#desiredisarray

[faltlines]

@desiredisarray​ | william + dolores

       dolores lifts her head slowly, blinking into the soft sunlight of the morning. the cross-hatch of the fabric of william’s jacket is imprinted into her cheek, and she smiles gently down at it for a moment before she turns her gaze to its owner. he’d fallen asleep, she observes, propped up against the tree beside which they’d set up their meager camp. his eyes are still closed, and she moves over to him, brushing the dirt off of her makeshift pillow. he looks quite peaceful like this, and she cannot help but admire him for a little while; the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the unassuming fall of his hair in front of his eyes, head lulled over against his left shoulder. she says nothing as she lifts a hand to brush back his hair, letting it trail down to his cheek. her thumb skims gently across his skin and suddenly, for now, she feels content.

[faltlines]

@desiredisarray:

i’m fairly good at cheating death, she says, and eggsy doesn’t cry. he doesn’t. there are tears in his eyes, threatening to drown him. to clog the back of his throat and wrap around him like a snake cutting off his oxygen supply, but he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t let up either, though. maybe because that will show how close he is to it. how close he was to losing everything; kingsman, harry, roxy, his family. he can’t quite believe that it’s starting to slot back together. that it is just buildings and traditions and bullshit that he doesn’t care about. he’s still with his family. he’s still okay. still breathing, fighting, earning another day in this shithole. he wants… he doesn’t know what he wants - but he can’t let go. not yet. any time in the immediate future would be too soon. far too soon.     “yeah,”     he murmurs after a while, and if there’s a lump in his throat still, then neither of them are going to talk about it because that’s how it is.     “seems that you fuckin’ are. jesus fuckin’ christ, rox. how the fuck did we end up like this?”     it’s easier to talk when they aren’t looking at each other. when he isn’t as vulnerable as he feels. raw and exposed to the nerve.

when eggsy doesn’t let go, she doesn’t question it–– perhaps because she doesn’t want to let go either. if he did cry, it wouldn’t matter. in fact, it would be damn well understandable. roxy had cried herself: countless times since headquarters had been blown to bits. but she was alone and that made it easier. for now, she just keeps her arms wrapped around him, eyes shut and face pressed into his shoulder, relieved not to have to look at anything, not to have to keep watch. relieved to be a girl in a room with her best friend. “ i dunno, ” she says quietly, one hand finding his shoulder to give an affectionate squeeze. “ ‘m just glad we’re both here. ” she doesn’t say safe, she doesn’t say alive. the words don’t bear saying, not right now. trauma sits on each of them, heavy–– and while maybe someday it’ll do them good to sit and talk about it, roxy sees no point in ripping the bandages on so fresh a wound to see if its healed.

[b-berkman]

{@desiredisarray ​ | cont’d from this}

It was one of those times when Barry cursed his strong gut reactions to everything, that he had to open his goddamn mouth and let his exact feelings fall out so that when Sally reacted, as she always did, with her own – extremely strong – emotion, Barry was left confused in the wake of what the fuck was happening. If it was a conscious choice he'd made, y'know, to say something, he might have been given a fighting chance but as it was, she was pulling back like she'd been slapped, hands tightening in their grip on his arms, and all Barry could do was search her face for anything other than the abject betrayal currently sprawled across her features. Funny, how life was like that, that you could carry around a fucking secret as big as his entire past and career, and still not know how to filter your own emotions around the girl you loved. Was his luck too, that she would be touched off by it, after the experience she'd just had, and Barry really should have been putting his head through the metaphorical wall at his own stupidity.

“No, no, no,” he began, hand coming up to brush at her tear-tracked face, pushing back the fair hair stuck to her skin. “I wanna do this, I... fuck, I want it so bad. I want it, and I'm just worried that you don't, because we never actually, y'know... talked about any of this. Shit, are we even dating?” His gaze searched hers, figuring to hell with it, if they were gonna be laying here in each other's arms, may as well have some of it out.

“I think you're amazing, you're the most amazing person I've ever met and I just... wanna be with you, and I never thought – I didn't mean to do this, I swear.” The thought hadn't even crossed his mind, Barry had assumed she had it under control, what kind of misogynistic asshole did that. Apparently him, and he felt his gaze wither shut beneath her confusion, hand going, at last, to the place, the warm swell that was her belly pushing against the blouse she wore, something they'd hidden for weeks now, refused to acknowledge, but that he wanted to acknowledge it now. God, he wanted to acknowledge it, what they'd done.

“Sally, I... I want it so much I'm fucking scared to tell you, and I'd understand if you hated me, I really would. I just...” Pressing his eyes shut, thumb going to and fro over the warmth of her, feeling the curve, the tight skin beneath the fabric, he managed, “I just don't want you to have to give up everything you've worked so hard for. Because... I know you're not only talented, but you're kind, and I feel like you'd do this for me, and I don't want you to do it for me, I want you to do it for you. Sally -” If tears had started to his eyes, Barry hadn't given them permission to, and it all felt like deja vu, like they'd had this conversation which they had, and had gotten exactly nowhere. Had ended with, well I'll go to Toronto with you, and that had nothing to do with their current situation. In Toronto. With the actual evidence beneath his palm of the reason Sally was now gonna be out of a job and it was all because he, fucking Barry Berkman couldn't keep it in his pants and be a good little hitman running around offing whoever they said. Fuck, he felt sick even bringing memories of that life forward into this, with how much was at stake. “You gotta get to set, shit. I'm sorry -”