chvmberlain

[chvmberlain]

* note starters

✉️ – a hurt note

✉️ – a caring note

✉️ – a goodbye note

✉️ – a note written as a reminder

✉️ – a hateful note

✉️ – a sad note

✉️ – a cheerful note

✉️ – a worried note

✉️ – a note of condolences

✉️ – an angry note

✉️ – a frightened note

✉️ – a thank you note

✉️ – an apology note

#not today tho

[chvmberlain]

* things said meme

things you said over the phone

things you said with the tv on mute 

things you said when you were proud

things you said under your breath

things you said with sorrow between your fists

things you said when you were lost

things you said when our world began to crumble

things you said with too many days between us

things you didn’t say at all

things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

things you said you’ll never forget

things you said with clammy hands 

things you said when fear cut deep

things you said while a fever stole your mind

things you said with rage between your teeth

things you were afraid to say

things you said when no one else was around

things you said when the sun was shining

things you said with blooming bruises and stinging cuts

things you said when we were safe

things you said without thinking

things you said that kept me grounded

things you said you loved about me

things you said you hated about me

things you said when you lied

things you said with scraped knees 

things you said with tears in your eyes

things you said while holding my hand 

things you said in the car

things you said under the stars

things you said at my grave

things you said at the kitchen table

things you said on the porch at 3 am

things you said in a gas station parking lot 

things you said in a hotel room

things you said in the waiting room

things you said while you stroked my hair

things you said that made me feel loved

things you said when i was crying

things you said while i cried in your arms 

things you said when you thought i was asleep

things you said in your sleep

things you said when you kissed me goodnight

things you said after a nightmare

things you said before death snatched you

things you said that i wish you hadn’t

things you said when it ended

things you said when you met my friends

things you said when we first met

things you said when they took me away

#one day i will have a meme tag

[chvmberlain]

THEA.

thea doesn’t know what to think. she still feels like she’s on the come down from the adrenaline rush of the heist. her mind is buzzing, her knuckles are pulsing from how much she had to use them, and she can’t seem to settle down enough to full comprehend what just happened. the diamond looked real enough to her at first, but the more knowledgable members of the group quickly debunked that idea. she doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, really. “i mean, it has to be a trick, right? someone’s tricking us?” she suggests, her voice a little more strained and higher pitched than usual. she paces back and forth across the room as she speaks. “anybody could have put that note there, whether there’s a…michelangelo or not.” she has trouble getting the name out. she knows that it’s unlikely that someone would make the traitor up, considering what happened during the casino heist as well. the only way someone could be one step ahead of them is if someone else told them where to be. she just doesn’t want to believe it. “are we…are we one hundred percent sure it was a fake?”

𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 — he wants it to be a trick so fucking badly, but twice in a row has made this something he cannot ignore. when the stakes are this high, even the possibility is a threat; the fact that this other group has darted in and out right under their noses more than once unsettles him deeply. “ i don’t think it’s a trick, ” he says quietly. monty glances over at thea, the distress on her face as she paces back and forth, and wonders how this tension will affect them all. so far, it’s not going well, and he can only imagine the ripple effect this betrayal will have. how can they trust each other anymore ? how can they be sure of who’s remained loyal ? “ whoever did this is messing with us, yeah, but they’re doing it because they know they have one over on us. ” he looks back down at the diamond, flicking it dejectedly. “ it’s a fake, ” monty murmurs. “ trust me. if you took that to any jeweler they’d laugh in your face. ”

#━━ ❛ thread. #━━ ❛ thread / thea. #monty looks RUFF here

[chvmberlain]

STRIKER.

