise up in your throat. 

You shoved past him into the bathroom, kneeling down in front of the toilet, puking your guts up. You felt a hand hold your hair back in a ponytail while the other rubbed soothing circles on your back. “Shhh it’s alright, I got you,” Chris said quietly as you finished. You reached up flushing the toilet before you slowly stood up and brushed your teeth rinsing your mouth out. “I must have eaten something bad. I didn’t mean to puke on you.” you said quietly as he got back in the shower. 

Chris held the shower door open and looked back at you, “Why don’t you join me? We can clean up and I’ll help you get ready for bed. No funny business.” he said looking at you with a soft and sweet look. Maybe it was the exhaustion of sleeping on a hard couch, or maybe it was the food poisoning you were experiencing, but before you could realize what you were doing, you were stripping down, and climbing into a steaming hot shower with him. 

“FUCK!” Chris groaned, arching his back off the floor next to the bed. You can't recall how it happened, but one moment you were agreeing to showering with him, and the next thing you knew, it was 5am, and neither one of you had stopped pleasuring each other. You lifted your mouth off his hard cock gulping down a big breath of air. Chris took the chance to grab your arms and flip you over on your hands and knees, lining up behind you as he gripped your hips and slammed into you. 

You both couldn’t contain yourselves as you moved into different positions around the room. As the sun came up, you were straddling him in one of the chairs that sat across from your bed, riding him as he left marks on your chest. The bedroom door opened, Peggy came in, causing you to glare as you rode him. “Peggy! Jesus fuck get out!” Chris yelled, wrapping his arms around you. You held your head high, grinding your hips down into his. “Chris, we need to talk.” Peggy said, only looking at him. “Get out!” he yelled again. “We’re-” he let out a breath looking up at you as you stared her down, your jaw ticking some, while your nostrils flared. “We’re busy. Leave.” you said with a dark tone in your voice. Peggy looked away before she looked back at Chris who huffed and shielded you as best he could. 

“Christopher….” You glared daggers at her as she glanced at you while saying his name. She looked back at him. “What?” he snapped at her. “Your mother died.” she blurted out. You stopped moving as you looked down at Chris. His face had paled and he blinked. “What?” Peggy looked at you, her eyes holding everything you needed to see. “Bitch.” you mumbled to yourself as you climbed off his lap. “She apparently had a heart attack in the middle of the night last night, she was in Spain visiting your cousins.” You grabbed your robe, throwing it on before walking into the bathroom. 

Chris sat silently, no matter what he said next it didn’t matter. The one person who’d do anything for him was gone. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he looked up to see Peggy. “Get out.” he growled. “Christopher.” Peggy said softly. “Get out before I throw you out bitch.” your voice startled both of them. “He told you once, and I’ve told you twice. Now. I suggest you listen before I snap that pretty little neck.” you ordered as she nodded and walked out closing the door behind her. 

You looked at Chris as he walked over to the french doors on the balcony to the master bedroom. You stood behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m so sorry.” you whispered against his shoulder blade. “I need you. I can’t go through this without you by my side.” he whispered as tears filled his eyes. You laid your lips against his shoulder blade and whispered. “Anything you need.” 

Tagging:

@mommad @wolfieeebbbyyy @dontbescaredtosingalong @ellen-reincarnated1967 @adriellej @calimoi @coffeebooksandfandom @patzammit @posiemax @fdl305 @auriel187 @ladybug05 @stoneyggirl2 @fallenoutofrose @mrspeacem1nusone @teamfreewill-imagine @inlovewith3

(bringing back my tag list please dont make me regret it <3)

[campirebitesarchive]

I love it when my intrusive thoughts aren’t even bad they’re just .. wrong ?

I was literally just standing here having a lil smoke with my music on having a good time and then my brain was like

YOU WERENT THERE THE DAY YOUR UNCLE DIED WHAT IF HES SECRETLY STILL ALIVE

like? no? what the fuck?

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

please PLEASE write more abt bully bkg!!! what happened next?? what did kiri do omg

tw ;; mild toxicity, bully!bkg, kirishima being a shit, fem!reader 18+, spanking, oral (f!recieving), bkg accidentally worships your pussy instead of punishing you :/, unprotected sex, praise kink 

PT. 1

a/n ;; have i mentioned he makes me absolutely out of my mind yet? have i said that?!??#?$# 

i think we’ve established about the two of them enough by now so here’s how i picture it. 

like i said before - bkg is a campus athlete, popular and well-rounded and all around has that like image to him and so when he essentially confesses to you after fucking you stupid in the library, that’s basically him making you his girlfriend. you don’t know that for a long time but we’ll get there later. 

anwyays.. right after he fucks you nice n full of his cum, he slides your panties and shorts right back on and snickers as he watches you struggle to get to your feet before eventually helping you. he keeps your bra as a punishment and makes you keep his hoodie, almost biting you when you try and take kirishimas to return it to him. he’ll do it himself, don’t test him. 

when you’re all dressed - he makes you pack up and ends up walking you to your dorm room in the middle of the night (which you beg him to not do) but he’ll be fucking damned if anything bad happens to you. it’s his version of affectionate but you don’t know that yet so you’re mostly awkwardly trying to dodge him on the way back BUT he’s still bkg so when he notices that he yanks you. 

he makes you hold his arm and licks your cheek cause he’s such a fucking dick. hits you with a “get used to it, princess” with the most condescending tone. but he’s being so serious. you just think he’s teasing you but he’s not.. he means it. get used to him, basically because now he’s a constant presence in your life. 

he drops you off in front of your dorm and you’re about to wave him off but before you can go he grabs your waist and basically dips you for a kiss. and it’s so good - fuck, you wish you could say you hated it. but bakugou is experienced as much as he’s mean so he kisses you like his life depends on it, his fingers digging into your sides and his tongue in your mouth. you almost forget your in public until he pulls you back up 

he gives you a little breathless grin, patting your cheek with his hand and telling you “get cleaned up, dumbass” which is his way of telling you to get home safe. 

and you do get to your empty dorm. you take a shower and just kinda reflect on the actualy fuck transpired cause you were pretty positive he wanted you in a casket but?!?!?! you fucked him and he kissed you? so ???? 

youre in the middle of your exams and you’re honestly tired since you got fucked within in an inch of your life so you shower and just.. go to sleep. in his hoodie cause it smells good and it’s big and comfy and you’re like... thinking about it really hard but it just makes your headache. 

you conclude after a lot of tossing and turning that he’s probably still just trying to fuck around with you and maybe thinks you’re an easy lay.  you can’t say you aren’t since you were willing and ready for him (the thought of how easily you gave in has you flustered) 

you sleep, eventually. and you wake up the next morning not really expecting much. you don’t have bkgs number or anything so you just.. continue with your day as is. unlucky for you - you have classes with bakugou and kirishima 

but you don’t think it’ll be all that different. still so non-chalant. and you go to class that day dressed normally - with bakugous hoodie in hand. 

you sit in your regular seat that day and this is your first mistake. 

kirishima is in class before bakugou is. and he is.. as always, a little shit. so he pulls up right beside you because even though bkg is pissed at kiri - they are besties so he tells him everything. kirishima wont tease you abt it and u still think kirishima is quite nice and handsome so you’re pleased to greet him. 

ah.. another mistake on your behalf. this action WILL have consequences. 

kirishima gets so cozy with you btw. he loves that you’re so comfy w him - strokes his ego so good. and he chats you up for a better part of the hour before your morning class. 

he makes jokes and smiles and laughs and thinks about how easy it would be snatch you from bakugou and keep you to himself. he’s not good enough of a person to leave you alone. 

aaah kirishima is a sweetheart and he treats you well. so when you feel his hand on your thigh underneath the table - rubbing little circles into your knee, you don’t even notice. and when he gets super close to you to hear you talk - telling you your voice is too soft even tho a class is empty, you let him. 

and when you point out that ppl keep staring and whispering you, he tells you to ignore them and you do. you ignore the whispers and even the click of camera. 

it’s only when you hear bakugou that you get a strange feeling in your gut. he stomps into the classroom - vicious. his schedule is so busy he normally doesn’t get to lounge around before class making sure to keep everything tight 

but he got..  many messages about how you and kirishima were seating today. mostly from kami who likes to cause problems - he decided he should get there a lil early 

well.. lo and behold he does - and he finds you and kirishima looking incredibly cozy with each other. and kirishima being.. kirishima - is the first to see him and he shoots his beloved friend the most smug fuckin smile. 

bkg is pissed, naturally and stomps his way over to the two of you. he’s doing the thing again where he’s icy mad. he doesn’t even bother w kirishima and there’s a whole crowd around the three of you. 

“get your shit,” he demands, clearly seething. you give him a wild look, noticing the now obvious tension before being completely confused.  you’re about to protest w him but he sends you a spine-chillingly glare. 

your whole class watches as he yanks you by the wrist out of the classroom as kirishima sits back and gives u a little wave. ur lost. obviously. and once you leave the classroom ur like “where are we going?” 

the answer is to bakugous very nice car - a custom c3 corvette. he opens the door and stares you, grabbing your bags and taking them to the trunk. but u stand ur ground, cross your arms over your chest like 

“what are we doing out here?” 

bkg doesn’t hesitate in pushing you up against his car, his hands on your waist and his teeth nipping at your neck - sore from old bruises. and you gasp when you feel his fingers dig into your hips, all tongue and teeth. 

“the fuck did i say about you cozyin’ up t’ that shitty haired bastard yesterday,” 

this makes you swallow because bakugous mouth is travelling further and further and his hands are getting more bold. and you shiver, something hot and heavy in your core cause fuck he’s so possesive over you. it makes you dizzy, something sticky and warm in you. 

“i.. i d-didn’t think you were being s..serious yesteryday” 

he growls a little against your throat. 

“guess i’ll have to teach you another lesson. im gonna get in the car and then you are. easy enough, nerd?” 

you can’t do anything but nod and watch him open the car doors. when he gets in you follow and within the blink of an he manuevers you till your over his lap. you let out a loud yelp as his strong hands come down on your ass. still clothed. 

you let out a soft yelp - a noise of surprise at the sudden sensation and you feel bkg bend down to speak in your ear. 

“wanna act like a fuckin’ brat and flirt with your boyfriends friends? fine. i’ll fuck that shitty ass attitude right out of you,” 

the firs thing you think is “boyfriend?!” but your voice gets muffled when you feel bakugou pull down your bottoms along with your panties. his hands are so strong and so big - long thick fingers covered in callouses from playing so many games. you can’t help but squirm under his touch, a growing wetness making your stomach clench. 

he’s so so mean about it yk? a big strong hand smacking against your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. he chuckles when you whine, when your body shivers - bare cunt expose to him and nothing else. a wave of humilation floods through you. 

“‘s not my fault you’re like this y’know? all you gotta do is follow instructions - i know you now how to fucking do that, right? always bein’ so prissy,” ― bakugou tsks, smacking your ass hard before spreading your cheeks out. he admires the way your cunt trembles with mean laugh ― “but you wanna go flirt with shitty hair that much, huh?” 

you’re gonna protest and tell him it’s not even like that.. which makes you question why’re so eager to go with his demands. but the words get lost as the sound of spanks slowly drift and it’s just bakugou admiring your ass. he didn’t really get a good chance too when he was fucking you yesterday but now he’s got eagles on you n your pretty little cunt. 

“never gonna let anyone touch your pretty little pussy but fuckin’ me,” ― and he groans, sliding his fingers through your folds ― “fuck.. fuck” 

you’re not expecting much but within another few seconds you’ve got your cheek pressed to the glass window, ass up and body folded with your cunt directly in bkgs face. you’re not rlly sure why this was happening because you were sure you were getting punished. and maybe the humilation of having your face pressed to glass is enough 

but it doesn’t negate the fact bkg is tongue deep in your cunt. both hands massaging your ass - spreading your lips apart so he can get into fucking deeper. sliding his tongue against your folds and slurping on your clit until you’re jolting with pleasure like you’ve never known before in your life. you’re moaning so loud the whole campus could probably fucking hear but bkg doesn’t care and doesn’t stop 

and your thighs give out, he goes from eat it from the back to getting underneath you and has you sitting on his face. you just keep cumming and bakugou is rock fucking hard - but he doesn’t even bother jerking himself off. he spends all of his time n effort worshipping your sweet cunt  

you cum on his face so many times you’re completely limp by the time he sticks his dick in you. but it feels so good when he does that too - oversenstive walls stretched out his big cock, a hand on your sides as he shifts you into missionary. 

he doesn’t even intend to make you cum again but the position has him so deep in your cervix that you do and he’s so close. and when bkgs close, he’s fucking obscene. 

but it’s not all that vulgar like you’re expecting and that makes you fucking whine. hearing bakugou praise you and your pussy does something terrible to your brain and in your fucked out haze - arms around his shoulders, you’re fucking whimpering. 

and bkgs just in your ear like 

“such a sweet fuckin’ girl for me, taking my dick so damn good, haah fuck. all mind. know how to behave when i fuck you like this don’t you? be a good girl and take it all.. there you go, just like that,” 

when he cums inside of you he stays there for a while and stares at your completely gone expression. it’s unusually soft and you wont see it often but he grabs your face and kisses you hard 

“you’re my girlfriend now you fuckin’ dweeb so start fuckin’ acting like it yeah?” 

you whine and nod, unable to refuse even if u want too 

“yeah..yeah” 

[isuckatreadinglol]

Six of Crows Review

Alright, first book review on this blog...here we go: *spoiler warning, duh*

Book: Six of Crows Author: Leigh Bardugo

My Rating: 5/5

First off, this is the first YA fantasy I've ever read so I have no idea what I was expecting...and I fuckin loved it.

Second, I binge read this book in three days and it usually takes me a month to read anything ever so that's definitely saying something. I came for Kaz Brekker after watching Shadow & Bone on Netflix and stayed for the amazing plot, diverse and intricate characters, the incredible action and twists, and of course Kaz Brekker. The one thing that I loved was how fast paced this book went, and I genuinely could not stray far from the book because of how addicting it was. There was something in every chapter and you never got bored. The last part had taken the most time for me to complete because of how much action Leigh crammed in the last 60 pages, which made it a bit hard to follow along but it was still epic.

The Characters:

Kaz, Inej, Jesper, Wylan, Nina, Matthias

"“What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet?” “Knife to the throat?” asked Inej. “Gun to the back?” said Jesper. “Poison in his cup?” suggested Nina. “You’re all horrible,” said Matthias."

The most diverse set of characters I have ever met. There were 6 characters, and the POV's were constantly changing and at some point, while I read someone else's chapter I was worried about the other characters and anticipating the next chapters. This was honestly an amazing decision to tell this story and I never got sick of the characters (except maybe Matthias, sorry).

Not only does Leigh do an excellent job portraying trauma in her characters (especially Kaz), she also keeps the character's as diverse as possible, from Nina being a plus sized character with badass confidence to Wylan overcoming his dyslexia and even Inej being a brown character. Every character had their own stories and the flashbacks/backstories were always a pleasure to read through.

Kaz Brekker is a stone cold, morally grey, manipulative, and terrible criminal which of course...makes him an even better protagonist. He definitely rocks the Hot Boy Who Is Mean To Everyone Except That One Chick Because Of His Tragic Backstory trope.

"There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken."

He is an anti-hero with his own plans and goals, while also caring so much about his crew that he would do anything for them. I'm very excited to see his character develop with Inej in Crooked Kingdom as well as his relationship with her because I am too obsessed with the two of them. I also enjoyed how Leigh allowed Kaz to fuck up and make mistakes, showing that he wasn't just some perfect character that knew everything about everything, and reading his inner dialogue when he realized his fuck-ups felt refreshing. His backstory was very well written and very tragic (we get it he's emo). It felt so personal knowing why he was they way he was when he sealed himself off from the world. He's also drippy as fuck.

Inej Ghafa just radiates bad bitch energy and when Kaz called her "dangerous" I screamed "DAMN RIGHT". Her mental drive was beautifully written during her chapters, especially while she climbed the incinerator.

"The heat of the incinerator wrapped around Inej like a living thing, a desert dragon in his den, hiding from the ice, waiting for her. She knew her body's limits and knew she had no more to give. She'd made a bad wager. It was as simple as that. The autumn leaf might cling to its branch, but it was already dead. The only question was when it would fall...

Should she jump now or simply wait for her body to give?

Inej felt wetness on her cheeks. Was she crying? Now? After everything she'd done and had done to her?"

Most importantly, she was a raw character who pushed herself throughout the book not just for herself but for the rest of the crew. She was selfless but she was also incredibly strong, driven by her future. Inej is the most inspiring character in the book and I have fallen in love with her more times than I could count. (lowkey carried the team imma be honest)

JESPER FAHEY Y'ALL. My queer sharpshooter king. I think I related to him the most and I loved every chapter with him. Though, I felt like Jesper was treated more as a side character than a main one, especially since he was stuck with Wylan for the entirety of the heist but BOY WHEN I FOUND OUT HE WAS A FABRIKATOR...I might have also screamed. He was definitely the comedic relief and he always kept me laughing at his little comments. Excited to see him and Wylan get together and also hoping for more of Jesper's character.

"Well, we’ve managed to get ourselves locked into the most secure prison in the world. We’re either geniuses or the dumbest sons of bitches to ever breathe air."

“If any of you survive, make sure I have an open casket. The world deserves a few more moments with this face.”

Nina Zenik...bro. She is so powerful. The moment she took parem was *chefs kiss* and it was the most badass scene I had ever experienced. When I began reading her chapters I didn't really enjoy them but when the heist actually began her inner dialogue won me over completely. When she was with Jarl Brum I could not stop laughing at the things she was saying in her head, and even when things were intense she always had something to say which made her character come to life. Her personality is hilarious, and sarcastic and she's also so HOT like my gay ass was swooning. She is who I aspire to be, that is all.

Matthias Helvar. Personally, I didn't really like his character so much because of how stubborn and he was (and how many times I wanted to punch his stupid ass), however he was still a pretty cool character with some good moments in there. He demonstrated religious corruption well, and he definitely faced a lot of inner conflict due to the pressure of what he was taught when he was younger. His POVs were a little boring but I loved it when he called Kaz a demjin.

Wylan Van Eck was a super fun character to have around. I definitely enjoyed watching his character grow as he spent more time with the Dregs. I didn't love him as much as the big three (Kaz, Jesper, Inej) and don't have much to say on him except that I admired his strength throughout the last part, especially when confronting his father after hearing all the horrible things he said about his own son. Jesper defending him made me melt big time.

"He's smarter than most of us put together, and he deserves a better father than you."

I literally could not have asked for such a creative group of characters and to see them work together makes me feel like I'm part of a big, criminal family.

The Ships

The ships were a fun addition to the story and the best part was that they never overstepped the actual objective of the plot but rather worked with it to enhance the connections between each character.

Kaz and Inej: Let me just cry for a second.

"She'd laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him."

"I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all."

"I'm going to get my money, Kaz vowed. And I'm going to get my girl."

This one hurt me. I am in love with these two and their relationship with each other makes it so much better. They are not meant to be together yet they are connected in so many ways. I did not think I would fall in love so easy, but here I am.

Matthias and Nina: I was not convinced by these two, especially with how weird their relationship was. They constantly seemed like they hated each other (valid) and some of their romantic scenes felt forced. In the end, I enjoyed seeing Nina grow on Matthias to wake his stubborn ass up. I swear that man refused to have feelings. Anyway, I still have mixed feelings on these two.

Wylan and Jesper: They are so cute. Like insanely cute. Like even I was blushing during their cute scenes. Their relationship isn't as developed yet so I am excited to see them in Crooked Kingdom.

Final Thoughts:

Representation? Check

Map? Check

Two maps?!? Fuck yeah

Amazing plot and worldbuilding? Check

Hilarious banter? Mhm

Great writing? Check

Well- written characters? 100%

Overall, this story will forever be my comfort book and I was impressed by the YA fantasy side of literature. It's hard to believe yet comforting that these characters are my age, makes me feel powerful. I loved every bit of this book and now I kinda wanna grab some friends and pull a heist.

[zoups-up]

Have y'all ever thought of Bo lashing out at his mother's dead corpse?

It was another one of those nights where he had too much to drink that it came to a point that he had just given up on suppressing his emotions. Bo trudged his way to the towns church. Barging through the door with a loud boom that echoed through the church. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself forward through the altar. Stumbling on his feet as he reached his mother's casket.

