#v: sister margarets
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polyfacetious asked: tommyAlfie — horse
Five Minute Meme: (Accepting)
“I used to own horses.”
Tommy’s voice is slow, syrupy in the darkness of their bedroom, the afternoon sun kept at bay by heavy curtains, though it insists at the corners, a golden seam of light that won’t go away.
He brushes his fingertip along Alfie’s forehead, down the bridge of his nose.
The pills are on their way to working, but Tommy’s in the no man’s land in between madness and sanity. He’s exhausted, but the whispers are fading. The dreams aren’t.
The dreams never do.
“I loved them.” He loved his brothers too. He loved Pol’s boy like a brother. In the end, John was in the ground and the others in the wind and there was no Shelby family left.
Tommy could never be a Solomons. Alfie could never be a Shelby. What did that make them here, in the spaces between breaths?
“I love you.”
It’s spoken with stillness, and lucidity, fingertip brushing the taut bow of Alfie’s bottom lip.
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polyfacetious asked: 🆓 + jack/will Kiss Meme: (Accepting)
13. A ‘get better’ kiss that might or might not be on an open wound
“Stop squirming.”
Will reaches behind him to grab the forceps from the table, a knee against Jack’s hip to keep him steady so that he can pull the bullet free from the wound. The man was lucky that the bullet wasn’t deep, and the wound wasn’t dangerous.
It was what he was starting to learn about Jack. That he was always lucky.
“If you don’t want to go to the hospital, then you’re going to have to let me...take care of this.” Will bites down on the tip of his tongue and finally pulls the slippery casing loose with a soft sound of victory, letting it clang into the metal bowl.
“There.”
He climbs off of his perch, wiping away the wound and covering it with a strip of gauze. And before he can think better of it, Will leans down and presses a chaste kiss over the clean bandage.
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polyfacetious asked: Altschmerz Obscure Feelings Meme: (Accepting) Altschmerz: Weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had – the same boring flaws and anxieties that you’ve been gnawing on for years.
“You could leave.” Wade’s voice is quiet in the minute space between them. There’s a mess of open wrappers on the coffee table Weasel is perched on the edge of, curling edges of paper from butterfly bandages and gauze strips. There’s a brown plastic bottle of peroxide close enough that Weasel can pick it up without looking away from the gash in Wade’s shoulder where he got stabbed.
Outside of the apartment window, there’s a siren blaring. Wade closes his eyes to listen. It’s a cop car, not an ambulance. And there’s the fire truck, a low keening wail right on its heels.
“Can’t.” Wade keeps his eyes closed. It might mean he doesn’t have to look at Weasel, but it does nothing to hide the way the word trembles on his tongue. “I’m a little old to go back to college.” Wade can hear him swallow. Fuck, he can hear the words between the words.
Drop it, Wade. Please.
“You’re too good for this shithole.” Sorry, Wease. No can do. No dropping here today. There’s a gauze pad pressed to the curve of his shoulder and a splash of peroxide follows. Wade winces. He opens his eyes on instinct. He kinda wishes he didn’t. Weasel had the biggest, brownest, saddest most kicked fucking stray dog eyes Wade had ever seen.
And he put it there. Every time he showed up with a mouthful of blood, every time he put his fist through a door or a mirror, he dug that look a little deeper into Weasel’s eyes. Not so easy to kick the shit out of the prick hurting your favorite person when you were that prick.
“Wade-” He reaches out too fast and catches Weasel at the wrist, bones grinding together. Wade can see the momentary flare of fear before Weasel locks it down. He’s gotten good at not reacting to Wade’s bullshit.
“What does it take to make you leave, huh? To give up all this bullshit. I’m not saying you have to go join a fucking nunnery or anything, but you’re better than this, Wease. You’re better than shitty cocktails and doling out guns and contracts to a bunch of psychopaths. Myself included. Do I need to off myself? If I paint my brains over your kitchen will you finally get the fuck out of this place and-”
“Wade.” It’s not loud. His name trembles on Weasel’s lips. Weasel blinks. Blinks again. A few more rapid blinks as he probes the tip of his tongue against his bottom lip. He’s holding on to his self control with every last fucking iota he’s got, but Wade can still see it in his eyes.