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓, but he doesn’t need to be one to tell that monty is INCREDIBLY upset. it’s not like striker blames him, he’s angry, too. it’s not like he wanted to spend his whole day schmoozing with aubrey winfield to come out empty-handed. even worse, this failure didn’t come out of nowhere. it wasn’t some chance outcome, some well, there was nothing we could have done about it anyway type of deal. it was orchestrated. they were set up to fail, lured straight into the LION’S DEN  —  and by one of their own. his stomach twists at the idea of ivy, or indie, or violet feeding information of their every move to another group, and he has to shake the thought away before he can dwell on it too much. it isn’t the place OR the time for that.

striker’s anger is usually quiet and calculated and careful. he doesn’t like to make a scene, doesn’t like to show too much to the jury. monty is very much the OPPOSITE. striker can practically see the emotion bubbling up in monty, like he’s about to boil over with it. striker moves before he can think better of it, overcome by instinct and instinct alone, placing a strong hand carefully on monty’s shoulder to ease him down from whatever ledge he’s ended up on.  “ figuring out who the fuck is working against us would be a good place to start. ”

𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅-𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑. he feels like he’s being overdramatic and not dramatic enough, all at once — he doesn’t need the money, doesn’t actually have any stake in this game beyond not getting caught. but they’d put the work in, dammit, and that diamond was worth twenty-five million dollars. their victory suddenly seems hollow; monty feels like charlie brown, kicking the football over and over only for it to be pulled away at the last minute every single time. he’s this close to stomping off — until a gentle hand resting on his shoulder brings him right back down to earth, settling him instantly. 

his attention shifts from the purse to striker, and as always, once he’s locked in on his features he can’t bring himself to look away. monty nods slowly at his response, timing his breaths in and out to how long it takes his eyes to trace the lines of his face; slowly, it calms him. he shifts, leaning into striker’s touch ever-so-slightly as he repositions himself. a dark thought crosses his mind, hissing what if it’s him, but monty can’t entertain that now. not in front of everyone. “ you’re not wrong about that, ” he says, unable to help the way he shuffles through each member in his mind, as if he’ll instantly be able to pin the traitor in their midst. “ i don’t — ” he drags a hand through his hair, frustrated, not sure where to even begin. “ it’s not like people like us are all that common. this isn’t... small time, you know ? you need people with skills. specific skills. ”

#━━ ❛ thread. #━━ ❛ thread / striker. #ik striker isn't touching his chin but like ... the energy of this gif ... it's Right

[chvmberlain]

𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘, 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃. he stares down at the purse for what feels like years; the beading suddenly seems tacky and fake, the satin lining lackluster and unflattering. as if holding the false diamond and the note suddenly makes a designer purse into an agent of destruction. perhaps he’s a little dramatic — but, well, he’s upset. maybe he didn’t join this group for the money, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take pride in what they do. countless hours of research, preparation, going over the same details again and again — for what ? some shitty plastic diamond ? for some... other group ( and that’s a whole other disappointment ) to snatch their prize from right underneath their nose ? and what hurts the most: the fact that matisse or monet or whoever the fuck’s intel came from right inside their own hq. monty stares at the note again, and has the sudden urge to buy a michelangelo sculpture and kick it to pieces. “ well, what the fuck do we do now ? ”

#heiststart #me ??? writing an open ??? who is she !! #a whole paragraph of monty being the biggest drama queen ... ur welcome x

[chvmberlain]

touch prompts

with love

with relief

with happiness

with a promise

with an apology

to say goodnight

to say good morning

to protect

for comfort

for luck 

for encouragement

on a scar 

on a falling tear

on a bruise

after a tough day

after a nightmare

after an argument

because you are dying

because i am dying

in a moment of worry

in a moment of anger

in a moment of annoyance

in a moment of sadness

to say hello

to say goodbye

#Oh Dear

[chvmberlain]

SOFT ANGST STARTERS.

‘stay for me.’

‘what’s this between us?’

‘i don’t want your apology.’

‘you know i have feelings for you.’

‘yeah, i remember the drill.’

‘you’ve never hurt me. ever.’

‘then leave her/him/them. at home.’

‘i don’t believe it.’

‘this is breaking my heart.’

‘you met me at a very strange time in my life.’

‘what keeps you up at night?’

‘i wish you were here.’

‘i let you down.’

‘something strange happened here.’

‘you’re not safe here.’

‘i wasn’t ready to say goodbye.’

‘we are not the same, and never will be.’

‘don’t touch me.’

‘is it my fault?’

‘i’m not like them.’

‘i forgot my name again.’

‘i don’t know who i am.’

‘your fear of looking stupid is holding you back.’

‘are you still alive?’

‘i don’t like being told what to do.’

