eight is the bullets

  • Draco was horrified of what he’d done during the war
  • But the thing that shocked him the most weren’t the countless dead faces, or all the people hating him and his family
  • It were the many children who were now scarred for life
  • Seven young students had lost limbs when they didn’t reach the room of requirement on time
  • Another nineteen had stayed to fight and lost limbs in the process
  • So, instead of sulking in a corner after the trials, or even trying to apologise for what he’d done, Draco Malfoy decided to actually do something
  • He wasn’t going to tell people he was sorry
  • He wasn’t going to say he would change his ways
  • He was going to show them
  • While he awaited his trial he did research on muggle prosthesis
  • While he was supposed to be helping with the rebuilding of Hogwarts he sneaked off to the library, looking for the right charms to enhance the muggle technique
  • While he was supposed to notice Harry’s lingering gaze on his lean and handsome figure, he was adjusting the charms on the wheelchair of a fourth year Hufflepuff
  • While he was supposed to study for his N.E.W.T.’s, he worked deep into the night trying to assimilate a bluetooth speaker in the artificial leg of a third year Ravenclaw
  • While he was supposed to fill out an application form for his potion master’s degree, he crafted a synthetic hand that could be controlled with your mind for a second year Slytherin
  • While he was supposed to feel terrible about all the hostile stares and howlers he got, he was actually happy as he saw a fifth year Gryffindor chase their friends through the great hall on their new running blades
  • Their face finally filled with happiness as they learned losing a limb didn’t mean losing their fun
  • And while his yearmates and former friends alienated from him when he came back for his eighth year, he grew closer to the younger students
  • Seeing how much effort he put into making them and their disabled friends feel better, they knew he was sorry
  • Seeing how he put an equal amount of work into every prosthesis he made, no matter a student’s blood status or attitude towards him, they knew he had changed his ways
  • Knowing his past of bullying and prejudice, they didn’t always end up liking him, and Draco knew some of them never would
  • But they respected the way he redeemed himself, loved the way he could make them laugh, valued all the time and energy he put into them without asking for anything in return
  • Because Draco Malfoy had a lot to make up for
  • And a lot to give
  • Like an apology to everybody he hurt in the past, because actions speak louder than words but he learnd that owning up to your mistakes is an action too
  • Like free rehabilitation treatments facilitated by his own prosthesis clinic, because that was the only right way to spend his family fortune
  • Like a gentle kiss on Harry’s forehead every morning before he left for work, because Draco couldn’t help but give the Saviour not just his sincere apology and love, but a delicate silver ring too

Modern Man by George Carlin

I am a modern man A man for the millennium Digital and smoke free
A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstructionist,
politically, anatomically and ecologically incorrect
I’ve been up linked and downloaded I’ve been inputted and outsourced
I know the upside of downsizing I know the downside of upgrading
I’m a high-tech low-life A cutting edge state-of-the-art
bi-coastal multi-tasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond
I’m new wave, but I’m old school And my inner child is outward bound
I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer,
voice activated and bio-degradable I interface with my database
My database is in cyberspace So I’m interactive,
I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive
Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve
Ridin’ the wave, dodgin’ the bullet and pushin the envelope
I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs
I’ve got no need for coke and speed I’ve got no urge to binge and purge
I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top and under-the-radar
A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary
A street-wise smart bomb A top-gun bottom feeder
I wear power ties, I tell power lies I take power naps and run victory laps
I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach
A raging workaholic, a working rageaholic Out of rehab and in denial!
I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda
You can’t shut me up, you can’t dumb me down Because I’m tireless and I’m wireless
I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever
Laid-back but fashion-forward Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance
Super-sized, long-lasting High-definition, fast-acting Oven-ready and built-to-last
I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case pretty maturely post-traumatic
And I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail
But I’m feeling, I’m caring I’m healing, I’m sharing –
a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver
My output is down, but my income is up
I took a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash flow
I read junk mail, I eat junk food I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports
I’m gender specific , capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant
I like tough love,I like rough sex I use the “F” word in my emails
And the software on my hard-drive is hardcore–no soft porn
I bought a microwave at a mini-mall I bought a mini-van at a mega-store
I eat fast-food in the slow lane
I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes
A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically-formulated medical miracle
I’ve been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed
And, I have an unlimited broadband capacity
I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock
Rough, tough and hard to bluff I take it slow, I go with the flow
I ride with the tide, I’ve got glide in my stride
Drivin and movin’, sailin’ and spinnin’, jivin’ and groovin’, wailin’ and winnin’
I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road
I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time I’m hangin’ in there ain’t no doubt
And I’m hangin’ tough, over and out!

everything we dreamed

[read on ao3]

it takes them years to break the curse, to track down every last revenant and send them back to hell. eight years, to be exact. eight years filled with countless bullets and too many wounds and one (super gay) marriage along the way.

eight years and they’re done and wynonna can feel it pass through her bones as she kills the last revenant. she feels her soul become lighter and she swears the sun becomes brighter and everything finally feels like it’s okay as peacemaker’s orange glow dies down.

‘you did it,’ waverly whispers as she stands with her hand intertwined in nicole’s.

‘we did it,’ wynonna replies, holstering peacemaker for what she hopes is the last time.

Keep reading

Mass Grave From Thirty Years' War Reveals Brutal Cavalry Attack

On November 16, 1632, two armies faced off at the site of Lützen, Germany. On one side was Gustavus Adolphus II, King of Sweden, and on the other was General Albrecht von Wallenstein, the leader of a regiment of Holy Roman Imperial forces. The Thirty Years’ War was Europe’s deadliest religious conflict ever, ultimately claiming an estimated eight million lives – including the King of Sweden, who led the cavalry at Lützen but was killed in the brutal attack.

This week in the journal PLoS ONE, a group of archaeologists led by Nicole Nicklisch reveal their analysis of 47 soldiers who died in the Battle of Lützen and who were buried in a mass grave. They found that these men ranged in age from 15 to 50, and that many of them had suffered previous traumatic injuries in their lives. While the researchers were interested in the general state of the soldiers’ lives leading up to their deaths, their main aim “was to analyze the fatal injuries the men sustained during the battle,” in order to learn about “the fighting and the military and strategic operations on the battlefield.”

The battle injuries that the researchers found run the gamut from blunt force to sharp force to projectile trauma. Twelve of the men had had evidence of blunt force trauma directed at their heads, with the blows falling mostly on their jaws and faces. At least half a dozen more men suffered blows to their limbs or ribs, causing fractures.

Attacks with bladed weapons were also found among the skeletons in the mass grave. One late-teenage male suffered a sabre wound to the back of his head, and another appears to have been slashed in the face prior to being shot. The archaeologists also found some stabbing injuries to the back and pelvis of seven men.

Gunshot wounds were by far the most common perimortem trauma found, marking the cause of death of at least 21 men. In about half of these cases, the bullet remained lodged in the skull. A deformed lead musket ball discovered in one of the skulls suggests the bullet ricocheted, entering the left side of the soldier’s head and lodging in the back of his skull.

The archaeologists also found gunshots to the torso and limbs of eight individuals, including the hips, abdominal area, and lower legs. Carbine bullets from a short rifle or musket were found lodged in the back of the pelvis of two soldiers.

In assessing the trauma these soldiers suffered, Nicklisch and colleagues found that the blunt-force injuries were likely caused by being hit with rifle butts or hilts, or by falls from or kicks by horses. The sharp trauma may have been caused by sabres, rapiers, knives, daggers, or halberds. Interestingly, the Lützen skeletons have surprisingly few sharp-force injuries, especially when compared to other mass graves from the Thirty Years’ War.