Bo let out a huff that turned into a chuckle. His soft chuckle slowly erupting to a lould, maniacal laugh. "... Are you proud now ma?" Bo whimpered. His head turning towards the open casket, staring down at his mother's dead body.

"Are ya fuckin' proud on how we turned out?!" He began to laugh once more. However, his laughter then boiled down to loud sobs as he sank down to the ground. His back resting on the side of the casket. His hand tightly clutching on the side of his head. "Mama... We're going to hell." Bo spoke weakly. He began rethink to whatever he and his brother had being for the past couple of years.

They were absolute scum. With all the blood and gore. The screams that replayed in his mind that held so much pain and agony. Wide yes that stared back at his cold blue eyes, the victim begging for any ounce of mercy. And then there was the pleasure that he had receive while he watched the life in his victim's face drifts away.

But was it his fault? He truly believed that it wasn't. It wasn't his fault that his childhood was so fucked up that it turned him to a "Monster" as his parents liked to call him?

It made Bo think if he he had been more tamed like Vincent, would he turn out to be a better person?

If he was actually born a girl? Would he had been more loved? Maybe his parents should've raised a baby girl instead...

If only he had been a better son.

But it was too late for that shit. His fate was already sealed. He had the bodies to prove it. They were surrounding him right now. Watching through their waxy case.

Suddenly he felt something come near him. A cold touch landing on his shoulder. Bo's eyes became wide, his body jolting upwards almost pushing his mother's body off of the catafalque. It was his mother. Or what seemed to be his mother.

He wasn't sure. He was too drunk to comprehend whatever the hell is going on. His "mother" began to say random things. Reassuring him that he had nothing to worry about. Telling him that everything would be alright. And apologizing for everything they have done.

And rather than calming him, it made his blood boil. "SHUT THE HELL UP!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, his voiced wavering as the tears began to build up on his eyes. "DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME EVERYTHING WOULD BE ALRIGHT AFTER ALL THE TERRIBLE SHIT YOU'VE DONE TO ME!"

Bo sucked in a breath. Salty tears now streaming down his cheek. He quickly wiped away the tears, but it never stopped. It kept coming out. Soaking the sleeve of his coveralls. "You can't say shit like this when the damage has already been done, ma..." His knees grew weak and once again, he fell to the ground. Rocking his body back and forth as an attempt to calm down...

It felt like hours since he had sat down and wept on the ground. Bo was tired. His eyelids grew heavy and his senses began to dull out. He heard the door open but he couldn't be bothered to look up. It wasn't until he saw a pair of boots Infront of him that he finally realized who it was.

Vincent sat down infront of his brother. "The fuck are you doin' here..." Bo quiried, examining his twin, he saw that Vincent was clutching into something. Vincent stayed silent. Looking down at his twin's tear stained face, he let out an audible sigh. The long haired twin stood up and Bo thought he just came in to check up on him.

Bo closed his eyes but he felt something cover his body. His shot shot open, seeing his brother now back on the spot where he previously sat on and realized that Vincent had actually brought him a blanket. "Let's go back home. You need rest and It's too cold in here." Vincent signed, offering his hand to Bo as he waited for his brother to respond.

Bo slowly reached for Vincent's hand. He pulled himself upward, kinda stumbling in the process. though Vincent made sure that he wouldn't fall flat on his ass. Putting Bo's hand over his shoulder and guiding the two of them back to their house. At least he had someone who can be there whenever he needed. Even if Vincent was told many times that his twin was a despicable monster, he was willing to give Bo something his parents never did. A chance and Familial love. And he will continue to give him that until they both die.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

I blame this imagine on MCR's song "Mama". It fits Bo kinda well ngl. And I just like showing soft Bo-Peep.

Just found out that we will only have two weeks (14 days) of summer vacation instead of 2 months...

I'm pissed and I really wanna drop out

If i were to compare school to anything, it'd be Lays potato chip. Because like the bag of air that contained 5 potato chips, they were kind enough to give us a vacation when they could just make us work for the whole year.

[imaginesmai]

Alfie Solomons - Snowy Morning

I don’t know how long it has been since I wrote for him, but here is something!

Plot: Alfie wakes up to a snowy morning and a overexcited girlfriend.

At any given moment, Alfie was absolutely certain of two things. The first one was that he loved you with all his heart, and would do literally anything for you. The second was that the first one would be the death of him eventually.

He had been awakened at an ungodly hour that morning by a loud squeal, and with a cry of alarm he rolled to one side to reach for his gun. It was a reflex he didn’t figure he would ever outgrow, even if his enemies were resting in their caskets and he lived where no one could find him. Without opening his eyes, he had already taken off the safety and was sitting on the bed, the gun before him.

It didn’t surprise him anymore that you were the cause of the squeal, so when he opened his eyes, he let the gun on the bed besides him. You stood a few feet ahead, your face pressed against the window and still wearing your nightgown. Alfie let himself fall back on the bed and tried to get a few more minutes of sleep. You had a different idea.

“Alfie!” you called ou for him from your place. “Alfie, come here!”

“Can’t do, pet” he grumbled, dropping one arm to cover his eyes.

He could practically hear you folding your arms over your chest and pop your hip to the side, giving him that look that you always gave him when you thought he was being difficult. And even if he was know for being a grumpy man, he couldn’t help the soft, silly smile that appeared on his lips.

“Alfie…”

The man opened one eye and peeked at you between his fingers, the sight making his smile grow wider.

“Y/N…”

The side of the bed dipped down and suddenly there was a weight on his stomach. His arm was pried away with gentle hands and you pouted at him from where you were now straddling his abdomen. The light tan that you had gotten in the past summer was slowly disappearing, giving away your natural skin colour. You were still wearing a bed hair, with some lock standing in weird positions. And the way you were bulging out your cheeks only made your anger look less credible.

Alfie decided not to tell you how the position was making his back ache or how he needed to move, because he would never say anything like that to you. So he just chuckled and raised his arms until he could wrap one around your waist.

“All right, all right. I give in” he gave a light smack to your bottom. “What in the fuckin’ world is so exciting that you had to wake me before midday?”

It amazed him how easily he could stay in bed those days. Since he finally broke up with the business and decided to retire, his life had been much more calmer. And now, he could spend the mornings nuzzling you and enjoying life.

“It snowed!” your face lighted up like a lantern.

“And?” Alfie raised a brow.

“And I’ve never been out in the snow before!”

Sometimes, Alfie forgot in what circumstances you two met. Tom Shelby had nearly thrown you in his arms a few years ago, when he first met the man. After a huge argument with some Italian man, Tommy had taken his daughter with him and had killed him; his daughter, who had been locked up in a basement for years because of her father’s greed. Tom had just asked Alfie to watch you for a while, but your charming and innocent self had managed to make its way to his cold heart. Since then, there hadn’t been a day where Alfie had left you out of his sight, and enjoyed every opportunity of showing you something new.

No matter how much his back hurt.

“Need to have something to eat first, don’t we, pet?”

You leapt from your perch on his stomach with a nimbleness that always caught him off-guard – or maybe that was just the wind being knocked out of him as you launched yourself from the springboard of his diaphragm. Your nightgown spun around your ankles as you jumped up and down on your heels, the excitement barely contained.

“Or… we could have a winter picnic?” you proposed, a shy smile on your face. Alfie looked at you from where he had sat up on the bed.

“Picnic?”

Alfie thought that, even if it didn’t sound too normal, it didn’t sound bad. It had been years since he allowed himself to enjoy the snow, and he didn’t want to be the one to say no to you. To anyone looking from the outside, the idea would have seemed ridiculous. But Alfie just gave a loud, belly laugh and put on his worn out slippers, knowing he would have to change to the thick boots soon.

-

It had taken another fifteen minutes of debate before you actually ate your breakfast inside, as Alfie realized it was snowing, not just snowed. After the quickest breakfast of his life, Alfie had put on his winter coat and had insisted in covering you in thick scarfs. He wondered if he would ever miss the bakery and being busy all the time, or his life would just keep getting better day by day.

“You’re lucky you’re light” Alfie complained again.

His hands were cupped beneath your knees and your arms draped lightly around his collar. It wasn’t hard to be smaller than Alfie – while the man wasn’t certainly the tallest, his back was as broad as a trunk. The situation was that you didn’t have winter boots, and the five inches of snow accumulated on the backyard were no place for dress shoes. So he did what he always did and gave in when it was about you, and was currently carrying you around.

The sight in front of you was magnificent. You lived in a small cabin near the city, surrounded by trees and a large field that ended in a beach. In that moment, besides the white ground, there were falling cops on the trees, the sand was completely white and the water was calm. Your nose was red and cold, and you snuggled it in Alfie’s neck.

His skin rose with gossebumps and he shivered, although for you it was a faint movement under the thick cloth.

“Oi, you can’t do that. Get that bloody ice cube away from me”

“But I’m cold” you pressed your lips against the same spot, watching as he shivered again and didn’t complain. Something caught your attention and you almost threw yourself to the ground. “Look, Alfie! Look there!”

“Jesus, pet, don’t move so much” he groaned and adjusted his hands again. He looked towards where your hand was pointing.

“It’s a Christmas Rose!” you moved again. “Down there, in the snow”

Alfie finally noticed the little patch of pink-white flowers near the edge of the footpath. They were close to the small fountain that adorned the backyard, and if it hadn’t been so cold, he was sure Cyril would have already destroyed the vegetation. They were, indeed, beautiful. But to him, no where as beautiful as you.

“They’re hardy cold-weather plants” you explained, and rested your cheek on his shoulder. “I’d read about them, but I’ve never see one in real life. There’s a legend about them. It’s said that the very first – no, don’t pick it!”

You smacked Alfie across the head as soon as he bent a little with the intention of picking it. His hand stopped midway from where he had reached for it, his fingers already in the position to pluck it from the ground.

“I was going to pick it up for you” Alfie tried again but received another smack.

“Don’t pick it!” you repeated, and he finally straightened up “If you pick it, it’ll just die. I can see it fine from here”

Alfie rolled his eyes but resumed his walking around the backyard. You didn’t complain about the activity and he wasn’t going to get tired soon about having you sleepily resting on his shoulders. As he said, for him you weighted nearly nothing. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, covered in one of Alfie’s pants and with the thickest sockets he had found.

Every once in a while, one of you said something or you stretched your hand to catch some of the snowflakes with your fingers. Alfie told you some stories that involved winter, snow or cold, and you listened and asked when something interesting came up.

Since he had retired, that was his routine. He got to spend every second of his day with the most important person of his life. He left many things unattended, enemies that deserved their fair share of revenge and allies that could still benefit him. Maybe a cabin in the woods wasn’t what you expected when Alfie accepted to take care of you while Tommy took care of your father, neither spending your life with the grumpy man that said more swear words than actual words.

But he was careful around you, avoided swearing too much and made sure you had everything you could have dreamt of. And you didn’t need more than a quiet morning in the backyard of your house, white ground and thick coats. You kissed the side of Alfie’s face, his beard tickling you, and you smiled happy, knowing that the quiet snowy morning was the best you could wish for.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists​, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[angelicamerlinbarnes]

WATCH THIS FIRST TRUST ME: Leslie Jones' Funeral Plans - SNL

Luther: Spring is around the corner, which means lots of brides have begun planning their weddings. Here to talk about what he’s been planning is our very own Klaus Hargreeves!

Klaus: WHOOOOOOOO!!! How you doin’, Monkey?

Luther: Um - I’m not - so you’re planning a wedding?

Klaus: Hell naw! I’m never gettin’ married!

Diego: Hey -

Klaus: But I am plannin’ a big show.

Klaus: My funeral. Haha!

Allison: Are you dying?

Klaus: Oh no Sunny, don’t worry. I just want to make sure that my funeral is planned the way I WANT IT. Okay?

Five: Oh boy -

Klaus: First off, it’s gon be an open casket, cause I’m gon be naked.

Diego: Jesus fucking christ.

Klaus: Yeah! It’s the last time everybody gonna see me, so I want them to see it all - I ain’t got nothin’ to hide! I’ve been tryin’ to get y’all round here to see me naked for awhile now!

Klaus: *winks at Diego*

Diego: *crying*

Klaus: Also, my funeral is a 90 minute service. Ain’t gon be no six hour Reginald Shitfucker shenanigans.

Vanya: *trying to find her inhaler*

Klaus: Everybody don’t need to speak. For real - my casket is set to blow up if the funeral goes longer than 90 minutes.

Five: Okay this part I like -

Five: Okay, so who do you want to speak at your funeral?

Klaus, grinning: My dealer. My dealer’s gonna speak.

Ben, turning purple: I hate you -

Klaus: Let’s see who else is on the guest list…

Luther: You got a guest list for your funeral?

Klaus: And a seating chart! I told you Monkey - this is the big show.

Luther: *forlornly mumbles* It’s just Luther -

Klaus: Okay, so Allison and Vanya, uh, you gon be sittin’ courtside, but I need to make somethin’ very clear, Allison -

Klaus: You ain’t gon be singin’, bitch.

Allison: Let’s have your funeral right now you washed-up junkie -

Klaus: I love you boo, but no. Okay?

Klaus: I want Five to sing!

Five: Ain’t no way in fuckin’ hell -

Klaus: And I want everything at my funeral! I want Bob from the drug store to be the preacher.

Diego: He does know we don’t know who any of these people are, right?

Klaus: I want Angelina from my favorite strip club to come out and do an interpretive dance of my life.

Ben: I’m not sure he cares

Klaus: There’s gon be a cash bar because my bro Lazer bartendin’ and he need that money.

Five: Fuckin’ Lazer?

Vanya: And then you’ll be buried?

Klaus: NO! I don’t want a burial

Diego: Shit, this can only mean bad things -

Klaus: I want my naked body to be put on a float and floated out to sea

Klaus: And have Batman with his shirt off -

Luther: You mean Diego?

Klaus: *looks Diego up and down*

Diego: *blushes furiously*

Klaus: Ain’t no man who look like that should be goin’ by the name Diego.

Diego: *sputtering*

Ben: *sobbing into his hands*

Klaus: His name is Batman.

Five: Alright -

Klaus: So I want Batman topless to throw a knife of fire at my body

Klaus: And burn me

Klaus: Like the warrior princess I am

Five and Vanya: *cannot breathe*

Allison: *crying*

Diego: *catatonic*

Luther: *staring*

Ben: *sighs* And then?

Klaus, brightening: And then, turn my ashes into weed!

The Hargreeves: *dying*

[choco-glow]

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 10

Jason woke up around five am, bleary and in a tangle of blankets again from yet another nightmare…Sweat-soaked, he peeled himself out of his bed with a grimace and stripped first himself, then the bed, tossing everything into his washing machine before turning on the shower and stepping inside. Lukewarm woke him up a little better than hot right now, and felt better on his scarred skin; he leaned heavily against the tile, head tipped back as his waterfall nozzle rained down on him. The familiar sound of the washer going was a comfort, and piece by piece, he brought himself back to the present, breathing slowly, evenly, just as Bruce had taught him all those years ago…

“…Fuck.” He sighed out, and started washing up, glad for the indie shop he supported down the street that made its own soaps, shampoos, and conditioners. They were bar form, of course, but the natural scents helped ground him…anything heavily chemically scented was too triggering, too much like the factory he’d died in. A lot of things triggered that…tannerite, for one, which was why in all his varied explosions, he’d only ever used C4. Iron…He unconsciously touched the cheekbone that Talia had had her surgeons rebuild, for even the Pit couldn’t do everything. Not on a body that had been so badly brutalized that it’d been a closed casket funeral…

“Knock it off, Todd.” He growled out to himself, scrubbing furiously now. Fuckin’ don’t go down that path again, Jason…you know where it leads. Besides, you promised you’d make waffles this morning. Can’t leave a lady waiting. Steph’s smile filled his mind, and Jason relaxed, as he had for months now around his Batgirl…and he felt a tiny smile tug at his lips. He didn’t have a waffle iron; he rarely did more than griddle cakes, eggs, and bacon for himself, and that’s when he felt like cooking, so it was a good thing he’d woken up before his alarm; he had time to run to the nearest Lux-Mart. He finished his shower, relaxed now, and other than rescuing his book from the floor and setting it on his nightstand, left his bed to airdry for a while; he’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Dark jeans, boxer-briefs, a soft tee shirt, socks, his boots, and a hoodie, and he was ready to brave the pre-dawn crowds. He twirled his keys on one finger as he made his way down the stairs to his garage, and side-stepped the engine for Roy’s Corvette, unlocking the truck and opening the door with a flick of a button. It was dark still; small wonder, it was just barely five forty-five, and the sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or so…the garage door slid closed behind him with a whisper, and Jason set out for the Lux-Mart, following the main roads this morning, since they weren’t clogged yet by the early morning commuters. A few early birds passed him, and he waved at the Batmobile as they both continued on out of the city, since the nearest of Lux Luthor’s monster all-in-one stores was in the suburbs on the mainland.

Jason’s phone buzzed, and he answered it on the dash with a grin, glad for his blue-tooth dashboard connection.

“Hey Pops.”

“I thought that was you, Jason…what has you out so early?” Bruce’s voice was warm, exhausted, but for once, actually pretty damned friendly, and Jason hummed a little, smirking to see the ‘mobile keeping pace with him.

“Well, I promised I’d bring Steph waffles this morning as incentive to get her homework done…and then I realized I didn’t have a waffle iron.” Bruce laughed at that, low and surprisingly genuine, while he heard a squawk from Tim. Now, he didn’t…completely hate his replacement in the Robin line-up; certainly, he adored Steph and Damian. But Tim was…well, everything that Jason hadn’t ever been, and Jason was still too aware of how similar Tim and Bruce really were. Dick had commented on it, last time he’d come up from Bludhaven, and if Dick could see it…well. Jason still felt like he’d been the downgrade from Dick, and that Tim was the super upgrade.

It wasn’t true…but emotions could be ugly, ugly things.

And Tim had stolen his ex-girlfriend’s waffles.

“Well then, that makes complete sense…do you two need anything from us? We had a busy night dealing with Boyle again.” Jason winced; Ferris Boyle had been a problem since Bruce’s early days, even before Dick, and Jason hated the man almost as much as he hated Joker. Totally aside from how he’d fucked up Victor Fries, his actions regarding Nora had been absolutely appalling. He wanted custody of her so that he could experiment on her…and since Victor is now a supervillain…goddamn, I’m glad Bruce was able to win custody of her.

“Bastard…was he after Nora again?”

“And Victor. We convinced Fries to come back to Wayne Inc. and talk to us about Nora’s future; we’ve made some serious progress towards a cure, and with his research, we might just have what we need. And I’ve been working on something to help him as well…But we can talk about it later.” A yawn broke his sentence, and Jason smiled fondly.

“Go home, Pops; Steph and I will take patrol tonight. You two take the night off.”

“…Thank you, Jason. I really appreciate it; Damian and Tim do too.”

“Yes, thank you, akhi.” Damian’s voice was softer over the phone, tired, and Jason smiled, though he grit his teeth when Tim spoke up.

“Sure, thanks Hood. Hope you two actually get some patrolling done, and don’t just make out on a roof.”

“…Well, Timmy, I’m quite certain we’ll keep our professionalism at the fore. After all, we wouldn’t want to attract undue attention…like Kon did the other night.” Jason responded, voice sickeningly sweet as Tim choked over the phone call, and Bruce made an inquisitive noise.

“We were going over tactical plans!”

“Tim, I’m sure it’s fine.” Bruce’s voice was gentle, but curious, and Jason felt his grin stretch to maniacal proportions.

“Oh, of course you were! Silly ol’ me, ‘tactical plans’, of course! Must’ve been wall plans!” Jason replied sweetly, and Tim choked again, a strangled noise coming over the line. Bruce snorted suddenly, clearly understanding now, and Damian just sighed; Jason could almost hear his eyes rolling.

“Drake, do not give Todd grief for kissing; we all know you regularly have intercourse with Kon-El.” Tim’s voice was pitched even higher now, babbling as Bruce snorted again, clearly holding back laughter, and Jason snickered.

“Damian, Lil D, I want you to know how much I love you right now.”

“As I love and cherish you, akhi. Please do tell Grayson this.”

“DO NOT TELL DICK ANYTHING, JASON, I SWEAR TO GOD.”

“Then don’t steal Stephie’s waffles again, and I won’t~” He purred, and Tim let out a heavy sigh.

“…I apologize to her later.”

“So good to work with you, Tim, it’s just such a pleasure!”

“God, I hate you sometimes.” Bruce was laughing now, deep and highly amused, and Jason gave the ‘mobile a salute as he turned off towards the Lux-Mart, still snickering.

