#mack 001

[undervaalue]

closed starter for mack montgomery / @mackmontgomery

"It shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes to tag the library, the post office, do a line, and then hit town hall. Maybe even grab a slice halfway through. And like... not be out of breath, you know? I'm jus' saying maybe you're off your game, grandpa. Maybe it's time to give up and let the younger generation take your spot."

[beejsachar]

closed starter for mack montgomery ( @mackmontgomery ) -> the bunker escape room

"I'm not gonna' hold you, bro, we are about to lose this in a big way."

Beej looks around the room, desperately seeking an obvious set of hieroglyphics or a poorly hidden button. No use.

"Can't believe Aeris didn't show. What's team bonding when we're missing the boss?"

[crmsns]

@mackfm​ // distaste scowled on christian’s face when the backstreet boys greeted him over freddy’s speakers. his will to survive in this society dwindled every time he heard ‘ i want it that way ’ on the radio, and soon enough he would abandon town for the woods, or something like that. until then, though, he had mack as the poor, misguided target of his annoyance.

“i bet you put this trash over the jukebox,” he greeted her sourly while inviting himself to crash into her booth. “but with your taste, i guess i should just be glad it isn’t something worse.” can we be honest here? christian didn’t even know if mack liked the backstreet boys. he just wanted to fuck with her.

[holland-mitchell]

w/ @mckenziepcrker​​

Her truck had survived to see another day, thank God. Holland thought it’d never move again after it stalled on the side of Mulholland the night before, but now Holland was behind the wheel and zooming along, back to her usual routine of winding down empty roads in the dead of the night. She had her music blaring, an open bottle of tequila rolling around the seat beside her. She’d gone drinking. Alone. Out in Griffith Park, sitting right under the shadow of the observatory. But now she was flying, free as a bird.  It was really fucking stupid -- the stupidest thing she’d done in years -- but Holland’s mind had been running wild for days. Her life was spiralling out of control and falling together all at once. Change was hard for the girl, and with so much of it happening at once, so was sobriety. Holland needed something to control all the fucking noise. So she’d been drinking. So what? She wasn’t drunk. She was fine to drive. The fresh air had kept her sober. Mostly. Getting home would be no problem. 

But no, she wasn’t. She wasn’t sober, and she wasn’t fine to drive. Holland was going far too fast. She wasn’t paying attention. It only took five minuets before sirens were flashing in her rear-view mirror. When she saw them -- glaring red and blue -- Holland knew she was in trouble. 

She started laughing in disbelief. Fucking giggling. Because, of course. Of fucking course. Of course there was a fucking cop. Of course there was. That was just her fucking luck.

Holland pulled over. She shoved the bottle under the passenger seat. She shook her head, rolled down her window, and did her damndest to pull together a sober expression. This was never a problem in New York. Holland never had to drive anywhere in New York. This was not her fucking week.

“I think I was going too fast,” Holland said loudly, blinking against the oncoming flashlight. “Sorry about that.”