‘am i making you uncomfortable?’

‘nobody cares if you don’t go to the party.’

‘it was supposed to be fun, and you ruined it.’

‘where the hell are my friends?’

‘stop pretending life doesn’t terrify you.’

#me reblogging another ask meme while i have so many in my drafts

[chvmberlain]

STRIKER.

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐒, though only for one terrible, slow moment, when monty pulls away from him so abruptly. his immediate thought is that he’s done something WRONG and he eases himself away from monty for a moment, loosens his grip on him, holds his breath. it only takes a couple beats for monty to assert that he’s OKAY, his hands finding their way to his shirt and struggling with his buttons. this time, striker DOES pulls his hands away from his hips, instead moving to ghost over top of monty’s own. the action isn’t meant to stop him, but instead to reassure him. carefully, he drags his fingers across the distance between his knuckles and his wrists, a silent promise that he’s okay to slow down, to take his time. striker doesn’t have any intention of tearing monty’s suit off of him, anyway. if this is it  —  if this is what monty’s been waiting for, if this is the point where the thrill of the chase wears off and he’s no longer exciting to monty, if this is the only chance he gets  —  then he’s going to take his time and cherish every second of it. he’s not so sure if monty shares that desire, but he still finds himself nodding his consent each time that monty looks up at him to find it. 

when monty’s motions stop, it’s with striker’s shirt half-undone and he has to physically resist the urge to curl in on himself at the sight of his scar on display. instead, he forces himself to lean back on one arm and offer MORE of himself to monty, his free hand encouragingly carding through his hair. he’d assumed that monty hadn’t FORGOTTEN about it, but he’s still caught off guard by monty’s quick desire to expose it again. the thing about the L burned into his chest is that it’s one of the few injuries inflicted on him that’s served its purpose properly. it’s a reminder of who he is  —  of who belongs to  —  and it’s a reminder of why he’s spent so many years keeping EVERYONE at a distance. he’s set his boundaries, built his walls, and so stubbornly adhered to his own rules. and now monty’s touching him so tenderly, pressing his lips against the very part of him that most signifies why he could never be the person monty deserves, and somehow he can’t help but wonder if he’s been WRONG this whole time. 

it’s a lot to process, and he takes a moment to recover from the sudden onslaught of tender vulnerability. he doesn’t speak, at first, even though he so adamantly believes that the only work of art to be seen is most certainly monty. instead, he carefully turns his head just far enough to be able to press his lips to monty’s open palm and hopes that it conveys even a fraction of what he’s feeling. in its entirety, he knows that it’s far too much to even come near explaining with words or actions, alike, but he’s not trying to drown monty in all of it, anyway. all he needs right now is to be SEEN. his lips curl into something like a smile, though a sad one, at the irony of monty’s next statement. the mere idea of having spent the last ten months looking at ANYONE but him is almost laughable. still, there’s something earnest about his words and his eyebrows furrow slightly as he watches his features, as though they’ll give way to any answers of just how long monty has wanted this. as expected, he comes up short, and all he can do is lean back into his space again, pressing a kiss to his lips, his cheek, his jaw. carefully, very carefully, he murmurs a soft  “ i think i do, ”  against his skin.

he’s startled by the sound of a breathy laugh tinged with bitterness, eyebrows knitting together as he tries to wrap his head around monty’s words. he pulls his head away slowly so that he can look at his features, already starting to shake his head before he can process the action. why monty would think that he’s EMBARRASSING himself is beyond him, honestly, but it doesn’t matter. he doesn’t need to understand his thinking in this moment  —  that can come LATER  —  all he needs right now is to assure him otherwise.  “ monty, ”  he murmurs, hand settling on his cheek to try and carefully catch his gaze.  “ monty, BABY. ”  any other soothing words he has die in his throat the moment that monty suggests that striker FORGET about him. his fingers carefully, carefully catch his chin and wait a moment to be sure that monty is looking at him before he speaks. he used to find it unnerving, the way that monty holds eye contact like he’s looking right into your soul. now he relishes in it. now he thinks that he would happily bare his whole soul to monty without question, if that’s what he wanted.  “ you are NOT embarrassing yourself, okay ?  and i’m not… ”  he swallows, gives his head a tiny shake. there’s a very fine line that separates the things that he wants to say and the things that monty wants to hear, and he very well knows that he’s likely about to cross it.  he knows just as well that once he starts saying them, they can’t GO BACK, and he has to brace himself for the worst  —  for the blow of a rejection he wasn’t ready to stomach today.  “ i’m not going to forget about you. i’ve been thinking about this for MONTHS, i don’t WANT to forget about it. i don’t want to forget about you. not in the morning. not ever. ”