“Love you too, Timmy; good night, you three, I’m off to waffle-maker hunt.”

“Love you too, Jay; good luck! And tell Steph we love her too for me, will you?” Bruce asked, over the other twos’ groaning, and Jason chuckled.

“Of course, Pops. See ya.”

“See you.” The call winked out, and Jason pulled into the Lux-Mart, still grinning. He grabbed up his phone, double checked his wallet, and headed into the store, grabbing a cart. He didn’t want to buy a ton of stuff…but he knew he’d need more room than a basket. Appliances first; he grabbed a waffle-maker, one with interchangeable plates, and from the small selection, picked a Millennium Falcon and an Eevee (both for Steph), since they’d traded favorite Pokémon a few weeks ago, then favorite films. He was always looking for Pride and Prejudice/Sense and Sensibility stuff, or even just basic literary things, but hey, he liked Eevee too (even if his favorite was still Rapidash), and Star Wars was a familiar favorite from his childhood.

From there, he grabbed utensils that he knew he didn’t have, then a few things from pharmacy to cover his personal stores for the week. Bandages, wraps, gauze, alcohol…all the usual stuff, and then he made his way to the grocery area, where things were getting a little bit busier. Two boxes of waffle/pancake mix, maple syrup, and a carton of eggs; a package of bacon made the cut too, as did a gallon of milk, a bottle of his favorite fancy protein juice smoothie, and as he made his way into the produce section, a bag each of blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries. He also got a couple apples, good for a snack as well as baking into the batter, and a pair of pomegranates. Bananas too, just as small bunch, and a small tub of butter.

On a whim, he also grabbed sugary snacks for later, mostly Hostess cakes and some Little Debbie stuff, and a big bag of Chex Mix; not healthy, no, but they held up to patrols well, and he’d gone hungry too many nights to ever feel good about not having food around. Besides…his stay in the Lazarus Pit hadn’t just accelerated his healing factor…it’d forced his metabolism onto a higher level, and now he could almost match Kon pound for pound with food. He also grabbed some pizzas; just in case, he liked to have them. Checking his watch, Jason bit off a swear; it was seven am already, and it was easily a half-hour drive back into Gotham.

He got through self checkout with ease, and hauled his finds out of the store, leaving the cart at the entrance and legging it to his truck. To his surprise, clouds that hadn’t been visible in the darkness were rolling over the whole of Gotham City, heavy thunder rumbling out on the ocean, and in the low light from the rising sun, he made a few quick calculations. He had just enough time to get back to the city before the rain really started; he loaded up his backseat and tore ass out of the parking lot, hopping on the freeway in record time. He glanced around, confused at the lack of cars…then laughed to himself.

Of course it was empty; it was Sunday. I think I’m getting to love Sundays now…Jason thought to himself as he gunned it back to Steph’s place, settling back for the drive with a sigh. Just then, the familiar strains of ‘Home’ came onto the radio, and Jason grinned, then started singing along.

“I’m goin’ home…to the place where I belong…”

[maybankiara]

NO GRAVE CAN HOLD MY BODY DOWN (I’LL CRAWL HOME TO HIM)

pairing: JJ Maybank x Pope Heyward

summary: JJ realises he’s immortal when he wakes up buried in a coffin. He’s got to make his way back to his friends - more than anyone else, back to Pope, whom he hasn’t admitted his feelings to. (Not like he admitted them to himself either, anyway).

w/c: 4.3k

a/n: gay angst with some immortality!! also, there’ll be no mention of claustrophobia, just jj trying to figure out how to get out. i have another mayward fic planned with immortal!jj but basically everything else is different. 

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JJ wakes up in a coffin. He comes to the realisation when he makes an attempt to turn around, thinking he’s in the bed of the spare room at the Chateau he’d long ago claimed his own, only for his shoulder to bump into something hard.

 ‘Ow!’

 The sound of him hitting the wood and it feeling oddly…contained, for the lack of a better word, summons a series of flashing images.

 A gun in his hands. Topper Thornton dangling by his ankle from a tree, screaming bloody murder. John B shouting JJ’s name. Pope crying it out in pain, Kelce’s hands on his neck.

 A gun in Rafe’s hands. White thunder.

 ‘Fuck,’ he whispers. And then— ‘Holy shit, I’m immortal!’

 Laughter that falls from his lips is maniacal. He thinks of all the pranks he could do now – if there’s no death to fear, there is nothing to fear. Even if he doesn’t know the limits, JJ can only think of the endless possibilities of what he could do – what do you do when you aren’t afraid of anything?

 JJ’s hand slams against the top of the coffin and he does it again, on the verge of crying from excitement. His breathing is rapid and so is his heartbeat.

 ‘Take that, Rafe! Whoo!’

 He wants to tell the pogues. He wants to see the look on their faces—all the questions they’ll have—and he wants to see who’s missed him out of others, if anyone has. He has to ask Pope about the implications of his immortality and how it works – if his memory hadn’t suffered up when Rafe blew his head up and it still serves him right, Rafe did blow his head up. It was probably a closed casket.

 Huh.

 JJ’s fingers hesitate for a long second before touching his chin, half-expecting to find nothing but a mesh of whatever his body was made of. But they’re met with a firm, hard jawline, skin connecting it to his neck, and his lips, and keeping his blood and whatever—Pope would know better—where it’s supposed to be, inside.

 The blond lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It comes out in the form of a chuckle, airy and free.

 Pope would find this the most interesting. Does JJ have scars? He’d know how his body managed to heal, how his brain preserved.

 He begins to wonder about what effect this has on the rest of his life—afterlife?—when he hears a small voice, just like Pope’s.

 ‘Being buried alive is one of the worst ways to die,’ he told the pogues months ago, solving a past paper that someone who wants to be a coronary would take. ‘You’ve got five and a half hours’ worth of air, tops. You’ll suffocate before someone finds you, if they ever do, anyway. It’s not all bad, because the carbon dioxide you produce breathing eventually overtakes most of the air inside the coffin, and you fall into a coma. You die and you feel lightheaded, like you’re falling asleep.’

 You die like you’re falling asleep.

 JJ wonders if he’d wake up again. Probably. Does he have nine lives or an infinite number?

 He’d like to test that.

 But for now, if Pope’s right—and JJ is kind of hoping he isn’t—then he’s got about five hours to get to the surface. Even if he wakes up again, there’ll be no air for him to breathe, which essentially keeps him dead, until possibly thousands of years pass and someone accidentally opens his grave and he storms out like a zombie from another time like in that movie with—

 Focus.

 ‘Focus. Yeah, I gotta focus.’

 JJ nods to himself. He calms his breathing and starts to think about every possible way to get out of his situation. He’s not claustrophobic, which is surprising, but that might be because the fact that he vividly (kind of) remembers being shot in the head is kind of more dramatic than waking up in a casket six feet under.

 Four feet, he remembers – the earth on the Cut where they made the graveyard isn’t good for digging, or anything, really, so the graves are usually shallower than the standard six feet.

 He should be able to push through it – right?

 Right?

 JJ’s died and come back to life. If he can do that, then he can make his way out of here.

 For the next however long, JJ tries to remember every piece of information that would help. He knows from John B and when they worked at a construction site for some quick cash that when he opens the casket, all the dirt will fall into the hole he just made and fill it out.

 He knows from surfing that aerodynamic works best the flatter the object is, so if it applies to water, it probably applies to earth, too. When he opens the casket, he needs to shoot upright as straight as possible—doing something straight will be the biggest challenge, really—and let the dirt fall over him.

 It’s a game of seconds. He’s really got one shot at this.

 ‘If there’s a massive fuckin’ hole in the middle of a graveyard, someone will notice, right,’ he mutters to himself.

 It’s fine. It’s something.

 JJ presses his palms flat against the massive wood over him. The material is hard and stiff, but when he bangs against it, it moves a little. Enough for a few bits of the earth to fall in, on his chest.

 (Or so he thinks. It’s not like he can see.)

 He figures that his best bet is pushing it open like a door, then squeezing immediately as he keeps pushing it. The gravity of the earth falling should hurt him—he knows this isn’t going to be easy, or nice, or pleasant—but he should push through if he does the Superman pose, with his hand in the air.

 The thought makes him chuckle, and as his lips stretch, he tastes sweat in the corners. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and it leaves a wet mark, so he wipes that on his shorts.

 JJ sighs. ‘They buried me with the fuckin’ cargo shorts.’

 He hadn’t given much thought to how he’d be buried, but now he reckons his hair is a mess, his shirt is a basketball-style, holes big enough so that the sweat from his armpits soaks into whatever carpet they put at the bottom of the coffin.

 JJ stinks – like, badly. He remembers Pope said that corpses shit and pee themselves and fart and whatnot, but has no clue if he acted like a real corpse. Was he dead dead, or just kind-of comatose without a heartbeat?

 Shit, what if he’s been dead for a while? If his dead had been blown off then it must’ve taken ages to reconstruct.

 What if he comes back and the pogues have moved on, they have families and kids, and Pope’s gone off to university and—

 ‘Shut up,’ JJ whispers to himself. This pitch-black darkness is making him see things, and feel things he doesn’t want to.

 He’ll deal with that later. The only thing that matters right now is getting the fuck out of here.

 JJ doesn’t let his hand shake when he applies pressure to the wooden board above him. He does it slowly, and when it doesn’t budge, he knows slowly isn’t the way to do it.

 So JJ just thinks of Pope, John B, and Kie, and their faces on the HMS Pogue, and slams through the coffin. He slithers through the whole immediately, eyes and mouth closed and the same hand that opened the coffin is outstretched, high above his head, and he’s pushing with his legs instead of his back.

 He was right – the earth is heavy. He feels it crumbling around his chest, around his feet, around every inch of space he’s just created, but he keeps pushing.

 If he doesn’t push, he’ll stay like this—half buried—forever.

 The tip of his finger touches the air – then another, then all five. The fact that he’s so close gives him a surge of adrenaline, coursing through his veins, and he pushes through the weight of the earth even further, until his entire hand is above the ground.

 fuck yeah.

 Then an elbow. Then he slides his other hand across his torso, feeling the weight tug at the bones until the pain is so intense he thinks he might’ve broken it. His chest tightens—it’s been almost a minute—but he manages to get the other hand out, too.

 Just a little more.

 One more push.

 that’s what she said, he thinks.

 And pushes.

 Being out of the coffin after spending it in about an hour or so is like jumping from a tall cliff – thrilling, chill-inducing, and very much like breaking the water tension with your back instead of the head.

 He gasps like a fish out of water, still trapped from shoulders and below, but he breathes.

 JJ laughs, and then realises he’s also being soaked because it’s raining harder then he can remember, and figures it’s okay to open his eyes. It hurts, at first glance – the sky is shrouded in dark grey clouds and rain is absolutely pouring, but he sees that it’s day, not night, and he sees that the trees still look like late summer.

 ‘FUCK YEAH!’

 Thrilled to be alive, JJ lets himself have a moment to breathe. He sees he’s buried in one of the cheapest parts of the graveyard—which says much considering his dad must’ve been the one who paid for the funeral—and most of the other graves look terrible. He turns his head to the side, just enough to look at his own.

 J. MAYBANK. 2003 – 2020. BELOVED SON AND FRIEND.

 ‘Sons of bitches,’ he mutters. ‘It’s like it would’ve killed them to be fuckin’ creative for once.’

 His arms ache and his legs feel like they’re about to give in, but he’s got to get out. With a deep breath, he buries—ha!—his fingers as firmly into the ground as far as he can, and then tugs.

 He’s out a minute later, but he’s damn glad no one was around to hear him grunting like a little pussy.

 JJ shakes his limbs, getting some blood through them. He looks disgusting – dirt mixed with sweat means that it’s all sticking to him, and he doesn’t even want to know what his face must look like – even if it isn’t absolutely mangled. His hair is terrible probably, too, because the strands that aren’t sticking to his face seem mucky when he tries running his finger through it.

 i thought they made dead men look pretty.

 Then he tells himself not even dying and crawling out of a grave could make him look any less pretty, so he’s okay.

 ‘Ha,’ he muses to himself, ‘my pretty goes beyond the grave.’

 About ten minutes later, when his muscles feel as alive as he does, he begins his twenty-minute trek to the Chateau. He figures it’s his best bet – it’s next to the marsh, which isn’t too far from the graveyard, and JJ’s not going to get anywhere near the road if he’s taking the fastest route.

 So, looking like a dead man walking, he sets off for the Chateau.

 By the time he’s arrived, some of the dirt has washed off—he conveniently stood under a tree that was basically leaking water—and he guessed he didn’t look a lot different than anyone walking around under this kind of weather. There were no puddles for him to look at himself at, which was quite a shame, but he figured he’d just check himself out at a mirror in the Chateau.

 Now, JJ is just… He’s just standing in front of the backdoor to the place. The marsh is behind him and the house in the front, and this should be simple, except he’s got no clue what’s about to happen. Lights are on in the living room, that much he could see from the outside, but there was no guarantee it would be his friends.

 Panic started to eat him inside out – what if he walks in, unannounced, and it turns out he’s been dead for years and some completely random people live here, instead?

 Before he manages to chicken out, he opens the door. The door creaks—that’s a good sing, thinks JJ, John B was going to have it fixed by the end of the year—and promptly closes behind him. Old reggae coming from the living room is the only sound aside from water dripping off of JJ.

 fuck it.

 JJ makes his way to the living room. A lightning strikes somewhere nearby and, just as he rounds the corner, thunder follows.

 His friends are sitting on the floor, in the middle of the room.

 JJ grins. ‘Tell me, do I make Freddy Krueger look pretty?’

 In that very moment, three things happen. John B screams. Kiara knocks over the speaker. Pope faints.

 And as for thing four, that happens a moment later, JJ just sighs. ‘That bad, huh?’

—

‘…and that’s how I ended up here.’

 About two hours later, JJ’s finally finished his story. It took them quarter of an hour just to stop freaking out—Pope had been convinced he’d seen a ghost until Kiara and John B managed to explain to him he hadn’t—and even then, they weren’t ready to hear the story.

 They made him take a shower, first. Fair enough.

 John B went with him to get some towels and clean clothes, and Kiara stayed in the living room, getting Pope some water. Nobody spoke for a very, very long time.

 When JJ looked at himself in the mirror, he was both distraught and amazed. There was a scar running from cheek to cheek, over his nose, and well underneath his jaw, with skin inside this circle looking like it had been slightly burned years ago, with colour different to the rest of his face. JJ ran a finger over it – the texture was rough in some places, smoother in others.

 Somehow, he was convinced the scars would persist, but his skin would heal. He felt it in his bones – it rang as true as the fact that his heart was about to burst through his ribcage the moment he’d locked eyes with Pope.

 JJ took a shower, cleaned himself up. The clothes John B had brought him were his own, and he smelt them for a second – it felt like coming home.

 The Chateau had always been his home.

 When he returned to the living room, Pope looked a little better – they all did. JJ reassured them that he had, in fact, died and been buried. Pope went on to state in graphic detail how mangled his body—head more so than other parts—had been when they’d last seen him.

 JJ forgot Rafe had killed him in front of them.

 ‘Y’all must be scarred for life,’ he said as he took a seat on the floor of John B’s living room, and then grinned. ‘But not on the outside, like me.’

 They didn’t find it as funny as he did.

 So, with the aid of some water and pizza they had leftover from earlier, JJ told his story. There were a lot of interruptions—not as many from Pope as he would’ve thought, considering dead people are his expertise—but he managed to get it done.

 And now, he grins at them, arms spread over the couch behind him. ‘So, y’all impressed already?’

 The silence is pregnant. Kiara’s hands are folded in her lap as she leans her back against the couch, and John B mirrors her position, only on the wall. Pope, unlike the other three, is standing with his side against the doorway, biting his nails. (JJ is pretty convinced that’s a habit he picked up from him.)

 Kiara clears her throat. ‘JJ, you were gone for two months.’

 ‘What? No way, that’s— That’s impossible, Kie. It was just yesterday—’

 ‘We buried you,’ says John B, voice hoarse. ‘Mourned you. Had to learn how to live without you.’

  ‘But I’m back now! That’s great news, right?’

 ‘JJ, we’re fuckin’ happy you’re back.’ John B leans forward and pats him on the back, squeezing his shoulder. His smile is grim, but it’s there. ‘It’s just a little unbelievable. We watched you die. It’ll— It’ll take us some… time.’

 At the doorway, Pope is still staring at JJ as if he’ll disappear at any given moment.

 JJ’s neck stiffens, and he’s sure John B feels it, because his hand falls limp to the side. The blond mumbles something, incoherently enough that not even he knows what he said, then shakes his head. ‘I should probably get some rest.’ His eyes fall to his lap. ‘Apparently two months wasn’t enough.’

 His words seem to cut through the atmosphere in a way that alienates him from the rest of them – the uninterruptedly living.

 Nobody says anything, but JJ still rises to his feet. His hands pat his shirt and his shorts, as if they could do anything to smooth the creases. He glances at John B, whose eyes are fixed on him. ‘My room still empty?’

 ‘Nobody’s touched it since you…’ The brunet shakes his head, as if a thought needed to get out. ‘Might be a little dusty.’

 ‘You want me to fetch you anything?’ asks Kiara, voice wavering. ‘I can go to the Wreck—’

 ‘I’m good. Thanks.’

 JJ doesn’t linger around to see their reactions – if there are any, anyway. Last thing he sees is Pope, still leaning against that door frame, unmoving and stoic as ever.

 Like John B said, the bed needed to be dusted. JJ was done with that in a couple of minutes, and then he stripped into his underwear (what a waste of fresh clothing) and slipped under the covers.

 The weight of these past few hours crushed on him like a raging storm. It doesn’t matter that he crawled out of his grave to join them – they had two months to figure out a way to live without him. Two months is more than enough to move on, to accept the new reality.

 He knows because he’s been through it.

 Outside, the storm rages on, too. JJ thinks of John B, a little calmer and quieter now; Kiara, distant like she seemed at the beginning of her kook year; and Pope.

 Pope, who wouldn’t look him in the eye for longer than a second. Pope, who always had a smartass comment to chime in with, now pushing himself to the side and not participating.

 JJ sighs. His chest is heavy and his face is stinging a little, but the realisation is heavier than any physical pain – his friends managed to move on from him. Couple of hours for JJ meant a couple of months for the pogues. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he gets to leave, now, when everybody thinks he’s dead.

 Some time later, JJ lies awake, still. The storm has dwindled to mere tapping on the window, but his mood hasn’t changed.

 Another kind of tapping him reaches him – full, against the wooden door separating him from the rest of his life.

 JJ gets out of his bed with a tired sway to his hips, legs dragging along the floor. He rubs his eyes before he opens the door and when he does, he leans against the door frame, blinking against the sudden light.

 ‘Hey,’ greets Pope.

 ‘Hey.’

 There’s hesitation reeking off the boy in front of him. His shoulders are slumped and JJ feels like he’s his height, even though Pope has always been taller.

 The blond scratched the itch underneath the left side of his jaw. ‘You want to come in?’

 Pope nods. JJ moves to the side and closes the door once they’re both in.

 Out of habit, JJ plops down onto the bed, face-first. He doesn’t even notice Pope hasn’t done the same until he shifts a little and realises there’s a silhouette positioned against the window, blocking the moonlight from entering the room.

 JJ drags himself to the edge of the bed, feet bare on the floor. His elbows are draped over his knees and he sees Pope a little better now – hands in his pockets and a frown on his face, lower lip with a quiver to it.

 ‘What’s up?’

 ‘You’re really here, right?’ Pope doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Alive?’

 JJ chuckles, but there isn’t much humour to it. ‘As far as I can tell.’

 ‘But we watched you die.’

 ‘I know. I can remember all of that.’

 ‘You shouldn’t be here. Alive.’

 ‘I know,’ JJ says. ‘But I am. What are you going to do about it?’

 The hesitation that comes off of Pope is different this time. It’s fleeting—ephemeral—and JJ only gets a moment’s worth of looking into his eyes when there’s hands on his cheeks, and warm lips smashing against his own.

 All he hears is the rain tapping on the window, or the beating of his own heart. The warmth of Pope’s lips on his, or the cold of the storm.

 The touch disappears, and JJ thinks he’s about to wake up in hell, and this was just a way to torture him – to give him something he’s yearned for and take it away like it was nothing.

 open your eyes, boy. we ain’t finished.

 His dad’s voice is like electricity and JJ opens his eyes, terrified.

