#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)

[quizzyisdone]

It Will Come Back Part III | Fem! Reader x Ghost

Chapter Title: Spillways Word Count: 3.5k Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader Synopsis: After Ghost left you in the dead of night feeling torn and hurt, Soap comes to check up on you on the orders of the man you least expect. However, it comes to the Captain's attention that Ghost had taken the fall for you and he begins to suspect something even more has taken place. Warnings: Mentions of Ghost's past (see link), strong language, mentions of physical assault to the reader, canon-typical violence, Ghost is mean sometimes

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

Masterlist

** Title inspired by Spillways by Ghost

You keep a casket buried deep within You try to mask it, but fall back in sin You want to shake it off, but you are stuck inside

When stripped of rags of skin and spine Human decay, Corpus dei Terminally dispelled

Thirty minutes had passed as you sat on the floor in complete shock, the impact from when Ghost pushed you aching even worse than the wound he had so gently tended just a little while ago. The sudden transition from that heated passion to complete rage left you confused, hurt, and most of all, ashamed. Ashamed that you were so inappropriate with your superior, that you would even consider the possibility of something more intimate with him. But most of all, he'd most likely never speak to you again after this.

Sobs racked from your body as you shook on the floor and without any regard that someone might hear you, you practically wailed, for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. After everything that had happened tonight, screwing up the mission, Ghost taking the fall for you, bringing you close for but a moment and then him leaving you on the floor like this.

You were hardly an emotional person, but everything hit you at once. Failure, disgust, fear, and a sort of righteous anger boiled within you as you tried to get yourself off the bathroom floor. You were shaking, the events happening so quickly you’d felt as though you’d been left with whiplash.  

Looking in the mirror, your eyes were red, puffy, looking absolutely pathetic as you sniffled. Wiping your face of tears, you stripped, opting to go to bed naked, too tired to change into anything else or to even shower. Modesty in case of emergency was hardly something you were concerned about at the moment.

Climbing into bed, even though you were no longer sobbing or shaking, tears still continued to stream down. You tucked the blanket up to your chin, wondering why he’d do such a thing as exhaustion began to overcome you and you succumbed to sleep.

__

Sunlight gleamed through the small slot they called a window, irritatingly casting a bright glow onto just your eyes as you grumbled. The captain was right, you did have one hell of a headache. You turned over in hopes of catching more sleep. You didn’t want to face today. No. Not after last night.

Your hopes were crushed in one fell swoop as a soft knock could be heard on the door.

“Y/N, you in there?” A low, but soft Scottish accent said from behind the door. Soap.

“Go away, MacTavish.” You groaned, but he ignored your request, quietly opening and closing the door, a far cry from what Ghost’s slamming and screaming last night. He found you with half your face buried into the blanket, your eyes puffy and your cheeks still red. Pity that agitated you creeped onto his face. He knew you cried yourself to sleep.

Embarrassing.

“Hey.” He gave a weak smile. “What’s wrong?”

“Go away, I’m naked.” You rasped, the veil of sleep still ingrained in your voice. He chuckled as a slight blush rose onto his cheeks and he averted his eyes almost immediately. 

“Put a fuckin’ shirt on then, dude.” Soap giggled, like a little schoolboy as he tossed you a random shirt he found on the floor to you. “I won’t look.”

You grumbled in acknowledgement as he turned away and you haphazardly sat up and put the t-shirt on for modesty’s sake. 

“You’re good.”

He turned to face you again, and the blush had gone away but that pity from earlier still lingered, frustratingly so. 

“So, we’ll try this again.” Soap sighed. “What's wrong?”

“Don’t wanna talk ‘bout it. Just a rough op.”  You grumbled, almost incoherently, and he chuckled as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving you a friendly squeeze on your knee from under the covers.

“I heard, but ye don’t have to talk ‘bout it.” Soap knew better than to push and you were thankful for that, knowing that Price or Gaz would’ve kept badgering at you until you finally told them. But something in his eyes clued you into the fact that he knew it was something far more than a failed mission. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You replied dismissively, hoping to end this conversation as soon as possible. He accepted your answer, although the shake of his head indicated that he knew you were not alright. But anyone with half a brain could see that.

“Mkay. Ghost wanted me to check on you. He heard you last night.” He said so nonchalantly as you did a double take.

“W-Wh-” You stuttered. “Why would he want to check on me?” Hostility entered your tone as you glared at Soap, absolute venom dripping from your voice in reference to Ghost. “And why wouldn’t he do it himself?”

“Yer part of his team?” He raised an eyebrow, knowing better than to reciprocate the sudden shift in energy that you gave him. “ ‘Course he would. But these things aren’t really his strong suit, you know that.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that it irked you, as if it was obvious that Ghost cared about anyone or even himself for that matter. 

Seeing the disbelief on your face, he reassured you. “Man’s not a sociopath.”

“Contrary to popular belief.” You chuckled cruelly to yourself. Immediately, however, you felt regret at such a harsh statement. It was, even in your heightened emotional state, an unfair, unworthy, and dishonest assessment of Ghost. 

“Let me put it this way,” Soap rolled his eyes, glaring at you like you were full of shit, clearly annoyed at your harsh characterization of the lieutenant.  “LT cares ‘bout you enough to save yer arse.”

“So? Price ordered him to rescue me at the safehouse.” 

“He would’ve saved you no matter what Price said.” His tone was serious and curt, a far cry from the loud, wise-cracking soldier he was. The kindness from before was gone. “ But Price didn’t order him to take the blame for your fuck up.”

“How the-?” You started, but he quickly cut you off. His patience had quickly waned at your impudence towards his friend, but he remained calm.

“I’ve known him personally for a good bit of time,” He started, sighing as he rubbed his forehead. “And by reputation far, far longer than you have. I don’t know exactly what happened, but it’s not like Ghost to violently murder a VIP out of anger. He’s not that emotional, especially not on your behalf. But it is like you to do that.”

You stayed silent, chewing on your bottom lip, too stunned to really say anything else. You hadn’t pegged Soap to be such an astute observer of character, but it was scary how accurate he was. He was right, it was not at all like Ghost to do that. He was always professional with a mission first mindset, whereas you were highly emotional, sometimes to the detriment of the mission. 