What distinguishes the Lützen battle is its reliance on guns, specifically pistols, muskets, and carbines. Firearms were becoming more readily available during this part of the 17th century, but it appears that this battle was ahead of its time. The researchers looked at the distribution of projectile wounds to the skull and suggested that the battle was “a perhaps surprising and quick fronto-lateral attack, which probably left the soldiers little room for evasive action. Moreover, the soldiers concerned do not appear to have had sufficient head protection.” This lack of protection was obviously deadly, especially since historical records suggest a recommendation that “cavalrymen should aim for the enemy’s head and left side of the chest. This instruction seems to have been put into practice with frightening success,” Nicklisch and colleagues say.

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The Lützen mass grave itself is also somewhat different from other burials found from this time period. “The dead were not placed in the pit in a systematic way,” Nicklisch and colleagues note. Since other battlefield graves were made in a more orderly fashion under the watch of military leaders, they conclude that “the local population helped with removing the dead bodies after the armies had moved on.” This hypothesis is bolstered by the fact that there were almost no artifacts remaining with the bodies – “the dead were intensely plundered,” the researchers say. The local Lützen people likely had negative feelings about the battle in their backyard and worked in haste to remove signs of it.

Additional analysis of the skeletons is ongoing, but the researchers write that preliminary results suggest the soldiers buried in the Lützen mass grave were actually from both sides of the battle: the Swedish Protestant soldiers and the Imperial Catholic ones. They conclude, however, that “the majority of casualties were infantrymen of the Blue Brigade and thus soldiers serving with the Swedish army.”

Although the Battle of Lützen was won by the Swedish forces, it claimed the life of Gustavus II Adolphus, the King of Sweden. He was shot multiple times, and his body - largely stripped of clothing and jewelry - was found a couple hours later and secretly evacuated. After embalming, the body began its long trip back to Stockholm for a funeral held in June of 1634. The Thirty Years’ War raged until 1648, when it was finally concluded by a series of treaties in what is historically known as the Peace of Westphalia.

Kristina Killgrove is a bioarchaeologist at the University of West Florida. For more osteology news, follow her on Twitter (@DrKillgrove) or like her Facebook page Powered by Osteons.

Two Steps Forward

Just a little drabble based on that lovely caryl pic. This contains sparse spoilers for the first episode of season 8. But when I say sparse, I really mean it ;)

A quiet moment between Carol and Daryl during the upcoming battle. Tucked away in an alley while waiting on the others, they have a much needed talk.

Plans and contingencies. The number of bullets left in her gun and how many arrows Daryl has left. Those are the only things running through her mind at the moment as she paces back and forth in front of him.

He sits perched on the bike, relaxed and easy like he hasn’t got a care in the world but Carol knows that’s not true. That he worries and plans and his own muddled thoughts could likely rival her own, but all outward appearances say otherwise, leaving her confused.

They’ve been waiting here in a back alley for the last five minutes. A meeting spot for Tara and the others to join them and step five hundred in their multi wave plan to take down Negan.

A plan that never seems to end no matter how much progress they make.

One step forward, two steps back. A game of whack a mole that spawns two more moles for every one they kill.

“I only have eight bullets left. Shit. The supply is too far to go back…” She trails off, looking in the direction of where they’d kept their stash during this particular mission.

“Gonna be more at the next stop.” He offers quietly. Still so perfectly zen that she can’t help but arch a brow in his direction, her feet coming to a stop in front of him.

“What is this?” She asks him matter of factly. Curious and wary.

The storm may have calmed for the moment but it still swirls around them further out in the form of gunfire a few miles a way, the groans and screeching of walkers a block over and actual clouds that hang heavy in the sky, gray and muted and just waiting for the right moment to pour down on them.

“What’s what?” He replies, genuinely confused at her question and she huffs.

“This zen thing you’ve got going on right now. Morgan been giving you lessons?” He winces a little and she frowns. She’s being snarky and rude and that wasn’t her intention. The last thing she wants to do is harsh whatever positive mood he’s seemed to grab on to.

She just wishes she had some herself.

“I’m sorry….that came out wrong. It’s not that I’m not glad to see this…good mood. I am.” She adds, her voice softer than before.

He doesn’t answer for a moment and she figures maybe he won’t. That she’s poked him a little too hard, made a mistake and set them back a step when they finally seem to be moving forward. Even just a little.

She almost turns away again to restart her stressed out pacing. Intent on running through the day’s plan in her head for the tenth time when his hand snakes out to reach for her hip, landing there in a tentative hold. Tugging her back around.

“Hey, dunno if it’s a good mood. That might been reachin’. I do think the rest of this….it’s gonna work out. And when it does…when this is over…”

She’s frozen in place while the warmth from his palm over her hipbone seeps through her shirt. It’s the most intimate way he’s ever touched her. They’ve hugged before, more than once but this is something entirely different. The intention behind it feels a world away from the frantic and desperate reunion hugs they’ve shared over the years.

A man doesn’t reach for a woman this way unless he’s either certain or hopeful that it’ll be welcomed. Unless they are something more. His soft but cautious words prove as much. His eyes flitting down to her lips and back up again as if he’s been caught doing something forbidden.

Her own hand comes up to cover his, an instinctual reaction more than anything else but once her palm ghosts over his knuckles and the slight tremble in his grip becomes more evident she’s certain she must be holding her breath for whatever might come next.

“You sound sure it will be. Over.” She says, her voice resigned even if she so badly wants to believe.

“Gotta think that way. The hell is the point otherwise? And when it is…”

“Then what?” Her tone is breathy and encouraging, wanting to hear him finish that sentence and confirm what they both feel but can never seem to say out loud.

Keep reading

Protector pt. 4

Originally posted by camilafrade

Characters: Derek x Reader, Isaac, Chris, Gerard

Warnings: Mention of suicide, Drug use (marijuana) 

A/N: This started as a filler and it kinda blossomed. Also, for some reason I forgot about season 5 lol. So let’s just pretend that nothing changed with Duke and Gerard. Please be advised there’s a huge amount of drug use but remember, I age up to about 21/22. Thank you all for even glimpsing at my story.


You rolled and stretched across the unfamiliar bed, reaching for the familiar form you usually felt. You kept reaching and felt nothing, then you remembered. You were mad at him.

“Morning Sunshine.” An unfamiliar voice echoed through the room, you opened your eyes to see a lanky boy with curly blond hair leaning over you with a shit eating grin on his face.

“What the fu–” you shot up and hit him with a pillow before scrambling to the headboard of the motel bed.

The boy had the audacity to laugh as he caught it with ease. After a second look at the boy you noticed that it was Isaac. Isaac who had eight deep claw marks and bullet wound and was writhing in pain less than 24 hours ago. Unless you were dreaming. A look around the hotel room suggested otherwise, with the bloodied sheets and the makeshift IV still on the nightstand being the most obvious evidence. How was he up and walking?

“Isaac!” The familiar boom of Derek’s voice sounded. “This is why you were a shitty beta” he said, glaring at the boy after walking to the room from outside. Beta? Derek definitely wasn’t a frat bro. What could he have meant?

“You said she needed to wake up.” Isaac defended himself.

“I said I would wake her up” Derek said, making his way over to you. “Stay away from her, dumbass”

You snorted to hold in your laughter. Even though you were mad at him, it was nice to see Derek letting loose around someone other than you. But why should he stay away from you. The sound made Derek’s head turn in your direction, you looked away.

“Anyway, it’s your turn to shower, dollface” Isaac said with a daring wink. Derek growled at the action and you walked to the restroom.

“Oh I-” you stopped and turned around.