 Except it’s just Pope staring at him, looking just as distraught as he feels. JJ isn’t in hell. He’s in John B’s room, and while it might stink like hell, it isn’t it.

 The storm is still quiet and gentle, but JJ doesn’t even notice it so much. Not after—

 ‘I thought I’d missed my chance,’ Pope says, weakly. ‘I just needed— I couldn’t—’

 JJ shifts the weight to his feet and his hands find Pope’s neck like they belong there (because they do). He holds him—gentle, cautious, fragile—and shakes his head, at loss for words.

 He wants to say ‘me too, Pope,’ except it’s not good enough. Except it doesn’t encapsulate what it feels like to die thinking the man you love never loves you back, or at least you’ll never find out, only to wake up, alive, and find out that your feelings have been reciprocated all along.

 To crawl out of a grave for him.

 JJ kisses him with the very same ferocity, with more hunger to it. JJ’s felt death—he’s felt the unknowable—and he won’t let another moment pass without doing the things he’d been afraid to do.

 By the time they part, both boys are catching their breath, not even an inch apart. JJ’s hands are firm on Pope’s neck, thumbs tracing the lines of his jaw, while Pope’s hands grip the blond’s shirt at his sides.

 JJ wants to say something, anything.

 Pope is faster. ‘I thought I’d never get to do this.’

 All JJ can do is nod; no words could ever be enough.

 The shaky breath that falls from Pope’s lips only moments later is different from the boy who was leaning against the door frame earlier – more like the Pope JJ knew.

 fell in love with.

 It’s a little bit cynical, and a little bit guarded, but nevertheless free and innocent like JJ always knew him to be. But he takes creates some distance between the two, and JJ’s hands drop to his sides.

 Pope’s smile isn’t what JJ thought it would be. It doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘You’re leaving.’

 He should’ve known Pope would realise it. He just wondered what gave him away. ‘I don’t know.’

 ‘Don’t lie to me, JJ. Not after we just—’ Pope cuts himself off. He clears his throat, resting the back of his head against the window.

 Breathless, JJ sits down on the bed, same position as earlier – as if his entire life hadn’t just been rocked from one side to the other. ‘I’m dead, Pope. You buried me. That’s what John B said. I get to— I get to do whatever I want. Go whatever I want. I’m… I’m free, Pope.’

 The moon peeks through the clouds, bright enough to bask Pope’s silhouette in silver. JJ thinks of how much the boy resembles an angel – how he felt like one when he’d kissed him, granting him a wish he’d never dared to voice.

 ‘You could stay,’ suggests a small voice. ‘Be our own little ghost.’

 JJ lets out a full laugh. ‘Is that what I am now?’

 Pope’s smile becomes a little clearer as the moon gets back behind the clouds, and JJ wishes he could see his eyes clearly, too. ‘I can’t lose you again.’

 He knows he should leave. They both know, Pope more so than anyone. JJ’s dead—legally—meaning that he can’t be seen around town without raising more than a couple of eyebrows. He can’t live on his own. He can’t—

 He’s free from his dad, from obligations, but if he stays, he becomes enslaved to his own death.

 But if he stays…

 i lost you once already, pope. i can’t do it again, either.

 He sighs and, unaware JJ’s already made his choice, Pope drops on the bed next to him, hand holding the blond’s. ‘Just for a year. Not even that long. Then I’ll be off to university, where no one knows any of us, and— And we can get a fresh start. Together.’

 Careful, JJ cups the boy’s cheek. He can see his eyes now, as the moon shines on them like no other person has been worthy of its light – they’re not sad, or hopeful, but they are fretting.

 JJ kisses his cheek, before turning his head slightly to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

 He could never think of giving up on this. Not when he’d died to get it.

 So he echoes, ‘Together.’

  ★

tagging. @the-pogues @ronnieweasley @outerbankslut @drewstarkey @jjmaybanky @sacredto @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @outrbank @drewstarkeyobx @ilovejjmaybank @teamnick @jjmaybanksbaby @mahleeyuh @nicolewithasoul @starlightstarkey @stargazingstarkey @anonymous0writer @outerbongs @jjandreidsgirl @kaitieskidmore1 @maybanksbaby @obx-direction-sos @stfukie @abbiesthings @tempestuousjj @solllaris @ijustgotnothingbetter2do @rafej-cambanks

[sopxhiea]

Constellation

Summary: Alfie pays a visit to the new head of the company and finds something he didn’t quite expect.

Alfie Solomons X Reader

One

“Miss, you have a visitor-”

“Who is it?”

He’s got flour on his shoes again, smelling of rum and vanilla. You know the smell all too well, you know it’s him. He drags his feet, boots thudding against the surface as you look at the surface of the table, watching the smoke coming from the mug.

“Joe-”

“’ello, luv.”

He’s charismatic, he walks inside with a charming smile that doesn’t quite faze you. Your assistants lets him in, too scared to blow him off like you did a couple days back when he showed up with some baked goods.

You’re mentally not prepared to talk to him.

There’s a big business chain waiting for you to rule it, there are people looking at you and watching your every move. Even though the pressure is staggering, your head is still held up high, eyes scanning the baker while you let the assistant go. 

Your uncle had a deal with the infamous gangster, you intend to continue the deal.

The room is quiet as he walks in, makes himself comfortable. His hand is absent from the cane today, he feels better since the storm. He feels young when he sees you, watching the way you watch him like an eagle waiting on its prey to make a move.

Your face is straight out of a painting, he thinks.

He looks at the pile of files, paper and work surrounding you. There’s a sharp smell of coffee that has taken over your natural smell, you don’t look tired.

“Quite busy, eh?”

“What do you need, Mr. Solomons?” he sits down at last, his bear like figure occupying the space on the chair in front of your desk.

You look at him through your glasses.

“Yeah..” he nods, it’s genuine. “You, right, weren’t ‘ere the other day..”

“I was out on business.” you cut him off, he likes to take his time while getting to the point, you have no time as you scan the paper in front of you.

It had been a month since you’d taken on the business, four weeks of absolute madness. You’d seen too many immature man with thick heads who threatened to drop a deal your uncle had. They didn’t know who they were dealing with.

“You’re quite the hard worker, eh?” he spoke, eyeing your figure as your eyes didn’t waver. “I ‘eard things, yeah, I did.” his hand meets his beard.

There was word going around about you, how you were the smartest woman this town had seen and how you had learned everything so quickly. You had to, the empire wouldn’t run by itself.

“I still do not know why you’re here..” you spoke, uninterested in the man before you as you looked through a pile of papers for a certain document.

He can see the elegance in you, in the way you present yourself and the sophistication you carry within yourself. It comes from education, he thinks.

It’s been carved into who you are.

“Your uncle and I worked together..” he spoke, waving his hand through the air as you eye his rings.

“I’m aware of that...”

“Yeah yeah...” he dismisses you, filling your eyes with fire again. “I ‘eard you’ve been ‘round, making business with the rest of the town...” he spoke, and you had been doing exactly that.

Your eyes finally met his, not an ounce of fear or hesitation as you looked directly into his eyes.

“I have.” you speak, not occupied anymore now that you feel a threat coming your way.

“I’m here to ask, right, why the fuck you ‘aven’t visited me bakery yet...” he speaks with a harsh tone and you watch him in his natural stance.

He looks better with his beard trimmed.

“I was busy.” you look at him with stern eyes as he watches your every move, there’s no fear oozing from you like the other people he works with. “.. but now that you’re here, let’s talk about it.” you offer, he’s angry.

He’s worked hard to be where he is, he knows you understand him in this regard so he can’t pinpoint why you’re being so impossible. He knew you had a reason for not coming to his place, you had visited every other associate your uncle had, sometimes more than once. He needs for you to tell him why, but also knows you won’t.

“’s not how you do this fuc-” he raises his voice, angry but he doesn’t know just how much of a threat you can be, you cut him off.

“I know about you, Solomons. I know plenty to know how you do this fucking business. Do not come in here in my dead uncle’s office without a reason and insult the way I do this.” you sit up, fire in your eyes while he watches you light up, he’s never seen a better sight. 

You know how to do business around here, you learned from the fucking best.

“Your uncle said t’ protect his jewel, yeah, ‘m startin’ to think ‘e meant the fuckin’ business, not you.” 

You got up, frustration evident in your face as he watched you, you looked lovely today. The papers were long forgotten, unlike what you had thought, Alfie was just as thick as the other men around.

“’m not fucking insultin’ you, pet, yeah. ‘m just sayin’, a deal ‘s a deal.”

He walks closer to you, you’re much shorter than he is and he looks taller than he did at the funeral. You smell him first, he’s way too close. You don’t blink, holding a breath that’s to be released soon.

“I think y’ kno’ how to do this, yeah, y’ know it fuckin’ well.” he speaks, you feel his breath on your face. You blink up to see him staring down at you.

“A deal ‘s a fuckin’ deal.”

(a week later)

The echo of your heels against the surface is all the men hear, it’s not everyday a woman comes in to their workplace. You don’t glance around but follow your assistant, the one you hired after you had to take over a fucking empire.

You’ve learned that sleep isn’t so necessary anymore, nor is food. Coffee runs through your veins while you remember where you are, there are whispers around.

Two big doors, wooden and steel, open up to his office. The room is placed far from the entrance, the smell reeks of rum and sweat. Ollie lets you in, his boss skimming through papers he’d long forgotten.

There’s no flour on his sleeves this time.

He’s dressed in a white button shirt, it’s cotton from what you can tell. His glasses rest at the bridge of his nose, he’s uninterested in who just walked in until he smells the perfume. It’s french.

“‘ello, doll.”

There’s a new nickname every time he sees you, you’re used to it at this point. Your eyes meet his, he looks less threatening in his office, less like an eagle preying on a wounded animal. He looks warm.

“Is this a bad time?” you ask, nice enough to keep manners in hand.

There’s two guns resting on top of his desk, both loaded and you’re once reminded of the wicked things your uncle used to do. He was a nice man but not a good guy, the reason why you’re knees deep in this mess of a place.

“Oh.” he exhales, nodding his head while getting rid of the papers in front of him. “No, ‘s good.

Ollie leaves along with your assistant, leaving the two of you alone to get to business. There are things even the closest person to you can’t know and business with Alfie Solomons is one of them.

“To what do I owe ‘is pleasure, eh?” he speaks, the accent is thick but you somehow come to enjoy it. 

He watches you take your gloves off, the fabric is transparent, he can see the rings on your fingers as they shine with every move you make.

“The deal.” you speak, ice cold.

You’re quite new to the business but you know just how daft and thick these man can be, they’re vague and shallow most of the time. You’ve grown up with one of them until he was put in a casket in front of you just a couple of months back.

There’s no sign of tolerance in your eyes, you want to get things done and leave. He wants something a little more different.

You get your papers out, he watches you move almost out of habit. He likes to observe you, the way you move is somehow captivating to him.

It’s different-changed from the little girl he once knew when you came around your uncle’s place. There’s no smile on your face anymore, it’s rare that your cheeks form into the shape. The cruelty of the world is shaping you into a tougher soul right in front of him but it’s the fire in your eyes that he’s fascinated with.

“Right.”

He takes the papers while stealing a glance, he’s amused. He reads them once while you take a look around the place, it’s been lived in as far as you can tell. It reminds you of him.

“You’ve changed it, yeah?” he asks, throwing the papers on his desk while he leans back on the chair.

“I did.”

“You’re a clever little thing, ya’ know ‘hat?” he says, you can see the sparks in his eyes.

It’s no surprise to him that you’re brilliant, he knows of your education and similar sense of business to your uncle, that’s why he had left you the business after all. It’s the wicked sense you seem to have that captivates him, he has seen no one like you in this line of business before and you pull it off exceptionally well.

“That’s nice of you, Mr. Solomons.” you speak up, a hint of smile on your lips and he dies to see it, he wonders when you’ll finally give him that angelic smile of yours but you’re not amused.

“Alfie, luv, yeah, just call me Alfie.”

Your hair isn’t in its usual place anymore, it’s pulled up, he can see your face. He thinks, and maybe it’s the light, you glisten. Maybe you are the jewel your uncle had told Alfie about.

You eye the pen, waiting for him to sign the damn papers so you can just leave, it has been a long day after all.

“Look, luv..” he speaks, dropping his glasses while you watch him like a kid watches a magician, amazed but scared. “’s a good deal, yeah, fucking brilliant if y’ ask me..”

He’s unpredictable you think. With every grumpy man you’ve worked with in the last two months, he’s the first one to not sign it or the one to have a reasonable reaction.

“But why are you really here, eh?” he asks, the inevitable question.

He knows you could’ve sent your assistant or just a worker for him to have a look over the papers but there you are, in all your glory sitting on the chair in front of him and his question finally brings a smile to your lips, he’s amazed at how innocent you look with a lovely smile on your face.

But it’s just as wicked.

You don’t chuckle but almost roll your eyes.

“After that visit, I got to see how you conducted your end of the business..” you speak, shaking one leg as if to say you weren’t so threatened by him. He nods.

“I’ve gathered the information I needed and your visit just proved me that you needed my uncle’s enterprise to move to the next stage..” you breathe out, you knew he was trying to expand things for himself but your business was vital for him due to its size and prestige.

“..my enterprise..” you correct yourself as there’s a wavering of shock in his eyes, you are way smarter than he’d thought, even more sly.

“Cheeky minx..” he speaks, it’s more like a low whisper but you hear it, loud and clear.

“If I were you, I would watch my words, Alfie..”

He watches you intently, you have the upper hand now, he always has the upper hand. He doesn’t chuckle, he’s calculating something but you’re running out of time.

You get up, leaving the papers along with your gloves, you know he’ll return to your place soon. He won’t miss the opportunity.

He watches as you get up, you are free of any emotion but pride as you feel the man put the missing pieces of the puzzle together.

This had always been your uncle’s plan, now Alfie’s business was dependent on yours, in the hands of a young lady trained to do what was necessary.

You give him a generous smile once again, knowing you’ll see him very soon.

“Remember to bring me some of your famous pastries when you pay me your next visit.” you breathe out, you’re even more wicked than he thought.

And just like that, you’re gone.

[parismemes]

STARKID’S BLACK FRIDAY SENTENCE STARTERS (ACT 2)

“he’s got ice in his veins for a reason.” “what the fuck am i watching?” “you were stabbed.” “you’ll be alright, the knife missed your vital organs.” “___ used to say going to the movies was a waste of money.” “yeah. it’s.. a penis.” “if i could go back i would carve something nice.” “well, we thought it’d be forever.” “what’s goin’ on out there?” “if there’s even one left, i’m gonna find it.” “i killed my family.” “remember us in highschool? quarterback and cheer captain?” “after that, i didn’t go to any more parties.” “___ was a bad, bad man.” “people think he left me for some woman in another city.” “something about that woke something up inside of me.” “when we went our separate ways it was fine, because it was us. but who was he to keep us apart?” “that night, i fought back.” “he was the one who brought the knife.” “maybe he crawled somewhere for help. maybe he died in those woods.” “you’ve gotta forgive yourself. ‘cause if you don’t, how’s anyone ever gonna forgive me?” “you look just the same as i always remember.” “you and i were meant to be something more than a faded memory.” “there’s an alternate reality where we’re now a family.” “take me back when we were lost enough.” “i already lost it once.” “you were way more put together.” “if you asked me, i’d still go to prom with you.” “hold me closer than before.” “i’ve lost too much now to care.” “tell me something only santa would know!” “i knew it. i knew you weren’t santa.” “THIS IS THE BEST MOVIE EVER!” “physicist.. is that like a scientist?” “sorry, i’m really lost here.” “you wanna send me to the FUCKIN’ TWILIGHT ZONE?” “we are trying to stop the birth of a god.” “if we have faith, we will be rewarded with a cuddly toy!” “FUCKING KILL THEM!!!” “i dislike that word. cult. no, it’s a new exciting religion that i started!” “my first act as divine prophet was to set fire to the cinnabon as a sacrifice to a dark god!” “i’ve met god. he had nothing nice to say about you.” “bring me the child!” “jealousy has a bit of a stench.” “you will adore me, i just know.” “you’ll kneel before me.” “i demand your love and worship.” “i guarantee i will destroy everything in my path unless i get what i-- shit.” “while i don’t want you to think for yourselves, i still want you to know what i mean when i say my evil shit, ‘kay?” “you know they’re coming for you!” “i swear on my own grave.” “well, ___ is a stupid bitch!” “i’m going to split you in two!” “i’m going to eat you right the fuck up!” “you can trust us. we’re good people!” “that’s an awful long way to go.” “you really are a fucking idiot, aren’t you?!” “do you want to play with me?” “oh god, i feel like i’m gonna puke.” “people don’t believe in governments anymore.” “the poor get poorer, and the rich--well, they just get richer.” “the people have been abandoned by everything!” “i can’t be evil! i’m a status quo democrat!” “do you think that in the netherlands they give a shit about some toy?” “your thirst for stuff is never slaked.” “i’m sorry, ___, i fucked it up!” “blow that bastard to kingdom come!” “MERRY CHRISTMAS, MOTHERFUCKER!” “it seems you’ve misplaced your bomby-wom!” “you better not be fucking with me.” “take me to the ponies and i’ll murder you later.” “is this what i lived for?” “you can close the casket now.” “i wasn’t the angel heaven-sent to break through my cliche boundaries.” “friday is black for me.” “the dreamer has dreamed her dream.” “i never even got started.” “were the decks always just this stacked?” “i don’t want your half-baked sympathy.” “i thought that angels did exist.” “did i need her more than she needed me?” “maybe i’m wrong.” “you’re not dead yet.” “i am authorizing you to use my firearm.” “it’s time to lead the pack.” “i can show you the path, but only you can walk it.” “where did that come from?” “the leaders of your world are lost and helpless.” “wake the warrior. kill the prophet. save the world.” “i hope they didn’t tow my car. that’d be just my luck.” “what, are you gonna shoot me?” “i’ve had a shitty day and i’d appreciate it if you got that goddamn gun outta my face!” “kids don’t want that piece of shit! they’re all into fortnite, dude!” “that’s something you want. not your son.” “he promises to fix all of the holes. but he doesn’t.” “you’re like 40, you probably think your life is over!” “___ is a fucking lie, and i think you know it!” “if he’s not the answer, then what is?” “what is this thing in my hand?” “my heart is so empty.” ���everyone’s dying, and that includes me too.” “there’s no pain that could ever explain how i let you down.” “i failed you once, and i will fail again.” “deep down, it didn’t matter--i was with him.” “she liked to loosen me up just to get to my heart.” “you’re not that cute, are you? in fact, you’re real fuckin’ ugly.” “i think i’m awake.” “here, you’re holdin’ that wrong.” “i’m not going to put you on speaker, ___, no one wants to talk to you!” “belittling you isn’t fun if you’re not upset.” “huh. she’s drunk. again!” “answer me or i’ll open your mouth with my FUCKING KNIFE!” “you’re a fucking moron!” “when he comes, he’ll come for us.” “___, you pathetic worm!” “you couldn’t even stand up to your disgusting husband!” “look at you, you’re paralyzed with fear!” “i’m just lining up my shot.” “abandon your god or burn here with him!” “the whole world has gone crazy!” “all he wanted was you.” “where can we go? is anyplace safe?” “you know? i have this kooky, reclusive biology professor..” “what am i supposed to do without my iphone?” “wear a watch.” “if we can survive today, we can survive anything.” “do you all see what i see?” “tomorrow will come. tomorrow won’t come.” “will tomorrow come today?” “what if tomorrow comes?” “15 seconds left.”

[pastelgrungewrecker]

Home Movies and Haunted Eyes

If I could save time in a bottle The first thing that I'd like to do Is to save every day till eternity passes away Just to spend them with you

“How come you take so many pictures, anyway?”

Mimi’s hands tightened on her little camera- an old, beaten thing; with a chip on the lens’ plastic casing and the color worn away where it screwed onto the body of the device. She swallowed her tears and smiled at her firehaired sister.

“....Just in case.”

Se asked again, before they got the invitation- why she took so many photos of such... trivial things. Of family lunches on a Monday afternoon. Of Quickdraw laying on his back in the yard to watch clouds, moments before Chrona leapt onto his midsection like a swandive.

“Cause one day, it’s all I’m gonna have left to give you.”, she said quietly- before the door opened and Perceptor dried his eye and croaked her name.

“Th- The memorial, is...”

“The G9 memorial?”

“Y-Yes it’s... Three days.”