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐌 and holds him, fixing him in place. wide-eyed, monty feels a shiver run down his spine at being called baby yet again — he doesn’t think he could ever possibly get used to that. it’s already become something of a soothing balm: every time striker says it, monty melts, forgetting where he is for a moment in a haze of who, me ? like he can’t quite believe it. when he comes back to himself, he’s softened, his gaze open and trusting. he’s spent so long dancing around striker, touching him so freely — finger walking up his arms, brushing up against him, playing with his fingers, tracing his tattoos — yet now that it’s being actively reciprocated, monty doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. it’s almost as if he’d accepted the fact that he was doomed to pine. it’d be easier, at least, if he was left with the certainty that striker didn’t want him back. now, he’s as unsure as ever. striker wants him in some capacity — he wouldn’t have let him stay here if he didn’t — but the thought that he might not want monty in the same way is a terrible one. 

with every word that striker says, though, he seems to be soothing all of monty’s worries. not in the morning. not ever. it makes his heart sing, but the problem is, monty only half-believes him; the idea of striker wanting to continue this beyond a single night exhilarates him, but he discards the possibility of forever without a second thought. no one has ever wanted him for that long, and he doubts the trend is about to change. he’ll enjoy his time with striker, cling until striker is ready to toss him aside, and he’ll nurse his broken heart all over again. it’s what he always does. he won’t resent him for it — monty knows there’s something in him that makes this happen, over and over. he’s always trying to fix it, but it never quite works. striker will see that wrongness in him, whatever it is that’s prevented everyone else from staying, and he’ll leave. monty tries to hold this reminder in the forefront of his mind, but with striker looking at him the way he is, he can’t help but waver.

in this moment, he decides, he’ll let himself fall into the idea that it’s true. how could he not, with striker’s hand, gentle and firm all at once, curled around his chin ? with his eyes, dark and warm and inviting, holding monty’s own with a steadiness that almost unsettles him with how certain it is ? with his voice, that same soothing rumble he’s become accustomed to over the time they’ve known each other, saying things he’s always dreamt of hearing from someone he’s grown to admire and cherish the way he does striker ? it feels far too good to be true, but monty’s always wanted the fairytale. he’s always been such a sucker.

so he lets himself fall all over again, feeling weightless as he sinks into striker’s touch, every angle of his body crying out to be held. he tips his head forward, pressing their foreheads together gently, and swallows down the lump of emotion in his throat. “ for months ? ” he echoes softly, wanting to hear him say yes, i’ve dreamed about you just as you have of me. monty’s selfish like that; striker could say it a thousand times and he’d never be satisfied. “ striker, i... ” he shakes his head slightly, suddenly at a loss for words. for someone so self-assured, someone who always has something to say, he can’t grasp any of his own emotions and spin them into something coherent. “ i don’t know what to say, ” is what he settles on, quiet and bare of his usual bravado. “ you don’t have to promise me that. i don’t want any promises you can’t keep, ” he insists, relieving striker of any obligation to him before he’s even had the change to form such a thing. monty brushes a thumb over his cheekbone, right over top of his tattoo, cataloguing every detail of striker’s face. he wants to remember not ever for the rest of his life. “ i just want to be here with you. ”

#━━ ❛ thread. #━━ ❛ thread / striker. #correct

[chvmberlain]

IVY.