“Got it.” Derek was already there with a towel and your clothes folded. You took it with a small smile. He didn’t give one back, instead his eyes bore into yours.

You looked into his eyes and realised that you weren’t truly mad at him. You were hurt, afraid, and all around tired of being kept in the dark. You brushed your fingers against his lightly and turned back, entering the restroom letting Derek close the door behind you. You turned on the shower and leaned against the door. You faintly heard Derek speaking and pressed your ear to the door to hear what they were saying.

“-Am I supposed to explain that?” Derek’s angry voice shot through the room.

“She seriously doesn’t know?” You heard what you thought to be Isaac say in an amused tone.

“No. And I’d like to keep it that way for a little while longer. You’re supposed to be injured” Derek said with a grunt.

“Calm down, I am…See.” he must have shown his wounds.

“Not nearly as bad as you should be.” Derek said in frustration. “Clean this up.” Was the last you heard before you heard the door slam. “And I don’t think I need to tell you what I’ll do to you if you so much as talk to her” Derek said before the door slammed again.
The car ride was awkward to say the least. You sat next to Derek with a dumbfounded look on your face halfway through Denver. Chris was driving once again, trying to ignore the two younger men’s animosity. Well, Derek’s outright glare at Isaac as he went along as if he hadn’t gotten a bullet lodged out of him recently. What a weirdo.

“That woman’s going to think you murdered me” you were talking to Chris. He laughed at your statement because it was true. You’d left the bloodied sheets folded into a corner in the room.

“It’s a good thing I used a fake name.” He let out one more laugh.

“And burnt off your fingertips” Isaac said nonchalantly. What?!

“Enough! Isaac.” The bellow didn’t come from Derek, who looked ready to lunge at the boy. But, it came from Chris. “He is your sire. Respect his wishes” Chris said to the boy, his voice lowered to it’s normal octave. Isaac grunted and looked out the window.

“Are we’re just gonna pretend that I didn’t hear that?” You asked incredulously.

“If we can help it” Chris muttered.

“We can’t”

“Some of our business isn’t exactly legal” Derek spoke up next to you. You rose an eyebrow.

“What the hell?” You asked, none of the men spoke up “Are you part of the mafia?” They all laughed as if it was the funniest joke they’d heard in years.

“Yup. I’m a Gambino” Derek’s eyes danced with amusement.

“Haha.” You said dryly.

Isaac was still laughing and Chris had composed himself. You were getting tired if half truths and skirting around the issue. Derek could tell because throughout the entire morning he’d failed to kiss you on the lips, only the cheek and head. He was getting frustrated and you could tell. He was one for tiny displays of PDA. Like shoulder kisses, quick lip bites and constant touching when he was near, even now, as you were mad at him he kept his leg tightly pressed against yours in the backseat of the ‘inconspicuous’ black SUV.

So yeah, you could say Derek was tense again. The mood had shifted exponentially and the two in the front could tell because Chris decided to blast the college rock station and Isaac just shifted to looking out the window. Who was Derek Hale, who were any of these people? You’d spent almost three years with him and you accepted that he was keeping things from you. Maybe it was because in every television show and book you read when one of the parties in a relationship was hiding something it was something over the top amazing. Like being a spy - you had this silly thought that he was going off and beating up French and Swiss bad guys trying to infiltrate ​the countries security. At one point your thought of Derek being a mafioso came to life when you were out to dinner one night at an Italian place and a man began screaming at him in Italian and yelled back, fluently. That night ended in Derek knocking the guy out and some amazing sex before you both ate your to go cannolis.

You smiled at the fond memory and gripped Derek’s thigh lightly. The touch brought Derek’s eyes to your hand, as he was staring at you previously. He rested his hand atop yours and held tight. Hell, he may not be something as outrageous as a spy or a mafioso but, he was yours. And whatever trouble he was in would become yours. He wasn’t off the hook though. If you were gonna fight this… Duecalion fellow you were going to need to know why. Which brought back all your questions, you were about to ask about Duecalion when Isaac spoke up.

“Hey, we’re in Colorado, right?” Isaac turned to face the backseat​ and both you and Derek nodded.

“Why?” Chris asked beside him.

“Can we get high?” Isaac questioned. It wasn’t a ‘can we pull over to smoke’ kind of question, it was a 'are we able to’ kind of question. You rose an eyebrow and tilted your head. You were confused at the question but also intrigued. Was it against the rules in their 'World?’ if so, they’re in for a rude awakening.

“Derek and I get high all the time” you told them seriously. This caused Chris to choke on air and and Isaac to form a lopsided grin.

“Oh really?” He directed his question to Derek.

“Well, not all the time but, in the past we have.” You told them both. Derek just grunted out a yeah.

“And it worke-” Isaac caught himself “I mean you got high?!” Isaac asked well, accused.

“Yes, Isaac. Now shut up.” Derek said.

“Let’s get high!” Isaac bounced in his seat he was not a good listener. You mused.

“It is legal here…” The older men looked at you, shocked. “Watch the road!” You yelled at Chris.

“I can drive with my hands tied behind my back and blindfolded” he said seriously, but turned to face the road either way. At this point, you believed him.

You didn’t go against the idea. You wanted Derek to stop killing Isaac with his eyes repeatedly. If looks could kill, right? Plus, you needed to get your mind off of this without a killer hangover, like the one the shower washed away earlier. Chris pulled into a dispensary and turned to face you, you started pulling out cash to hand to him.

“Yeah right.” Isaac said when you tried to hand him the money. Chris just looked at Derek amused.

“Hey, she likes to pay her way. I’d take it if I were you. She bites” Derek said with a shake of his head. Chris took it after a beat.

“What do you want?” He asked like he was going grocery shopping.

“Blue dream, Grandaddy OG Kush and…” You bit your lip “cheese” you finished. The boys just looked at you as Derek looked kind of…Proud? “If they don’t have that just tell them to make a salad bowl.” You nodded firmly.

“Maybe you should come in with me?” Chris said, a little confused.

“You’re a big boy, Chris. I have faith in you.” You smiled and shooed him. Derek looked at Isaac pointedly.

“I’ll go!” He jumped at the chance to have his first marijuana dispensary experience.

Once the younger and older men were gone Derek spoke up.

“I’m ​sorry. You deserve to know everything. I’m literally dragging you back and forth across the country and you deserve to be in a penthouse with your feet kicked up and a martini in your hand. Or a joint, whatever. You shouldn’t be out here, it’s too dangerous and I’m making you do this for me. Argent told me that you were ready to stab someone last night and I can’t let you do that. I can’t let you get hurt, but I’m afraid you’ll leave if you find out! And if you leave me then I literally have nothing and I can’t take that, I don’t know who I am without you-” Derek’s words were running together at the end of his rant so you stopped him with your lips pressing against his.

“Shut up” you told him as you leant back. “What did I tell you?” You asked him. “There’s gonna have to be a lot more than this to get you away from me. Of course I’d stab someone for you, I eat glass if it meant you’d be okay.” He huffed with a smile at the revelation. “I deal with your mood swings. This is nothing” he rolled his eyes at that. “Seriously though, I want to know. You can’t keep me in the dark for much longer. I can tell I’m about to find out. And I’d rather it be from you” you said honestly. That’s why you haven’t done the obvious thing and outright asked Isaac. “Now go back to being mean, tough Derek before they come back” you said as you placed your hands on both sides of his face and pushed his hair back.

“You’re perfect.” He whispered, more to himself even though he was watching you.

Isaac and Chris came back looking triumphant. They dropped the bags in your lap and you took a look inside, it had all been labeled accordingly. They had blunt wraps, the weed and had even gotten some munchies and poweraid. They were really trying to experience the stoner paradise with this, huh? You thought.