Dani and Quickdraw scrambled to their feet, the other siblings seeming to materialize out of the cozy haze of their home as Mimi hugged her father as tight as she could, in arms that life made strong and gentle and warm before she pulled her phone from a pocket.

She spoke in low tones, avoiding Quickdraw’s concern and Chrona’s suspicion until Dani- bright Dani, burning Dani- stomped forward and demanded she answer Quickdraw’s unspoken question.

For the first time, the only time, she snapped at her sister in a voice colder than they’d ever heard.

“It’s a memorial for the fucking DEAD Laudanum, now sit your ass DOWN.”

Percy gently rapped his knuckles against Mimi’s shoulder, trying and failing to scold her with a look as Whirl came in from the backyard and demanded to know what was going on, why Chrona had sprinted onto the deck and hollered for him til she coughed.

Mimi sighed, walking Perceptor to the couch with her voice softened and avoiding the shocked stares of her siblings. She let Perceptor cling to her, let his shoulders shake.

“The memorial for the Garrus 9 mission is in three days.”, she said softly, “And Perceptor is taking it really hard-”

“They-”, he coughed to clear his throat, “They want me to speak. At the service.”

Whirl’s expression softened- stoic and calm; he stepped softly to Perceptor and knelt down, braid swinging in and out of view as his head tilted.

“Are you going to?”

“Y-Yes. I. I owe it to Top Spin, and Twin Twist. And everyone. The crew, I’m-”

“Do you want the family there, Percy?”

“We can’t- We can’t have the children there; I mean, Mimi needs to be, they were...”

“Perceptor; we can’t hide the kids from death forever.”, murmured Whirl, “You and I both know everything’s eventual- one day it’s gonna be us in caskets.”

“But-”

“I want to go.”, blurted Dani, “I mean... I. We don’t.... We don’t really know... anything about the Wreckers that our parents were such good friends with. We don’t know what you went through, and we WANT to, right guys?”

Kickback nodded sharply with arms crossed over her chest, Chrona reappearing and giving a soft “Yeah” into the room as Quickdraw’s eyebrow raised in agreement.

“And, maybe selfishly....”, continued Dani, “...We wanna understand. We know that, like- there’s certain. Alarm tones on our phones we can’t use, cause they make you and Papa Whirl have an attack. Or they make Mimi start crying and we have to get Papa Ratch. We want to understand WHY- the only thing we know of Garrus 9 is what they told us in school.”

“And it wasn’t much.”, Kickback chimed in, to her sister’s relief, “I mean, for God’s sake Papaceptor- My history teacher said you were a reenactment actor when he first met you! This is... kind of our family history, right?”

“In. In a way.”, said Perceptor quietly, “It... certainly had an effect on your family, but you are all so young, I couldn’t-”

“Wreckers take care of their own.”, whispered Quickdraw, with cybernetic eyes narrowed like Whirl’s good eye so often did, “History or not, Papaceptor... You’re hurting. And so is Mimi. And we’re your family, aren’t we? Raised by Wreckers- and Wrecker’s Daughters.”

Perceptor looked at Quickdraw in surprise, Whirl humming in intrigue at his son’s sudden firm stance.

“Mimi taught us all that, remember? Wreckers care for their own. You and Papa Whirl take care of each other and all the dad’s, and they return it. You take care of Mimi and she takes care of you. Mimi... Takes care of all of us. And we’re gonna do the same for her.”

Chrona huffed a laugh, popping up next to Mimi, “Besides, we need to find some sweet blackmail stories on Big Sister over here- not fair she can use my pigtail pics against me!”

Whirl snorted softly, and Perceptor managed a creaky smile, and sighed, “...Alright. I... It would. It would help me keep it together. If my family was with me. All of my family.”

“Then it’s settled.” said Whirl as Drift clattered in through the backdoor, “Make sure to answer with a plus... however many are going. I’m not doin’ math after dealing with a hippy tryin’ to eat the fuckin’ garden AGAIN.”

“I didn’t!”, yelped Drift, trying to pull his dirty shoes off.

“YOU’RE GROWIN’ FUCKIN’ WEED IN THE TOMATOES AGAIN, WHILE EATIN’ ALL MY TOMATOES!”

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Three days came, and went. The family filed out, loading into two vehicles as dawn started to rise over the horizon- showing Perceptor and Whirl and Mimi and Drift in her half-dead four door. Smoke trailed from Perceptor’s cracked window, and Mimi simply pretended not to see him toss half a pack of menthol cygarettes into her glovebox next to a steel lighter.

Whirl made a disapproving noise. Mimi shot him a look. The car went silent.

The drive seemed to take too long, Mimi white-knuckled and Perceptor dead eyed as Drift fidgeted almost uncontrollably. Mimi sighed.

“A couple hits off of ONE, Dri-dri.”, she said sternly, “And try not to ash my upholstery?”

The hiss of a match.

Silence.Mimi glanced in the rearview, seeing Cyclonus smiling in melancholy as he no doubt fielded questions from the siblings in the van as Ratchet drove with his face pensive and dull.

The gates of a graveyard rose high in front of them, and she breathed deep as the wheel creaked from her grip.

“Pull over.”, said Perceptor softly, ice riming the words like they had so very long before this family had been built.

She nodded, waving a hand out her window as she did to signal to the van carrying the rest of them. Perceptor waited until the parking break creaked it’s exhaustion before taking a heavy drag and exhale- before passing it to the side. 

Whirl and Drift looked alarmed as Mimi accepted with hands shaking hard enough to blur.

“Mimosa what in the name of-”

“It’s just something we did.”, was the answer in unison.

Smoke curled around Mimi’s words, she let her eyes drift shut for a moment, and then handed the last drag back to Perceptor. 

“Are we ready, then?”, she asked, rubbing her lips together like she had just applied lip balm to get rid of the nagging tingle.

“As ready as I can be.”

They unbuckled seatbelts and shoved open car doors, stretching in the sunlight as Perceptor and Mimi walked around to the trunk. It clicked with a turn of her key and a tap of a code to show relics of days long forgotten. She helped Perceptor buckle on the old, thin armor- bulletproof and matte dark. She tightened the holsters around his thighs in ritualistic silence as her siblings watched and slowly began to understand.

She stood, and nodded, and turned to let him attack her hair in the same grieving quiet.

Her prosthetics groaned slightly as her weight shifted, her hair slicked back to match her father’s and glasses she rarely wore perched on her nosebridge in a match his scuffed reticule.

“Why are they....”, whispered Drift as Whirl coughed quietly.

“Sign of respect.”, said Whirl, gesturing at his own appearance- his braid and old patch, still emblazoned with the sigil that dominated his past with blood and bullets.

“We’re Wreckers. And you only leave one of three ways. Dishonorable discharge, dementia...”

“Or death.”, said Mimi quietly.

“But... weren’t you vetoed, Whirl?”

“Yep, from a few missions.”, he said, “I was still active on the roster. Still called in a few times between my.... Other activities. But never relieved, never truly removed. Never gone, just put on standby.”

Quickdraw looked at the somber faces, something seeming to click in his head, “.... Are you still on standby now?”

Whirl looked down. Perceptor looked away. Mimi breathed deep.

“Yeah, they are. The Wreckers were never formally dissolved, kiddo.”, she said, “And, by technicality, they could call me in too.”

“But you-”, began Quickdraw.

“It’s the same way Rodimus is a Wrecker.”, she said gently, “He ran with them for a decent while, against the Swarm mostly. But he’s still... Wrecker adjacent, so to speak. They could tap him to replace missing faces on the roster. I was raised on the Trion- Springer’s ship.”

“You knew SPRINGER?!”, squeaked Kickback.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”, she grimaced, “He’s a huge jerk, by the way. Don’t talk to him- he’s never liked Si-si, or Dri-dri, or Papa Birdy.”

“Feelin’s mutual.”

“Whirl, no.”, sighed Drift.

“Anyway... Come on.”, said Mimi, “We’d better get walking.”

“Walking?”

“Bad luck to drive in a graveyard, even if there’s roads.”, said Drift.

“It’s disrespectful too- unless it’s a hearse. Only exception.”, said Perceptor as gravel crunched under their feet, “Mostly because the hearse, or the coffin’s transport in general, is necessary. Bodies are heavy, and caskets are solid.”

“Why isn’t there any hearses around here, then?”, asked Chrona, before feeling the air crack like sugar glass. 

Mimi squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then spoke, “...Because it’s a memorial. For a mission that didn’t let anyone bring any remains home, Chrona.”

Chrona stuttered, and fell quiet. Dani and Kickback reached out in unison, catching Mimi’s hands.

“...Did you and Papaceptor. Know anyone on the mission?”

Mimi felt the air in her lungs chill over, and she nodded, “Yeah, li’l gremlins.”, she said with a weak half smile as her eyes began to leak, “I knew Top Spin, and Twin Twist. And Mister Magnus too. And I knew Rotorstorm, for a little while, and even Pyro and Guzzle and Auntie Verity. You remember Auntie Verity?”

“Yeah.”

“And... Uncle Ironfist. Uncle Fisi, I knew him too. And I... I knew Papaceptor.”

Quickdraw gasped.

“Papaceptor had to go on that mission, you see.”, she said, chest already jumping, “And... And very awful, terrible things happened. And so many people died, for... for nothing, really. For something the government needed.”

The family walked in silence, led by Mimi and Perceptor and the shine of tears.

“And only a few came back. Grandpap Kup. Pap Impactor, who you’ll meet today. Aunt Verity. Uncle Fisi. Springer. And Papa. And Mister Max. You might see him today too.”

The family noticed the crowd, the somber crowd, with Ultra Magnus of the Line Ambus the most somber of all as he stood upon the dais.

“Top Spin and Twin Twist were the first people I called Papa.”, whispered Mimi softly, “Before me and Papaceptor had anybody else.”

She smiled at her siblings, letting go of Dani and Kickback’s hands before hooking her arm with Perceptor.

They walked forward- ignoring salutes and red eyes as they walked up the stairs- weaponry heavy around and under their clothes. Magnus shook each of their hands, and nodded for them to go stand with the rest of the survivors of that ill-fated mission.

Kup patted Perceptor’s shoulder, eyes clouded slightly yet still sharp, and grinned at Mimi around his cigar.

Verity patted the seats next to her, her face lined past its years.

As Magnus’s voice sounded, Mimi let her eyes hover half-closed, letting her head lean against Perceptor’s shoulder as he patted her cold hand.

||She was a child again, patting the console and sobbing- tears were streaming, she had heard Papa’s voice, she HEARD it and why isn’t he home yet. Mister Magnus WHY he was supposed to be home in time for MOVIE TIME, don’t you understand that he PROMISED; you need to go save him! That’s what enforcers do, don’t they?

Her little prayers being met with fear and anxious hushing, the rumble of the engines as they circled the pickup zone frantically searching for a signal- for anything. Any signs of life.

She remembered the carnage come home. She remembered Fisitron and his odd eyes- they shook in place like he was always reading the world- his odd eyes closed and his face sickly pale.

She remembered Verity, blankly wiping smears of blood and tears and saliva from her face and armor and staying so silent no matter how many times Mimi’s tiny voice called her name.

And then Si-si - silent and cold and gone too far away for her to touch. Walking past her with weakening steps as she toddled behind him, calling for her Papa to wait- not so fast, her legs is only little.

“Si-si, why are you crying? Si-si- Don’t cry, I can help!”||

Perceptor patted her hand, seeing tears rolling down her face and she blinked herself back. Mimi looked at him, smiled weakly, and looked away- releasing him to take weakening steps to the podium- to let his voice sound out clarion and cold and edged in ice and blood.

Like it had so long ago.

Her prosthetic legs shifted, and she looked just in front of the popup stage they sat up to see headstones that guarded no bodies. Graves she knew held empty caskets.

She felt her stomach freeze over, felt her eyes dim down like permafrost.

And in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but be surprised her name wasn’t on a gravemarker; to memorialize the childhood that died the day the Wreckers came home.

[steponmepinkjun]

im at the airport on my phone rn so i cant reply to everything in full just yet but i have u know i was laughing so hard i couldnt breathe when my folks were asking what was so funny. anyway in response to my birth chart i think you may have glossed over the part when i said i was bulldozer anon... cap rising scorp sun aries moon babey, im basically just the sexiest bitch alive -felix bi anon

GOD YOU'RE RIGHT I LITERALLY AM BOTH DUMB AS WELL AS STUPID JRUWHJAJDHAKJSHFJWNDHFHAJDJDNNSNSNSBSB

Also like. Genuine question. How does anyone have the delusional amount of gumption and gall to come at you talkin bout some "you talk too much" or even ANY criticism w scorp sun cap rising. Like. That's not even TOUCHING the aries moon. That's like. That's like walking up to someone with a loaded gun in hand and tellin them their shoes ugly. That's like challenging Satan to an arm wrestling match. Like. I am BAFFLED. If you step to a Scorpio you already better have your last will and testament finalized. You wanna fuck w a Capricorn, your friends better have your buriel plot picked out and paid off, and make their peace with an open casket not even bein a fuckin option. You roll up on an Aries? They'll fuck ya dad and ya mom and ya granddaddy AND ya grandma too, and leave ya whole ass family with some deep-seated issues for the next few decades. All three TOGETHER? That's some heavy "who the fuck want war? FedEx beef straight to your front door" energy 😳 who the fuck are these delusional ass, suicidal ass, no common sense havin ass people to try to tell you what's what 😳 bruh I'd be SCURRRED 😳 I just KNOW you could rock my shit and then go about your business like nothing happened 😳 who is tryna tussle with a one man hitman squad 😳 who is out here tryna tell Agent 47 they talk too much 😳 I am CONFUSION

[valkyrieofsmut]

Captive Love   5

UF!Sans x Reader (or Frisk if you wanna)

Summary: (Y/n)'s day at the skelebro's house, Sans' day out.

A/N: So, in this chapter, we find out that (Y/n)'s soul trait is integrity; honesty and strong morals. The only problem with having integrity as a main soul trate is that, because you're so honest, even if you don't want to trust people, you can have the tendency to believe people easier, because you expect others to mean what they say as much as you do. Even extremely smart beings with the trait can second guess their instincts or have them overwritten because the person lying is someone they (want to) trust or have positive feelings about/ for. Based on the note... can you guess what's going to happen in this chapter... lol Also, sorry, guys! I kept trying to get this to post all day, but I guess that tumblr hates long posts...? Or me... Might just be me... lol.

Masterlist      Series Masterlist

Story

Little lies never hurt anyone.

Sans leaned on the counter of the odd and ends shop, though it should rightfully be called a thrift shop, since most of its contents had come from other people and not “sources” like a normal store. 

“You got a friend you’re buyin’ all this stuff for?” The bunny on the other side asked suggestively. 

Sans gave her a smirk. “what’d make ya think that?” 

“Well, you haven’t flirted with me once since you walked in the door,” she hinted. 

“ah, sorry, doll. jus’ a lil distracted fer a sec, thinkin’ a comin’ in... did ya want ta hop on th’ sans express an’ ride it ta th’ bone zone?” He asked with a heavy handed lewdness. 

Honestly, he’d rather spend the time with his sweetheart, but he had to keep up appearances so that no one got suspicious. 

Plus, awkward sexual tension filled innuendos were easier to deal in than talking about feelings and shit.

The bunny gave a giggle and continued to lean over the counter toward him instead of going to get his requested items. “Still as charming as ever, I see.” 

Sans flashed his smirk again. “so, can i get my stuff?” 

The bunny giggled again and with a wiggle of tail asked, “so, does that mean that you’re thinking of getting a pet? Going to go out and take one?” 

He let out an annoyed sound. “can i jus’ get my fuckin' stuff?” 

She looked a little startled by the suddenness of the change, but took it in stride as it wasn’t really so strange for the former Underground citizens to be testy, and turned to go to the back. 

"So," the bunny’s brother asked as he brought the requested items out a moment later, "you gonna wear these, then?" 

Sans sneered at him. "you wish ya freak." 

"A little too much denial…?" The bunny suggested with a smirk. 

Sans gave a disgusted face. "go fuck yerself." He turned, flicking his fingers and letting his magic tug on the piles of stuff on the shelves above the bunny's head. "get dunked on, ya ass hat," he called back over his shoulder.

.

“aww, ya ain’t seen nothin’ at all?” Sans asked with a suggestive grin to the small cluster of spider ladies selling their baked goods in the corner of the bar. "'s a human, hard ta miss..."

“Ooooh, no,” one hummed.

“No, not anything… Do you wanna buy a croissant, Sans? It tastes soooo good with mustard…” another tempted. 

“heh. ‘d rather have somethin' a lil sweeter on my tongue,” he insinuated, thinking of (Y/n) at home, spread across his bed, his tongue tasting all sorts of things… 

Drool was slowly pooling between his sharp teeth, and he quickly wiped it, giving an internal groan at how fast his cock had risen to attention at the thought. 

He needed to get with his sweetheart quick, even just enough to curb the appetite growing inside of him. 

The spider girls giggling brought him back to the present. He flashed a grin and went to the bar, getting a mustard to drink as he continued around, checking everyone for info. 

After the rest of his rounds, he headed to his last few information gathering contacts. The ones he knew couldn't keep their mouths shut. 

.

(Y/n) didn’t know what to do. She was stuck in this house, not able to leave, not much to do, nowhere to go. 

Sans’ room was messy, her clothes were dirty, it wasn’t even lunch time… 

First, she went to the bathroom and washed her clothes in the tub the best she could, cleaning herself as much as possible in the process, hanging them to dry so she could have something clean to go home in. 

Then, she went back to Sans’ room, looking around. She couldn’t read any of the books on the shelf, seeing that the words were all written in a strange sort of glyph, and remembered that Sans had told her he couldn't read human language, but as she put all the books on the shelves, she saw the covers had various strange pictures, outerspace, numbers, shapes, most of them looked like school books, but, like they’d be for some advanced courses. She flipped through the pages of a few of them and saw all sorts of charts and formulas that looked reminiscent of something she’d seen on a tv show with Neil deGrasse Tyson as the host. Very smart… and science-y… 

(Y/n) put them on the shelves, trying to keep them together as best she could. Some of the books were obviously not… string theory… or whatever the hell the others were… but, novels or something, a few of them she had only a vague idea, having to make a guess that one with a simple cover of a monster laughing at a casket and a crowd laughing at the two was either a black comedy novel, or a book of dark jokes. 

She leaned toward the dark jokes. 

Under his desk, she found a folded up paper and opened it, trying to see if it was important, though she'd really have no idea, and saw that it looked like some sort of congratulatory certificate. High school diploma, maybe? 

After she got everything sorted, she tried to put it with other things that looked the same. 

She went out into the rest of the house and found a garbage can under the extra tall sink cabinet, and took it up Sans' room, only throwing away things that were obviously trash; food wrappers, crumpled up bits of paper, other strange little things that might have been dried lava, or eternally frozen snow… any way, they were things that looked like they had fallen from his shoes. 

When she took the garbage can back down, she found something that looked like it might be a vacuum, and she looked at it, turning it around and pressing the buttons to see how they worked without any power, before sticking it back in the closet and pulling out the broom and dust pan. 

Sweeping was better than nothing… and also better than blowing up the house. 

The next task (Y/n) tackled was sorting out the laundry, though she couldn’t find any washer or dryer to clean them in. Maybe they made laundromat trips? 

After that she figured it was about lunch time, so she dug through the fridge and ate a small portion of the lasagna from the night before. It wasn’t the worst she’d ever had, but it was far from the best. Maybe if she hid some of the spices he’d used that should have stayed out of the mix, like sage, paprika, cinnamon, nutmeg… really, she thought maybe he’d just put some of everything in the spice rack in there. 

She tried turning on the tv and entertaining herself, but the only channels they seemed to get all had the same robotic actor on them, overdramatically giving monologues, "hosting" or cooking things- awful things… that’s probably where Sans’ brother had gotten the recipe for the lasagna… 

She turned it back off, and decided to look through the windows to try to get an idea of the area she was in. Knowing that she was at least supposedly in danger, and most likely truly could be, she only peeped from the edges of the window for the first few minutes, but after noticing that there didn't seem to be anyone or anything outside but tall grass and flowers, she just looked through it normally. 

I thought they said we were in monster territory…? 

(Y/n) put a hand over her face. What if they were all the way on the other side of the monster territory? She certainly couldn't find any landmarks that looked familiar, and the tall buildings usually on the horizon seemed to be missing. 

Only more support for her 'Sans is actually a nice, though perverted, guy' theory… 

She sighed and decided to go look out the windows in Sans' room, thinking that maybe she'd see something familiar from higher up. 