ivy was enjoying her post-heist high. she had… so much money now. this was new to her. she didn’t grow up wealthy, not at all. she struggled for everything that she had and now she could just… enjoy. and she didn’t know what to do with herself, honestly. she decided she wanted to maybe go see the sights, even if it was on her own. sure, she could text, like, 90% of the crew and she was sure they’d text her back and go out with her. but she thought she would take a little bit of time to herself. she zipped up her dress and adjusted her makeup, fluffing her hair, before walking out of her hotel room. she smiled lightly to herself as she walked down the hallway before she saw none other than monty. oh, wonderful. she didn’t hate him, not in the slightest, but she always sort of… didn’t exactly get along with him. but he’s grinning at her and waving and she just can’t find it in her heart to be mean to him. “well, hi there.” she laughed out, looking at him, shaking her head a bit in disbelief. “i was just trying to sneak out and have some alone time, but. alas, i’ve been spotted.” she raises a brow at him. “where are you headed?” maybe it would be somewhere she really didn’t want to go and she could just… let him down easy.

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 to buy himself something physical with his post-heist money, he figures that this particular occasion deserves an experience rather than a thing. after all, until mardi gras comes back around to new orleans, it’ll be a while before he’s able to have all this debauchery easily within reach. what could be more fun than dragging a straitlaced fbi agent into the mix alongside him ? and all the better — she seems to be game. “ you have been spotted, ” he agrees jovially, looping an arm through hers as if that alone will prevent her from running off. “ i haven’t decided where i’m heading yet, ” he says, gently tugging her arm in an attempt to coax her along with him. “ but i know it’ll be fun. i’m thinking gambling — i’m not usually a big gambler, but there’s no better time to start than when you’re in vegas, right ? you’ve got the calculating mind; i bet we could clear out the house. ” he snickers, adding, “ again. ”

#━━ ❛ thread. #━━ ❛ thread / ivy.

[chvmberlain]

INDIE.

she nods, practically running towards the cabinet to get two plates out of it, grabbing forks and knives from the drawer beneath the cabinet as she does and setting them all next to the stovetop. “i think you may have missed your true calling, sir,” she says playfully, waiting for him to give his final stamp of approval on the dish before she demands food to be put on her plate right that instant. “if this heist thing ever stops working out for us and we’re not in jail, you should consider culinary school. i’ll even code your restaurant’s website for you. at a discounted rate nonetheless. i’m so nice, aren’t i?”

𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐏𝐒 a hefty plate of paella for both of them, nodding in agreement at her statement. “ maybe i should go now and make a triumphant return as the team chef, ” he counters, raising an eyebrow as he settles a lid over the pan, keeping the rest of the food warm. monty grabs both his plate and his wine glass, heading over toward the table to sit down to eat. “ wow, a discounted rate and everything... is that the family and friends discount ? what is it, five percent off ? ten if i ask real nice ? ”

#━━ ❛ thread. #━━ ❛ thread / indie.

[chvmberlain]

THEA.

“you’re damn right, monty. THANK YOU.” thea rarely talked herself up at all, let alone bragged. if anything, she tended to undersell her abilities; she never wanted to give anyone the wrong impression. “you’re also right about that. are you just like, right about everything?”  she stared at him with wide eyes, expecting him to say another thing that was absolutely true. or maybe he’d do something crazy and start flying or something. either way, he was blowing thea’s mind. her gaze turned to the street at the mention of the uber. the minute she saw a black car – it only took a couple seconds – she pointed excitedly. “IS THAT IT?”

𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐃, as if this is a burden he and he alone must bear. “ i am right about everything, ” he tells her. “ it’s a blessing and a curse. ” this gravity is immediately dispelled when he follows her gaze, eyes lighting up when he sees what she’s looking at. “ yes ! ” he exclaims, thrilled by the sudden appearance of their ride, grabbing thea’s hand and practically dragging her to get inside the car. once they’ve piled in, monty leans back against his seat with an overdramatic sigh, head lolling to the side to look over at thea. “ it isn’t far. we’ll be there in a few minutes and then we can party. ”

#━━ ❛ thread. #━━ ❛ thread / thea.

[chvmberlain]

STRIKER.