“You know the markup on this food is outrageous,right?” You looked at the two.

“We didn’t want to waste any time getting snacks.” Chris said giddily. You covered your mouth to hold your laughter. “It’s been a long time, okay?” He said with an eye roll which made Derek and Isaac begin to laugh. “I hate you guys” he said with an unmanly pout and hopped in the passenger seat.

Apparently it was time to rotate because they knew exactly what to do, Derek took the Drivers seat but not before placing the armrest down and kissing you heatedly. Isaac groaned and took the seat next to you, separated by the divider. You giggled from your seat and opened the bags up.

Where are we going?“ You asked as you took the weed out and began grinding it up, Isaac watched curiously, Derek watched Isaac and Chris was just enjoying his rock.

“To my bunker, gotta pick some stuff up and, if we’re gonna do this,we have to be safe.” The final man spoke.You rolled your eyes, yeah this is what’s gonna affect our safety.

You opened the package of blunts, broke one open and began dumped the tobacco in the empty bag. Isaac was still watching you and Derek looked up occasionally to watch from the rearview mirror, you winked at him when you caught his eye. You took the ground up weed and put it in the now empty blunt wraps and began rolling, once it was done you made sure to catch Derek’s eyes in the mirror and lick the blunt painfully slow, Isaac almost gasped before ruining your moment by saying.

“Derek… Your girlfriend is so hot” he gave you a small smile and Derek turned around and punched his arm, so quickly you almost missed it. Isaac definitely felt it because he growled and whined. “Fuck!” He held the arm where Derek hit, his eyes looked yellow for a fleeting moment. Must of been his hair in his eyes.

“I know, I see her everyday. She's​ beautiful” He said, a satisfied smile on his lips. You could feel yourself blushing.

“Whatever.” He pouted reminding you of a golden retriever, “Do it again!” He told you, Derek cleared his throat. “What? Do you know how to do it?” He asked holding up the blunt to the two older men in the front. They conceded and you repeated the process three more times.
By the time you were finished with rolling you were in front of what Chris called a bunker. I guess that’s what it was, truthfully it was three storage containers linked together in an old junk yard. With two bedrooms, a kitchenette a living room and a bathroom. As you entered you thought back to your questions, but Isaac was so excited to smoke that you gave him his blunt just to calm him down. You distributed the other two and Isaac stayed looking confused.

“If you’re anything like Derek, your tolerance is insanely high” you told him. On the occasion that you did smoke, Derek usually smoked his entire blunt and some of yours.

“I..Have no idea how to do this.” Isaac spoke up, Derek snorted, having already lit his, Chris had gone to collecting the items he needed. Which probably meant guns ammo and whatever else he kept in his weird bag.

You smiled and took it from him, lighting it and inhaling deeply before blowing out an O-ring. Isaac looked like a guppy and took his blunt gingerly. He followed your instructions and got the hang of it pretty quickly, coughing after each hit. You reassured him that it’d get better soon.

“You started without me?” Chris asked when he came back, two bags doing over his shoulders.

“Gotta move quicker than that, old man.” Derek said with a chuckle. He just gave Derek a disapproving look before lighting his. You finally had the chance to light yours and plopped down on the uncomfortable couch provided in the bunker.

About thirty minutes later you were laying on the couch on your back, giggling with the guys. Derek sat next next to you with your head in his lap, Isaac was vegging out on the floor and when Chris said he bought munchies for everyone… He really meant himself because you all had one bag of chips between you, Derek and Isaac whilst Chris had hot Cheetos, sour patch kids, Skittles and Reese’s all to himself. He literally smacked your hand as you reached for the Sour Patch Kids, Derek growled and snatched the sour candy from him, dumping the candy in your mouth with a mischievous gleam in his eye. Your eyes widened as he kept going after your mouth was full. You shot up and chewed the candy in your mouth, throwing the few that fell on your lap at him.

“Derek!” You squealed with a laugh scrunched up your face.

“You wanted it.” He muttered, a smile playing at the edge of his lips. He plopped the few that you threw at him in his mouth.

“This is why I kept it to myself.” Chris spoke up, shoveling hand full of Skittles in his mouth.

“No, you’re being just greedy, Argent” Derek said with a side eyed glace towards Chris. Derek knocked the sour patch kids against Isaac’s head, offering the boy the candy. Isaac took it slowly.

“I don’t get to eat a lot of junk food!” Chris said with squinted eyes. “We can’t all have inhuman metabolism” he grunted quietly, sparking up again. Derek snorted out laughter.

The comment got your mind reeling, Derek could tell because he groaned and pulled you on his lap.

“Stop thinking so much, we’re supposed to be relaxing” he whispered after dipping his lips to your ear.

“I can’t! Why does Chris have a bunker? Why do you all talk in such cryptic sentences? Why are we not freaking out right now?” You asked lowly at first, so only Derek could hear but the questions quickly because everyone for the room.

“Because I’m a werewolf.” Derek said seriously. That apparently woke Isaac up because his head whipped around to you both. Chris dropped his bag and  did the same. You smiled and laughed at the ridiculous jpke, pushing Derek’s chest.

“You would have convinced me if they existed” you said once you stopped laughing. It was true, it was very convincing. “I love you” you said, the amusement still in your demeanor.

He gave you a small smile and kissed your shoulder “I love you back.” His arms snaked his way around your waist and he leaned his head on your shoulder.

You’d spent almost an of trying to get Derek to show off his Dance moves and him fiercely declining in front of his friends. Seriously, he loved to dance when you were alone, so the fact that he got such a red face when you mentioned it made you pick on him even more. You smiled down at the sleeping Derek. He needed to, knowing him he didn’t sleep last night, well earlier today. So you let him suck up his little few hours of sleep. You were in the middle of running your hands through his short black hair when Isaac came back into the room from the bathroom.

“The old men just can’t handle it, huh?” He laughed and say in the recliner that Chris once sat in. He’d gone to the bedroom on the far end of the bunker. You snorted.

“Says the one who was counting invisible stars twenty minutes ago” the puppy dog - you found yourself calling​ him in your head - began blushing profusely. “Why do you and Derek butt heads so much?” You nodded towards the boy, changing the subject while you could get some answers.

“We don’t, really. That’s just Derek” he shrugged. It was strange, because you knew Derek was nothing but surly to most people but, his dynamic with Isaac and Chris were very opposite. With Chris it was like he respected everything he said and the way they spoke to each other was as if they were best friends. With Isaac it was like he was scolding his younger brother constantly.

“It’s just… He acts like you piss him off with everything you do” you said with a light laugh.

“Everything pisses Derek off.” He said with a laugh, you smiled at that. It was kind of true. “He saved my life. And I don’t mean the way they did last night.” You’d almost forgotten about that. You wanted to ask him how his wounds were but you decided against it, in fear of losing the story. “My father didn’t like me very much and Derek showed me what a real family could be. He introduced me to Scott and he kept me from ending up at the bottom of the ocean. He made me one of them and I’m thankful” He looked at Derek with an intense stare. “He may be a douche, but he protects those he cares about”

“I resent the whole douche thing”  Derek stated, his eyes still closed. You jumped and stopped your motion.

“Why do you do that?” You accused your boyfriend. He shrugged and grabbed your hand that rested in his hair and began moving it again. You snorted and gave in to his wishes after he let go. Big baby.

“Love you too, Isaac” Derek said to the boys insinuated revelation. You wanted to cry from happiness, even though the words were fleeting both you and Isaac were shocked. Derek never showed emotion towards anything but puppies and you. It was amazing to hear the words come out of his mouth.