“I don’t know what happened, but just pull it together, mkay?” Soap pursed his lips, his lost patience from before had returned as he saw your contemplative, pained expression. His resolve to be angry at you dissipated when he saw the hurt in your eyes. He knew it was something deeper.

“Analysts used the map to find a lead, so it doesn’t matter what happened anyway. So maybe you didn’t cock it up that bad.” He teased as he punched your arm, and you gave him a sheepish smile, skirting around the actual issue. He stood up, taking a deep breath as he walked to your door. “Price wants us for a debrief in a few hours so put yer pants on and get something to eat with us.”

“Can’t wait to fuck this one up too.” You chuckled dry as Soap shook his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes.

“You won’t.” He said reassuringly, his head peeped around from the corner, before he disappeared. He had shut your door much more gently than Ghost had the night prior.

When Soap had left, you managed to get yourself out of bed. As you trudged your body to the sink, your thoughts wandered back to last night as you felt a sharp pain in your lower back. Looking backwards in the mirror, you stripped the shirt from earlier, only to find a large, black and purple bruise formed on the site of impact where Ghost had thrown you like a ragdoll.  

“Fuckin’ Christ.” You muttered as your hand gingerly grazed over the affected area. Your head was throbbing with every sharp breath you took.

__

Getting ready was a surreal, mundane blur. One of you hardly cared to remember.

As you made your way into the mess hall, you became acutely aware of the stares of fellow 141 members passing by you in the cramped hallway, glancing their heads toward you in either confusion or sympathy and quickly turning away to go about their business. A blush rose to your cheeks as you avoided their stares. 

Everyone heard you crying last night.

__

You made your way to your normal spot with Gaz, Soap, and unfortunately, the man himself, Ghost, already seated at the table. As per usual, the masked man was sat tucked in between the corner at the far reaches of the room, with Gaz sat across from him and Soap one seat down from him.

He caught your lingering gaze while you were walking towards the table, but unusually yet unsurprisingly, he immediately stared down towards his tray, which was only occupied with a mere dry yeast roll, a bottle of water, and a cup of fruit. Normally, Ghost’s plate would be filled to the brim to sustain his large, imposing figure. 

You sat at the table, nodding and muttering a small hello to only Soap and Gaz.

“You need to eat, sergeant. Go get something.” Ghost muttered after some time of awkward silence, rather hypocritically too -- as if his own plate wasn’t meager in terms of sustenance. 

“Not hungry.” You mumbled and you could almost feel his eyes rolling. Why the fuck does he care anyway?

“Hey.” Gaz smiled softly towards you, lightly jabbing your shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just some bad dreams last night.” You lied while Ghost stole a judgemental glance that you almost didn’t catch. “Kept me up.”

“That bad, huh?” Gaz chuckled.

“Yeah, we do some fucked up things. You’re telling me that shit doesn’t haunt you?” You raised your eyebrows, ardently avoiding the gaze of Ghost as silence ensued. The tension was thick, and with Ghost seemingly about to lose it any moment, either man was too afraid to answer truthfully, and Soap too uneasy to comment on what he knew. “Well?”

“It shouldn’t.” Ghost said harshly, staring at nothing in particular. “You’re a soldier. You get the job done right and you don’t think too hard about it.”

Surprised at his interjection, you finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes. His gaze was set harshly towards you, his brows furrowed and as he gripped his pathetic yeast roll for dear life. 

“Fuck off.” You spat. Ghost thought for a moment, before slamming his fists down onto the table, looking at you with that same pitiless, inhumane stare and using strength not unlike the type he used to shove you into a wall last night as you flinched.

“Bloody hell, you need to get it together.” He shook his head and his voice was low but nonetheless imperious as was so typical of the man. “Keep it professional.”

“You first.” You did not lower your voice as he did, instead raising it. You cocked one eyebrow as you stared back defiantly. If Ghost was shocked at your brash statement which implicated both of your indiscretions from the night prior, he didn’t show it. Instead, with a grunt, he abruptly rose from the table, the force of it pushing it backwards and into both you and Gaz.

Soap and Gaz remained stunned for a moment, with Soap’s mouth slightly agape and you feigned disinterest at the encounter. Looking over next to you, you noticed what would’ve been a comical expression on Soap’s were it not for the present situation.

You huffed in annoyance. “Close your mouth, MacTavish. You’ll attract bugs.” While you played cool with your demeanour, your shaky tone gave away your rising anger and annoyance.  

“What the fuck happened between you two?” Gaz asked, the look of bewilderment almost equal to that of Soap’s.

“N-nothing.” You stuttered. “Leave it at that.”

“Obviously it was something if you’re screaming and he’s pushing tables.” He argued. “We’re a fucking team and you two can’t be acting like this. So what the fuck happened?” His bewilderment had turned into exasperation that bordered on outright indignation.

“Stop acting like you’re the boss, Garrick. You don’t need to know-”

“Gaz isn’t.” An authoritative, deep cockney accent interrupted you. You turned around, knowing already who it was behind you as you felt your stomach drop. Price. “But I am. So you best tell me what the hell is going on between the two of you.”

You went quiet for a moment, and as you opened your mouth to speak, he interrupted you again.

“The truth, sergeant. Don’t lie to me.” 

You sighed. “I killed the VIP. Not Ghost.”

Price closed his eyes, attempting to compose himself and mask the disappointment that was already oh so obvious to you. 

“And he took the blame for you.” You felt your stomach churn as you could practically see the cogs turning in his head as Price carefully chose his next words. “So he’s bitter.”

“Are you angry or disappointed?” You mumbled, taking great care to avoid looking at him.

“Both.” He said curtly, you almost wish he would’ve said just disappointed. That you could handle, but not his ire. 

“That makes two of us.” That same feeling of shame began to rear its ugly head. You know you fucked up, and now so does your commander, the man who you looked up to.  

“I punished your teammate for something you did.” He said lowly, careful to keep his voice composed. “It should.”

Price let an awkward, tense silence fill the air. You glanced around the room, luckily the outburst didn’t seem to attract any attention, but the embarrassment from being reprimanded from the captain in front of Gaz and Soap was a feeling that would never leave you.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you off this op or take you off the taskforce for breach of conduct.” Price crossed his arms, rubbing his forehead.

“Why don’t you?”

“We still need you. But you’re on thin fucking ice, sergeant. You understand?” His brow furrowed, almost as if he was hurt by your actions. You nodded. “Debrief in two hours and mission’s in three. I don’t want to see your face until then.”