(Y/n) was standing at the window, wondering what kind of flowers were in the field, when the door opened. She, of course, expected it to be Sans, this being his room and all, but the blood drained from her face was she saw the tall skeleton in the doorway. 

"HUMAN, I THOUGHT YOU WOULD PROBABLY GET HUNGRY, AND I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D BE ABLE TO FEND FOR YOURSELF," he shouted, sounding extremely put upon. "AND I KNEW SANS WOULD BE TOO LAZY TO REMEMBER TO FEED YOU, SO I- WHAT ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?" He asked suspiciously, cutting himself off before getting to his point about how much of a hassle it would be if she died from starvation.  

Her color had gotten paler when she'd seen him, and her eyes had started darting around the room, as though taking stock of what she could use as a weapon. Papyrus automatically did a check and found that not only did she have a blue soul, denoting her strong integrity, but it seemed to have a bit of a purple glow around the edges showing her perseverance, looking a bit like blue velvet; blue, but purple in the shadows caused by the texture, and she had an extremely low LOVE, around that of a child's, and was surprised that her desire to find a weapon went so against her stats. 

It must be a survival tactic, then. Probably to defend against any oncoming attacks.

She posed no threat to him, but he applauded her instinct to be ready to fight if necessary. 

She swallowed harshly and managed to rasp out a broken whisper. "Loo-n-  ou-si-." She pointed out the window to try to help him understand what she was saying. 

He seemed to have dismissed her, though, looking around the room. "OH MY GOD!!" 

She jumped at his exclamation. Did she do something wrong by cleaning? 

"THIS IS THE CLEANEST I'VE SEEN MY LAZY BROTHER'S ROOM SINCE WE MOVED IN!! BUT, WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THE LAUNDRY? IT'S JUST SITTING HERE IN PILES." 

"C-ou-... cou-n't fi-d," she rasped, shaking her head nervously apologetic. Her hand went to her throat, and the way she winced showed how hard on her throat just getting that much out was. 

Papyrus hummed, his fingers lifting to his chin. It would make sense that she wouldn't wash them if she couldn't find anything to do it with. "FEAR NOT, HUMAN! I, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, WILL SHOW YOU WHERE THE WASHING MACHINE IS! AND HOW TO USE IT!!" 

(Y/n) opened her mouth to object that she did know how a washer worked, but it didn't matter, because he had just turned and started out the door with, "COME, HUMAN, AND BRING A PILE OF LAUNDRY!!" 

After having the instructions on how to use the machine yelled at her, for no particular reason, she was glad that it had been Sans that had found her, and that Papyrus had only come to check on her and would be leaving soon. She didn’t know how long she’d be able to stay in his presence without constantly being on the edge of a panic attack. 

When she came back into the front room from where the laundry room was, behind a hidden door in the kitchen, Papyrus was standing a little awkwardly near the door. 

"W-WELL… I CAN'T SPEND ALL DAY MAKING SURE THAT YOU DON'T DIE! I HAVE TO GO! …" He stood silently for another moment, then announced, "I'M GOING." 

(Y/n) gave a smile and waved, the most she could do without hurting her throat further or risking offending him, and had to hold back a laugh as the start of a red glow touched his cheeks and he looked flustered for a millisecond before he gave a tug to straighten his outfit before he turned and walked out through the door. 

After Papyrus left, (Y/n) mostly just hung around and did laundry, looking through things, but not finding much for her to do until she found a deck of cards, then she sat on the floor and played solitaire, pausing only when the laundry was done, to fold it and put it on the desk chair, not wanting to dig around in Sans’ drawers. 

He was a guy… guys had… stuff … that she’d rather not stumble across… especially due to the strange things that had apparently turned him on before. Also, being a skeleton monster made him different from every other guy she'd known, and the thought of finding super weird fetish stuff that she'd inevitably be morbidly curious about gave her pause. 

She wasn't a "freak" but… curiosity was something that had gotten the better of her before, and some things in life, you just didn't need to know. 

.

(Y/n) had finished the few loads of laundry, folded them, and turned to just playing card games by herself on Sans’ bed by the time the door opened and Sans walked in, looking tired and sweating a weird sort of translucent, but red tinged, perspiration. 

He stepped in and closed the door behind him before looking up, but then froze in place and swept his shocked and slightly horrified gaze around the room. 

For the second time that day, she wondered if she'd done something wrong by cleaning Sans' room. 

He stiffly walked to the chair and pushed the laundry off onto the floor. 

(Y/n) made an indignant noise from the bed, but heard him mutter, "too clean…" 

Ahh, so he's one of those people who need a little disorder to feel comfortable , she noted, feeling the anxiety leaving her as he tossed his coat on the chair and turned to her. 

He smiled and lifted a bag onto the bed. "i, uh- i uh- gotcha some stuff…" His expression shifted to that angry sort of flustered look he'd had before, paying close attention to how his other hand was fiddling with the edge of his red sweater. "somethin' ta wear, s-so ya don't have ta keep wearin' dirty clothes…" 

Sans glanced over at her and felt another pang in his chest at the beautiful smile she was giving him. 

fuck-! so adorable! an'... why d'i feel disappointed that she's not wearing my clothes, now?  

(Y/n) smiled at him, mouthing thank you . She hesitated before nervousness seemed to grow over her a little and her gaze focused on the bed. 

“wassup, sweetheart?” He asks, feeling a bit nervous about what was on her mind. 

She gestured, asking, can I go home? She immediately winced and glanced up at him then back to the bed, as though she were worried he was going to hit her. 

Sans felt his soul throb painfully at the thought of her leaving, and his hand automatically went to it. He realized what he was doing, and changed the movement to scratching his sternum through his sweater. Luckily, he had a reason for her to stay. He move the bag onto the floor, then sat on the mattress and laid back with his shoulders about even with her, making himself comfortable as he told her, “i talked ta alla my contacts, an’ it sounds like no one knows ‘xactly where ya are, but they definitely know that there’s a human on monster turf.” 

Her brow dipped in confusion and she asked, how?  

Sans shrugged as he put his arms behind his head, his fingers running over a crack on the back of his skull. “dunno fer sure-” ok, it might have been from his asking so blatantly if anyone had seen a human around- “but i hadda getcha here somehow. coulda jus’ been spotted on th’ way. tough luck, but, should be good in two or three days. ‘f we wait fer three, they’ll most likely ferget ta be lookin’ fer ya.” 

(Y/n) eyed him, and he was glad that he’d already been sweating so that she hopefully didn’t notice the fresh round of perspiration beading on his skull. Finally, she seemed to accept it, and he let out an internal sigh of relief. 

“so, you, uh, ya have an ok day?” She gave a half nod half shrug. “noticed ya cleaned up ‘round here… an’ i appreciate th’ thought behind it, sweetheart, ‘s real sweet a ya, but, i gotta ask ya; please don’t. kinda wigs me out when ‘s too clean. like it’s a fake fuckin’ storybook,” he muttered. 

She put a hand on his arm, and it felt like Sans’ soul tumbled around his rib cage. He looked up to see the apologetic look on her face. Sorry...

Apologies? Yeah… Those were something that never happened in the Underground. 

In a kill or be killed world, any sign of niceness was seen as a form of weakness, so niceties had been dropped long ago. 

The way his sweetheart was so nice, showing kindness and caring was definitely something he liked about her, but… it also made him uncomfortable. 

Sans would never turn away from her for her weakness, he wanted to protect her, keep her with him and safe. But… he didn't know how to react to this kindness. So he again took it to a place he was more comfortable with. 

“ah, dollface, don’t worry ‘bout it…” He turned and his thumb went out to run down her cheek, trying not to let the tiny flinch get to him. “if it’d make ya feel better, i know somthin’ ya could do ta make it up ta me…” He gave her a smirky grin and took his hand back, putting a fingertip on his cheek. “how ‘bouta kiss?” He watched her gaze turn wary, her body stiffening like she was getting ready to bolt. 

False, flirty affection and innuendo was so much easier to handle than real affection, even if he wanted her affection like a starving man wanted food. It seemed, though, that she knew how to take flirting about as well as he knew how to take a compliment, so he again changed directions.

 “kiddin’- ‘m kiddin’, doll,” he assured quickly, feeling a prick of pain in his soul. He was not kidding. He'd probably do anything to get her to willingly kiss him again. “heya, knock knock.”

She looked at him uncertainly, but lifted a brow and tilted her head. Who’s there?  

“sherlock,” he told her, watching as she puzzled over it. 

Sherlock who…? Seemed to be what she asked with her confused expression after a moment. 

“ sherlock yer door tight, sweetheart,” he told her, watching as her eyes closed as she took it in, then her posture changed as she silently chuckled. 

Sans’ smile widened in satisfaction that she enjoyed his joke. “knock knock, doll.”

She lifted her brow to ask who's there, but it was the cute little smile on her face that made his soul throb. 

“mustache,” he told her, watching her expression contort in confusion. 

Mustache? Can skeleton monsters even grow mustaches? What the hell? She thought and tilted her head inquiringly.

“ mustache ya a question, but i’ll shave it fer later,” he told her with a blow off expression, watching her giggle as squeaks and huffs left her. 

There… that adorable expression on her face was a much better look than her being worried that he was going to do something unpleasant to her. Even if the worry was justifiable, given his track record concerning her… 

He just watched her giggling for a moment, red spreading over the bridge of his nose. 

She tapped her hand to his arm and managed to ask, you know a lot of knock knock jokes?  

“knock knock,” he told her in answer, and she lifted a brow immediately in question. “rhino,” he told her. 

Oh, this one had to be good. She tilted her head and lifted her brow again. 

“ rhino every knock knock joke there is,” he told her, his grin getting a bit goofier at her reaction. Stars she was cute! “so, what else d’ja do?”

(Y/n) wondered if it was something normal for monsters to talk so comfortably with someone they’d only really just met the day before. It really seemed like some ideal relationship situation from some rom-com; he got home from work, told her about his day, asked about hers… The only thing missing was an actual relationship…

She masked the feelings her internal musings brought up with the ease of practice and gestured around the room. She was good at ‘don’t rock the boat.’ 

“jus’ this, huh?” He asked and she nodded before pointing at the cards, indicating that she'd also played cards. “sounds like a  good day ta me, but maybe ‘m jus’ lazy,” he said as he closed his eye sockets. A contented smile tilting his normal grin up. “‘m gonna try ta get a nap in before dinner. feel like joinin’ me?”

(Y/n) shook her head to answer him, knowing he could see her though his slightly open socket. 

“suit yerself, sweetheart,” he told her, shifting his shoulders as he got comfortable.

He seemed to almost immediately fall asleep, soft snores coming from him, and not even reacting when she’d waved her hand in front of his face. 

She went back to her card game, the weird feeling of being so comfortable around a strange man (one that had pushed her against the wall and basically rubbed against her, no less!) struck her as wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to be truly uncomfortable. 

Uneasy and worried from his actions sometimes? 

For sure. 

Uncomfortable? 

Nope. 

Something brushed against and down her back, laying against her butt. 

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder, seeing Sans' arm laid out behind her. She watched him closely, not wanting to miss any tell in his expression, but other than slightly rolling toward her, he still seemed asleep. 

She gave a doubtful glance, but it fell to the back of her mind as she continued her game. 

After a few minutes, she felt Sans rolling toward her more, his hand sliding over the bed, snaking over her thigh, wrapping around her waist and burying his face against her thigh. 

Oh, yeah. He's asleep, my ass, she mentally grumbled. 

She rolled her eyes and went back to her game, not entirely comfortable with this extent of touching, but she knew that some good friends got touchy and cuddled, so it wasn't some insanely strange concept to her, even if they weren't that close. 

Halfway through the next round of her game, (Y/n) felt Sans' arms tighten around her, and she looked down to see him rolling over onto his stomach, putting him on the cards and into her lap, his head awkwardly pressing against her. 

She tried to shift around to get rid of the discomfort of his skull pressing against her hip, and the weird kink he'd put in his neck vertebrae to do so. 

Of course, with all of her edging around his head, and their shifting around, she ended up laying back with him in her lap, his skull laying on her stomach. How could this end any other possible way with her luck?

Honestly, though, with all the terrible things he could possibly do to her, that she knew of and worried about, laying with his head on her stomach hadn't even made the list. 

She gave a shattered, huffing sigh that made her cough a little, but it cleared quickly. 

She kept herself ready in case she was going to have to defend herself from the skeleton, but folded her arms over her chest to feel like she had at least a little cover, and resigned herself to laying there until either he "woke up," or she had to convince him to move so she could use the bathroom. 

Sans tightened his arms around his sweetheart as she coughed, hating that he didn't have green magic to try and fix it instantly, but, thankfully, it quickly ended. 

He tried to be subtle, not wanting to give away that he was awake, but it was so hard when all he wanted to do was nuzzle into the soft squishiness of her belly. Especially when some of her squishiest bits were against his clavicle and were tempting him to rub against them… and give them a sniff…  

fuck- ya smell so fuckin' good, sweetheart… He mentally groaned to himself. 

(Y/n) shifted under him, but he didn't let it disturb him; he was an expert at pretending to sleep. 

"SANS-" 

The skeleton on her belly jumped at the loud voice, giving a grunt of surprise. 

"YOU BETTER BE DOWN HERE IN FIVE MINUTES TO EAT DINNER!!"

"paps, you fuckin' sonuvabitch," he grumbled to himself, not quite audible to (Y/n). 

"welp. dinner time, doll. you joinin' us downstairs 'gain t'night?" He asked as he sat up, not leaving the bed, or her pile of cards, but off of her. 

She gave him a nervous look, not wanting to be afraid, but also very afraid of the tall, loud skeleton downstairs. 

"aww, c'mon sweetheart, he ain't that bad. i mean, don't get me wrong, 'e's bad, but not that kind a bad." 

As strange as it was for her to trust anyone so quickly, his words kind of made her feel better about being in the same room as the taller skeleton.  

She followed him downstairs, deciding that she was misreading the look on his face and posture as content and proud, as though she trusted him to be her knight in a red sweater; it was probably just self confidence. 

God knew she'd never felt that much of it to know. 

Sans pulled out a chair for her, but instead of waiting to push her in, he sat in the chair next to it and shifted the seat, pulling it closer to him when she sat. 

(Y/n) would protest, but she really did feel safer being closer to him, and farther away from the other skeleton. 

He served her a small slice of lasagna, and she knew that it was because he knew it was going to taste awful, and he didn't want to stick her with too much to eat instead of a plot to starve her. 

It was a quiet dinner, much the same as the night before, with the toe of Sans' sneaker hitting the leg of her chair he was so close, and Papyrus giving her not at all hidden suspicious glares, as though he didn't think it was safe to hold a conversation in front of her. 

(Y/n) took another bite of the lasagna and hid her wince. 

She really should have hidden those spices earlier… 

A/N: Oh Sans... there's a difference between telling Paps that he's an amazing cook and telling (Y/n) she has to stay there because there's no possible way she can get home. Also, I recently got a message from someone who had made fanart of another story I wrote and asked if I wanted to see it- uh, fuck yeah, I do! You kidding?! You were inspired by something I wrote?! I'm gonna fangirl... I love it even more because I can't draw... I guess what I'm saying is that if you do anything inspired from something I've written (art, stories, drabbles), you don't have to ask, there's a 100% chance I want to see it. And that I'll squeal.

[sassysatsuma]

“This job it takes you, breaks you. Rebuilds the pieces but they don’t fit together the same."

Caught In The System: Chapter 33 - Lívstræðrir

Rated M

There was no idle banter in the rec room that evening.

The heavy, unnatural noises of the aircraft carrier seemed louder, more present than the new normal. An eerie quiet had descended on the men, where no one's voice ever reached anything more than a mumble. They were all exhausted, covered in ash and soot, broken and bruised. The missile had everyone shaken, but it was the absence of their medic that had truly caught their tongues.

MacTavish didn't know where he fit. Beside himself with worry, caught in a purgatory between the obligation to the men he loved and the woman he couldn't live without, he found himself being absolutely no use to either. When he should have been amongst them, a wave of reassurance in uncertain times, he faltered. Where he should have been by her side, he found himself ousted out by the medics who fought to try and stabilise her. There was no place for him to be, no words for him to say and so he loitered in the rec room doorway, back pressed against cold metal as he watched his men with worried eyes.

Every time he blinked, he could see her. They'd stretchered her off the chopper as soon as they landed, what little remained of the fatigues around her chest torn and bloody. She'd been so pale, so limp that he'd sworn his heart might stop in his chest. He'd wanted to reach for her as the medics bundled her away, in the confusion maybe he had, because suddenly Riley's hand had been at his shoulder, a strong squeeze that spoke enough sense to hold him back. Powerless, he'd watched them carry her further and further away, her white hand coated in blood dangling from the stretcher.

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Now, all there was left to do was wait, to find comfort in what little they all had left. But somehow MacTavish just couldn't allow himself that either.

"This is utter horseshit." It was almost jarring, the sudden outburst into an otherwise quiet room. MacTavish looked up as Toad stood, the young sniper still coated in a thin layer of ash. "We can't just sit around here like we're waiting for some fuckin' open casket."

"Chris... mate..." Archer's voice was hoarse, but oddly caring as a hand reached for his partner's forearm. Toad shrugged him off like he was red hot.

"What? You all really want to sit around and pretend like this is a done deal?" He took a step further into the centre of the room, arms open wide. "McCoy's still breathing, still fucking fighting in there. I for one am not writing her off. She sure as shit would hold out for us too, and every man in here knows it."

"No one is writing anyone off here." Ozone, fatigues still covered in her blood shook his head. "No one wants to."

"Then tell that to your face, Nick." Toad retorted. He marched back over to his bunk, kneeling by his pack until he retrieved a cheap looking bottle of whisky. Glancing over his shoulder, he waved impatiently at Roach. "Gary, get your ass up and bring some cups with you."

Between them, Toad and Roach filled the cups in organised silence, using everything that was to hand from the mugs from their packs to old canteens. Whisky was shared amongst every man in the room, all bar Ghost who MacTavish hadn't seen since they'd left the chopper, the lieutenant storming off before anyone could try to tell him otherwise. MacTavish was the last to receive his drink, along with a soft smile and nod from Roach. He took it in both hands like the cheap metal itself was a lifeline.

"To Bones, the toughest bitch to ever walk into this task force." Chris said with a stoic smile, mug held up at head height. "Get your ass back to us, ‘cos getting hurt's no fun when there's no one there to lecture us about it."

The room erupted into a chorus of her name, every man slinging back the measure of whisky in a single gulp. For MacTavish, the alcohol burned at his throat, but the tears that pricked at his eyes were something else. Forcing them back with a long blink, he cleared his throat, willing the emotions growing there to bubble back down with everything that he had. There was an odd moment of clarity in that darkness, caught somewhere between the whisky burn and the sound of his men talking in more than hushed tones at last.

The peace was short lived. Opening his eyes, MacTavish became acutely aware that he was not alone in the doorway, Trojan having imperceptibly slipped in to stand beside him, his arms crossed. He surveyed the Captain was an inquisitive look.

"And how is the good doctor?"

"... In surgery." MacTavish didn't doubt for a second that Trojan already knew that answer. Instead he turned his head, his features passive in the knowledge that he was still around his men. "What do you need?"

"You, as it happens. Captain Price opened quite the can of worms on your watch. Shepherd wants a full debrief."

"Now?"

"Now. Or did you forget the missile launched at American soil?" Trojan laughed, rolling his eyes. "There's a veritable shitstorm coming our way, John. The General needs to make sure that we, and by that I truly mean all of us, end up on the other side unscathed." He pushed off from the door way, a hand beckoning after him for MacTavish to follow. "So shall we?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

After what had felt like an eternity since they got back to base, Lara finally got the all clear enough for her doctors to allow visitors. With the majority of the task force hanging back as a sign of respect, Roach made it a point of principle to be by her side when she needed him most.

No contact from his family had felt like rock bottom, a dark place and as close to breaking point as he'd ever reached. It had threatened to consume him with worry more than once, to drag him away from the very work that was sustaining him at this point.  

But it had been his brothers that had truly kept him going, who had prevented the wolf of despair to truly come baring down his door. The 141 and the deep bonds that bound them so tightly together were like life support, holding him up and keeping him breathing through it all. He'd found such a strength in that, a solace that before had felt unattainable. The ability to dust himself off and carry on fighting felt that little bit easier when he had Lara, Ozone and Toad at his side.

Now, one third of that support network was laid out unconscious in front of him.