“Gross dude, your girlfriend’s right there.” Isaac responded, holding back his grin. The boy hadn’t known how to respond and that was clear but, he was happy to hear the words, that much was obvious.

Derek sat up immediate and Isaac’s head snapped towards the door. Both of them called for Argent and he ran to the room, Gun pointed forward. You didn’t know what was happening, what alerted them to the danger? Was there some unseen alarm?

“Speaking of shitty father’s” Isaac muttered and stood, all three men were now surrounding you with their backs turned towards you.

“Umm..?” You looked around. Argent took the throwing knives from his pocket and handed them to Derek who in turn handed them to you. You took them gingerly and tried to match their stances.

Argent stood his gun still in hand and pointed towards the door. Derek stood to his left, directly in front of you, standing in an animalistic hunch. Isaac stood on the end in a stance similar to Derek, his body still looked human though.

Moments later the door opened and Katrina sauntered in with an older man a much older man. “Lotta sugar daddies” you muttered. Isaac snorted out a laugh and Derek shook with silent laughter. Chris completely ignored you, the older man was conditioned to tune everything out.

“What are you doing here Gerard?” Chris spoke loud and firm.

“Now, now Christoph is that any way to greet your father?” The man said as he got closer, you noticed that he had a black and white hankerchief in hand and he coughed into it. It dawned on you that the hankerchief wasn’t black and white, he was coughing up black fluid. Mountain ash. How was he walking around, didn’t this stuff kill people?

“You lost that right when you betrayed our code.” Argent told his father.

“And what are you doing?” Katrina spoke up

“We don’t kill those who haven’t killed innocents” Chris argued back.

“Lower your gun” Gerard told his son, his nose began leaking mountain ash and he wiped his nose. “We just want these two lone wolves” he finished.

“Leave and you survive.” Derek spoke up.

“Cute, and who’s gonna kill me?” Katrina began walking forward, “your little oblivious play thing?” You peered around Derek and glared at her.

“Bitch.” You muttered.

“What are you whispering over there? My hearing’s not as good as theirs” she nodded towards Derek and Isaac.

“Bitch” you enunciated every syllable.

“Fiesty little thing you got there, Derek” Gerard said in a skincrawling tone. As he said that a light fog began intruding the vents located on the floor. They were stalling.

“Derek.” You pointed at the vents and he pushed you back behind him.

He cracked his neck quickly and you could see his facial hair grow thicker and his ears took a sharper point. The most alarming thing was his roar. He had a literal room shaking, ear splitting roar. That was him the other night? You backed up, alarmed and he turned with a sympathetic look in his eyes that were now glowing blue. Did he have fangs? You chanced a look at the two other men and Isaac had a very similar appearance. Chris just stood strong now with two guns pointed. You wanted to pass out

People like Brando are just kindergarten compared with Kinski. He is totally mad and unpredictable. It’s very hard to domesticate this wild man. I almost shot him it got so bad. There are rumors I directed him behind the camera with a gun. This is not true. He threatened to leave the set and I explained very calmly that I did have a rifle. He would reach the bend of the river, but with eight bullets. You can see there is something raging in this man. I owe him a lot. We owe each other a lot. We liked each other, we hated each other and we respected each other. It’s not easy to explain our relationship. It sounds like a paradox. The only thing that counts is what we see on screen.
—  Werner Herzog on directing Klaus Kinski

SOLVING THE FOLLOWING riddle will reveal the awful secret behind the universe, assuming you do not go utterly mad in the attempt. If you already happen to know the awful secret behind the universe, feel free to skip ahead.

Let’s say you have an ax. Just a cheap one, from Home Depot. On one bitter winter day, you use said ax to behead a man. Don’t worry, the man was already dead. Or maybe you should worry, because you’re the one who shot him.

He had been a big, twitchy guy with veiny skin stretched over swollen biceps, a tattoo of a swastika on his tongue. Teeth filed into razor-sharp fangs—you know the type. And you’re chopping off his head because, even with eight bullet holes in him, you’re pretty sure he’s about to spring back to his feet and eat the look of terror right off your face.

On the follow-through of the last swing, though, the handle of the ax snaps in a spray of splinters. You now have a broken ax. So, after a long night of looking for a place to dump the man and his head, you take a trip into town with your ax. You go to the hardware store, explaining away the dark reddish stains on the broken handle as barbecue sauce. You walk out with a brand-new handle for your ax.

The repaired ax sits undisturbed in your garage until the spring when, on one rainy morning, you find in your kitchen a creature that appears to be a foot-long slug with a bulging egg sac on its tail. Its jaws bite one of your forks in half with what seems like very little effort. You grab your trusty ax and chop the thing into several pieces. On the last blow, however, the ax strikes a metal leg of the overturned kitchen table and chips out a notch right in the middle of the blade.

Of course, a chipped head means yet another trip to the hardware store. They sell you a brand-new head for your ax. As soon as you get home, you meet the reanimated body of the guy you beheaded earlier. He’s also got a new head, stitched on with what looks like plastic weed-trimmer line, and it’s wearing that unique expression of “you’re the man who killed me last winter” resentment that one so rarely encounters in everyday life.

You brandish your ax. The guy takes a long look at the weapon with his squishy, rotting eyes and in a gargly voice he screams, “That’s the same ax that beheaded me!”


—  David Wong, John Dies at the End
Tate Langdon x Reader

warnings: swearing, sexual talk
description: imagine being dead with Tate


“No! He’s my boy!! Let me talk to my boy!!!!”

The sound of boots on the stairs. The door slamming open. The gunmen stopping around the bed where you and Tate sat, hand in hand. Constance’s screaming from downstairs. Tate standing, pulling you up with him. Him lifting his right hand to point at his head, whispering “Boom.” You smiling very slightly; knowing it would soon be all over. You pulling out the gun from his waistband, running your fingers over his hip before grabbing the cool metal. The faint pain of eight bullets hitting your chest. Darkness, at long last.


“You know, if we had just waited until we were out in the street…”

“Y/N, babe,” Tate groaned, voice muffled from his position in your neck as he snuggled into you on the bed. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about this, I mean come on. We’re forever 17, and,” He said; grasping your waist and flipping you to face him with a small smirk on his face. “We can fuck all day.”

You groaned, pushing away from him in the sunlight. “God, Tate, even though we can fuck all day doesn’t mean you need to tell the whole house.” You grinned anyway, stopping your resistance and laying on his stomach; your chin propped up on your hands inches away from his face. “I’m sure the gays don’t want to hear our antics.”

“Baby, they already do,” Tate grinned, and you really shoved off this time, smirking despite yourself. “Aw, Y/N, don’t get all pissy on me, unless you’re going to take it out in this big ol bed.”

You rolled your eyes as you got off the bed, looking out the window to the street. “Ugh, the bitch is here.” You groaned, feeling Tate’s presence behind you. He chuckled as you began to rant about the annoying teenager, kissing behind your ear and along your jawline. “She’s loud, she’s prissy, she’s a spoiled brat, she’s a fake hipster, and you for some reason just have to be friends with her.”

“Is someone jealous?” He muttered, nipping my neck. I restrained any sound; turning in his grasp to push him away. “Looks like you are.”

“Oh my God Tate, I’m not. Besides, she’s coming upstairs.” I whispered, dangerously close to his devastating smirk. “We gotta leave.”

He grinned. “One thing I like about being dead, besides the mind blowing ghost sex every night? Disappearing.”