“Yes, sir.” You rose from the table, heading back to your quarters.

“One more thing, sergeant.” 

“Yes, sir?” You turned around to face Price, ignoring the stares of Soap and Gaz whose cheeks were flushed with secondhand embarrassment.

“Anything else you need to tell me?” His critical eyes burned into you as you thought of fessing up to both you and Ghost’s indiscretions of the night previous, the true reason for the sudden shift in the dynamic between the two of you.

“No, sir.” You answered, electing to not to be dishonourably discharged for fraternization today.

His normally warm, kind blue eyes turned into an icy stare, as if he knew there was something more. Price opted not to push any further, however, much to your relief.

“Fine. Dismissed.”

__

When you finally made it back to your quarters, you slumped onto your bed, fighting the urge to scream, cry, or do anything that was otherwise emotional. You had to get a reign in on your feelings. 

You laughed a little to yourself, wondering how the hell you even ended up in this situation in the first place, how in the ever living fuck could Ghost, after months of barely acknowledging your existence and you returning the favor, could end up with this histrionic shift in dynamic over the course of just a few days.

You shook the thought from your mind, attempting to clear your head to prepare yourself for the briefing. It’d no doubt be awkward, but you trusted your team not to make any scene of it. Mostly everyone, at least. You took off your shirt, leaving you clad in nothing but a bra and some pants, going to turn on the shower. 

As soon as you turned on the shower, you heard a knock on the door. You grumbled, no one could leave you the fuck alone anymore. You strided to the door, your footsteps loud and unmistakably frustrated with the constant interruption of your precious alone time. You cracked open the door and poked your head through, finding yourself facing straight at a large figure donned in tactical gear. You looked up to find Ghost’s signature skull masks and dead eyes staring at you.

“What?” In spite of yourself, you were mindful to watch your tone and keep a straight face -- anything to betray how you truly felt, if only for the sake of tracking down Makarov. 

Ghost didn’t answer, instead barging his way through the room and shutting the door harshly behind him. You almost lost your composure again at such a simple, callous disregard for privacy.

“LT what the fuck?” You said, covering your midriff, if to preserve some sense of the propriety between the two of you.

“Calm down, it’s not like I’ve never seen that part of you before.” He said so nonchalantly, ignoring your half naked form. 

“Before or after you threw me into a fucking bathroom sink?” You spat back. You turned your back to him while he went to sit down on the bed opposite of yours. You rummaged through the multitude of clothes scattered on the floor in hopes of finding a clean shirt. “What the hell do you want, Ghost?” You asked, irritation creeping into your tone.

“To make things better between us.” He said simply. “For the mission.” 

“You screamed, pushed me, screamed at me again this morning and then shoved a table. Now you want to apologize?” You scoffed. “Jesus Christ, your mood swings are giving me whiplash.”

“Fuck me,” He muttered, just loud enough so you could hear it. “I’m sorry, is that what you want me to say?” He said, this time louder, a tone just below yelling. You didn’t say anything in response, your back still turned to him.

“The bruise on your back.” Ghost said simply, his voice lowering. He shifted to lean forward, glaring at the grotesque, hideous purplish black markings he could only assume that he was responsible for inflicting. His gloved hand ghosted over the bruises, and the acute awareness of his palm overcame you. “Did I do that?”

You turned around, backing away from his touch and preparing yourself for yet another argument with the lieutenant, but you were caught off guard when you saw the look in his eyes had softened into that of what could be mistaken for pity or even remorse. 

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He mumbled. For once he seemed at a loss for words. “I didn’t mean to hurt ya.”

“Well, you did. Hurt like a motherfucker.” You sat on the bed, his figure directly across from yours. The anger and hurt had almost dissipated in the moment. An unusual feeling of calm came into the room and you almost relaxed, as if you weren’t bearing the marks of his ire on your back. “Why’d you do that to me?” You sighed, pouting like a child.

Ghost thought for a moment. “Remember when you lost your shit last night? You did it because he hurt you, made you feel helpless, yeah?”

Gingerly, you nodded.

“That’s why I did that.” He took a keen interest in his hands, fiddling with the material on his gloves, almost nervously. Now it appeared that instead of Ghost or LT, he was simply Simon, at least in the moment. The mystique that had built his reputation faded and left behind just a simple man, not some paranormal super soldier who seemed capable of the impossible. 

“But I didn’t hurt you or make you feel-” You began to ramble, but Ghost was sure to put a quick stop to it.

“No. You didn’t. But someone else did. A long time ago.”

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault, sergeant.” He said gruffly, his authoritative tone returning. The man Simon was gone, and thus returned the persona of Ghost. “It was a long time ago. I don’t like talking about it. It goes without saying that this stays between us, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You smiled weakly. “I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I mean it.” His eyes burnt once more into you. You swallowed, nodding in understanding at the implications of what he just said. 

He hurt you because someone had irrevocably and violently assaulted him before.

[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]

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” 

[matthewtkachuk]

how to be a heartbreaker: rule five - rafe cameron

Rafe Cameron’s privileged upbringing has let him get away with far too much, for far too long. Between his tormenting of the pogues, running his mouth without consequence, and arrogant attitude, it’s time someone knocked him down a peg. Breaking his bones didn’t work, but maybe you can break his heart.

co-authored with my love, freya @rekrappeter

pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader, unrequited!JJ x reader

warnings: angst, starting a relationship under false pretences, drinking and drug use

word count: 4.8k

a/n: here she is the last rule. all i have to say is we’re sorry and we love yall so much, don’t cancel us on the dash. please please please leave us feedback, freya and i read every comment and cry, love you guys so much!!

“Is this last rule even necessary?” you rolled your eyes, listening to JJ blabber on and on. John B jumped in now and again to add extra information that JJ glossed over but for the most part, your blonde friend took the lead again.

Kie chimed in, “I don’t think that y/n of all people needs to be reminded not to fall.”

“Yeah, do i look stupid enough to fall for Rafe Cameron’s charms?” You said, giving JJ an inquisitive look. 

JJ smirked at you, shrugging his shoulders, “Look, I trust you but you John B thought it might be a good one to add.” 

“You never know what life could throw at you, kid,” John B chuckled, sipping on his bottle of beer, “to be on the safe side.” 

