#afteribm

shaking hands, kissing arse, doling out charm (and handjobs) and flashing tits, that's what she'd heard the men's teams coaches joking about when they'd seen the women's team hit the pitch, showing what they got. that's what they were doing to all these investors rupert had pulled out of the air. the women's league wasn't much now, but with the first FA cup around the corner, he wanted to double his money and show off his prize pigs. they'd play a bit, or - tanya would play a bit, his star player and show pony, then retreat to this room to meet with the elites.

on the pitch, she'd come right out and kicked a goal with such ease, the ball soaring past the four on defence and hitting the back of the net. from then, tanya had stood still on the pitch whilst the coaches and rupert shouted from the sidelines. but she wasn't a fucking show pony. even now, stood while the other girls were disgustingly charming and rupert worked the room, tanya refused to play ball.. she'd be told off endlessly for her attitude, but fuck it.

              hands  folded  neatly  in  her  lap,  she  stares  out  the  window  at  the  lights  of  the  tunnel  as  the  train  speeds  past  them.  she  doesn’t  know  where  joe  is,  if  he’s  behind  her,  in  front  of  her,  across  the  aisle,  right  next  to  her.  and  it  didn’t  matter.  she  could  feel  the  train  rumble  beneath  them,  the  wheels  on  the  track  going  an  unimaginable  speed.    “  i’ve  never  been  on  a  train  before,  it’s  really  fast.  and  it’s  really  loud,  it’s  hard  to  think.  ”    the  lights  of  the  train  combat  the  darkness  of  the  tunnel  outside  of  it,  and  allie  frowns.    “  i  always  thought  you’d  be  able  to  see  the  city  from  the  trains.  i  dunno’  how  i  like  this-  but  i  like  watching  the  lights  in  the  tunnel!  they’re  pretty  to  watch!  it’s  just  scary,  a  little  bit.  ”

              then,  she  does  look  for  joe.  doe  eyes  wandering  around  the  train  car,  only  to  find  him  right  beside  her.    “  do  you  take  the  train  a  lot?  is  it  normally  this  loud?  ”    the  fairy  presses  her  hand  on  the  wall  of  the  car,  feeling  the  vibrations  and  the  rattling.    “  it’s  not  really  good  for  the  environment-  the  smoke  from  the  train,  i  mean.  i  worry  about  it  sometimes.  next  time,  can  we  just  walk?  ”

ACCESSING  WHITE  HOUSE  SERVER      . . .       ACCESS  DENIED       :     @afteribm​  /     prompts for those with a reputation   ( accepting. )       ‣       ❝               you’ve gained quite the reputation, you know.               ❞    

he’s seen red before. he’s fucking drowned in it. he’s been blinded by his own blood, his own rage, his father’s hand-me-down anger. but ashley’s a different man now. that saves them both.

as a boy, he’d walk down the long gravel roads of the graves property, far from the churchyard and the suffocating sprawl of tombstones with a bowl in hand, picking the berries off the thorn bushes. as a boy, he was shooting off heads, shooting through hearts. he came away from both instances with stained hands, but the corps gifted him a stained conscience — a heavier weight upon his shoulders, a heftier body bag. and it was men such as joe macmillan that issued the endurance to carry it all. men such as joe macmillan breathed fire into the veins of slayers, they watched good men die while taking note of the factory defects. there was never a smartest person in the room; there was only the godliest.

            “ is that how you justify things? ”   in ashley’s voice resides the sergeant’s bark. that evil thing in him was not dead, yet it festered — it laid dormant, it waited. the bourbon is not enough to placate him, it never was.   “ you convince yourself there’s still a lil’ bit of good in what you did, even if no one else fuckin’ saw it? ”