I grinned back, lips meeting his jaw just as her doorhandle turned. “Absolutely, but I love the sex more.”

am3-26  asked:

friendship ♡

(i can’t believe sam left me this too. i’m,,,, touched.)

really, this ask depends on which friendship you want me to show, so in a sense of showsmanship, i’m giving it all to you:

  • once, in the middle of andrew’s third year, renee took them both to a mani-pedi after sparring.
    • it was jarring for the people who gave them the treatment but, hey, they were getting paid anyway.
    • andrew got all black nails and renee got her team spirit on and got white with orange tips.
  • aaron has a gun. when neil finds out, he offers to teach aaron how to shoot and take care of it, even offers to license it. aaron declines the licensing, but he does take the shooting practice. on a vacant wednesday, they take the bus to columbia, and they don’t walk out of the shooting range until aaron got all eight bullets through the bullseye. obsessed perfectionism, be damned. aaron was not going to walk out of that building without showing neil up a little. 
    • neil is a little proud.
  • neil is really easy to get into new things, mundane things, as soon as the foxes explain it to him properly. I mean, andrew would get him into something with the snap of his fingers, but the rest would have to give a little more convincing.
    • dan had to explain the idea of never have i ever five times before neil joined in willingly
    • amusement parks were matt’s huge explanation of the year. it was fairly easy for him though, because all he had to do was explain what a roller coaster was before neil jumped in.
    • renee once convinced neil into joining her for community service. “we’re feeding some homeless people in the neighborhood.” 
      • andrew got in on that too. the next week, all the foxes were seen on community service.
    • allison had to explain fashion. lord, i don’t think they’ll ever be over with this. neil does end up knowing how to color code his clothes once allison graduates though.

send me ♡ + a word, and i’ll write a headcanon 


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Here you will find additional tags that are not in the navigation or anywhere else on the blog.

Note: Not everything is properly tagged. This blog has 12,000+ posts, most of which were untagged. I went back and re-tagged all the ones I could, so the posts in the tags aren’t everything on this blog.




futureboy  asked:

fahc jeremwood prompt: casually talking about getting married whilst carrying out a very high profile and explosive job

I’m sorry this is so late!


“We are not using red in our color palette!” Jeremy huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Well why not?” Ryan pouted. He polished the end of his pistol clean with his shirt. “It looks so nice with the blue you chose,” he hummed, peeling a paint sample from the wall. Some of the blood from his latest victim managed to splatter across the blue card. Ryan flashed Jeremy a smile as he showed him.

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to enjolras.

oh, enjolras,

was there any room for me in that perfect world you envisioned?

when you looked at me, did you feel it too? 

your spirit never faltered and you smiled 

as our hands touched. 

i stood beside you in the light.

the bullets that hit you, did they even break you?

it took eight bullets to knock you down,

your hand went limp in mine

and you won’t get up again. 


angst prompt: Xanxus’ s/o learning he doesn’t love their child as much as he loves them, and would sacrifice their kid in an instant to save his wife. He is completely unapologetic about it

It had happened too fast for you to fight back. You weren’t used to dealing with cowards that skulked in the shadows, so when you turned a corner and the hand came over your mouth there wasn’t much you could do. You struggled, but nothing was getting you out of that monster grip. You wouldn’t have been so angry, if they hadn’t brought your son into this.

They dragged you out of your house and to some shitty warehouse in the middle of fuck all and you had no idea where you were or what they wanted. They hadn’t said anything as they threw you pretty rudely into this empty, dank room and locked the door. But the worst part of picking yourself up off the cold stone floor was seeing your eight year old son run over to you and hug you. What was he doing here? What did they want with him? They could take you, kill you, rape you, you didn’t care, but he had done nothing wrong! He shouldn’t be here! He was your precious beautiful son and why him too? You wanted to cry, could feel the tears budding at the corners of your eyes, but you couldn’t. You had to remain strong for him. He couldn’t see you break down.

You held him in your lap while you sat and waited. There was nothing you could do but bide your time and wait for the perfect chance to escape. You knew Xanxus would be doing everything he could to find the two of you, but you weren’t going to hold out hope. You trusted him and his strength but you needed to think only of yourself and your son now. You needed to be ready to fight if you necessary.

You knew if you were smart you’d wait, you’d learn more about the situation and who the enemies were, but you were panicked. You could think of nothing but getting out of here. So when you heard footsteps in the corridor you didn’t decide to sit and see what they wanted. If you had been alone you would have let them come in, say what they needed, do what they wanted (to a degree) and then when the moment was perfect, strike. But no. You couldn’t do that.

So you motioned for your son to be quiet and stood beside the door, pressed tight against the wall. And when you heard the click of the lock and the slow slide of the door, you pounced. A split second to look over your opponent and you were grabbing the knife from his belt and aiming the blade for his throat. He was too surprised. He wasn’t expecting a stupid woman to fight back, and it slid easily into his throat. Feeling the blade skid against his spine made you cringe a bit, but it didn’t matter.

The man grasped at his throat, feebly trying to stanch the flow of blood, to no avail. He couldn’t even cry out for help when he collapsed to the floor in a heap. You didn’t even wait for him to die before you started rifling through his pockets. It doesn’t take long for that kind of wound to bleed out, so he was dead by the time you came up empty. So you had a knife, and the pistol he had been holding. Believe it or not, the stupid fuck only had one clip of ammo too, so all you had to work with was eight bullets.

You called out to your son, sitting with his eyes squeezed shut. He slowly opened them, pointedly not looking at the body at your feet. “Come on,” you said, “and stay quiet.”

It was probably the first time he’d seen a dead body. He knew who his parents were, knew what Xanxus did, and he understood he was apart of the mafia, but he’d never seen it up close. You’d tried to shield him from the real aspect of death and killing as much as you could, though he’d had a bit of combat training already. It probably hadn’t clicked in his mind yet exactly what it all meant. You hadn’t wanted to expose him to it so young, but you weren’t going to sit like a damsel and wait for your husband to come get you.

You kept low, kept your ears open as you tried to find your way out of this shithole. You kept your son close, and though you knew you shouldn’t divide your attention you kept glancing back to make sure he was still there. You almost sighed with relief every time he grabbed onto your sleeve. It was surprisingly very easy to navigate. This place didn’t seem to be very well defended, with only two people crossing your path over ten minutes of sneaking around. And you’d been able to hide and wait for them to pass. Whoever these people were, you assumed they were little guys trying to make a name for themselves by fucking around with the big guys. And kidnapping and threatening the lives of the leader of the Varia’s wife and son, that was pretty big news.

When you opened that last door and were met with the outdoors, you felt your heart hammering so loud you could practically hear it. But that shout made it all come crashing down.

“Move another fucking step and I’ll blow your brains out.”

You pushed your son behind you, with the big world at your back, and found four guns pointed at your head. You didn’t hesitate. With one rough shove you pushed your kid back. “Go.”

“No mom, I can’t leave you!”

“Don’t argue with me. Get out of here. Now.”

You knew you were going to die. No chance for any different. You wouldn’t flee with him. If you did they’d shoot at your backs and they might hit your son. And he was a good kid. He didn’t argue anymore. He turned and ran, and one of the guys scowled and moved to chase. You closed the door and drew your own stolen gun, and he stopped and backed up.

“Dumb bitch. Waste her and get the kid,” were the orders.

You shot first, hoping to get one at least, but before their bullets could find their marks you felt someone shove you hard to the floor. It knocked your breath away, and you struggled to get the air back into your lungs. When you looked up they were already all dead, more bullet wounds in their steaming corpses than you remembered ever hearing.

When you looked up you saw Xanxus scowling down at the bodies. You pushed yourself back to your feet, wobbling a bit as you stood. When he turned to you you could see how furious he was by the fire in his eyes. You didn’t know that that anger was partially directed at you till he stomped over, voice echoing off the walls as he shouted, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, looking down at your feet. You knew it was stupid, being so ready to die like that, but you would do it again. You needed to protect your son. His safety always came first.

