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clochanamarc · 5 months

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everything has a consequence. sometimes it's a map that never should have existed. sometimes it's a man who materializes, impossibly, in your living room from across the atlantic ocean. today, though, the consequence that takes place is not related to these things. nor is it related to powerful stones, dark empires, collisions of incomprehensible worlds. instead, the source of this terrible consequence is simple. wrong place. wrong time. wrong gunman.

between the two of them, they'd dispatched the majority of the attackers. masked men who followed the promise of money into a dead end. thomas had the map of manhattan memorized far quicker than she'd been able to at this stage. he melted into the shadows of the alleyways, moved with the bricks and concrete of the buildings, an invisible, graceful, beautiful thing that they never saw in time to defend themselves. she'd been less discreet. blasts of power, the occasional strike of a crowbar. effective, but not discreet. meaning, of course, she's the reason that it happened.

she's the reason fiachra was able to follow them to the docks. he even seemed happy about the location. the good fortune to traumatize once more. he'd shot eoin on the cliffs of moher, just above the waters below. and without a single word, he shot thomas at the docks, a single gesture that caused her to stumble beneath the stunned weight, and fall into a small fishing boat tied loosely beneath. concealed by the tall concrete wall of the dock, in a november night, with thomas bleeding out in her arms and the sound of the waves surrounding them.

" no... " she tries. she tries to catch her breath, steady herself, find his life force and thread it through his wounded body. but she can't. she can't do it. they're in a boat, and they're surrounded by icy cold water that tries to carry them out to sea, and it's dark. it's dark. and he's tall, and he's gripping her arm and trying to say something, and it's too familiar. eoin. thomas. eoin. thomas. they blur into one, with aisling being utterly useless at the heart of it, and now she's here, a hand trying to clasp over his wound, the other trembling so badly that she can't aim the damp flare gun properly, and he's looking at her and he's not talking anymore, it's as though he knows... and he does. somehow, he always has. he knows her long before she figures out herself. and so, when he pulls her down, she follows his guidance, and a sweet, loving, terrible kiss is shared. " i'm sorry! " she whispers, tears falling fast, mind whirling to accommodate this catastrophe. " i'm so sorry, i'm so fucking sorry, i never should have let you in, i never should have-- " but there's another kiss, an answer to the regret and the terror and the premature grief.

@proofwhisky asked: a shared kiss while holding your dying lover. <3

her lips part, and she almost gives up. it would be so easy... just to nod. just to shrug her shoulders, curl up beside him, and maybe let the universe do whatever the hell it is that it's so determined to do. she could just kiss him one last time, and once... once... god alive... she can't even conceive of a version of her life without him. what happens now? what happens once he closes his eyes? how is she meant to get back up and move forward when... when--

" THEY'RE OVER HERE! AISLING! "

her blood-slick hands cradling his face, she looks up, tears still cutting tracks down her face. the blur is enough to cast doubt on exactly what it is that she's seeing. the idea that tina would somehow have known to follow them here... that stanley, richard, ramsay and rani would all have known to come to the docks... it feels like a dream. more unrealistic than the sight of them climbing into a speedboat, and immediately cutting a clean path through the water and the fog to where they both sit. it's a hallucination. it has to be. and yet... that knife of hope is so sharp and real, that she can't help it.

" we're here! DAD! DAD, TOMMY'S HURT! " aisling's initial efforts to stand up are hastily concluded by the wobbling of the boat, and urgent yells to sit down from ramsay. but two seconds after, they're docked beside them, and stanley and ramsay clamber over, surveying the damage with unreadable yet anxiety-rising glances. " dad-- " she sounds like a terrified child. which is probably why richard gently pulls an arm around her shoulders, and pulls her backward, into the speedboat and beside rani, who looks grim in the manhattan moonlight.

" we can't take him to a hospital. i texted danny and bella. they'll meet us at the rendezvous, and etienne's bringing the kit. "

" tell them to bring everything from the staff room, too. this is bad. and bella better bring a few things, too. on three. " ramsay has his forearms levered carefully behind tommy's back. the second he's replaced into the new boat, tina's revved the engine, and they're speeding down to the safehouse. but aisling's hand never leaves his. not even when he loses consciousness. and not even when he wakens two days later on a clean bed in a cozy cabin just north of new york.

#blood tw #death tw #gun tw #gunshot tw #injury tw #proofwhisky #( ' a soul for a soul... ' / reply. )#( I'M FINE I'M NORMAL AH-- )#( SMTH ABT THE DINER SQUAD JUST MOVING HEAVEN AND EARTH TO SAVE HIS LIFE BC HE'S DONE THE SAME FOR AIS )#( AND BY RELATION FOR THEM )#( I'M FINE )

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brightgnosis · 1 year

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I bought a giant glass jar to mix my bath salts in, because somehow I never thought of that ingenious idea until talking to @thegothiccrafter about her jar of bath salts.

Unfortunately I haven't been on Zyrtec for a week, and that seems to have brought the burning back when I take baths- even though I've done everything I can to mitigate it; it's not as bad as it usually would be. But it's still incredibly unpleasant. So I'm sitting here trying not to scratch myself to death, waiting for it to calm down.

Unfortunately my Husband wants help cooking breakfast, and I know he's frustrated because I said no to helping him right now. Because helping him would mean having to put clothes on over top all this burning, itching annoyance. And I can't get him to properly understand why putting clothing on really isn't an option for me in this state, and would only make matters worse for me.

It's frustrating as all get-out being unable to articulate the ways in which I'm in absolute hell right now internally, despite looking fine on the outside- and how it's taking every conceivable amount of my self control not to scratch off every bit of the surface of my skin. And I hate how even my loving, understanding Husband can't always quite understand it and gets upset with my Fibro making me take slightly longer to do things sometimes.

It's only biscuits and gravy, though. And it's the bagged premade biscuits he only has to warm up. So it's not like it's anything difficult ... I'll go upstairs and help him as soon as it's over, if he's not done by then. But in the meantime I need to stop itching.

ETA: He thought I was just making up an excuse because I'd been so good after my baths lately, and was hurt by it because he really enjoys cooking with me as a team effort.

It's also starting to concern him that I no longer cook as often, because a long time ago I once told him that food was my love language, and that if I ever stopped cooking for him it meant something was wrong. And I've stopped cooking for the house, because his parents are disgusting and refuse to do basic shit in the Kitchen- even after he took over the kitchen and tried keeping it up for me ... But I'll cook myself lunch every day. And he doesn't understand that's a necessity, not an option for me, because of my medications. So he's starting to worry I don't love him anymore.

My poor husband ;-;

#Personal #2023 #Alphabet Soup #Face & Body #NonTrad Homemaker #NonTrad Housewife #Communicating Beautifully

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