The sheen of building tears.
Wade can tell himself all day long that he’s thought about it as a favor. That maybe he can haunt Weasel’s ass right out of the gutter and into a real life. But it’s only half truth. Because every time Wade hears his name like that, he wants to never take another fucking breath in his life. (He wants to do it slow. Make it hurt. He deserves that.)
“Shut the fuck up, okay?” Wade can feel the tremor in Weasel’s hand as he speaks. Somehow, Weasel was the one holding onto his arm now, tight enough that short, bitten nails were biting into the skin of Wade’s forearm. “The only way I leave is with you. And we both know you’re not going anywhere. So drop it.” Weasel swallows. “Please.”
Wade is the one blinking fast now. He lowers his eyes, and nods.
#ch: wade#polyfacetious | weasel#polyfacetious#v: sister margarets#tw: suicidal thoughts#suicide tw#just to be extra safe
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@polyfacetious asked: spots to kiss + 24
Kiss Meme: (Perpetually Accepting) 24. a kiss on the shoulder.
“Listen, you sexy tree of a man.”
Wade’s bed is comically small. Really. Weasel’s ankles hang off of the edge when he’s on it, and they’re assholes to elbows just to fit them both in there. (Not literally. But hey, who is Wade to kinkshame anyone if that’s what they’re into?)
He plucks the glasses from where they’re balanced on Weasel’s nose, and tosses them behind him, just to relish the what the fuck, Wade that he gets for his trouble.
He’s like a cat, little giant buddy. You react to him knocking things off of the shelf, he’s going to knock them off. Positive reinforcement at its finest.
He brushes the thumb around the curve of a dark eyebrow, Weasel watching him. Wade doesn’t do quiet, he doesn’t get quiet. But sometimes, when they’re alone like this in the dark and there’s nothing but the sound of traffic below the window, he’s got so many Feelings inside of him that they get gummed up in his chest.
They don’t make Drain-O for Feelings. Or, well...real Drain-O would probably get the job done, but Wade isn’t that deep on the crazy train right about now. He’s got something to get out of bed for.
And to get into bed. Bow chicka bow wow.
“...I forgot where I was going with this.” Weasel snickers, but he doesn’t try and unseat Wade from where he’s crawled up on top of him, half crushing him with his weight. Because he was a nice guy. And nice guys let their obsessive stalker boyfriends dig their elbows into their ribs.
“You wanna go steady?” He leans down to taste that snicker, but Weasel turns his head at the last second, and Wade is left to taste it on the stuttering rise and fall of a smooth shoulder.
“I’ll let you wear my jacket and everything.”
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polyfacetious asked: SPOTS TO KISS + 1
Kiss Meme: (Perpetually Accepting) 1. a kiss on the top of the head.
“Hello, handsome.”
He’s fucking lucky he doesn’t get a gun shoved in his face for his cheek, because Robert has leaned himself in the bloke’s open window, where he was keeping an eye on the building.
Couldn’t be sure if he was a copper, or a private detective, but he had eyes on Mr. Cholmondeley’s place, and Robert couldn’t leave that be.
(Even playing the Rent Boy on the corner was better than sitting inside in the fucking fumes.)
“Are you lost?” He makes the words almost obnoxiously breathy, leaning in close. Still no gun in his face. PI, most likely then. Detectives always got antsy about the closeness.
“There’s not much to see in this cozy little street.” Except the closest thing he’s ever had to a father, and his illicit drug trade. But maybe he’d get lucky, and the handsome bloke with the big, dark eyes would be looking for someone else.
Anyone else.
Robert has never been shy about who he was. And he’s got a fondness for the closeted ones. Which is the only reason he catches that brief look down at where he’s biting his bottom lip. Gotcha.
“Go on then, darling. Go home to your wife. You’re not ready for what we have to offer ‘round here.”