“You should’ve waited for me!” he growled, his shoes coming into view as he stopped directly in front of you. You could almost feel his breath on your hair from how close he was standing.

“I wanted to get (son’s name) out of there as soon as possible,” you responded, finally looking up at him. He was closer than you’d thought, and you found yourself practically nose to nose with him.

“Who fucking cares? You should be putting yourself first anyway! What do you think I’d do without you?”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you didn’t, averting your eyes instead. You were about to ask if your guys’ kid was okay, if he’d seen them before charging in here, but before you could Xanxus tilted your head up and kissed you hard, an arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you even closer. Usually you’d lose yourself in him, let him throw you against the wall in this shitty, corpse filled warehouse and fuck you right then. But you couldn’t, you needed to make sure your son was okay. If you just knew that he was safe, that Xanxus or another of the Varia had found him and taken him to safety, you’d be fine. But you had to know.

You pressed your hands against his chest, leaning away as far as you could while still trapped in his tight embrace. He tried to follow your lips but you tilted your head away, and you could hear the edge in his voice when he said, “What?”

“Is (son’s name) okay? Did you see him? Is he safe?”

“He’s fucking fine. The idiot shark’s got him. _________, do you even understand what you did? You were planning to die. And for fucking what? If I hadn’t showed up right then you’d be lying dead. You’re more important to me than anything, and you’d have left me all alone with that stupid fucking kid with the same eyes as you and reminding me every fucking day you’re not here anymore!”

“Xanxus, what are you saying? Our son always comes first. He should always come first.”

“If we want another kid, we can have one. You’re the only _________ there is.”

It was like thorns squeezing your chest, almost like panic spreading through your veins. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, didn’t understand that it could possibly be real. How could he not care for their son more than anything? The son they’d raised for eight years, that they’d loved and cared for, how could Xanxus possibly feel like he was expendable? There would never be another like him. He was the only one in the world, their first child together. How could he care so little?

“Xanxus, do you care for (son’s name) at all?” you asked, incredulous.

“Of course I do. But I care about you more. What’s so fucking wrong with that? You make me happier than anyone ever has, so of course I’ll pick you over my stupid kid.”

“He’s supposed to come first! Eight years of raising and you’d throw it all away? He’s your heir, at the least, shouldn’t he be more important?”

“Oi, why are you so adamant about this? I don’t fucking care if he’s my heir or not. I don’t care if you’d hate me for choosing you over him, I love you more and that’s the end of it, so shut up about it.”

Before you could answer he finally managed to find your lips again, pushing you back up against the wall as his hands came to unbutton your jeans. You weren’t aroused in the slightest, and you pulled away again, placing your hands on his forearms to stop him. “Xanxus, can we go home first? I… want a shower.”

You could see the frown on his face, but he pulled his hands away regardless. He took a half step back, and you thought he was gonna walk away but instead his hand slammed against the wall beside your head, and he leaned in till his breath was hot against your cheek. “If you think you’re gonna take that kid and run away from me, don’t. You’re mine. I’ll protect that cunt kid of ours just like I always have. But if you get yourself into this situation again, I will sacrifice anything to make sure you’re safe.”

Obligatory Depressing Barricade Day Fic

So it’s mid exam season but I couldn’t just not do anything, so I tried my best to get this finished. It’s not great and I haven’t had much time to eat dit it and I’m just posting on mobile but I’ll gl back and fix it later. I hope it’s not too terrible.
Trigger warnings for gore, character death and mentions of torture.

The gunshots had stopped. As much as it should have been a blessing, it terrified him. Why would the guards have stopped taking potshots if there was still anyone alive? They /had/ to be alive, he couldn’t accept anything else.

Montparnasse was no stranger to horrific scenes, in fact at times he had even been known to find them rather beautiful. Blood spatter could, on occasion, make a far more beautiful pattern than most artists, and there was an elegance he could not deny in a slashed throat. There was no elegance in the scene surrounding him at that moment, the streets soaked in so much blood it painted the cobbles scarlet and bodies tossed around as though they were nothing at all. The first thing his eye was drawn to was the corpse hanging out of the window- a pretty thing who’s name he’d never actually discovered. No matter what it was though, there was no question that the blonde was dead. What a waste. There were eight bullet holes tearing through that gaudy vest of his (just by looking it was obvious it was one of Jehan’s creations) with the blood from them running in lines down his still-beautiful face.

The kid was barely older than him, but he couldn’t help but look on the grisly scene and at the very least be happy that the captain had gone down with his ship. He stared at the body for a moment longer, taking the time to cover its face with the cloth still clutched desperately in one hand, partly out of sympathy, and partly because of how angry it made him that his flower had gotten caught up in this naive pretty boy’s idiotic schemes. He didn’t think he’d be able to help himself if he found them amongst the mutilated corpses in the rubble.

Of all the bodies he’d prepared himself to see, the small child slumped on the front of the barricade was not one of them. Though he was dressed as one and had a pistol at his belt he could never have been mistaken for a man. Even with the large chunk blown out of his face he knew who it was. He’d given Gavroche that coat, finding it in the house of some bourgeoisie, and finding it fit the undernourished boy rather well despite the hardships that he had been through compared to the spoiled young man who had clearly worn it before him. His left eye was entirely missing, blasted out of existence by the same bullet that had torn away most of the back of his skull, leaving what was left of his corpse bloodied and crumbled over the mess of broken furniture. He couldn’t look for very long, each glance highlighting some new horror- a few fingers of the boys left hand had been blown clear off by another shot, leaving exposed bone where his flesh had been torn away from the once-deft appendages.

It took everything that he had not to look away and try and pretend not to see him, because God knows Gav would have kicked his ass for doing it, so he actually moved the boy, scooping his mutilated form up and laying him down properly on one of the tables of a nearby shop which seemed to have been turned into a base by some of the guards. It’s inhabits were nowhere to be seen, and there were no bodies in there, though there were a couple of knives still left on the floor, glinting in the early morning night and still covered in drying blood, showing that despite the lack of bodies there certainly had been death, or at the very least torture, in there. It was not ideal, but it was better than leaving him slumped over the failed barricade. He laid him down gently on one of the tables, and found a slightly bloody sheet to cover him in, the whole time attempting to detach from the whole awful situation.
“I’m sorry, kid.” He murmured, forcing himself to begin to step away. If he stayed longer he’d cry, and god dammit he was not the kind of man who cried at stuff like this. Gav was a nice kid, he didn’t deserve to die like that, but hey, at least he went quick, which was better than could be said for most of the poor fuckers scattered around.

He’d always held a glimmer of respect for people like Bahorel, so seeing his corpse pale and so clearly lifeless sent a strange pang through him, though not so much that he would have stopped for it. Of all of them so far, his death was the only one with any semblance of elegance. Rather than those grotesque bullet holes blowing away chunks of bone and flesh these soldiers were so fond of, he bore three stab wounds at his breast, with blood blossoming out over the front of a once-fashionable waistcoat. Old fashioned, but far more beautiful than anything he could have afforded honestly. He might have taken it, but the blood had ruined it already and so he didn’t bother to touch it, seeing no sense getting his hands even dirtier than he already had.