You stood from the couch, a grin on your face as your hands rested on your hips, you looked at each one of your friends in the eye. “I promise you all now, I will not fall in love with Rafe Cameron.” JJ smirked at your response to the worried looks, reaching out to do your handshake with him before he started to talk about the next rule.

“Rule five: when they call, don’t be the first to fall”

Weeks passed in a blur, punctuated with spending more and more time with Rafe - more movie dates in the back of his truck, spending time at the driving range as he jokingly accused you of embracing your inner kook, taking you for rides on his yacht (which you had to admit was much more impressive than the HMS Pogue), and eventually taking you to that fancy restaurant on the coast. It was also interspersed with less and less time spent with the Pogues, you were pulling away from them whether you realized it or not.

On a night when Pope finally convinced you to spend time with them all, you were perched on a broken lawn chair as your friends sat around the dying fire with you. 

As you sat there, nursing a can of warming PBR, your mind wandered to what a certain kook was doing. You thought about the way he made you laugh, how his body felt against yours, the slow way he claimed your body and your mouth, the look in his eyes after you had both finished, sweaty and spent, wrapped in each other’s arms. You thought about the soft way he played with your hair as you laid your head on his chest, the way it felt to fall asleep next to him, and the soft and quiet joy you felt waking up with his arm around your waist. Panic set in as you realized the implications of your feelings. Your.... feelings. You felt your chest tighten and your eyes widen as you began to comprehend the truth, stupid bet and stupider plan be damned, you were falling for public enemy number one, Rafe Cameron himself. Your mouth went dry and you began to have difficulties breathing. Suddenly a mess of blonde hair was in your face as JJ kneeled in front of you. Despite your earlier fight, you were still his best friend and when JJ noticed you about to slip into a panic attack, he reacted quickly. 

You vaguely recognized the words leaving his mouth as your name and, ‘are you okay?’ but the sight of him was distressing you more. How could you be falling in love with Rafe Cameron when you were already deeply in love with the boy in front of you? The two were bitter enemies, no love lost between them. The thought distressing you more and more you could only shake your head and weakly attempt to push his hands from their place on your knee, gasping out “Pope, I need Pope.”

JJ’s face fell, the realization that he’s no longer the one you turn to for comfort stings but he calls out for Pope, stepping back at letting his friend help you through it. He watched intently as Pope calmed you down, breathing with you and trying to get you to focus on his voice and your surroundings. JJ stumbled over a branch, watching you grip to Pope like a lifeline, and he realized then that he lost you. He hasn’t seen you in weeks, and if he did, it was for ten minutes maximum. He’d come by your house and it’d be empty, he’d wait in your bedroom and each time your bed looked as if it hadn’t been used in days. His messages went unanswered and it was getting hard to ignore the gossip of Rafe Cameron dating a pogue that fell off every middle aged woman’s tongue as he mowed their lawn. 

He took one last look at you before turning his back to his friends and stalking away from the chateau with only one mission evident in his blurry mind. He ignored the protests of Kie and John B, feeling his friend grip his wrist to stop him but he made a clear break to his bike, jumping on it and starting the engine, making a beeline to figure eight. 

An hour or two later you were making your way down the beach away from your friends. You had noticed JJ wasn’t there when you’d finally calmed down in Pope’s arms, but you just shrugged it off, assuming he’d found some blonde barbie touron and gone home with her. Your heart was pounding in your chest at the anticipation of seeing Rafe, he had messaged you earlier to meet him down by the lifeguard station. Despite your earlier freak out, you knew that your feelings for Rafe were genuine and you couldn’t wait to see him, to put all this behind you and start a real relationship with him, if he’d have you.

Spotting his tall figure sitting on the beach, you smiled to yourself and approached him quietly, covering his eyes with your hands and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. You felt him tense up, and your brows furrowed, Rafe had never acted so stiffly around you. Not since you’d started whatever was going on between you. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he spoke lowly, sounding as though his throat was raw as he pulled your hands off of him. 

“D-Do what?” you asked, stepping in front of him and grabbing his face in your hands. He leant into your touch for a moment, eyes closed before they slowly opened, revealing his red eyes. 

“Pretend,” he looked right into your eyes and deep into your soul as you felt your heart shatter. 

“Pretend? Rafe?” you don’t know why you were asking him, the realization had set in quickly that JJ wasn’t off with some touron, he was off ruining your happiness. Rafe stood up from the sand, his stature towering over you but he didn’t look as intimidating or as confident as he usually did, he looked heart broken. You had done it, you thought bitterly to yourself. You had perfected how to be a heartbreaker.

“Maybank told me everything, your stupid little plan, the stupid bet. All of it,” 

 “R-Rafe,” your voice broke, taking a step closer to him but he stumbled away from you, “It’s not what you think.”

Rafe scoffed drily, shaking his head, “You’re going to do that now? I know everything, y/n! You can’t fucking deny it! I trusted you with things, I-I opened up to you about everything… my mother,” he cried, ignoring the tears that were streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t care how he looked in this moment, he couldn’t care less if someone was filming him to expose him at some big party; he fell in love with you and he was broken, he wanted you to know how you made him feel.

“Rafe, when I agreed to do this, I wasn’t thinking about the ending… I was just thinking about how to get back at you for all the shit you put us through.”

A loud, heavy sigh passed his lips and the anger furried behind the agony, “That’s the problem with you and your fuckin pogues,” Rafe snapped,  “You think you’re all innocent and I'm this awful monster you can pin the blame on. As if Maybank doesn’t start half, if not more of our fights, as if he’s never said something disgusting about my sister to me thinking he could get away with that. As if you didn’t pretend to fall in love with me just to see the look in my eyes when you tell me it was all a lie.” 

“Yes, okay, I admit it, I was pretending at the start,” you shouted at him, feeling all your emotions piling over the edge, “But I wasn’t pretending for the last few weeks. Rafe I-” You blinked back tears, sobs threatening to rip from your lips, “I fell in love with you too.”

“How do I know you aren’t pretending right now? I bet that would be real funny to you and your friends, convince me that you’re in love with me too just to make it hurt even more when you pull the rug out for real.” He shook his head in utter disbelief. He couldn’t believe he had been so wrong about you. He thought that you cared for him, that you wanted him as badly as he wanted you. When JJ had showed up at his house, Rafe hadn’t believed him at first, you couldn’t be that cruel. But the look on your face when he said ‘you don’t have to do that’ confirmed it all for him. Rafe thought the worst pain he would ever feel in his life was standing over his mother’s casket at her funeral, but this came close. 