He was caught in place, the muss of thoughts careering through his head too fast to truly make sense of. He was in limbo, trapped between wanting to be useful and wanting to shrink away and hide within his own thoughts.

In the end, the only real choice was to stay by her side.

Her skin was like porcelain, pale with a greyish quality. Dark bags shaded the orbits of her eyes, her body lying flat against the sheets, the plain eggshell blue fabric pulled up so that it was tucked neatly beneath her arms. Her body was wrapped in a white and grey speckled operation robe, her chest padded out with bandages to disguise the surgical wound beneath. She'd didn't look like McCoy, but rather a pale waxwork imitation, the soft sheen to her pallid skin a world away from everything he knew.

It was strange, seeing her so still. Oddly peaceful, though it was a forced kind of peace, artificial and false. There was no relaxed quality to her features, merely a blank one that silently broke Gary's heart when ever he looked at her. His friend was still there somewhere, buried beneath a spaghetti junction of tubes, cables and equipment. She was alive, stable, saved by medics just as brave as she was. And yet, for all of Toad's grand words earlier; her war was over. Busted open and almost lost to them completely, she was going home, leaving the 141 even though Gary knew that it would be the last thing she'd ever want.

That was what broke him the most. The thought of her waking up back home and him not being there to see her. The thought of her being alone without anyone who truly understood.  

Roach was used to being a brother. His sister back home drove him crazy, but in truth she had always been like a best friend underneath all the bullshit. Someone who he could tease and provoke and hate and somehow still adore and want to protect. He could still remember the feeling when he'd first met her, the day his parents came home from the hospital and placed her in his arms. He'd wrinkled his nose, oblivious to the responsibility he would feel for the tiny human he held as they both grew older.

With Lara, it was different. Gary loved her like she was a big sister, someone who in a way looked out for him in all the ways that he looked out for his own sister. She was his best friend too, someone who understood him even when he didn't have the words to express himself. She'd been the first person at his side when he'd been unable to reach his parents, the constant presence who would always check every bruise and scrape, no matter how much he tried to shrug them off. The friend who would sit and listen when he needed to vent, or who would sit by his side with a beer in silence if he needed that instead. The friend who trusted him enough to talk about everything, even the things that had the chance of destroying everything she'd worked for.

He and Lara might have been cut from entirely different cloth, but they were the same. It had felt good, to have someone with the same loves and values when he'd felt so far from home.

So far from who he should be.

She would have done the same for him, if their roles had been reversed. Somehow Roach knew that if it had been him who had taken the bullet, she wouldn't have left his side until he'd at least opened his eyes and proved that he was going to be OK. It was that thought alone that drove him to her side, to the uncomfortable, fold out plastic chair beside her bed. At this point, Gary had lost all track of time, not really bothering to check his watch and work out just how long he had been sitting there. Until their next mission, he figured that he had nowhere else to be.

There was a noise behind him, the creak of a door and the scuff of boots against plastic tiles. The medical personnel had accepted his presence at this point, coming and going around him with very little fuss. The sound Gary thought was simply a doctor doing their rounds, here to flick through a chart and check her meds before moving on to the next bay.

Instead, there was a heartbeat of silence, before an oddly soft, cockney voice rang out through all the quiet.

"She ain't going anywhere, mate."

Riley.

Off guard, Gary turned his head, looking to where the lieutenant stood behind him, his hands jammed inside his pockets. He was still in uniform, but his mask was gone, revealing a face that for all of its self confidence looked weary and just a little haggard. His eyes were bloodshot, bags nearly as big as Gary's darkening his under eyes.

A shadow of the figure that he usually cut.

"Like that makes a difference. She'd be sitting right here if it were either of us in that bed and you know it." Gary shook his head, returning his gaze to Lara. He heard Riley shift from one foot to the other behind him. "She gave us everything, man. It's about time we gave her something back."

"Yeah..." It wasn't the reply that he had been expecting, the breathy, exasperated noise final as Riley worked his way around the other side of her bed. He hung back, visibly discouraged by the cables and tubes that surrounded Lara, kicking back and leaning against the wall instead. For a long while, there was silence. The quiet had a heavy quality, an awkwardness that Gary couldn't quite shake. Riley wasn't a man to show concern or care lightly, but his presence in the room still spoke volumes. Although Gary knew more than most, he still didn't dare encroach on his friend, afraid that any words he might say would be badly received.

"She always was too good for us." In the end, Riley broke the silence first. His voice was oddly quiet, his fingers picking at the hem of his sleeve. With his head bowed he looked oddly soft, no longer the hard edged lieutenant that Gary considered a friend. "She's all fuckin' heart, always has been. But she's different... more..." He tailed off, shaking his head and finally meeting Gary's eyes. "... I wanna say softer, but it sounds like a bloody insult, y'know? Bones has some of the biggest brass bollocks out of all of us."

"Maybe that's the difference? She isn't one or the other, just a good mix of both." Gary shrugged. "All I know is that walking into Hell is gonna feel a whole lot shittier without her watching my back."

"Gonna drive her insane isn't it? Waking up out of the fight?" Riley paused, running his tongue across his teeth. A smile cracked his features. "Still remember when she did her shoulder in... worst fucking patient ever."

"Don't envy the doctors over there. Gonna have a hell of a job keeping tabs on her. Knowing Lara, she'll be back on the front lines before we know it."

"Maybe that's not something we want."

The bluntness of Riley's comment threw him and Gary paused, checking he'd heard correctly. His brow wrinkled in confusion and he turned to look at Ghost directly.

"Why wouldn't we want that?"

"...Because." Riley paused, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. He squared his shoulders and straightened up, no longer leaning back against the wall. "I don't have to be your LT to tell you where shit is headed from here, mate. We're guys who are paid to run head first into suicide missions and somehow make 'em work. But the more Shepherd throws at us, the more our luck is gonna start wearing thin. Bones doesn't deserve to die in the mud like a bloody animal. None of you do. But at least this way... she's getting out, y'know?"

Getting out. Somewhere in between the war and losing contact with his parents, that was something Gary had barely even considered. He was trapped now, by both obligation and choice to keep on walking the path they were on, to follow order after order, dutiful and without question. They were all in the same boat, but with Lara's injury both her obligation to serve and her choice had been taken from her. She'd hate it, hate herself even and the mere thought of that made Gary's stomach twist uncomfortably. But she'd be safe, alive, healing. A part of his family would endure, would remember him if the worst was to happen.

Ghost was right. There was at least an ounce of comfort in that.

"... Besides..." Riley's voice cut into the silence again before Roach could voice his agreement. "Losing her? It'd fuckin' kill MacTavish."

Well shit.

If Gary had been blind sided before by Riley's desire to open up, then now he was completely and utterly wrong-footed. There was an unspoken understanding between those who knew Lara best that her relationships were off limits and in truth, most of what Gary himself knew was inferred rather than something he'd been told. Everyone knew about Lara and Riley and their ill fated encounters, but it was only Gary who knew that the pair had cared for each other past the sex, that they were friends rather than enemies. Gary had known that Lara cared for Riley deeply, had been there and helped her through the realisation of just how deeply she'd hurt him. He had guessed her true feelings for MacTavish too, had helped cover for them when necessary. That knowledge was a much more closely guarded secret, something that Roach had assumed was as unknown to Riley as it was the rest of the task force.

"How'd you know?"

"John's my best mate and Bones is as near as dammit the same, how could I not know?" Riley scoffed darkly, rolling his shoulders. "Lovesick bastards deserve each other, they always bloody have. Time was I'd get a kick out messing with that but now..." he paused, running a hand through his hair awkwardly as he hesitated. He lifted his head, eyes fixed on Lara as though Gary was little more than a fly on the wall. "... That's my family lying there all because one stubborn old arsehole can't follow orders. There aren't many upsides to this shitshow we're living Roach, but at least where Lara's headed no one's going to be able to fuck with her again."

"She's my family too." Gary could only shrug softly in agreement, his head hanging from between his shoulders. There was a weight on his back, a heavy stone that pushed against him and made it hard to swallow. "She knows that right?"

"It's that bad, eh, mate? Friendship advice from me?" Riley teased, although the sound rang out hollow to them both amongst the medical beeps that filled the room. The smirk on his features softened the moment he met Gary's gaze, his tired eyes filled with an alien gentleness that at any other time might have unnerved him. "She knows, Gary. Best you can do now is get some rest and look out for yourself. You know it's what she'd tell you too."

"... I don't want to leave her." The words came out as a croak that surprised even himself. Roach looked back to Lara, swallowing back the second half of his statement, unable to say the words. They had no idea when Lara would be shipped out, when the next mission would drag them all off base again. A part of him didn't want to leave her because he simply didn't want it to be goodbye already.

He was so distracted that he never heard the rustle of fabric as Ghost moved, not until he felt a firm hand squeeze at his shoulder. It was gone in a flash, almost awkward in a way and yet the solidarity behind it was never lost. "She won't be alone, mate. Now get your arse in a bunk before I have to make it a bloody order."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The room didn't feel any less heavy with Gary gone. Riley had expected it to, had thought that when he had the room to himself there wouldn't be that bitter cloud of regret and sadness hanging in the air.

But as door closed on Roach's heels, it became all too clear that the regret was all him.

He wanted to throttle Price, to have his throat in between his hands and watch as the life slowly squeezed from his lungs. Had Lara been dead, Riley doubted that he would have been able to stop himself. But as it was, Price was sitting shackled up somewhere far from the rest of them, contemplating just how many court martials could be thrown at a person. It would have been easier just to slot the bastard. They were at war after all.

He couldn't help but wonder how much Soap hated his beloved mentor right then. Was he swallowing back the same anger as Riley, hiding it behind the mask of the ever professional soldier that he always wore so well? MacTavish was a better man than him, the best friend that he trusted more than he rightly should trust anyone. But that didn't mean that Riley didn't hate the way he could just lock away the ugly parts that made him whole, to choke down all anger and resentment that walked in step with the life they’d all chosen to live.

He admired that quality as much as he resented it. Envied it maybe.

Not that Riley was all beast. Price was lucky that Lara was still drawing breath by the time his sorry arse crawled back out into the light. With trying to keep McCoy calm and conscious as Ozone fought to stabilise her, Riley had had no time to concern himself with beating the shit out of the old man. It was only when Ozone shoved him aside and out of his way that Riley even remembered Price. He'd got one good shot in, a decent slug that the old man hadn't even bothered to dodge. It had been enough to send him hurtling to the ground, nose broken as blood began to pour from his face. It had taken restraint that he didn't know he still possessed to slap cuffs on him in that moment and nothing else.

Sitting by Lara's bedside, Riley smiled softly to himself at the memory. Bones would have been so unbearably proud of him in any other circumstance.

The scars she'd left him with ran deep. He took her hand.

How was he still only just realising the ways she'd gotten under his skin? Why couldn't he have realised when it mattered, when there was still the time for him to be something more? It was a cruel, practical joke that fate had played on him, letting him spend years believing that he was little more than a still breathing ghost only to realise too late to ever properly come back to the land of the living.

He'd been as close to loving Lara as he could. He hadn't realised that until he tried to force himself to hate her, willed himself with everything he had and still not quite been able to manage it. He'd resented her, been frustrated, angry, dejected. He'd reeled from the unfairness of it all, felt sick with the knowledge that she loved John and not him, even though that knowledge had been with him the whole time they'd been together. Hell, it was half of the reason he'd got such a kick out of everything back at the start, knowing that with every visit to his bed he was being rewarded for the same recklessness his best friend warned him against. That rebellion had felt good, like he was winning some kind of argument, especially as McCoy's holier-than-thou halo slipped with every day that passed.

It had been the worst of him, to enjoy that. To let his envy and resentment fuck with the two people he cared for most.

It hadn't stayed that way for long, but he'd fought hard to lie to himself that his reasons for wanting Lara were as fucked up as they always had been. In reality, it had been hard to ignore the strength in her, the beauty in her resilience and determination. More than that, she made him laugh. Somewhere amongst it all, she turned into a mate, someone he trusted and cared for. Perhaps some of it was just the fact that she found the time to care about him too. She didn't walk on eggshells around him, was never afraid of him, showed him a reflection of a bloke he hadn't seen in years. It had scared him shitless.

But he'd loved her, in his way. Had never really stopped either.

"You're going to play Hell when you wake up, aren't you, Bones?" Riley laughed to himself, stroking absent minded circles into the back of her hand. "God... I'd pay to see it. Never known someone be a shittier patient. Doctors are going to have a grand old time trying to tell you to rest, eh?" A pause, as the levity suddenly dropped from his voice. "But... you've gotta listen to 'em, love. Don't put all of Nick's hard work trying to keep your arse alive to waste, eh?"

He could see it almost as clear as day, the stubborn furrow in her brow as she dissected the medical arguments thrown at her, the way she wouldn't rest until she was cleared and back in the fight. The beating she'd taken, even McCoy would be forced to admit that recovery wouldn't be overnight, but he could still see her, forcing her way through rehab like a woman possessed. She was a force of nature, a person who just didn't take 'no' for an answer. It was how she'd fit so easily into the 141. Only those crazy enough ever stayed.

"... I mean it, Lara." His voice was a whisper now, strained as though he was willing her to answer him. "You've got to make it. This isn't your fight any more. There's no winning in this job; it's just the same shit on a different day. But you can get out and do whatever the Hell you want. You can go back to being a doctor and save lives without ever having to worry about taking 'em again. Or go back to Sandhurst and teach the next generation of crazy bastards to be better than we were. You don't have to compromise any more. God knows, you've forced yourself to do that enough."

A lump grated in his throat alongside the words and Riley paused, bowing his head in the hopes that not looking at her might help. It didn't. Instead, the weight in his chest grew, rising steadily upwards to his throat. For all of his wise words to Roach seconds earlier, even he didn't want to imagine a task force without her.

"None of us will be the same without you, Lara. I hope you let yourself take the credit for that someday. You'll always be a part of the 141. I promise you… that's something that's never going to change."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

How had it come to this?

He was used to feeling sick to his stomach, disgusted with the man who met his eye whenever he eyed himself in a mirror. It didn't happen always, but it was there, an extension of his command that meant that he was forever a disappointment to the high standards to which he held himself accountable.

But it was rare for him to feel that same, stomach churning feeling when looking at someone he loved. Someone who was as close to a father as his own back home in Elgin.

John felt betrayed. Cast adrift, the bedrock on which he cemented so much knocked from beneath his feet. So much of the soldier he had become had been built on Price's lessons, on his no nonsense, practical attitude and the respect that followed him through Credenhill.

But this wasn't Price. It only looked like him, the silent, hunched over figure still cuffed as he sat alone in a makeshift holding cell. Through the small window in the door, MacTavish could see the blank expression in Price's eyes, the tired lines that framed them. There didn't appear to be any remorse, any regret, any frustration. He was simply held in place, awaiting judgement like a man who no longer cared what the future held for him.

MacTavish had never wanted anything more in that moment then to walk away. To go and be by Lara's side duty be damned. He'd been held away for so long, briefing after merciless briefing holding him hostage. It had been pure torture to be drip fed updates from Archer and Toad, to know that she was allowed visitors and was almost stable enough to be flown home. The man he wanted to be should have been with her, talking to her in the vain hope that his company might help. But MacTavish could only settle for the man he was, the Captain trapped by red tape and due process, somehow helping Shepherd and Shadow Company make sense of the utter chaos his mentor had left in his wake.

Now, MacTavish wanted nothing more than to hold onto his anger, to clasp Lara's hand in his and to feel the pulse still beating at her wrists. To reassure himself that against it all, she'd not been wholly taken from him, if only for a fleeting moment.

And yet he was here, still duty bound, still a man he chided himself for. Slipping into a room with a man he now loved and loathed all at once. He may have been there on Shepherd's orders, but his feet had their own agenda, driven by the need for answers to the questions he knew would plague him. He needed to understand, to confront the one man he thought he'd known inside and out.

He needed to know whether the John Price he loved was still there.

Price locked eyes with him the moment he entered, his head slowly raising from where he had been staring into the middle distance. There was the swelling of a bruise around under both of his eyes, an angry red line cutting across the bridge of his nose, rusty red flakes still littering his lips and chin. One of the lads had taken a crack at him in the chaos that had followed Lara's shooting. Soap didn't need to be a detective to work out which one.

"Soap." The voice that greeted him was a croak. It was neither a question or an apology.

"Was it your plan all along?" Soap hadn't expected the questions to come so fast, but as a grim line settled across his lips, he folded his arms, eyeing Price expectantly. He was uncomfortable to be in the same room as him, eager to get their chat over and done with as quickly as possible.

"...John..."

"Don't bullshit me, Price. I deserve better than that."

He was greeted by a heavy sigh and a defeated sag to Price's shoulders. The older man drooped back against the back of his seat, although his eyes slowly gravitated back up to MacTavish's.

"It was an... opportunity. A chance to level the playing field."

"And a chance to endanger millions." The words spat from MacTavish's lips. "What if the missile had made landfall, eh? What if the US had fucking retaliated before we got chance to stop them?"

"We're at bloody war! There's always a risk..."

"Civilians, John!" MacTavish could barely hold his temper, sick of the indifference that met him with every reply. He took a step forward, looming over Price with his fists clenched. The man never even flinched. "We're talking about innocents, mate. People we're fucking paid to protect. In what world can we put them at risk?!"

"A world where our biggest ally is bloody floundering." Price was up on his feet in seconds, hands still cuffed, although every muscle in his arms seemed to tense with the action. "Makarov wants this, can't you see? He wants as many people as possible with their eyes on the US, distracted. We needed something... anything to give the Yanks the upper hand."

“And this was the bloody answer?!”

“It was the only one I had.”

"... So you stayed fucking silent. You could have said something, planned this the way it should have been. You could have told me."

"... And put you at risk of collusion?" Suddenly Price's voice faltered, his anger lost. He looked at Soap, his cuffed hands flexing for a beat as though he wanted to reach out towards him. "... This way, the buck stops with me, son."

It was as though the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. MacTavish took a step backwards, unsteady, the small glint of emotion that now flickered within Price's eyes catching him entirely off guard. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were lost to him whilst his mind fought to caught up.

He'd been so angry, so betrayed that he had never stopped to even consider that Price might be looking out for him.

"... How is she?" Now it was Soap who felt as though he was floundering. He looked up, meeting the older man's gaze, one eyebrow cocked as he waited for an answer. Ever since that ill fated night when Price had caught him leaving Lara's quarters, there'd been no mention of his fraternisation, the elephant in the room that neither had the heart to mention. For Soap, that look of disappointment in Price's eyes had been enough for him to never want to start that conversation, instead leaving it hanging like a loose thread between them. He'd thought that Price's pride and faith in him would stop him from ever really acknowledging it either, but locked in a room where they had both been laid bare, his old Captain was still able to read him like an open book.

Still, the look in the old man's eyes when he asked the question was as close to remorse as Soap had seen him get.

"Alive." Clammed up, it was all MacTavish could do but shake his head, a rough hand rubbing across the ridge of his mohawk, the shaved hair flanking it beginning to grow out and fade the distinct lines across his head. "Her war is over."

"Good." There was another awkward pause. "She fought hard today."

"She always does." Soap hesitated, running his tongue across his teeth. "She earned her place here, Price."

"Never questioned that, son." The expression that met his was hard to read, and in truth Soap could neither confirm or deny whether Price was outright lying to his face. After the events of that day, how could he be sure of anything? "I only question her place in your bed."

Somehow hearing the truth that they'd both chosen to blatantly ignore spill from Price's lips made MacTavish laugh. It was an almost surreal sound that wrong-footed them both judging by the way his mentor's eyebrows jumped in reply.

"We both know that Shepherd would have your balls on a platter, Soap."

"Out of the two of us, I'd say you have more to fear from Shepherd right now." The indignant smirk still plastered across his face, MacTavish folded his arms. "General has bigger fish to fry."

"And fucking about with your subordinates is still dangerous. In more ways than one."

"Still sounds a bit hollow from the man who totalled the ISS. But we're at war, right? There's always a risk?" It was petty, shaping Price's own defence to use as his own and yet MacTavish couldn't deny the powerful feeling it granted him. Deep down, he knew that Price would always have his back and defend him, from anything from collusion to his own, much more carnal mistakes. But it felt like an odd duality, how the man could risk so much for him and yet put the very people they prided themselves on protecting at risk. It was illogical, irrational even... the very characteristics that his mentor scolded him for whilst his hands were still cuffed for a much larger crime. "It doesn't matter... a few more hours and she'll be back in Birmingham, staring down those same ceiling tiles you and me learned to bloody hate. About as far from fraternising with anyone in this task force as you can get."