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, striker wishes he could read monty’s mind. he doesn’t THINK he made a mistake, not at first. he swears that monty softens at being called baby, and he’s something so gentle that striker nearly can’t stop himself from drawing monty closer to him. only, before he can, monty is pulling his hand away and leaning forward like he’s going to rise to his feet again and striker is so certain that this is it  —  this is the inevitable, heart-wrenching end when it’s only JUST STARTED  —  that there’s already an apology forming on his lips.

before it can surface, though, monty is returning to his line of sight. this time, his hands find their way onto striker’s skin and it sends him REELING. he’s used to monty’s touches  —  sometimes fluttering, sometimes lingering  —  but this time monty leaves goosebumps in his wake, striker’s nerve-endings all electrified by the sweep of monty’s palms up his arms. and, jesus christ, is he isn’t a GONER. he’s careful, still, frozen as monty paves his path, not willing to do anything that will disturb the waters or scare monty off  —  not now, not when he feels so close to something he’s wanted for so long. his breath catches somewhere in his throat when monty’s hands finally come to a stop on his shoulders. his gaze slowly travels over monty’s features, trying his best to read what’s written on his face. his hands ACHE with how much he wants to reach out and draw monty closer but something in him hesitates, waiting until he’s CERTAIN that it’s what monty wants, too. he’s too important  —  monty is far, far too important to fumble with like that. 

he gets his confirmation in the form of monty’s weight shifting towards him, his hands pressing against his shoulders as he uses them as a point of leverage, and striker can no longer hold himself back. his free hand reaches for monty before he’s crossed half the distance between them. his hand settles on the small of monty’s back, guiding him closer. even when he settles squarely in striker’s lap, it isn’t close enough. he NEEDS him closer, but his glass of champagne still rests in his other hand and, for a moment, monty’s gentle expression has become tinged with something like doubt.  “ sweetheart, ”  he murmurs before he can stop himself, hand still pressed soundly against monty’s back so he can’t get too far.  “ let me just… ”  he’s leaning to the side before he can finish the statement, only long enough to settle his flute somewhere safe on the ground. once his hand is freed and he returns to his upright, seated position, he’s quick to occupy himself with something else. his hand that is already resting at the base of monty’s spine drags slowly around the side of his torso before it matches pace with the other, sliding beneath his suit jacket to find a home on his hips, using the new position as a vantage point to coax monty in closer to him. all the while, his gaze never once wavers from monty’s own.

his heart skips a beat in his chest when monty’s hands move once more and, this time, settle on his cheeks. his resolve feels spectacularly close to crumbling. he’s unable to remember why, exactly, he’s been so determined to keep monty at a distance now that he’s such a warm, solid presence in his lap. striker thinks he might like to keep him here FOREVER, if he could. before he can even begin to ensnare himself in the debate of whether or not kissing monty is a good idea, the decision is made for him  —  and, he has to admit, when it’s monty’s sweet, hushed promise that makes the decision, striker can’t deny that NOTHING has ever sounded quite so good in his whole life.  “ kiss me. besame, ”  he instructs, voice almost hoarse as he tilts his head back to make it that much easier for monty to listen. 

and he DOES. monty kisses the same way he does everything else  —  all consuming and tender and sure. he’s always had a certain skill for captivating near everyone he comes into contact with, striker included, but this is unlike anything he’s known before. striker is fairly confident that the room could be on fire around them and he would have NO IDEA. he couldn’t pay attention to anything but monty if he TRIED. he has half a mind to think that the way he’s meeting monty somewhere in the middle  —  fingers curling around the sleek material of his shirt and bunching it at his waist, easing his lips apart to draw him in deeper  —  is probably over-eager at best, but he can’t bring himself to care. now that he knows what it feels like to kiss monty, he’s not sure how he’s EVER supposed to stop.

𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘, overcome with an urge; his fingers fumble with the buttons on striker’s shirt, unabashedly eager. he’s been thinking about this since he first saw him in this suit tonight — fucking blue glitter, is striker kidding, the audacity of it — but he digresses. once he manages to get his clumsy hands to cooperate, monty unbuttons the first few buttons of striker’s shirt, glancing up every so often as if to ask is this okay ? once he’s reached far enough, his purpose is made CLEAR. the L he’d seen for the first time only a couple of weeks ago is laid bare before him once more; monty is just as horrified as the first time, but he keeps that tucked away, hidden and safe where striker won’t see it played out on his face. instead, the corners of his mouth tilt upward slightly, a small, secret smile just for striker before he tips his head down. 