The next man was someone he recognised, though not just from his silly endeavours with Prouvaire and his friends. Despite how many years he had been away from that place and how hard he had attempted to suppress the memories there were still a handful of vague suggestions in his mind about a copper haired child in the next bed to him at that dreadful orphanage. There was a brief moment upon first seeing him when he’d feared the worst, but upon closer inspection the fan makers hair was more copper than the fiery orange of Prouvaire’s, and it was shorter, since he doubted it would be practical to have long hair falling in your eyes when engaged in such delicate work. Montparnasse did move this one, though only to check the little gamin whom he had been protecting when he was shot and was now laying on top of had not survived- which he hadn’t, if the wound in his stomach was anything to go by. He covered the man’s face with his cap, before quickly moving on, ignoring the gamin all together. He couldn’t be distracted by childish sentiments now. Prouvaire was his only concern.

Another corpse stood out, since someone seemed to have tried to help him after the fatal shot to the throat, if the bandage wound around them was anything to go by. He wondered why they would waste bandages on such a hopeless case, assuming it must have been a close friend doing it. The only distinguishing feature left of him, however, was the lack of hair on the man’s head, since his facial features caved in and ruined by soldiers scrambling over his corpse to execute his friends with seemingly no care at all he’d once been human. It was odd really for Montparnasse to even care about that, after all he’d left so many bodies dumped in his wake, often with no more cause than the desire for some pretty trinket, and yet this was so indelicate and inhumane it shocked even him. People of honour were capable of such cruelty.

Searching the barricade proved fruitless, and so he was forced inside, uncovering two bodies left on back tables in the musain, an old man who Montparnasse had not known and therefore had no real desire to see, and a dear friend with a bullet tearing through her tattered clothing and her more tattered body. Montparnasse recovered her very quickly, unable to look into those glassy eyes a moment longer than he had to. If he looked too long then he would not have had the resolve to leave her unburied, and he did not have time if he was to have any hope of finding them alive. He apologized to her corpse, but left it laying there on a table, resolving that he would reunite her with her brother and bury the two of them together when he was given the chance to do so. Better than letting them be tossed into some paupers grave as their mother already had been.

The stairs had been obliterated, but that was no cause of concern for a man such as Montparnasse who was well used to spiriting in through the windows of wealthy houses in the dead of night. He moved as a phantom, pulling himself into the upper floors and still searching desperately. Three bodies, non of them armed, made his climb a little more difficult. He sent one of them crashing down to the bottom floor of the shop once more as he grabbed it in place of a solid hold on the top floor, taking a moment to check it wasn’t them, and relaxing some what when he saw a slight man with a mop of dark curls, the handle of a sword clutched in one hand with the blade long since snapped away, and a bullet lodged firmly in his chest, as well as another leaving his foot mangled. At least it wasn’t them, and not were the two others laying at the top, since he found on closer inspection a slight young man who looked hardly more than a boy with a small bundle of bandages still clutched in one hand, and a far taller man wearing broken specials who seemed to have been trying to protect the others judging by the amount of bullet damage to his body compared to the others. Montparnasse tried not to disturb the other corpses, a little annoyed that he’d already pushed one of them over the edge. One glance around the room revealed only the bodies of goldilocks and his pet drunk slumped near the window.
Still no Prouvaire, but no body either. Perhaps they’d managed to escape.

The leader, the drunk, the doctors, the angry one, the clumsy one, the excitable one, the worker, the girl and the gamin. And yet no poet. It should have been a good thing. A miracle. So why on earth couldn’t he feel any of the hope which should have been creeping into his system?

He scrambled back down the skeleton of the staircase, this time careful to avoid the corpse at the foot of it, and stepped out into the street once more, refusing to look back in the direction of the wine shop and see blondie’s obnoxious face again. He’d caused so much carnage with his pretty words- and all for what? There was no pay off worth this.

Taking to a side street away from the barricade, down the side of the shop where he had left Gavroche’s bullet ridden body. He had not expected to see anything, except perhaps the body of a soldier or two who had been brought here to avoid being mutilated after their deaths in the same way many of the children of the barricades themselves had been, and so at first upon seeing the body lying abandoned there he did not run to it. As he got closer through the darkening ally, however, one thing stood out. That atrocious outfit was not the uniform of a guard, and he recognised it even through the amount of blood.

That was when his world collapsed.

He could still see the poet (his poet) standing there that morning, buttoning the gaudy waistcoat over the too-large white shirt which had once been Montparnasse’s. As every morning Montparnasse had chided them for their lack of good sense in their choice, and had moved over to help them tie their cravat (Prouvaire was still hopeless at it even with all of Montparnasse’s teachings) and they had shared a light kiss. He had said his piece the night before, about why he hoped they Jehan would have the good sense to stay away from the barricades, and yet his poet was still going.
“I will be back, my dear,” they didn’t make their unkeepable promise binding, rather allowing the words to hang in the air as Montparnasse pulled them into a much deeper kiss than what he would usually have done. The last he would ever give the one who had brought sunshine back into his life after living most of it in the darkness of poverty and crime.

The gaudy yellow pattern was not much helped by the drying blood saturating it, and yet it was the state of the man’s skin concerning him more. It was lacerated hundreds of times, from small cuts to stab wounds running all the way through his hands. Two fingers of his right hand were totally severed while the eight remaining were snapped wildly out of place, bending back on themselves in a way they never should have been able to. Upon closer inspection their foot was mangled as though crushed under a soldier’s boot repeatedly, and their arms both seemed to be broken in numerous places. It spoke of beatings and torture much worse than anything experienced by the others, and it made bile rise on Montparnasse throat to know how much they’d suffered. Their glassy eyes stared up at the sky from out of a freckled face left pallid from blood loss, and Montparnasse found himself on his knees by their side within moments, a broken sound escaping as all semblance of callousness was removed, and he pulled the long dead poet up into his lap.

He’d said his goodbyes in private, the moment that Prouvaire had left the house he’d malnourished collapsed under the crushing weight of the realisation that they were lost to him, and yet knowing it and being permitted to grieve privetly and actually seeing his lover stretched out bloody and broken were two very different thing and he found that where his chest had been heavy with grief all day now it felt more as though he had been ripped open and the white hot agony of loss wouldn’t ever go away. Jehan had suffered, the bullet in their stomach would have left them to bleed out, looking up at the stars and knowing that they were alone. They should never have been alone.

He remained until he was forced to flee the scene when guards came back to retrieve the bodies of the wealthy and by the time he returned Prouvaire was gone, taken back to the family they had worked so hard to escape in life, and the only bodies he could recognise which lay unclaimed were Gavroche, Eponine, the worker, the drunk and the leader (who, though wealthy, he presumed had brought far too much shame on the family to be reclaimed, as well as the bald one, already too far gone for recognition.

He knew as soon as he found the body gone he would not see them again, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave the spot they’d killed him,‘sitting with the gore soaking into his clothing without a thought in his mind except for them. As time passed Babet would finally track him down and drag the sleepless dandy home before he could fulfil his promise to burry the abandoned.

Once his silent visual was abandoned, the only trace of the poet which remained in that God forsaken place aside from the blood bleeding into the cobbles was the rose which had once sat proudly in Montparnasse’s hole laying on the bloody street an utterly unremarkable gift, for a truly remarkable person.

Blind // Yoo Kihyun - 12

Blind Chapter 11/ Twelve/ Blind Chapter 13

Kihyun rushed down the mountain with all of the things you asked for. You had been peering over the hill every now and again to see what was going on with the rest of the crew. There had to be about seven cop cars and an abundance of cops (a number you couldn’t distinguish by glance) and the sight of the four boys being put in cuffs and dragged towards those same cop cars.

“Wasn’t there seven of them? Wasn’t that what the original description said?” you could faintly hear one of the cops ask.

“Honestly considering the notoriety of this group, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them offed their own friends.”

Well, he certainly was on the right track. Your father was looking around the scene for you, also answering questions about how he came to figure out about this. It wasn’t hard—he gave them his name and for the most part it was understood.

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