And just because he can’t help it, Robert ducks in close and plants a loud, smacking kiss against the top of the might-be-a-copper’s head, laughing as he hops backwards and makes towards the alley.
(Away from Mr. Cholmondeley’s building.)
#ch: bob#polyfacetious#polyfacetious | ekon#v: sister margarets#ahaha see a pun bob is robert now#I can never in good conscience call any character bob#can't do it#concessions were made for tagging purposes though#queued
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polyfacetious asked: ‘ the rain comes and sounds like you ’
Poetry Starters: (Accepting)
“Whatever you’re looking for, it’s not here.”
He knows who the man in front of him is. You couldn’t be in their business without hearing ghost stories about Alfie Solomons. Equal parts cold, collected boss and feral animal who’d beat a man to death for looking at him wrong.
Anakin has been doing this job since he was eight years old. The lying and the stealing came first. The killing came after. And he was tired of answering to old men with grand schemes. First Palpatine, then Snoke.
Two bosses dead in the span of a year felt like a cosmic punctuation point. Time to move on. Time to answer to no one.
All he needed was money, and a target. And no more leashes on him.
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polyfacetious asked: rum
Five Sentence Sinday: (Accepting)
Tongue against navel, a quick swipe against quivering skin and down into the valley created there to taste the spicy bite of alcohol.
Hands tugging in Tony’s hair, laughter on Jack’s voice.
They’re going to get caught and they’re going to get in trouble.
Their dads are going to kill them.
It’s hard to care when you’re young and in love.
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polyfacetious asked: ‘i can come back later.’ Luke
“Actually, uh...stick around for a minute.”
Dean shifts from foot to foot, trying to keep from looking like he was as nervous as he felt. Everything was different now. His dad was back in his life, he’d met somebody and now he was thinking about moving across the country.
Thinking about what his dad was up to was easier than thinking about having nothing to lose by moving.
“I wanted to talk to you, about my old man.”
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polyfacetious asked: >_> confession
Five Sentence Sinday: (Accepting)
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
Frank says the words so that Matt knows that it’s him on the other side, even if the priest has told him time and again that his boots always give him away.
“I keep havin’ these thoughts...about my priest.”
He can hear Matty’s intake of breath on the other side of the partition, and Frank just wants him to know that this is revenge for making him describe the damn book he brought up here last week.
“I keep thinkin’ about what he’d look like if I was down on my knees for him.”
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polyfacetious asked: thunder Five Sentence Sinday: (Accepting)
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt sticking to his back from sweat where he didn’t let himself cool down enough before he tugged it back on.
If Thor’s got wanderlust in his veins then Steve has Evasion and Escape in his veins, because the desert has never let go of him and he can’t shake that urge to keep moving forward.
Even if he’s just spinning his wheels, beating up perverts and wife beaters for easy cash.
Steve wants to ask how Thor does it, how he can still smile after all the blood and death he’s seen.
But all he manages is thanks for the call.
#ch: steve#polyfacetious#polyfacetious | thor#why yes carlota and I are going to write the entire avengers by ourselves#v: sister margarets#queued
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polyfacetious asked: “i know how to open these bones with just my teeth.”
Poetry Starters: (Accepting)
“Son, I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or threatening me.”
But no one ever said Leonard McCoy was a smart man. He was in the employ of a murderer, medicating a shizophrenic. How much worse could a pretty blonde with the devil’s eyes really make his life?
Well...there was only one way to find out.
Leonard nudges the stool out next to him in quiet invitation.
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polyfacetious asked: “is it possible to be terrified of death and at the same time a ghost who doesn’t care if they’re drowning”
Poetry Starters: (Accepting)
“God, I know you don’t owe me a damn thing.”
He’s surrounded by the sounds of the hospital around him. Nurses hustling past, machines beeping in rooms with mostly closed doors. The crackle of security walkies where they hang on belts.
Frank doesn’t hear any of it. All he can hear is the wet lung rattle of Matt calling his name, fear run through every last letter of it.
He stopped believing in God before he ever made it back from the desert, but Matt Murdock’s faith could move fucking mountains. And it was moving a godless man to bow his head in prayer.