the first kiss he brushes across the scar is soft and barely-there: i know this is here. don’t hide it from me. an acknowledgement, he thinks, is the least he can do after ten months of blissful ignorance. he presses another kiss to his skin a moment later, more firmly this time: i’ll take care of you, if you’ll let me. he can’t speak it aloud, lest too many things tumble out of him and drive striker away, so he pours his heart into this quiet devotion instead. the last kiss is gentle, sweet: let me. please let me. 

he lifts his head again, and lifts his hands to match, cradling striker’s face like he’s something precious. “ a fitting frame for a work of art, ” he says, only half-teasing. the words are barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid any sudden moves or loud sounds will startle striker out of whatever spell he’s under. monty doesn’t ever want this to end, not now that he’s waited so long. but now that he’s opened his mouth, he can’t seem to stop; this is what he was so afraid of, admissions tumbling out of him with reckless abandon. “ you have no idea... ” he drags a fingertip over the line of striker’s jaw, over his bottom lip, kissing him once more to follow the touch before he continues. “ how many times i’ve thought about this. ” 

they’re still fully clothed, but monty feels naked. it’s the nakedness of being seen, of knowing that someone can peel back every layer and see your thoughts and intentions. he hates it and craves it in equal parts. the worst part: he’s not even quite sure what striker will find, if he dares to look. if he’ll hate what’s underneath as much as monty does. “ if i’m embarrassing myself, please don’t tell me, ” he says, accompanied by a soft huff of a laugh, self-deprecating on purpose. if he’s the one to soften the blow, maybe it’ll make it easier. it won’t, he knows it won’t, but still he hopes. it’s something of a fatal flaw — setting himself up to be disappointed, over and over again. yearning for something he knows he can’t have. for someone who has access to damn near everything he could ever want, monty spends so much of his time chasing the few things he doesn’t. “ just... kiss me now and forget about me tomorrow. that’d be alright. ”

#━━ ❛ thread. #━━ ❛ thread / striker. #it’s about the yearning

[chvmberlain]

why must my analysis be supported by “textual evidence”? is it not enough for my arguments to be sexy and unhinged??

#━━ ❛ isms. #monty in all his classes @ yale

[chvmberlain]

    𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉.

q —

you’re an asshole.

you promised me, you know. you promised me a 21st birthday to rival our 18th in madrid; you promised me to embarrass the hell out of whatever poor, unfortunate significant other i dragged home one day; you promised me we’d walk carina down the aisle together. i’ll never forgive you for that one.

you promised you’d read to me when we got home that night. cien años de soledad was on my nightstand waiting for us. i still haven’t picked up where we left off. it’s been seven years and i barely even remember the plot anymore, but i can’t bring myself to finish without you. it just doesn’t feel right.

i’ve been searching for that ugly ass jackson pollock painting mamá used to keep in your room. she’s such a pain in the ass — it’s one of the obscure ones, and she sold it off the second they cleared out your room. i can’t tell you how many times the sotheby’s agent has called me to tell me they’ve finally found it — they never have. i can picture it clear as fucking day, q. we all used to pile on your bed and roll our eyes at that stupid painting. sixteen year old me would laugh in my face if he saw how fucked up i am over it.

then again, if he knew the context, i think that’d be the least of his concerns. he’d be more worried about the time he has left with you. the days slipped away from me as easily as anything, and i never thought for a moment how numbered they’d be. i should’ve been more careful about the time i had left with you. 

nineteen years isn’t enough. you could’ve lived six lifetimes and i’d never be satisfied; you had enough energy in the mornings that you never touched a drop of espresso a day in your life. what kind of person is like that? jesus christ. you were the fucking energizer bunny, q. you could’ve lasted a millennium on that kind of power.