“I'm not, Rafe, trust me… I’ve never felt this way about anyone and yes, I’ll forever regret how it started but-”

“You already won, you don’t have to pretend anymore,” he shook his head, interrupting you and turning to walk away.

“Rafe, stop!” you begged, grabbing onto his wrist, but he easily shook you off. 

“Congratulations, you got what you wanted, I fell in love with you,” Rafe muttered, disdain dripping from his tongue,  “I hope you and Maybank are really happy together, don’t ever speak to me again,” he snarled, giving you one last look before he walked away from you. 

“Rafe, please,” You begged, before you felt your knees give out, collapsing into the sand. The sobs you had barely been keeping at bay finally escaped your lips, the sound heart wrenching to anyone who was unfortunate to be near enough to hear them.

JJ must have been nearby, because he was on you in a second, “y/n?!” He was gripping your shoulders, attempting to pull you in for a hug, but you shoved him as hard as you could away from you, and frantically clawed at the sand to propel you backwards, away from him.

"This is all your fault!" You wanted to scream and shout at the top of your lungs, but you couldn't, your voice was a weak whimper. JJ watched you intently, his heart slowing at the sight of you, tears streaming down your face. He can count the amount of times he'd seen you cry on one hand, and it was a sight he wanted to erase from his mind completely.

"Y/n, i-" but he didn't know what to say. He knew what he'd done, he wasn't thinking about you when he said those words. He was solely focused on breaking Rafe's heart that he never considered yours.

“I know you couldn’t ever love someone like me, but that didn’t mean you had the right to stop everyone else from it. Am I that repulsive, that disgusting that you feel the need to ruin any chance I have at happiness?” You sobbed, head falling into your hands. You knew JJ would never love you the way you wanted, and you knew that he was always threatening boys to keep them away from you, but you never thought he would actually do this.

“Y/n, that’s- that’s not-” he was struggling to find the words to say to show you that wasn’t how he felt about you at all. 

"I-I'm done, JJ, I'm done chasing something that will never happen," You shook your head, voice hoarse from the screaming and the crying. The one man you wanted to wrap his arms around you and comfort you couldn’t even look at you anymore; the man you shared the softest of moments with in such a short span of time, the man that made you feel something, made you feel wanted and loved. 

“Y/n, we can work this out,” JJ pleaded, kneeling down in front of you but you shook your head, pushing him away again. “You’re my best friend and I love you, y/n.”

You choked out a strangled laugh, “Love? Fuck you JJ, you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“That’s not true, I know I love you.” He pleaded again, stupidly reaching for you a third time. But this time his fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to him and he crashed his lips against yours. You struggled against him, his grip strong and tight until you bit his lip. He let go of your wrists in shock and you took the opportunity to slap his cheek as hard as you could. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You cried at him, “You can’t just do that to me JJ. You know that I have been in love with you our whole lives, you don’t get to do this right now. You don’t get to do this ever.” You finally managed to get up, tears falling from your face.

“Y/n, I-” he started again, realizing that he had well and truly fucked up this time, possibly ruining your friendship beyond repair.

“Congratulations, you broke Rafe Cameron’s heart… but you also broke mine.” You spit at him and walked into the night.

JJ sat there on his knees for a moment in shock, staring at his hands that had just held you. His lips were tingling with a kiss that he had craved since the first and last time when you were both fourteen. But it was all wrong. He had waited too long, thinking that you would always just be there in the wings, waiting for him to get his shit together and then you could be together. He had always just taken for granted his beautiful best friend, the one who he swore up and down he didn’t have feelings for, but deep down he always knew he did.

One minute, he’s wallowing in the consequence of his actions, the next, Pope is shoving him, telling him to ‘get up’.

“You idiot!” Pope shouted. JJ had never seen his best friend this mad before, and never at him. Not when JJ had pulled that gun on Topper, not when they had sunk that boat, not even when JJ had attacked you for sleeping with Rafe. But here Pope was, practically shaking with rage that was all directed at him. “When I said tell her how you feel, I didn’t mean destroy her relationship with Rafe and attack her with your face.”

“Yeah, but it was a relationship with Rafe. Cameron.” JJ enunciated the syllables of his enemies first and last name. 

“A relationship that you unconsciously set up, and no matter who it is with, y/n is our best friend! We should support it, but we’ll never get the chance now because y/n is a sobbing mess in the house adamant that Rafe wants nothing to do with her. Because of you!” 

“I- I didn’t want to hurt her,” JJ lamely replied, eyes downcast on the sand rather than look into the rightfully furious eyes of his best friend.

“And what did you think was going to happen when you exposed the plan to Rafe? Or when you tried to kiss y/n right after her heart was torn out of her chest, huh? What is wrong with you?”

“I wasn’t really thinking, man,” JJ ran his hands over his face, exhaling loudly. 

“Clearly,” Pope replied drily, shaking his head at the idiocy of his best friend, wondering if there was a way to fix this, or if JJ had ruined everything.

Only a few feet away, you lay curled up against Kie’s side as she stroked your hair and let you cry on her shoulder. “I love him, Kie, I love him and he wants nothing to do with me. And he’s right to want nothing to do with me. What do I do?”

“Right now, you sleep it off.” She said softly, not understanding your love for the boy who had only ever made your friends’ lives hell, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t support it, support you. You loved her for that.

“And then?” You whispered sleepily, the exhaustion of the last hour of your life seeping deep into your bones.

“I believe if two people are meant to be together, eventually they’ll find their way back.” 