“I’m going to hell, and that’s what I deserve. And when that time comes, so be it. I won’t fight that. I won’t pretend I was ever some kind of hero. I’m not. I’m just another asshole with a gun. But him-”
The word catches in his throat and battered fingers curl into dried blood fists. Frank knows the cops are coming for him, sooner rather than later. They’ve got bodies and fingerprints and Frank’s voice on the 911 call.
Doesn’t matter. None of it matters. All that matters is the body on the other side of another half closed door, breathing slow and deep in the way only the truly medicated could.
“You gotta save him.” Frank isn’t used to having to ask for favors. He made it his business not to owe anything to anyone. But he can’t bargain with the doctors, or Matt’s own body. So he’s turning to the only option he’s got left.
“He’s a good man. A real good man. And he’s out there helping people. Spreading your word. Trying to make the world a better place.” Frank’s breath shudders, and he scrubs a knuckle against his eye, leaving a smear of red behind.
“Don’t take him away from me. Not yet. Please.”
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polyfacetious asked: ‘ i’m not doing anything… i’m crying in my car. ’
You’re The Worst: (Accepting)
“That’s not your car.”
Eddie knows, because that’s his car that has a little slip of a kid sitting in it, wiping his nose on his sleeve. And Eddie was going to make Tony give him a raise if this shit kept up.
First the little songbird, now he’s got a stray in his car. This job was supposed to be easy. Simple. Wash his hands and go home to an empty house with no problems in it.
He sighs, leaning against the open car door.
“There’s kleenex in the glove box. Go on.”
#ch: eddie#polyfacetious | klaus#polyfacetious#v: sister margarets#local man just wants to not have feelings#queued
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polyfacetious asked: ❛ Oh, no. ❜
“Don’t give me that shit, Padre.”
The priest can’t even see him, but Frank can feel the deep pressure of remorse in his voice. And he can’t have that. Not after what he did. (What he did for Matt.) Because there was no taking back the brains on the floor, no taking back the bodies he left like a goddamn tableau all across Howard Stark’s compound.
There was no taking back the bullet in Stark’s head for putting out the kill order on Father Murdock.
“They wouldn’t have stopped. You know they wouldn’t have stopped. So I stopped them.”
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polyfacetious asked: ‘ i think i broke again last night ’
Between You and These Bones: (Accepting)
They’re a long way from Beacon Hills and completely out of cash. Scott doesn’t know how they’re going to make it any further. It’s not like they had a plan of where to go, and New York is as good a place as anywhere to blend in.
For one guilty second, Scott thinks of her mom and how worried she must be. Stiles’ dad too. But that doesn’t matter. They gave up the chance to care when they locked Stiles up in that place.
“You’re not broken, buddy.”
He wraps his arm tighter around Stiles’ shoulder. In the movies, people were able to sleep in Central Park. Maybe they could crash there for the night and Scott could figure out something in the morning.
“We’ll get breakfast in the morning and you’ll feel better. You’ll see.”
Scott would sit on the corner and beg for change if he had to. Anything was better than Stiles having to go back to Eichen.
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polyfacetious asked: ‘ you are a wild , unkempt thing ’
Between You and These Bones: (Accepting)
“Am I?”
It’s a little bit like a funhouse mirror, looking into those sea glass eyes. Because it’s Tommy, but there’s something off kilter about him, some knife’s edge something that screams for attention.
“Is it because I need a haircut, Alfie?”
He doesn’t even know if this is real. It doesn’t matter. Real or not, he likes having Alfie here. It takes away from the chill in the air. Bus benches weren’t the best place to sleep, but it was off of the ground.
Except...except he’s not on the bench now, because Alfie is looming over him, blocking out the streetlight. Tommy doesn’t remember sitting on the ground, but there’s brick behind his back and a man in front of him.
“Or is it because I’ve given up our gilded cage?”
#ch: tommy#polyfacetious#polyfacetious | alfie#v: sister margarets#local crazy man has gay crush more at 11#will I ever be nice to tommy? no I will not
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