#arxnexe

❝ congrats. ❞ tone drawl'd, lorelai ignores his brush off, returns it with one of her own. match met, perhaps, menace to menace. she continues pouring rubbing alcohol on the gauze, the scent of it making her nose wrinkle. ❝ i simply do not care. sit. ❞

ocean eyes trailed the target across the street.   he was a stocky man of thinning hair,   gray lips forever squeezed to a line.   evidence of drug smuggling clear on eggsy’s files.   I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE,   a mule at the bottom of the food chain.   a mule,   that is,   with information.   in swift movements,   the target looks from north to south,   east to west,   before shuffling down the alley.   the noise of passersby hides the taps of his oxfords,   hides eggsy speaking to the familiar voice of merlin in his ear.   the shuffling of bodies hides him as he makes his way to follow the mule.   impeccable suit and styled hair,   he almost stood out in the bustling sidewalk.   a WELL  -  DRESSED GENTLEMAN,   he was.   

the sunlight hides from the two in the shadow of the back alley.   galahad’s suit creases NOT when he moves the hem,   fingertips releasing the gun from its hold.   slow,   quiet movements.   he raises the weapon,   set to stun,   near  -  perfect sharpshooter eyes aiming for head of the mule.   between heartbeats,   between breaths,   he aims  ---

his head SNAPS BACK with the contact.   paralyzed fingers release the weapon   (  CLACK,   CLACK,   it mocks him as it hits the ground  ),   and there is an audible groan that releases from pink lips.   a second groan sounds when his head makes contact with the concrete.   stunned,   just as the mule should be   (  he heard you,   he’s running  !!   he’s GONE  ).   double  -  vision immobilizes him,   cacophonous heartbeat in his ears.   one moment.   two.   then a third,   before he looks to his assailant.

“  what the fuck  ??  “   he wears a sneer,   blue eyes dark with oncoming IRE.

he’s creased the suit.

❛    teach me how to fight ,  yeah   ?    ❜    suggestion ,  accompanied by a light nudge ,  shoulder - to - shoulder .   self - defense might be a skill that comes in handy ,  when running ain't an option .

                  neverending   nightmare.   tendrils   of   purple   coil   ‘round   fragile   body,   festering   anguish   entrapped   amidst   decaying   cells.         (   THE   SKIN   REGENERATES   ITSELF   EVERY   27   DAYS   SO   WHY   DO   I   STILL   FEEL   HIM   ON   ME   WHY   DO   I   STILL   FEEL   ---------   )         main   street.   birch   street.   what’s   a   mantra   for   all   of   the   times   your   hands   have   failed   ??   she   breaks   things,   like   paper   crumpling   under   clumsy   hands.   she   does   not   know   how   to   make   it   stop.

               fingers   curl   within   porcelain   softness   of   bruised   thighs   until   they   too   will   leave   behind   purple.   a   stain   on   her   soul,   one   she   can   never   wash   away   no   matter   how   much   she   scrubs   her   skin   raw.   and   now   peter’s   hurt   because   of   her.   the   threat   is   gone   ---------   dead   by   her   own   hands,   neck   snapped   like   twigs,   and   yet   she   cannot   help   the   way   it   feels   like   this   is   him   stripping   her   of   another   layer   of   autonomy.         (   please   check,   she   had   whimpered   into   carol’s   shoulder.   please   make   sure   he’s   really   dead   )