Tag list:

htbah taglist (link to add yourself to the google form in the series masterlist!): 

@solllaris @drewswannabegirl @starrystarkey93 @httpstarkey @sweetlysilent @drewstarkey @dontjinx-it @ultranikilove @spencereidbasis @meaganjm @starlightstarkey @thortheestallion @jiaraendgame @idocarealot @tempestuousjj @pink-meringues @dpaccione @arianabrashierstuff @softstarkey @loveylangdon @xenagzb @teenwaywardasgardian @prejudic3 @nxsmss @canibeoneofthepogues @outerbanksbro @obx-direction-sos @nqbmf @digniteas @annedub @colorful-queen-of-the-roses @yesp0ny @loveniallandharryonedirection @fantasticpsychicfanfish @girls-breaking-hearts @beautyandthebleh @casper17 @mozz-are-lla @parkershoco @unfortunatekiwitrash @loverofmineluke @slutforjjmaybank @skiesofthesketchy @httpstarkey @sugarcoatedcalum @amorisxx @trinnwazheree @stargazingstarkey @obx-saltlife @juliarose21​ @hyperactive2411​ @mcarignan​ @feyrecauldron-blessed​ @sportygal55​ @popcrone818​ @wtfkie​ @raekenliar @letsgotothehop​ @walkingtothesun​ @outerbanksbro​ @summerkaulitz​​ @glux64​ @itslilithsstuff​ @softsunlightskies @kaitieskidmore1​ @mycowatemyhw​​ @poguepunk​​

rodeo rafe babies who said they were interested:

@royalmerchant​ @outerbankslut​ @honeyycheek​ @jellyfishbeansontoast​ @ilovejjmaybank​ @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless​ @girlsru1eboysdroo1​ @https-luna​ @butgilinsky​ @rae131415​

diverdcwn everything taglist:

@velyssaraptor​ @danicarosaline​ @copper-boom​ @x-lulu​ @prejudic3​ @downbytheouterbanks​ @ilovejjmaybank​ @bricksatanakinswindow​ @jellyfishbeansontoast​ @sunwardsss​ @rudyypankow​ @im-a-stranger-thing​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @maybankfullkook​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @socialwriter​ @bluesiderudy​ @anxietyandtacos​ @diverrdown​ @stargazingstarkey​

[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.

[nav-arre]

These Birds You Cannot Cage

A piece for FebuWhump 2021, day 3: Imprisonment. 3549 Words. Can also be read here on ao3! Rated T! Tags for violence, broken bones, vomiting, and Nilfgaard being the fuckin’ worst.

Sodden burns and Yennefer runs. Staggers, really, though it’s hard to tell the difference in her state. She can hear nothing but white noise like a distant blaze roaring. Occasionally her vision blacks out and when she comes to she’s somewhere completely different and has not stopped moving. She can’t. She tries to reach inside herself to draw from her well of power, but—

For the first time since learning of its existence, of putting a name to the fire inside her, her chaos is depleted. It’s worse than worn out, it’s so empty a part of her begins to assume it’s gone forever. If she had time to feel an emotion— dread, rage, fear, hopelessness— she might. But all she has is her body pushing her forward, strength and speed she didn’t know she could muster after this level of exertion, towards something shaped vaguely like freedom. Safety.

Honestly, she wasn’t really sure what freedom was anymore. Once, it had been a young man who watched her grow into herself, made her feel like anything was possible. Another time, it had been an academy that promised it could help her craft her chaos. Later, it had been proximity to wealth, riches, royalty. After that, it had been her, alone, making her own rules on her own terms.

And then, of course, freedom had come to her in the form of a world-weary witcher, amber eyes, and the unspoken promise to never tie one another down. Never clip the other’s wings.

Freedom was meant to be choice.

Freedom, Yennefer thought, was a beautiful, wretched lie.

When she finally stumbles, she crashes on the ground in an unceremonious heap. Her head swims and when she tries to rise up, push on, she finds her arms shake too fiercely and betray her. The white noise in her ears begins to fade and as she tries to focus on the ground in front of her she sees them. Boots, surrounding her. Shadows, looming.

They stand stock still. Someone is yelling, “Now is your chance, you idiots—” and then “She’s empty. Poor little mage used up her powers… but she’s still useful to us. Grab her, now.”

Freedom may have been a lie but actual imprisonment… that was something else entirely. Yennefer pushes herself away, bumping into what’s either a tree or somebody's legs, and hears laughter dribble out from the guards. She nearly wretches in disgust.

Next is the feeling of hands (she thinks it’s dozens, must be, but it may only be four,) gruff and far too tight. They wrench her off the ground and her vision is too blurred to make out any of their faces.

And just when she tries to steady her head and meet her captors face on, her vision swims again and consciousness slips away.

x

Yennefer wakes and immediately wretches what little she has in her stomach into a bucket next to her.

She’s cuffed in dimitrium, and everything feels so wrong. The floor is grimy, and as soon as she has a moment to breathe she heaves, pulls against her binds like she has even a chance of escaping.

“Thank fuck.”

Of all the voices she had to hear right now—

Yennefer lifts her head, tosses some hair out of her face to see better and there, directly across from her, is the continent’s most irritating bard. She groans.

“Mmmmm, yeah, not my choice of company either, but thank you for that,” he says. She gives him a stare. He looks… messy. Hair grown out a bit, stubble on his face, dark circles under his eyes. His shirt, which may have once been a cream color but was now a rather unfortunate motley of filth, is opened low enough to see a few dark bruises peeking out. There's a long scar on his neck, healed, but concerning nonetheless.

“But you were… really out there for a while. You alright? Relatively, I mean.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes.

“I’m in a prison cell. Actually, I’m in a prison cell with you, which is worse. There not much relatively to it.”

“Listen Yennefer, I don’t like you either but so long as we’re here together we might as well not be at each other’s throats. I love a good drama as much as the next bard but I don’t have the energy to fight both you and them.”

He’s not bouncing his leg as he so often does, and she wonders if there are bruises there too. Wonders how deep they run.

“Fine,” she says. “Only so long as we’re stuck. How long have you been here?”

Without the use of his hands, Jaskier’s taken to using his head to gesticulate. It looks absolutely nonsensical. “Oh,” he says after a few moments, “Three of four months?” Yennefer’s eyes bulge. “What month is it now?”

She tells him, and his head tips back in laughter. “Oh, okay, lovely. More like 6, then. Ah, how time flies when you’re being held against your will!”

Yennefer frowns. “And he hasn’t… come for you?”

Jaskier’s expression darkens, and he shakes his head. “Can you do that mind thing?” He whispers. She shakes her head.

“Not with dimitrium on me.”

Jaskier sighs. “I’m not saying anything about him, not out loud, not in here. Though, they said their mage will be seeing me next, so I don’t know how long that will matter for.”

Yennefer frowns, and thinks. They should be able to communicate this quietly without the guard's understanding. They’re not nearby, at least, and there are none likely smart enough to realize what they’re doing if they’re smart about it. “The mountain?”