sometimes i think to myself that it should’ve been me instead. more often than i’ll admit to anyone else — but you’re a dead man, so what will you do? tell on me? you would never. it should’ve been me, quincy. carina’s going to be a damn lawyer, you were supposed to change the world with your do-gooder heart; what am i doing here other than slowly drinking myself to death and tangling myself in something that will almost certainly land me in jail? mamá y papá would be ashamed of me. not that that’s much different than usual, but it still hurts to think about. would you be proud of me, q? i don’t think carina is, but we haven’t spoken in years. i’m terrified to pick up the phone, but i miss her so fucking much. i miss you so fucking much. i don’t know if it’s supposed to get easier, but i sure as hell hope it does. i can’t take living like this forever. i feel like i’m missing a limb.

do you see us, wherever you are? do you laugh, cry, love, all just the same as when you were alive and here with me? i like to imagine you on a grassy hill somewhere. the sun is warm, the breeze is gentle, and you’ve got a picnic basket full of jamón, manchego, y cava. i like to think it’s nice there. i like to think you look down and laugh: carina’s up to her elbows in dusty law books and tweed; i spend most of my time stealing the sort of things our parents use to decorate their summer home. couldn’t make this shit up if i tried. i’m still not sure if you’d be proud of me, but i do think you’d like it, q.

i woke up the other day and i couldn’t remember your smile. i had to look through my photos until i found an old photo of you, probably laughing at some stupid face i was making behind the camera — i don’t ever want to forget again, so i’m trying something new. when i think of you, i think of the ratty t shirt you always insisted on wearing. the way you talked with your hands. reading to me over skype ‘cause you decided to go to fucking princeton instead of yale with me, you prick. i think of the curve of your smile, fresh in my mind again, and the way you threw your head back when you laughed, loud and full and unashamed. i won’t forget again, q. i promise.

te quiero. ya lo sabes, pero te quiero tanto, tio. hasta el fin del mundo. te echo de menos.

con cariño, — m

#heisttask01 #━━ ❛ task. #it’s sad boy hours #yes mine ALSO says dear brother it's called THE DUALITY OF MAN #also Yes carina is Also in the graphic but just let it happen

[chvmberlain]

#LET ME PICK YOU UP thea i'm sobbing #━━ ❛ isms. #━━ ❛ isms / thea.

[chvmberlain]

* ･ﾟ@plutomade !

𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐐 is nothing out of the norm for him. seeking out percy without mischa at his side, ready and willing to annoy the shit out of him, is more unusual. nevertheless, he wanders through the common spaces until he finds percy, hedging and fidgeting with some abandoned book on a table nearby before he gathers the words to speak. “ i can’t stop thinking about it, ” he says finally, looking over at percy with a half-grimace on his face. it’s a rare show of seriousness for him; something out of the ordinary, but he thinks the situation merits this sort of response. what they do is hardly legal, obviously, but it’s a lot easier to evade traditional pursuers like the police or the feds. they’re much more visible, for one thing, and they have ivy on the inside in case of emergencies.

something like this, though, is completely out of left field — they don’t have the faintest idea of who’s behind it, and that unsettles him. monty loves the game of it all, outwitting and outmaneuvering law enforcement as they pull off their heists, but this sudden role reversal has left a sour taste in his mouth. “ the note, ” he clarifies, as if percy wouldn’t already know what he’s talking about. that’s why monty’s here, after all — if there’s anyone he expects to be turning this mystery over and over, it’s percy. “ who do you think it’s from ? ”

#━━ ❛ thread. #━━ ❛ thread / percy.

[chvmberlain]

* ･ﾟ@agentwang​ !

𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐘. this is nothing new to anyone on the team — he’ll drag each and every one of them into his antics if given the opportunity, their willingness to participate be damned. currently, he’s off to enjoy one of vegas’s many entertainment venues; there’s some ridiculous casino that’s supposed to be a must-see, so of course monty’s must see it. he’s making his way down the hallway of the hotel they’re staying in, tucking his hotel key into his wallet and whistling softly to himself, when none other than AGENT WANG appears in his field of view. despite the fact that she’s regularly and openly annoyed by him, monty lifts a hand in greeting, calling out “ IVY ! ” in a cheerful tone to get her to turn around. he lengthens his strides to catch up to her, bumping his elbow against hers as they fall into stride. “ you look like you’re ready for something fun. ” she doesn’t. “ i’m heading out. you should join me. ”

#━━ ❛ thread. #━━ ❛ thread / ivy.