"Out of sight, but not out of mind, eh?" Price chided. "You need your head in the game, son. Now more than ever."

"Really? I'm the one who's bloody well lost it? Pot and kettle, Price."

"Don't be so naive. Or have you forgotten what I taught you? It's our job to walk a line, Soap. Make the tough calls, sacrifice one for the many. It isn't pretty, but that's why they keep it off the books. The dirty work that no one is ever going to earn a medal for. That's where wars like this are won."

"Maybe... but this is coming from the bloke who also taught me to respect the chain of command, listen to orders and get my men home alive. Where's that Price, eh? Or did he just happen to forget that today was my Op, under my fucking authority?" A scoff left MacTavish's lips, a flash of white teeth as his words tore into Price. Gone was his rage from before, instead replaced by something far more vengeful. He was an injured animal, lashing out at the perceived source of all his pain, ripping into him with whichever weapon he knew would cut deepest. "I read McCoy's report, y’know. Quite the fucking write up, believe me. It was your head she had concerns with, no one else's. Recommended psychological tests, the lot. Shepherd over ruled her, had me back him up because I couldn't believe that the strongest bloke I knew would be compromised... And yet here we fucking are."

He finished with a flourish, indicating down to the cuffs clamped around his mentor's wrists. When he looked up again, the eyes that greeted his were suddenly so much older, tired and exhausted. The stiffness of Price's back wilted and his posture changed, his face crestfallen as his shoulders dipped under the weight of MacTavish's words. They'd been quiet and resentful, designed to punish and he was rewarded with just that.

It didn't feel good, like he'd hoped. If anything it only made his heart ache more.

"... Haven't been whole since the day they took the regiment from me." It was a long time before Price spoke, his words more a mumble than anything else. Every syllable stung. Price's head hung from his shoulders as he spoke, as though the very emotion in his words made him unable to meet MacTavish's gaze. There was another long pause, followed by a slow, rasping sigh. Heavy eyes finally lifted to meet his. "Maybe I'm not right in the head. Maybe it's been that way longer than I want to admit. But don't you think for a second that means I stopped caring about what was right, about what was bloody important. Caring about you. I didn't ask for how today happened, but every single person on that battlefield knew exactly the kind of odds they were walking into. Maybe it's about time you stopped and thought about that too."

"Those people on the ISS, they knew what they were walking into too? How about any civilians caught in the crossfire? You can try and make this about Bones all you want, Price. But the fact of the matter is, what you did, the chain of command you ignored? It's inexcusable regardless of who took a bullet or not."

"Maybe, but I decided to live with that. I'm not asking for your blessing here, just for you to keep your head on your shoulders when your men need it most."

"Thank God for your wisdom." MacTavish let out a dark laugh. He clenched his jaw to prevent any further rebuttal, every inch of muscle tightening in his neck, his teeth grating. They were going in circles now, Price resigned to the consequences of his actions but still believing they were justified. MacTavish would never change that belief, no matter how much his mentor's blatant disregard for all that they had once held sacred stung. They were at an impasse, caught between each other's stubbornness to back down when in reality all that mattered now was Shepherd's final judgement on how to proceed.

"You're never wrong, are you John? You never misjudge, never make a mistake?" MacTavish sighed. "Time was I used to think that was strength. Now? I see you're just as shit scared as the rest of us."

"Soap..." He'd already turned on his heel to leave when Price finally spoke out. "Where the Hell are you going?"

"Anywhere but here. Turns out I can't always be the bloke you taught me to be."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Obligation and duty forgotten, Soap's legs finally carried him to the place he should have been all along.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to find Riley sitting by her side, but it caught him off guard all the same as he stepped into the room. The lieutenant gave him a once over from over his shoulder, although his eyes quickly fell back to McCoy's sleeping form. The hand that had been holding hers had retreated the second he'd entered the room.

"How is she?"

"Stable. They're keeping her under. Doctor's want her home, they're even talking about shipping her out as early as tonight."

"Tonight?" MacTavish's surprise gave him away. Somehow he'd thought he'd have more time.

"Still a war on, or there was last time I checked. Shepherd wants her out of here ASAP, wants to free up the medical personnel." Riley smiled, although somewhere along the line it became sad where it should have been smug. "Funny, would have thought you'd known about that with Shepherd pissing in your ear all day."

"You've gotta know that I wanted to be here, mate."

"It's not me you need to convince though, is it?" Riley shook his head. "Sometimes there's bigger things out there than command and duty, you know?"  

Ghost had him there. MacTavish opened his mouth to speak, but any rebuttal felt hollow. He didn't have the fight left in him, his heart allying itself with his friend even if his brain stubbornly thought otherwise. Instead, he nodded, took the criticism head on and swallowed it with everything he had.

"Thanks. For being here when I wasn't, Simon."

"Didn't do it for you." Riley slowly stood and turned to him. Although blunt, his words weren't unkind. "Found Roach in here about to pass out, figured I'd send him back to his bunk." He shrugged. "I thought someone should be 'ere, so I stayed."

"She'd be honoured, mate."

"Maybe." Clearly uncomfortable, Riley ran his his tongue across his teeth. "You speak to Price?"

"Yeah."

"Any more pearls of wisdom from him?"

"No..." MacTavish sighed. "He's still convinced he did the right thing. Worst of it is, by all reports so far... he was right. American army is digging in and pushing back. It's not his motives I question, but his bloody methods."

"Man's a fucking loose cannon. Had Bones had her way, he'd have never been out there today." Riley folded his arms. "Those kind of calls are above my pay grade, but I agreed with her 100%. So did half the task force."

"What was that you said about command? Don't know about you, but all I remember was a lot of bitching in that Ops room, but not a word of outward opposition to either my, or Shepherd's authority." MacTavish frowned, the piercing headache that had begun to throb beneath his temples coming to the forefront. He was fighting back like he always did, but it was a knee jerk defence when in reality hindsight told him Riley was right. There was so much to regret, so much to be accountable for, but he didn’t need another fight with his best mate to help him see it. "What's done is done, mate. Best we can do is try and pick up the pieces. If things had been different..."His gaze slipped to Lara, voice completely unable to voice an alternative. “… It just doesn’t fucking bear thinking about.”

"Think you can forgive him?"

"Could you?"

"Never, but you're a better man than me." Riley's words were nonchalant. He was still agitated, visibly so, but he was also backing off, saving his anger and concerns for a different day. It was a shade of the best friend MacTavish hadn't seen in years. Or maybe Soap truly did just look that tired after all. "Say your goodbyes, mate. God knows, you've waited long enough."

The room plunged into silence with Riley gone, punctuated only by the rhythmic beep that denoted Lara's heart. It was odd that the first thing he noticed was how much cleaner she was than when he'd last seen her, bathed and pristine and oh so clinical. She looked young and removed, her face set into the mask of a woman he only just recognised.

Taking Riley's abandoned seat with a grunt, MacTavish became acutely aware of how stiff his muscles had become. As he sat beside her, they relaxed a little all as one, groaning with the effort. He hadn't even realised how tightly wound he'd been, how strongly his fists had clenched at his side through endless debrief after debrief.

He should have been more. Should have been there and yet it had almost been easier not to be. Once he'd known that she was stable, a weight had been lifted, but replaced by a fear of just exactly how he would feel confronted by her sudden frailty. If he allowed himself to admit it, there had been an ounce of comfort in that, in delaying the inevitable.

Now that he was here, that inevitability was regret. Sadness. Grief. An unbearable fear that this would be the last time he'd ever see her and she'd never even remember.

Maybe he'd hoped she'd be conscious, hoped that he'd be able to kiss her and give her one last verbal memory of exactly what she meant to him. That in that moment he would have stopped being a coward, stopped burying himself behind his Captaincy and would have finally let the true John MacTavish back into the driving seat, if only for a moment.

But maybe didn't count for shit right now.

Reaching into his pocket, MacTavish pulled out a familiar weight, a loop of strung wooden beads with a weighty silver crucifix attached. His Grandfather's rosary, one of the few treasures he allowed himself to keep. He hadn't prayed with it since he was a teenager under his mother's instructions, but he'd carried it with him every single day since. It was a good luck charm of sorts, a reminder of family and faith and the man he'd left behind. It had never meant what his parents had wished it to mean to him, but that didn't mean that it had never brought comfort to times where it felt as though there was none to be found.

MacTavish didn't need luck anymore. He figured that where he was headed there would be very little of it to be found. He was in this fight until it reached it's end and no faith or reminder of home was ever going to change that.

Not without her at least.

In a slow, deliberate movement, he reached forward and wrapped the rosary around Lara's right hand, winding the beads as delicately as possible between her fingertips. Tightening her grip on the beads as best he could, he leaned in closer, pressing the softest of kisses to her knuckles. Her skin was warm, but he would have given anything to feel her fingers flex at his touch.

"I love you, Lara." His words were a whisper, an admittance to himself though he wished that she could hear them too. He'd known for so long, had kept the words to himself for fear of what they represented. He'd bottled everything up as he always did, scared to love and even more terrified to lose. And yet he was losing her anyway, being robbed of the person who reminded him of everything he'd once wanted outside of the military.

It was his own fault that he'd never hear her say those words back. Just like Price, those consequences would stay with him through whatever trials came next.

He didn't have it in him to say goodbye. Instead, he pressed closer, a hand enclosing hers and the rosary beads. The tears he’d held back since the shooting finally pricked at his eyes and finally alone, he let them fall. He bit his lip, still trying to be strong in front of her even now, at a time when even she would have chided him for it. He was tired, in pain, overwhelmed under the weight of his command and everything in between. He needed his confidante, needed the person who understood him better than himself. In that moment he was every bit the headless idiot that Price had warned him not to become.

He couldn’t break, wouldn’t let himself until the job was done. But finally alone and finally free, John MacTavish at least allowed himself to feel.

Resting his head on his other arm, he lay uncomfortably at her side, seeking comfort in the warmth that radiated from her still body. He closed his eyes, clinging to the memories of her smile and laugh and trying his best to tell himself that they were real.

He hoped that she'd understand. He'd hoped that she'd forgive him, that she'd remember the man he wanted to be, rather than the man he always was.

He hoped.

[mrsunderhill678]

Hehe, more writing

“Not all darkness equates to tragedy, just look at the night sky. Despite it's darkness, it's still beautiful, and isn't it the same with us?" - Romena Sunfritz

“That's all war is. A twisted blood sport for the powerful to watch, is that all we fucking are, huh? A God damn spectacle? There's thousands dead on either side, soil so stained with blood it ain't ever washing clean of that crimson, but you claim this is for a good cause? To hell with that, to hell with the country, to hell with you, and to hell with me. Damn, us, all.” - William Phoenix

“The world is quiet but even violence goes by softly spoken.” - William Phoenix 

“I was eluded by the dark, wrought with passion and addiction, I danced within the illusion of love, lost within a resplendent delusion. And oh, now, here I stand, my heart aggrandized by the dark, swindled into the illusion that this is my purpose, my destiny.” - Alden Delafontaine

“Am I sick, or am I twisted? For I am starting to believe there is no cure, and I am simply twisted in nature.” - Alden Delafontaine

“This world isn't fucking cold, dude, we're just turning our backs to the flame.” -- Rocky Bellot

“I used to say, I'd light a match, just to feel the fucking flame, that I was Pinocchio, rotting in the shop, but perhaps, now, I'm Jipedo, and I can breathe life into me, and fix this rotting boy of wood.” - Brad Collins

“I've tried so desperately to scrub myself clean, I've spent hours at the stream, rubbing at my hands yet still they remain stained. With tragedy, with pain.... With me. Perhaps I am the stain.” - Turner Kordell

“The scariest thing of all isn't being scared of other people, it's being so terribly frightened by yourself that even if the mirror isn't broken, you are.” - Turner Kordell

“If my past were tangible, it would bleed me dry the moment I ran my hand across it, so wickedly sharp that I never stood a chance, really. I can forgive myself all I like, but at the end of the day, it isn't about me, it never was.” - Turner Kordell

“I have been destroyed down to my very atoms, nothing but the molecular level of what I once was, but here I am, still standing, cause I ain't in this life to back down, I'm here to rise up, and stay strong in the face of my damn fear.” - Kirby Bellot

“When I'm done, I can look the devil in her pretty blue eyes and say, I did good nuff, and she'll embrace me with open arms, cause these days, the devil leans back, admires my work, and bites her damn lip, cause I've sinned so deeply ain't even the most forgiving of beings can forgive me. I am a testament to the fact that even good men, can go rotten, just ask the devil, cause all she ever did, was tell the truth. And I'm proof of that.” - Zafavri Holts 

“We're all playin' a game 'a chess with our demons, mate, we're all in a back and forth battle against our darker fuckin' side, difference between me, and the average man, is my demons said checkmate the day I was bloody born.” - Alfonso O’Sullivan

“I am beauty in the ugliest of ways.” - Micah Romiro

“They say killing a man fundamentally changes a man, and that's true so long as it's yourself you're killing.” - Micah Romiro

“It's me who made this mess, the genocide of my own self, the slaughter of my own sense of being.” - Max Shaya

“I often wonder if God keeps me alive only because she fears what I would do to her.” - Howl Matthews 

“I have danced with such sin that I am the crawling of God's skin.” - Howl Matthews

“I do not fear death, I do not fear life, or the punishment I shall receive for mine.” - Howl Matthews

 “My whole damn life around me burned and now I can just hear the fucking silence of my regret.” - Milos Fellwitz

“I have found peace in who I am, I am prepared to burn for what I've done, for everything I love already fucking did.” - Milos Fellwitz 

“So come on world, come at me, I'll break you down to my level, cause you already broke me.” - Milos Fellwitz

“Stand up to me, we'll see where it gets ya, cause buddy, you can start this fight, but you sure as FUCK, ain't gonna be the one to God damn finish it. You want a grave? Good. Stand up to me and I'll grant your wish.” - Milos Fellwitz

“I am no longer tethered to me, I am nothing more than a conscience in another body, a reflection of someone else. In these many lives I've lived I've forgotten who I was, Preston Wilkins, the walking grave.” - Preston Wilkins

“I have made grand discoveries in this life, beasts do indeed roam this world, and you'll be surprised to learn we aren't the worst of them. There are things darker than the shadows in this world. Things more tenebrous than the pitch black of the nebula.” - Preston Wilkins

“I am dead to me, a grave now to even myself.” - Mikaelson Graves

“The only time I feel truly alive is when I can dance under the torchlight... The flame flickering on my skin, the moonlight dancing on me, it's as if Heilgravold is spinning only for me on those nights... The stars shine, the moon gleams, the world spins, I can't just stand still.” - Jemalina Night

“I have lived a life I fear will end in damnation, but I cannot truthfully look God in the eye and say I had no justification for what I've done.” - Adam Borwick

“We are inclined to believe that everything beautiful is good, but even the damned can look of salvation. The scariest thing about a liar, is they're often indistinguishable from the truth tellers, and often I've found they pretend to be prophets. They speak lies as others breathe, lies fall off their tongue like truth, and just like that, a thousand fools are lured into lies. Great minds think alike, my friend, but fools' minds rarely differ.” - Adam Borwick

“My hands are a fretwork of white laced scars, healed remnants of the pain I've felt, reminders that I've survived, that I'm alive.” - Juliet Borwick

“My brother often thinks himself a hopeless case, afraid of the blood he's spilled... But despite everything he's done, he's still my hero, and I know that if the wolves surrounded me, with their gnashing teeth and claws, he'd come to my rescue, frightening the beasts with poetry singing of clashing steel and red.” - Juliet Borwick

“The sun ain't gon' rise... At least, heh, not for you.” - Defforest Van Patten

“I have watched bullets soar through the air, droppin' soldiers and bloomin' flowers 'a red misery.” - Defforest Van Patten

“I will face this Goliath in my future as if I was David, slinging the fucking stone.” - Lockman Pierce

“ I will drag this dark into the dawn and make it Icarus, only difference is, it burns for a cause more grand than itself.” - Percy Pierce

“I'd rather go up in flames then down the wrong side of history.” - Percy Pierce

 “My hands are stained with blood, and truthfully, I don't know if it's my own or my conscience's... In this dark place my mind rattles, constantly ricocheting between myself and another... My mind speaks from the tongue of my abuser.” - Dylan Robertson

 “I'm just another man riddled with bullets, watching as all the King's horses and all the King's men simply step over me. This was war, but it became tragedy, as all wars do. Bullets flew, prophets spoke, but the blood was never prose, just red.” - Dylan Robertson

“All it takes to be a good man is to love and be loved, to give what you can and help those less fortunate than you. Even a smile can save a life. I reckon our hearts are suns waitin' to rise, and all it takes is a spark, really. Of love, of joy, even of curiosity. I've found when times are hard, ya don't got to look forward to what life may bring, just curious enough to explore the path God has given you.” - Thornton May

 “I am silk, woven from the finest of horrors.” - Dr. Tobias Emory

“I have watched humanity build themselves a grave over these many years, from the days of the lawless West to the stabbing of Julius Caesar, funny, how knives find backs and ours found the world's.” - Dr. Tobias Emory

“I am poetry, a dark entity captured in the paintings of Van Gogh and the prose of Allen Poe.” - Dr. Tobias Emory

 “You hold a secret for long enough, you become one.” - Changreta Alderbright

“My regret is so softly whispered that I imagine I am simply the who shouting only for Horton to hear.” - Changreta Alderbright

“I am lost, my eyelids heavy and bloodshot, projecting the horrors I can't scratch out, and despite how much I've torn, there's no key behind those fuckers.” - Arnaldus Alswith

“In a kingdom where the gifts the gods bestowed upon us is outlawed, punishable by death, what else are we supposed to do but rebel?” - Faylen Osophine

“I'm a shadow, wearing a crown as if it would save me, but instead I am crushed under it's weight, a stain on my engraved tile floor.” - Jalandar Osophine

 “This battle, this revolution of me, was never meant to be easy, I've fought against myself for decades, and I'm proud to say, not a single corpse of me fell, and flowers bloomed from the bullets fired.” - Georgia Graves

“I am a heartless beast washed in the blood of the lamb by force. God spares me, because I've pulled the wool over his eyes. I am Jacob, pulling a coat over my barren arms and telling Issac I am Easu if only to receive a blessing a doth not fucking deserve.” - Abdalla Calico

“This war against myself is too much to bear, how did I manage to become the hunter, the deer, and the bullet piercing my own damn skull?” - Abdalla Calico

“So oh lord, I am washed in the blood of the lamb, but be weary, for that's only because I slit it's throat.” - Abdalla Calico

“I say, it's time the outcasts wrote the fucking history books. The victors write their own version of history, so I say it's time someone told the damn truth.” - Sluzmink Jones

“I ain't askin' to be forgiven, just spared.” - Regan Locke

“On the inside, I am dyin', bullet holes and old wounds etched on the inside, and yet, on the outside, I ain't even bleedin. It's funny how that works, huh? We all die before we ever reach the damn casket, all it takes is a single bad day, so imagine a life of em.” - Regan Locke

“Bleeding from one's soul is the truest form of self.” - Azophine Bane

“My heart sings a battered melody, but even a lute of few strings can play a chord.” - Brilista Shante

 “I often damn myself for others have damned me.” - Brilista Shante

“I fear I am the judgment of others, I fear I am every person I've ever met and every crime I've ever committed. But maybe, that's because in a world that hates you for your birth, I'm scared to exist, when my existence is damned.” - Brilista Shante

“Who said gluttony came in the form of food? We can wolf down sins just as we would a meal on a silver platter, and I'm just as greedy as the rest of ya if not more.” - Harold Stout

“I have fed myself so full that I can hardly walk without the crushin' weight 'a my sacrilege buryin' me six foot undah.” - Harold Stout

“I am starved yet gorged with sin.” - Harold Stout

 “Am I really to stumble through the dark, finding cliff-sides rather than solid ground?” - Gothel Hendricks

 “My tongue is scarred and bleeding from the lies of affection, my lips are burned with the taste of abusive love.” - Gothel Hendricks

“Life can be tough as all hell, it can shove us in the dirt and then some, but all you gotta do to survive, is get back up. The worst thing a man can do, is stay down.” - Salary Holmes

“Mercy, my dearest of friends, is torture after you are broken, so I wouldn't go praising a man for sparing you. He's spared you of death, not the pain he wishes to cause you.” - Cyrus Hollow