“What? I— Oh, I see: Yes.” He catches on quickly.

“And then the two of you…?”

He shakes his head. “Just me.”

“Just you?” He'd left the mountain alone?

He hums in agreement. “And nothing since.” That'd been over a year ago now, and he hadn't seen Geralt in all that time?

“Idiot,” she mutters. “He tore his whole life to shreds.”

Jaskier shrugs, and looks… truly downtrodden, for the first time. She could see the months of wear against him. “I’m far from his whole life. That’s more of your specialty.”

Yennefer snorts. “Not really. And not by choice, apparently.”

“Would you be?” He asks and seems genuinely curious. There’s no bite to it. Like he really wants to hear her opinion. “If you had the choice?”

It’s an honest question, and she realizes she’s never stopped to think about an honest answer to it without being clouded by anger. She doesn’t like what this bard is doing to her already— what right did he have to make her feel important?

“Maybe if he’d given it,” Yennefer says after a second. She doesn’t like that it took even that long to consider it. “Taking away my choice takes away any goodwill we had, though.”

Jaskier nods. “Makes sense,” he says. “Can’t imagine an eagle likes its wings being clipped.” He sits back against the wall and closes his eyes. It strikes her that he doesn’t sound pleased. Of anyone, shouldn’t he be happy for her misfortune in love with the witcher? His witcher?

Well. Their witcher, she supposed. She hated the implications.

There’s silence. There’s silence, with Jaskier. As if things didn’t already feel dismal and strange enough. It was like a stream suddenly going silent. It was supposed to make noise. She stares at the scar on his neck and wonders.

It feels like the walls are going to fall down around her as she lets the reality sink in. There’s likely no getting out of this, she’s just here, they’re both just here, and unless someone on the outside does something, they’re likely to be there until her chaos eats her alive, or one of them is otherwise killed.

She wants to hear the steady stream of his voice. She wonders where his lute is. She tries to picture something to take her out of the place she’s stuck, the four walls that may end up as her casket.

“You’re not going to… sing something? Or whatever it is you do?” What had stopped the bird from singing? (Was that a worse fate than clipped wings, or the same?)

Jaskier opens his eyes to look at her and it feels like he’s seeing something she doesn’t even see in herself. It’s uncomfortable. He closes his eyes again.

“I haven’t sung,” he says softly, “in nearly 6 months.”

They’re there for weeks.

“Do you have any way to get out of here?” Jaskier asks late one evening when they both can’t sleep.

“Maybe, but only if I got these cuffs off me,” she admits. “Even then, it’d be a gamble. And if you’re still cuffed as well, I’m not sure I could do both. My chaos is… broken.”

There are a few beats of quiet. She wonders if he’s somehow fallen asleep. Then,

“I asked if you had a way out of here, Yennefer.”

Ah. She can hear his soft smile. Shit. That wasn’t what he’d meant? Was that not— did she really just assume him into her escape plans? Of all people?

“I assumed you meant—”

“Listen,” he says, “assume away. But when it comes time… don’t let me slow you down.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she doesn’t.

She doesn’t sleep, that night.

“Do you hate him?” he asks another night.

“Yes,” she says, and everything aches. “Sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

She nods. “And you?”

He nods back. “Only sometimes.”

The days slip and fall together.

This is what it feels like to be in a cage:

Her bones feel like lead, her mind feels like lead. The dimitrium weighs down something inside her, too, and it’s even more difficult to stomach the gruel they serve day in and day out. The cell is dark and cavernous, large enough to fit fifteen more prisoners at least, but it seems to be reserved for the two of them. Small sounds echo for ages and threaten to drive her mad.

(It feels like a door locked from the outside, a handle too high to reach.)

This is what it feels like to have a cage inside of you:

Yennefer had a scream inside her, ripping at her insides, desperate to get out. Her chaos, budding slowly, had never felt so oppressive and unnatural before. She knows if she goes too long with these cuffs on her, it’ll explode outward, and she knows Nilfgaard is willing to play that game of chance.

(It feels like knowing you’ve already ruined everything.)

This is what it feels like to be in a cage with Jaskier:

The bard was quieter than normal, but when he talked it was a mile a minute— when they let themselves argue or hiss at each other, whenever they would banter or bitch. She could lose herself in his stupid, often unfairly funny, labyrinthian trains of thought. She often did. She suspected that was what he meant to happen. He still doesn’t sing.

(It feels like being handed a key.)

The guards are cruel. When they pull Jaskier away, he goes softly, sometimes throwing a quip at them but more often allowing it without a word. She tries to pull attention away, tries to make an ordeal of it, but they barely look at her, even when she screams bloody murder. And every time, he comes back bloody and bruised, sometimes with a bone broken, and every time he fights it in near silence. She complains about the meaningless drama of the powerful people in her circles to pass the time, and occasionally he smiles through his pain, or gives a laugh behind quiet sobs.

When they pull Yennefer away… it’s not nearly as often as they haul away the bard, but every time, he snaps at their heels like a dog. Now there was a bard she recognized, running his mouth and saying everything he ought not to. Once, a guard twists her sending her falling to the ground, and feels a bone in her hand snap. She expects Jaskier to make a fuss, but he’s quiet.

“I’ll kill you myself,” he says softly to the guard, and somehow she feels it’s a promise he’d do anything make good on.

x

“Yennefer,” Jaskier says one morning, low and careful. “Would you be able to do it today?”

She closes her eyes, concentrates. She can feel her chaos locked within her, scratching at her, desperate and hungry. But how much she has to burn, there’s no way of knowing. It’s something, though. She looks up at the bard, his gaze on her steadily.

“I could try.”

He nods. “You’re going to think I’m mad, but— I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

They stare at each other. Somewhere, a door slams.

“Of course not, obviously not, have you met me? But it’s an idea, which means it’s got a better chance at working than all of our other nonexistent, well crafted and reliable ideas.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes, but she finds she’s… smiling again; he has a talent for that. When she glances back at him he’s got a small grin as well, but he’s biting it back. She wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it.

“Will you at least tell me what it is?”

“Nope! Actually, no; need to preserve the surprise, keep everything feeling authentic. Crucial to a major performance. Possibly my most major to date, considering the stakes."

“Fine. But if things go wrong, I’ll carve you open with a rusty nail and replace your liver with a salamander.”

