#afteribm

[sociofame]

incorrect  quotes,  feat.  @afteribm

[howecameron]

the  unsent  project :      001  /  ?             –––   ft.  joe  macmillan   ( @afteribm​ )

[mademutiny]

# this  is  the  only  post  on  this  blog  that  will  ever  matter.      //      @afteribm  +  @giantbuilt

[loetise]

liminal space meme, accepting.  ˎˊ˗

              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?  ”

@afteribm​​,    68.  being  on  a  train  after  midnight.

[foxtaeil-moved]

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

the  media  is  a  fickle  creature,  isn’t  it?  minds  can  be  changed  with  the  drop  of  a  headline.  they’ve  raked  her  over  the  coals  -  blamed  for  her  husband’s  infidelity,  for  mourning  the  death  of  her  boy  -  just  as  quickly  as  they’d  revered  her  for  her  moments  of  bravery  and  shows  of  strength.  everybody  has  an  opinion  on  her,  whether  they’ve  met  her  or  or  not.  and  most  haven’t.  she’d  played  the  dutiful  wife  for  fifteen  years,  and  she’d  been  forced  into  that  modern  jackie  kennedy  role  for  eight.  this  presidential  campaign  is  as  controversial  as  it  is  historic.  it  is  her  turn  at  last.  genuine  amusement  paints  her  features  at  the  admission,  though  she  doesn’t  dare  try  to  dig  any  deeper  -  god  only  knows  what  he’s  heard.    “  i  seem  to  have  gained  a  lot  of them  over  the  years.  “  

[deputystakes-a2]

@afteribm said, if you’re picking raspberries, then all you see is red.

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? ”

             “ i wasn’t blind, doctor. i know what i did. ”   the liquor doesn’t burn on the way down, and goddamn, he misses that feeling. he misses the sting. he sounds like his father.   “ i did a damn good job, too. ”