“You know, I could also just take this back!” he says, “I could undo the idea! Idea gone, I like my liver where it is, it’s very hard to operate with a liver on the outside of one’s body, thank you.”

Their smiles are almost real now even in this false reality of a cell. She can really say anything to him, right now, and he won’t look at her like damaged goods. Then again, once they’re out, he could very well attempt to discard her. She’d beat him to the punch.

It hurt to think about. Wasn’t she above this, by now? Above her own heart?

She looks at the bard, disheveled, smiling, and with something that looks like excitement in his eyes, and sighs.

“Best of luck,” she says, and she doesn’t know who she’s talking to anymore.

x

The lone guard comes later than usual, and Jaskier is so full of anxious energy she thinks he might burst. He’s been making low humming noises all day, like he’s warming up for a performance— a bit dramatic, she thinks, but she’s not going to fault him his coping mechanisms while they were restrained in a Nilfgaardian prison. If they made it out, however, she made no promises.

(The thought of an After, where she saw this stupid, bumbling bard, spoke to him willingly and without malice for his general incompetence, disgusted her. She wanted it so, so badly.)

The regular soft thudding of boots down the corridor made both their heads snap up to the door. Jaskier took a breath in and closed his eyes.

“You ready for your pièce de résistance?” Yennefer jokes, straightening her back and lifting her chin. No sense in letting them see her any less dignified than she already was.

Jaskier doesn’t meet her eyes and reply until the boots are just outside the door. “I am,” he says, and it’s so deadly serious Yennefer reels for a moment.

The door opens, and the guard that comes in is the same that usually comes to drag them off; today the oaf saunters in and makes sure to wipe some grime of undetermined origin off the sole of his shoe and onto her already ruined dress. She rolls her eyes.

“Oh, gods,” she mutters sarcastically, “what will I do now with a stained dress.”

He bends forward to grip her chin, and she finds herself less than an inch away from his face— it looks like hatred. Warm breath from his nose hits her face and she can hear Jaskier’s chains rattling as he strains forward, wanting to rip the two apart.

“Better play nice, doll,” he says softly, a voice like cheaply cut gravel, “or I’ll make it so you can’t play at all.”

His breath smells like—she makes a face.

“If you let me out of these cuffs,” she says, sweetly as she can manage, giving a flutter of her lashes, “I could help you with your… dental hygiene?”

She expects the slap. What she does not expect, is Jaskier’s reaction.

“This is so fucking boring.”

Yennefer frowns and the guard frowns deeper before turning.

“Excuse me?”

If she hadn’t known to expect something from him today, she would have missed the quiet fire in his eyes. He sits back against the wall, looking otherwise nonchalant.

“You do this every other day! I want some real fucking entertainment.”

The guard snarls and turns back to Yennefer, reaching to undo her cuffs from the wall.

“Well, fine then. If you won’t provide any, I will.”

Oh, fuck. She knew exactly what this was.

“When a humble bard, graced a ride along…”

His voice is rough with disuse and lower than she’s used to hearing it. For a moment, she thinks it sounds like a million birds flying, like a key in a door, like the most beautiful sound in the world.

“CAN IT, bard. You know what happened last time you sung.”

“With Geralt of Rivia!” he shouts more than sings, “Along came this song!” His voice echoes throughout the complex, hitting them from a million directions. The guard yanks Yennefer to her feet and looks deeply, deeply angry.

“From when the White Wolf fought, a silver tongued devil—” The guard takes a few strides to loom over the bard, a wild look in his eyes, pulling Yennefer with him. The echoing was overwhelming already, Jaskier projecting with full force. The guard bent to get his face close to Jaskier’s. He’d been right— she thought he was mad, even now as she realized his move.

“His army of elves—”

“You’re done with, you fucking—”

“With his HOOVES—” Jaskier sang, and threw his foot up, hitting the guard squarely between the legs. He dropped the keyring to their cuffs and fell to the ground with a groan. “—did they revel,” Jaskier cackles as he lets the words flow out.

Yennefer seizes on the opportunity, twisting to grab up the keys even with her hands behind her. She takes delight in stomping on the same spot Jaskier had a moment before, watching the guard roll over in agony. The bard keeps singing, even louder now, and the guard’s cries are dwarfed easily.

She fiddles with the keys until finally, she unlocks herself. Her chaos ripples out, and already she hears footsteps thundering toward them. It feels like she’s grown wings, like her chest has opened, and she realizes after a moment she’s screaming in relief, arms thrown wide, head tipped back. She shakes it off, lets her power crackle through her. By now, Jaskier had gotten to the chorus.

“O’ Valley of Plenty, oh— RUN!” he shouts, and she smiles so wide she feels her lips crack. She reaches out a hand and prays she can still focus herself after all this time.

Jaskier’s cuffs explode.

She grabs at him, and throws out a portal just as the footsteps clattering to their door get close, and she turns to see a dozen guards and a mage— not Fringilla, thank the gods— rushing toward them. She’s still got something left, so with Jaskier still singing by her side, she caves in the ceiling above them and lets the bard pull them into the portal.

x

On the other side, it’s approaching evening. She can see a mountain, in the corner of her eye. The bard, looking frantic, takes up most of her field of vision. Breathing is difficult at best, and she feels him adjust her against a tree. She coughs, and breath returns to her slowly. He kneels beside her, and lays his head against her shoulder. It’s the first kind touch she’s felt in weeks; the first for him in over half a year. Yennefer leans her head against his and soon he's wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Maybe, she thinks deliriously, freedom could just be a warm embrace at just the right moment.

“Not bad,” she says when her chest moves more easily, “for being out of practice nearly 7 months.”

He laughs. It’s wonderful.

“Not bad for someone with ‘broken’ chaos.” He leans back to look at her, and then at their surroundings. “I…” he frowns. “I know where we are.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t.”

“It’s. Ah. We’re in Kaedwen. Near Ard Carraigh. It’s near Kaer Morhen,” he gives by way of explanation.

“Of course,” she groans.

“Let's... let's get to an inn, I'll find us a room. Rooms? We’ll figure out payment later, but you need rest. If you’re willing to extend the peace treaty a little further, that is?”

She looks at him and chooses to believe it's chaos that puts her heart in a viselike grip and squeezes, not something in his eyes.

“I can go a little further,” Yennefer says, and lets her eyes fall closed as a breeze kisses her cheek.

[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